#john sparkes

[ahb-writes]

Aardman's work, particularly Shaun the Sheep, is a masterclass in communication among mutuals.

(from Shaun the Sheep: The Flight Before Christmas, 2021)

[citandodevaneios]

Minha boca não disse nenhuma palavra, mas os meus olhos disseram tantas.

- Nicholas Sparks

[buttdumplin]

finishing up my surgery prep and can't help but think the boys, gorgeous fools that they are, build in an "orgasm schedule" into the weeks of prep because they know the 6-8 weeks of no-touch recovery is gonna leave you all starving, so they better get as many as they can in

A/N: Inspired by, and thus for, @mikichko

cw: poly 141, gn!reader, established relationship, oral (reader receiving), p in v sex, ass play, reader's genitals referred to as "clit" "pussy" "cunt"

simon's got the mornings, when you're most pliable, body still warm from sleep, drifting in and out of focus. he'll pull your back to his chest and wind his arms around to pluck and pinch at your nipples until you're squirming in his arms and whining as you try to move his hands lower. such a pretty pet, the rumbling of his voice deeper from sleep, always so good for us, deserve a little treat, hm? big hands of his sneaking under your shirt to roll your nipples between his finger and shoving into your undies, cupping your pussy innocently as you try to grind against him, only lightly tracing your pussy lips with the tip of his middle finger, pressing his straining cock against your ass, hips rolling just enough to slide his cock between your cheeks for some friction. only gives in and sinking a finger into you when your breathy whimpering sounds threaten to wake the others. brings his mouth to your ear to softly coo at you as his fingers move, pussy so wet you can take a second finger and then a third in no time, doing so well, dove, take what you need, moving his palm to grind against your clit. you cum so hard you practically lock his fingers into place, rendering you both immobile as licks the sweat off your neck and you finally open your eyes, but he won't complain. with that sweet dazed smile on your face? there's nowhere else he'd rather be. plus, if he waits for you to get up first, he can steal those soaked panties for later

kyle gets all of midday, up until dinner, and he milks every minute for all its worth. he'll lure you into the kitchen only to bend you over the counter so he can rip your bottoms down so he can dive face first into your pussy, his hands spreading your cheeks so he can coat his face in your juices, absolutely fucking divine, love spoken against your skin, tongue moving through your folds and only stopping to harshly suck at your clit, his stubble brushing lightly over your lips in a way that has you clenching down around his tongue. he'll find you in the living room and gently ease you onto the big ottoman in the center of the room, parting your legs wide, making a display out of you for the rest of the boys so fucking gorgeous and all ours too, fucking you with his fingers and sucking on your clit until you're squirting and drenching his shirt, the boys' groans growing as he impales you on his thick cock, your own cries breathless from the force of his thrusts, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock that has him delirious. in a spark of impulse, you push him off, scrambling to your hands and knees, chanting pleasepleaseplease as you arch your back and present to him, lovely cunt glistening, men swearing all around you, and kyle knows what you want, what you need, reaching for the packet of lube in the pocket of his discarded jeans i've got you love, i got you. takes his time easing you back onto his cock, holding your hip with one hand to keep you from rocking back against him, fingers digging into the fat, exactly where they belong, his other hand coating your asshole with the lube, thumb gently working in, matching the slow rhythm of his thrusts, until his hips are flush to your ass and you've taken his entire thumb. you keen from the stimulation and attention, not lasting very long after that, the sound and feel of him spitting on your asshole and fucking it into you with his thumb, his harsh thrusts making you squirt again, the sight so stunning he can't help cumming deep inside you

the hours leading up to dinner are johnny's, he keeps you busy while the food is getting cooked, making a full meal out of you in the meantime. has you climbing into bed and sitting on his face, arms locked around your thighs so he can stay drowning in your juices, groaning and bucking his hips helplessly the moment he gets his mouth on you fuck, you're so perfect, unable to keep up the gentle kisses he starts with and opening his mouth to receive as much of you as he can, biting softly to make you gasp and soothing the spot with the warmth of his tongue. loves eating kyle's cum from you, even pushing a hand against your belly to ease out what he can't reach give it to me, darling, moaning long and low at the taste of you two. uses the bump of his nose to grind against your clit, his hands forcing you to rock back and forth against him and ride him for what he's worth, smearing your cunt all over his mouth and chin, tilting you just enough to get his tongue in your ass, enjoying how your body jerks when he hums against you. waits until he feels your thighs trembling around him to wrap his mouth around your clit, tongue flicking and chin crushed against your pussy lips, sharp eyes open to watch as you fall apart above him. won't let you move until he's licked you clean

bedtime belongs to price. he gets you when you're worn out from the day, body tired and malleable under him, soft sounds slipping from your lips as he thrusts steady and slow into your cunt, his arms caging you in, creating a world of just you two. buries his face into your neck to cover you in kisses, his beard leaving your skin tender to the touch and much more receptive to the feeling of his mouth on you, teeth nipping raised little marks along the way so perfect, sweetheart, always treating us so well. crushes you with his body, easing his weight onto you to make you feel just what you're welcoming into your arms, wanting to pressed together at every point of contact possible, slow hard thrusts rocking you both as he bullies his fact cock into your cunt. his chest hair brushes against your nipples, making your nails dig into those wide shoulders, flesh giving way as he growls with approval that's right, mark your territory, take what's yours, his hips jerking harder into you. leans back just enough to get your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and biting, his hand making its way down your body to pinch your clit between two fingers and rub tight circles with his thumb, chuckling at the way your body arches into his touch, voice rough when he lifts his head best give me what's mine. worried for a minute that you might not be able to after such a full day, you freeze for a moment, but the burning warmth spreading through you from this slow rich orgasm soothes you, melting you back into his arms, cunt pulsing heavy around him, milking him through his last stuttering thrusts, his moans filling your ears

[stillgotscars]

in honor of the 14-year anniversary of speak now, put your top three tracks in the tags

[trustypaladin]

Arthur and The Entity Within...

[arthursfuckinghat]

You know, whenever I see the discussions around Jack Marston possibly getting drafted in world war one, I can't help but physically ache at the thought of it.

Jack Marston, born into a gang that honoured freedom above everything, forced to sacrifice everything he has left for war.

Jack Marston, a boy who read about knights and soldiers, now forced to become one in another fight he never asked for.

Jack Marston, raised to be away from a life of violence, but now the world has found a way to drag him back in.

No matter what happens, Jack would have to face a really tragic dilemma. Does he go to war and sacrifice the legacy of freedom he was raised with? The life his family died for? Or refuse and be labeled a criminal, putting his parents to shame and repeating the same cycle his father went through?

It just tragically mirrors the struggle he’s always had - trying to find his own identity outside the legacy of John Marston, and the violence that came with it. But he's being pulled back in, no matter what he chooses.

He was never made for the violence that shaped his parents' life.

[thegroovyarchives]

Images from Future Pop: Music For The Eighties by Peter L. Noble, 1983. (via: archive.org) 1. Sparks 2. Peter Gabriel 3. Sting 4. Robert Smith 5. John Foxx 6. Thomas Dolby 7. The Fixx 8. Annie Lennox 9. David Byrne 10. Robert Fripp

[cenpede]

Opens my sketchbook and shows you all my silly lines on paper

Pls click idk why the quality suddenly went ass up

[cod-dump]

Price, introducing Graves to SAS officers: This is my acquaintance-

Graves: You did NOT just call me your acquaintance

Price, in a low voice: Phil not now-

Graves: After the shit I’ve watched Nik do to you- After the shit I’ve done to you? You do NOT get to call me your acquaintance!

SAS officers: *jaws dropped, staring in silence*

Price, red faced: PHILLIP

[dozydawn]

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Silvery Witchcraft

It is of course not a secret. Not per se. I don’t hide my true identity. It has more to do with what people observe. Or believe, I suppose. Coming to terms with the fact that the paranormal is real doesn't sit well with most people. Therefore, I always find it amusing when someone calls me a witch. Little do they know…

I took my time when I got to choose my appearance and colours. An image of an elderly, fragile-looking lady filled my mind. She fit my favourite colours perfectly. Purple and silver. 

My place of residence had already been chosen for me. 221 Baker Street, London. Such a pretty place. Victorian. Reminded me of my childhood. I immediately set about furnishing the place. 221A would serve as my quarters. I decorated it as a woman my supposed age would. Lots of lace curtains, antimacassars, velvet cushions, a Persian carpet, and mahogany furniture. I hid the modern kitchen appliances in old, almost ancient ones. My cooking and baking would not suffer because of an unpredictable oven, thank you very much!

I didn’t bother with 221C at first but moved upstairs. 221B was going to be rented out. I needed to earn a living. Keeping up appearances and all that nonsense. The flat was quite spacious and had two bedrooms. The empty space got my full attention, and I chose carefully. My intention was for it to look as if the previous tenants had left it fully furnished. 

The walls were covered with creamy-coloured wallpaper and a black lily pattern. Two mismatched chairs, one in worn, but exquisite leather, the other a faded red upholstery one, were positioned by the fireplace. Although they looked old, they weren’t. 

I used quite a few moments to get the bathroom and kitchen just to my liking. The space was scarce, but by using my silver sparks, my secret weapon, I got everything to fit without it seeming cramped. Letting the rooms expand unnoticed by the users, was quite a challenge.

***

My first tenant was Mycroft Holmes’ little brother, Sherlock. Witchcraft is surprisingly fully recognised by the British government. Not publicly, of course, and only a handful of ministries are aware of its existence.

Mycroft summoned me to the Diogenes club, and almost begged me to save his brother.

“He won’t listen to reason,” he sighed. “I have tried everything. You are his last chance, or he will end up dead under one of London’s bridges.”

Mycroft Holmes is just as much of a drama queen as his brother, but this time he wasn’t far off. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Arrangements were made, and I literally served my fake mafia husband to Sherlock on a silver plate. We got on like a house on fire after that.

Sherlock immediately fell in love with 221B, and he moved in the day after we returned from Florida and the execution. I hadn’t felt so alive in centuries!

“You will need a flatmate,” I told him after a while. “It’s too lonely for you. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man. I hear you during the wee hours. Playing your violin and pacing. A loyal companion is what you need.”

“Who would want me for a flatmate, Hudders?” he asked.

My heart nearly broke at that. Sherlock had become like a son to me, and I hated to see his loneliness. Few people were able to look behind his haughty façade. Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Molly Hooper being the exceptions. And me and Mycroft, obviously.

“Talk to Mike Stamford,” I urged him. “He will keep an eye out, and he certainly won’t pull someone like Sebastian Wilkes out of his sleeve.”

***

Before Sherlock left for Barts on January 29, I sent some silver sparks after him. For a moment, too brief for the human eye to discern, it lit him up, making him appear even more handsome. Not that he needed it. It was more for good luck, which he might have needed. It was difficult to use my magic on him due to his unpredictability and that monster of a brain.

The moment I laid eyes on John Watson, after Sherlock’s unprecedented hug, I knew he was just the one to share 221B with the genius detective. I didn’t even consider using my magic on him. He was already perfect for Sherlock. I just had to make sure that Sherlock didn’t push John away when he made his move to inquire about his romantic life and orientation. 

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[blistering-typhoons]

UM HEY- HEY- THIS SURE IS A SCENE

[in-love-with-movies]

Dear John (2010)

[daygabs]

I’m sorry is Faroe the reason Arthur’s lighter always appears when he needs it. I am crying Harlan stopppppppppp

[justhangingaround1995]

[fishingforwords]

van gogh had a point. and also depression.

fernando pessoa || emily st. john mandel, station eleven || nicholas sparks || vincent van gogh || dante alighieri || richard siken, boot theory || vincent van gogh