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scarletcomalies · 4 months ago

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soul bounds intertwined

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Part I, Part II

Word count: 5,864

Warnings: Ghosting, public confrontation and fighting, Billy being an idiot. 18+ content, degrading, pet names, magic strap that Wanda can feel as if it's real, blowjob (W. receiving), oral (R. Receiving), strap-on usage (R. receiving), taking Polaroid pictures while doing it, slapping, overstimulation, fingering, squirting aftercare.

Taglist: @alexawynters @ageofolsen @imjustvibingsworld @huggingkoalas @unadulteratedballoonduck @megsheather @kimiisims-blog @morganismspam23 @reginassweetheart @vyvvycg @cindyangelicss @newyork1432 @imaginaryblogger01 @sleepless-cloudy @starryskiesandboys

A/N: This is it. I cannot begin to express how unbelievably happy it makes me to see all the love you gave to this trilogy 🥹 I also had a good laugh as I read the frustrated reblogs on part II MWAHAHA!!! Hope you like this last one part. Thank you 3000 once again. 💓

Following the incidents at the Maximoff residence, you thought that Wanda had completely cut you out of her life. However, a few months later, she reached out to you, pulling you into a situation that would lead to unforeseen twists and turns.

You couldn't recall the last time you ran as if your life depended on it.

Your best guess was when you accidentally set the treadmill to 24 kilometers per hour, and while you were figuring out where the button to slow down was, you had to keep that pace so as not to fall.

However, the adrenaline that coursed through your veins the instant Wanda laid her hands and lips on you for the first time, followed by her command for you to leave, was so inmense that it was no wonder your body mistook it for danger, screaming for you to escape immediately.

And you obeyed, running to your car as if Wanda was chasing you with a knife, determined to snatch your destiny and your future in a matter of seconds, when in reality, she remained static. She didn't move an inch from where she left you, but her gaze haunted you all the way home.

You could still feel it piercing right at the back of your mind, causing this sensation to send unconscious impulses to your body, such as occasionally checking the backseat through the rearview mirror, when you knew there was no one but you in the car.

You scarcely noticed when you arrived at your apartment or when you collapsed onto your bed. Your mind was too tangled in a whirlwind of confusion and shock to be mindful of your own actions.

What did this mean for you and Wanda? Was there any way to turn back from this? Questions raced through your mind, but one fact stood amongst all of those uncertainties: things would never be the same again.

Three long months where your mind pirouetted through endless what-ifs.

What if you had turned down Billy's advances from the start? What if you had been more discreet about taking those photographs? What if you had never blurted out the confession Wanda had forced from you? What if you had stayed, on your knees, begging for her forgiveness, instead of running away as though your feelings were a crime?

Despite your mind's endless wanderings, your thoughts unavoidably drifted back to the same place; her lips on yours, like a forbidden fruit that was worth all of your sinning.

Oh, how intoxicatingly wet they felt, how expertly her tongue and hands managed to cast a spell of desire that tormented your very existense, driving you to a fervor that dangerously danced on the edge of madness.

And so you made Herculean efforts with words, devoting at least two hours each week to finding new ways to let Wanda know that you never intended for this situation to escalate like it did, yet none succeeded reaching to her distant heart.

It was painfully clear that just one response from her could end this torment, yet she played a cruel game of a calculated and well-deserved revenge.

She didn't block you. That would have been a closure, a clear statement she wanted nothing more to do with you. Instead, she left you on read immediately, ensuring there was no doubt she was ignoring you. She left you hanging on a thread of false hope, teasing you with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it'll be different next time.

Her behavior was akin to that of a prepotent God, relishing in the power to decide whether to answer the prayers of her humble believers or subject them to the agony of her indifference.

It took you long enough to realize you wouldn't have any of it anymore. You dared to test the predictability of her cruel game, refusing to give her power over you any longer.

Fortunately for you, in the third month since you last saw her —from which a month and a half you spent without writing to her— you received a call from her.

You let it go to voicemail twice, so as not to seem too eager to hear from her, and finally called her back the next day.

"Oh, so fast you were answering my calls before, and now you want to play hard?" Was the first thing she said to you.

You rolled your eyes.

How dare she protest for it when she had you drifting and yearning for so long?

"What do you need?" You asked in as neutral a tone as possible. You weren't going to answer in annoyance, or it would mean you were still affected by this whole situation.

"You're going to show up at the meeting Tony Stark organized, at the Avengers Compound, remember it was a pending thing?" It wasn't a request, it was an order. "This time, I'm bringing the boys, and you're going to tell Billy everything. Everything, (Y/N)."

You scoffed, both indignant and surprised. The latter due to the fact that Wanda might not have told Billy about what had happened.

"You never told him yourself?" You inquired, curiosity getting the better of you.

"I don't have the heart to tell him," she replied. "But I suppose you do, since you had the heart to do what you did."

You were going to justify yourself immediately, but stopped midtracks. You weren't going to sound like a broken record, repeating the same old story to her again.

"And if I refuse?" You challenged her.

"I can ruin things for you beyond repair," Wanda responded confidently. "Your career, your reputation, you name it. Don't underestimate what I'm capable of when pushed."

Her words cut through any defiance you might have felt, leaving you defeated and humiliated, just like that night.

Maybe it was abuse of power, but you brought this upon yourself, and she just wanted to make sure you paid for hurting someone she loved. You would have done the same, and you adored her even more for that.

At your silence, she added, "And bring all the photographs you took of me. I don't want to give you the pleasure of having a single trace of me after this."

And that's how you ended up at the Avengers Compound, Upstate New York.

If your nerves weren't consuming your stomach like a potent acid burner, you would have appreciated much more the fresh air outside the building, and how silence finally prevailed in your surroundings, the hectic sounds of the crowded city now long gone.

"Ready?" Kate asked, looking at you with a sheepish, concerned look once she pulled the handbrake.

"Yeah," you replied amidst a deep breath that you didn’t even know for how long you’ve been holding.

While you both stepped out of Kate’s car, the weight of your hand purse almost pulled you back into the seat, knowing that two things in there held the delicate fate of your relationship with Wanda and of your career.

It contained your lipstick, your phone, and all the photographs, along with a letter that would be a last attempt to clear things up.

At the front door, a female voice through a screen asked for your name and Kate's, and once it was given, she replied: "You're on the list. Welcome, (Y/N) and Kate."

You held your hand purse tightly, as you walked to the elevator and Kate pressed the floor's button. The only audible sound on the way upstairs was the click of your heel anxiously tapping against the floor, and your heavy breathing.

"Easy, you find Billy, tell him, 'Hey, I liked your mom all this time, you just were delusional,' give the pictures and letter to Wanda, take my car, and get out," Kate tried to cheer you up, making it sound as simple as she was telling it, when to you, it was a life-or-death feat.

You laughed more out of commitment than anything else.

There was no point in contradicting her words if the elevator opened within two seconds of her finishing her sentence.

You spotted Wanda almost immediately.

She was standing near the entrance, her posture rigid, and her eyes immediately fixed on you with an intensity that could burn a hole right through you and all the walls of the building together. The way she looked at you so quickly revealed that she was watching the elevator every time it opened, waiting for you.

Kate patted you on the back, and headed off to where Yelena would be.

Lucky her, she would spend the night with her girlfriend, while you were anticipating to drown in your own tears before falling asleep, knowing that you had ruined any chance with the first person who had set a warming fire in your heart, now a conflagration of despair and yearning.

With every step you took her way, your legs felt like they might give out beneath you, but you forced yourself to keep moving, closing the distance between you and Wanda.

"Wanda", you greeted her and nodded in acknowledgement of the person she was talking to. You recognized him immediately from the old pictures rummaging online of Wanda and her ex-partner. Despite his imposing figure, he was just a blurry silhouette that you didn't bother to focus on until you had him in front of you. "Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N).”

"Ah, (Y/N)," he exclaimed with a smile. "I'm Vision, Tommy and Billy's father. I'm pleased you could make it. The boys are over there at the middle table."

"That's a good idea," Wanda said. "Why don't you go with Billy? I'm sure you have a lot to discuss."

You tried to resist rolling your eyes at her sarcastic statement.

"I would prefer to speak with you first," you replied, failing to maintain eye contact with her, still appearing like a nervous lamb.

"I will consider it, after you do what I asked," she replied, turning her attention back to Vision as a way to cut conversation. The latter appeared perplexed, but perhaps Wanda would prefer to avoid the situation or lie about it, which you thanked.

Your steps towards Billy's table felt lighter, which indicated that you were far more concerned about exchanging a simple greeting with Wanda than you were about confessing to Billy that your feelings were for his mother and not him. Once again, it was evident that you cared about her more than you ever did for Billy.

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Billy greeted you with a smile, moving quickly to embrace you. "Oh, I missed you so much. What happened? My mom said you and her had an argument, but never specified why, and always gets pissed off when I ask her."

You reciprocated the embrace, unconsciously offering an apology in advance for what were going to be your next words.

"Hi," you replied, giving him a light touch on the back. “Uhm, that’s true, actually, that’s why I’m—"

"Hi, you," Tommy approached you before you could reply, and offered you a less invasive hug than his brother’s. "You know? I recently saw the infamous Kate Bishop,” he chuckled.

You joined him in laughter, appreciating his presence as a source of comfort. This brief conversation felt like a stop to the train of thought that was threatening to run over you.

"If you would like, I can arrange an introduction," you offered him, shrugging briefly. "Not with that intention, of course, but you would gain a friend. A great one."

"I'm game for new friends, always," he agreed, taking a sip of his beverage. You proceeded to walk with Tommy following you, and you noticed that Billy was completely ignored by both of you, being left behind sitting at the table by himself.

What if, during the lively twenty-minute conversation between you, Tommy, Kate, and Yelena, you had taken just half a minute to ask him to join? Everything would have been different.

"Excuse me," your smile faded and your voice trembled when your gaze fell on Billy. He had the letter in his hands and all the photographs scattered all over the table.

You had left your hand purse on there, and it was inevitable that Billy would be so curious to look through it.

A lump formed in your throat as you watched helplessly as he examined the contents of the letter with increasing astonishment.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest when you realized that he had discovered your deepest secret, and you no longer had a chance to find a way to reveal it in the less hurtful way that could ever occur to you. That possibility slipped like sand through your fingers.

You rushed towards the table. Every step you took felt like torture. As if you were running a ten-kilometer marathon instead of crossing a few metres.

“Billy…” you breathed, a whisper so barely audible that you hoped it would vanish in the air before the inevitable storm swept through.

His fingers trembled on the vertical edges of the piece of paper, now mostly crumbled by the force with which he held it.

Billy Maximoff had always lived in the shadow of his mother’s fame and his twin brother's effortless charm. In that dim corner, he was often overlooked.

Therefore, when he saw your letter, where you expressed regret for using Billy to reach his mother, but admitted you felt no remorse for how her lips had kissed yours with such fervor that night after the bonfire, it struck him like a frigid, merciless wave crashing over him, leaving him breathless and reeling.

A guttural, angry growl erupted from his throat, resonating with such intensity that it caught the attention of everyone present, including Wanda.

Subsequently, he threw the photographs all over the floor, scattering them like autumn leaves blown by a tempest.

His eyes, once filled with affection, now burned with betrayal as they landed on you. However, what caused an icy tendril of fear to coil around your stomach was those sacred photographs, completely exposed for others to see.

You took a step to retrieve the photographs, but a firm hand clasped around your arm, making you gasp in protest, but overall, disbelief. His grip was a desperate, silent warning for you to confront the shattered trust before you, instead of safeguarding your own dignity.

"How could you do this to me?" He questioned. He breathed heavily, each choppy exhale escaping through trembling lips. His brows furrowed in anguish, adorned the torment in his glassy eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. All you could do was stand there, frozen, as now Billy's eyes were just one of the many pairs that fixated on you.

"Answer me!" Billy’s voice echoed through the room.

"I'm so sorry, Billy," you whispered, but the words felt shallow and inadequate.

Wanda's eyes bore into you from across the room, her expression unreadable, yet you knew she was waiting for the fallout.

Billy shook his head, as he laughed sarcastically.

“’Sorry’? Really?” His voice climbed in pitch, raw with fury. “You used me. You lied to me. And for what? To get close to my mom? MY MOM! HOW FUCKING SICK IS THAT?”

You turned around, your gaze sweeping over the room, and the collective shock on everyone’s faces nearly made you crumble right there.

But before you could fully grasp the gravity of their reactions, Billy grabbed your face with a tight grip, and pulled you closer, forcing you to look back at him, demanding your full attention.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with pain. “This is about the pain you caused me, not them.”

Kate, who had been watching every moment with a readiness to intervene and protect you if necessary, rushed to you both in alarm as soon as Billy’s hands gripped your face so violently.

With a sudden, forceful motion, she wrenched Billy’s hands away from you.

“You're fucking done, you hear me, asshole?” Kate hissed, towering over him as she created a protective barrier between you and Billy.

The latter whimpered in pain, a sound that spurred Wanda into action, her own distress evident as she rushed forward.

“That's enough!” Wanda exclaimed, a red wisp of magic surrounding Kate's hand and Billy's wrist in order to prevent her to cause him more pain. In consequence, Kate clenched her jaw in defeat, for she knew better than to defy someone as powerful as Wanda Maximoff.

You didn’t even notice when Natasha Romanoff appeared at your side, wrapping her arm around you with a firm, yet gentle hold.

“You’ve explained yourself,” the redhead said softly, her voice felt like the calm amidst the storm. “Let him handle the truth on his own. Let’s go…”

You were about to comply, the pull of Natasha's presence giving you the courage to leave everything behind for good.

But Billy’s last, scathing remark stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh, great! So now Mommy’s going to fix everything for me?” He snapped. “Isn’t that just perfect? Always stepping in to save the day while I get to deal with the mess you made!”

Her eyes widened in a heart-shattering mixture of confusion and sorrow. Her features altogether conformed what could be best described as the ultimate portrait of devastation.

No wonder. The sole purpose of forcing you to confess your mistakes to Billy was so you could face the consequences, and leavr you with a heavy conscience, never once imagining that she would be cast as a villain in her own son’s eyes.

And even though Wanda blatantly defended her son against your best friend —who was, in turn, protecting you from Billy’s wrath—, you couldn’t fight against the sympathy at such a heartache.

"Billy, I consider you a very dear friend, and I never meant to hurt you," you spoke up, stepping next to Wanda, implicitly offering her your inconditional support. “But my feelings for Wanda... they were never meant to deceive or harm you. I understand if you can't forgive me, but please know that it’s not her fault.”

"I think it's best if we all take a moment to breathe," Vision interjected calmly, stepping forward. "Emotions are high right now, and we need clarity to understand each other." His calm voice stood out against the atmosphere around you.

You knew that he and Wanda had drifted apart due to the demands of their lives; his Avenger missions and her career had led them in different directions. Their breakup was friendly, a mutual recognition that their paths no longer matched. Still, it was impressive how Vision maintained his composure, given the situation's nature.

Wanda nodded in agreement.

"Billy, let's talk privately. This isn't something we should handle in front of everyone."

“Oh, yes, that’s because you don’t want your superhero friends to know how you kissed (Y/N) right after I went to sleep that night, isn't that right?” He scoffed.

Although you didn't turn to check everyone's reaction, you could perfectly picture the shock once more evident on their faces, now at the possibility that maybe Wanda felt the same.

But unlike last time, where everyone decided to remain silent and play dumb, Tony spoke up from the table, “So what, kid? Good for them, now move the fuck on,” he groaned, his voice dripping with irritation that his friendly reunion had turned into a whole drama show.

“I did it to force her to confess,” Wanda justified. “And to punish her for hurting you.”

Billy’s gaze was skeptical, as he raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t feel anything when you did that.”

Wanda’s resolve fell apart at that very question. Her eyes flickered away from his intense stare, enough to confirm what Billy had feared all along.

You were overpowered by a bliss so intense it seemed to permeate every fiber of your being, immediately making you forget the pain and despair that took place these last months.

“See?” Billy’s voice rose. “I wanted a chance to be happy, to be seen for once, and you took that away from me," he choked out, his voice breaking.

“Oh, Billy, I can’t take away what you didn’t have in the first place,” she scoffed. Her sadness was now replaced by a fierce anger.

She always felt exasperated at how her son had consistently drowned himself in self-pity, ever since he made the decision to age-skip. This wasn't the first time he manipulated every situation to fit his narrative. And this was the last straw for her.

“Ohhh, you think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you?” He spat, stepping close to her. “DON'T YOU?” And in a sudden outburst, Billy shoved Wanda with a force that sent her crashing to the floor.

The room gasped collectively at his gesture, and that was when everyone decided to take action instead of just being mere expectants.

You dropped to your knees, feeling both worried and enraged. The intensity of your indignation seemed to be making the ground beneath you tremble.

How could Billy not recognize the suffering he was causing to his own mother? Why was his need for validation bigger than his capacity to rationalize?

Tommy Maximoff: Yelena and I watched everything escalate so quickly, and we agreed not to get involved if we didn't have to. My father, Natasha and Kate were alert, and my mother has dealt with a thousand times worse than some whiny college boy (pauses) but seeing how that idiot pushed my mother, and wanted to degrade her like that?! All of a sudden, my fist collided with his face.

Tony Stark: Looking back, maybe this whole scene could have made a good dramatic painting (chuckles). I mean... Yelena, Kate, Natasha and this photographer girl giving moral support to Wanda at a table in the corner, while she allowed her son to get his comeuppance for being such a brat. Meanwhile, Tommy hitting Billy so hard it took Vision, Clint and I to separate them.

Tommy Maximoff: Even I'm shocked at the fact that it took my father, Hawkeye, and Iron Man to separate me from him. I guess I had a lot of pent up anger, and that moment was my breaking point.

Wanda Maximoff: Why did I allow it? The answer is simple; I gave up and even made the person I loved suffer in order to give my son his place. And what did he do? He made showed me in every way possible that I was a disgrace to him for the simple fact of having given birth to him. Well, if that's the case, good riddance.

Pepper Potts: Oh, what I'm missing by accompanying Peter (Parker) to a debate in Germany (laughs).

Vision: After the incident, Billy has not contacted us again. He thinks he's an outlaw, and we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I'll just say that at least he is managing to make a name out of himself like he so badly wanted.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N): I hope he's going to therapy!

Wanda Maximoff: What did (Y/N) and I do after it all ended? We went to my room, at the Compound, and… I’ll keep the rest to myself.

"Please, I'll be a good girl," you whimpered, looking up at her with trembling lips and pleading eyes.

She had you kneeling between her legs as she sat on the edge of her bed. You couldn't handle all the torturing teasing she was putting you through, as she smacked her faux cock against your lips, and every time you tried to welcome it into your mouth, she pulled it back, only to repeat the process again.

"Oh, you already are," Wanda breathed, leaning very close to your lips that you could feel the lingering smell of wine on her breath. "But Mommy wants more than just a good girl. She wants a naughty little slut who does anything to please her.”

Before you could moan in response at the nickname she gave herself, she attacked your mouth in an aggressive kiss. At this point, your jaw was sore from so much movement and your lips were swollen, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You had found home on her lips once and you were finally back.

"I’ll make you feel good, I promise, just let me," you pleaded, your mouth watering due all the panting from the anticipation.

She gave in to the sight of those puppy eyes, swollen lips, and that upper body covered in hickies. Soon enough, she gently guided your head towards her strap, her hands resting on either side of your head.

“Suck on me. Show me what you're made of.”

Her breathing quickened as your mouth worked its way down her cock. Her hips began to rock, seeking more contact. It was evident that with very little stimulation, she let her guard down, no longer caring to hide how weak she truly was for you.

You gagged at the intrusion but took it as best as you could, even though your eyes were beginning to water.

Just like the merciless woman she has demonstrated you she was, far from going easy on you, she gripped the back of your head, holding you in place.

Whatever the reason, the coil forming on her stomach overwhelmed her, and before she could even notice, the intense wave of pleasure caused her to spurt her hot cum into your mouth, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Perhaps it was because it had been an incredibly long time since she had allowed herself to attend to her carnal needs, or perhaps it was because she found herself utterly and irresistibly attracted to you, or maybe it was a combination of both.

"Oh fuck," she groaned, riding herself out of her orgasm, giving you little to no participation. Simply using you as a face to get off to.

You did your best to swallow every single drop she gave you, however a few drops trailed on your chin, and a little bit down on your neck.

Wanda was different nevertheless. She seemed genuinely proud, filled with a warmth and admiration that made you feel truly seen and appreciated for the very first time.

Wanda grinned in satisfaction as she looked down at you.

None of your partners or hookups have ever taken the time to simply gaze down at you with anything more than burning desire. They always seemed to be in a rush, their eyes filled with nothing but lust and impatience.

"Good girl," she said, reaching out to wipe her cum off with her thumb. She then stuck it into your mouth, and watched you suck it clean. “And you know what good girls deserve after such a delicious treat?"

"What, Mommy?" You asked excitedly.

"Their reward," Wanda purred, leaning down to kiss you passionately while her fingers trailed down your neck, and gripped it gently. "My little cum-slut deserves some good fucking.”

Wanda gave a quick beckon, motioning for you to get on your feet. You had barely stood up completely, when she gripped your hips tightly with her strong hands and forced you under her. Her superhuman force made you so featherlight in comparison to her, allowing her to have complete control over your movements, leaving no doubt about who was in charge in that moment.

The tip of her cock gently brushed against your entrance making you both shiver at the mere thought of what was about to happen.

She slowly thrust her hips forward, slowly penetrating you with her strap.

You shut your eyes tight in response, gasping at how exquisite but painful it was to have your tiny hole stuffed by her massive cock.

"There, you're doing well, baby,'" she said, caressing your cheek as a display of encouragement. “Do you need to stop?” She asked attentively.

You shook your head in refusal, choosing instead to grasp her shoulders firmly, seeking something to anchor yourself to. The harshness of your touch brought a smile to her face, lighting up her eyes with a spark of joy at your silent approval.

She slowly picked up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into you.

The slapping of your bodies, the headboard clashing against the wall, and your mutual panting and moaning were the only sounds echoing through Wanda’s spacious room at the compound.

Your eyes squeezed shut, a chaotic blend of screams and moans escaping your lips as you dangerously hung on the edge of tears.

She looked down at you, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, her eyes shimmering with delight as you writhed beneath her.

"That's it," her hips slammed against yours with a fierce intensity. In response, she could feel your nails digging into her back, leaving angry red marks that would soon blossom into bleeding scratches.

"Fuck... FUCK! I'm gonna cum! I need to cum," you screamed, not fighting against the tears any longer.

"Cum for me, darling," she accentuated each worth with a single thrust. One of her hands reached between your legs, roughly massaging your clit with her thumb, determined to tear you apart through every single nerve ending that could occur to her.

You screamed loudly, your walls squeezing her cock as you came hard. She could feel your juices flowing down her bedsheets, coating them in a warm sheen. Her seed didn't take much longer to fill you up, pushing against you as it spilled into every crevice of your pussy.

As her orgasm subsided, Wanda slowly pulled out of you, her dick slipping wetly from your hole.

"Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Just then, an idea sparked in her mind. "Stay right there," she commanded, climbing off you.

You watched, breathless, as she stood up, her strap glistening and even dripping with both of your releases.

She opened a drawer and retrieved a Polaroid camera.

"What? You're not the only one who owns one,” she stated, a playful smirk on her lips as she gauged at your surprised expression.

She lay on her stomach, the camera positioned between your pussy and her face. With a playful grin, she snapped a picture, capturing the sight of your hole still dripping with your shared juices. The blinding flash it possessed would illuminate every detail and highlight the intensity of what you both had just experienced.

She slid a single finger inside you, provoking your walls to swallow her without hesitation once more, making you arch your back in response to the pleasure coursing through you.

She couldn't resist taking another picture, the mesmerizing sight too beautiful to pass up.

She growled in desperate need, setting the camera aside as she flipped you on all fours, her eyes glinting with desire as she admired the view you presented. She as well switched her position, this time beneath you, guiding you to lower yourself onto her face.

As you settled in, she slipped two fingers inside you, curling them in a come-hither motion that provoked you to grip her hair desperately, the headboard being too far away for you to hold onto it.

However, she continued her ministrations, seemingly unbothered and even excited by your aggressive treatment.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you weren't even able to make a single sound as your breath cut down in your throat. You felt a tightness in your chest, and each second seemed to stretch into an eternity. All you could focus on was the intense feeling restricting your ability to breathe.

"S-s-stop! STOP!" She knew from your irregular breath and whimpering what was about to happen.

She would happily embrace whatever reaction you would have. However she wanted to teach you that you didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, not through reassuring words but through desperation.

Therefore, she slowed down her fingers, upom hearing your warning. She took her fingers out of you, pulling her hand out and slapping your ass.

“Are you sure, slut?” She asked.

"Fuck... no," you exclaimed, the feeling of your walls clenching at the lack of her fingers was too unbearable to handle.

She chuckled and moved back to your entrance, finger fucking you senseless with a slow but hard pace.

To her dislike, she eventually noticed that you were holding back again, and her irritation increased. She wanted you to let go, to embrace the experience fully, and she was ready to do whatever it took to guide you there.

"Baby, if you don't cum right now, I'm going to spank you so hard you won't be able to walk for a month," Wanda threatened. She reached around and pinched your clit, making you gasp as she continued fucking you.

“Mmm, here it comes,” you warned her, a whimper escaping from your lips as you prepared to unleash the inevitable.

With a dramatic flourish, you tilted your head back, watching as your squirt arced out of your cunt like a shimmering comet, a cascade of droplets splashing across Wanda's face, not leaving an inch unsoaked.

You took a few deep breaths, defeatedly laying on your back next to her, leaving your tits and stomach on her sight, as well as your well-fucked pussy.

And as if you were made of the most fragile crystal, she pulled the bedsheets from under you, enveloping both of you under the warmth of her bedsheets.

The sudden shift of treatment caught you off guard, and before you knew it, she had you pulled back against her chest, the sweat of her body mixing with yours.

You could hear her rapid heartbeat. It was both comforting and electrifying, grounding your once racing heart into finding its rhythm again.

"I've got you, little one," she whispered softly in your ear. “I'm not letting you go, ever again,” she vowed, leaving open mouthed kisses on your forehead.

And she held onto that promise. Forever.

The next day, the soft rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, emanating a warm glow in the room.

You stirred awake to the gentle sensation of little kisses peppering your face. The older woman beside you, with her playful affection, made you wrinkle your nose in that adorable way that never failed to make her smile.

"How are you feeling, love?" She asked softly, her concern for you palpable both in her tone and expression.

"Wonderful," you replied, stretching your limbs with a lazy grace. You leaned in and pressed your lips against hers. "And you? Did you sleep well?"

"As I’ve ever slept in my life," she confirmed, her eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and something deeper. "I want to shout to the rooftops how much I love you, how profoundly you mean to me."

Wanda loved you. Truly, deeply loved you.

What had transpired the night before was not merely a release of carnal desires; it was an intimate, powerful affirmation of connection, a way of claiming you as hers.

"I love you more," you replied, your heart threatening to come out of your chest, as it was not yet used to this level of bliss.

You pressed another kiss to her lips, pouring every ounce of your feelings into that simple peck.

"I have faith in us, in all of this," she said, her voice determined yet filled with vulnerability. "After everything that happened, would you give me a chance?" You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the longing for a future together.

"Absolutely, my darling," you reached out, taking her hand in yours reassuringly. Two souls intertwining like an ivy growing over a sturdy stone.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wandavision #marvel

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writers-potion · 7 months ago

Note

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

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libingan · 4 months ago

Text

—escapism.

cw: cheating, age gaps, ooc simon because this was kind of rushed sorry babes, erm ig emotional neglect ??? idk how to tag warnings JSJDWJSJW

a/n: not my best work, but like, im having writer’s block rn so i just wrote the first thing that came to mind because i feel like i need to post something for yall HAAHAHAHAHA

as always, part two depends on how much this fic eats

you could feel the tension crackling in the air as you and your boyfriend faced off in your cramped living room. the argument had started small—another forgotten dinner, a dismissive comment—but it quickly escalated into a full-blown fight. his words were sharp, and his eyes, once warm, were cold and distant.

“you never fucking listen!” you yelled, your voice raw with frustration. “i’ve been trying to get you to notice me for months, but you’re always too busy with your own shit!”

he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “i’m tired of your whining. what do you want me to do, huh? i work hard and all you do is complain!”

“i want you to care!” you snapped back, feeling the sting of betrayal. “i want you to actually touch me, to know what i need, not just what you think you know!”

he threw his hands up in exasperation, his face hardening. “fine! if you’re so unhappy, maybe you should just leave!”

his words cut deeper than any physical blow could have. you felt a surge of anger and hurt. “maybe i fucking will!” you shouted, grabbing your coat and storming out, the door slamming behind you with a deafening bang. the sound echoed in the empty hallway as you rushed to your own place.

in the dimly lit sanctuary of your apartment, you stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection a mixture of rage and sadness. determined to reclaim some control over your life, you pulled out your most daring outfit—something that made you feel powerful and fierce. the tight, low-cut dress hugged your curves, and the bold makeup accentuated your defiance.

you headed to a bar, a place where anonymity and distraction offered some solace. the bar was loud and crowded, but you walked in with a purposeful stride. you ordered a strong drink and let the warmth of the alcohol begin to soothe your frayed nerves. it wasn’t long before you felt the eyes of others on you, their gazes filled with various levels of interest.

that’s when you noticed him—the man staring right at you. he was seated alone at the far end of the bar, his rugged features partially obscured by a black surgical mask. despite the mask, there was something compelling about him. he seemed a lot older, but his presence was commanding and intriguing. his gaze was intense, even if you couldn’t see his expressions clearly.

you found yourself drawn to him, not just by his looks but by the way he seemed to command the space around him. you hesitated for a moment, then made your way over, the alcohol giving you just enough courage.

the man looked up from his drink as you approached, his gaze piercing yet inviting. “evening,” he greeted, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "rough night?"

you signal the bartender to bring you another shot before turning to the man, an exhausted expression plastered onto your face. "you have no idea."

the bartender arrived with your drink, setting it down in front of you. before he could leave, the man next to you gestured to him with a firm yet polite command. "put the lady's drink on my tab," he said, his voice carrying a hint of mystery. a slight smile played on his lips as he glanced at you, his eyes intense and unreadable. the bartender nodded and moved on, leaving you feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity about this intriguing stranger.

"simon riley," he introduced himself with a nod. you offered your name in return, extending your hand for a handshake. he gladly took it, lifting his mask just enough to expose his lips before planting a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

"i have a boyfriend," you stated. simon chuckled in response, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "not a very good one if you're out here, no?"

you hesitated for a moment, but simon's easy confidence made it hard to stay reserved. as the conversation flowed, you found yourself laughing and sharing stories, your initial wariness melting away. there was an undeniable chemistry between you, a connection that felt natural and effortless.

simon had a way of making you feel seen and heard, his attention unwavering as he listened to you speak. he shared glimpses of his own life, his stories filled with adventure and depth. with each passing moment, you felt more alive, the weight of your earlier frustrations lifting.

you couldn't remember the last time you felt this way with your boyfriend. the spark, the excitement, the genuine interest—it had all been missing for so long. being with simon reminded you of what it felt like to be truly connected with someone, to feel that electric thrill of mutual attraction.

as the evening wore on and the alcohol worked its magic, you found yourself relaxing. after a few more drinks, the liquid courage made you more open. simon’s patient listening and calming presence encouraged you to open up.

as the night deepened and the bar's ambiance grew more intimate, you found yourself opening up to simon in a way you hadn't with anyone in a long time.

"my boyfriend... he's been so emotionally distant lately," you admitted, swirling your drink as you gathered your thoughts. "he's not as loving as he used to be. it's like he's more focused on his own world, and i'm just an afterthought."

simon listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours. "that sounds tough," he said softly. "you deserve to feel loved and appreciated."

you nodded, grateful for his understanding. "it's been hard. sometimes, it feels like i'm invisible to him. we haven't been intimate in what feels like forever. i almost feel like a virgin again because it's been so long since we last had sex."

simon raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity and concern in his gaze. "that must be really frustrating."

"it is," you sighed. "and the last time we did... he couldn't even find the clit. it was awkward and disappointing. it made me feel like he doesn't really care about my needs."

simon’s eyes remained locked on you, his presence steady and unyielding. “that sounds incredibly frustrating. it’s like he’s stopped making an effort to connect with you.”

“exactly!” you exclaimed, frustration spilling out. “it’s like he’s not even trying. i feel invisible, and he doesn’t even care. it’s like i’m just a roommate or something.”

simon’s voice was low and soothing. “you deserve more than that. it’s clear you’re looking for someone who actually cares and pays attention to what you need.”

simon leaned in closer, his presence radiating warmth and intensity. his hand, firm yet gentle, rested on your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. “you know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a seductive edge, “i’d like to get to know you better. i can’t stand seeing you so unhappy.”

his fingers traced a light, deliberate path on your skin, the touch both comforting and thrilling. “why don’t you come home with me tonight? we can talk more, and I’d love to help you thryou hesitated, feeling a mix of curiosity and caution. “i don’t know, simon. you’re clearly older than me, and we’ve just met. it feels a bit... risky.”

simon’s gaze remained steady, his hand still gently resting on your thigh. “how old are you?” he asked, his voice calm and composed.

“i’m 27,” you replied.

“27,” simon repeated, his tone neutral. “you’re pushing thirty, not some freshly eighteen little girl. you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions.” he paused briefly. “could show you a good time, love, make you feel things your little boy toy can't. i'm only 42, you know. is that too old for you?"

you thought to yourself that yes, it might be too old, but right now? with the hurt and desperation for someone who would actually treat you right? you found yourself saying, “no, it’s not too old. yes, I’d like that.”

that's how you ended up in simon's apartment bedroom, naked and lost in the throes of pleasure.

simon's got you on your back, legs hooked over his shoulders, his head buried in between your thighs, mouth working overtime against your dripping cunt. he keeps his gaze on you the entire time, watching your expression contort in pleasure as he parts your lips with his thumb, pressing the pad of his tongue against your sensitive clit, swiping the muscle side to side. you let out a soft moan, hands tangled in simon's dirty blonde locks, pushing his head down further.

"fuck-! just like that, please, feels so good..." you mewl, causing him to groan, his own hips rutting against the sheets, staining the fabric with his pre as he greedily sucked on your sensitive, pulsating nub.

you missed this. this overwhelming feeling of pleasure that hinders your thinking, preventing any coherent thought from entering your mind. you couldn't think, see, nor feeling anything aside from the heat pooling deep inside of you. if simon could unravel you this much with his mouth, how much more damage would he be able to do with his cock?

the thought alone was enough to send you over the edge, but just as you were about to let the feeling override your senses, simon pulls back and sat up, the lower half of his face covered in your arousal, a slick sheen coating his lips and his chin. "fuckin' delicious," he grunts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

you let out a needy whine at that, lightly kicking simon for edging you. "you're an ass..." you grumbled, to which the older man responds to with an amused chuckle. "won't be sayin' that when i fuck you with this thing." he says, grabbing his thick cock and resting it on your belly. you gawk in awe at his size, swallowing the lump in your throat. how the hell were you going to fit that inside?

"it'll fit." simon mutters, as if reading your mind.

he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing the small condom packet next to his lamp. he rips off the foil with his teeth, hurriedly slipping it on to his dick. simon's hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him. he grabs his cock with one hand, dragging it up your slit, rubbing the fat head against your clit a couple of times before positioning himself against your entrance. "ready?"

"hurryyy...' you whine.

slowly, simon began to sink his girth into your pussy, stretching you out with his fat cock to a point where pain collided with the pleasure. you clutched onto his arm, a shuddering breath escaping you.

"that's it, love," he said, voice raspy and strained as he inched further inside of you, "good girl, taking me so well... just a little more, okay?"

you nod. it's all you could bring yourself to do as simon finally bottomed out. he lets out a grunt, gently rocking his hips into you. he kept a steady rhythm, taking his time with each thrust. the slow, agonizing pace drove you wild, especially after he denied you an orgasm just a few minutes prior.

"bloody fuckin' hell..." simon groans, inhaling sharply as your walls hugged snugly around his cock. "not gonna last long if you're this tight, love," he whispers, burying his face into the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, legs wrapping around simon's waist as you complain about his pace. "faster, please... i can't, it's not enough..."

simon simpers, pulling back just enough to leave the tip inside before slamming back into your warm cunt, ripping out a loud moan from your mouth. "that what you want, love?" he asks smugly.

"fuck yes—again! fuck, do it again, please!"

who was simon to deny such a pretty litte thing?

his thrusts begin to accelerate, slamming into you frantically, driving his cock in and out of your tight, wet heat. "fuck, si—ah, shit!" you whimpered, eyes watering with each pound.

simon's hand reaches down, rubbing his thumb against your clit in circles. "does your boyfriend fuck you this good?" he growled, reveling in the way you seemed to tighten up around him at the question. "fucking answer." he demanded, delivering a single hard thrust, causing his tip to kiss your cervix. you cried out at the intensity, shaking your head, sputtering out incomprehensible words with each slam of his cock into your pussy. "gotta him bring him over then. show him how to treat a pretty little girl like you."

simon's previously rhythmic thrusts were now eratic, hips slapping into yours haphazardly, his hand beginning to ache with each circle of his thumb on your nub.

it didn't take long until you were finally teetering over the egde. you threw your head back, "simon, i'm almost—SIMON!"

with a loud cry and a final roll of simon's hips, you both reached your peak. simon let out a strained groan, releasing into the condom. he leaned forward, sighing, and rested his forehead against your shoulder blade.

for a few seconds, you lay in motionless silence, the sound of your shaky breaths filling the space as you both tried to regain your composure.

“jesus christ,” simon eventually groaned, pressing a brief kiss to your shoulder. “you felt amazing.” he then gently eased himself out of you and rolled onto his side, lying next to you. “your boyfriend’s really missin’ out,” he added.

as you lay there, your eyes flickered to your phone, which had been buzzing non-stop. simon noticed your distracted glance and asked, “boyfriend?”

before you could respond, he reached over, snatching the phone from your hand. with a decisive motion, he placed it back on his nightstand, out of reach. he turned back to you, pulling you closer with a firm, yet gentle embrace.

“let’s not think about him,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “tonight’s about you and me.” he nuzzled closer, his touch warm and insistent. “how about we see if we can make this night even better?”

with that, he guided you back into his arms, ready for round two, the promise of a deeper connection hanging in the air. as the night unfolded, the two of you lost yourselves in each other, making love with a renewed sense of passion and intimacy.

meanwhile, your phone continued to buzz with missed calls and texts from your boyfriend, each notification a reminder of the unresolved tension. but for tonight, you chose to ignore it all, focusing instead on the moment with simon and savoring the connection and pleasure that had been so absent. after all, wasn't it his idea for you to leave?

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty smut #cod #cod mwii #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cw cheating #cw age gap #cw age difference #cod mw ghost #cod ghost #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x reader smut

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nevernonline · 2 months ago

Text

✧.* pancakes for dinner; svt smau

chapter 05; mic drop.

✧.* synopsis: y/n while in her third year at greenwood international university finally gets an opportunity to move off campus into a new complex, she has to deal with the realization that her childhood rival is her new next door neighbor.

paring: seungcheol x fem! reader.

feat: non-idol! svt, nct mark&jaehyun, other passing idols ykyk.

genre/s: reader is super oblivious, fluffy, sexual themes.

content: swearing, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

updates: weekly

tag list - open

word count: 5.1k (written portion between texts!)

masterlist ▸ 04 house not so warming. ▸ 06. husband material.

Y/N walked out her front door, keys shaking in her hands as she set out to the small studio space next to Seungcheol. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was freaking out so badly. It was just an interview, after all. It’s not like he could embarrass her in front of Mark or Chaewon. This was his first show for the university, and he’d be a complete idiot to spill her secrets here.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart, but the nerves clawed at her insides. As she approached the elevator, her legs felt like they were melting like ice cream under the summer sun. She avoided eye contact with the door to his and Seungkwan's apartment, trying to mentally prepare herself for what was ahead.

But of course, like clockwork, as soon as she stepped inside the elevator, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway right towards her. Panic surged through her as she instinctively pressed the close door button like her life depended on it, but it didn’t work. The door slid open, and she was met with the sight of his Nike sneaker blocking her escape.

“Hi, Y/N. On your way to the show?” Seuncheol asked, leaning against the elevator wall, a menacing yet playful smile plastered on his face.

Y/N’s heart dropped. “Uh, yeah. Just, you know… heading in or, uh, out for that matter.” she stammered, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks as she stared straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.

Seuncheol chuckled lightly. “Cool, cool. Are you ready? I mean, we’re just going to have a little fun, right? You seem nervous.” His tone was teasing, like he was trying to bring her down to his level, reminding her of all the times he’d made her feel small back in high school.

She plastered on a brave smile, determination flickering within her. “Yeah, just… don’t make it awkward, okay?” The words escaped her before she could think them through, and she instantly regretted the sharpness of her response.

He raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Awkward? Me?” he replied, acting innocent. “I promise to keep it professional. Honestly, I’m a little nervous too.”

Y/N could only roll her eyes internally. Could he really have forgotten all the things he did to her? Or was this some kind of twisted game he enjoyed playing?

“Well that makes me feel better.,” she replied, her voice steadying as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide open to the ground floor. “Let’s just try to make this painless.”

As she stepped out and headed towards the studio, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be a much longer day than she had anticipated. Would she be able to hold her ground against the past, or would it all come rushing back in the form of laughter and teasing questions? Only time would tell.

Y/N steps into the small recording studio, after Seungcheol and her make their way in pure silence, her heart racing as she sees the sight of Seungcheol getting seated behind the mic, his confident smile masking the tension in the room. It’s been years since high school, and though she thought she’d left those painful memories behind, here he is—her former bully—now the host of a popular college radio show. Beside him is his co-host, Mark, who seems oblivious to the underlying tension which oddly isn’t helping her feel at ease. Logically she knew the show was live, but in her head maybe they could edit out any weird tension that was swirling around.

“Welcome everyone to ‘Strawberry Jams,’” Seuncheol begins, his tone light and playful. “Today we have a very special guest with us, someone who we’re excited to get to know. Y/N, right?”

Y/N forces a smile, caught off guard by his nonchalant demeanor. “Yeah, that’s me,” she replies, trying to keep her composure.

Mark chimes in, “So, Seungcheol, what do you think we should ask Y/N first? Her experience in college, first impressions of joining the radio crew, or breaking the ice with some embarrassing stories about her past?”

Seuncheol feigns thoughtfulness, glancing at her as if he’s genuinely curious. “Hmm, I don’t know... Maybe we should start with something really easy. Y/N, tell us what you’ve been up to since high school?”

Inside, Y/N can’t help but feel a mix of anger and confusion. Does Seungcheol really not remember the torment? Or is this all just part of his game? As she gathers her thoughts, Seuncheol leans forward with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the moment, and Mark excitedly nods for her to share.

In this moment, Y/N feels a wave of nostalgia and unresolved feelings crashing over her. Will she choose to confront him, or will she play along for the sake of her own peace? The air is thick with unspoken words and long-buried emotions as the interview continues.

“Well, uh, obviously just going to classes, staying mainly at home or out with my friends. Nothing that embarrassing to tell you guys, I'm afraid.” Y/n just smiled thinking she evaded the question naturally and easily.

Seungcheol just sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching her intently. “Really? Nothing embarrassing? Like getting stood up at a dance or maybe some embarrassing moment in front of the whole student body like the one in the Lizzie Mcguire movie?”

Y/N could feel the heat of his words washing over her, mixing with old wounds that had barely healed. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could reach into her history and extract the moments that still made her cringe. “Yeah, well, things like that happened, I did think I was brave enough to try out for the school play, but you know, sometimes bravery doesn’t pay off,” she replied, biting back whatever harsh retorts danced on the tip of her tongue.

Mark sensed the shift in the mood and tried to lighten the atmosphere with a laugh. “Come on, Y/N, it can’t be that bad. One embarrassing story is all we ask to kick off the show!”

Seungcheol jumped in, an almost playful challenge in his eyes. “Or maybe we can take turns sharing stories. I could tell you all about the time I slipped in front of the whole gym at the championships… But I think you might have to go first.” His smile was disarming, but Y/N could feel the ancient tension rising like a tide.

As she stared at him, somewhere between infuriated and amused, she realized she had a choice to make. Would she continue to deflect, letting him steer the narrative, or would she take the reins and confront the demons of her past in this unlikely place? The stakes felt somehow higher in this makeshift confessional; every question could unleash a deluge of feelings she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

With a deep breath, Y/N decided it was time to reclaim her narrative, one story at a time. “It wasn’t just a play, but a musical. My Fair Lady to be exact. And if anyone knows me well they’d know the only type of singer I am is a shower pop-star, I have no business doing a legit musical, but I tried anyway. I sang that song from High School Musical the one with Troy when he’s dancing on the golf course, uh- It’s-”

Mark laughed, “Bet on it? No way you actually did that.”

Y/n smiled, maybe Seungcheol can't ruin this for her. “No, Mark. I’m dead ass serious. I wore a green polo shirt and jeans and legit danced around the stage like it was nobody's business and not just like a 16 bar cut I did the entire song.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened, genuinely surprised, using his brain power trying to remember this story. “You committed to the whole thing? How did that go?”

“Let me tell you,” Y/N continued, embracing the moment, “I’d never felt so alive, even if I was pretty sure, no not even pretty sure, very sure, half the audience was laughing at me. I just kept thinking, ‘Dance like no one’s watching,’ shit like that. Even though I could hear my classmates snickering in the back. It was my time to shine, or so I thought. Sometimes I envy the amount of confidence I had when I was younger.”

Mark was doubled over with laughter, and even Seungcheol couldn't hide a grin. “Okay, that’s gold. I could totally see you putting all of yourself into it, though. The over-the-top performance style, right?”

“Exactly, yes. I like to think I was channeling my inner Troy, but honestly, I probably looked more like a lost puppy trying its best,” she admitted, her voice light with humor despite the embarrassment that lurked in the corners of her mind.

As she spoke, she could feel the weight of the past beginning to lift—allowing herself to laugh about her experiences rather than feel ashamed of them. “But hey, at least I captured a moment that I won’t forget, right? Even if the high note was a little… questionable.”

Seungcheol chuckled, shaking his head. “That is honestly impressive. I mean, who knew you had that in you?”

“Right?” Mark chimed in, grinning widely. “You’ve been hiding your talents from us! Next time, we need to see you perform live. Shower concerts don’t count!”

“No, no talent at all, just pure moxy.” Y/n just took a deep breath in settling her laughter. “I am a karaoke killer though, so watch your backs.”

The conversation flowed easily now, and as they continued to tease each other, Y/N felt a delicious sense of freedom. She could tell her story without fear; reclaiming this piece of her past made room for new memories to be created. Maybe this show wouldn’t be such a disaster after all. As the interview progressed, she felt herself relaxing more into the laughter and warmth of friendship, leaving behind the shadows that Seungcheol’s presence had once cast over her.

The tension may have been rooted deep, but here, in this moment, Y/N realized that laughter had the power to blur those boundaries, reminding her that growth was about acknowledging her past while stepping boldly into the present. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward for both of them after all. Or so she thought.

After the interview started settling down, they began diving into the actual theme of the show—sharing songs that had changed their perspectives and made them who they are. It was Seungcheol's turn to share, and Y/N felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Would he truly open up, or would his past vindictive nature rear its ugly head yet again?

“Alright, guys. Thank you for tuning in once again,” Mark said, grinning as he prepared to transition the show into its next segment. “Our next song was chosen by none other than the new hot boy on campus, Seungcheol. So, man, what’d you go with this week?”

Seungcheol leaned forward in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “I chose a song that actually means a lot to me. As corny as it sounds—and maybe once you hear my choice, you'll think it's even more corny than I described—but my pick this week is ‘What a Feeling’ by One Direction.”

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She knew the song well, its infectious energy and uplifting message had always resonated with her. But hearing him say it out loud felt like an unexpected twist. “I know Y/N is still a big One Direction fan,” Seungcheol continued, his gaze fixed on her with sincerity. “So I felt like it was appropriate, both for me and her being here this week, so please enjoy.”

As the opening notes flooded the room, Y/N’s surprise melted into something more—curiosity. What had this song meant to Seungcheol? She could feel all eyes on him as he prepared to share his connections to it.

“I’ll be honest,” Seungcheol began, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability, “I’ve gone through a lot of phases in my life where I felt lost. And this song—back when it came out—was like a lifeline. There was this one summer when I thought I was going to waste my life away doing nothing, but then I heard this song and it made me think about what could be. It was like a reminder that you shouldn’t give up on your dreams, no matter how silly they might seem.”

He paused, casting a glance at Y/N before continuing. “I know I’ve messed up in the past, honestly who hasn’t when they were young and dumb? But this song reminds me that it’s never too late to turn things around. It’s about finding joy in pursuing what makes you happy. And I guess I’m still learning to do that—especially now that I’m in a different place with people I care about.”

The words hung in the air, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something gentler in her heart. She had thought Seungcheol's charm was just a front, a mask to hide behind. But as she listened to him, she realized that maybe there was a genuine intent underneath his bravado.

The song played on, its lyrics weaving through the air like a shared experience, rich with memories and hopes. Mark nodded along, seemingly impressed by Seungcheol's revelation. “Wow, man, that’s really deep. I think a lot of us can relate to that feeling of searching for meaning.”

As the song reached its crescendo, Y/N found herself swept away in nostalgia, the music resonating with her own struggles and aspirations. She realized that they were all navigating their own paths, and that perhaps Seungcheol was trying to do the same—even if clumsily.

When the song came to an end, the room filled with a momentary silence, an unspoken acknowledgment of vulnerability shared. Then, Mark clapped his hands together, breaking the stillness. “Alright, I see you. That was a move for sure. I think you just elevated this whole show, man.”

Y/N caught Seungcheol’s eye, and the playful, teasing smile from earlier had transformed into something softer—more genuine. For the first time since he walked into the studio, she felt a bridge forming between them, built on mutual understanding and perhaps even a flicker of forgiveness.

“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate letting me share that,” Seungcheol said, his tone sincere. “And Y/N, thanks for still being a fan of them. It actually reminded me of how much they’re music helped me navigate the uncertainty of my teenage life..”

However, as the interview drew to a close, Y/N found herself grappling with a whirlwind of thoughts. She was surprised by how different she felt from when the show began to how it was ending. Yet, a shadow of uncertainty lingered in her mind. What if Seungcheol’s newfound vulnerability was just an act?

Was he simply picking songs and sharing stories to manipulate her feelings? Did he want her to feel a sense of connection, only to later flip that affection on its head, turning her trust into rubble like he had before? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she had to fight against the instinct to put up walls.

Or perhaps, she thought, maybe Seungcheol was genuinely trying to reach out. Maybe “What a Feeling” did mean something significant to him, and his reflections were sincere, revealing more depth to his character than she had ever seen. Maybe she had meant something more to him than just being a punching bag for his frustrations during their turbulent past.

She glanced over at him. Seungcheol was bantering with Mark, a comfortable smile spread across his face. It was a smile that looked so different from the smirk she had known; it didn't feel like the mask he often wore. Her heart wavered—could this be the real him?

Y/N couldn’t deny the chemistry they shared during the interview. Laughing together felt good—refreshing, even. But could she trust that he wouldn’t revert back to the person who had hurt her? The scars of their tumultuous history were still fresh, battling against the potential of a new beginning.

When they finally wrapped up, Mark thanked her and told her how good she was on radio, as Seungcheol lingered in the background packing up his bag, stealing glances their way, for some reason Y/n got a bolt of confidence and decided to do something big for her.

“Do you guys want to come out for a drink? It’s just going to be Mingyu and I, but we could always use some new company?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, of course. That sounds like fun. Count me in. Cheol?”

Seungcheol paused, his expression shifting slightly as the words registered. “Uh, yeah, I—if you’re sure about it. I’d love to hang out,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of relief and perhaps eagerness.

Y/N felt her heart flutter. Could this be her moment to redefine their relationship, to push past the fears that weighed her down? This was an opportunity for a fresh start, and maybe an evening of laughter and drinks could be a step in that direction.

“Great!” Mark concluded. He quickly gathered his things, excitement brewing in his voice. “ I think we all deserve it.”

They made their way out of the studio, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows as they walked. The light felt warm on her skin, almost symbolic—like it was shining on a new chapter waiting to unfold. Mingyu was already waiting outside for her, leaning casually against the wall with a broad smile that transformed his face.

“Hey, you.. and friends.. You’re right on time.” he called out, waving them over.

As they settled into a small outdoor table, laughter filled the air, the atmosphere full of a mix of lighthearted banter and lingering questions. Y/N found herself seated across from Seungcheol, who seemed more relaxed now, his playful demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that had previously existed.

“What do you like to drink, Seungcheol?” Mingyu asked, breaking the ice.

“Uh, I’m a sucker for a good cocktail, actually,” Seungcheol replied sheepishly. “Something fruity, maybe?”

“Too easy.” Mark teased, and they all shared a laugh, the sound echoing into the evening air. As the drinks were ordered and the jokes flew freely, Y/N felt herself leaning into it, enjoying the simplicity of the moment.

But as she looked at Seungcheol across the table—his laughter genuine, his eyes bright—she couldn’t shake the nagging questions at the back of her mind. Could he truly change? Would he be someone she could trust moving forward? For now, though, she pushed those thoughts aside, choosing to focus on the warmth of the present, and the laughter that filled the air around them.

She had been eagerly awaiting Seungcheol’s return from the bathroom. The thought of standing there alone felt slightly awkward—like she was trying too hard to ease their past tensions, and she didn’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on the evening. She took a deep breath, savoring the cool night air and letting herself get lost in the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Suddenly, she heard his voice calling her name. “Y/N?!”

Seungcheol was running up behind her, and she instinctively didn’t turn around. Instead, she pretended to be intensely interested in something just across the street—a small café with glowing neon lights, a vintage record store, anything that would provide a distraction.

“Oh, shit. Sorry I left you back there,” he said, slightly breathless as he caught up to her.

Y/N finally turned around, forcing a smile to cover the flurry of emotions. “No worries, I’m not surprised,” she replied, her tone light but her heart raced slightly with uncertainty.

He looked a bit sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed, whether from the drinks or their earlier stimulating conversations, she couldn't quite tell. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting. The line was longer than I expected,” he explained, glancing back toward the restroom, as if it held an explanation itself.

“It's fine. I was just... enjoying the view,” she said, motioning to the streetlights that bathed the sidewalk in a golden hue. She felt a little silly but wanted to keep the conversation flowing. As he stepped closer, she could see the warmth in his eyes, the genuine interest he had in her presence, as if he was absorbing every moment they shared.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said with a chuckle, matching her gaze toward the lights. “You look like you’re lost in thought. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good. Just wishing my buzz from before hit a little better; the pain of having a high tolerance,” she replied, laughing lightly as she rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Seungcheol’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Want to maybe grab a drink at the convenience store? We can walk around for a bit?”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the suggestion. It felt easy, casual—a perfect way to remain in this moment without the weight of their past hanging over them. “Sure, why not..” It was remarkable how a simple offering stirred a sense of excitement within her, a feeling that they'd often missed in their previous encounters.

As they strolled toward the convenience store, the lighthearted atmosphere wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Seungcheol fell into step beside her, their shoulders brushing occasionally, igniting a delightful warmth that she had almost forgotten existed between them.

“So, what’s your drink of choice?” he asked, a playful eyebrow raised.

“Oh, definitely something sour. I’m not much of a cocktail girl. But like a sour as hell lemon w/ vodka hits hard.” she stated, playfully making a face. “The last time I had too much, I ended up singing in the karaoke booth with Mingyu until the sun came up and losing my voice. Not my finest moment.”

Seungcheol laughed, the sound smooth and genuine, his smile pushing away the remnants of tension that once hung heavily in the air. “I can imagine. Based on your story of your singing voice too. But hey, those moments make the best stories, right?”

“True,” she replied, her heart soaring at the way he was able to navigate their conversation with ease, pulling her into lightheartedness. Soon enough, they arrived at the convenience store, the bright fluorescent lights illuminating the aisles filled with snacks and drinks.

They wandered into the beverage aisle, Y/N scanning the colorful selection to find her drink. “How about this?” she said, holding up a can of tropical-flavored beer, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Not bad! I’ll go with something fruity too,” he decided, picking up a canned cocktail mix that promised a burst of summer flavors. “Same, same, but different. Like us, I guess.”

They checked out, sharing a few jokes with the cashier that had Y/N giggling as he rang up their drinks. Once they walked back outside, the night air felt even sweeter, cooled by the gentle breeze that tousled her hair.

“Where to now?” Seungcheol asked, cracking open his drink and taking a large sip, he sighed in satisfaction.

Y/N followed suit and took a sip of hers, initial bubbles dancing on her tongue. “How about we just drink in silence and find our way back home?”

“Great idea.” he nodded enthusiastically, and together they walked down the street, side by side, their laughter punctuating the peaceful night.

As she led the way, a mix of anxiety and nostalgia churned within her. The laughter they had shared echoed in her mind, yet the weight of unspoken truths lingered just beneath the surface. Every step she took felt like a countdown, a reminder that the longer she delayed confronting the past, the more complicated things might become.

Seungcheol walked closely behind, his presence comforting but oblivious to the inner turmoil she faced. His easy demeanor contrasted sharply with the heaviness in her heart. She could still hear his voice, full of laughter and warmth, as they teased one another and reminisced about old memories that felt both fresh and distant.

But deep down, she knew that their connection was built on more than just the joyful moments they shared that night. The shadows of their shared history loomed, and she felt the urge to turn around and spill everything—about who she was, the secrets she kept, and the reasons why they had drifted apart all those years ago.

As they approached their separate front doors, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminated their surroundings, casting gentle shadows on the ground. She hesitated for a moment, caught in the whirlwind of her thoughts. Would it shatter the bond they had just begun to rebuild? Would he still look at her with that same warmth, or would the truth drive a wedge between them?

She decided to just wave him goodnight and tucked back inside her fortress. Except as she tried to slip inside she took one last look in the hallway and found Seungcheol hesitating to open his door.

“You okay?” She questioned, watching his head pick back up and send his dark brown eyes her way.

“Can, I, Uh..” He hesitated for a moment, stepping into the middle of the hallway, his frame facing her now, making her feel small, “Would you want to do this again? Like get a drink with me sometime?”

“Like, just the two of us?” Y/n just stared at him dumbfounded, still one foot placed inside her apartment.

“Yeah. Unless your datin-”

“No. I mean no to dating someone, I’m, uh, single.” Her heart starts racing realizing that saying yes would mean more moments alone with him stuffing down her old hatred towards him. “A drink sounds good, yeah. Why not?”

“Okay, cool. Just text me when you’re free? Or I’ll text you? I mean I guess I’ll see you and whatnot, but whatever works.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Have a goodnight, Seungcheol.”

“You too, Y/n. Sleep tight.”

As she closed the door, Y/n leaned her back against it and let out a long, shaky breath. What had just happened? Seungcheol—her former rival, the guy who once drove her mad with all his cockiness—had just asked her out. But it wasn’t a date, was it? Just a drink. A simple gesture, but the implications had her stomach swirling with excitement and dread all at once.

Y/n paced around her living room, her mind racing. Memories of their past confrontations floated to the surface, but this time she tried to view them through a different lens. She could still remember the way they'd often argued over the most trivial things, their banter charged with an underlying tension neither had fully understood. And now here they were, standing on the brink of something new, something that could transform their antagonistic dynamic completely.

She plopped down on her couch, pulling her knees to her chest as she replayed their conversation in her mind. The warmth in Seungcheol’s voice, the way his eyes had lit up with a hint of hope—it was undeniable that beneath his sharp exterior, there was a gentler side to him. Maybe she’d spent too long judging him based on past encounters when there was a chance he was different now.

But was she ready to let go of the grudges? Could she afford to face the vulnerability that came with a newfound friendship? A drink, she reminded herself. Nothing too serious. But the thought of being near him again made butterflies erupt in her stomach. God, she wished Yuqi was here. But, she couldn’t tell her, not yet until she decided for herself to let go of her anger in fear of someone telling her they told her so.

She flicked on the TV, hoping to distract herself, but every scene felt muted. Instead, her mind raced with scenarios of what their outing could be like: would they share laughter over awkward jokes? Could she really enjoy his company, even after everything that came before?

The night stretched on, and despite all her attempts at distraction, Y/n found herself staring at her phone, debating when and how to text him. She wouldn’t allow herself to overthink it. Maybe she’d just keep the conversation light, something casual.

Resolute, she grabbed her phone and opened a new message to Seungcheol. “Hey. I had fun tonight. Let’s figure out when we can get that drink.”

After hitting send, she settled back into her couch with a sense of anticipation. Whatever this was turning into, it felt like a chance to rewrite their story, one that could lead to something surprising, maybe even delightful. She closed her eyes, letting the possibilities wash over her before sleep finally took her.

note: hi omg I'm back into the swing of things, pls enjoy this chapter I wanted to work on them building their relationship instead of my girl y/n being a lil bitter girly all the time lol. do we think they'll actually not bring up they know each other or will it end poorly I mean idk??

taglist: @minhui896@sun-daddy-yoriichi@luchiet@miles-sketchbook@kissesfrmwonwoo@readerlozies@vcutparis@mxnhoeuwu@writingbarnes @headlockimnida @odxrilove @jeonghaniehaee@bath1lda @wonwootakemyheart @dokyomis @hanniesdegree

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seven-meds · 4 months ago

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A few interesting Letters to the Editor published in various adult magazines between the 50s and the 90s. Transcripts and sources below:

1: Future Sex (Issue 6, March 1994)

I love your magazine. The articles are well-written, and it's refreshing to see adjectives other than the words "throbbing" and "turgid" being used. Bless you and your thesaurus as well.

I particularly enjoyed Kim Teevan's essay, "Self-Service" (Issue 4), but some of the terminology was used improperly. One woman commented on the power of her 12volt vibrator being powerful enough to bore her with men. Well, that may or may not be true, but it's not voltage that determines the output power of vibrators. (I am an electrician by trade so I'm quite familiar with how vibrators work.)

The "vibes" or "pulses" that come from a vibrator are dependent on its rate of electrical cycles, expressed in hertz. A really good vibrator will have a "rate of fire" of about 60-180 pulses per minute. That translates to about

1-3 hertz. Other good rates lie in the 3003,000 pulses per second range. If this sounds a little fast, don't worry about it. Three hundred to 3,000 hertz is the average frequency of the human speaking voice. It's a nifty little vibration but it doesn't carry as far as the electrically generated vibrations due to limitations in the body's ability to maintain a sustained tone.

If I can make a personal recommendation to heavy vibrator users, you can get about a 40% increase in output power on your vibrators by bypassing the resistors that send power into the vibrator itself. Just solder a little wire around them and you'll soon be able to come so hard you'll shatter windows all up and down your block.

Charles Harris San Francisco , CA

2: Night and Day (November 1952)

Dear Sir:

It's wonderful to pick up your magazine a letter from a fellow uniped such as Beth O. I, too, think it is about time we were being heard from. 1 am 27 years old, blonde and not bad looking at all. I lost my left leg at mid thigh in an automobile wreck. Also I have never been able to wear an artificial limb. I use one special crutch, and my boy friend says I get about as well as a girl with two legs. I wear a 6B shoe and would like to swap with any girl that wears that size. Maybe Beth O. wears that size.

I have been walking on crutches for over ten years, I play tennis, dance and bowl. Can anyone top that? I don't believe there is a one-legged girl in the world that can get about better on crutchés than me. I challenge all comers. It is quite a nuisance being one-minus, but as Beth said, it has its compensations. I haven’t bought any hose in years as my friends give me all their odd stockings. I am waiting with bated breath for your picture spread of us one-legged girls — might even send in one of mine if I can find a good one.

E.C. CONCORD, N. C.

3: Eqqus Eroticus (Spring 1997)

Dear Sir,

I’m a middle aged white male living in the Cleveland, Ohio area. I took an early retirement from the Federal Government over a year ago. But I stay in good physical condition by doing my exercises such as walking, bike riding and playing golf. So I can keep up with if not ahead of just about everyone my age and usually guys who are years younger.

I want to be a cart pony and I could be a cart pony, if only I knew of someone who could train me.

I have almost always been in control. I usually am in charge of what¬ ever I am involved in. At work, I was always the boss. Usually when I joined any club and social activities at some point I became the leader. That may sound great, but it is not easy being the one who has to make the decisions, to be the person people wait to hear from, to always be the responsible one.

Through it all or maybe because of it all, I have always had a suppressed interest in bondage. To “be” in bondage, that is. To be tied strapped, shackled or whatever into complete submission. But there was no one who could or would control me, and I still yearn for bondage. I want to know at the deepest level what it is like to be controlled, forced to respond to any whim of the person who controls me.

In my spare time I found a newsgroup that had all kinds of photos of people in bondage. What attracted my interest most was the pony girls, especially the cart ponies. They were totally controlled, physically and mentally. They weren’t just in bondage; they weren’t held in one position. They were forced to behave and obey just as their masters or trainers instructed them. They were in body harnesses, stiff high collars, with a bit in their mouths, and harnesses holding their heads just right. You might see them in a corral, practicing their gait. They might be shown in a stall, chained to a wall by their neck or ankle or pulling a cart with the whip ready to give them extra incentive to obey. They were always total slaves with no will or choice.

I want to be the one who is being trained as cart pony boy. Held by my reins in a stable or my bit secured above me, holding me straight as my trainer works on my gait. To know that the littlest mistake would be rewarded with a crack or two of the whip. A whip crack I have yet to feel. Taught patience by being left chained naked in my stall, to wait for whatever would come next. I even long to be the one locked to the cart, my head held high by collar and head harness, reins telling me where to go, proudly pulling my trainer. To know that when the trip was done I‘d be back secured in my stall, left alone to await my trainer’s next pleasure.

I’m not interested in appearing in public, or being in competition. I just want to experience what it is to live the training of a cart pony. Maybe out there somewhere is a trainer who would give me what I am looking for. I want this experience so much and I would be forever grateful. I’d prefer female, but since sex isn’t the object, a male would be acceptable. If there is anyone who would train me, they can reach me at my e-mail address shown below. Please help me fulfill my desires.

PonySlaveX@aol. com

4: Eroticon (Fall 1980)

Dear friends of Eroticon,

I read porno magazines secretly, because my husband would not like having such “dirty” things in the house. Couldn’t you show more close ups of the male models muscular buttocks? I also would like to see cocks being soft and nice before the erection. I would really love that!

Finally! A lady with desire. We shall try to get some of the models to overcome their vanity and show “him” in a relaxed state. I definitely agree with you — not only womens asses are tempting.

5: Divinity 7 (1994)

I am enclosing a cutting from the DAILY TELEGRAPH of the 8th September. This indicated the flogging of a bishop.

There are no details and I would be very interested to know more about it, there is no doubt that it was a severe thrashing, but the culprit did not need to have hospital treatment afterwards, and he was fit to sit and walk next day, therefore no real injury.

I think that many of us would like to have details, such as how was he dressed for the flogging, did he have pants and shirt on? Was he standing or laying down?

It would also be interesting to know the conditions for flogging in other countries like Pakistan, Arabia and Turkey, with descriptions of the faults for which one can be flogged.

A photo or two would be interesting or better still a video of an actual flogging in public or in private.

This being an item siutable [sic] for the DAILY TELEGRAPH, and the true record of a news event I would think that a video or photos would be quite OK and legal imports, am I right?

As you are In touch and a publisher, I would like to hear from you on this subject, you may already have information or know of videos available.

Douglas Finlayson Essex

6: Transformation (Issue 6, 1994)

Dear TRANSFORMATION,

| recently picked up your Magazine #2...it’s great! | like what I’ve read in your magazine, especially a story titled “Dominant Lady Turns Boyfriend into Crystal” on page 10. | have this fantasy...about a dominant lady dentist who has a thing about a trampy TV, and fetish PVC or latex clothing.

Sometimes | am the patient, all dressed in shiny PVC. Other times I’m the nurse, in a white PVC uniform, long blond hair and a shiny nurse’s cap. The dental equipment is an old belt-driven drill and a sit-up chair.

If possible, I'd like to get in touch with Karyn R. and Crystal. But anyone...please write me!

K. Johnson

7: High Heels (Vol. 2 No. 7, 1965)

Dear High Heels.

I would like to see more pictures of handicapped girls in high-heels... I am enclosing some of mine, showing my 6" heel—some also show my peg. I have other pictures showing me in 7" heels...

Thank You,

U.N.A.

#On fetishism

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biaswreckme · 1 year ago

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delicate | yoonmin

part of a series of (very) short fics inspired by taylor swift songs

"my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me"

Pairing: Yoongi/Jimin

Member: Yoongi, Jimin

Length: 500 words

Genre: angst with a happy ending

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: implied sex, sad vibes, happy ending, drinking

You can read it on: AO3

The pub, if anyone could even call it that, as it was more of a dive bar, was dimly lit and certainly one in which they did not ask questions and people would not bother looking for them there. Yoongi swirled the whiskey around in his glass, the two blocks of ice clinking against each other, and looked at his phone, waiting for an answer. He had sent the address a little earlier, and logically knew it could get him even longer to get there, depending on where he had been before, but his fingers still shook slightly as he pressed the buttons.

He was on his second glass - and maybe he had drunk the first quicker than usual - when the door of the shady place opened up and there stood him, Park Jimin, model and South Korea’s sweetheart. And there in that seat waiting for him, Min Yoongi, rockstar, black sheep, and purveyor of scandals galore (albeit none of them true).

Jimin’s walk was mesmerizing to Yoongi, sultry, enticing, sometimes even without intention. “This isn’t the… best place.” Jimin said.

“But no one will recognize you here.”

“You know I don’t mind…” Jimin started, but was interrupted.

“My reputation is at its worst right now. Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” Yoongi asked, right hand twirling the glass and trying to control the shaking.

Jimin sat down by his side, getting closer to him. “You know that I know the rumors aren’t true. And I don’t care about them.”

Yoongi hesitated, a spark of hope starting to inflate in his heart. “Still. Our situation is… delicate.”

“Yet you still called me here.” Jimin’s response froze Yoongi, hand halfway to his mouth to sip more alcohol.

Each and every time they would have a similar conversation. Their delicate situation had been going for over a year, and they still had not defined a label or gone public. Yoongi wondered when Jimin was going to get tired of this - of him. Jimin was even sporting dark jeans and sneakers, something Yoongi never thought he would see the model wearing. All for the discretion; meeting in inconspicuous clothes, in shady places, sometimes for mere fleeting moments.

Yoongi put the glass down with a soft noise on the counter, a confession escaping his lips. “I like to pretend you’re mine.”

“I am yours. If you want to. If it’s cool with you.” Jimin draped his hand over Yoongi’s. “Is this too soon? I just want to feel your hands in my hair again, feel them all over me.” He took a breath and almost begged for the same thing he had asked many times before. “Come home with me. Third floor with a view.”Yoongi closed his eyes and his fists, hands tight and fingernails pressing into his palms, trying to hold on to his fading determination of staying away from Jimin in public, and failing. He smiled softly. “You truly must like me for me. Let’s go home.”

#thebtswritersclub #52hertz #yoongi #bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #rapline #suga #agust d #my works #jimin #yoonmin #min yoongi #park jimin

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baldwinivmybeloved · 5 months ago

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☆ 🖇️ 𖥻 Charper Twelve＜꒱ Xica X Baldwin IV

In her room, Xica was arranging some belongings when she discovered a semi-hidden door behind a curtain. Opening it revealed a finely carved wooden box, hidden among old blankets and dusty books. With trembling hands, she lifted the lid and discovered an unexpected treasure: beautifully set Islamic jewelry and a silk dress with golden embroidery. At the bottom, a folded letter caught her attention.

"Dear Xica,

These jewels are a modest tribute to the beauty that lights my path in this castle. I hope you accept this gift as a symbol of my respect and admiration. May they remind you that in this place of shadows, there is someone who sees your light."

Xica read the words with a mix of disbelief and concern. Mullah had always been courteous, but his gestures now took on a more significant tone. What implications would these jewels and this dress have on her life in the castle of Jerusalem?

Determined to remain calm, Xica went down to the kitchen to prepare the banquet for the castle's high-ranking officials. However, her tranquility was interrupted by the arrival of Genova, a maid with a furtive smile and a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"Xica, dear," began Genova with a sweet tone that couldn't hide her venom. "It seems you have a little secret hidden in your room. Don't worry, I don't mind, but it could be interesting if the others found out, don't you think?"

Xica turned slowly, her expression now firm and determined. "Genova, you have no right to snoop into my personal affairs. Whatever is in my room is my business and mine alone."

Genova took a step closer, her gaze sharp as a knife. "Oh, but Xica, you don't know what you're missing. You could learn a lot from me, about how to navigate this castle and its intrigues."

Genova's words cut like blades, but Xica remained steadfast. The tension in the kitchen thickened with every word until finally, the two women engaged in verbal and physical combat.

"I won't let you threaten me, Genova!" exclaimed Xica, pushing the other woman against the table.

Genova, with a bitter laugh, responded, "You don't know what you're getting into, Xica. This castle doesn't forgive the weak."

The air crackled with electricity as Genova threw the first punch. Xica blocked deftly, returning the blows with a determination that surprised everyone present. Kitchen utensils clanged with the clash of their bodies as they fought with a ferocity fueled only by resentment and envy.

Alerted by the commotion, Tobiah burst into the kitchen and separated the combatants. Xica, adrenaline still roaring in her veins, stepped back, her gaze fixed on Genova, who had a deep scratch on her cheek, blood marking her visible defeat.

"You and I are not finished," Genova murmured with hatred as Tobiah escorted her out of the kitchen.

Later, Xica was summoned by Baldwin IV to an intimate room in the castle. Upon entering, she was surprised to see a meticulously arranged chessboard in front of Baldwin, who wore an outfit that highlighted his natural elegance. Xica's eyes met his, a silent connection that seemed to transcend words.

"Welcome, Xica," Baldwin said with a friendly smile as he invited her to sit. "I've been looking forward to this moment to talk with you."

Xica nodded, her heart beating with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "It's an honor, Your Majesty."

During the chess game, they conversed about deep and personal topics. From the responsibilities of power to hidden dreams and shared passions, each move on the board seemed to reflect the delicate dance of their shared thoughts.

"Baldwin," Xica began, her voice soft but laden with meaning, "if you discovered something that could change your life, what would you do?"

Baldwin looked at her intensely, his expression serious but warm. "I suppose it would depend on how big that change was. Some things are hard to resist, even if they carry risks."

Xica smiled, feeling closer to him with every shared word. "It's curious how life presents us with challenges that could change everything."

At the end of the game, Baldwin stood up gracefully, and Xica bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Your Majesty. It has been an honor."

Baldwin looked at her with gratitude. "No, the honor has been mine, Xica."

After a tumultuous day, Xica returned to her room, only to find Genova waiting for her in the darkness. Tension skyrocketed instantly as Genova advanced with a dagger in her hand.

The sound of struggle filled the room, the gleam of the dagger reflecting flashes of danger in the rarefied air. Xica, with instincts sharpened by fear and anger, defended herself fiercely, using every inch of space to counterattack with trained skill. The noise attracted the castle's occupants, who arrived en masse to separate the combatants.

Under the bed, Xica found a forgotten sword, which she wielded with expert prowess as chaos raged around her. Finally, the castle knights managed to subdue Genova, whose incoherent accusations were quickly disproved by reliable witnesses.

Before departing, Mullah met with Godfrey, Tiberias, and Baldwin IV to formally say goodbye. However, the farewell turned tense when Mullah posed an unexpected demand.

"Baldwin IV," Mullah began with a cold but respectful bow, "I appreciate your hospitality during my stay here. However, before I leave, I want to discuss an important matter."

Tiberias frowned, his eyes revealing palpable skepticism. "What is it you want, Mullah?"

Mullah looked at Xica with an intensity that made his objective clear. "I wish to take Xica with me. I believe her place is by my side, where she can live a life of wealth and power."

Baldwin IV stood firmly, his eyes meeting Mullah's with unwavering determination. "Xica is not an object you can request, Mullah. She is free to make her own decisions, and her place here is guaranteed by her own merits."

Mullah clenched his fists, his expression dark. "Then so be it. But remember, Your Majesty, opportunities like this don't come twice."

With these words, Mullah withdrew, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. Baldwin IV contemplated the discussion with deep seriousness, aware that the power game in Jerusalem was far from over.

Baldwin IV observed Mullah with a mix of disdain and caution while the advisor stood tall, his gaze fixed on the king with an almost defiant determination.

"Mullah," Baldwin began with a firm but calm voice, "your request is unacceptable. Xica is not a possession that can be requested or traded like merchandise."

Mullah pressed his lips together, but before he could respond, several knights hurriedly entered the room, their faces marked by the seriousness and recent tumult.

"My lord," began one of the knights, bowing to Baldwin IV, "there has been a serious conflict between Xica and Genova. The situation has gotten out of control in the kitchen, and Genova is now in custody."

Baldwin IV frowned, his concern growing. "What exactly happened?"

The knight briefly explained the details of the confrontation between the two women, highlighting how Xica had acted in self-defense while Genova had tried to harm her. Witnesses' accounts confirmed Xica's innocence in the incident.

Meanwhile, in the castle prison, Reynald de Chatilleau visited Genova, his expression full of disgust and contempt. "I thought I could trust you, Genova," he said coldly while looking at her through the bars. "But you have proven to be a mistake. You are no longer of use to me."

Genova, with a mix of rage and fear, responded, "But he promised me! He promised he would help me get out of here!"

Reynald laughed bitterly. "I should never have trusted an ambitious maid like you. Now you'll face the consequences of your actions alone."

Back in the castle hall, Baldwin IV turned to Mullah with a cold but decisive look. "Mullah, after what has happened, it's clear that Xica must decide her own fate. I won't allow decisions to be imposed on her against her will."

Godfrey, noting the growing tension, intervened calmly. "Your Majesty, what if we call Xica here and let her express her opinion?"

Tiberias, visibly upset, interrupted firmly. "Godfrey, you just heard what happened! Xica is not in a condition to be questioned now."

Godfrey ignored Tiberias' objections and continued with his proposal. "The only way to avoid a bigger conflict is to let Xica freely choose her fate. Let's let her decide."

Finally, Xica was brought before the king and his council. She was pale but determined, her gaze fixed on Mullah with a mix of defiance and resolve.

"Well, Xica," Baldwin IV said gently, "what do you prefer to do in this situation?"

Xica took a deep breath before speaking, her voice resonating with an inner strength that surprised everyone present. "Your Majesty, counselors. I appreciate Mullah's gestures of courtesy and gifts, but I must make it clear that I do not want anything he offers. I am not a piece on his power board or anyone else's. My decisions are mine and mine alone."

Mullah observed her with an indescribable expression, his dark eyes evaluating her as he processed her rejection. "I understand, Xica," he finally replied with tense serenity. "I respect your decision."

Baldwin IV nodded approvingly, feeling a subtle pride for Xica's bravery. He said nothing, but gently took her hand in a gesture of silent support.

However, the accumulated tension and stress of the day finally took their toll on Xica. Her vision blurred, dizziness enveloped her like a cold blanket, and her legs gave way under her weight. Before anyone could react, she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Baldwin IV held her delicately, his concern and care evident in every gesture as those present reacted with surprise and alarm.

Hello guys, I hope you like this chapter regarding the poll is already decided the option that won this you will see in the next chapter

#baldwin #baldwin iv #king baldwin iv #king baldwin #king baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv x oc #king baldwin x reader #king baldwin x you #kingbaldwin #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven movie #koh fandom #the leper king

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homocidalpotat · 11 days ago

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I woke up this morning to find this anon. I'm genuinely disgusted, if I'm honest. I blocked them, but I'm kind of answering them anyway.

Sure, I'm white. Sure, maybe I subconsciously have privileges and benefits, but I don't think I'm all that privileged. I'm queer (asexual, genderqueer, queer), neurodivergent and with lots of issues that exclude me from the average white, mentally healthy, cishet person where i live. My point is even without being a poc, I am still in many minority groups that get hate. I had to contact the police only 3 days ago because of a hate crime that was committed against me. I understand what it's like to be mistreated for the way you are. And, seriously, I didn't make that post because I'm white. I thought skin colour didn't determine your values or opinions. I originally made that post for my blog. I didn't want all these 6000+ people to reblog it and trauma dump, but it's a free place and people have said it helps them. I made it to express why I didn't want those asks. Nothing more.

Also, I have every right to be uncomfortable with anything. Everyone does. Depending on the situation, you sometimes have to deal with it. But this is MY blog that I made for MY enjoyment. You're acting like you're about to get mad about the way I decorate my bedroom- posters about my fandoms and nature??? Instead of anti-war, anti-zionist, anti-whatever promo posters?? How dare I. It's almost as if I have the right to post and reblog whatever the fuck I want. I have utmost sympathy for those people suffering, those children, everyone. But that doesn't mean I want to experience it myself. People can have triggers and discomforts and fears. Not everyone needs to suffer to show solidarity.

I'd also like to point out that anon said "your country is funding". I'm going to assume anon meant I'm American. I'm not, I'm English and have lived in England all my life. Just to clear that up. Yes, I'm pretty sure the British government has funded Israel, but fun fact- I am not the British Government. I have no power and virtually no say in anything. I'm a highschool student. Don't blame me for something the government did. I can't change that, and if I could I would.

I'd also like to look at "standing there while a guy gets his face eaten off by tigers when you can call out for help is like , complicit. you aren't helping . you aren't even trying to help". Quite frankly, that's a terrible metaphor. I'm not actively witnessing the deaths and I can't do anything to help. Also if several tigers were mauling your face I doubt you would survive... they have very big and strong jaws so you wouldn't even have a skull at that point. Shouting would attract the tigers' attention and bring other people there to become victims of these tigers. If someone had their face eaten off by tigers, the logical response would be to run. They are past help and there wasn't anything you could do to start with unless you had a good enough gun and aim. Mourn after you escape safely. But, like I said, it's an awful metaphor- except in the way that I can't do anything to help either. I'm sorry anon but that's a ridiculous and unlikely hypothetical scenario that I will almost definitely never experience.

Also, for the umpteenth time, this post isn't about Palestine. I get asks telling me to pay for an American's medical care, a Ukrainian asking for support in evacuating their country, a Palestinian doing the same, or whatever. This isn't personal. It's not about a certain race or place or situation. It's about all of it. In fact, if any of the people that got mad about that post actually read it, they have no reason to be mad. Sorry. Just like? Read the whole thing... it explains that it is not just about Palestine. It gives over 10 reasons why I can't donate or share the posts. I made that post for people like anon. Who saw that I don't accept donation asks and decided to make me the villain. They can read that post. Oh, looks like this person is a minor. You have to be 18+ to get an account on things like gofundme and paypal. That makes sense, because you don't want them giving money irresponsibly or to a bot. Oh, and they don't even have enough money. They might not have a job and the amount of money these people need is often a lot. This person overthinks a lot. Wow, I hope they are okay. Figuring out what is a bot and what isn't must be difficult, and when they can't donate they must feel awful! This is why I made the post. That one, single, offhanded Tumblr post.

And as this is a hate anon I feel obliged to say this, yet again. I AM A MINOR. I AM MENTALLY ILL. I HAVE LOW SELF ESTEEM AND INSECURITY. I MASSIVELY OVERTHINK EVERYTHING. DON'T SEND ME ANON HATE. If you disagree with my opinions, send me an ask OFF anon, explaining in a nice and polite way why you disagree and some genuine counterpoints. I hope anyone else who sees this and decides to attack me for having boundaries can acknowledge this. Also note that my post was about my PERSONAL PREFERENCES AND BOUNDARIES, AND STATING WHY I CAN'T EVEN HELP.

I'm not asking for sympathy, I'm just asking that you consider why I said that. Why I can't give money. Why it is too much of a mental toll for me. I am so, SO sorry that I can't donate, and it destroys me. I see asks every day saying that if I don't give money, I'm a murderer. From what you can infer about me, do you think that's a good thing for me to be hearing?

under the cut is a big caps paragraph, tw for suicide, self harm, self deprecation, depression, anger. I'm fed up. and i never get angry so this is uhm. saying something..

Oh, and I don't usually get angry angry at anons but seriously. Go ACTUALLY FUCK YOURSELF YOU INCONSIDERATE BRAT. YOU CANT SEND HATEMAIL CLAIMING TO BE A MINOR THAT GETS HATE ON! THATS SO FUCKING CONTRADICTORY AND SO FUCKING BITCHY. IF YOU WANT TO GO SPREAD HATE DO IT SOME FUCKING WHERE ELSE BECAUSE I DEAL WITH HUNDREDS OF DONATION ASKS AND TONS OF ANON HATE JUST FOR HAVING EMOTIONS! WAIT FUCKING SORRY YOU DONT HAVE EMOTIONS CLEARLY BECAUSE YOU ARE A COLD STONEHEARTED BITCH AND I FUCKING HATE YOU CAN YOU FUCKING GET THAT??? IM NOT A FUCKING MURDERER OR A PRIVILEGED WHITE BABY OR A ZIONIST OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ACCUSE ME OF! I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE ELSE SENDS ME ANY MORE OF THIS ABSOLUTE CRAP I WILL GET A KNIFE OUT OF MY FUCKING KITCHEN AND CARVE SOME FUCKING DEEP CUTS INTO MY SKIN BECAUSE THAT IS HOW I FEEL ALL THE TIME THANKS TO BITCHES LIKE YOU. HAVE A FUCKING HEART AND THINK ABOUT PEOPLES EMOTIONS. HAVE A FUCKING PAIR OF EYES AND READ ALL OF THE FUCKING POST BEFORE YOU SEE RED AND GO OFF ABOUT HOW IM SUCH A HORRIBLE PERSON. I KNOW IM A HORRIBLE PERSON THATS WHY I TRY TO KILL MYSELF THATS WHY I SELF HARM I DONT NEED A REMINDER EVERY 5 FUCKING SECONDS

#anon #hate anon #ask #asks #anon hate #tw hate #tw anon hate #long post #tw suicide #tw self harm

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st4r-th0ughts · 1 month ago

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🃖 Rules of the Cosmos

⚠︎ I am not responsible if you are under 18, and you decide to view my works. All nsfw, dark topic works will have warnings, and if you choose to ignore them, it's not my fault.

DNI list, those who can be categorized in here will be blocked immediately:

Proshippers

Rape, Non Con enthusiasts

Blank blogs that look like bots

BOOKTOK PEOPLE. YOU GUYS ARE SICK FUCKS.

Homophobic, transphobic, racist, misogynists, misandrists, etc.

Weird people in general, if your being a freak or ass in my inbox or to other people, fuck off

What you can expect or request!

sfw works, things like angst, comfort, shitposts etc in the form of writing or maybe the occasional incorrect quotes.

Nsfw works, which can range from very tame stuff to the more intense range. These works will be expected to occasionally have dark subjects brought up, implied or acted on.

the occasional post of me screaming about hsr storylines or plot twists, so this account is sometimes not spoiler free, will add warnings so don't worry

Aventurine. Kakavasha. Please, I need this man, I love this man with all of my heart I will explode.

Sfw works:

Will/ Will not contain:

Will contain hurt/comfort, tropes, reverse tropes, alternate universes, character or reader death, character x reader, character x character (sometimes)

I can also do child characters x reader, only in a platonic light, and with anther adult character acting as a parental figure

Gender neutral reader! In this account, there is no solely male/female reader, because a reader should be a blank slate to carve your own interpretation into :)

Will not contain child x adult in a romantic light, ew

more than 4 characters in a singular ask, if it exceeds that, I will have to separate, or cherry pick which characters I want most.

No oc x cc, I'm so sorry, I'm a oc enthusiast, but Im more comfy with making posts with reader in it for now

No y/n. No. I'm sorry, y/n lovers, but Wattpad has butched y/n to the point I cant even write them without wanting to throw myself off the nearest cliff

Also, no *strong* personality being enforced on reader. Etc like making reader seem more like a oc than a reader for people to enjoy a perspective from, yk what I mean? Having the reader have personality traits like strong willed, brave, shy, etc is fine, just don't have a pre determined script for them

Nsfw works:

Will/ Will not contain:

Will contain things like Dom reader x sub character, service top reader x power bottom character, or whatever trope you want yori reader x cc stuff to be in, just make it clear how you want your reader to be

Some posts will contain things like topics and discussions of S/A, self harm, manipulation, gas lighting and all that stuff, a warning will be indicated at the very top of the fic.

I will say this again, if you are a minor viewing my nsfw posts knowing full well that a warning has been given, I am not responsible for whatever happens after. Read at your own risk.

Will not contain fetish like requests, such as piss/ period/ or scat kinks, fetishes relating to food, feet, etc. This list can be flexible, sometimes it wont be. Depends on mood. But the stuff already listed will not be entertained.

NO RAPE STUFF. NO.

#ʚɞ general!

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just-another-turkey · 1 year ago

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Ao3 DDoS attack- an explanation

For anyone missing their fanfics (like me), this article gives an general outline what going's on with Ao3.

For anyone hoping that they might be able to get to their fanfics soon, I suggest not getting your hopes up. Ao3 may be up in a couple hours (hopefully) , but there's a possibility that could last for several days depending on how how severe the attack is and how many resources the attackers have, Ao3 is handling this attack, and what response plans they have in place.

Some things to know if you're not familiar with DDoS attacks... it's time to use my education.

Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with Ao3 other than being a user. I don't know what security measures they have in place, or what their security is. This is my personal- though knowledgeable- thoughts what may be going on behind the scenes.

Also, if the idea of the DDoS attack is scaring you in anyway- take a deep breath. It's going to be OK, even if my post may come across as dark (if so, I am sorry about that). It only meant to inform and educate Tumblr users on what is going on, and what might Ao3 may be doing. Do not panic just because of this post.

So, let's get started.

a. DDoS stands for distributed Denial of Services attacks. So that means the attackers is using multiple third party devices (such as other servers, botnets*) to make so many requests (think millions per minute) to the Ao3 servers that the servers use up all their resources, preventing us legitimate users from using them.

b. A slight side note- I've heard some people say that it's because of one person that Ao3 is down. It may just be one person, but setting up a DDoS attack is easier with a team. It is likely it is a group of attackers behind this- most attacks have multiple people involved in one form or another. This isn't the most relevant point I have, but just something people should know- there may be more than one attack.

c. To stop this attack, Ao3 is going to have to block all malicious traffic from reaching the servers. However, since this is a distributed attack, they are going to have to block multiple IP addresses. This is going to take some time.

d. We also have to consider if Ao3 has a response plan in place. Response plans are, as the name suggests, what the organization does in the case of an event. For ao3, that means who are they going to contact to fix this issue. But if there isn't a response plan in place already, it going to take longer for them to stop the attack because they're fixing this on the go- a difficult thing to do.

e. Once the attack has been stopped, it won't be over for Ao3, there are two more things they need to do- complete forensics to determine any possible damage to their servers and complete an After Action Review.

e1. While it is most likely that everything will be back to normal system wise after the attack has stopped, Ao3 would be smart to conduct forensics on their system to see if there are any anomalies (malware or indications of a breach). Attackers sometimes use DDoS attacks to cover their tracks when they hack into a system. Not likely here, considering the target won't have super sensitive information that an attacker wouldn't bother with trying to get. But the possibility is always there- however small.

e2. if they want to mitigate the risk of such attacks happening again- they need to complete After Action review (AAR). In AAR, Ao3 is going to have to look at what happened, and determine what they can do to ensure this doesn't happen so easily again. Hopefully, this means writing up or editing and improving their response plan, improving their security measures, etc.

f. Most importantly, your information is unlikely to be compromised. The most damage you will receive is not being able to access Ao3's servers. Ao3 has said that you don't need to change your passwords if you have an account. That being said, if you have a weak password, definitely change it anyway. (like I'm talking is you're using weak passwords. See the following link for what weak and strong passwords are: https://security.harvard.edu/use-strong-passwords )

That's what I have to say for now. Again, this post is not associated with the team at Ao3, I am independent and have no insider knowledge, just knowledge from being a security student. Ao3 will likely say more in the future, so keep an eye for it, and hopefully we'll be able to back to our fics.

If you have any questions about this attack or general cybersecurity, my asks are open, there are comments, and I will respond to them as quickly as I can. If you are in security, and I got something here, please tell me because I do not want to spread misinformation or cause panic.

Heard from your mother (she don't recognize you), I'll be waiting for you.

*compromised computers or other devices with internet connection with malware

#ao3 #cybersecurity #cyberattack #sorry this is a long post #there may be some spelling or something is written badly #i wrote this in one sitting and i barely proofread so im sorry #I will clarify if anyone is confused by anything i said #the goal is to educate anyone willing #not alarm anyone #not what i usually post but i got excited when I saw the DDoS banner on Ao3 and wrote this in an dopamine craze

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rin-and-jade · 1 year ago

Note

hello, cohost of a relatively newly discovered system here, i just saw a post you made in response to new system ask, and i was curious about how we would go about developing an innerworld.

i am led to believe we have aphantasia, so we cant "picture" anything in our head so i dont know if that prevents us from having a headspace/innerworld. i know some systems just dont have a headspace (a roommate of mine has DID and she has told us that she does not have a headspace, and she cannot communicate with her sysmates outside a discord server)

anyways, i was just curious if there would be a way for us to try devloping an innerworld or not after reading that post. ty

I can be of help to you, but this will heavily depend on yourselves as im here only capable of sharing what might work, from my own experiences.

To understand what makes innerworld an innerworld, by simple means,, it is a place that is reconstructed by senses mentally, vision (mental images) is one of them. You see where this is going.. right?

What if you try it by theory, i know you can't imagine, but im sure you know what it'll be like correct? For first advice, a small but functional innerworld will do because navigating in a big one whilst being 'blind' does not spark joy. Ok so, let's start the steps:

Using your other senses (tactile and hearing) as advantage: How do you want your floors,, is it solid, warm to touch and smooth? That could be porcelain. Straight ridges, un-even textures and cool to touch? That could be wood planks. Fluffy, scruffy texture and it damps noises? That could be carpet/rug floors. Now how do you want your walls,, is it wallpaper patterns you can feel by tactile? Maybe you want it the regular way that is painted smoothly? How thick or thin do you want it to be, enough to produce an echo from a knock or nothing at all? The rest then lies on personalization like furnitures and decorations,, i bet you can do this yourself. Also recommend you by practicing with little things for now and work from there, to bigger things.

Map it out: after determining which fits best, this is where the floor plan is arranged, you might want to draw it out physically (or use apps/webs its ok), from arial, or from side, or in 3d,, anything works. This will help you keep the world consistent as you can't see, as well as serving as a map to navigate around. I also have aphantasia where i can barely see anything as it fleets away so fast (i believe its in a spectrum, i saw it), leaving me having to navigate by touching the walls and guess the floor and temperature (i think windows make rooms feel hotter and in this case my living room has a big balcony). Do not over do the items as it can block your walking route leading to unnecessary bumps, if you want shelves or something hanged above, place them in a reasonable spot because bumping to it by forehead or elses is annoying.. i changed the height of my hanged shelf at the end and it never happen again. Especially if you don't have the innate 'gps' to navigate around.

Teamwork makes dreamwork: I assure you that you don't want to do this alone.. why not share some ideas of what the fronting room should 'look' like, or what the communal place should,, this is honestly done to make everyone feel at ease living in it, as well as sharing the work. You CAN do this yourself but it feels overwhelming and could lead to a burn out.. anyway, it'll take a while to properly build a world, so don't feel bad if its still going to be on progress for months,, no worlds are made perfectly in one try. Incase if you want to remodel the world to a new one at future, just repeat the steps.

Hope this serves you as an insight, this has definitely work for me, and i am not 100% sure it could for you, though, you still learn a few things from here. If you feel like giving up or see this as too much work there is no shame,, and so, i wish you the best luck.

- j

#did #actually did #did community #did system #did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #plural #system stuff #sysblr #janswersask

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dhampiravidi · 1 year ago

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Please Read Before Interacting! (RULES)

I’m a multimuse account. I play mostly OCs, plus a few canons.

This is a blog for people who are 18+. I write NSFW (smut, violence, alcohol) content on occasion. I’m 24.

Triggers: AI/robots or horror/eldritch themes!

All of my muses have multiple character forms, usually one per verse. Look in their headcanon tag (linked on the muses page).

I no longer tag smut.

Please trim your posts. If not, I might still write with you, just not follow. Long, uncut posts can give me anxiety.

If you get to the point where you want to block me for some reason, please tell me. I'd like to try & talk it out. Otherwise, just LMK so I'm not thinking something bad happened to you.

I can't interact with any other Rogue/Anna Marie's OR Eraserhead/Shota Aizawa's. I have 1 of each who I interact with & I can't imagine getting used to another. Sorry.

I frequently use "hon", "bruh", and/or "guy" to refer to people (singular or plural) in a gender-neutral way. LMK if those bother you at all.

If you don’t respond for 2+ months (including updates), I will unfollow. This doesn’t mean I won’t be open to interacting again. If we've been writing for a while & you need a break, just LMK & we can do something else when you're ready.

Here's a list of FCs I love to see!

Here's a link that leads to all of my D&D muses specifically!

assorted tags: memes // wishlist // muses // ooc content

mobile muse list under the cut:

Jayn: heir to a vast fortune, fighter. Verses: DC Comics, Royal/Regency, Queen of the South, Grishaverse, Western, Suits. generous, creative, faithful, loving, bossy, nosy. FC: Tessa Thompson.

Naela: she just wants adventure and love. Verses: canon GoT/ASoiAF, Rhaegar Lives AU, D&D. optimistic, honest, philosophical, careless, restless. FC: Tristin Mays.

Achilles: the Hellenic/Greek hero from The Iliad (canon). Verses: Mythology, Modern, Call of Duty, D&D, X-Men/Marvel. courageous, confident, quick-tempered, protective, moody. FC: Taylor Kitsch.

Jasmine: a young woman on her own. Verses: Marvel, Shadowhunters/TSC, The Covenant, John Wick/Assassins, D&D, Suits. practical, disciplined, overcritical, perfectionist, grudging. FC: Kat Graham.

Skadi: half-Jotun, half-Asgardian. Verses: Marvel, Call of Duty, D&D. compassionate, inventive, independent, blunt, distrusting. FC: Olga Kurylenko.

Oraia: daughter of Poseidon and Nebet-Het, goddess. Verses: Marvel, SPN, Urban Fantasy, The Old Guard, Pirates of the Caribbean, Shadowhunters/TSC, D&D. flirtatious, easygoing, sociable, impulsive. FC: Hannah John-Kamen.

Hestia: sweet, badass martial artist. Verses: X-Men/Marvel, Hunger Games. witty, lively, inquisitive, anxious, accepting. FC: Kristin Kreuk.

Rose: John Constantine’s space-time magician of a daughter (canon). Verses: DC Comics, The Mummy/historical, D&D. loyal, intelligent, protective, intuitive, hardworking, manipulative. FC: Antonia Thomas.

Aurelia: a Gryffindor who chose Slytherin. Verse: Harry Potter (Marauders or Golden Trio era). persuasive, amusing, loyal, protective, bossy, jealous. FC: Precious Lee.

Rela: Twi’lek Jedi. Verses: Star Wars, D&D. modest, curious, compassionate, eloquent, indecisive, responsible. FC: Rachi Sitra (or Gugu Mbatha-Raw depending on verse).

Zehara: the daughter of a Water Tribe father and a Fire Nation Colony mother. persuasive, adventurous, adaptable, compulsive, patronizing. Verses: Avatar: TLA, D&D. FC: Jhené Aiko.

Eugenia: Bonnie Bennett’s second cousin. Verses: Vampire Diaries. loyal, determined, practical, vengeful, secretive. FC: Kylie Bunbury.

Shayera: she's got wings & a mace. Verses: DC Comics, Historical. brave, loyal, adventurous, determined, compassionate, self-critical. FCs: Juliana Harkavy & Freema Agyeman.

Mu Lan [穆岚]: "my duty is to my heart." Verses: Regency/Bridgerton. restless, loyal, intelligent, outspoken, kind. FC: Thaddea Graham (& Ming-Na Wen when she's older).

on request, I can play:

Fantomex (X-Men canon; FC: Warren Christie)

Renée Michele LeBeau (OC daughter of Gambit from X-Men; FC: Janel Parrish)

Rhea Livia Agresta (OC shifter niece of Alan Deaton from Teen Wolf; FC: Jessica Sula)

Lady Gotham (personification of Gotham City; DC Comics; FC: Death - Marvel v Capcom)

Caleb Danvers (The Covenant canon; FC: Steven Strait)

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grasslandgirl · 2 years ago

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🤩🤲🎉

kisses tysm forever dear casey <333

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

that so truly depends on what is Inside my brain at the moment lmao but leah dna is forever a dear and special comfort character i fall back into writing for when im working against a block !! also fig and gorgug but that's just bc ive written So Much of them the last year and a half ksjfvnksfj

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

anything for u dear casey ill try and grab smth you havent already read skfjvnksjfb sorry

Riz suddenly felt incredibly alone. For the first time in years, he didn’t have a clear plan. He didn’t have any next steps in front of him. He didn’t know where to go, what to do. He didn’t know who he was without the determination to find his father driving him forward. He was cut loose and unmoored, caught in a current he didn’t know the route of.

And still, he missed his father.

Grief wasn’t something that went away easily or quietly; even if the subject of your grief was stood in front of you, alive and whole. It was a habit, it was something that grew into your bones and marrow; not a coat you could shuck off easily with the coming warmth of spring. Riz had been quietly, unwantingly, mourning his father for years. He refused to believe he could be dead, even after so long, but the people around him grieved for Pok, and it was contagious. Riz clung onto hope with brittle fingers, but no matter how tightly he held on, there was always some part of him that doubted he’d ever see his father again. Some angry, jaded part of himself that was sure that all he’d find of Pok Gukgak in the kingdom of Highcrest was a set of rotting bones. He was determined to go anyway, of finding whatever remained of his father; if only for the answers he’d finally be able to tuck away in his mind and bandage the rough wound that his father’s unknown fate had made inside him.

[hehehe riz ch17 of noble pining <3]

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

my friends comment on it saying smth along the lines of "OUGHOGUGHGH BESTIE YOURE DERANGED FOR THIS IM GONNA KILL YOU IM DYING" about it honestly. the more of that response i get from my dearly beloved friends and mutuals, the better the fic does imo sfkvjnfsb

send me fic writer asks from this emoji list !!

#asks #kisses kisses casey i love uuu #noble pining au

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mirm3a · 12 days ago

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«A star in a pocket»

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— Dylan Thomas

I was overcome by a profound stillness — not a rustle of leaves, not a chirp of insects, not even the slightest breeze stirred, as if I had become deaf. The birds had retreated to their nests, and the small creatures had vanished from sight. The warm sunlight had been concealed behind a shroud of gray clouds, blocking its radiant rays. I found myself in the heart of a field, a basket in my hand, gazing at the sky as I idly twisted my braids. Eventually, this silence was shattered by the soft patter of raindrops as they tapped against the leaves of the trees.

“I sense a tempest is about to erupt,” I pondered, as I observed a vessel gliding into the inlet. Its pristine canvas sails stood in stark contrast to the dismal sky. The autumn was approaching, and with it my impending departure for the city — an event I eagerly anticipated, having not taken a respite throughout the entire summer, assisting my parents in their family business.

My reverie was abruptly interrupted by a hearty, clear voice: “Hallo, can you hear me?” My sister has never been known for her gentleness, especially in recent times. I turned around to see her standing there.

The young woman, her cheeks flushed with exertion, crouched low. She pursued me with single-minded determination. Her shirt, stained with dust, clung to her form, and her disheveled dark hair cascaded over her broad shoulders like the roots of a tree. Thick furrowed brows gave her a predatory aspect, accentuating the lines that creased her forehead. A plethora of small and widely dispersed freckles graced her countenance. Despite the fact that my sister is five years my junior, she often deceived those who met her with her appearance. She seemed to be older than me.

“I’m yelling at you,” she said, her voice rising in volume. “But you don’t seem to be listening at all!”

I nodded in silence, bestowing upon her an insincere yet expansive smile. Wordlessly, I comprehended that it was high time for a conversation at home. As I glanced at my sister’s basket, I observed that it was brimming with tiny pebbles. In our region, these are known as “stars.” Millions of such pebbles descend to the earth annually, serving as valuable resources for diverse industries. They proliferate like mushrooms, particularly during the summermonths, when numerous residents supplement their income by collecting them. My family depends on these stones for crafting handmade jewellery, incorporating gemstones found within them.

I extracted a voluminous handkerchief of wool from my pocket and draped it over our heads, providing us with a shelter from the bothersome raindrops. We proceeded with an ungainly gait, like two unwary bears, towards the nearest bus stop. Meanwhile, my accomplice continued to fix her gaze upon my meagre catch.

“You only found 10? Are you losing your touch, sis?” my sister laughed loudly and playfully pushed me.

“It’s not for the likes of us to drink tea!» I replied, giggling.

The dark, perplexed eyes protruded at me like twin cherries on a bough.

“Never mind,” I said, pressing on with my journey.

My responses often mirror her own, resulting in heated debates. Surprisingly, this time my sister decided to remain quiet. We eventually reached a nearby stop on the country road. There was only a closed farm in sight, with no one else around. My sister occupied herself by braiding her hair and putting on a new scarf – in our community, married women were not supposed to go out with their heads uncovered.

The bus is scheduled to arrive within the next 30 minutes. Despite the state of disrepair of the benches, it appears that the roof remains intact, which is somewhat reassuring.

Our sporadic conversations briefly stirred the atmosphere but soon faded away. What more could I possibly discuss with my sister?

I am a cosmopolitan, the sole alumnus of a rural school, sought higher education in the metropolis and am now working in my field despite having one more year to complete my studies.

She is the very epitome of nonchalance. Having exchanged vows with her school sweetheart in the previous year, my sister, now nineteen, has modestly contributed to our humble family business and occasionally assists on her uncle's farm, seamlessly integrating into the household of her in-laws.

Her small head rested against my shoulder as she sought solace in a brief nap. Her perpetually sombre and discontented countenance transformed into a smooth, tranquil, and porcelain-like expression in an instant. My sister is akin to a larch tree – full of needles that can fall at any moment, particularly when you least anticipate it.

I breathed in the aroma of moist earth, bracing myself for a tempest, yet the shower remained benign, merely tapping irritatingly against the aged roof

In such inclement weather, I am often overcome by drowsiness, yet today my nerves remain taut, preventing me from closing my eyes. The minutes seem to stretch into an endless expanse, leaving me exhausted. Reflexively, like Pavlov’s dog, I reach for my pocket, where my cherished «toy» awaits. As twilight approaches, a faint flickering light emerges from my worn and scratched lighter. The soft crackle rouses my little sister from her slumber.

“Do you smoke?”

“No,” I replied with a sly smile.

My sister frowned.

“You’re lying! I know you do. Why else would you need it, huh?”

A bitter laugh was struggling to escape, but it became lodged somewhere in the depths of my throat. I know that she knows nothing at all.

“Curiosity burned the cat,” I said as I rotated the flint wheel in front of her nose.

“Hey, are you crazy?!” she said, waving me away like a gnat. I didn’t make a sound.

Her countenance contorted in a peculiar manner, the lines of her face becoming prominent — and the exquisite porcelain figurine transformed back into a frog. I did not perceive how the young lady’s disdain was swiftly replaced by intrigue.

“Wait, this looks very familiar…”

The young lady seized my hand with a lighter, eagerly dissecting it with her gaze into minute particulars, scrutinizing it meticulously from top to bottom, as if it were a blueprint of a rocket propulsion system.

“Didn’t you say that you received it from... this... My God, what was his name...?” her thought was interrupted by a phone call. From the irritating pop song, it immediately became clear that it was «boo» who was bothering us. The haughtiness in my sister’s voice gave way to sweetness the moment she headed off to chat towards the edge of the forest. I knew this would take some time.

The sonorous voice grew fainter and fainter, eventually becoming muffled by the restless gusts of wind...

It is a recurring pattern: as soon as I bring this lighter out in public in my hometown, it instantly captures everyone’s attention. People gaze at it with intense curiosity, and occasionally they even recall that someone had given it to me, though they are unable to provide a specific name.

But I can.

Her name was Mira.

We first met by the lake, during the peak of the mushroom-picking season. Her family dwelt there, apart from the other houses, on the opposite side from me — thus, I rarely encountered them in daily life. Fishing in the local river was their sole source of livelihood.

Mira and I had known each other since we were half-grown, yet it feels as though we only recently met. I frequently invited her over. My mother adored her immensely.

Then, one day, a month prior to my departure for the city to pursue my studies at university, Mira vanished. Not only she, but her entire family, and not a single trace remained from that very cottage by the lake.

Nobody else noticed.

But I did.

Initially, I assumed that the other villagers were merely playing a trick on me by claiming that they had never encountered these individuals — and I would have preferred it if it had indeed been a foolish jest. Mira and her family, known throughout the region for their outstanding fishery, who had always proudly displayed a fresh catch on their counter, seemed to have vanished into thin air, as if they had never been. Neither alive nor dead, they remained only in my memory, like shadows from a distant dream.

The weather suddenly became calm, and I did not even notice it. My sister had finally disappeared from my field of view, but for some reason, this fact rather pleased me. My body was aching from being in the same position for too long, and the effort required to stand up from the bench was far more unpleasant than I had anticipated. My spirit was drawn to one last stroll before complete darkness fell and the bus arrived.

A delightful chill embraced my ears as I enveloped my head in a voluminous scarf. My legs seemed to carry me effortlessly along the road towards the farm. Beyond the iron gates stood two hills of brand-new tractors, their gleaming surfaces visible from a distance of a mile. As I passed by, I caught sight of the cornfield, which stretched out before me like a vast golden carpet.

I recall...

The scorching heat of July. Tall, verdant stalks. The husks are still young — small, sweet baby corns lie within. The sun’s radiance penetrates even through a kerchief. I dash barefoot, tripping over fallen leaves, as if traversing a dense woodland. The soft voice calling my name seems to emanate from all directions, beckoning me.

I know that it is Mira.

She has outpaced me — I have shamefully lost the game. According to the rules, it is now my turn to fulfil her every wish.

“What do I want? Just follow me!”

My hand is clasped in hers, and once again we are racing forward. My neck felt as if it were on fire, my cheeks swollen like ripe tomatoes — I thought I might faint. We emerged into a field of lush grass, with an ancient, gnarled tree at its heart. She laid me down against the trunk, and with a deft flick of her fingers, undid my kerchief. She then removed her own, and slowly wiped away the perspiration from my brow.

“Are you tired?” Mira asked, hugging me tightly to her chest. I remained silent — my inner turmoil was palpable. The oppressive heat made it difficult to embrace each other, and any motion, even the smallest, felt like an insurmountable task. It appeared that nothing could stir the thick, heavy air — or so I thought until a sudden gust of wind. Its breath carried away my and Mira’s kerchiefs, but she failed to notice their absence. Like migratory birds, they vanished from my sight, setting off on their own journey. Finally, Mira spoke.

“My only wish is for you to accept my gift!”

I was visibly astonished by this turn of events, suppressing my mirth with difficulty.

“A gift? For the loser?”

But Mira was resolute. A moment later, I observed a gleaming cigarette lighter on my knee.

“This is not a regular lighter. It was in my father’s toolbox, and I took it for…experiments” Mira said, brushing my hair and patting me on the head with two fingers. “Believe it or not, but I managed to put a small, tiny piece of a star into it that I found! I swear - the lighter wasn’t refilled at all, and it lit up like new! I wanted to write something beautiful on it, but it didn’t turn out well, so I just scratched our initials on it.”

I was taken aback by the unexpected gift, which was adorned with quirky but meticulously crafted lettering. My face flushed with embarrassment.

“You know that the stars are just rocks floating in the vast, endless space, right?” I said, hoping she wouldn’t take offense.

“Don’t say that, dear,” Mira replied, as calmly as ever. “The stars are God’s miracles, his blessings to our people. Even evil spirits are afraid to touch them.”

There was so much I wished to convey, yet sometimes it is best to remain silent. A faint flicker of flame hovered between us... I couldn’t resist, and blew it like a candle.

“Oh, come on!” Mira said with a false air of displeasure, feigning a frown.

She hurled me onto the verdant turf, shielding us from the outside world. For a brief moment, Mira seemed to eclipse the sun, becoming one with it. She drew ever closer, and my lips ignited with a surge of heat...

I had again burnt myself with a cigarette — a slight sting on my lips brought me back to reality. I found myself in a different field... where had all the corn gone?

Nobody knew about my penchant for smoking — I indulged in it exclusively in solitude. I had heroically abstained from this habit during my stay in the countryside, but I could no longer resist. My old, well-worn lighter gleamed in my hands... I never lit a cigarette with it — I merely enjoyed the sight of its flame. I had cheap plastic ones for actual smoking. There was a nearly black indentation beneath my nail — my initial had nearly vanished with time, while Mira’s was still intact. I stubbed out my smoke butt on the bottom of my shoe.

I cast my gaze upon the scene — once again, all around me was rendered motionless, as if within the frame of a painting. Then, abruptly, a melodious song from an enchanting bird shattered the tranquility of the atmosphere...

I followed it meekly into the heart of the forest, crushing rare flowers beneath my feet and pushing aside the thick branches with my hands as if in a trance, until I came to a small lake. There were many such lakes in my vicinity, but this one was new to me. Its surface was completely covered with a green film of algae, rendering it opaque. I sat on the bank, hugging my knees to my chest. The bird continued to sing for a while, but its song soon faded away, leaving me disheartened – it had been the only sound in an otherwise deathly silent landscape. Suddenly, a shiver ran down my spine, accompanied by a sweet melody in a gentle feminine voice…

I can hear the reverberations of a lullaby, so long forgotten yet so familiar. I envision a young girl, pressing her forehead against the bitingly cold windowpane. The aroma of freshly baked crepes tantalizes her nostrils, while the melodies of Russian romances waft through the air from a faulty radio.

The sky is shrouded in a veil of gray clouds, while the first snows blanket the damp earth. From behind her comes the frantic cries of a newborn infant, unable to find sleep. And then a woman’s voice, pure and sweet like a tender embrace after a long day, fills the room. The girl gazes into the distance, towards the dense forest, feeling a sense of boredom. Yet she has an entire lifetime ahead of her.

I started in surprise, as if awakened from a reverie. A small hand alighted upon my head from behind, its two moist digits gently patting me, caressing every hair on my scalp… I felt a second hand upon my waist, a soft bosom against my back, and a cool cheek pressed against my own, droplets of water trickling slowly down my chin. The song continued unabated.

I stood frozen, incapable of movement. It seemed that I had mentally confirmed something I had not wanted to admit for so long, yet had not ceased to dwell upon in recent years — life by the water, abrupt disappearances, village legends... I had refused to believe until the last moment. How foolish of me. Everything within me cried out to turn back — but I knew that doing so would only cause deeper pain in my soul. The long nails scratched my neck gently, sinking lower and lower until it became… ticklish.

It was as if hundreds of fingers were caressing my body. I had an idea of what would come next, but I did not move, bound to the ground. Yet when the sensation became unbearable, I broke the stifling silence:

“Mira, stop it!” I said with a laugh.

I hear a deafening splashing sound. The sensation of being tickled does not cease. My eyes, ears, and mouth become one with the water. Finally, I turn around, but I do not feel any coldness or warmth, nothing — only a dark figure can be seen near the water’s surface. She has almost become indistinguishable from the barely perceptible grey sky, or perhaps she is already one with it. I am slowly sinking down in a prickly embrace, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

I do not resist, either because I cannot or because I do not want to. Perhaps this is what I have yearned for — to be by her side until the end.

Suddenly, I feel something solid in my hand. It is my beloved lighter. I grasp it tightly, like a child clinging to its mother’s hand, and doubt arises within me.

For some reason, I felt compelled to return her gift, so dear to my heart, as though I did not truly deserve it. With feeble, almost unconscious gestures, I extended my lighter towards her... only to encounter a violent rejection. My finger slipped on the small wheel, and a burst of flame ignited in the water’s surface. In the dim light, I beheld Mira... or perhaps something that bore a vague resemblance to her. She emerged before me: grey skin, bare breast, protruding ribs, thin limbs, dull eyes. Her once lustrous tresses had lost their former sheen, mire and pebbles having become embedded in them.

The young woman, hardly resembling a human in her appearance, more akin to a herring in form, swam away from me with a hiss. Startled as if awoken from another dream, I drifted away, still clutching the lighter tightly, greedily inhaling air. It rained heavily. A faint light, like a fence, flickered between our drenched heads. The one who had bestowed upon me the light, which I held reverently in my tattered pocket, now fled from it with the fervor of a wild beast, baring its teeth and splashing through the waters. My heart sank, and my vision was blurred by tears. We played cat and mouse, she drawing closer, then I frightened her away with fire. Thus it went until I reached land.

“Don’t go,” she implored, crawling toward me on all fours, wailing. Terror-stricken, I seized the first branch I encountered, heedless of its dryness, and set it ablaze. The timber burst into flame as if from a great bonfire — I hurled it at the girl. Míra shrieked in terror — and I fled. Night descended upon the forest — only a faint point of light from my cigarette lighter remained unabsorbed by the darkness.

Driven by panic, I stumbled over roots, despite the agony in my limbs. I shielded the flame from the wind and rain with my hand — despite its warmth, its heat was scalding if one drew too close. Far from the scene, into utter darkness, deep into the heart of the woods, I fled. I had long ago renounced my belief in God, yet my lips still involuntarily uttered the familiar words of childhood. Only a feeble spark, a beacon amidst the gloom, was my sole source of light. I stumbled, time and time again. The darkness could envelop me entirely, but it could not extinguish my light. I shut my eyes tight and hurled myself into the abyss. I heard a voice calling my name... or what was once my name. My breath caught in my throat. I am falling...

#mirmeaworks #Spotify

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