#Modest Media Review

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[ayeforscotland]

Welcome!

Hello, I'm AyeforScotland and I've been here for too long. AyeforScotland started off as a Scottish politics blog campaigning for Scottish independence but has since evolved into whatever the hell this is. The fight for Scottish independence continues - I love answering asks about it. And naturally I also discuss wider UK and International politics as well.

Politics FAQ

However, it can't all be doom and gloom - and I suppose I'm kinda 'creative' too so AyeforScotland naturally grew arms and legs and I'll list all the other stuff I do down below👇👇👇

As modest as I try to be, I'm particular proud of the community surrounding this blog and in my discord (YOU SHOULD JOIN). These are people like you who are reading this now who have educated me on a variety of topics over the past decade - and I'm still learning from them daily. I've also ran some amazing 24 hour hour charity streams for a range of charities across Scotland and the UK. So far those charities are the TIE Campaign, The Equality Network, Endometriosis UK, Galop, War Child & Cats Protection. I also co-host @theayesphere podcast every week with the wonderful @thebibliosphere. We chat about everything from politics to entertainment media, and do deep dives on games, TV and films!

Commissions

I regularly get messages asking to read, review and advise on Scottish dialogue as well as lend my voice to various projects. Commissions are open on Ko-Fi for this type of work. Just get in touch with your project and we'll get sorted.

Click here for all links

Discord - The home of the community - Filled with amazing people

Twitch - I play a variety of games on Twitch, I enjoy everything but like to focus on narrative, indie experiences. I also run community interaction games which are always a great laugh. Ko-Fi - My Ko-fi is for people who would like to support me in all the various bits and pieces I do to inform and entertain. It is hugely appreciated and often straight-up reinvested into providing more for you all. YouTube - I have a YouTube Channel I try to make content for when I can. I want to do more but time has been against me recently but there's some video essays I'm very proud of. There's also a separate AyeforScotlandVODs channel for my Twitch streams.

TikTok - Tends to be me ranting about politics or funny Twitch Highlights Twitter - The dying platform - Tumblr is far superior but you can support me as a creator there if you like. There's a few other links but I don't want this post to take forever. If you need anything or have any questions, my asks and DMs are open. Yours for Scotland, Aye

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Veryyy general look at the Story Chapters (Books? Wait genuine question are we calling the main story Books or Chapters?) and the Books / media they are based on (Global only)

(I think someone has done this already?)

Prologue: This is Tomorrow - quick search seems that the title is a reference to the 1956 London Art Exhibition that opened in the Whitechapel Art Gallery and considered a watershed in British post-art and kick starting the art movement of "Pop Art" (see the effects of the Storm having comic book like attributes)

(Richard Hamilton was a painter famous for Pop Art and had a work in that exhibition so it checks out)

Book One: In Our Time - based on a collection of short stories of the same name by Hemingway. these are stories about before, during and after WW1. The stories have a general theme of separation, loss, death, grief and alienation. (Potentially allusions to Druvis maybe?)

Book Two: Tender is the Night - this is the final completed book by Scot Fitzgerald (who wrote the Great Gatsby and referred in the beginning quote of the game) and is a tragedy that follows the deterioration of a married couple that reflects Fitzgerald's own troubled relationship with his wife who Schneider's design greatly references. (The couple in the Book either inspire Druvis and FMN's relationship or Vertin and Schneider's relationship)

Book Three: Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien. (Translation is 'Stories and Texts for Nothing') - Again a collection of stories by Samuel Beckett. Seems to be lesser known, heres from Wikipedia "All three stories deal with the deplacement or expulsion of three old men who are forced to leave their modest lives in search of a new niche they might fit" (the SPDM kids desire to learn more about themselves and the outside world)

Book Four: EL ORO DE LOS TIGRES (Translation "the Gold of Tigers") - this is even harder to find stuff on and in English,An allegoric analysis of the contemporary juvenile reality. A review of the movie based on the book- "Inspired by a J.L.Borges' collection of poems, the story recounts the survey of an individual conscience by three young men, surrounded by the nihilism of a society with a hopelessly urban future" ( the struggle between Madam Z and the suitcase fam against the oppressive Foundation maybe?)

Book Five: Prisoner in the Cave - Based on Plato's allegory of the cave

Book Six: E Lucevan le stelle (Translation "the stars are shining") based on the opera of Tosca by Giacomo Puccini in 1900, the title is a direct reference to an aria sung in the Third Act which Isolde also sings parts of.

[sinswithpleasure]

For All To See (ft. LOONA's Yves)

—---------

Happy New Year, everybody!

Enjoy this porn / brain rot filled mess!

Tags: 

Squirting, 

Pissing, 

Exhibitionism, 

Golden Showers, 

Piss Drinking, 

Public Sex, 

General Degeneracy / Debauchery.

—---------

Everyone has kinks they don't want people to know about. Some people want it hidden out of shame. Some hide it out of fear. Maybe they have a reputation to maintain.

One such person is Ha Sooyoung, aged 25. 

By day, she's known as Yves, a famous dance instructor with a semi-decent following on quite a few social media platforms for her impeccable dancing. Sooyoung's passion for dancing knows no bounds, and it shows in all the dance content she makes on YouTube and TikTok. On most nights, she's still just the regular Ha Sooyoung—she lounges about at home gaming, watching Netflix, or reviewing dance videos for YouTube. However, the things that happen on the few nights where she's not home doing the usual…

—-------

Sooyoung's watch reads 9pm, and she gets up from her couch. After a stretch to loosen up her muscles, she switches off her TV and tugs her hoodie over her head, the cloth sliding off her body. She holds the garment in one hand, her other one busy unclipping her bra. In her room, she pulls her shorts and panties off together, leaving her naked.

It doesn't take long for Sooyoung to have her clothes folded neatly in a pile on her bed. She stands in front of her wardrobe, a white sports bra and similarly white curve-cut FBT shorts in hand. 

'What else do I want to wear…?'

Her eyes fall on the white tee she typically wears to bed, translucent from too many washes. She'd usually never wear it out, but on a night like tonight…

'It'd be modest enough, but people could see I'm naked underneath if they looked hard enough…'

With such tantalizing chances, Sooyoung puts it on and admires herself in the mirror. 

'God, I'm so naughty…'

That's right, the famous dancer Yves Ha Sooyoung is a huge exhibitionist. One night a week, she goes for her night run, partially to keep herself fit, and partially to indulge in her sinful desires. Of course, she'd never want to be caught, but oh, the thrill…

That thought drives Sooyoung to blush, her legs squeezing together in arousal. Her nipples tent the cloth of her shirt, and Sooyoung bites her lip, imagining someone chancing upon her dressed like this on the way down to her car. 

A few steps takes Sooyoung to the door. A mask covers her face—she can't risk her career and reputation while she indulges in her dirtiest fantasies, after all. She peers left and right down the hallway—both sides empty—and she steps out. The cool breeze down the hallway feels refreshing against her body, warmed with arousal, but with the cool air brushing against Sooyoung's hard clit, she can't help but softly moan at the pleasure it brings.

The ride down to the ground floor is quiet—save for the moans Sooyoung lets out as she masturbates under the watchful eye of the CCTV camera. She knows no one checks those unless something serious happens, and nothing usually does. The guards are too busy sleeping on the job all the time, and she needs the relief right now. Sooyoung's fingers slide deep within her pussy, the soft curl of her middle and ring fingers stimulating the most pleasurable of spots deep within her dripping cunt. Her other hand tweaks her nipple over the thin cloth, and she can't help but tremble in excitement and fear at the possibility of someone catching her if the lift stops. She'd love for them to watch her cum…

Alas, this short self-love session is interrupted by the lift doors opening on the ground floor. To Sooyoung's bittersweet relief, no one is around to catch her. She withdraws her slick fingers, a soft moan escaping her lips as she slides out from within herself, and she tugs the mask off her face to lick her own juices off her fingers. As expected, the guard is dead asleep, as always. Typically, Sooyoung would be annoyed at the lapse of physical security borne out of irresponsibility, but this time, it's a huge blessing for her.

The breeze is even cooler on the first floor, and Sooyoung's nipples are hard as diamonds against the thin cloth. Sometimes, the force of the winds even raise the hem of the T-shirt up, which exposes Sooyoung's body to anyone lucky enough to catch a glimpse. The girl in question loves it—more eyes on her means more people she can exhibit herself for.

Sooyoung reaches her car in no time. Her first action once she gets into her car is to divest herself of the shirt—she's feeling particularly kinky tonight, and what better than to drive to her favorite park in the nude for any driver to see? With a click, the stick shift lands on D, and Sooyoung begins to pull out of the lot. As her car turns to join up with the other traffic on the main road, she can't resist staring at the other cars driving past her. Every streetlight she passes illuminates the interior of her car for a short while, and she knows anyone can see her nude form in those moments. It is this exact knowledge that has her biting her lips, wishing she could squeeze her legs shut to alleviate some of the sexual frustration she has. No one would know it was the famous dancer Ha Sooyoung either, with her mask on…

Sooyoung decides to risk it—she rubs her dripping pussy with her fingers as she drives. At the stop lights, she can't help but rub herself harder—she knows some of the people crossing the road are able to see her, with the streetlights above shining right into her car. More and more slick drips from Sooyoung's sex with every brush of her fingers across her clit, the towel beneath her soaking every droplet of her arousal. Sooyoung knows from experience how wet she can get by exhibiting herself, and without this towel, she'd have so much slick to clean up. 

Finally, the entrance to the park off the main road towards the park draws closer and closer. Sooyoung turns to the right and drives her car to the last parking space all the way at the back of the parking lot. While she usually wouldn't entertain such a dimly lit and potentially insecure parking space, right now, it fits every criterion for her to carry out her next few planned actions. There are only a few cars parked, all of them far apart from each other, and their owners don't appear to be present as per Sooyoung's cursory glance during her drive in. Without any attention given to proper parking, Sooyoung carelessly swerves her car into the final lot.

From there, Sooyoung's next few actions are simple. Under the cover of the foliage above and the lack of illumination, Sooyoung throws the door open and lunges out of her car, then slams the door shut. Never mind that the engine is still running—if Sooyoung doesn't fucking cum right now, she thinks she might die. Her back crashes against the metal frame of the car—ow!—but that doesn't matter. The warmth emanating from beneath the car flows around Sooyoung's spread legs as she widens her legs for support. Her right middle and ring fingers plunge deep into her dripping, needy cunt with a loud wet squelch, paired with a loud moan of relief and pleasure. Her free hand immediately reaches for her breasts, and without a care in the world, Sooyoung fucks herself right there in the carpark, anyone watching be damned! Every curl of fingers against wet flesh draws loud, lewd moans out of Sooyoung. With how much teasing she's put herself through, she's beyond even attempting to mask her need to cum. Furthermore, no one's around anyway—she can afford to let the world know how fucking good it feels to fuck herself for anyone to watch!

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Sooyoung doesn't bother controlling herself. She's so damned fucking close anyway, so if anyone catches her, she'll just have to cum harder for them to watch.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sooyoung catches a car turning into the carpark…

Car. Driver. Light rays flash across her naked body—

Sooyoung's shrill scream breaks the peace of the night air, just as her orgasm tears through her body. Her pussy explodes—a straight gush of squirt rains all over the tarmac as her hips buck hard, knees buckling beneath her. She manages to grab onto the roof of her car to support herself, but the gush of squirt never ends—Sooyoung expels her earlier pent-up sexual frustration, now in the form of pure sexual pleasure, all over the tarmac of the parking lots under the night sky. She rubs her clit furiously, the hiss from the violent streams of cum flowing along her labia almost deafening. Sooyoung doesn't care that her squirt is drenching her legs with every flick of her fingers across her clit—she just needs more, more, more, more!

All good things must come to an end—even with the prolonged pleasure that Sooyoung still tries to keep going, her orgasm does end up subsiding as her squirt ends, the final few droplets running down her thighs. Sooyoung pants against the mask, and her body trembles under the cool air of the night. The exertion of having the strongest orgasm she could've enjoyed is evident in the way sweat drips down her body—down her forehead and cheeks, along her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and down her ripped core and beyond. Her long, straight hair sticks to her skin, and Sooyoung wonders if she should take a few selfies right now—

Wait—where's that car—?!

Sooyoung's head snaps around to look for the car from earlier. One look, and she catches the same car parked all the way on the other end from where she is, in the other dark corner of this car park. There's no one there—it seems as if the owner left without noticing…

Sooyoung breathes a sigh of relief as she tugs off her mask, finally letting herself enjoy the cool night air across her face. She opens the car door and grabs her phone, throwing her mask onto the seat, then she wanders over right under a streetlight. With the bright lighting and her camera, she begins to style her messy hair in preparation for her impromptu nude photoshoot.

Strike a few poses—a peace sign over her left eye, a half-heart on her cheek just like her outros for her dance videos, her signature first-love grin, Sooyoung captures more and more of her little nighttime escapade into memory. These nude photoshoots are Sooyoung's favorite parts of these nights—she loves getting off on them when she's home.

'Fuck, I really need to pee right now.'

Sooyoung bites her lip as she looks around. Once again, there still is no one present near her, and she releases a shaky breath of anticipation as she switches her camera to video mode. She raises the phone up and hits record, flashing a bright grin for the camera with a peace sign before she puffs her cheeks…

"Oh, fuck, yessss…"

A warm trickle flows down Sooyoung's skin before a clear stream erupts from between her meaty thighs. Slowly, a puddle forms between her spread legs as Sooyoung empties her bladder, the unblinking eye of the camera recording every second of her relieving herself. Sooyoung shudders in pleasure—the thrill of urinating naked while recording herself, visible for everyone to see, keeps Sooyoung's arousal high. The strong gush of piss splatters all over the ground, the loud hiss of her stream against her labia, and the sound of the soft night breeze around her body is all picked up by the microphone, and when her stream softly tapers off into droplets left, Sooyoung deigns the camera another first-love grin before cutting off the recording. 

With her desires temporarily sated, Sooyoung finally sets out for her original plans for the night. The screen in her car reads 9:45pm, and she reaches within to turn the engine off before finally putting on her sports bra and FBT shorts. She ties her hair up into a messy ponytail and does a cursory check of her outfit after. 

'Oh, the shorts…'

Sooyoung's sweat from earlier hadn't dried off, and with her shorts being white, it was now semi-translucent. With more physical activity, the sweat would definitely soak through—her shorts would be transparent. 

'Ehe, I'd love that…'

The thought of essentially being bottomless during her run causes a streak of warmth in her tummy. When paired with the bright sports bra, she knows she'd definitely get eyes on her easily, with her color choice contrasting with the darkness around her. If anything, Sooyoung gets even fucking hornier at the thought, and she's already ruining her shorts thinking about it. 

With a few stretches to warm up her body, Sooyoung begins her run for the night.

—--------

The cold night air does wonders for Sooyoung. The run is enjoyable—Sooyoung loves running and keeping herself fit, but what keeps her on edge is how wet she is. Her shorts are soaked through now from a mixture of both sweat and slick. There aren't many people around still, only a few runners and cyclists, none of which seem to really notice her situation. Emboldened by this, Sooyoung begins to entertain her dirtier fantasies.

'I might as well take this off…'

Sooyoung doesn't hesitate any more. She runs to the side of the path and pulls down on her FBT shorts. The garment falls to her ankles, and she steps out of it. With her ass and pussy exposed fully to the night air once again, Sooyoung resumes her run further deeper into the park. 

Another ten minutes goes by with no one coming in the opposite direction. Sooyoung can feel her slick running down her thighs, and the familiar desperation to get herself off begins to curl around Sooyoung's mind. Tonight is one of Sooyoung's more active nights, and her libido is definitely on the higher side. When the running trail forks into two, one brightly lit, the other not so much, Sooyoung takes herself down the dimly lit path in search for a quiet place hidden away from the more public areas. Experience tells her she'll reach the pond where she'd usually run by on a normal night, but for tonight, she'd step on the bridge across it, where there's a deck with benches facing the water.

Under the darkness, Sooyoung's lustful thoughts go into overdrive. Without a second thought, she begins to tug on her sports bra, her petite breasts bouncing out of the garment as she pulls it off her sweaty body. Naked again, Sooyoung begins to tease her hard clit as she jogs the final few meters that takes her onto the bridge and to the bench. 

"Oh my God, fuck!"

Sooyoung winces at the cold stone against her skin when she plants herself down on the bench. Her clothing is thrown aside on the bench, and immediately she spreads her legs wide open, her fingers rubbing along her slick folds and over her clit, now out of its hood. Her other hand kneads her petite breasts, paying special attention to her taut nipples. The combined pleasure of her actions draws loud moans out of her as she throws her head back against the backrest. Sooyoung doesn't waste time—two fingers plunge deep in her dripping cunt, gliding along her slick walls and ending in a curl against her G-spot. The wet sounds of Sooyoung fucking herself mixes with her lewd moans.

"Oh, fuck, just like that, fuck, so good!"

In Sooyoung's pleasure-addled mind, she briefly recalls this spot of the park being used for some form of free concert or something a few months back. Right now, her brain morphs that memory into fantasy—she's now on stage, naked, spread, exhibiting her most intimate moments for a large crowd to see. She imagines all of the crowd masturbating with her, to her, the blatant display of eroticism multiplying her lust tenfold. The thought of so many faceless, nameless individuals, all of their eyes on her "performance" for them has her pushing her third finger into her pussy. 

"Fuck, it feels so good, I feel so good! Watch me, watch me fuck my needy pussy, watch me fuck myself!"

Sooyoung's words go out to the masses, and yet at the same time, to no one but herself. Reality blends with fantasy—she can hear and feel the caress of the night breeze across her body, burning with lust, but at the same time, she can see the crowd, hear them pleasuring themselves to her. The pleasure of this session clouds her mind, the tendrils snaking around her consciousness, drawing her deeper and deeper into her fantasy. The roar of the crowd begins to rise in volume, just as her orgasm begins to build…

'Come on, Sooyoung, add that last finger…'

Sooyoung obliges to her inner devil's instruction. She stretches her pussy with four fingers, her slick drenching her palm with every stroke. Her forearm burns with how hard and fast she fucks herself, but she's unable to stop—not when she has an audience. It doesn't matter that the audience is imaginary—she's too far gone to even register that. 

'God, I wish I had a cock fucking me right now…'

This thought draws a loud, broken moan out of Sooyoung's throat. Her fantasy morphs once more—this time, she has a man on top of her, his cock fucking deep into her cunt. She doesn't even bother making up an identity—he's nameless and faceless, just like the crowd, with his chiseled body and strong arms wrapped around her body as he fucks her with his thick, warm, hard cock over and over and over. Her moans get even louder, hands even rougher. Sooyoung fucks herself just as hard as she imagines the man would fuck her, and the crowd cheers in approval at the "live" sex show.

"Fuck, faster, faster, just like that, just like that—!"

Sooyoung's imaginary partner obliges, and she bucks her hips in response to the surges of pleasure through her veins that she draws from her hand. The pure lust coursing through her veins all comes to a head as the tension builds and builds—she doesn't even feel the soreness of her forearm anymore!

"Oh my God, oh my God, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking squirt, watch me squirt, watch me squirt all over!"

The peace of the night is torn with Sooyoung's shrill scream, akin to a blade through cloth. At the same time, mixed in with the scream is the sound of Sooyoung's pussy gushing. Violent jets of squirt cover everything in front of her as her body spasms uncontrollably, writhing, convulsing, and seizing, all while her eyes roll back in her head, the orgasm consuming every bit of her rational mind. Sooyoung swears she can hear the roar of the crowd as she achieves orgasm, all while squirt splatters all over the wooden floors of the observation deck. Sooyoung's second violent jet of squirt sprays between the railings, just as her third and fourth jets do. Spray after spray of Sooyoung's squirt gushes into the pond, the loud splashes of her cum against the water adding to the sexual mess of sounds in the night. When Sooyoung's orgasm subsides, she lies exhausted, delirious, and giddy. She barely even registers as the warm trickles of pee begin to flow from her cunt, before the stream begins to pick up. All Sooyoung can do is sigh in relief as she relieves herself and empties her bladder all over the observation deck, the puddle flowing between the cracks into the pond below. 

Minutes, maybe even hours pass—Sooyoung doesn't know how long. When she finally catches her breath and the world stops spinning, she picks up her clothing and staggers along the path back to where it rejoins the other running path. A cursory check of her watch shows 10:45pm, and it is at this point that Sooyoung decides to return back to her car to head for home. 

The path back to the car is long—it'd take her a while to go back by walking. Sooyoung decides to run back, but this time, she doesn't bother with clothes any more. She'll run the whole way naked, and if there's anyone that catches her, she doesn't care. They can look all they want!

'And maybe, they can fuck me if they ask…'

That dangerous thought stems from the fantasy from earlier. Sooyoung can't deny it any more—she's craving cock, and while she usually can manage this desire, she's not gotten laid in a long while. That fantasy from earlier drove the devil out of her, and if she gets any opportunity tonight, she just might take it. 

But first, she desperately needs a drink to hydrate herself after all those orgasms. Thank God for the nearby water dispenser.

—--------

Sooyoung begins her run once again, along the brightly lit path back. It doesn't take her long to meet someone coming in the opposite direction—two girls, both of whom almost seem to ignore her. A short while later, she runs into two male cyclists who wolf whistle at her as she passes. She can feel their lustful gazes across her body, and she feels her pussy drip down her thighs at the attention. However, they let her pass by without making any more passes, and Sooyoung sighs in disappointment as the missed opportunity for a public threesome. She needs a good fuck, damn it!

Sadly, there are no more people on the route Sooyoung takes. Soon enough, she nears the car park she left her car at, and she notices the fewer number of cars left. One more check of her watch—11:10 pm—and Sooyoung steps over to her car and opens the trunk to grab a towel and some slippers before retrieving her discarded white shirt from within her car. The run, as well as all of the masturbation, left her sweaty and sticky, and she desperately needs a quick shower to rinse herself. 

Sooyoung locks her car once more and makes her way to the bathroom, now wearing slippers instead of socks and shoes. Her eyes scan the building—whoever designed the bathroom left the showers outside, right in the open, where anyone could see someone showering. Whatever the architects were doing, they definitely didn't think it through, but for Sooyoung, it doesn't matter. All she cares about is which side to choose—male or female? 

It doesn't take long for Sooyoung to make her way to the male toilet. She steps into the bathroom and casually places her white shirt onto the sink counter before grabbing her towel to leave for the shower—

"Ah!"

"Fuck!"

Two cries of surprise echo in the empty bathroom, just as two pairs of eyes meet each other. One rakes across a naked body, the other trembles in fear and dread at the surprise. 

"Y-Yves?!"

Shit. 

"Oh, fuck."

Sooyoung knows it'd only be a matter of time before this happened. Someone would recognize her eventually, but in a male bathroom which she was trespassing in, all while nude…

She lunges for this dude, who backs up in surprise. Her hand claps over his mouth to muffle his yelp, and she begins to speak. 

"You caught me, Mister. That's right, I'm Yves."

She doesn't give him time to reply. Instead, she begins to cut herself a deal. 

"I knew this would happen someday, and I need you to keep this a secret for me. Can you do that? Please say yes, please!"

When the man nods yes, Sooyoung relaxes and releases her hand from his mouth. 

"Y—You're Yves, the dancer!"

"Ah, yeah…" Sooyoung can't find it in her to cover up—he'd seen all of her anyway. "Nice to meet you." She reaches out a hand. 

"I—I'm a big fan, um… It's nice to meet you too, I'm Lee Min Jun."

When their handshake ends, both Sooyoung and Minjun stand awkwardly in front of each other. Minjun's lustful gaze travels across Sooyoung's body once again, and Sooyoung bites her lip as she considers the situation she's in right now. She's naked, in front of a random fan, and he's looking at her so naughtily… 

"Minjun-ah, I need you to keep this a secret for me, okay?"

"Ah—sure, yes, um…"

Sooyoung sees her chance and makes up her mind. 

"If you… If you keep this secret for me, I'll… I'll make sure you get a reward worth your trouble."

Minjun perks up in anticipation and undisguised lust, though he tries not to show it. Sooyoung thanks the heavens that she's not meeting someone who'd choose to have his way with her against her will. 

"You came here to pee, right?"

"Yeah…" Minjun's voice trails off, the realization beginning to dawn in his eyes. 

"Hmm…"

Sooyoung steps up to him and pulls him towards her. She throws her towel aside and pins him to the counter, her naked body pressing intimately against his warm clothed one.

"Have you ever given a girl a golden shower?"

"Wha—?!"

"Have you ever pissed all over a girl?"

"N-No…"

"Do you want to?"

Minjun hesitates, but Sooyoung knows he'll crumble. The temptation is written all over his face.

Sooyoung ups the ante, going all in.

"If you piss all over me right now, I'll let you fuck my pussy and cum in me."

—----

'I'm such a dirty slut,' Sooyoung thinks, as she works Minjun's shorts off his hips. She engages in a fierce liplock with him, their tongues swirling against each other's as she helps him undress. They break the kiss long enough for Minjun to step out of his shorts and pull his shirt off, and Sooyoung throws his clothes aside on the counter before crashing her lips to his in another desperate kiss. Minjun pulls Sooyoung against him, his hard cock pressed between their bodies. Sooyoung giggles when she feels the precum stain her skin. 

"You're really wet huh, Minjun? Can't wait to pee on me?"

"I've thought about it, fuck…"

Sooyoung doesn't waste any more time—she kisses and licks her way down Minjun's body while jerking his cock until she squats between his legs. She looks up at Minjun, her big eyes filled with so much lust. 

"I need to pee too, Minjun…"

"Fuck it, Yves, just pee with me. I wanna watch you pee."

"Okay." Sooyoung flashes him a huge grin, and she gently jerks him off before aiming his hard cock down over her body. 

"You can start peeing, Minjun."

A short moment passes…

"Yessss, fuuuck…"

Minjun's warm, golden piss begins to rain down on her as he releases his control over his bladder. Immediately, she directs his cock to cover every inch of her skin with his pee, specifically across her face and on her breasts. Sooyoung even wraps her lips around Minjun's tip to drink his piss from the source, then she licks his length up and down and takes his balls into her mouth to apply a gentle suction on them, all while Minjun urinates freely all over her. 

Sooyoung's never felt so slutty before—indulging in her exhibitionism and piss kink together with a man she's just met is not something she'd ever thought she would do, and here she is, letting a stranger urinate all over her and even drinking it with the promise to let him fuck her after.

At the same time, as Minjun pisses all over her, Sooyoung begins to relieve herself as well. A strong golden stream gushes out from between her legs as she takes Minjun's golden shower, and both her and Minjun moan in pleasure and relief as they empty their bladders together. The couple's lust for each other reaches an all time high when both of their respective streams end and Sooyoung rises up from between Minjun's legs, lust and seduction written all over her features. 

"Did you like it, Minjun?"

"Fuck yes." Minjun bites his lip, his cock pointing straight. Sooyoung giggles and flips their position—now, she's the one leaning against the sink. She turns around and meets Minjun's gaze in the mirror, their eyes never breaking contact as she bends over and pushes her ass towards him. 

"Come fuck me, Minjun, and cum in this wet, naughty pussy."

Minjun's loud curse is the last sound Sooyoung registers before she releases the sultriest moan of the night. Her voice echoes around the empty bathroom and into the night as Minjun shoves his cock right into her pussy with one stroke. Sooyoung doesn't even get a second to rest before Minjun begins to pound her pussy, his grunts mixing with her loud moans. 

"Oh, oh, fuck, Minjun, ah, ah, ah~!"

"Mmgh, fuck, Yves, fuck, you're so fucking tight—!"

No more words are exchanged after—Minjun's animalistic grunts and Sooyoung's broken moans fill the space. Minjun's hips clap against Sooyoung's ass with every harsh thrust he sends into her pussy, and he reaches around Sooyoung to fondle her chest as they begin to make out.

Minjun's cock stretches out Sooyoung just the way she wants to be. Sooyoung swears Minjun's cock is just like what she dreamed of earlier. Her pussy is a tight fit around his cock—she gets the breath knocked out of her whenever he hilts on every thrust. Slick gushes around the gaps between Minjun's cock and Sooyoung's cunt on every exit, and both her and Minjun let themselves get lost in the pleasure of their impromptu sex session. Their moans get louder, their curses more frequent, and the slaps of flesh against flesh as they fuck harder and harder breaks the peace of the night. 

"Fuck, fuck, you fuck me so good, fuck!"

"That's right, Yves, fuck, I'm gonna fuck you so hard everyone's gonna know we're fucking!"

Sooyoung's pussy clenches around Minjun's cock at his words. Minjun's bold statement plants the idea of people outside listening to them have sex, and it is with this thought that Sooyoung is thrown over the edge—

"FUCK, I'M CUMMING!"

Sooyoung screams as her knees buckle, and a huge gush of squirt sprays Minjun's feet. Minjun holds Sooyoung up by her hips and pistons into her as she cums all over him. Sooyoung's pussy quivers around his cock, and Minjun lasts no more than three thrusts around Sooyoung's orgasming cunt before he slams his hips against her ass. Semen erupts from his thick cock right into Sooyoung's womb, white hot shots of cum painting her insides white with every hard spurt. Minjun fucks Sooyoung through both of their orgasms, and he wraps his arms around her body in a bear hug as both of them come down from their respective highs. Both of them stay cuddled up until Minjun pulls out, his cock beginning to soften. Thick white semen flows out of Sooyoung's used pussy almost immediately, a testament to how much Minjun came while within Sooyoung. 

"Minjun-ah, I'm gonna pee…"

Almost immediately, Sooyoung's urine begins to trickle down her legs. The trickle becomes a stream as Sooyoung empties her bladder again, as she usually would after a round of sex. 

"Yves, I need to pee too."

"On me, again."

With her instructions given, Minjun raises his rapidly rehardening cock with his hand. A second goes by, and he begins to sigh in relief—Minjun proceeds to join Sooyoung in emptying his bladder, but he urinates all over Sooyoung's ass, pussy, and legs. Sooyoung moans as Minjun's warm pee washes over her privates, and she rubs her pussy as she watches him pee all over her again, his urine dripping all over her hand as she indulges in the last bit of debauchery for the night. 

When Minjun's second golden shower slowly tapers to a few drips, Sooyoung turns around to kiss Minjun fully on the lips. None of them care about how dirty they are—they're beyond that—and instead, they enjoy the deep kiss they share. 

"Did you like it?"

"Oh, fuck yes."

Sooyoung giggles, and she lets go of Minjun, though she keeps his hand in hers. 

"Let's shower together."

—-------

Both Minjun and Sooyoung towel themselves off after their brief rinse—Sooyoung with her own towel, Minjun with an extra Sooyoung has.

"Minjun, where's your phone?"

"In the pocket of my pants."

Sooyoung walks over to Minjun's pants and fishes it out. She passes it to Minjun for him to unlock it, and when she gets it back, she punches her number into it and calls herself. 

"What are you doing?"

"Calling myself. I want your number too."

A naughty smile graces her features as she boldly reveals her next thought.

"I wanna do this again with you, Minjun…

"But next time, I really want you to pee inside me…"

[kolbisneat]

MONTHLY MEDIA: August 2024

The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting cooler. The summer is waning. But the monthly media posts carry on. Here's how I spent the month of August.

……….FILM……….

Wendell & Wild (2022) I don't want this to be one of the last major stop-motion film to ever be made, but the filmmakers put so many stories into this that I wonder if they thought this was their last shot. Essentially a 12-course meal from a great restaurant: the accomplishment is impressive but the whole is overstuffed and some of the smaller portions were undercooked.

Love Lies Bleeding (2024) The lightly surreal elements of the movie were great, but there's a point late in the story when that surreality kills all of the momentum.

Spice World (1997) Still holds up.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) Still amazed at how well this pulls off what it seeks to do. But maybe I'm biased because I love practical effects, puppets, and action scenes that serve the narrative. We may not get another D&D movie but I'm glad we have this one.

Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) Based on other live-action multiverses, I went in with modest expectations, and this was a pleasant surprise. Maybe it's because it continues to do what Deadpool does well. Thoroughly entertaining in the moment.

……….TELEVISION……….

Neon Genesis Evangelion (Episode 1.14 to 1.20) It's been a couple of years since I stopped watching (mid season!) but luckily one of the episodes was essentially a recap of what's happened so far. Really ramping up in the abstract and the philosophical and I'm a big fan. These kids are meeeeeeeessed up.

Made for Love (Episode 2.01 to 2.08) I only really caught the first season in pieces but I knew enough going into this season that it really clicked! It hit me the same way early Black Mirror episodes felt, only with more humour, depth, and nuance. It's a real shame there's no plans for season 3.

……….YOUTUBE……….

I think this will be a Short Video by Matthew Colville A really great reflection on making art in the social age, the algorithm, communities/audiences, and how these can clash with the natural impulses of creativity. VIDEO

I'm What the Culture Feeling (The full story of Kendrick Vs. Drake) by F.D. Signifier Almost 3.5 hours but for someone like me (who knows next to nothing of this world, these artists, or this conflict) it expertly breaks it all down to paint a complete picture. Really great watch. VIDEO

……….READING……….

Cards On the Table by Agatha Christie (Complete) Top-tier Christie. The premise is so fun, and while I know the multiple detectives appear in other stories, it's a nice introduction to these characters. This book made me want to learn how to play Bridge.

The People of the Black Circle and A Witch Shall Be Born by Robert E. Howard (Complete) I have this collection of Conan stories and after a years-long break, decided to read a few more. Both great! The latter puts Conan in an almost supporting role and it's fun to see him take on a secondary role to the story. Keeps it interesting. And the former is such a classic pulp story (cults, magic clothing, a giant snake) that I can't help but love it.

Delicious in Dungeon Volume 14 by Ryoko Kui (Complete) It's been a 6-year-long journey for me and while I couldn't be happier with how it ended, I'm sad that it's over. Still so impressed with how well it stuck the landing for me. Do I wish there was more of a wind-down with these characters? Sure. But I really respect an artist who knows what they want to say/do and says/does it. Very excited to see what Ryoko does next.

Hellboy Library Volume 1 by Mike Mignola with John Byrne (Complete) Without being hyperbolic, this is one of my favourite contributions to the craft. So confident and fully-formed right out of the gate. Excited to reread this series.

……….AUDIO……….

The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappel Roan (2023) Technically I started listening to this at the end of July. I saw a positive review, figured I'd check it out, and it felt like that was at the same time everyone else in the world was talking about her. Love an album with such a focused perspective.

Currents by Tame Impala (2015) In recent years I've been really enjoying Tame Impala's one-off songs (Barbie and Dungeons & Dragons soundtracks, their collaboration with Gorillaz, etc.) so I figured I'd really dig into this album. Easy to listen to both casually in the background and with a magnifying glass just pouring over the lyrics. Love it.

……….GAMING……….

Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) Only got a few sessions in this month but the crew is still reassembling the skeletal pirate they trashed years (real time) ago. Now they're about to face a big electric centipede to recover his legs.

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The Mof1 crew split the party and one half casually shopped and planned while the other half discovered a secret testing facility full of captured magic-users.

Wonderland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) We got in a single session of Wonderland and it was a small party but a lot of fun! Also the first true character death of our playtesters. Luckily we had backup characters though character 2 ended the session losing their arm. Hey that's Wonderland.

And that's it. See you in September!

[idkversace]

that way • jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem

you and jude were a little more than friends, but you end up separating and you meet some time later with feelings still overflowing from your heart.

1,8k words

⚠️ warnings:

1. a little angst

2. It's my first imagine and English is not my first language, sorry for any grammar mistakes or whatever you feel uncomfortable with imagine.

I'm across the room looking around and thinking how much I wish I was home doing exactly nothing, when my eyes land on a person I thought I'd only see on TV while my brother watches the championship. But no, he's across the room looking at me intently, probably thinking the same thing that he'll never see me again. Jude Bellingham. We were friends but since he went to play for a German team, we don't talk anymore. He's taller than I can remember, better looking than he's been lately, and more muscular too.

He subtly nods his head in acknowledgment as he gazes down my body and for the first time all night I feel really good, grateful that I've put on the mid black v-neck dress that highlights the few curves that show on my body. When he looks up, I stare at him until I'm called by someone very close.

I didn't have the courage to go up to Bellingham and shake hands with the player of the match award during the world cup games, I didn't even have the courage to look in his direction as he sits next to his coach, in a tuxedo that enhances his beauty.

I remain at the bar until the awards start and I remain there until the end of it, as the new hire in the communication area of ​​the English team, recording everything to later do a review to post on the website. After the ceremony people start to circulate and that's when a hand lands on my shoulder and I know exactly who it is.

Jude. He's standing behind me smiling like the last time I was this close to him.

“Jude, oh hi! How are you?”

"Hi, fine fine and you?"

“Well too” – the number 22 scratches the back of his neck as he sits down next to me and orders a drink that I don't quite understand because I'm intoxicated by his perfume.

“What are you doing?” – Jude asks me when he decides to take the conversation more harmoniously.

"Nothing as interesting as you! Congratulations on the award, you deserved it, as did the rest of the team.” I answer looking at him and smiling at him.

“oh, you can't imagine, there were people who deserved more.”

“Always being modest” – I say and right after I order another drink, because if I'm going to stay here and not have that night on my mind I have to drink and I hope the party ends soon.

“Look, y/n I want to apologize for that night.” Jude looks at me and I'm sipping the drink the bartender just brought over.

“No need to worry, Jude. I understood what we had and everything is fine.” - I reply smiling but showing that it bothered me

“I want you to know that not a day went by that I didn't think about you and how I should have warned you, how I shouldn't have let it happen.” - Bellingham speaks

“You had my number, my Instagram, I wasn't incommunicado. But let's not spoil this night! One day we'll talk about it.” - I smile at him, when I see the director of communication coming towards us

“Y/N I hope everything is ok and you are enjoying it.” — Harry says and I smile back.

“Sir. everything is fine! I'm loving it.”

“Jude, Y/N will be our new communicator within the team, she will accompany you to social media.”

The night's winner smiles at me and mutters a "welcome to the team" as he excuses himself and leaves the bar.

I spend the rest of the evening being introduced to the entire team while trying to avoid the glares Jude is throwing my way. Confused more than I walked in knowing that I would clearly find Jude, knowing that night would play back in my mind until I got used to his presence.

As I'm getting ready to leave, I feel a hand on my elbow and I turn to find Jude looking grim.

"I need to talk to you, please!" - He asks me as he takes me to a door and opens it, he gives me a way to enter and looks at me again getting closer.

He leans me against the wall with his 2 arms touching my waist but without fully resting his hands on her.

“I was an idiot, okay? I know I was, I know I continued to be when I left you that morning and during these 4 years. But I was afraid of the new and the feeling I thought I didn't have. But y/n one thing I know today is that I can't enter into a relationship with the team advisor, much less promise you that I'll be here in England when you know I'm playing in Germany, but I like you when you arrive to be pathetic how much i check your instagram to see if you updated or how much i wish all this time people would touch your name so i would know about you” - Jude talks fast almost breathless, looking at him and i see the same boy from 4 years ago, the one who didn't promise anything but for one night was what i always wanted during my life.

~4 years ago~

I was getting ready for a dinner with friends. We were heading towards spring so the weather in London was warmer and more harmonious.

Camile picked me up at home while we went to the restaurant we talked about random things, she was going to college after the next summer and she was excited to start what I always dreamed of, communication, to work in sports or fashion.

Arriving at the restaurant, the group was the same as usual, greeting everyone who is already at the table, I sit down next to Bellingham, our star from Birmingham City. Jude and I have gone out a few times, but nothing more than kissing and cuddling. But today, especially today I shiver every time he leans towards me or when his leg covered in the jeans he's wearing touches my thigh.

Jude finishes eating his meal and places his arm on the back of my chair and leans in to speak in my ear.

“After here, are we going to go out together?” – I nod my head and he returns with his body erect but continues with his arm around me.

Dinner passes with a lot of laughter, conversation, food and desserts, so when it's time everyone starts to say goodbye. Camile asks me if I want a ride and I say I'm going with Jude.

“Where are we going?” I ask Bellingham as I buckle my seat belt.

“I don't have any place in mind, I just wanted to be with you a little longer,” Jude replies and I smile. "Would you be upset if we went to a hotel and I took you home later?"

“No, anywhere I just don't want to go home.” I say back. Jude gives me a questioning look but doesn't ask me anything.

He drives to the hotel, Jude gets a suite, and we go upstairs.

"Why don't we go to your place?" - I ask with him lying in bed and I'm taking off my sneakers.

“I wanted to be alone with you, and at home we would have everything but be alone.”

"And why did you want to be alone with me?"

“To do this”. He pulls me down until I'm sitting on his lap and kisses me. — “I waited all night to be able to kiss you, your kiss seems to be addictive” – Jude tells me and I smile shyly.

We spent most of the night exchanging kisses, caresses and conversations. I tell Jude my plans for this year, he asks me why I don't want to go home, and I tell him about the situation with my dad. We make plans for me to go visit him at the training ground to see him train. He tells me how the team is doing, the expectations.

I reveal all my insecurities to Jude, especially the one about my body, Bellingham makes me comfortable as he tells me I'm beautiful and that anyone who doesn't see it is an idiot.

We kiss and when I realize we are without clothes, while we sweat under the sheet and we repeat all the sex done again and again and again until we fall asleep.

I wake up in the morning to find Jude beside me and I get up thinking he's in the bathroom, but the bathroom is empty. I notice that Jude's clothes and sneakers are gone, but I think he went to have breakfast, I get up, get ready and wait for him to come back, since I'm not much of a breakfast person.

I send a message to Jude, and it is not delivered, I decide to go down to check where he might be, and I go to reception where he tells me that he stopped by earlier, paid and left.

Shock coursed through me and hurt surged through me. I was used, used by someone I opened up to for the first time and who has known me since I was a teenager.

~end of flashback~

Jude still has the same features, only now he has some hair on his face, he's taller because he leans closer so his face is at the same height as me, his eyes looking at me like I'm someone who doesn't know me anymore. And actually I am, because since that day my heart has been hurt, hurt by the whole situation and it has been used, used to think that someone would be interested in me. And when I found out that that day he had taken a plane to Germany because his training with the new team started on Monday. It was there that I broke down and felt abandoned by the only one who had eyes for me.

“Jude, I can't help you. I answer looking at him” — while I squirm to try to get rid of the wall and the encirclement of his arms.

“I needed to tell you this, Y/N. I'm sorry for leaving, I should have replied to the message or rather I should have told you everything about my plans, but I didn't because I was afraid of you being distant at night and I needed to have you in my arms.” - Jude Bellingham tells me while his grip on my waist gets stronger and I do my best not to give in to him and kill the longing that consumed me day and night.

"I really must go, Bellingham!" I say finally managing to get away from him and going to the door.

“Hope to see you soon, y/n,” Jude says from behind me.

"See you soon, Jude!" - I say and leave the room, going to the door and giving my key to the valet to get my car, and I see Jude going to his teammates and giving them a half smile.

I get in my car and count to 10, drive home with my heart heavy with longing for Jude's touch, but at the same time angry with him.

<let me know if you like it, I can bring more!!>

[patricia-taxxon]

I got the rateyourmusic cosign & my mom is a goodreads star, so we both enjoy being falsely perceived as famous or notable when we really just have modest followings on social medias that present themselves as review aggregation services.

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed - Tokyo: The Last War

Like many a follow-up to a bona fide cult classic, Tokyo: The Last War (sequel to Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis) is widely considered to be inferior to its predecessor; the reviews that I’d read online were almost universally negative, dismissing it as overly derivative of trashy, formulaic, uninspired American slasher flicks (the later entries in the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise serving as a particularly reductive, unflattering point of comparison). This unenthusiastic reception failed to deter me from purchasing a copy of Media Blasters’ recent Blu-ray release (under the alternative title of Doomed Megalopolis 2) at this year’s Anime NYC convention, of course—and the official beginning of the Spooky Season seemed an appropriate occasion to finally give the disc a spin.

To the surprise of nobody familiar with my easily pleased cinematic palate, I disagree with the critical consensus. Despite its obviously lean budget—which necessitates a less sprawling cast and more modest special effects than the preceding film—The Last War still manages to feel ambitious within its relative limitations. Indeed, I’d even argue that the narrower narrative focus lends the plot a greater degree of urgency and momentum; it is, after all, significantly easier for the audience to become invested in a conflict that revolves around a small handful of genuinely sympathetic characters, as opposed to a bloated, unwieldy ensemble of vaguely sketched archetypes.

Additionally, it’s not as though the movie is lacking in visual flair; it is consistently as spectacular as it can afford to be. There’s an especially impressive sequence, for example, in which the nefarious Yasunori Kato (a role reprised by the inimitable Kyusaku Shimada, whose magnetic screen presence elevates every scene—including those in which he never physically appears) slaughters a group of soldiers in magnificently brutal fashion. One poor bastard is hoisted aloft by psychokinetic energy and slowly twisted in half at the waist; another is decapitated by flying debris, his headless corpse twitching and spasming for several seconds after the fact. The commanding officer, however, suffers the most gruesome demise: forced by supernatural means to clutch a live grenade, the man can do nothing but scream and flail in desperation until the explosive inevitably ignites, graphically (albeit not entirely convincingly) tearing him to shreds.

Ultimately, Tokyo: The Last War hardly deserves its less-than-stellar reputation; it’s perfectly enjoyable on its own merits. Sure, it veers closer to conventional horror than the series’ previous installment (which is best described as “epic urban fantasy”)—but as a fan of both genres, I find absolutely nothing wrong with that. Heck, in my opinion, this dramatic departure in tone and style only makes it more interesting. Not better, mind you—just compellingly different.

[hwauroras]

THROUGH THE INFINITE CANVASES OF YOU. (제3장)

pic sources in order left -> right: pinterest, pinterest, pinterest

wc ≈2.6k. unedited, mild cursing. painter!seonghwa x artstudent!reader (ft. musician!san, artstudent!wooyoung and artstudent!rockstar!hongjoong). written in two different perspectives - third person for seonghwa and second person for the reader. no massive genre yet - but this part expands more on wooyoung's journey as an artist. hongjoong jokes about wooyoung and the reader's friendship. hongjoong calls the reader "sweetheart" at the end. mentions of frozen yogurt - if you're lactose intolerant, it's dairy free.

“hyung hyung hyung, look at this!”

seonghwa tilted his head at the man on the couch, gently placing down the food he just ordered on the counter.

“what’s up?”

san quickly pointed to the article on his phone screen, his eyes wide with excitement. this album was by far his best, as well as his most famous.

when the release date for san’s album was approaching, anticipation and excitement flooded social media. the album had been kept relatively under wraps, with only the album cover and a few teaser images being released to the public.

while san wasn’t famous by any means - at least, not compared to most of his label mates, the curious and breathtaking nature of the album art caused a lot of intrigue and speculation. and when it was released, it seemed like san blew up overnight, peaking pretty high up in the music charts.

seonghwa peered at the article, his eyebrow raising slightly as his eyes scanned the words.

“oh, damn. seriously? aurora wrote a review?”

“yeah! and now they want to interview me. can you believe that? i’ve been reading that for ages. this is it, hyung. i’ve peaked.”

“oh really? you didn’t think you peaked when you reached a million streams? or when you gained an extra ten thousand followers, and then some? or when someone stopped us on the street for your autog—”

"hey, hey, that's not what i meant and you know it!” san interjected, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "i know those are all massive milestones i never thought were possible for me - but getting an interview with aurora is something else. you know i’ve bought basically every edition since their exclusive interview with kim hongjoong.”

seonghwa grinned, picking up a cushion and playfully hitting san with it.

“and you know i’m just messing with you. i know this is a big deal for you, and i couldn’t be prouder. you poured everything into this, i’ve seen the tears and coffee and red bull induced texts of borderline insanity. i’ve known you for ages san, you’re a true artist - it's incredible to see you finally getting the recognition you deserve."

“oh hyung, you’re being modest now. i couldn’t have done this without you. i mean, have you seen all the speculation around what the meaning of the cover could be? that’s why it went viral. are you sure you don’t want your name out there too? it’s your work after all.”

seonghwa fell silent.

on one hand, the exposure would be great for his business - which was stable, but he was still relatively unknown.

but on the other, how could he possibly betray his muse like that? he didn’t care if they were just a figment of his very deep imagination. to him, they were real. the emotions were real. profiting off of them just felt…wrong.

with a shaky breath, he managed to mutter out a gentle “i’m sure, san.”

san’s eyes softened as he watched the older male shift awkwardly. though a subtle gesture, san knew this was when seonghwa probably felt the most vulnerable.

"hey, it's alright, i understand. i wouldn't want you to compromise how you feel for anything, not even for me. they deserve to remain cherished and protected."

seonghwa’s shoulders visibly relaxed, causing san to smile warmly.

“thank you, san. i’m sorry. i know i must sound ridiculous.”

“don’t be like that. you’re not being ridiculous. i respect your decision and i want you to be comfortable. now - could you please pass me a smoothie? i think i need to cool down after all that excitement. i mean, my heart is still racing.”

seonghwa chuckled and retrieved the smoothies he ordered, handing one over to the younger. as san took a sip, he leaned back on the couch, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a contented sigh.

“you know hyung, you've always been my first and biggest supporter. none of this would’ve happened if you weren’t there. and even if your name isn't in the spotlight, your influence and your art are all over my music. it’s you who helped me find my voice, both literally and metaphorically."

seonghwa playfully nudged san, who let out a small laugh at the action.

“oh san. i see you’re still practicing your humility for the interview.”

“hey,” san replied with a dramatic shrug, a glint of mischief in his eye. “no harm in getting ready, right? gotta give them something deep and profound.”

seonghwa shook his head, a fond smile on his lips.

“you’re a handful, you know that?”

“sure, but you love me anyway.”

“nah, your mom just dumped you in the sandbox i was in one day, and i’ve been stuck with you ever since.”

“oh yeah, the sandbox … that was one mean sandcastle, huh, hyung?”

~

“oh hell yeah, we were the real envy of the playground,” you couldn’t help but sarcastically remark as you peered at the picture in wooyoung’s hands.

wooyoung chuckled as he held up the old, slightly faded but intact photograph.

"you know it! that sandcastle was the talk of the playground for WEEKS."

the photo depicted a much younger version of the two of you - annoying little seven year old shits, as you had so eloquently worded it when wooyoung first presented the picture. you were both covered in sand and sporting proud expressions as you stood next to what was, admittedly, a creation very worthy of its praise - a giant mound of sand and some sticks. what really topped it off was the pretty pink shell you brought from home, after your moms took you both to the beach.

“you remember that shell, right?" wooyoung asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye.

you nodded, your own eyes glossing over with mischief.

“how could i forget, stupid? i was the one that found it, brought it to school and placed it ever so gently onto our masterpiece. i was a revolutionary. truly.”

"oh, for sure. and now you’re a top scoring art student. with such groundbreaking ideas like that, i’m not shocked.”

“well thank you, soon-to-be-industry-recognized photographer. seriously, what an amazing opportunity.”

you beamed at your best friend, your eyes and your heart filling with pride.

surprised by the sudden change of topic, wooyoung’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.

“ah … thank you, y/n. i still can’t believe crescent wants me to be their photographer. i mean, i know it’s only for one edition, but … come on. this is choi san we’re talking about.”

“and i know you’ll do great. you were chosen for a reason, wooyoung. you don’t have any connections to the industry other than hongjoong, and you still got the job. that’s how you know that the reason is talent. pure, raw talent.”

"thanks, y/n. i’ll give it my all, just like that day in the sandbox."

you waved off his thanks with a flutter of your hand before reaching for his half-eaten frozen yogurt.

“that’s what friends are for, right? now, tell me more about this crescent gig, since you’ve been all vague about it lately. when’s the shoot? do you have any ideas for it yet? are you being paid like cha-ching or CHA-CHING? is it enough to buy froyo that’s better than this?”

wooyoung laughed at your rapid fire string of questions, shifting his position to face you more comfortably.

“let’s see … the shoot is in two weeks, yes i do, i’m being paid an undisclosed amount of money, and it may or may not be enough to buy froyo that’s better than that. but can i just say, i refuse to have you slander my choices. it’s the best flavor and you know it.”

“oh sweetie … i pity you for having such sad, tasteless tastebuds. but i can agree to disagree for the sake of my curiosity. what are your ideas?”

wooyoung took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding to your questions, stars shining in his eyes.

"well, for the shoot, i’ve been thinking of capturing san in his most candid moments. you know, those unguarded seconds when he’s lost in his music. the writing, the recording, the best, the melody. passion, emotion and vulnerability - i believe that's what makes his music so powerful. and luckily, with his look and aesthetic, i’m sure i could capture it in a way that exudes the sophistication and elegance crescent scouted me for.”

you listened intently as wooyoung described his vision. it was clear that he had put a lot of thought into it, and you couldn't help but be impressed by the confidence and passion that poured out of him as he spoke.

"that sounds incredible, woo," you replied, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "i have no doubt that this will all turn out beautiful.”

“thanks, y/n-”

“i mean, san is such a fine man. he’d look good in any lighting, i bet. he probably doesn’t have bad taste in frozen yogurt either.”

wooyoung burst into laughter, your playful teasing and dismissal bringing back a familiar lightness to the conversation. he playfully nudged your shoulder, and you stuck your tongue out at him in response.

"you’re impossible, y/n. anyway, san’s very photogenic, so the shoot should be a breeze. and maybe, just maybe, i’ll consider trying a different flavor of frozen yogurt once we’re done - just so you can let it go.”

as you were about to respond to wooyoung’s comment (the audacity), a voice from behind you interrupted the conversation.

“alright, lovebirds? i thought i’d find you here.”

turning around in your chair, you observed the figure leaning against the doorframe.

hongjoong stared right back, the intensity of his heavily lined eyes almost piercing into your soul.

“no lovebirds here, hyung. just two best friends in a room.”

“oh yeah, sure,” hongjoong scoffed, his signature smirk creeping onto his face. “and let me guess, they might kiss?”

“no, we won’t.”

“boo, you’re no fun, wooyoung. alright, make way. i need to talk to you.”

the now bright red ponytailed man slinked over to the table, the chains on his flared pants making a jingling sound as he walked. he grabbed a chair and turned it around, plopping down onto it nonchalantly, using the back of the chair as an armrest for his distressed-sleeved arms.

“okay, that picture is so fucking cute, but- that’s besides the point. wooyoung. buddy. i’m gonna hit you with some bad news and then immediately replace it with good news. you ready?”

“lay it on me, hyung.”

“i spoke to the guys. and they’re not that interested in working with you to be honest. but you know who are? the hotshots over at lost island records.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened at hongjoong’s words, and a hand flew to your mouth. his curiosity piqued, your best friend leaned closer to the older man.

"lost island records? are you serious, hyung? how did you even manage to do that?”

“they have an email, dumbass. i just compiled some of the demos, and sent them in. they got back to me a couple of hours back, when i was working on a piece for the upcoming runway. i would’ve come earlier if i wasn’t being graded.”

“that’s … really huge. this is amazing, hyung! i’m at a loss for words, we’re going-”

“they only want you, wooyoung.”

wooyoung’s excitement shifted into a mix of confusion and surprise the moment the words left hongjoong’s lips. he blinked, processing the news, while you sat there, equally dumbfounded and trying to wrap your head around the very sudden and jarring turn of events.

lost island records, THE lost island records, a prestigious and famous music label known for its top-tier artists including choi san, was interested in art student jung wooyoung over up and coming artist kim hongjoong?

“w-wait, but … why only me, hyung? this doesn't make any sense. those are OUR demos. and YOU’RE the actual musician …”

“i don’t care for that label, to be honest. you’re a much better fit. so i just cut my parts out. they’re not our demos anymore, they’re yours.”

the classroom, which was empty except for the three of you and some easels, seemed to hang in suspense as hongjoong dropped this bombshell.

you watched the exchange, torn between excitement and concern for your best friend. hongjoong’s nonchalant, almost dismissive attitude toward the situation was baffling, and it took everything in you to not question him about it.

luckily, wooyoung finally found his voice again.

“hyung, i can’t do that. you did most of it, and i’m pretty clueless when it comes to music, compared to you. music is your life, i can't just leave you out of it.”

hongjoong offered a small smile, and lightly punched the younger on the arm.

“i’m almost offended you don’t seem to know that my dream isn't necessarily tied to a record label, wooyoung. it’s why i still do what i do and haven’t accepted any offers. trust me, i’ve had many. if i wanted that backing, i’d have it by now. i don’t care who hears it, i don’t care how many people hear it - as long as it resonates. i’m sure you’ll figure out how to-”

“i’m turning it down.”

wooyoung’s declaration hung heavy in the air and hongjoong, who had been so casual and nonchalant just mere moments ago, now stared at him with wide eyes - as if wooyoung were some kind of poltergeist.

"you’re turning it down?"

wooyoung nodded firmly, his expression determined and confident.

“yes. i’ve still got the photoshoot with crescent so it’s really no big deal. but if i’m making music, it’s with you. or with y/n, but like, that might not be the best idea unless i’m planning on making music that sounds like a dying whale.”

with your brain still buffering and in need of a full reset, you couldn’t think of a clever quip in time. so of course, you decided to settle for the only answer you were capable of mustering -

“fuck you.”

“aww, thank you! you’re an amazing friend too, y/n!”

the tension in the room seemed to completely evaporate as the banter between you returned, and hongjoong’s initial shock transformed back into his usual smirk as he leaned back in his chair, clearly very amused by the scene unfolding in front of him.

"wow, wooyoung," he added, "i am both shocked, and not at all. turning down an opportunity like this for the sake of loyalty. i knew you were the sappy one but i also thought you were supposed to be the rational one in this little friendship of ours.”

wooyoung, who was not the least bit bothered by the older’s jests, smiled warmly.

“oh don’t worry, i am. but, you know music is your passion, not mine. mine lies in photography, and i have an opportunity for that so not all is lost. i appreciate this, i really do, but i’d rather be true to myself, and create with the people who matter to me the most.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was an unmissable glint of respect and admiration in them.

“ugh, barf. you’re such a sentimental sap, wooyoung. it's kind of endearing. but … still gross.”

you couldn't help but laugh with them, relieved that the tension had all but disappeared. despite the unexpected turn of events, and despite how much you agreed with hongjoong, you were proud of your best friend for sticking to the morals you knew were very authentic and genuine.

shifting your focus to the pretty red haired man, you mirrored his expression and tapped his arm.

“hey, hongjoong. quick question.”

“go ahead, sweetheart.”

“what do you think of wooyoung’s frozen yogurt?”

“i swear y/n, if you don’t shut the damn hell up-”

~

TAGLIST: @hwalysm, @downbadreading, @joongs-moon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[dustedmagazine]

Marc Masters — High Bias: The Distorted History of the Cassette Tape (University of North Carolina Press)

There’s a popular theory, advanced with varying degrees of seriousness, that the best kind of music is whatever was released when you were about 16. There’s also a fairly well-known Brian Eno quotation about the way we tend to romanticize forms of media just as they fall out of currency, eventually becoming loved even for their shortcomings. One of the biggest strengths of Marc Masters’ High Bias, a new history of the compact cassette (as it was originally known), is that it refuses both the personally biased special pleading of the former and the possibly distorting format nostalgia of the latter. Instead Masters brings together a fascinating technical history of the creation, limits, and virtues of the cassette tape, an overview of some of the areas where the medium has been most richly used and adopted, and a reflection on its continued vitality.

That last aspect, which is reflected on throughout High Bias and forms the focus of the book’s last chapter, is one example of the balance Masters manages to strike. It would be easy to fall into a kind of strenuous insistence on the most optimistic vision of the cassette’s future, to tell us that it could or should regain a level of prominence it hasn’t seen in decades. But to do so would require a… selective choice of data, and would probably fall into a kind of “protesting too much” register for many readers. Masters instead has the confidence and knowledge of the actual current (vital, but subcultural) role of cassette tapes to make the more modest but resonant point that the ‘cassette revival,’ such as it is, is already with us and shows no signs of going away. And he both puts this in its proper, inspiring context and makes a persuasive case for its importance because of the book’s continual emphasis on the democratizing and personalizing aspects of cassette tape as a medium.

The opening chapters, which include relatively brief looks at the context of recording technology prior to and at the time of the cassette’s introduction, set the stage well. Masters doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the social, marketing and profit motives impinging on the development and success of the medium (and the sometimes panicked response of the music industry to it, “home taping is killing music” and all), and points out how those aren’t totally separable from the explosion in personal expression that tapes allow. From there, High Bias branches out, looking at various places and times cassettes have helped or even allowed particular peoples, scenes or genres to be heard and spread in ways other media haven’t managed. From Deadheads to the early days of hiphop, Awesome Tapes From Africa to some of the more extremely personal examples that sometimes overlap with those covered in Michael Tau’s recent Extreme Music (reviewed on Dusted here), this slim volume doesn’t pretend to be exhaustive but does manage to illuminate enough different areas most readers may find themselves surprised by at least one of the many little pockets Masters looks into.

The second-last chapter, “The Tape Makers,” may be where High Bias hits many of its intended audience in an even more personal place. Here the book shifts slightly from people making music onto, or then distributed via, cassette, and instead delves into the personal mixtape. The balance between creation and curation is never that clearcut, of course, and the chapter doesn’t pretend it is. But whereas after the cassette we have burned CDs and playlists, before the team at Philips first brought the compact cassette to the world there was simply no mass-available form that offered the particular form of expression that a mixtape does. As with the rest of High Bias, here Masters uses a blend of interviews, secondary sources and direct experience to convey the unique role and impact of the cassette, both in its historical moment and persisting into the current day.

It’s not that the cassette tape is a “better” medium than vinyl, CD, DAT, or saved or streamed digital files (what would “better” even mean in anything other than a subjective sense?), and it’s not that High Bias, despite its doubly accurate title (both a desired quality in a cassette and an implicit acknowledgment that this a very pro-tapes book), tries to make that claim. But Masters clearly had in his sights a compelling portrait of the strengths of the format, and what makes it different from those other media, and here he convincingly portrays it as a special and worthy one. He’s even set up a, well, mixtape for the book on Bandcamp (linked at the beginning of this review), 12 tracks all sourced from current tape labels he discusses in the book. Notably, you can buy that mix on a cassette.

Ian Mathers

[mechanical-magician]

BOMB RUSH CYBERFUNK HEADCANONS: RISE EDITION

Headcanon Directory >>

> BRITISH

> She lives out of her hippie van, it's all supped up for living in!

> She's 24 now, but she's been living out of her van on the move since she was 18.

> Rise started her travels in France, and initially was only doing it to just get away from everything back home. Her parents, the authorities, school; she just wanted to leave it all behind and take up being a rudie full time

> A few months in, she started vlogging her lifestyle and actually started to gain a modest following. Slowly over the years, she's become a micro-celebrity in the lifestyle and rudie communities!

> Rise has traveled basically the entirety of Europe at this point, but has always found herself returning to New Amsterdam. She just loves everything about the city!

> She was in an online relationship with the leader of Devil Theory, Osiris, for a few months, before meeting him IRL and dating like that as well. However, she felt it was better for both of their careers if they split off. But also, she internally has found that she's scared of committing to staying in once place. She knows Osiris would never leave his crew, so she knew it was for the best if they went their separate ways.

> That isn't to say that she's not still friends with Devil Theory! While they DO get a little pissed about her doing her stuff on their turf, all she has to do is offer them some cool rocks or something and they'll skitter off like gremlins

> Bel absolutely has a celebrity crush on Rise

> Rise is a social media influencer, but she doesn't see herself as being shallow. She rose to where she is through not only her looks, but also her ability to show off her skills in skating and graffiti. She's an inspiration to all soon-to-be writers/rudies.

> She snorts when she laughs :]

> Rise loves trying all new foods local to where she travels. She likes to find the most obscure, hole in the wall, places and try them. Good reviews from her usually cause a small boom in that place's popularity!

> She's multilingual! English, French, Dutch, and German she's all fluent in! She's working on other languages as well

> She's VERY sensitive to light, and so she wears her shades everywhere for that purpose. They're extra dark to help her out :]

> The police have tried to cancel her

> They failed

> "The bird flu? Yeah... they kind of do that."

> Pansexual!

[samiabadilah]

Week 11 Progress Update

As we enter week 11, GreenBlade Lawn Care is gradually gaining momentum. This week, we earned $55 on our best day, thanks to a couple of new clients who signed up for our sustainable lawn care packages. We've been focusing on delivering exceptional service, and it’s starting to pay off with positive reviews and referrals. Our social media presence has grown slightly, helping us reach more potential customers. Although our revenue remains modest, we're encouraged by the consistent interest in our eco-friendly services. We're committed to continuous improvement and look forward to expanding our client base as we approach the final weeks of this project.

[zaidshair]

ABOUT

[ KUKKUTARMA ]  [ INSPO]

BASICS: Name: Zaid Shair (Zah-eed Shayh-yeer) Age: 41years old. he's a cancer that's all I know so far Gender & Pronouns: Cis man - He/Him Place of birth: Sheffield, England PERSONAGE: Previous occupation: executive chef and owner of two fine-dining restaurants: - in London, Mango (successful) - in New York, Chutney (derisive) Powers: plasma blasts. Zaid passively absorbs cosmic energy, like a living storage cell. Energy must be released by force. Crystal bracelet: green malachite First impressions: Zaid can be intense, but soft-spoken and calm. He knows how to be friendly and personable. He can let his emotions get the best of him. He does have a Mr Hyde to his Dr Jekyll, but that only comes out in certain circumstances

PLOT IDEAS:

cooking baba: an obvious outcome for Zaid on the island. His passion for cooking is greatly diminished, but needs must for survival on a strange island, and everyone knows food boosts morale. Something to do with cuisine, be it connections pre-island, hunting/gathering, planning/rationing, food-sickness, cooking, etc!

fwb: Zaid is hurting, they're hurting too. good thing they're both attractive, because then pain becomes beautiful and sexy, right? power play: figuring out powers! working together or against each other! lots of room for experimentation here adventure time: I love adventure plots and there's ample grounds to explore and get in trouble together!

APPEARANCE: Height: 5'8" Eyes : brown Hair: black, worn short. Trimmed beard and moustache Build: compact Tattoos: tattoos on his arms, tbd

BACKGROUND: Nationality: Pakistani-British Family: Three grandparents, two parents, multiple younger siblings (tbd), loads of uncles, aunties, cousins, etc. A big family that he never quite got close to, except for that one unmarried quirky-dirky Jotie-Auntie.

BULLET POINTS:

- Zaid, eldest child in his family, first brought shame to the Shairs when he decided to eschew a degree in commerce, and went to cooking school instead - Coming out to his family was somehow less shameful than his career choice, because he still liked girls, mashallah! Zaid didn't mind the various arranged dates, but his ambition overshadowed finding a match. -He moved to Paris, then London in his early 20s to apprentice in restaurants, growing in rank and gaining respect as a dedicated, hard working line cook. He took an executive chef job at a boutique hotel in London in his late 20s - His first point of pride was opening his fine-dining restaurant Mango in 2015 in touristy Soho. Lauded in reviews for his insightful, delightful take on Pakistani cuisine, Mango became one of the trendiest eateries in London. - He refrained from the allure of 'celebrity chef' despite network and social media offers, aiming instead for that Michelin star status. He just wanted one, he was modest. - Gaining that one star should've been the biggest highlight of his life, but it was eclipsed when he met the real and only love of his life (so Zaid claims), Tej Virani. - In Zaid's mind, their romance was a firestarter, burning quick, bright, and hot. Zaid did everything to keep Tej living a comfortable life, and was proud of how he oh-so magnificently balanced work duties around Tej's whimsical needs. - After gaining his Michelin star, everything in Zaid's life seemed to bottleneck: the unexpected arrival of Tej's niece Inika, his PR agent's push for Zaid to move towards celebrity status (write that book! guest judge on Masterchef and Chopped! live-feed the cooking seminars at schools!), his own personal temptation to open a new restaurant in New York. - Zaid was convinced he could do it all. He packed up Tej and their little ward Inika and emigrated to New York. Surely he could pull this all together, with his usual efficiency and drive. - Surely, he could not. COVID happened. His relationship suffered, celebrity hopes were locked down; and with that, his new restaurant plans suffered. Chtuney eventually opened with a whimper rather than a bang, and the restaurant limped along for a year under poor leadership and red tape, as Zaid spiralled further into disarray in his personal life. Tej slipped out of his grasp and maybe it was for the better. Maybe not. - When he finally cracked from stress, he cracked hard. In a fit of spite, he stole Inika from Tej, headed to Montauk, and promised they'd never return. He and Inika would start a new life, back in London - no! In Sheffield! - and Tej would never see them again. - Tej's plaintive convincing made Zaid relinquish his mad plans, but by then it was too late. Zaid was so focused on Tej and their argument, he wasn't paying attention to the child. They lost Inika to the night waters of Montauk Beach. The child was gone, drowned, dead and Zaid was inconsolable and blamed Tej for all of it. - The funeral was for an empty casket, which was in many ways deeply symbolic for Zaid over the next few months of solitude and grief. - His New York restaurant in shambles, his relationship had long sailed. Zaid settled into trying to recoup his losses in New York. After which he intended to return to London with his tail between his legs. But instead, Zaid ended up on an entirely different island.

[atopvisenyashill]

What kind of jobs do you think asoiaf characters would have in the real world?

jon - history podcaster, famous in lefty circles, robb keeps begging him to get a real job so the stans of his haters stop review bombing robb's law practice

dany - political twitch streamer, they have beef bc jon is an anarchist and dany is an ML.

barristan - he's an econimist and a landlord and dany gets dragged constantly for being friends with him and retweeting his shitty medium articles.

grey worm - he has A Real Job as a low level agriculture engineer but he does political commentary in his free time which is why he's friends with dany & barristan.

arya - runs a coffee shop and is everyone's favorite manager because she's super chill and drives them to protests on her days off. has a burner twitter account and ratioed barristan online once.

sansa - a small business owner that has one of those cute little storefronts where four or five small businesses band together to be one shop.

robb - has a law practice doing something Important like immigration help or something. lives in a nice apartment above his practice.

theon - literally just freeloads at robb's apartment.

jeyne westerling - receptionist at robb's practice, the power dynamic IS weird but also kind of sexy. they are both clearly fucking theon as well, ned has no idea this is happening and keeps asking about grandkids even tho jeyne has an IUD.

catelyn - she clerked for a scotus judge and she is NOT modest but she IS modest about the thanksgiving she spent at RBG's house. her instagram is dedicated to promoting sansa's business because she is sooo proud.

jeyne poole - the only non nepo baby in the group who lucked out in befriending two rich girls in the art fair circuit and got a storefront with them.

loras tyrell - think mayor pete but with more personality.

margaery tyrell - the third business owner with sansa & jeyne, but she uses her mother's maiden name so no one associates her with her brother's tacky lib poitics or accueses her of being a nepo baby (she definitely is, but she takes the accussation personal)

renly baratheon - a fed from a family of feds, and the FACE of a pinkwashing campaign

cersei & tyrion - political family but for local politics like the daleys or cuomos or castro brothers (as in joaquin and julian). they fucking hate loras for primarying tywin from the center and winning but also lowkey hate each other because they both want Tywin's seat as like, Lieutenant Governor or some shit.

jaime lanniser - was supposed to be in politics but got ptsd from his time in the military and became a professional hater and freeloader until brienne talked him into getting a degree and helping people instead of just giving donations to charity for tax write offs.

brienne of tarth - i have no idea what she does but she works for a non profit and is solidly middle class as a child.

the martells - they own a local chain grocery store and they have a rivalry with arya but they keep it classy. oberyn posts thirst traps all the time and doran made him put 12 disclaimsers on every social media profile about not speaking for the store but otherwise he does what he wants. yeah man pour milk over your tiddies for charity who gives a fuck.

[kiranapassionategamer]

Real Money Ludo Game: Your Path to Earnings

Ludo, which is famous in every household, is no more just a fun game but has various other benefits. The digital revolution led to Ludo becoming more and more a possible source of revenue for many. The favorite pastime of many people became an internet game with real money staking in our days, and you should try it. This article focuses on how the typical childhood board game, Ludo, has turned into money-making venture on the internet.

Understanding Online Ludo Platforms

Online Ludo are social platforms where individuals can visit to participate in Ludo games with financial risk involved. These platforms are a perfect replica of the actual game that can be played anytime on smartphone, tablet or computer. By offering secure payment options, they ensure that people can bet real money and win prizes legally and without risks.

How to Get Started

Getting started with real money ludo game is simple. All you need to do is:

Choose a reputable platform: Look for platforms with good reviews and proper licensing.

Sign up and create an account: You’ll typically need an email address or a social media account to register.

Deposit money: Add money to your account using any of the supported methods like credit cards, e-wallets, or bank transfers.

Join a game: You can choose to play against random players or invite friends to join you.

Safety First: Ensuring Fair Play and Security

When playing Ludo for real money, security is paramount. Reputable platforms use advanced encryption to protect your financial details and personal information. Additionally, fair play is ensured through the use of certified Random Number Generators (RNG) which make sure that the dice rolls are completely random and not manipulated.

Tips for Safe Play

Always set a budget for your gaming activities.

Never share your account details with anyone.

Play on secure and well-reviewed platforms only.

Strategies to Win at Ludo

While Ludo is largely a game of luck, certain strategies can increase your chances of winning:

Think ahead: Plan your moves considering potential counters by your opponents.

Spread out your tokens: This reduces the risk of being captured and sent back home.

Wait for the right moment: Sometimes, waiting a few turns to move can be better strategically.

Leveraging Ludo for Income: Real Stories

Many players have turned their Ludo skills into a steady income stream. From small daily winnings that add up to significant amounts, to winning large tournaments that offer hefty prizes, the possibilities are endless. Success stories of players who have achieved financial gains through Ludo are both inspiring and a testament to the game’s potential.

Choosing the Right Platform: What to Look For

When selecting a Ludo platform to play for real money, consider the following:

User reviews and ratings: These can provide insights into the reliability and quality of the platform.

Customer support: Efficient customer service is crucial for resolving any issues.

Bonus and rewards programs: Some platforms offer bonuses that can increase your playing funds.

The Social Aspect of Online Ludo

One of the charms of playing Ludo online is the social element. You can connect with friends or family members who are far away, or make new friends from around the world. Many platforms also have chat features, allowing players to communicate during games, which adds a fun and interactive element to the experience.

Potential Earnings: What Can You Expect?

The amount of money you can earn playing Ludo online depends on several factors including the stakes, your skill level, and the frequency of your play. Some players play casually and earn modest amounts, while others take it more seriously and can earn substantial sums. It’s important to approach the game with realistic expectations and understand that while you can win money, you can also lose it.

Final Thoughts

Online Ludo games offer a unique blend of nostalgia, fun, and the potential for financial gain. Whether you’re looking to earn a little extra cash or just enjoy the game in a new way, playing Ludo online can be both rewarding and entertaining. Remember to play responsibly, and you may find that this classic game can be much more than just a way to pass the time.