You are the brightest star in the sky. The most beautiful person I have ever met, both inside and out. I would go to the end of the earth for your happiness.
And the things I would do to bring you to the heights of pleasure are limited only by the human imagination.
You are a romantic, and I pray the one this was meant for may receive it.
That being said, I must admit — I would care to know ( for research purposes ) what it is that you might imagine in the dark of night. What pleasures ought you bring to your dear one? What are your greatest dreams for them?
Fear not, I will never seek your identity. I hope you feel able to speak freely?
Why hide your charms? Do you fear your heart being taken advantage of?
A marvelously generous answer.
You seek to please them to the point of release, over and over again — but also to deny them until they can do naught but plead. The cycle of joy and agony could be excruciating, until you deign to reward them.
It is admirable and kind and a little strange, that you include your wish that their ecstasy be a safe matter. Many cannot trust their own pleasure, nor those who say they want to observe it.
I pray your love does not see you as inappropriate. That would be too cruel a fate.
[ She adores lovers, with the hunger of someone who yearns for it and also yearns to observe it for data. ]
'Tis not strange at all, dear Anon. It is a wish I hold most ardently for those I love, as well as mourn the lack of for myself. I am a woman, after all.
My own pleasures are inconsequential and sinful, though I have them. And seek them, against all sense.
I pray you listen to me: being of the fairer sex need not condemn you. Your pleasures are of the same importance as men's. This is not something I was taught, but something I have learned here.
[ The Manor guests are so generous. They think her dignified, feeding her on grace and patience as if that is what the abyss within her hungers for. ]
I am still learning my way, dear Anon. Do forgive my fumbling — my life has been unlit for long, and the light I carry now gutters at the softest breeze.
What does happiness look like, to you? To your lover?
I am not a complicated man. Happiness is merely having someone to share life's joys with, someone to help and be helped by when things are dark. A partner. I think for them it is the same.
Then, I shall pray nightly for the two of you and your shared joys. May He have mercy, and allow such grace to follow you to the eternal kingdom and its deep waters.
Would you tell me more of your love, dear Anon? How you found it, and knew it for what it was and — what challenges it has helped you to surmount? I believe I am in love, myself, but he is so far from me now...
I was not searching for love. I have lived most of my life as a bachelor more interested in science than romance. I arrived here and required assistance in adapting to things, and one of the people who was kind enough to help me became a very dear friend very quickly. I knew it was love when I realised that I centered him in my thoughts every day, that I craved his touch, his smile.
As to challenges, I feel he has helped me in so many ways. He has kept me sane, and kind. I truly feel that without him I would be more prone to despair.
It was made clear to me in my youth, that love was not an option for me. I never sought it, though I have always been infatuated with the idea of it, the premise of seeking and finding and attaining it. I write stories about love, and the difficulties of living with it. How it exists, how it enthralls, and sometimes how it suffers. I have met several dear people since my arrival, all who have treated me with great patience. I find myself flourishing under their aid, but would not think that it is due to love. Which must means your union is all the more blessed.
[ Sanity is not her own strong suit, and love, she knows, would never resolve it. ]
He is. Mister Nathaniel Roake, my sole patron. He has always taken risks in my name — first, to publish my novel and second, to fund my escape from my family. I was going to England to meet him, when I arrived here. Now, I feel so close to him, and yet, not close enough.
Was it religion or duty that was considered more important than love? One must make sacrifices for their station sometimes, but affection is hardly unimportant.
I suppose you have made it to England, at least. I am sorry that your patron is not here to welcome you. I pray that those friends you have made and those you yet will can make up for that somewhat.
And you may find love yet. It often appears when we are unprepared.
Both, in a way. It is my father who decides my purpose, and love does not factor into the importance of my utility.
Being rather useless here is liberating, actually. I am able to engage in other pursuits — like research, and writing, and community of my choosing, rather than community chosen for me.
I am a little frightened of love that may come for me, as I fear what might become of me, should I come to need it more than the air I breathe. Reading that in stories and hearing of it from partners makes me want to first belong to myself, before I entwine my heart with another.
[ ok but if she's pressing the play button again and again like someone possessed, nobody will be any wiser ]
Many things are sacred between ladies, including misappropriated moving pictures. I should not hoard intimacies meant for another. Were your breasts meant for someone in particular?
[ Oh God Save Her, she knows exactly who that is. ]
His name is Homelander? I met him but once. He was generous in his indulgence of my silly fancy.
[ he massacred a room full of fake(?) people because she wanted to be saved by a hero and she'd all but asked him to fix her fucked up brain by lasering it out of her own skull ]
Does he enjoy this sort of imagery? Your breasts are beautiful, Miss Becky, and if I could pass them along to him I would be happy to serve as courier between you two. Though, I was unaware you were a mother. Is that correct?
Lady Alia, I am always so cold. I am here sweating down to my drawers, and I am still so cold.
[ She is, after all, an abyss — nothing could ever sate her, nor would she have the wherewithal to know when to reasonably stop. ]
'Tis the mark of the Carpații Meridionali within us. The mountains are my spine and ribs, cold streams and rivers my marrow and vessels, the frosts live in my lungs. Stoking the fire is not enough.
To throw herself into the flames to ward the chill that lives in the depths of her soul, the dark space within her that has never been touched by another's warmth? And if she does burn, will her insatiable hunger gather mouthful after mouthful, until everything within her is writhing and screaming — until she must flee to the arms of the howling wind and beg it to quench her? ]
I like the water, Lady. [ Meekly written.
She remembers Alia's — not fascination — her reverence. They had met in the bath, after all. ]
Lately, I am beginning to explore what it means to make wishes for myself. I am poor at it, but I believe... whatever w̸i̶s̷h̴ will come from me, it will be for the water and what is there beneath the waves.
[clever, clever woman – more so than she credits herself. alia is pleased, for her choice has also always been the water, sacred and life-giving and unknowable, relentless and unyielding and patient, coveted and craved and revered on her beloved homeworld.]
Just so. Water is the element all must fall to, eventually – it quenches fire, it will not allow air beneath it’s depths, it is the beginning and end of snow, it breaks down stone and earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, say the scholars and philosophers, but I think, in truth: we are water, we have been water, we will become water.
It is wisdom, to await your wishes and desires from the depths of water. You will know when it comes, because it is already a part of you, your vein and breath.
When it comes for you, you must tell me. I wish to hear what the water gives you.
[ how can she tell another woman that she is infatuated by the way she speaks and writes? alia is a prophetess, a creature of brilliance and wisdoms beyond mithra's dreams. she looks up to her, admires her, feels herself become the shadow deepen and darken below the strength of alia's shining might. ]
I dream often of the sea. It has always been of great fascination to me. A world indescribable and unto itself. Infinite, dark waters. The greatest mysteries below its waves. Unknowable and frightening, thrilling all the same. An endless realm. Did you know water is the only thing I cannot use in divination practices? It has always closed itself to me. I came to believe it is waiting for me to be ready.
So, of course I will tell you, Lady Alia. Whatever the water gifts me, I feel it will be important to share.
[mithra is neither worshipper nor kin to alia -- she is something else, something Other, something that calls to the strangeness woven within alia's veins. like her homelander, like roza and caroline and wally, every other strange creature, every bright and shining thing.]
My planet is desert, sand, sun. There is no water save for what is held in the core of my Dune, save for what those who tread it's surface create, release, contain. We have never seen the sea, we Fremen, we of Arrakis.
Yet it lives in my bones, my blood. My father's family was of Caladan, planet of sea and storms.
Perhaps the water waits for us both. Sacred and unknowable. Water is life, is everything. There is no sea here, but the lake is beloved to me, even in the deepest winter. I would show it to you, if I may.
[ What has she heard, then? ( Whether it is good, or bad, does not matter much; as long as it makes her desirable, she is happy. A bird loose from the cage, eager to perch upon the next finger that crooks her way. ) ]
Oh, I should love to attend. Have you a place in mind? Or. Perhaps I could entice you to be the first guest within my establishment?
How could I deny such a magnanimous offer? I'd be delighted to join, but it's my intention to cook for you after. Food can tell you a great deal about a person.
[ and i want you to know me. something she learned from sal, not her father. ]
[ He cannot bear to be around others. He cannot bear to be alone. The days drag like oil, thick and sludgy, and he drags himself out of the bed he now sleeps in alone to face each new day with a feeling like ice in his veins. Detachment, as he puts together his new place in this house — as he reckons with loneliness, with being difficult (if not impossible) to care for.
When he feels his rotting eye fill, when the light becomes unbearable and the darkness becomes a nightmare, he resolves, at first, to weather it alone. He knows, now. that it’s finite. All he has to do is wait.
At the end of the second hour, his name appears on Mithra’s phone screen. Whether or not she picks up, the message — spoken hoarsely, struggling to remain level — is the same: ]
I’d … like to ask a favor of you, if you’re not … if you aren’t indisposed.
[ Her own days pass, filled by her own hand; she knows better than to think that someone else will entertain her hours, being the solitary creature she all-to-oft was bidden to be. There is a business to be finalized, a new novel to be written, social hours to entertain at breakfast and dinners, and in between: a hollowness within her, like a great, deep sea. Still waters, cold waters, slumbering waters. Sometimes she rouses from a strange stupor, her cuticles torn to bloody scraps, her stomach snarling for food and mouth dry — throat slick with cold sweat and the hours of the day lost to absence. It's at the tail end of one such fit ( Your madness wakes again, dear Mithra; it sings appalling hymns. ) that she hears the ring of her phone, that strange and useful device that makes such quiet hours a little more bearable.
Her voice is just as hoarse, when she picks up at the third ring. Not too eager, not too dismissive of the man who has called her. That self-sufficient widower, who — like her — keeps his grief to himself, and shambles through a world in the absence of one loved and lost. ]
I am able to come to you, sir. [ He's asking for you, some part of her thrills, eager for praise and acknowledgement and fulfillment. For an unnameable connection that lasts and lingers. The rustle of her skirts heralds her rising, tidying her appearance — with her ring fingers, she dabs a pale cream under her eyes with her ring fingers, to plump the thin skin and disguise her own dark circles. ] Have you taken leave of your business?
[ The sound of his voice drips away like the oil-tar-blood that seeps from his eye, the smoke-scent that comes off of it in sickening waves.
What he means to say is, you were good to me, when this happened last. And somewhere underneath, I don't want to be alone. Too vulnerable, too pathetic, but the flames that dance in the darkness of his vision are too much when taken in combination with the events of the past several months. He dreams of the flames even when his eye doesn't bleed. (His eye, which he now treats himself, his hands shaking as he holds the injector over his face.) He dreams of Jinx, pale and rotting, sneering as she casts off each token of affection he'd ever given her. ]
One of the empty bedrooms. The one near the Library.
[ He already knows, to an extent, that he's already overplayed his hand. Asked for a favor, with no concrete promise of how he'll repay it. But he needs someone, as much as he hates to admit it — and he chooses her. ]
[ Someone else might take advantage of that favor, squirreling it away into a back pocket for a later day with the full intent of preying upon it. There are guests consistently looking for how to one-up one another, pursuing social elevation and power to a degree only a closed society such as the one at Saltburnt could. It's a commune of its own, and they are all vying for prestige and control within it. Mithra slips the thought of it into a desk drawer, and mentally closes it with a snap. It's for later, to consider; once she's addressed the reason for his asking.
Her voice lifts with brief joy, though the response is measured, even. The casual and careful small talk of someone attempting to sweep tensions away like cobwebs: ] A bedroom has found its way near to the Library? How advantageous. I might borrow it once you conclude your residency. Permit me a moment to locate you.
[ That's where she goes, naturally. Testing the doorknob even as she knocks lightly upon the closed door, shave, and a—. Minding her tongue in the hall, lest she give away his vulnerability. ( What might he need? Silco is inscrutable and distinct from men she has known, not led by passions though he harbors few so immense and intense that they change the whole of his world. What service might she, of all people, be able to provide? )
She brings a little of everything, in a small pouch at her hip; spare handkerchiefs, a snuff box full of substance to soothe the mind, her cards, a vial of syrupy-silk liquid. Prepared. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misfire | kool_jewel_08
And the things I would do to bring you to the heights of pleasure are limited only by the human imagination.
ignore that i cant pay attention to my accounts
You are a romantic, and I pray the one this was meant for may receive it.
That being said, I must admit — I would care to know ( for research purposes ) what it is that you might imagine in the dark of night. What pleasures ought you bring to your dear one? What are your greatest dreams for them?
Fear not, I will never seek your identity. I hope you feel able to speak freely?
Sincerely,
M.N. Antonescu
story of my life
mild panic.]
My sincerest apologies for the mistake. I admit that I am a romantic, although it is not something I generally advertise.
As you are a trustworthy person, I will indulge your curiosity.
I wish most sincerely to have my loved one pleasured to the point that it is nigh unbearable, to the point that they beg for release.
My dream is always that they experience the greatest ecstasy one can in this life, and that they feel as loved and as safe as one humanly can.
no subject
A marvelously generous answer.
You seek to please them to the point of release, over and over again — but also to deny them until they can do naught but plead. The cycle of joy and agony could be excruciating, until you deign to reward them.
It is admirable and kind and a little strange, that you include your wish that their ecstasy be a safe matter. Many cannot trust their own pleasure, nor those who say they want to observe it.
no subject
Is it so strange to want the ones you care for to be safe? I should hope that it's quite common.
Do you not wish for that?
no subject
[ She adores lovers, with the hunger of someone who yearns for it and also yearns to observe it for data. ]
'Tis not strange at all, dear Anon. It is a wish I hold most ardently for those I love, as well as mourn the lack of for myself. I am a woman, after all.
My own pleasures are inconsequential and sinful, though I have them. And seek them, against all sense.
no subject
I pray you listen to me: being of the fairer sex need not condemn you. Your pleasures are of the same importance as men's. This is not something I was taught, but something I have learned here.
You deserve every happiness.
no subject
I am still learning my way, dear Anon. Do forgive my fumbling — my life has been unlit for long, and the light I carry now gutters at the softest breeze.
What does happiness look like, to you? To your lover?
no subject
I am not a complicated man. Happiness is merely having someone to share life's joys with, someone to help and be helped by when things are dark. A partner.
I think for them it is the same.
no subject
Would you tell me more of your love, dear Anon? How you found it, and knew it for what it was and — what challenges it has helped you to surmount? I believe I am in love, myself, but he is so far from me now...
[ lore: unlocked...... ]
no subject
I was not searching for love. I have lived most of my life as a bachelor more interested in science than romance. I arrived here and required assistance in adapting to things, and one of the people who was kind enough to help me became a very dear friend very quickly. I knew it was love when I realised that I centered him in my thoughts every day, that I craved his touch, his smile.
As to challenges, I feel he has helped me in so many ways. He has kept me sane, and kind. I truly feel that without him I would be more prone to despair.
Is your loved one back in your own world?
no subject
It was made clear to me in my youth, that love was not an option for me. I never sought it, though I have always been infatuated with the idea of it, the premise of seeking and finding and attaining it. I write stories about love, and the difficulties of living with it. How it exists, how it enthralls, and sometimes how it suffers. I have met several dear people since my arrival, all who have treated me with great patience. I find myself flourishing under their aid, but would not think that it is due to love. Which must means your union is all the more blessed.
[ Sanity is not her own strong suit, and love, she knows, would never resolve it. ]
He is. Mister Nathaniel Roake, my sole patron. He has always taken risks in my name — first, to publish my novel and second, to fund my escape from my family. I was going to England to meet him, when I arrived here. Now, I feel so close to him, and yet, not close enough.
no subject
I suppose you have made it to England, at least. I am sorry that your patron is not here to welcome you. I pray that those friends you have made and those you yet will can make up for that somewhat.
And you may find love yet. It often appears when we are unprepared.
no subject
Being rather useless here is liberating, actually. I am able to engage in other pursuits — like research, and writing, and community of my choosing, rather than community chosen for me.
I am a little frightened of love that may come for me, as I fear what might become of me, should I come to need it more than the air I breathe. Reading that in stories and hearing of it from partners makes me want to first belong to myself, before I entwine my heart with another.
no subject
I think that quite sensible! Knowing oneself is a noble pursuit.
@samlicker81 • nsfw misfire
I hope you're thirsty tonight. ;)
no subject
Miss Becky,
This is Mithra. I am so sorry, but I opened what was meant for another's eyes.
1/2
2/2
Between us girls, can we just... pretend like I didn't send you that?
I mean, unless you... liked it?
Then it's okay if you want to keep it.
But you don't have to! We can totally just forget about it!
no subject
Many things are sacred between ladies, including misappropriated moving pictures.
I should not hoard intimacies meant for another. Were your breasts meant for someone in particular?
no subject
Well. If you promise not to tell...
Have you met Homelander?
1/2
please hold ]
no subject
[ she's, AHEM!!!, met ( "met" ) a couple of men and escaped without learning their names #howshameful ]
no subject
( she was going to say like a brick shithouse but she's trying to be #respectful of mithra's edwardianism. )
Glistening abs. Bulging biceps. Thighs that could crush a watermelon.
He could crush ME and I'd thank him for it. 🥵
no subject
His name is Homelander? I met him but once. He was generous in his indulgence of my silly fancy.
[ he massacred a room full of fake(?) people because she wanted to be saved by a hero and she'd all but asked him to fix her fucked up brain by lasering it out of her own skull ]
Does he enjoy this sort of imagery? Your breasts are beautiful, Miss Becky, and if I could pass them along to him I would be happy to serve as courier between you two.
Though, I was unaware you were a mother. Is that correct?
@coan_tean, misfire, nsfw
[IMAGE ATTACHMENT]
Sunny!
1/2
no subject
no subject
You may share mine, if you desire.
no subject
There is a fireplace, though. And I fear I have stoked the flames far too high. The room is oppressive now.
[ img.jpg ]
no subject
Is this so, Mithra of covenants, of enduring, of heat on your skin?
no subject
[ She is, after all, an abyss — nothing could ever sate her, nor would she have the wherewithal to know when to reasonably stop. ]
'Tis the mark of the Carpații Meridionali within us. The mountains are my spine and ribs, cold streams and rivers my marrow and vessels, the frosts live in my lungs.
Stoking the fire is not enough.
no subject
Do you wish to burn, then? To be consumed, to surrender to the flames? Or is your frozen vigil contentment, to your fretful soul?
no subject
To throw herself into the flames to ward the chill that lives in the depths of her soul, the dark space within her that has never been touched by another's warmth? And if she does burn, will her insatiable hunger gather mouthful after mouthful, until everything within her is writhing and screaming — until she must flee to the arms of the howling wind and beg it to quench her? ]
I like the water, Lady. [ Meekly written.
She remembers Alia's — not fascination — her reverence. They had met in the bath, after all. ]
Lately, I am beginning to explore what it means to make wishes for myself. I am poor at it, but I believe... whatever w̸i̶s̷h̴ will come from me, it will be for the water and what is there beneath the waves.
no subject
Just so. Water is the element all must fall to, eventually – it quenches fire, it will not allow air beneath it’s depths, it is the beginning and end of snow, it breaks down stone and earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, say the scholars and philosophers, but I think, in truth: we are water, we have been water, we will become water.
It is wisdom, to await your wishes and desires from the depths of water. You will know when it comes, because it is already a part of you, your vein and breath.
When it comes for you, you must tell me. I wish to hear what the water gives you.
no subject
I dream often of the sea. It has always been of great fascination to me. A world indescribable and unto itself. Infinite, dark waters. The greatest mysteries below its waves. Unknowable and frightening, thrilling all the same. An endless realm. Did you know water is the only thing I cannot use in divination practices? It has always closed itself to me. I came to believe it is waiting for me to be ready.
So, of course I will tell you, Lady Alia. Whatever the water gifts me, I feel it will be important to share.
no subject
My planet is desert, sand, sun. There is no water save for what is held in the core of my Dune, save for what those who tread it's surface create, release, contain. We have never seen the sea, we Fremen, we of Arrakis.
Yet it lives in my bones, my blood. My father's family was of Caladan, planet of sea and storms.
Perhaps the water waits for us both. Sacred and unknowable. Water is life, is everything. There is no sea here, but the lake is beloved to me, even in the deepest winter. I would show it to you, if I may.
@s — text.
@MNANTONESCU
How might I be of service?
[ how fast word flies within the manor; she'd only just finished filing the paperwork ]
no subject
I'd like to invite you to dinner.
no subject
Oh, I should love to attend. Have you a place in mind?
Or. Perhaps I could entice you to be the first guest within my establishment?
no subject
I'd be delighted to join, but it's my intention to cook for you after. Food can tell you a great deal about a person.
[ and i want you to know me. something she learned from sal, not her father. ]
📞 voice — un: silco.
When he feels his rotting eye fill, when the light becomes unbearable and the darkness becomes a nightmare, he resolves, at first, to weather it alone. He knows, now. that it’s finite. All he has to do is wait.
At the end of the second hour, his name appears on Mithra’s phone screen. Whether or not she picks up, the message — spoken hoarsely, struggling to remain level — is the same: ]
I’d … like to ask a favor of you, if you’re not … if you aren’t indisposed.
no subject
Her voice is just as hoarse, when she picks up at the third ring. Not too eager, not too dismissive of the man who has called her. That self-sufficient widower, who — like her — keeps his grief to himself, and shambles through a world in the absence of one loved and lost. ]
I am able to come to you, sir. [ He's asking for you, some part of her thrills, eager for praise and acknowledgement and fulfillment. For an unnameable connection that lasts and lingers. The rustle of her skirts heralds her rising, tidying her appearance — with her ring fingers, she dabs a pale cream under her eyes with her ring fingers, to plump the thin skin and disguise her own dark circles. ] Have you taken leave of your business?
no subject
[ The sound of his voice drips away like the oil-tar-blood that seeps from his eye, the smoke-scent that comes off of it in sickening waves.
What he means to say is, you were good to me, when this happened last. And somewhere underneath, I don't want to be alone. Too vulnerable, too pathetic, but the flames that dance in the darkness of his vision are too much when taken in combination with the events of the past several months. He dreams of the flames even when his eye doesn't bleed. (His eye, which he now treats himself, his hands shaking as he holds the injector over his face.) He dreams of Jinx, pale and rotting, sneering as she casts off each token of affection he'd ever given her. ]
One of the empty bedrooms. The one near the Library.
[ He already knows, to an extent, that he's already overplayed his hand. Asked for a favor, with no concrete promise of how he'll repay it. But he needs someone, as much as he hates to admit it — and he chooses her. ]
Would you?
no subject
Her voice lifts with brief joy, though the response is measured, even. The casual and careful small talk of someone attempting to sweep tensions away like cobwebs: ] A bedroom has found its way near to the Library? How advantageous. I might borrow it once you conclude your residency. Permit me a moment to locate you.
[ That's where she goes, naturally. Testing the doorknob even as she knocks lightly upon the closed door, shave, and a—. Minding her tongue in the hall, lest she give away his vulnerability. ( What might he need? Silco is inscrutable and distinct from men she has known, not led by passions though he harbors few so immense and intense that they change the whole of his world. What service might she, of all people, be able to provide? )
She brings a little of everything, in a small pouch at her hip; spare handkerchiefs, a snuff box full of substance to soothe the mind, her cards, a vial of syrupy-silk liquid. Prepared. ]