(text.)

[ioudas]

❝ the lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, o lord, endures forever. do not forsake the work of your hands. ❞

psalms

do you actually believe that, though? do you believe in destiny or do you believe that it is our own? discuss.

also, since we're having a deep conversation. google would have made my life a whole lot easier if it had existed in the 1800s. then again there would not be young men saying that they love vintage victorian erotica more than the mainstream kind (here's a hint: it's still erotica).

if you're a really old guy wearing a hood over your head, you owe me a saturday night for the one you ruined. cash only.

(ooc: sorry, this got really NSFW)

Comments

[voice]

[ioudas]

Yeah, I used to work for the Church.

Look at me not care about how wild your Saturday nights indoors are.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

I wasn't talking about that, necessarily, but if you really want to hear about me and Callie...

Used to. Sounds like a good career change if you ask me.

[voice]

[ioudas]

If I ever need to purge, I'll be sure to call you.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

Don't, I don't want you getting vicarious thrills Mister Vintage Erotica.

(NSFW)

[ioudas]

Often if a girl were shy, she would be coaxed and fondled by several of the ladies into receiving her injection. Flushed cheeks and snowy breasts were exposed--an apparently burning anguish showing in the eyes as her skirts were raised--all such were salt to the occasion. Girls too bold in their ways provided little sport for an expectant assembly, and such as might have been were given sufficient hints in private to bring them to struggle and sob with great realism while they were laid open-legged upon a dining room table or a waiting divan, there to receive their first dosage of ardent sperm.

[voice] 1/2

[notadartboard]

...ghhkk! [hold on, disconnecting for a moment so he can revel without an audience. Maybe clean up a nosebleed]

[voice] 2/2

[notadartboard]

[a minute or two later he's back]

I hereby take back one or two of the nasty things I've ever said about you.

[voice]

[ioudas]

I'm amazing, I know. These are actual books, though.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

Oh? All the better. I love the feel of a good book in my hands almost as much as the feel of a woman's skin. Where does one find items of such vintage?

[voice]

[ioudas]

A bookstore, go figure.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

...not one of the ones with the cafe inside with the shitty coffee, I assume.

[voice]

[ioudas]

I don't know? I go to stores I don't hate.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

Just give me some damn recommendations already, don't make me ask nicely. I know where all the markets are in the city, not the bookstores.

[voice]

[ioudas]

Fine, I'm sending some over. Don't get mad at me because they mostly deal with foreign books.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

That won't bother me. I know how to peruse and find something with words I can actually read.

[voice]

[ioudas]

(sending the coordinates.) Just don't tell them that I sent you, you're an embarrassment.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

Psh, like I'd want to acknowledge that I even know you.

[shit, now he has to be gracious. Because this is a potential treasure trove] ...appreciated, though.

[voice]

[ioudas]

Don't ever say that to me again.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

I won't. It pained me enough to say it just now, I don't feel like repeating that.

[voice]

[ioudas]

Please stop talking.

[voice]

[notadartboard]

Tch. Make me.

DISCONNECT.

[ioudas]

(sobs he asked.)