So, I'm gonna get back on my bullshit in a bit once I've woken up a little more, but in the meantime, allow me to share my Dark Souls ducks!!
I love them so much, they got here like 2 months late but it was well worth the wait. 😁
I love them. ;u;
Oscar will be live on Weibo for his birthday this Friday 30th of July at 19:30 (China Time).
X
I really like and enjoy the new content from Oscar Isaac that is looming on the horizon. I mean, all these wonderful Writers will drown us with thousands of great stories. I can’t wait.
I just want to be able to really enjoy it. Enjoy, not just "Ohh, cool..."
Catch me listening to ep. 25 (a wilde after party) and then ep. 177 (last words pt. 2) to speed run that enemies to lovers for the serotonin
bring me flowers, yes, but somedays bring me old rustic knives with history or a tiny figurine from the myths, bring me old used books with love notes in the margins. bring me a life of adventure
I had to write this after “The Card Counter” trailer. It did things to me! I hope this does things to you too :) Enjoy!
Warnings: +18 | NSFW
.
.
.
2am.
It seems late to anyone of course, but to you it was a time that you always seemed to be up at. Life made you a night owl, never knowing when or where you could use a great nap. But of course it was fine, you never knew when William would call. Sometimes it would be noon; sometimes it would be 5am. You never minded, you missed him, and his inconsistency of time showed you that at that moment, he really missed you too.
You gasped to yourself softly as your phone rang, almost if your spirit knew at that moment you needed to hear from your favorite person. It was almost embarrassing in a way, rushing to the phone like some lovesick teenager, but you weren’t the one to care much of how anything you did looked.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
You bit your lip, smiling at the sound of his voice. The sleep in his voice showed that he had just woken up not long before.
“It’s 2am, William. You’re lucky I’m up for you.”
“You would have been up for me regardless, you know. I miss you.”
You laid back, turning your lamp dimly while sighing, rubbing your hands down your thighs as your ear pressed against the phone.
“I always miss you too, and I always wish I was there with you. Or you here with me.”
You could hear his small chuckle through the phone, hearing his body shift in his bed, as if he was turning towards the phone.
“You are here with me, I think about you every fucking day I’m in here. Every night. Like right now, you’re laying in front of me. Hair all wet from the shower like I like, my face against your neck, dozing off to the smell of you”
You felt yourself grow aroused at his description, remembering the nights you’d shower just before getting into bed, knowing that his hands would be everywhere shortly after.
“Is that so? What are your hands doing?”
He chuckled softly, realizing where you were leading him. He adjusted again on the other side of the phone, pulling his pants down to his knees, his chest already bare.
“My hands are pressing you hard against my dick. My other hand is slowly trailing down to spread your open. See how wet you are for me. You’re always so wet for me.” His own fist pumps slowly against his cock, feeling his sack swell eagerly.
Your nipples hardened at the sound of his masturbating and soft groaning. You couldn’t help but slide your finger down your slit, your core mimicking his words. “I wish I was there with you now so much, taking care of you in your cell. My mouth so filled with you, looking up to see if I’m doing a good job for my favorite man”
Your statement provoked a soft whimper from him, his pounding of his cock getting louder. “Your warm fucking mouth sliding up and down my dick.. fuck. I’d make you get up, you’ve already got me close, but I want to cum inside of that beautiful pussy of yours. Is that okay? How hard can you take me?”
You moan, rubbing your clit forcefully as you imagine him pounding into you, his eyes intently locked on yours with every thrust. “I can always take you as hard as you want me to. I love watching you as I slide down your cock, you hitting that barrier I love. Your mouth on my tits in appreciation.”
His left hand pounded against his shaft, the other one massaging his balls, desperately moaning at the vision. “You love it so much, being such a princess for me. Always so tight. Are you fucking yourself on my dick? Can’t fuck that mouth of yours without you needing me to fuck the rest of you.”
You gasp, feeling yourself close to your brink. You’d give anything to have him take care of you for the night physically, but this works just as much. “I want to do such a good job for you, am I doing a great job for you, daddy?”
“Fuck.”
Your words send him over the edge, his cum roping slowly out of him as he thrusts sloppily into his hand. You moan at the sound of it, reaching your own climax in return. You catch your breath, laughing to yourself from how amped up you always get from these phone calls. You can hear his breathing on the other side, the shuffling of finding something to clean himself off with.
“Fuck. You’re so amazing. I’m so glad I only have a month left in this shithole. I can’t imagine the night I get to come home to you.”
You laugh softly, smiling to yourself. “We have many more 2am’s to come.”
ok i understand the allure of summer but do you know what a rolling storm and the smell of wet earth can do to the butterflies in you stomach? drugging
"Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark And has the nature of infinity"
Research dump:
There's no word
of the day
here, but if
there was it would
be enj-
oyable?
oined?
ineering (sp?)
No, it would be enj
ambment
If you've been here more than five minutes, you'll know I am a bad poet. I love reading poetry and I try to write it and sometimes that makes people think I must know stuff about it, but I am very ignorant ... I could have chosen English/English Lit for my A-Levels, my English teacher (Mrs F) was kind enough to encourage me to, but I went down the science route, and then life happened, and life, I think, is both necessary for writing to happen and prevents it from happening. It's both the stimulation and the prophylactic.
Anyhoo, I wrote a quick, fun poem yesterday and I didn't file it away like I usually do, I posted it. That is a new thing. This morning I realised the rhythm comes from a poem my English teacher got us to read, The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde, thanks again Mrs F, so I've been revisiting it.
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
We get straight to the rub, here, and the reason why I don't read this any more, despite loving it wholeheartedly when I was a teen in an all girl's school. He loved her and killed the thing he loved, how wrong but wromatic (credit to 1066 And All That) ... and then you leave with your O-Levels clutched in your sweaty fist and realise, yeah, actually, men, not all men, but predominantly men, they do do that. Fuck.
He did not wear his scarlet coat. Man, he did not deserve to wear it.
There are parts of this I love, and will always love ...
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing
...
He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.
...
Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay,
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
...
The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
And left a little tract.
...
At last I saw the shadowed bars
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God’s dreadful dawn was red.
So wonderful, so dramatic, that persistent rhythm and rhyme drumming, inexorable, leading us on to the grisly conclusion. I read this as a teen and was floored by it, and I am sad, in a way, that I can't read it with those eyes again. But I can't.
Being in the world, necessary but the world is so ruthlessly unpoetic.
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
My pain. His pain, everyone's pain gets a look in, except one. There's no word about her pain, is there? You know who I mean. I'd like to say I'm over it, but I'm still not.
Enjambment, anyway. The use of line breaks in poetry to delay meaning and thereby create tension. I have learned a word. (You probably taught us this, Mrs F and I wasn't paying attention. I am sorry.)
Imagine if you will...
Being Christine McConnell's (curious creations) protege and getting a job at Oscar's hotel given your experience and *cough* capabilities *cough*.
"Are you sure that you want to stay here?" Rankle scoffed as he looked around the lobby, clearly critical of the rustic and vintage space.
"Yes. Now quit whining, no one asked you to escort me, you insisted."
Your rebuttal was met with a sharp inhale and a flurry of outraged mutterings from the resurrected feline upon your shoulder.
A hearty chuckle started up beside the both of you,
"Wowza, no matter how long I know you all your bickering is still as adorable as ever.
"Are you suggesting I should have left you alone with Mr Strangle here?" Rankle side-eyed Norman as he spoke.
"Oh shush, now the two of you should leave. I know for a fact that Christine has something planned." You held back a chuckle at the way Norman lit up at the mention of your mentor.
Walking towards the reception desk you spotted a frazzled man, with a small clearing of your throat his head snapped in your direction.
"Hi, Are you Oscar's nephew?"
As he quirked his head to the side, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Yeah, that's me. I'm Oliver, and you must be the pizzaz." He spoke with little conviction as if unsure of the very ground he stood on.
Giving him a small nod, you prompted a smile from the handsome man before he opened his mouth to speak.
"Please tell me you know how to run this place."
