#Kyle Bates

[spockvarietyhour]

haven't we all

[mitjalovse]

One-man bands tend to be quite heavily lonesome affairs thanks to them putting one musician through the wringer with some reaching the breakdown like one we discussed before, i.e. Planning For The Burial. Drowse might be another one of this mood. I mean, the whole thing does have Planning For Burial's eeriness, though the latter seems to be presented differently. His scariness does resemble a suspense of the musician in our previous post, yet he appears to be more out there than Planning For Burial. Drowse by Kyle Bates challenges the sky, whereas Planning For Burial stays on the ground. They both evoke a certain amount of horror, though the quality of Drowse hews close to existential. Actually, Drowse is more of a Lovecraft, if you catch my drift.

[brokehorrorfan]

Go a little mad with Fright-Rags' Alfred Hitchcock apparel. The line includes The Birds, Psycho, and Hitchcock designs by Kyle Crawford on T-shirts ($30), long sleeves ($40), and baseball tees ($40).

[pulsingvoid]

she is sooo misty quigley. to me

[of-twilight-and-moonshadow]

WWE Masterlist

Fluff = 💕 (count: 12)

Smut = 💦 (count: 0)

Angst = 💔 (count: 2)

Main Roster - Smackdown / Raw

Baron Corbin - Safe 💕

Roman Reigns - Always Have, Always Will 💕

Seth Rollins - Too Little, Too Late 💔  

Finn Balor / Fergal Devitt - Luck in Love  💕 

NXT

Adam Cole - Never Should’ve Let You Go 💕       

 --------  Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Kyle O’Reilly - Cookie Dough Kisses  💕

NXT UK

Marcel Barthel - Always There   💕

Marcel Barthel, Fabian Aichner - What’s Mine 💕

Tyler Bate - Perfect Chance💕

Trent Seven - Notice Me 💕

[vaugarde]

Doing Cana's html code on toyhouse right now and I'm sad that when it comes to the voice claims, I'm trying to avoid linking spoiler clips to the source material, because i have cana as kyle mccarthy and bates as kate mulgrew mostly for their scene together as simon and samantha in infinity train and god linking that scene would be so perfect cause it matches both of their voices well but its also just. its a nice clip to make an animatic too bc they're very fitting. this was the best i could find of the scene btw i dont feel like finding the actual full clip but the entire thing works. this isn't complete without simon throwing the chair

[celenawrites]

inspired by this lil rambling I did a while back

The veil on your head sticks to your forehead with perspiration and your fingers ever so slightly shake with nervousness. You stand before a large wooden door, and walking inside the room seems almost impossible for you. You consider calling a raincheck, or maybe running away from this whole arrangement - but your friend pats you comfortingly on your back and you feel somewhat grounded again.

This entire fiasco is for your own benefit, and you don't have any other alternatives.

So you suck it up and push open the wooden door, taking long strides to close the distance between you and your unknown betrothed.

The church is mostly empty save for the groom and a few key witnesses, thanks to a favor the old priest owed to the task force’s captain. The door’s loud creak gives you away, and everyone is now looking at you. Captain Price, the man who orchestrated this union, stands proud and steady as he eyes you down mechanically - possibly an old habit from his time serving in the army for so many years. The old priest stands in front of the pews with bated breath, almost impatient to get this over with. There’s a middle aged woman sitting in the front and she looks at you sharply with disdain, you’d assume she’s part of your betrothed's task force, if it wasn’t for the fact you were intimated last minute that she’s his mother.

And there’s your groom - Sergeant Kyle Garrick, dressed in an all black suit as he eyes you down with what seems to be wonder in his eyes. Apart from them, there seems to be no one else present here. 

Your friend adjusts your veil as she walks with you down the aisle. You’re sure that by now, her hand must be throbbing in pain from how hard you’ve gripped her. When it came to tying the knot, you hadn’t exactly envisioned this in your mind - but you try your best to play with the cards you’re dealt anyway. 

You almost wish you had dressed elaborately, instead of settling for a short white dress and a rental veil that makes your nape itch - but your wedding called for urgency and you had to ditch the elaborate bridal plans if you wanted to ensure your amenities are not cut off by the end of the month. 

With bated breath, you walk down the aisle as you grip onto your friend for some comfort. The walk is finished in minutes, and your friend is quick to leave you standing before your groom and the priest as they take a seat in the pews nearby. You look at Mr. Garrick, and he’s even more ethereal up close. A light scar runs across the span of his left cheek, but it only adds to his charm. His warm brown eyes twinkle like stars under the yellow fluorescent lights lighting up the room. If you had met him under any other circumstance, you’re sure you’d been smitten by now. Maybe you’d have asked him out for coffee…

Almost sensing your nerves, Kyle is quick to flash a kind smile your way and you breathe deeply as you look back at him and smile back a watery smile of your own. For his sake, you’ll suck it up and deal with it just fine - no matter what. 

Snapping out of your wishful thinking, you try to concentrate on what the priest is saying, but it is so hard to pay attention to the dronings of an old man when your handsome soon-to-be-husband stands in front of you. You notice that he taps his foot thrice at an interval of eight or so minutes, maybe as a way to deal with his nerves. After all, this is not just your wedding day. 

You both soon dot your I’s and cross your T’s as you both give out short, succinct vows and promise each other the promise of love and respect ‘till death do us apart’, which leaves an ashy taste in your mouth. This is not how this was supposed to be, but you both have no other choice in the matter. 

The rings are brought out, and you gape at how pretty the diamond looks on the thin platinum band. You wonder how much of his paycheck Kyle had to spend in order to find something this big and beautiful, and you almost feel ashamed for the ring you bought, a simple band with small gems encrusted in it - no cheaper in this economy, but still falling short of what the Sergeant had prepared for you. 

With quivering hands you slip his ring onto his finger, and he quickly returns the favor with a steady hand holding onto you, the warmth of his palm feeling awfully nice and comforting against your clammy hands. The priest finally announces, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Fearing the worst, you close your eyes shut as you’re not certain on how to approach this step. You’re no virgin, but kissing a man you barely know (and marrying said man) is something you hadn’t anticipated in your twenty-something years of your life. You feel Kyle wrap an arm around the small of your back gently as he raises the veil on your head - only to give you a chaste peck on the corner of your lips, just shy of giving you a proper kiss. Everyone present in the church let out reluctant claps, calling curtains on the show you both have put out knowing well enough that there is more to come. 

Now that the union was finally complete with witnesses and your marriage certificate soon after filed and to be submitted for review, you are looking forward to crashing on a bed and sleeping the day away after gorging out on some much needed junk food. (Especially if you wish to forget how Kyle’s mother has been eyeing you down like some filthy vermin throughout this sham of a wedding, really.)

“Welcome to the married life, Mrs. Garrick”, Kyle is quick to whisper in your ear as he ushers you out of the small church, and you’re yet to decide if you like the way he refers to you as his. 

“Can we get some takeout on the way home?” you ask him, and he smiles that brilliant smile your way, the one that makes you just a little weak in the knees. 

“Whatever you want, wife.”

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Day Seventeen

Boot Riding

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Capitan John Price

“Mind telling me where you’ve been?” Price questioned before Gaz had even finished closing the door behind him.

Gaz glanced at the clock. It was a minute, maybe two, past seven. He was barely late. At least, not late enough to warrant the hard glare Price was giving him from behind his desk.

“Just making my report to Ghost.” Gaz shut the door and walked up to the front of the desk, grinning down at the captain. “Got a problem with that?”

“Yes.” Price leant back and stared up at his sergeant. “I don’t recall telling you to give any kind of report to Ghost. Let alone, telling you that this report could make you late to meet with me.”

“I’m sorry.” Gaz leaned over the desk, one hand planted on the wooden surface, the other reaching out for Price’s face, until he moved his chair back, out of Gaz’s reach.

“You want to apologise to me, sergeant?”

“It’s two minutes, it’s hardly a big deal.” Gaz stood up, folding his arms.

“It’s two minutes you spent with Ghost—”

“And not you? I though we talked about you being jealous, John?”

“I’m not jealous.” John spat the word out. “Strip, now.”

Gaz rolled his eyes, but complied, leaving his clothes where they fell in a crumpled mess on the floor when he tried to go around to get to where Price was sitting.

John held up a hand to stop him. “Really, sergeant? Clean that mess up.”

Gaz stopped, frowning as he met the captain’s hard stare again. He debated it, then decided that now probably wasn’t the time to make whatever Price had in store for him worse, so he stopped and picked up his clothes, carefully folding each item before setting the pile neatly on the front edge of the desk, crouching out of Price’s sight, out of his stare, as he tucked his boots up against the front of the desk below it.

Price grunted in approval when he stood back up, and beckoned Gaz to come close, pointing to the ground in front of him as he swung his chair to the side. “Kneel.”

Gaz did so, sitting on his heels as he pressed his legs together in front of Price’s boots, his hardening dick resting on his thigh, half concealed by arms stretching down so his hands could rest on his knees. Price reached out and cupped his chin, tilting Gaz’s head from side to side as he studied his face. Gaz kept quiet, but shivered as he felt his dick continue to get hard against his thigh, thanks to Price’s silent stares.

“He’s at least had the decency to not leave any marks.” Price grunted, pushing Gaz’s head back as he let it go, his eyes flicking down to Gaz’s half hard cock instead. “Did he send you off with that?”

Gaz shook his head. “All your work. Sir.”

“What? Just telling you what to do?” Price chuckled low in his throat, leaning down towards him. “Anyone can give instructions, Gaz.”

“I don’t follow instructions from just anyone.”

“Right, just me, and Ghost.”

“You’d be surprised.” Gaz murmured, his breath bating in his throat for the grand reveal.

“How so?”

“Most of the time, I’m telling him what to do.”

“Sure, you are.” John chuckled, in a way that told Kyle he didn’t believe him. He indicated for Kyle to split his legs open as he pushed his right leg forward, nudging his black, leather boot between Kyle’s knees. “You’re going to grind on my boot, and tell me the truth, you understand, the truth about what Ghost does to you.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle widened his legs, shuffling close until his dick was rubbing up against the leather boot. He wrapped his arms around John’s shin, shifting his hips up as he tilted his head to one side, resting it on the top of John’s knee as he looked up at him. “What do you want to know?”

“Have you let him jerk you off?”

“Yes.” Gaz started rolling his hips, rubbing his dick against John’s boot. He bit his lip at the initial discomfort, dragging his skin against the tough surface, until it faded and left him searching for more texture with each roll of his hips as he struggled to find the right angle.

“How often does he do it?”

“Uh, quite often.” Gaz tightened his grip on Price’s trousers, pinching the cloth between his fingers, dragging it out from where it was tucked into his tightly laced boot. “He’s willing to do it for us- me, whenever, rather than me jerking off.”

“Is that so?” Price eyes lit up at the ‘us’ Gaz let slip, before picking up a cigar from the ash tray and relighting it. “How does he do it? Left or right hand?”

“Right.”

“Fast? Slow? Tight? Or squeezing?”

“He goes fast. Doesn’t do too much, just grips and goes until you, uh, finish.”

“Does he make you clean his hand?”

“Usually wants to wipe it on your shirt.” Gaz grunted as his dick rubbed against Price’s laces, his hips bucking up as he remembered the harsh speed of Ghost’s hand jobs.

“Isn’t he generous?”

“Uh huh.” Gaz tried to shift his dick away from the laces, back to the patch of untextured leather he’d found before. He didn’t want to cum before Price said to.

“Does he ever get you to return the favour?”

“Sometimes. He wants, prefers, to get sucked off, though.”

Price grunted. “Good trade, with how well you suck dick, Garrick.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gaz preened as Price stroked his cheek, blowing smoke out of his mouth.

“Does he ever suck your dick?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“At his own pace. You just sit there and let him work.” He swallowed, clenching Price’s shin tight and slowing his hips, not missing the tinge of desperation that came into his voice as he continued speaking. “He doesn’t let you… No touching. Doesn’t let you touch him.”

“His rules, I suppose. Do you think he’s as good as you?”

“No, he’s nowhere near as good as me.” Gaz answered without thinking. When he’d processed what he’d said, he felt his face run hot, and his eyes widened. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t.” Price lifted Gaz’s head up, cupping his cheeks in both hands, holding his cigar between his teeth as he tugged Gaz’s face up, grumbling around it as he continued his interrogation. “Does he let you cum down his throat?”

“Insists on it.” Gaz jerked his hips to a stop, precum dribbling down the leather as his breath choked in his throat. Fuck, he was close to coming.

“S’alright. Take your time.” Price’s thumb stroked his cheek. “Tell me how he fucks you.”

“Right.” Gaz tried to gather his thoughts away from how good it felt to have Ghost filling his ass as the memories flooded into his mind. “Likes to have you prepped, finger yourself open. One time… he had me and Soap prep each other.”

“Did he now?” Price murmured, brushing a tear off of Gaz’s cheek, his eyes sparking again at the mention of Soap.

“Yeah. He likes to be able to just sink into a hole and fuck. Hard, fast. Manhandles you. Won’t wait for you to come before he does.”

“Does he now?” Price’s brow furrowed. If Kyle was in a clearer state, he might have thought it was a look of disapproval.

“Makes up for it, though. Excellent aftercare. Cuddles you close, slowly jerks you off. Always makes you a bacon sandwich.”

“Ah, that explains where all our bacon goes.” Price gently ran his thumb along Gaz’s lip. “And what about when he lets you fuck him?”

Gaz’s dick twitched, as he remembered how Ghost had ended up underneath him that one night. “He begs.”

“He…”

“Begs. Does it really well… almost too well. And he cums loads. Makes a difference to see it all over him rather than in… in you.”

“Go on.” Price’s voice seemed faint to him now. Like he was far away. Not that it mattered, Gaz was going to ramble on whether the captain told him to or not.

“He’s loud. Whiney. Goes all pink, all over. Tight and squeezes like a vice.” Gaz swallowed, rubbing his dick up against the laces again.

“Does he?”

“Yeah.” Gaz squeezed his eyes shut.

“Go on. Come.”

“Fuck…” Gaz came, spreading his come over Price’s boot as he thought about fucking it deep into Ghost’s ass, all while Price cupped his face, murmuring gently above him.

Eventually, Price drew his leg back and lifted Gaz into his lap, guiding him up as Gaz’s legs shook underneath him, wrapping him securely in his arms before he spoke again.

“Thank you for telling me that.”

Gaz leant into his chest. “You’re welcome. Am… am I forgiven for being late?”

“Of course. Just see that it doesn’t become a habit.”

Gaz looped his arms around his neck. “Course it won’t.”

“Good. If there’s a next time, I’ll be having words with both you, and Ghost.”

“Words? Or watching?” Gaz nuzzled into Price’s neck.

He chuckled. “It’s like you read my mind.”

[marleneoftheopera]

Holiday Audio/Video Gifts!

For the holiday season, here are some audio gifts from various shows and one Phantom video! The link to them is here and the info is below the cut:

Happy holidays and I hope you are all having time for some rest!

Audios

POTO

Jon Robyns, Paige Blankson, Joe Griffiths-Brown, Kelly Glyptis, Matt Harrop, Adam Linstead, Francesca Ellis, David Kristopher Brown, Maiya Hikasa August 22, 2023; London

Tim Howar, Harriet Jones, Nadim Naaman, Lara Martins, Nicholas Garrett, Arvid Larsen, John Ellis, Valerie Cutko, Kelsi Boyden March 19, 2023; Greece

Josh Piterman, Corinne Cowling (u/s), Danny Whitehead, Katy Hanna (u/s), Ross Dawes, Kris Manuel (u/s), Sophie Caton (u/s), Paul Ettore Tabone, Georgia Ware October 17, 2019; London ​Matinee.

Jeremy Stolle (u/s), Samantha Hill, Greg Mills (u/s), Michele McConnell, Richard Poole (u/s), Tim Jerome, Ellen Harvey, Christian Sebek, Kara Klein, Scott Mikita (u/s) March 9, 2013; Broadway Matinee performance.

John Owen-Jones, Deborah Dutcher, Matthew Cammelle, Bruce Montague, Charles Shirvell, Margaret Mary Kane (u/s), Janet Murphy, Jeremy Secomb, Lucy Middleton January 5, 2002; London

Love Never Dies

Tam Mutu, Celia Graham, David Thaxton, Daniel Dowling August 25, 2011; London Tam Mutu's last performance.

Les Miserables

Christopher Jacobsen (u/s Jean Valjean), Stewart Clarke (Javert), Katie Hall (Fantine), Will Callan (Marius), Lulu-Mae Pears (Cosette), Amena El-Kindy (Eponine), Luke Kempner (Thenardier), Claire Machin (Madame Thenardier), Dejan Van der Flyert (Enjolras), Alex Shaw (Gavroche), Clohe Sullivan (Little Cosette), Tom Hext (Grantaire/Majordomo), Adam Pearce (Bishop/Claquesous), Ellie Ann Lowe (Factory Girl), Jordan Simon Pollard (u/s Foreman/Bujon), Matt Dempsey (Bamatabopis/Lesgles), Annabelle Aquino, Hazel Baldwin, Emily Olive Boyd, Ben Culleton, Matt Hayden, Sam Kipling, Anouk Van Lake, Harry Lake, Ben Oatley, Jonathan Stevens, Phoebe Williams, Ollie Wray September 28, 2023; London 15,000th show in London and the 5th show for the new company.

Sunset Boulevard

Nicole Scherzinger (Norma), Tom Francis (Joe Gillis), David Thaxton (Max von Mayerling), Grace Hodgett Young (Betty Shaefer), Ahmed Hamaad (Artie), Tyler Davis (Sheldrake), Charlotte Jaconelli (Johanna), Jon Tsouras (Cecil B. de Mille) September 28, 2023; London

Rebecca

Laureen Jones (I), Richard Carson (Maxim de Winter), Kara Lane (Mrs Danvers), Sara Harlington (Beatrice), Neil Moor (Giles), Piers Bate (Frank Crewley), David Breeds (Ben), Alex James Ward (Jack Favell), Shrley Jameson (Mrs Van Hopper), Nicholas Lumley (Colonel Julian) September 27, 2023; Off-West End

POTO Video

Ian Jon Bourg, Olivia Safe (u/s), Kyle Gonyea 2001; Hamburg, Germany VOB files. One of the most legendary Phantom's opposite one of the youngest Christine's!

[brokehorrorfan]

Fright-Rags has released a new Psycho design by Kyle Crawford (left) on T-shirts ($30), baseball tees ($40), and zip-up hoodies ($52). They've also restocked Alfred Hitchcock shirts designed by Justin Osbourn and Nathan Thomas Milliner ($30).

[waves-against-a-cliff]

A New Face - Gaz x Reader Bakery AU

Content Warnings - Masterbation and shame. AFAB reader

Part two

A/N - Thank you @groguspicklejar for being a massive inspiration and letting me bounce ideas off of you <3

Gaz dabs away the last of the water on his brow away with a towel before throwing it into the duffel bag. The locker room was steamy from his rather long hot shower to loosen up his joints after the work out he had just endured. He nods politely to the woman who sits at the front desk of the gym a few blocks from his flat and a block away from his favorite post workout stop. The London winter wind bites at his cheeks as he walks down the street with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and he wonders if the older lady would be delighted to see him again seeing as he had disappeared for three months. His shoulder was still stiff from the fresh scar and aches in the cold weather which is why stepping into the warm shop was a blessing. Gaz saunters over to his usual spot in the corner of the bakery and cafe. 

He looks up when he hears the small clicks of heels coming towards him and feels his heart stutter to a stop when he sees you. You smile at him and ask him what he would like while bating your eyelashes. “Two muffins, a cinnamon roll and a coffee with six sugars and creamer.” he finally says after pulling himself from your eyes. 

“And a name for that order?” your smile grows and you write down the order on a little notepad after repeating his name back to him then saunter off behind the counter.Gaz feels his soul dirty as his eyes wander to your ass perfectly hugged by the pants.

He sips on his coffee at home with the three sweet items he ordered sitting in a brown bag on his counter. The flat was unremarkable and a bit too big for just himself, a fact he lamented each time he returned to his flat after each deployment. Two bedrooms was just too much for him but the kitchen and living area was nice at least. He looks over at the brown bag that has his name written on it and recalls the way his name sounded coming from you.

Gaz groans as his cock chubs up within his sweatpants as his mind floods with images of you. A sweet girl who worked at the bakery right down the street who had no idea what thoughts were tumbling through his head. He rushes to his shower and only turns the cold on to keep the hard on at bay.

It's night when he returns from his quick grocery trip that took longer than he wanted. Long lines and his own indecisiveness on what he was going to make himself was what to blame. Gaz fishes his keys from his pocket and curses when he fumbles them onto the ground.

“Let me help you.” a familiar voice chirps and he feels his stomach do flips as he watches you bend down to grab his keys.Your fingers barely graze his but it felt like he was being shocked. “Oh, Kyle right?” you ask, recognizing those brown eyes of his and giggling a little. “I guess we’re neighbors.” you grin and he glances at the flat door next to his. When he doesn’t respond you continue to speak anyways, “I got these cupcakes that my boss let me take home but uh, there's a lot. Do you like cupcakes?”

“Huh? I do.” Gaz says and just about collapses in on himself when you tell him to wait right there and run into your apartment. You come back out with three cupcakes expertly frosted on a paper plate.

“Here you go.” you place the plate into his hands as he stares a little dumbfounded at you and the cupcakes. “Think of it as a neighbor's gift.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one giving you cupcakes then?” you roll yours eyes at his comment before turning and going into your apartment. Gaz doesn’t want to admit that he stroked his cock that night thinking of you or the way he scrubbed himself raw afterwards.

[cadotoast]

Chapter 1- Jousts and Announcements

Minors DNI please.

About 5k word length

Content warnings:

Lances readied. Visors lowered. Steeds pawing the earth. The crowd holds its breath.

The thunder of hooves! The jangling of armor! The collective gasp!

You stand on your toes, heart in your throat as you watch your brother's lance shatter, his body swaying in the saddle. His opponent thunders past towards the other end of the list field, dirt flying from his horse's hooves. The crowd lets out a cheer, and you exhale, albeit a tad shakily, as your brother stays in his seat. He guides his mount to where his squire stands ready with another lance, sparing a glance over to where you stand on the sidelines, hands clasped at the front of your breast in anxiety. His grin is free, comforting, and you smile back at him, wishing him luck. He taps a small cloth tucked at his neck, your token of favor to him being your personal handkerchief.

"How exciting!" Your attention is momentarily pulled to your best friend, Jenny, who is clinging to the fence post in front of her. Her eyes practically have hearts in them as she stares at your brother, her cheeks flushed with the anticipation and thrill of the moment. "I always knew your brother would make a wonderful knight. He is proving himself true, in witness of the royal family no less!"

At the mention of the royals, your gaze flickers up to the raised dais where the king, queen, and crown prince sit with the rest of their court. They seem to be enjoying themselves just as much as the commoners that mingle in the stands and on the fairgrounds below them.

"He is doing very well." You agree, leaning gently against the fence in front of you, tugging lightly on the sleeves of your dress. "I was worried when he told me he would be joining the tourney. The Kings' Men are participating, after all."

"But that's not a Kings' Man." Jenny points to where your brother's opponent is readied once more, silver armor gleaming in the light, the emblem of a crimson griffin his standard.

"You don't need to be a member of the kings' inner circle and guard to be a formidable foe," This voice comes from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to smile at your father. His eyes twinkle at you as he squeezes your shoulder gently, before looking to the knight in question. "That man there is Ser Mathis. He's a shoo-in for King's Champion in a few years."

The next run has started, and you lean forward with bated breath once more as the two knights thunder towards each other. The harsh clang of lances meeting shields accompanies the surprised yelp your brother lets out as he is launched from his saddle, landing heavily on his back in the dirt.

"Jonas!" You leap onto the lowest rung of the fence, heart in your throat.

"Relax! He's fine, see?" Jenny grabs your arm to prevent you from hiking up your skirts and vaulting into the arena. Sure enough, among the cheers of the crowd, Jonas is getting to his feet, greeting his squire as the young man runs to attend him.

Ser Mathis is heading off in the other direction, surely to rest up before the next joust with whichever opponent in the tourney bracket he would next be facing.

"Who is jousting next?" Your father asks, looking up the field to where standards and flags wave in the summer breeze. You cast back in your memory, trying to remember the roster.

Before you can speak, two more knights are approaching the listing field, their standards held aloft. Your father makes an impressed sound in the back of his throat.

"This is going to be a good fight," Jonas has rejoined you, his squire Richard at his side. "That's two of the Kings' Men, Sers John and Kyle."

You look between the two knights, comparing the stature of each. Ser Kyle is slimmer than his opponent, but both are similar in height. You watch as Ser Kyle waves at the crowd, his expression jovial, before he places his helm on, lowering the visor. Ser John appears more somber, his eyes narrowed slightly, his frowning expression framed by a rather becoming set of facial hair.

"Ser Kyle Garrick was the squire of Ser John Price." Jonas says with a smile. "We started as Pages together. I am sure the student is looking forward to unseating his master."

Both knights have acquired lances, and now Ser John's face is obscured by his visor. The men salute the King, and then ready themselves. You lean once more against the fence, eyes darting between the combatants.

The fight is indeed thrilling. Both knights' lances shatter on the second pass, and suddenly there is a ringing of steel as Pupil and Teacher go sword to sword. You find yourself cheering as long with the crowd, caught up in the excitement.

"Put him in the dirt, Kyle!" Jonas roars.

The swords engage and disengage, the horses rearing, their masters urging them onward. But in the end, Ser John proves the better, looking down at where Ser Kyle lies winded on the dirt, sword knocked from his hand. The crowd erupts in cheers once more as Ser John dismounts and helps the other up. They embrace and slap each other on the back, ignoring the armor apparently, as men often do. When they lift their visors, both are grinning at each other, and you can't help but recognize the older's handsomeness when he isn't scowling.

"Ser John is one of the commanders of the King's forces." Your father remarks, leaning against the wooden rail next to you. "It would be telling of his aging if he was bested by his former squire so soon." His eyes twinkle as he glances sideways at you. "It was a close fight, though. I think the commander has some old war wounds that bother him."

You hum thoughtfully, eyes trailing the knight has he leads his mount off of the jousting field, making room for the next set.

Your face is red from the sun and sweat is collecting in your hairline and along your back when the jousts finally finish, emerging with a Ser Simon Riley as the victor. It's not surprising, seeing as he is a mountain of a man all donned in black-polished armor. You and Jenny leave your father, Jonas, and Richard to discuss the jousts, choosing instead to wander the fairgrounds, examining various wares from vendors as you make an attempt to cool down from the unforgiving summer sun.

"Did you hear that there was supposed to be some sort of special announcement done by the King in the evening?" Jenny asks as she examines a glass bauble. "I wonder what it could be?"

As a matter of fact, you have not heard of this, at least not yet. You purse your lips thoughtfully, counting the silvers in your purse as you contemplate buying a necklace with a charm that claims to offer the wearer good luck and protection from evil spirits.

"Maybe he is lowering the taxes for the townspeople?" You offer, handing over your silver coins to the merchant in exchange for the charm. "It has been a good year so far, and we aren't at war. Maybe he will ease some of the burden of the lower class."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Jenny sighs, a bit wistfully. Her own purse only holds a few coppers, the most she could spare from her laundry washing earrings. You pass her a silver coin, which she tries to give back. You refuse.

"I never got you a gift for the winter feast. This is my late gift to you, buy something for yourself." You make sure that no sound of pity escapes from your voice, and keep your eyes on your friend's face, and not the worn, patched clothing that she has to call her "Sunday Best" Jenny gives you a sheepish smile, and then hands over the silver piece to the merchant, a small glass figurine clasped gently in her hand.

The two of you continue to wander the fair grounds, admiring the young men in their armor and the pretty ladies vying for their attention.

"Would you ever want to be married to a Knight?" Jenny asks you as you watch a group of young women surrounding a dashing Knight with a rather peculiar haircut. He wears a plaid kilt around his waist instead of the traditional armor of the knights of the kingdom.

"I'm not sure," you confess, beginning to walk over to where the local tavern has set out tables outside, drinks and food being sold to the festival goers. "With them having to go out and lead armies for the King, I would be worried that he would never come home."

"Even commoners like our fathers can be called to arms at times of war," Jenny reminds you. "How is that any different?"

Leading the way to an empty table, you ponder the question. "I suppose in the grand scheme of things, they are quite similar." You tuck in your skirts around your legs as you settle on the worn, wooden chair. "Maybe I just think that having a knight for a husband would be aiming above my class. My status." Never mind the fact that your brother is a knight himself. "We need no rumors spreading that I am simply looking for a higher rank in society."

"Hmm..." Jenny settles across from you, flagging down a young woman who is carrying a tray of pints. You run a nail along the grain of the wood, turning to people-watch those wandering the town square. The queerly-dressed man has been joined by Sers Simon, Kyle, and John. All have changed into more comfortable garb, but Ser Simon has his face covered with a black cloth so that only his eyes peek out. They all seem in high spirits, and the kilted man stretches up to place a flower crown on top of Ser Simon's clothed head.

"All four of them are in the Kings' Men." Jenny says, her gaze following yours. "The man in the kilt is Ser John MacTavish. Though I hear that his close friends simply call him 'Johnny'."

The men in question move as a group under the shade of a tree nearby, settling at a table. You watch them subtly as they banter and laugh, your attention only diverted when a tankard of chilled cider is set in front of you, along with a plate of hearty stew and a thick crust of bread. You thank the tavern maid with a smile, and take a sip of the soup. It's delicious, as to be expected from this particular tavern.

You find your attention drifting more and more to the table of knights, your stew cooling and your cider warming in tandem. It takes several repetitions of your name, and a harsh kick to your shin under the table before Jenny can pull your attention back to her and the conversation. "You're staring," She says bluntly, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Which one of them's caught your fancy?"

Your face floods with a heat not caused by the summer sun, and you take a hasty gulp of your lukewarm cider to chase away the mortification stuck in your throat like a dry piece of bread.

"It's nothing," You deflect. "My head was in the clouds is all."

Jenny raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, then tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder with a snigger. You in turn glare at her playfully, before ducking your head to eat some more of your meal. Your ears, however, stay piqued towards that particular table.

"How are ye feelin' after that joust, Captain? I hope I didnae batter ye too badly," It's the kilted man who is talking. His accent is thick and foreign, exotic, you think. I bet it's barely understandable when he's deep in his cups.

"If you think I'm huffin' and groanin' after a few bouts with you lads, then I might as well turn in my sword today," Grumbles Ser John, but his expression is playful. "I ain't in the grave just yet."

"I'll say," It's Ser Kyle this time. "I'm going to be sore until next summer. You sent me flyin' with that lever you call a lance." A chorus of playful jeering erupts, and there is some shuffling as the men push and shove each other in their banter.

With a meaningful clearing of her throat, Jenny draws your attention back to her. You blink at her a bit owlishly, a sheepish smile turning the corners of your lips. Jonas is standing above the two of you, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Searching for a suitor, darling sister?" He drawls. You try to glower at him, folding your arms across your chest.

"Not at all, Jonas." You try for a cool and collected tone. "Just observing. One must stay vigilant at all times."

"Vigilant of all the eligible, dashing knights, that is," Jenny's wearing a wicked grin.

"You are one to talk," Your gaze cuts momentarily to Jonas, and then back to Jenny's face. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as she narrows her eyes at you, and you simply beam at her, the picture of benevolence and Innocence. Jenny huffs, rolling her eyes, as she gets to her feet.

"Jonas here was going to take me to see the stables, do you want to come along?" Something flashes in her expression, and you have to bite your lower lip to suppress a grin.

You shake your head, waving both of them off. "I'm just going to stay here and cool down. Don't let me ruin your fun." The responding smile is answer enough to your unspoken query, and you watch as Jonas, ever the gentleman, lends Jenny his arm as he leads her through the crowded fairgrounds.

Now alone, you find yourself feeling a bit awkward. You fidget with the new charm around your neck, pressing the cool, smooth glass to your lips. The tavern maid refills your cider and takes your empty bowl, as well as a few silvers for the meals you and Jenny ate.

You're contemplating getting to your feet to wander the fair once more, when a loud scream sounds from behind you. Startled, you jump to your feet and spin on your heel, searching for the source of the commotion.

A heard of horses, which had presumably been picketed at one point, have been spooked into a stampede, still tied together by lead lines. The crowd is scattering, some getting out of the way quick enough, some not. And just to your luck, the herd veers sideways and right towards you.

Cursing in a very unladylike fashion, you rush to escape the horses' path, but your skirt snags on a split in the wooden log that makes up the bench, and you tumble over it to the ground, landing with a pained grunt. Winded, stuck, and in the path of a deadly stampede, you're frozen in place, watching your demise trample towards you.

You barely register the ripping of fabric as two strong hands wrap themselves around your upper arms and pull, jerking you free and dragging you backwards over the dirt. The herd of horses blunders past, shrieking and whinnying as they crash into tables and benches, and overturning barrels of mead and ale.

A rushing in your ears drowns out most sound as you stare at the spot where you had previously been lying, now deluged with hoof prints. The scrap of fabric from your skirt is pummeled into the soft ground. Belated in their arrival, a troop of guards runs in the direction the horses have fled to, shouting orders and trying to clear the way of injured townsfolk.

"Are you okay?" A deep voice sounds in your ear. You're leaning back against a warm, broad chest, its steadyness contrasting to the trembling of adrenaline shaking your body. With a deep, shuddering breath, you pull your gaze from what would have surely been your early grave, to look into the face of your rescuer.

Ser John looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed low in concern. He wears a frown, his brilliant blue eyes looking you over, assessing you for damage. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

"I think I'm okay..." You absently run your hands over yourself, feeling for anything amis. "Maybe a little bruised." Your shin smarts from where it had collided with the bench.

"Looks like your skirt took the worst of it, lass," On your other side kneels Ser MacTavish, his own gaze wide with concern. "Tha was a narrow scrape ye had there."

Ser John assists you to your feet, and supports you while your knees tremble. After you have gained stability, you step cautiously away from the knight, turning to face him as you brush grass and dirt from your skirt to the best of your ability. Sers Kyle and Simon watch from their table, the former's gaze twisted with concern.

"Thank you so much Ser," You say to Ser John, lowering your gaze respectfully. "Without your help, I would surely be injured."

"You're sure you're alright?" The man in question asks, his gaze roaming your body in a cursory examination. "Did I hurt you at all?"

Your hands rub your upper arms where the man's hands had nearly swallowed you, a phantom heat lingering. "No, Ser, you did not hurt me."

Ser John straightens as he looks down at you, hands on his hips. He gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement, settling down in his seat only after giving you one final once over.

"You're Jonas' sister, aren't you?" This question comes from Ser Kyle, who has gotten to his feat and pulled up a seat for you. It seems rude to refuse him, so you settle in the chair, mournfully fingering the rip in your skirt.

"Yes, I am." Your lips curl up at the corners. "He mentioned that you and he were squires together, Ser Kyle."

"What a lad," Ser Kyle beams, his teeth shining on contrast to his darker skin. "One of the best in our group. I don't understand why he ever declined the position."

You blink. "The position? What position?"

"Ye dennae ken?" Ser MacTavish stares at you. Heat wells in your cheeks self-consciously. "He was offered a place in our ranks as a Kings' Man."

The table falls silent as you process that information, watching absently as the tavern keeper rights some of the tables. You note your spilled pint of cider and mourn its cool refreshment silently.

"He never mentioned it," You finally admit. "Granted, he doesn't like to talk about his work too much when he comes home to father and I. Prefers to stay on lighter matters, I suppose." You glance once more at Ser Kyle. "He was supposed to be a Kings' Man?"

"I was second pick for the opening when Ser Richard resigned to his manor by the sea. Your brother was the first pick, the King asked him to join pretty much as soon as he earned his title and standard."

You chew on that for a moment, curiosity itching at you. "He's a rather modest man," you say. "My guess is that he probably thought he wasn't up for it. That someone more capable should take his place."

"Not that I am ungrateful for the position," Ser Kyle glances at his former Knight-master, "but it should have been Jonas."

"If I had to take my guess," Ser John is the one to speak, his sentence broken as he takes a sip from a pint of ale. "He declined it to stay closer to you." At your confused expression, he pushes onward. "Even as a page and a squire up at the castle, he spoke of you often. More often than not, actually. He desired to be able to support you, especially after the passing of your mother, and with your father becoming more elderly and declining in his health. He wanted to provide for you until you wed, and even then, to be close by if you ever needed him. Us Kings' Men are sent all over the realm to do the work of the King. If he had taken the position, he would not have been able to remain as close to your side."

You don't know whether to be embarrassed by your brother's apparent coddling, or touched by his thoughtful nature. Gazing down at the grains in the table, you run a finger over your lower lip in thought, turning over the Ser's words.

"Ae, sounds like somethin tha lad would do." Ser MacTavish agrees.

"If it is as you say," You muse, a smile gracing your features, "It seems rather fitting of him."

"Speak of the Devil," Ser Simon speaks up, looking over your shoulder. You glance behind you, grinning when you see Jonas, Jenny still on his elbow, walking in your direction. Jonas is wearing a flower crown of daisies, which Jenny keeps grinning at, a bluish sitting high in her pale cheeks.

"Heard I missed some action," Jonas calls, his gaze roaming over you. Despite his cheery expression, you can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in your rumpled condition. "Is everything alright around here?" The underlying question about your welfare rattles in your brain like a gong.

"The Tavernkeep might be needin' to seek out the carpenter, and the las's skirt might need some mendin'," Ser MacTavish replies, leaning back to pull up a few more chairs for the new arrivals. "but as far as we can tell, she is no worse for wear. Ser John here kept her out of harm's way."

"And for that, I thank you, Ser," Jonas dips his head to Ser John, a respectful look in his gaze. He then looks to you once more. "You are uninjured?"

"A little rattled," you say with a smile. "But my pride, a bruised shin, and my skirt are the only casualties."

Jonas leads Jenny to her seat, right beside the rather imposing Ser Simon. Jenny gives the large knight a rather nervous look, taking in what features were not hidden by the face covering he wore, and managed a small smile as she gathered her skirts around her. Jonas sits easily in his chair, his arm slung over the back of Jenny's.

"We were just discussing your promotion to knight," You tell your brother, raising an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me the King offered you a position in his guard?"

"Wasn't for me," Jonas replies instantly. "I do my best work close to home. There is plenty for me to do here, I'll let the other more adventurous knights such as our present company go gallivanting around the kingdom."

The other men chuckle good-naturedly, and Jonas calls over the tavern maid to order a round of drinks for the table.

"Hey Jonas, did you hear about Prince Aldous?" Ser Kyle suddenly interjects, his expression conspiratorial. Jonas leans in immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What about him?"

The other knights groan in synch, and you and Jenny look at each other in interest. The crown Prince is a good-looking, but rather pompous young man. Despite his attitude, many women in the kingdom seem to be falling over themselves to get his hand in marriage if possible.

"He failed out of his test of Knighthood."

"Again?!"

"Again," Ser Kyle can't seem to keep a mirthful tone from his voice. "That makes three times."

"Must be a record," Ser MacTavish chuckles.

"Careful," Ser John admonishes, his voice a low grumble. "He is still the Crown Prince."

"Well the Crown Prince is a--" Jonas' words are cut off as you kick him sharply under the table, eyes flashing in warning. He gives you an embarrassed sort of smile, then clears his throat. "well, he leaves something to be desired," he finishes, albeit a little lamely.

"He's still young, there is time to learn." You say, drumming your finger against the wooden table, smiling at the tavern maid as she sets a fresh pint of cider in front of you. Ser Simon makes a noise of agreement into his ale.

"He's only a year older than yourself," Jonas reminds you with a smirk. "Maybe you should try for his hand."

A flush fills your cheeks, and you shake your head adamantly. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"You'd be a Queen, too," Jenny's eyes glitter. "When he takes the throne. I think you would make a wonderful Royal."

You merely shake your head again, taking a sip of your cider to cool the flush in your cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Too much attention, for one thing."

"The royals are always under constant scrutiny," Ser Kyle says with a nod. "It is a lot of pressure. Not everyone is fit for it."

"Maybe you should try for his hand, Jenny," You tease, knowing full well her answer. She narrows her gaze at you, pursing her lips at your grin.

The conversation flows easily, and time speeds by as the sun descends towards the horizon. As the sunset approaches, Sers Simon, Kyle, MacTavish, and John excuse themselves from the table, begging pardons, but they have to return to their duties as Kings' Men. Not long after, you can hear trumpets sounding from the festival grounds.

"That's the call to assembly," Jonas says, stretching. "Whatever announcement the King is going to give is going to happen there, we will probably want to be there."

Jonas takes the lead in heading towards the festival grounds, clearing away through the crowd for you and Jenny to pass through safely. You keep your eyes peeled for potential troublemakers. As vigilant as the local guards are, instances of pickpocketing and sudden brawls are not exactly unexpected on festival days.

A large crowd of people are gathered on the green lawn, facing a large wooden podium set up underneath a pair of ancient oak trees which provide a natural canopy. The King, Queen, and Crown Prince sit on makeshift thrones up on the podium, flanked by some now-familiar knights. Ser John stands almost directly behind the Crown Prince, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. Sers Simon and MacTavish are behind the King and Queen, with Ser Kyle standing off to the side with a handful of other knights belonging to the Kings' Men, whose names you can't recall at this time.

Jonas picks his way to the side of the crowd, where a small copse of trees offers some shade to some lower-level knights who shelter there. They greet Jonas with friendly waves, and don't protest when you and Jenny settle in the lush green grass.

"How were the horses?" You ask Jenny, settling your skirts around yourself modestly.

"Oh they were wonderful!" Jenny giggles, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Jonas took me to see all of the knights' mounts, including that bay he rides. Her name is Anika. She likes carrots, daisies, and chewing Jonas's tunic." You both giggle at that last bit, and you turn to examine your brother. The shoulder of his shirt does appear a little gnawed-on. Jonas himself is chatting with the other men, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms.

"He probably forgot to take a bath, and that was Anika's way of telling him he smells," you joke, biting your lower lip as you chuckle. Jenny snorts quietly, shaking her head back and forth.

"His Majesty, the King!" A herald shouts, and the buzzing of the crowd dies down to a hush, raptly focusing on the podium. King Cassian Godfrey is a handsome man, dark haired and tanned skin. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black, that demand the attention of everyone around him. He is a good king, though the graying along his temples reflects his age, and the promise of his son someday taking the throne is a rather daunting one. His Queen, Helen, bares a remarkable resemblance to their son, her fair blonde hair shining like gold in the dying sunlight. She is known to be kind and philanthropic, a mother of the realm, so to speak.

"I come before you today with a joyous announcement for our Kingdom," The king says, his voice projecting across the lawn. "My son, the Crown Prince Aldous, has come of age. After much discussion, it has been decided that he will be allowed to pick a bride of his own choosing." A murmur ripples through the crowd, mixed with some gasps from some women in the crowd. Aldous looks rather bored up on the dais, turning a ring over on his finger and watching it glint in the dying light.

"Every eligible woman will be sent a summons to the palace where they will be required to present themselves before the prince. He will then make a selection of ten women with which to court for a period of time. Of those ten, he will chose his bride."

"A summons?!" The word slips out of you, hushed and shocked. Your sympathies seem reflected by those in the crowd.

"We always knew the family was a bit eccentric," Jenny murmurs, worry in her gaze.

The buzzing of the crowd has risen slightly, emotions melding together in a mixing pot as the realization sets in to the citizens. A mandatory summons. That means equal possibility for all of the eligible women in the kingdom to potentially win the hand of the Prince. But that also means that the initial summons are not optional. Weather or not you are interested in becoming royalty, you are required to present yourself to the prince for his approval or dismissal.

"All unmarried women of eligible age will receive a date of which to present themselves. If they are selected at the end of the first presenting, they will be offered accomodations at the palace for the rest of the courting season."

A headache starts to develop behind one of your eyebrows, your previous words from the evening slamming against your skull like Athena prying herself from Zeus' skull. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"Summons will be delivered to those eligible beginning next week. The first presentations will begin the week following. To the families of the ten selected women, a monetary stipend will be paid to cover any loses of income should the women in question be employed to support their families." You and Jenny glance at each other, both thinking of the meager jobs you have managed to acquire to assist your families.

"What if someone who is selected for the ten women does not wish to be?" Someone in the crowd yells. The King pauses, looking in the direction of the speaker.

"It is the belief of the royal council and of myself that it is a service to the country to be accepted to this position, and that any women selected should be honored to do so."

"So in other words, its not optional. You can't decline." one of the knights behind you says in a hushed tone. Jonas grunts, glancing down at where you and Jenny are sitting.

"I suppose if one didn't want to be selected, they would just try to appear as unappealing as possible," Your brother muses, but there is a dark lilt to his tone, and his jaw clenches.

The crowd murmurs among itself, the mixed sentiment evident.

"Thank you for gathering and enjoying the festivities today." King Cassian finishes, before stepping down off of the podium, his family and the King's Men following him.

You sit there on the grass, gazing down at your clasped hands, your heart beating out what seems to be your funeral dirge as reality sets in.

You are unmarried.

You will be presented.

[whaleofatjme1920]

gahhhh i love your work sm!! perhaps reader comforting the 141 + König and Horangi if possible? something along the lines of like you were away on a mission for too long, you nearly died, they had a really tough mission, or maybe even that they just a bad nightmare </3

Task Force 141: Real World Nightmares

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: Hi love bug, I only accept 5 characters per ask so I'm only doing Task Force 141. Also thank you so so much!! I also don't,,, know about about Horangi at this moment and I'm a certified Konig hater /lh]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Captain John Price

It's hell waiting to see if you're still alive. Pacing the halls, unable to think straight and far too aggressive with anyone that even asks if he's doing alright. Price doesn't handle your life being on the line very well.

He's been waiting for correspondence from you. Hours feel like weeks. You're supposed to come back to him. He hasn't bothered to change out of his gear, not when he's posted by the door hoping you'll walk through it.

When you do? He feels the world roll from his shoulders. He holds you tight. He's not emotional in the sense of crying, I don't think any of them really would, but he does that thing where he like, chastises you for taking so long to get back to him.

He checks you over, quickly, just to make sure you don't have any life threatening wounds. You're okay, rough, but generally okay. He can't let you go, won't let you go.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

A bit more neurotic when making sure you're alright. He almost gets lost in his head when waiting for you with bated breath. The moment things start to go wrong for you, he wants to figure out plans to help and get you out. Kyle isn't so clouded by his emotions that his judgment goes to hell but he's not the best at decision making either.

Price will tell him to sit down, might argue with him just a bit, but overall, Kyle listens to Price. Price knows you'll handle yourself, and even though the situation it awful, you'll be just fine. You're slippery and intelligent. And they're working on helping you.

Kyle, naturally, is the first to actually find you in the heat of it all. Slides up beside you, thankful he's at your side while the two of you are pinned for a moment or so and all he can think of is protecting you. You look a little worse for wear, but he knows it's nothing too bad physically.

You'll both make it. Eventually, after managing a tricky escape, he holds you. He's much more affectionate and spends more than enough time saying how much he loves you but it's for good reason. He can't bear the thought of actually losing you.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Instantly wants to come get you. Hearing you've been captured makes him lose most of his rational thought. He has to be held back from just storming in. And it's not that Johnny is a bad strategist, he just really can't stand the thought of something bad happening to you when he could have been doing something rather than sitting around!

He eventually reels himself in and gets the others to come up with a plan, still working quicker than what's considered sane after getting confirmation you're 'okay.'

Coming to get you makes him feel everything all at once. He's focused on being disciplined and deadly accurate. He won't play around with your life.

Seeing you is the biggest relief. He holds you so tight, squeezes you and doesn't let you go. He's so sweet in making sure you're alright without smothering you in the same way others might.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Quite clinical! He tends to care so deeply about other people it hurts. Doesn't know when to reel in his own empathy despite hiding it so well. You hold his entire heart, and if anything happens to you, it'll break. To protect himself, but more importantly you, he needs to keep you safe.

He's got plans about everything brewing in his head. I think Ghost likes to think of every possible route in case things go wrong, and unfortunately that means he was also expecting something like this. He's on it, everyone else is on it.

You're... he's afraid you won't make it through the night once he finally gets you in his arms. He sees the loss of his loved ones flash in his eyes as he holds you when you make it out of surgery to recover. Squeezes your hand, rests near you and gives you space while also clinging so tightly to you. He knows he won't and can't live without you.

You eventually fall deeper into sleep. He watches. His eyes are stuck on you, can't look anywhere else. Won't look anywhere else. There's still a chance you won't make it. He hates that his nightmare might finally become true.

[ncisfranchise-source]

CBS has ordered full seasons of Poppa’s House and NCIS: Origins. Each show has received a Back 5 pickup in addition to the original 13-episode order to go up to 18 episodes.

With this latest news, CBS has picked up all four new scripted series, including the Kathy Bates-led Matlock and the “Big Bang” Universe prequel Georgie & Mandy’s First Marriage.

According to VideoAmp and internal streaming data, with seven days of multiplatform viewing, NCIS: Origins premiere was been seen by 9.0 million viewers and Poppa’s House by 6.41 million viewers.

“NCIS: Origins has added a brilliant new dimension to the NCIS franchise with an origin story of Leroy Jethro Gibbs and a cinematic ’90s experience that features distinct characters, stories and crime solving. Poppa’s House excels with the dynamic father/son chemistry between Damon [Wayans] and Damon Jr. and their family-inspired stories that bring this comedy to life. These shows fit seamlessly into our Monday night lineup while resonating with viewers on CBS and Paramount+,” Amy Reisenbach, president of CBS Entertainment, shared in a statement.

In Poppa’s House, Wayans and Wayans Jr. star as father and son opposite Essence Atkins and Tetona Jackson. Wayans Sr. portrays the legendary talk radio host and happily divorced “Poppa,” who has his point of view challenged at work when a new female co-host is hired. His home life is no better, as the patriarch of the family finds himself still parenting his adult son, a brilliant dreamer who is trying to pursue his passion while being a responsible father and husband.

Dean Lorey, Damon Wayans and Damon Wayans Jr. executive produce for CBS Studios. The series airs Monday nights from 8:30 to 9:00 PM, ET/PT.

NCIS: Origins follows a young Leroy Jethro Gibbs (Austin Stowell) in 1991, years prior to the events of NCIS, and is narrated by Mark Harmon. In the series, Gibbs starts his career as a newly minted special agent at the fledgling NCIS Camp Pendleton office, where he forges his place on a gritty, ragtag team led by Mike Franks (Kyle Schmid).

Mariel Molino, Tyla Abercrumbie, Diany Rodriguez and Caleb Foote also star.

David J. North, Gina Lucita Monreal, Mark Harmon and Sean Harmon executive produce for CBS Studios. The series airs on Monday nights from 10-11 PM ET/PT.

[doyouknowthisactor]

By "roles" I mean playing a different character; someone playing one character across a franchise only counts as one thing for the purposes of this poll

Below are some of this actor's roles. Please only check after voting!

Bates Motel as Dylan Massett

SEAL Team as Clay Spenser

Disconnect as Kyle

Fire Country as Bode Donovan

[erotic-meloncholy]

End of Beginning

(Rated: E)

Wilson is out of his element. Wilson is a one woman lover. Wilson is confident. Wilson knows how to bring a woman to climax. He likes it. It makes him happy to please.

But Kyle is the one standing in a methy motel room on the side of the highway with two women looking at him like he knows what to do. He reaches a hand to run through his hair. Oh yeah, he's also wearing the stupid bald cap.

"Well, would you like a drink? I think we have" Wilson looks around the room, "tap water." Not that he suggests drinking it. They both look at each other with forced grins and laughs.

"I think we're good, thanks." Sandy says. Shannon nods in agreement.

"That's-- probably smart." Wilson says as he looks over at the not quite clear water dripping from the faucet.

He fiddles with the strap on his wrist. Avoids looking at the time. This is Wilson's fantasy. When he thought of a three way he pictured silk sheets and a canopy bed and a harem of gorgeous women worshiping his cock. Why does the reality feel like a group presentation that can't get the power point to load?

"So." Wilson says. "Should we start?" He hates himself immediately after he says it. Like he's about to perform clinic duty. But Sandy and Shannon simply shrug and start shimmying out of their tube tops and Ed Hardy jeans.

Kyle takes off his watch.

House tries to find an angle that works for his leg in this mid-life crisis size car. He manages a few moments. Sleeps never easy under any circumstance let alone outside Bates motel. When he finds an angle that works, he waits in the dark for the thoughts to visit him before he crosses the threshold to REM sleep. Hypnagogic hallucinations. Those obscure weird almost realities.

Like Putting a bald cap on Wilson and conning women into sex. Couldn't have happened, right? It sounds like a bad B-plot from a network sitcom.

But mission accomplished. As far as bucket list items go, a three way is pretty low hanging fruit, but it's Wilson. And if Wilson wants, House will give.

So that's how House finds himself in the middle of nowhere while Wilson, pardon, while Kyle is attempting to "Vicky Christina and Barcelona" in a Super 8.

Wilson is lying on his back against scratchy hotel sheets. Sandy is riding his hips as he tries to keep the bald cap from sliding off.

"Yeah, you like that baby? Huh? You like that?"

Wilson is being ridden like a Pogo stick. The mattresses bounces with vigor and he's doing his best to be encouraging.

"Oh, oh yeah. Yeah. Keep--keep going. Ride my--cane."

Ride my cane? The fuck is wrong with him? Sandy doesn't care what nonsense spills out of his mouth as long as his dick is hard, and Shannon seems to be expecting something from Kyle that Wilson doesn't know how to give.

If he can last.

House laughs. Wilson's people pleasing no doubt would make him an over attentive lover. The anxiety of feeling he's let down a partner must be sending his compulsions into overdrive.

How long could he last with two women? How long can he last with one? He pictures as his hand snaps open the button on his jeans.

He's always so attentive. So ready to please. What would he do to please House if he needed it? House zips down his fly. Thinking of Wilson fucking his way through his fantasy is making House extremely needy. That's the word for it, House thinks as he wraps his hand around his dick, needy.

He's needy for Wilson. He wants to give him this. He wants to bring him to climax even if it isn't his body. He's thinking about Wilson fucking someone right now and House strokes faster.

"Fuck. Yeah, James..."

He moves his hand over his aching cock. Thinking of Wilson on the precipice of orgasm. Thinking how he's probably in that dirty motel right now buried balls deep in that bottle blonde he met two hours ago. How good he feels to be inside her.

"Oh God. Yes..."

House is getting close. In this way, they're together. Both racing towards climax. Maybe there's a universe they come together.

He pictures it. House closes his eyes and finishes in right there in the car, catching his spend in his hand, narrowly avoiding leaving any evidence. He finds a napkin on the floor from their last fast food run and wipes his hand clean and tosses the napkin out the window.

House tucks himself back in, zips up his jeans, and leans his head back against the window. Pictures soft lips against his own. Hypnagogic hallucinations he thinks. And a few moments later, falls asleep.

Wilson finds House the next morning in the car. He doesn't look very comfortable. He wants to invite House to stay a day in the motel. Catch up on some sleep in an actual bed. But this is Kyle. And Kyle says let's leave before Sandra and Shannon wake up and see exactly how not bald and clearly not dying he is. Not tomorrow that is.

“House. Wake up.”