#mille dice

[hey-imma-fangirl]

Big gift time .^.

Who Broke it?

Some characters might be ooc and I’m sorry about that 😅

I might color it at some point idk

Based on this

(‘Who Broke It?’ Sketch from Parks and Recreation)

Characters (in order of appearance)

Human!Devil belongs to @cupcakeruth

Impy belongs to @fizzypopsoda-comics

Everette Morningstar is my oc :>

Lucifer Dice belongs to @tomasitaoficial

Human Chips Bettigan design belongs to @the-cosmic-cowbo-y

Roxy Morningstar belongs to @demonangelgirl134

Millie Dice belongs to @purplemang0z

[yoestuveaquiunavezfrases21]

La convicción profunda de un hombre les substrae a los ataques del ridículo.

(John Stuart Mill)

[alpaca-clouds]

Games to play in the Middle Ages

You know, I thought I could talk about another medieval topic that might come in handy for people trying to write anything from fanfic, over historical stories, to just fantasy with a medieval setting: The kind of games that people would have played in the middle ages. Something that might also be handy for certain TTRPGs and things like that.

But first some background: You do have to understand that for the most part in the middle ages a lot of people had mostly self-made game boards (when it came to board games) and dice. If you were good with woodworking, those might have been made of wood, but often enough game boards were often just made from patches of leather with the board painted onto it with ink of some sort.

A lot of people would use just stones in black, white and grey. Sometimes also just painted stones or rather pebbles.

Given this fact, game rules might at times have varied a lot locally, as your game did not come in a box with a set of rules inside of them. Or worse, from a historical point of view: Some game rules have not been written down at all, so actually we do not know how exactly they were played and most we have right now is guesswork.

That understood, let's talk...

Dice Games

Okay, six sided dice were used for playing game for literally thousands of years. We have dice surviving from the ancient world. And after all, they were rather handy, right? Given that you can play a lot of games with just a few dice in your pockets. Especially games of chance that you could use to gamble.

This is probably the moment to make on thing clear: Gambling for a lot of people did not really happen for money, but just for some tokens and the fun of it. Because the truth is, that a lot of people historically did not have any or if some not many coins. So, you just would not gamble for coins. Money, as this universal thing we have today, was not that common for the longest time.

Still, people would gamble. And usually the games played with the dice would go something like this: Roll two or three dice and then it would either be "if you beat a certain number, you get something" or "you make a bet before rolling". Like, "I bet the number will be even/uneven" or "I bet the number will be higher/lower than X". There are a plethora of games we know, but in the end they will boil down to something like that.

Card Games

Something to note: Card games, as we know them right now, got established probably in the late 13th or early 14th century, so clearly more towards the end of the middle ages. They might have been around a bit longer - but if they were, we do not have any proof of that.

The current assumption among historians is, that playing cards as an idea originated in Asia, but came to Europe either through merchants - or were brought here by the Romani people. The deck of cards we know as our typical kinds of cards, was probably first created in Italy, though this, too, is not entirely certain. All we know is, that in the middle of the 14th century we have descriptions of those cards come up in surviving manuscripts.

The kind of games played with those cards were not too different from our modern games - with local variations of course. While most of the modern game rules were first written down in the 17th century, we do have a good idea that games comparable to Poker, Junker and Karnoffel have been around for fairly long.

Of course, the games really took off just after the middle ages, when printing made it a lot easier to create more of the cards much more easily.

So, let's go to some of the games that were played with boards of sort.

The Fox and the Geese

A game that is still around today. Often played on a board that looked kinda like the one you can see above (though historically speaking it was often much more simple), but at times also on just a normal checker board, one player plays as the geese (in some version of the game also sheep) and one plays the fox (in some versions the wolf). The figures can move in all directions - including diagonally. The fox can also jump another figure, if the spot behind the figure (in a straight line) is free.

The goal of the game is for the fox to eat all the geese by jumping them. While the goal of the geese is to outmaneuvre the fox by surrounding it to all sides or push it against a wall.

Tablut

Tablut is a game that originates with the Norse and was important to the rest of Europe through the viking raids. Hence you will find a lot of games sold today with some viking-esque decor on the game board, like the one above.

Like Fox and Geese the game is one of unequal sides. The black pieces are the attackers, the white pieces the defenders. The central white piece is the king, whose capture will end the game.

Both sides beat opponents with the same way: They move in straight lines (not diagonally) like the rock in chess. To beat an opposing piece, you need to trap it between two of your pieces.

The goal for the attackers is, to capture the king. The goal for the defenders is to beat out at least half of the attackers.

Mills

This is probably one of the best known games from those I post here, given that it is often included in a lot of board game collections to this day.

This is a very symmetrical game, where both sides follow the same rules. The game board is empty at the start, then both players alternatingly put down one piece at a time. The goal is to get three pieces in a row. As soon as you have, three in a row, you can steal one of the opposing pieces.

When all pieces are set, you can move the pieces in a straight line and try to once again bring three of your pieces into a line and steal more pieces. The game ends, as soon as one side only has three pieces left.

Tables / Nard

Okay, let me talk about a whole genre of games. These originated probably in either old Egypt or old Mesopotamia, though we honestly do not know this exactly and frankly: I made the mistake before to ask a historian friend about it, and learned that this is a very emotional topic for a lot of historians. It is somewhere from what we today call "the middle east".

Given it is old and has travled far, there are tons of variations, but the general idea is always the same: Both players have a certain numbers of pieces, those need to be moved all around the board once. This is done by rolling either one die or two dices.

And this if the point where the common rules end. Because in the end there is a ton of local variations. The number of pieces varies. The number of dice varies. It varies whether you can beat other pieces, whether you can strategically block fields. All of that is depending on local rules.

It should be noted that there were definitely variations of this game around made for more players. Often called "Table of Seasons" (which was for four players) and "Alchemist's Tables" (which was usually for seven players).

Of course there were other games around, too. Chess was definitely around in the middle ages too, with similar but not quite the same rules we have today. And there is some evidence that Snakes and Ladders came to Europe in the 13th century.

[penroseparticle]

Magic 8 ball

[omarfor-orchestra]

Comunque Rocco ha sentito proprio la verità in quel bacio infatti dopo lo guarda così perché non ci capisce un cazzo lui si aspettava di essere sfottuto ma poi è arrivato Luigi che l'ha baciato con quella passione AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON LUIGI CHE LO VUOLE SEGUIRE QUANDO ARRIVA IL PADRE

[ennuijpg]

undergrOund idOl #5 — mill release date: november 28th, 2022

[lonelysmile]

questa storia del pullman veramente di una bassezza unica

[rainbowgod666]

Bro ha il mewing 2

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA La Nazione di Oggi venerdì, 20 settembre 2024

[magpieddd]

https://youtu.be/vhcupnXvJxo?si=B_TuCKEMvX5sGe6N

Vox che conosce a memoria tutti i giudici della corte suprema è canon, per me

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 9)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, language, the tiniest amount of alcohol consumption, digital penetration, masturbation, oral sex (fem rec), anal play, unprotected sex, etc

Okay, sweet peas, we’ve got one more chapter to go (maaaaybe two idk), but all your favorites will be back! Plus an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking with me after I did sugar jake so dirty the first time around ❤️

The air is lush and fragrant with herbs, sizzling eggs, and Jake when you wake - though his side of the bed has already cooled.

He’s all around you. Clothes and scuffed boots tossed about the room. Guitar case propped open sans Gibson - where has she gone? The scent of his skin clinging to yours. The gentle bustle of him milling around in the kitchen. You roll over and shamelessly bury your face in the pillow he rested his pretty head upon last night. Drawing him in with a shiver of content…he is home and you are basking in the comfort that is the great return.

He’s humming something to himself, and though you can barely hear - and you certainly can’t place the song - you try to hum along, laughing quietly to yourself when it comes out sounding muddled and strange as you search for a melody you don’t know.

It doesn’t matter. If he’s humming, you want to hum along. You’d like to walk beside him always, twisted and tangled together like a silken braid of devotion.

Seduced by his silly siren’s song, your feet hit the floor as you search for something to throw on. You settle on the black blazer he’s tossed over the back of a chair and pad down the hallway. Lulled and lured by his quiet chaos.

You find him, back to the doorway, gingerly shaking a pan with one hand and tossing what looks to be diced veggies with the other, totally at ease and at home. A gorgeous, disheveled chef complete with yesterday’s sweats, t shirt that’s torn at the neck, and tangled hair.

Should you stand and watch him awhile? It sounds tempting…to watch him work, a sneaky, head over heels fly on the wall. The way he moves, every shift of muscle is intoxicating. Yes, you are bewitched, but even standing here bathed in his presence, you miss him, and that wins out.

”Morning, Jakey,” you smile, breaking his concentration.

”There’s my sugar,” he tosses you a look over his shoulder that stops your heart. “I’m making you breakfast, my love. Would you like coffee or tea?”

Bare feet dancing over chilled tile, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, “Whatever you’re having.”

He backs up a little, no doubt worrying about your arms - though they are protected by his jacket - being too near to the stove, and turns, pulling you closer while walking you backwards towards the island, “How about we share a cup of tea? You hungry?”

Flashes of memories burn through your brain…last night, in the foyer wrapped up together on the floor while he kissed your body and wept. On the couch while you talked about how exactly this all might work. Later, in a bed that wasn’t yours, in sheets you wouldn’t wash.

You should be thoroughly sated, but yes…you are hungry.

”How’d I get so lucky, little girl?” His lips curve into a grin that derails your thoughts and replaces them with something much softer. Your heart is weak for the look in his eyes…the unapologetic, worshipful love that blazes there. “How did I manage to earn this?”

”Earn what?” You smile back, praying that the emotion pounding in your heart is as evident in your gaze as it is in his, “Us?”

His eyes duck away with a shy nod, “I just never thought I’d have you like this again. In my arms, not going anywhere. Staying.”

Your fingertips are at his cheeks, sweeping over the perfect warmth of his skin, soft as air, “Jake, you didn’t earn anything. You’ve always held my heart.”

Still unwilling to meet your gaze, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “You took it away.”

”No,” you argue in a hush. Can he really not see? “I left it with you. You’re the only reason it beats, anyway. But if you don’t feed me soon, I fear I may perish.”

”Drama queen.” He grins, pecking your cheeks each in turn, grateful that you’ve eased his mind and calmed his tender nerves.

The kettle begins to scream and you patter off to the table tucked into the corner, homey and quaint, to watch him work to take care of you. Soon, you’re gifted a steaming mug along with another kiss dropped atop your head. “Splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning, you lush.”

”Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Jake?” You tease back, watching as he moves to finish things up at the stove, throat seizing with aching affection…he remembers how you take your tea.

”I don’t have to get you inebriated for that,” he sounds gravelly and full of himself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I could fuck you however and wherever I so felt the inclination, my lovely little doll, and you would grace me with your gracious and enthusiastic appreciation.”

You bat your lashes wildly at him as he presents two plates heaped with brightly colored, expertly sautéed vegetables and fluffy, scrambled eggs like cheery, sunny clouds. A bowl of swollen, fuschia raspberries deposited between your plates like a pile of sweetened jewels steals the show. “Oh, be still my heart…you know how I enjoy it when you speak like a dictionary.”

”I know, sugar,” there’s that beaming smile of his again as he offers you a berry, lightly teasing it at your lips until you open up for him. “plenty more where that came from.”

A comfortable quiet sparks to life as you both dig in and pass the teacup back and forth. He finally breaks it, speaking up around a bite of potatoes and peppers. “I spoke to Josh this morning.”

”And how is your missing piece?” You quirk an eyebrow over the top of the cup you have now commandeered.

He leans back in his chair and settles his gaze upon you, clocking your expression closely, searching for a reaction. “Obnoxious as ever. He’s annoyed with me because I haven’t looked over the lyric revisions he sent me, and I certainly couldn’t care less if I actively tried. However, he’s very excited to see you. Cross though he might be with his dear brother.”

”Hello, Oliver,” you wink, “Let’s have Jacob back, shall we?”

You haven’t forgotten Jake’s tendency for trotting out Mr. Reed when he’s dipping a toe or two into the waters of vulnerability.

“Do you miss him?” He asks quietly, “Do you want things to be the way they were before? Because I can live with that if it means you’ll stay.” He rushes on as if he fears he may lose his nerve. “I want you to be happy, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.”

Fork clinking lightly against your plate as your focus zeros in on his lovely face, you lean forward and reach for his hand “Did he tell you he came to see me? After I ran into Danny that day?”

His fingers slip into your waiting palm with a soft squeeze, “He mentioned that he found you and asked you hide away until we’d gone. I’ve never wanted to hurt him as badly as I did then. Not even when we were young and stupid. Not even that night, when he forced me to let you go.”

“He was only trying to protect you, jake.” Your head tilts, watching residual pain flare to life in his eyes. “I’ve done a great many things to hurt you, it’s a wonder he doesn’t hate me for it.”

“He could never hate you, sugar. Don’t say things like that, it would break his heart to hear them.” The conviction in his words is fierce, and that makes sense…they share a life force at times, it seems.

“He did ask me to hide away, yes…” you nod, wrapping your free hand around his knuckles, warming his touch with your own, “But did he tell you anything else about our visit? Did he tell you how easy it was for us? How we caught up and laughed and looked at each other like very old friends that had been lost to each other for too many years?”

His shoulders tense as though he’s bracing for a gentle impact, but on you march, whispering to him in this unfamiliar kitchen that feels fat full of love.

”Did he tell you that it didn’t even hurt, our being in the same room with everything so fucking different? Did he know that all I could do was sit there, falling silently apart and searching for you in his eyes?”

“But you loved him.” Now it’s his turn to search your eyes, but for what you’re not sure. “I don’t want you to have to tamp that out. Not ever. You love so beautifully, sugar. I can share.”

”I did love him,” you nod. “Very much. A long time ago. I love him still. Differently. And not the way I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. You don’t have to share. Not anymore.”

His grip is pulling at you now, tugging you to your feet and into his arms, creaking the worn wood of his chair beneath the weight of you both as he buries his face into your bare chest, hiding his tears in the lapels of his blazer as he weeps into your skin.

“Shh, baby,” you soothe, stroking through his hair, holding onto him as he clings to you as if you might vanish like a sigh.

His face tilts upward, lips brushing over your chin and jaw, licking and tasting you through his tears. “I love you, sugar. Sometimes I feel like all this love I have for you is just going to break me into pieces, like I can’t hold it all inside. There’s no room for it. I’m too small.”

”Jake,” you feel like you could break into pieces right alongside him as he begins tugging his jacket away from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, hushing you silently, “So, I’m going to take all this love and I’m going to give it all to you. And I’m gonna fill our house with it, press it into the walls and let it seep into the floorboards. Every nail and every window is going to feel it. The pipes and hinges. The chimney is going to breathe it into the night when we light fires in the winter. And we’re going to have babies and I’m going to love them just as much, and I can’t wait to watch you love them…”

You feel baptized in his tears and the wet, warm press of his mouth as he tattoos beautiful promises into your flesh. How could you ever have believed that you wanted anything other than this?

“I’m going to exist for you every single day, sugar…” a sob escapes him, though he tries so hard to bite it back, “I already do…I always have.”

“I know, baby…it’s okay,” you’re kissing adoration into his hair, combing your fingers through the tangles, coddling him and cooing the softest endearments, desperate to mollify his soul, fraught to offer him peace. “Please don’t cry, jakey. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hearing his own words lilting off of your tongue, he pauses and gazes up into your eyes like he sees everything he’ll ever need in them, “When I said that to you, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be…gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where you wore his ring on your finger with tears in your eyes. Will you miss him?”

Should you lie? Perhaps. But wouldn’t he see the untruths lying bare? Wouldn’t that hurt even worse? Your deception?

“Yes,” you nod, petting him as he presses in closer, “he was kind to me, and sweet. He made me laugh. He made me half-way happy enough to pretend. I’ll miss him sometimes…but never enough to look back and regret chasing after you.”

“I’m glad he was kind to you,” he whispers, kissing a drunken, winding path across the tops of your breasts, “you deserve kind. He loved you, I could see that. I didn’t want to, but I could. And maybe I hated that, but I would have hated the alternative so much more. I’m sure he loves you still.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laugh softly, “he wasn’t very pleased with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar,” he stares up at you with eyes laced heavily in adulation, “you don’t leave a man alone so easily. You linger and overstay your welcome in the worst way. Learn to leave a room, sweetheart.”

He has pulled another laugh out of you, louder and bell like this time…it twists his heart with heated, pulsing adoration.

”Jake,” you pause, waiting for him to give you his honey brown eyes, “You were right when you said none of it matters. This matters.” Your palm finds your heartbeat for a moment, and then his own.

”I know, my love…” tears skate along his lash line like blissful, shimmering quartz, “I know.”

~

His mouth is at your throat, gentle hand splaying out across your abdomen, holding you down against the cool, polished wood of the table.

Fingers playing at your lips, he breaks a raspberry apart between his fingers before sweeping it over your waiting tongue. “You’re so beautiful, sugar. Aren’t you? Aren’t you my pretty, pretty girl?”

His shirt has landed on the tile, forgotten and worthless to this task at shaking hand.

“Yes,” nails digging into his shoulders to remind him of where you’ve been, of where your touch belongs, you nod fervently beneath his kiss, “I’m your pretty girl, Jakey. I’m your girl.”

Lips beginning a path up your cheek to your temple, he hums euphorically and grasps at your ankles, tugging gingerly until your heels are resting on the table. “Will you show me?” His voice is silken and inquisitive, tongue fluttering over your earlobe to bring chills to life inside you. “Hmm? Will you show me how pretty you are for me?”

”Anything,” you pant, arching away from the table, desperate to be closer to him as he pulls back.

You watch on, body throbbing and screaming for him while he pops a raspberry into his mouth and settles back into his chair, legs spread wide, hands fisted into flexing balls at his knees, “Touch yourself for me, sugar. Rub your sweet little clit, nice and slow, just for me.”

Maybe you’d like to say your body protests, maybe you ought to say that you shy away, maybe if you weren’t so indescribably in love with him you’d do both of those things, but as it stands….

….as it stands, you give him what he’s asked for without thought. There isn’t a breath of hesitation. You simply roll two fingers over your tongue, reach down between your thighs, and begin.

The hushed moan that tumbles off the tip of your tongue tugs a sigh from his lungs that sets you further on fire. He sounds so beautiful, so wholly under a spell that you can’t fathom having the ability to cast over this deity of a man.

“There’s my good girl,” he is so quiet, you’d scarcely hear him were your focus not so completely honed in on jake jake jake, “Does that feel good, little girl? Is my sugar making that pretty pink pussy feel just so nice?”

He is an obscene angel staring you down with snarled hair and wicked sin in his wild eyes.

A trembling sound is all you’re able to manage as your touch dips inside yourself to draw slick back up to your clit.

”Yeah?” he tilts his head, watching you reverently, “It looks like it does. You’re dripping all over the table. I want to lick it up.”

“Please,” your fingers circle faster, but something is missing. He, close though he might be, is missing.

”Please, what?” He sounds as needy and hungry as you feel. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want…I’ll fucking do it.”

”Your mouth,” your legs spread wider until your hips protest, and then you spread a little wider in offering. “I’d like to have your mouth please, Jakey. Please. lick me, please, please.”

A groan rumbles out of his chest like pained thunder as he wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you in and burying his mouth exactly where you’ve so politely begged for it. Another anguished sound pushes from his lungs as he drinks down his first mouthful of you.

The tip of his tongue teases over your shivering clit, and then slinks down to dip inside you, and then down farther still to lap against that heavenly little spot where it shouldn’t be.

He hums against you while you whine and yank at his hair, pulling his kiss in closer as your hips lift away from the wood you’re making such a mess of.

“Fuck,” your fingers lace through his hair perhaps just a bit too tightly, but a quiet grunt signals his appreciation, “right there.”

“I know where you like my mouth every now and then, sugar,” his words are hot against you as his thumb slides, warm and thick, inside your cunt “Dirty girl.”

Watching you shy away so endearingly squeezes at his chest. You have always given yourself to him so completely. You have always been his girl. His mouth has known every breathtaking inch of your body in a hundred different lifetimes. His heart has known your heart in a thousand more.

Your fingers search out your clit, neglected and crying out for attention, completing that lovely trifecta as you rock your hips, fucking his face without shame.

He is yours and you will take him.

Your belly is burning, white hot and tight, coiling and churning as your body begins to tremble and flush.

“Gonna cum…” A complete sentence seems an impossible task “I— oh, please, please, please,”

His fingers replace his thumb with a feral growl low in his throat, tucking up in behind your clit as you watch his arm begin to move rhythmically below the table.

”Don’t cum,” you order through whimpers and whines that sound anything but authoritative. How difficult it proves to be to be bossy when his tongue is warm and wet where you shouldn’t adore it so damn much.

”I won’t,” his promise is beautifully muffled. “But I want you to do it. Cum for me, fuck doll…give it up pretty.”

You tighten deliciously around his searching tongue and delving fingers as it crawls through you like sinking into a warm bath that swirls with glittering, lilac goldfish. They kiss your skin soft as monarch wings; strange, swimming beings in the waters that are Jacob. It is lovely, though given the filth that has ushered you into this state, maybe that makes no sense.

He works you carefully until your breathing begins to stutter and gasp uncomfortably, and then there is his striking and stunning face - cheeks blazing with desire - kissing and licking up your body as you squirm languidly.

“Was that good, baby?” His teeth are dragging against the swell of your breast now, igniting a fire within you anew.

Jacob, always so cocksure and confident, sounds famished for your approval. How strange.

You hand it over willingly and honestly, on a silver platter of affection, “So, good, Jakey…I love you so much.”

“You taste like fucking candy everywhere,” his praise is little more than a whispered murmur as he buries into the crook of your neck, “I want you in my mouth and under my fingertips forever, for fucking always.”

The tip of his cock, full and hot like velvet, sweeps across your entrance, teasing inside just a breath before pulling back and then nudging in all over again.

“Put it in,” your fingers are clawing lazily at his hips, silently trying to guide him into action, “Fuck Jake, please baby, just slip it inside and—“

He grinds his hips forward, cutting you off, filling you up, pulsing and slick and hot and…

”My girl,” his words are humid at your throat as he whimpers through a physical shudder. “My sugar, my love. That’s my baby, that’s it…taking it so well. You feel so fucking good.”

His wandering fingers find and sweep over your clit with a glide as sweet as satin, and it has you clenching down around him so wildly his eyes snap shut with a furrowed brow, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

Buried to the hilt now, those eyes lull open to stare down where your bodies connect. “Looks so pretty stretched around my cock. How’d this little cunt ever get so beautiful?”

Your cheek turns to meet the cool of the oak you're draped across, embarrassed in the most blissful way, but he is positively weak for the way his words cause your thighs to tighten around his waist.

His name begins to burn out of your lungs, smoking into the sun-soaked kitchen like a prayer.

”That’s it,” he sounds faraway, like he’s crooning to you from across the room, “My name, sugar…always my name.”

And then, there is his thumb, soaked in your need and brushing against that spot just below where his cock is dragging in and out of your cunt.

A wanton cry for more bleeds out of you, bringing forth another knit of his brow as he sinks inside you to follow the deep thrust of his cock, “‘Oh my’, right sugar? Isn’t that how my fuck doll reacts? All sweet like a lady, to being filled up so full?”

His loving, mocking tone snatches you back full circle to that very first night with him that seems so long ago…he has been all you’ve ever wanted, ever since. He is all you will ever want.

He is every direction, the night and the day, every song ever written…every poem ever wept onto pages, every star that will light the skyline tonight and all the ones that came before. He is every beat of your pulse, every breath in your lungs - and when you breathe your last, it will be his name on your lips.

White explodes behind your eyes as fireworks detonate down deep inside you, sparkling a crackling-like frenetic energy throughout your nervous system until you are tightened up and writhing with it…cumming so hard, so fucking hard, that you nearly force his beautiful cock right out of your body.

He follows your lead and pulls away, tugging at himself violently as you shower down over him like the filthiest, most exquisite drops of summer-of-love rain.

“Oh fuck, sugar, please,” he’s whining as his release lands hot and frantic against your quivering stomach, but for what, neither of you know.

You’re lost in his faraway expression, watching him fight for a deep breath as you search for your own composure when your fingers sweep through a milky ribbon painted across your navel…you want to taste him, but his grip is wrapped firmly around your wrist in an instant, with your fingers nestled against his cashmere tongue.

“I’ll clean my pretty girl up myself, if she doesn’t mind.” His mouth brushes soothingly at your hip just before he begins licking up his own release, eyes cast upwards to your own as you shake, stunned and blissfully shellshocked.

At last, you find your voice as his bubblegum pink tongue curls over the last drop, “You taste good, don’t you, Jakey?”

“Not as good as you, sugar,” His mouth is on yours now, kissing far too sweetly for what you know him to be capable of. “not even close.”

“Shower?” He pops another raspberry into your mouth and then nuzzles against your nose.

”Bath.” You correct, nearly melting into the table beneath his love.

~

A sponge, fresh out of its package and now smothered in body wash, drags across your chest as his chest rests against your back.

”We leave tonight?’ Your voice sounds unfamiliar…too content, too relaxed. It’s been such a long time since you’ve sounded this way. Since you’ve been so completely happy.

”I wish we could stay longer,” he kisses at your drenched, now squeaky clean hair, “just you and me.”

”Me too,” you sigh, settling back into his embrace even more, “but I’m also excited to see those idiots you call brothers. Especially the baby.”

”He’s missed you.” More kisses to clutch at your already stolen heart. “Nothing was the same without you, sugar. Time to come home.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove

[callmecrazy4u2]

Aventurine x Reader x Sunday

My Jewel, My Dove Series

My Jewel Side - Childhood friends! Aventurine x Reader

Caught in the Facets

Preserved in memory shining bright like jewel Aventurine could not forget as he twirled his crystal glass that encapsulated the familiar yet so different view of his childhood friend singing on stage.

The clattering of casino tokens gave way to thrown dice. Aventurine mused over his past when porcelain dice on a ritzy casino board gave way to wooden dice thrown on wooden board in dusty desert as a child. Where he was pronounced the winner of child's game on a dusty windblown world.

A desert that stormed but never rained. The avign and katicans homeland where harsh winds blew and the tribes were outcasts to wastelands. The avign were constantly feuding with the Katicans for the few resources imperative for survival in harsh conditions like thiers.

Savagery and stereotypes abounded. It was whispered that the avign's sweet cravings could lure people in with dashing good looks and hypnotic eyes with shady caravan dealings. That the katican tribe was a warlike and brutal race that razed tribes to the ground for resources. The sand smudged the truth on both sides and was worsened by the constant fight for survival in barren land, while the elites stood safe on the sidelines protected by bountiful, richer, and greener lands.

In every village, if one was a blessed child there must be a cursed child.

However, to two small innocent children those were adult problems. Both prepubescents were bright eyed and golden haired and were currently concerned with a game of dice on the dusty ground.

"Aha I won again" crowed Kakavasha

"You must've cheated" the girl pouted stamping her foot and puffing out her cheek in consternation.

"Nah It was my blessing" cheekily put Kakavasha's eyes shining.

"Or your curse" rudly put in a group of bullies that had

Excuses curses don't exist silly don't listen to the bullies

The outcast y/n was the one dubbed as a cursed child as she had no blood family . Her mother died in childbirth and she was taken in by Kakavasha's family welcoming her as one of their own.

"My luck will drive the bad luck away don't listen to what they say" Kakavasha promised grasping her hand in solidarity as he pulled her alongside him into their family tent.

"Don't worry about that silly superstition. we are still standing after all " teased his older sister while their mother more wary of superstitions shsuhed her.

"By the grace of tricerotops may it not be true ....but a blessed child can surely counter a cursed one." Mama fugue spoke as she was superstitious. However his mother was still softhearted and couldn't leave a child alone so practically adopted y/n her as her own

They were the closest of companions since Kakavasha defended her from bullies,

" Ew don't hang around her she cursed your better than that because your blessed Kakavasha" coaxed the kids crowding around him

"Yea she has eyes that can see into your soul " spat another.

"I heard thats why the katicans keeps attacking us the cause of her cursed eyes." whispered even some of the adults from whom some of the children heard the rumors from.

"How spooky I heard she sees a future full of flames" gossiped the superstitous elders in hushed tones.

"Don't listen to them and even if it true my good luck will balance out your bad luck" promised Kakavasha convinced of his mother's daily assertions of his luck.

They were side by side doing chores and playing games. Whether it be brushing a camel, drawing water from a well or exploring the desert.

One of their favorite pastimes was hiding behind flapping laundry ,that was hung up to dry and playing hide and seek among the sheets.

It was peaceful life quirt with some night rumbling stomachs but overall a happy childhood were they knew no other life than dry derst sand. With activities that ranged from Counting the milling birds in the air, rolling their dice for made-up games, sitting by camp fires for stories, and watching the merchants haggle over goods.

Then the Katicans attacked.

War had broken out for the scarce resources for basic survival food water clothing goods that the avign traded.

Kakavasha's sister even headed out the warfront saying "We have to fight or lose everything "

The tent was engulfed in flames. Fights broke out mayhem waged and screams rang out.

"You are a blessed child so you must survive. RUN!" with a push Mama whispered grasping his head tenderly with a kiss before running in the opposite direction to face their enemy.

Small Hands grasped each other tightly together but were lost when confronted by an enemy warrior. To avoid the blows they were forced to split their hands apart and separated by falling debris and a world on fire. The two children in terror both ran lost in the chaos

only to be later to find shelter by allies, caught by enemies

bound by slavery, chains,

sent to the IPC, to jail

meeting, topaz, diamond, jade the ten stonehearts

meeting gopher wood, robin, sunday, the family

only to rise, to fall.

Aventurine defending himself in court against the ipc,

y/n participating in penaconys prison riot

losing old names to be reborn as new

Kakavasha rising to become Aventurine one of the stonehearts

Y/'n becoming Dove a star on the Penacony's stage part of the family

The blessed and cursed child were separated but who really was cursed or blessed? Both? None?

In the turmoil of the avign massacre both having slipped by and somehow survived to live different lives

Only to meet again in Penacony.

A singer on a stage and a gambler in his den.

Hypnotic eyes caught each other and could not look away.

Reunited at last for the start of a play another game.

Who will win this time?

[anchesetuttinoino]

"L'Islam ebbe una grande cultura solo quando, nella loro cavalcata conquistatrice, i suoi Califfi incontrarono la cultura greca, quella egiziana e quella ebraica. Ma questo risale a Averroè e Avicenna, cioè a mille anni fa pressappoco. Da allora l'atteggiamento dell'Islam verso la cultura è sempre rimasto quello del famoso Califfo che, quando gli chiesero cosa dovevano fare della grande biblioteca di Alessandria da lui conquistata, rispose: "Se tutti quei libri dicono ciò che dice il Corano, sono inutili. Se dicono cose diverse, sono dannosi. Nell'un caso e nell'altro, meglio bruciarli". [...]. L'Islam è una religione di analfabeti, in cui la cultura è monopolio degli Ulema, che sanno solo di Corano e passano la vita a indagarne i misteri (che non ci sono). Mi citi un'opera d'arte e di pensiero islamica degli ultimi due o trecent'anni"

Indro Montanelli

[moonlightluv888]

low cal meals & snacks for 3d tumblr🦋

(nothing over 300cals) ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.ઇଓ

♡ omlette: 2 eggs, 40g ham, 25g bell pepper, season with black pepper, salt & cayenne pepper: 207cals & 24g protein.

♡ yoghurt bowl & fruit: 150g protein yoghurt, 69g kiwi, 59g banana, 10g dried cranberries, 5g almonds & 3g honey: 285 cals & 17g protein.

♡ tofu salad: 37g sesame chilli & coriander seasoned tofu, 32g avocado, 10g diced tomato, 20g mixed leaf salad: 127 cals & 7g protein.

♡ froyo banana bites: 50g vanilla protein yoghurt & mix with a tsp of cocoa powder, 32g banana: 66cals & 5.9g protein.

♡ egg salad: 10g raw kale, 42g avocado, 37g lettuce & 2 hard boiled eggs: 224 cals & 12.5g protein.

♡ salted caramel oats: 23g oats, 152ml unsweetened almond milk, 11g salted caramel protein powder, 3g milled chia seeds, 1tsp flax seed, zero cal syrup & 100g banana: 272 calories & 14g protein.

(can be any flavour I just used salted caramel because that's what I had)

♡ banana fruit bowl: 100g banana, 250ml unsweetened almond milk, 4 raspberries, 1/2 tsp flax seed, 1/4 tsp cinnamon & drizzle of honey: 184 cals & 4g protein.

- mash the banana w the almond milk n save some for on top & then just add the rest of the toppings.

♡ scrambled eggs: 2 eggs, 12g spinach & season with salt, black pepper & cayenne pepper: 143 cals & 12g protein.

[mister-eames]

darling, you have to give me more flesh on the scenario “what if arthur went to mombasa aka cobols backyard to fetch eames on doms request” would inception still have happened? or would end credits roll immediately? You can’t dangle that scenario infront of me like a carrot infront of a horse and say nothing :(

I love this question!! <3 I could write a whole novel on the possible canon-divergence, aha, sorry this took me a to minute to reply x I imagine it went something like this:

Above the din of the gambling house Eames suddenly notices two things at once.

One, the sharp scents of Davidoff Cool Water and nicotine.

The other is the barrel of a gun pressed in-between his shoulder blades.

Between his restless fingers the chips stop moving before resuming again. Saying nothing, Eames places the chips on the unluckiest number he can think of - if the person behind him is who Eames thinks it is, not a single sliver of luck can be wasted on something as frivolous as a dice game.

"Now, now," says Eames, sitting up straighter until the gun digs into his back. "Is that a firearm or are you just happy to see me? Goodness. You could at least buy me a drink first."

The dice roll on the table. Eames has lost. He wears his best look of disappointment as the dealer collects his chips, fewer than before, but still enough to cash in on. Currency comes in all shapes and forms and, hearing the tap of Arthur's loafers behind him as he's followed to the cash exchange, Eames very much get's the sense he'll need every last iteration of currency to bargain with.

"That's an interesting way of spelling Mombasa," Arthur says somewhere over his shoulder.

After all, Arthur is a man who plays to win.

---

"So," Eames deshells a pistachio and pops it in his mouth, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear Arthur?"

On the other side of the table sits Arthur, composed of long lines, angular limbs and dark fabrics, hair slicked back so perfectly it can only be a product of industrial-strength pomade and Arthur's sheer will. A pair of wayfarers are perched upon his nose, an old pair. His face is angled to the view outside beyond the terrace.

The nail of Arthur's right thumb, bitten short, digs into the side of his beer bottle.

"I'm here to offer you a job."

"That so?" Eames pries open another another pistachio, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, was the gun to my back part of your offer?"

"Had to make sure you wouldn't run."

"What makes you think I still won't?"

"You won't," Arthur says confidently. "Not when you hear what I'm selling."

"And why would I buy anything from you," Eames asks, following Arthur's line of sight to the people milling in the market below, "when I could simply cash in on the price on your head?"

The challenge hangs in the air, suspended, awaiting Arthur's repartee. Instead, Arthur sighs, finally sliding the frames off his face, slipping them into his breast pocket. His expression turns pinched. "You won't," he repeats. He sounds less sure.

"I might."

"You would've done it already."

There it is. Eames shifts in his seat, throwing an arm around the back of it. "How'd you end up pissing off Cobol Engineering, hmm? Let me guess."

"How'd you know about that?"

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Inception," Arthur says suddenly.

"...Pardon?"

"The job," Arthur clarifies, a little uncomfortably. "Our client is asking for inception."

Eames stares at him.

Under the weight of Eames' gaze Arthur seems pressed to project nonchalance, sitting up straighter in his chair, re-adjusting his legs until they mirror Eames' outstretched ones. Eames knows him better. He's already catalogued all of the little things that are different with Arthur since they last crossed paths - some for the better - a nicer suit, longer hair. Some for the worse. Tired lines. A tie tied too tightly, begging to be made crooked. Bitten nails.

The problem with Arthur is that Arthur cares so much that it's written all over him.

"You do recall what happened the last time we attempted inception, yes? How horribly we failed at it."

"Yep."

"And you recall telling me from the get-go to the get-gone that it wasn't possible?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You still think it can be done."

"You don't," says Eames, confused. "Which leads us to the inevitable question of why you, Arthur, are here, risking your head to ask me onto what you in your mind consider to be a fruitless endeavour."

"Cobb wants you on the job. You'll get paid."

"Try again."

The exhale that escapes Arthur's nostrils seem to deflate him a little. The too-short nails stop digging into his bottle as the hand retreats to his lap. "If we're to succeed, the client will secure Cobb's return to the states."

"In shackles, I hope."

He shakes his head. "To his kids."

"I'm still failing to see what I get out it."

When it's clear that he won't capitulate, Arthur sighs. "What do you want?"

To never be in the same room as Dominic Cobb ever again. To wind back the clock three years. To live out his retirement in peace.

"Something priceless," he says instead.

"The opportunity to achieve inception isn't priceless enough?"

"No."

Going quiet, Arthur appears to think on this. "This is the last job," he says after a moment. "No more. He'll either go home or go to prison."

He says it like it's fifty-fifty; luck; the toss of a coin. Eames considers this, wondering uneasily if he is the element that will give weight to one of the coins sides - which yet, he isn't quite sure. Which Eames wants, he knows even less.

"And you'll be a free man."

"Yes."

"And what are you planning to do with yourself after?"

"That," Arthur raises his chin, meeting his gaze, "I will let you decide."

Lightning crackles up Eames spine.

"...That is priceless, indeed."

"Yeah," Arthur smirks. "So, what do you say?"

Eames writes down an address on a napkin. He slides it over and stands.

"Meet me here in an hour. I know of a chemist that might be useful."

Arthur blinks down at the napkin. "Why? Where are you going?"

Eames tilts his head towards the bar where a middle-aged suit sits, eyes flicking towards their table.

"Giving you a chance to shake your tail."

Arthur looks over to the bar and swears under his breath. "Does this mean you're taking the job?"

"Depends on whether our friend over there shoots first. Go on."

"Wait," Arthur says, placing a hand on Eames' arm. He raises an inviting eyebrow, eyes brightening brilliantly. "I've got a better idea."

---

Twenty minutes later emerge from a narrow alley with a matching pair of bruised, bloody knuckles, an unconscious body slumped in the shadows of the alley.

Eames grins at Arthur, who is already smiling wide at him.

Something in Eames' chest is in freefall, starting from his throat, right down to his sternum. The same thing that always robs him of any good reason when it comes to Arthur - the one that hits the reset button in his doldrums, like pulling the lever at a poker machine and says come on, try again, hoping that he might make dividends this time. A horrible lack of certainty; a wonderful, frightening unfurling of possibilities and hope.

Arthur's shirt is crumpled to hell; dirt and dust mar the cuffs of his suit jacket, the shine of his loafers. He places his wayfarers back onto his face and Eames thinks hello again. Hello Arthur, the man who is both nineteen and twenty-nine in Eames' mind, who has kept the same sunglasses from five years ago and wears Davidoff Cool Water because it was what he wore when he needed something cheap and accessible and never quite grew out of it, even when he has the means to afford 'better'. A creature of habit - and sentiment.

"Cobb wanted to come to ask you," Arthur says, tone light, shoving his bloody hands in his pockets as they rejoin the greater crowd, sides brushing as they close in to avoid getting separated.

"Thank christ he didn't."

Arthur hums agreeably at the sentiment. "What would you have said, if he had?"

Eames shakes his head, not even needing to think about it. "I'd tell'im to piss off. Probably had sold him out before he touched soil."

"Come on. You would not have."

"Would've. There is not a single thing in Cobb's coin-purse that would sway me to sign up for this," he insists.

Arthur rolls his eyes, squeezing past Eames to get through a narrow opening in the crowd. Eames follows closely, eyes trained on the back of him.

Well... maybe one thing.

He'll take the job. And after that... Eames has some ideas already.

[sara-saragej]

Quando qualcuno mi dice:

- non sei "normale"...

Hai un modo di pensare tutto tuo.

Io: sorrido e rispondo:

- Grazie mille...

Non potevi farmi complimento più bello.

-Sara-

Splendido 🐞 mercoledì

When someone tells me: you're not normal... you have your own way of thinking.

Me: I smile and answer... Thank you, you couldn't pay me a better compliment.

-Sara-

Gorgeous ☕ wednesday