#sargent boxers

[an0thercufan]

Sargent boxers because yes

I just notice that I never made a drawing of Melvinborg

also I would like to know what colors y'all prefer for ppu Melvin

Edit : PURPLE WINS !

[the-froschamethyst4]

Don’t Bully Me I’ll Cum

𖤐Pairing: König x Sargent!F!Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Smut, language, male masturbation, hand job, blow job, female masturbation, kissing/making out, P in V, kind of dom!reader, loser!König, kind of an age gap (26-38),

𖤐Summary: König the Commander of KorTac but he is a puddle of goo when it comes to his Sargent

————

————

König was sitting in his office flipping through files and papers and his foot bouncing up and down under his desk. His face was red and drool threatens to fall from his mouth. He leans back and placed the pen back on the desk and moved his left hand behind the person under his desk head.

"Don't tell me you're gonna cum already, Commander? I've barely started," she smirks looking up at him.

"I-I can't help that Sargent, y-you just so f-fucking gorgeous," he stutters.

"Just let me finish," she says, wrapping her mouth back around his dick and bobs her head up and down.

König was the big, mean, and scary Commander of KorTac, but he was an absolute mess behind closed doors with his favorite Sargent. Sargent Y/n, she's been in KorTac ever since she was a Private and worked her way up. König never messed with her at that time, but when she became Sargent, he became so fond of her.

She was so rough and serious that he started to become a mess whenever she was around, when she visit boot camp just to see how the new recruits are doing and she joins in on the yelling with the Drill Sargent's.

König would become a mess and would make...a mess in his pants/boxers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," König curses as his hips bucked up his tip hitting the back of her throat.

She moves her mouth and started pumping him with her hand, he slammed his head back in his chair, hips bucking up into her hand, she smirks at him and kisses his tip, when her lips touched his tip, he ended up coming.

"Fuck," he mumbles.

"You are such a mess," she says, standing up from under his desk and going to his attached bathroom to grab a rag. She comes back and starts cleaning his cum.

"Why can I never make you cum?" König asks her.

"Because I like seeing you become more of a mess than me," she says in a teasing tone.

"But I wanna watch you become pleased like me," he cups her face and tries to lean in but she pulls away.

"None of that."

"Oh but you can touch me, make me cum, but I can't kiss you?"

"You know our agreement, Commander," she tosses him the rag to clean himself up as she left his office.

König and Y/n had made an agreement a few months ago, Y/n will please her Commander no matter the time, no matter the day, doesn't matter if it's day or night, and no matter the place, Y/n was to please König.

But they didn't kiss because they were afraid it'll ruin their relationship as Commander and Sargent, and Y/n had said that she doesn't need to be pleased and it can be all König, but he doesn't see that as fair, he wants to please her just like how she pleases him.

Y/n goes back to her barracks moving the covers back on her bed and sitting on her mattress, back against her head board and she slightly moves her legs and moves her hand between her thigh into her panties.

She feels how wet she is, moving her fingers out and watching the sticky pre-cum stick between her pointer finger and middle finger, she let's out a soft moan as she moves her fingers back and starts pushing them in and out of her lower half.

Her fingers could never hit her spot, and she didn't have a dildo or vibrator on her to be able to do it, so she just suffers through it, she closes her eyes and covered her mouth to not disturb the people in their barracks around her.

When she closed her eyes she thought of König, he would be able to get her spot, his fingers were thick, and long enough that she knows that'll hit her spot just right.

So she kept thinking about his fingers pushing in and out of her, and she starts pumping them a lot more quicker, her thighs squeeze around her hand and she felt herself about to cum, she continues to push them in and out of her till she felt liquid spill from her clit.

"Fuck me..." she whispered.

-------------

The Next Day

König was making his way to the boot camp, but Sargent Y/n has already beat him to it, she stood there in her uniform, arms crossed over her chest, she was in a wide stance watching the new recruits run the training course.

König clears his throat and stood next to Y/n.

"Good morning, Sargent."

"Morning, Commander."

"How are they doing?" He asks about the recruits.

"Fine, I've picked out the weaklings already," she says.

"Really? Who?"

"Alexander, fell behind on today morning run. Ludwig, could get himself over the wall. And Emma, failed at the rope," she says.

"We'll train them harder."

"That's not gonna work, they'll just become even more tired and won't be able to train," Y/n says.

"Are you defining my orders, Sargent?" König asks, looking down at Y/n, who was still looking at the recruits, but she slowly turns to look up at him.

"Did it sound like that Commander?" She was catching an attitude.

"Yes, it did."

"Then yes, I was," she says.

"Sargent, this is my team, you really wanna push that?"

"You also forget you put me in charge of the recruits meaning your so-called tactics don't work, mine do, I get that you are the head-honcho around here, but these are my recruits too, what I say also goes."

"NO! It does not, Sargent!" The recruits looked at König getting in Y/n's face, but Y/n stood her ground, she's dealt with worse things than König, she's not afraid of him.

"Commander-"

"NO! NO MORE TALKING FROM YOU, MY FUCKING OFFICE NOW, SARGENT!!" König walks off and Y/n looks at him confused. The fuck did she do?

--------------

"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, KONIG!" She yells coming into the office, he sat at his desk, hand over his face.

"YOU DO NOT GET TO YELL AT ME IN FRONT OF THE RECRUITS BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING! YOU GOT IN MY WAY, COMMANDER! IF ANYTHING I SHOULD BITCHING AT YOU, YOU DO NOT GET TO BITCH AT ME BECAUSE OF MY METHODS!!" She yells at König finger buried into his chest as she yelled at him.

"Sargent-"

"NO, DON'T FUCKING SAY ANYTHING, YOU ARE IN MY WAY COMMANDER, STAY OUT OF IT!! Now...if you fucking excuse me, I have to get back to boot camp, stay out of my way, and don't bitch at me because you can't handle me doing my fucking job, you fucking prick. I don't understand what stick went up your ass today, but fucking pull it out, I do not have time for you, König."

She was ready to leave his office, walking to his door and slowly started to open it but the door slammed shut in front of her. She sees a large hand on the door keeping it shut.

She turns to see König with a red face and eyes looking like they were in a daze.

"Commander?"

"God...I'm a fucking freak...I fucking love it when you yell at me," he takes her hand and placed it on his chest, she could feel sweat through his shirt.

He starts moving her hand down his pants, he messes with his belt and Y/n starts helping him, she could see in his boxers a slight wet spot.

"König-"

"You fucking yelled at me and..." he looked embarrassed. "I fucking came," he says, hiding his face.

All she did was giggle at him. "You got embarrassed?"

"I can't fucking help it...you just...so fucking hot," he leans forward cupping her face and kissing her cheek, jaw line and then her neck. "You fucking making me hard and I cum when you yell or even fucking bully me for fucks sake," he chuckles.

She smirks and starts going down on her knees, pulling out his dick and watching pre-cum leak from his tip, she licks her lips and wraps her lips around his dick.

He locks his door and grabs her ponytail wanting her to go farther on his dick, he puts his head back and starts bucking his hips up, his tip hitting the back of her throat.

"Holy fuck," he moans, she looks up at König, he looks down at her eyes and put his head back when seeing her face. "Holy fuck," he curses again.

She moves her mouth off his dick and starts pumping him. She still pumps him and she slowly stood up, she looks into his eyes and leans forward.

It caught König by surprise, her lips on his. His eyes widened but he soon closed them and deepens the kiss, his hands going to the side of her face, she stops pumping him and placed her hands on his chest.

"Thought you said this will ruin our relationship?" König asks.

"I changed my mind."

"Then...did you change you mind about me pleasing you?"

"Maybe I did."

-------------

König had Y/n on top of his desk, her stomach on the cold desk, she moans and was clenching around König. He leans down kissing between her shoulder blades.

"God, you feel so good," he mumbles into her ear. Her nails dig into the desk as she felt herself close to coming. She looks over her shoulder and he leans down and kisses her lips.

"I-I-"

"I know, I know," he says, holding her waist and he starts going even harder. Her head goes back as she squeezes around his dick.

Not too long after she ended up coming. Her forehead rested on the desk as his rested on her back.

"Fuck me, you felt so good," he smirks.

"I-I've been waiting for that for so long," she confesses.

"Really?"

"I-I was touching myself l-last night and I couldn't get off because of my fingers," she says. He just chuckles at her and kissed the shell of her ear.

--------------

Y/n had fixed herself up as König stayed behind his desk watching her fix her hair and clothes.

"I have to get back to the recruits they are probably wondering where I am," she says.

"Yes, right...I'll...see you later?"

"Yeah, I'll be back tonight." She smiles at him.

She opens the door and heads back to the boot camp. König smirks to himself and Y/n was a mess, the once scary Sargent was tamed.

[hypercodation]

“superior fucks”

Cpt.John Price/Commander Philip Graves/Conel Alejandro Vargas x FTM Reader

Literally smut, filthy smut, you get fucked by your superiors. This came to me in a dream.

-reader goes by he/him

-reader said to have a dick and pussy

-dubious consent?

-kinda fluffy at the end

-lots of praise

Summary: your Captain invited you to a meeting, little did you know what was in store.

You had been invited to a meeting with your superiors, little did you know you were the only sargent invited.

Let alone the only other besides your superiors who would be showing up.

You walked in, noting it was a little quiet for a meeting. You peak around a corner spotting your captain, Price, on a sofa, looking over a few papers.

“Hey (l/n), come in.” He had a pen between his fingers, he was wearing what looked like casual clothes…

“Mornin’ captain.” He nodded at you as you fully stepped in once you did, you noticed commander Graves on the other side of a table. You hadn’t talked to him much, barely knew him, but you looked up to him, and knew what he was capable of.

“You look tense, sit.” Price flicks a pen to the spot beside him and you sit, following orders seemingly in your blood, doing what you were told, when you were told.

“He does everything you tell him to do, doesn’t he?” Graves asks, sitting his papers down, and walking toward you both.

Price ‘hums’ and looks at you, scratching his beard. “Yeah, he’s a good lad.”

“I wonder how far you can push it?”

You didn’t miss the darkness to his tone, you looked up at him with your saucers of eyes.

Price looks up at him. “He’s a soldier, he’s supposed to follow orders.” He sits up a bit putting his pen and papers to the side.

“Maybe.” Graves grabs your chin making you look back at him. “But none follow you as blindly as this one. Tell me. Would you do anything we ask of you (l/n)?”

Your answer was instant. “Yessir.” Graves smirks and looks over Price. He squints in return.

“Down on your knees then.” What. Your mind instantly short circuited, Graves, what other thing could he possibly be wanting from this? But alas, you follow, getting on your knees in front of him, you could feel the slight tinge of red rising to your face.

“Good….” He lead you over to Price’s lap, and you looked up at your captain. His eyes were dilated, he was still twisting the pen in his fingers.

That’s when Alejandro walked in. “Making me miss out on all the fun, eh?” He says arms crossed. You couldn’t help but find all three of these men extremely attractive… it was messing you up being in a room with them all together, let alone the position you were in currently.

You look up at Price with almost puppy eyes.

“Have you done anything like this before sargent?” Alejandro asks leaning down right beside you, you shook your head. “No sir.” Alejandro smirked, “well… we’re gonna have to teach you.” He grabbed your chin to make you look at him, the redness of you face darkening…. “Be good Carñio, we’ll definitely be rewarding you.” He says chuckling at the end.

He lets go of your face, and you look back up at Price. “I hope you know not to use any teeth.” He says, unbuckling his belt. Your only response is a nod.

Once he pulls down his pants and boxers, your met with his half hard cock. He was girthy. “Well, have at it.”

You got to work, stroking him a few times before taking him in your mouth making sure not to ‘use teeth’ as what he said. He let out a breath, your warm cavern of a mouth pulling him in. You ran your tongue around the tip, in a swirling motion, price groaned.

Alejandro grabbed the back of your head, gently. “Inch down Amor…” he coaxed. You pushed your head down, taking in more of Price’s length. Once Alejandro removed his hand it was replaced with Price’s.

“That’s it… good boy.” He says, gently scratching the back of your skull. His grip tightens when you hum around him, looking up at him.

“Look at him, being so good for us.” Graves says bending down beside you. You try to take in Price more and almost gag. “Easy boy.” Graves notices.

Alejandro was at your back, he ran and hand down your back to the hem of your jeans, you tried to look back but price hand your head glued to him as you bobbed your head.

“Just like that Muñeco…” Alejandro purred at your back as he pulled down your jeans and boxers. You could tell that the wetness already between your legs was embarrassing, let alone how hard you were.

Alejandro smiled and looked up at Graves and Price. “You’re soaked Amor… do our praises really get to you that easy?” You almost whimpered around Price and he smirked down at you. “Don’t get shy now…”

Alejandro’s fingers pressed into your cunt, slowly, you let out a whimper, never being touched like this by anyone other than yourself. You kept yourself occupied with Price, your Moans obviously doing something to him. You could hear Alejandro mutter something to graves behind you, and you could see Graves smirk and he moved to be behind you as well.

——————

Somehow you go in a position where Alejandro was under you and Graves was at your back, both pressed into you at the same time, Price had already came once, as you were a moaning and whimpering mess around his cock. “Fuck… pull him off, I wanna hear him.” Graves commanded.

Price pulled you off by your hair, and you almost let out a bellow at Alejandro thrusting up into you. Your whimpers and whines driving them all forward.

“I’m so proud of you (y/n), doing so well.” Price says lowly, making you look up at him. You can already feel yourself coming to an edge. With Alejandro thrusting up into you and Graves at your back gripping onto your hips. They were obviously holding back.

You let out a long drawn out groan as Alejandro grabbed your dick and started to pump his hand, Price eating up your facial expressions the entire time. “I think you two are making him loose himself a little bit…” Price comments, you can feel alejandro smile against your neck and graves let’s out a chuckle, you could tell they were both close. “Your lasting so well Amor…” Alejandro breathed down your neck. He’s left multiple marks already.

You were half mumbling incoherently, in a daze. You suddenly felt everything snap and you came In Alejandro’s hand and around his dick, you let out a yell, convulsing around the two men.

The both came into you in succession, graves letting out a long drawn out curse. You were shaking, suddenly Price stood up. “Don’t think we’re done with you yet boy.” He says looking down and you and basically picks you up, your back pressed to his chest

When you came to, alejandro and Graves were both below you at your cock, you whimper know exactly what they were going to do, even in your clouded state of mind..

You could feel prices cock press at your cunt, you welcomed him, you moaned at him pressing into you, he was much girthier then the other two, you shuttered. Alejandro licked up your dick, his tounge piercing sliding up the vein on the bottom, you could feel your legs threating to give out, but Price held you steady.

You let out a deep groan as price starts moving, hitting your g-spot head on, alejandro and Graves continue to switch it up, Graves was harsher with his sucks, while Alejandro was caring and took his time.

Your eyes finally roll back, feeling yourself come close again. “That’s it good boy, you're doing so well…” Price murmured in your ear. “C’mon, cum again for us…” you moan your breathing uneven. You let out a high pitch noise as you came into Alejandro’s mouth, you watched him sowallow with a whimper, Price’s grip loosens as he lays you on the couch, Alejandro leaves and returns with water and some rags. He take his time gently cleaning you off, leaving kisses on the marks they left. Price was stroking your hair while Graves repeated how well you’ve done, how proud they are.

Price kissed your temple, and Alejandro sat on the other side of price. “We’ll take care of you Amor….”

You should really show up to more meetings.

Reblogs appreciated~

[sinofwriting]

Logan Sargent and comfort? Maybe something about him crashing out again and the reader comforting him?

Literally cried while writing this. But here you go Anon!

Breaths - Logan Sargeant

Masterlist | Support Me!

She holds Logan as he clutches at her, short shaky breaths wracking his frame as he presses his face deeper into the crook of her neck that's wet with tears. His devastation has tears over her own coming to her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. She rubs at his back, hoping to soothe him, make the shaking slow to a stop.

“It’ll be okay, Lo.” She coos, when he finally takes a shuddering deep breath, lungs burning for air. He shakes his head and his grip on her becomes impossibly tighter and the response makes her now clutch at him. His desperation for her to be closer, worrying. “It will be. I promise.” She can feel his lips move across her skin as they form words, but she can’t hear them. But then he’s repeating himself and the words don’t come out so quiet and pressed to her skin she can hear them. They come out in a desperate sob. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, baby.” Tears spill down her cheeks as his desperation for her to be so close makes sense. “Never.” She tells him and it sounds like an oath, a promise, a vow. “I’m never leaving you, Logan. Never.”

Slowly as they stand there, holding each other, they both stop crying, the skin of her cheeks and neck drying. His body no longer shakes from sobs and panicky breaths. The third steady intake of air that he manages makes her squeeze him tighter and she coaxes him into the bathroom.

Turning on the tap, as she waits for the water to get warm, she urges him to lift his head. The sight of his face, a blotchy red, eyes puffy and tear tracks all over it, makes her heart clench painfully in her chest and she presses her lips to the delicate skin under both of his eyes, to the tip of his nose, the spot on his jaw where he cut himself shaving yesterday before she runs a washcloth under the tap, letting it get damp before cleaning his face. His eyes never closing, just looking into hers as she cleans him up.

She gives her own face a quick passover with the washcloth before tossing it onto the counter, turning the tap off and moving them both back to the bedroom. It’s easy to slip him out of his shirt, pants, boxers, and even socks. It’s harder to undress herself. Logan immediately whining when no part of her is touching him. And she doesn’t think she’s ever gotten undressed so quick, his need for her touch, fueling her.

It pains her, but she doesn’t immediately gather him back into her arms, instead sliding under the covers of the hotel bed and then lifting it for Logan to join her and he practically darts under. His warm bare body against hers makes her shiver.

He’s quick to nudge himself between her legs, settling in the cradle of her hips so he can easily rest his head back in the crook of her neck. One of his arms going underneath her back, while the other goes more underneath her shoulders. Her own arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back as they move up and down, reassuring.

Tomorrow her body will hate her for letting him rest completely in between her thighs, the stretch will be too much for them and her hips but she knows she won’t regret it. Can’t when Logan is making that little humming sound in the back of his throat from the contact, his breathing deep and even, his own body warm and the weight of him on top of her comforting.

“I love you, Lo.” She murmurs when he finally drifts to sleep, thighs already aching but she ignores the stretch of pain in favor of the small puffs of air that brush her collarbone and the way sleep calls her name as well.

---

Tagging: @lpab @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @copper-boom @iloveyou3000morgan @topguncultleader @boiohboii

[thegnomelord]

OMG CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!!! how about prompt 30 with trans!ghost? there'd be such a nice mix of battle scars & surgery scars too <3

Thanks! and Anon you have no idea on what kind of a Hyper-fixation fender you put me on with this prompt, like it's 2 in the morning and I've never written something this fast before lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Kissing scars

CW: NSFW, Trans Ghost, Male reader but can be read as GN, afab language, kinda non sexual nudity, body worship, scar kissing, fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff, I'm a dirty tease.

You never know what you'll get when Ghost returns after a mission— Sometimes he'll return so hoped up on adrenaline he'll push you down on the nearest flat surface and ride you until he's satisfied, using you as a living dildo with a firm hand on your throat to keep you hard and quiet; Other times — even the barest brush of skin on skin will have him flinching away with a glare able to put you 6 feet deep.

So when you find him in your room, still fitted out in combat gear and staring off seemingly into space, you approach him slow and loud, making your footsteps echo as you draw close. You doubt he can even feel you brush your pinkies together through his thick gloves, but he jolts as if you're electric. . .but doesn't jerk away.

Creeping slowly until you're face to face with him you hold his hand loosely in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. It takes a few more squeezes before his eyes focus on you, the raging storm inside him turning them from honey brown to dark like blood soaked soil. You can tell his face is tense even with the mask on, the thin fabric helping to keep him together as his resolve slowly depletes like a fraying rope.

Something makes you move and before your mind properly registers it you're slowly taking off his glove, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb before you bring it closer to your face. His sharp eyes follow every movement of your lips as you kiss an old cigarette burn on the pad of his thumb and trail soft pecks across the silvery lines dotting his finger down to the meat of his palm, then back up to the pad of his pointer finger, kissing each knuckle as you go from finger to finger.

This doesn't stop or lessen the maelstrom in his mind, but each new kiss is like a new board to patch up the leaking holes in his boat. His other hand finds your shoulder by the time you're kissing the stab scar on the back of his hand.

His voice is so rough your name is hardly understandable, but gains your attention all the same. "Going soft on me now?" He growls, amused or irritated, you can't say.

Tempting luck you reach out to grab the zipper of his jacket, "Do you want me to stop?" You murmur against his skin.

His eyes narrow until you're staring into a dark void, a small and gruff sound leaving his throat. It's not a 'yes', but it's definitely not a 'no'. So like a miner without a canary, you slowly undress him, dropping to your knees to take off his boots and unclipping all his gear, stopping only when he's down to boxers and a long sleeve shirt when you feel him tense.

"Forgetting somethin' Sargent?" He asks, voice rough like he's ready to bark orders across the battlefield.

You look at him like a worshiper looks at a god, "Please, can I take these off Ghost?" You beg, sticking out your bottom lip for extra measure.

"Only because you look pathetic when you beg." There's no heat in his words, but you feel and see his muscles tense as you take away the last remaining articles of clothing. Only his mask remains, and you don't dare touch that.

He's dry as a bone and you can't blame him, this situation so far from normal for both of you. He lets you maneuver him until he's sitting on the bed, his knees spread just enough for you to comfortably kneel between them.

"That's bettah," He hums as you take his other hand and start kissing the rough patches of skin there, though you're a little surprised when he catches your tongue in his fingers. "You're like a damn dog." But he only brushes the his thumb against the flat of your tongue before letting go.

"Just for you, right?" You hum and start trailing bulletwounds and stab scars across his forearm.

"If yea know what's good for yea." He growls, though you can see him starting to relax, the cold edges melting slowly like the first thaw after a 1000 year old winter.

"Where do you ache, love?" You ask, reaching over to kiss a prominent scar on his bicep while you look at his abdomen. His front looks like a roadmap; full of long jagged scars from knives, dotted with small crates from old bullets, mottled with burns, and other unknown scars caused by god knows what. The only 'clean' scars he has are the two silvery lines beneath the curve of his pecs — the ones he never lets you touch.

"Will you kiss it better?" He mocks, like he doesn't believe you and looks at you like you're insane, but decides to humor you and briefly taps the fresh pink line on his abdomen. He watches you like a hawk as you lean down to lay soft kisses along the entire length of the jagged scar, a groan leaving his lips as your tongue tickles the frazzled beneath healing scar tissue, something like pleasure-not-pleasure sizzling wonderfully up his spine.

"Where else?" You ask, letting him place a heavy hand on your head and guide you where he wants you. His body aches in some way every waking moment, but for this night he can let you chase away the gnawing pain with your lips. He doesn't notice when he ends up splayed out on the bed and tugging you on top of him— another usually hard no with him —his mind growing strangely quiet as every lick and kiss on his damaged skin leaves behind shreds of warmth that build in his chest until he's boneless. It's almost like he melts into the bed, into your lips, his muscles more relaxed than they've ever been.

Then your lips brush against his top scars and a bucket of water gets splashed on his head. He barks out your name, raising his head as he scruffs you by the back of the neck before you can even react.

You don't resist his hold, "Yes, my handsome man?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, your lips brushing against his top scars when he visibly shivers at your words.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asks the question that's been plaguing both of your minds, but he doesn't sound angry and doesn't try to throw you off him, so you continue to gently worship his top scars.

"What's it look like?" You ask and feel his hold on your neck loosen as you trail from one scar to it's twin on the other side. His hand remains where it is, but his blunt nails lightly scratch your skin as reward for adoring scars like you're doing right now.

"Like you're doing something stupid." He huffs and you can finally see the dark clouds in his eyes parting, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath that's been weighing on his shoulders for a while. "But-" He takes your hand and moves it down between his legs, both of you groaning when you find his folds wet and pliant to your fingers, clit hard and pulsing against your hand. "-I can think of a few more places where I 'ache'." He gives a smug smirk that's obvious through his balaclava, his other hand lightly tugging on your hair, "Kiss it better for me, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

[curawrites]

Wolf and Lamb

Graves x fem!Reader

Warnings: dub/non- con, serious power imbalance, gun sucking, gun fucking, unprotected sex, forced breeding, mentions of pregnancy, fuck or die situation, mentions of injury, gross Graves, Graves flirting

Note: This takes place during the Alone mission. C/S = call sign.

This is pure filth and I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THIS! Practice safe sex! 💚

“Well look what we have here…” the attractive southern twang of Graves voice was unmistakable as you herd approaching footsteps.

You took a deep shaky breath, pushing yourself further back into the wall while cradling your injured shoulder. You look up to find Graves towering over you, hand gun firmly held and aimed towards you.

“Fuck you Graves.” You spat, tone dripping in venom.

He looked at your with a quirked brow, “I expected more respect from you C/S..” he said as he took a few steps forward. “I thought you and I had a little thing going~. Thought you’d run away with me~“ he smiled handsomely.

You glared at him, “I’d rather you shoot me in the head.”

“Oh ho ho, spicy one you are, very well then. Guess I’ll just kill y’a.” He said before pulling out a knife, “I’ll make sure to take my time..” he took a step forward.

You coward further into the wall, you really wanted to hate Graves, but part of you still held on to all the longing gazes, the flirty banter, the subtle touches. But you valued you life a lot more that whatever kind of relationship you and Graves had.

Noticing your panic Graves smirked, “Not up for it now, sugar?”

You shot him a glare, he only chuckled before kneeling in front of you.

“I could never dream of killing such a sweet lookin thing like you~” he smirked at you, looking you over pervertedly, “You want to live don’t you C/S?”

You nodded silently at his question.

“Then your going to be a good girl and let me take off all of what’s covering up that pretty body of yours~” he slid the knife back into its rightful place.

You nodded slightly, the guilt and shame already washing over you but mixed with the slight arousal flickering to life inside the pit of your tummy.

He started by taking off your reflective goggles and mask, he took a moment to stroke your cheek, “Knew you were pretty under all this~” he licked his lips before tossing the items to the side.

He continued to take off all your gear and clothes. At long last he took your striped boxers the last piece of clothes off your body, carelessly throwing it to the side before looking over your now naked body.

He wolf whistled, “Look at you..~ such gorgeous body~” he forced your legs open with his own.

Still clutching your poorly bandaged shoulder, you had no strength nor wanted to put up a fight against him. Your legs graciously fell open.

“Fuck.. look at that pretty cunt..~” Graves licked his lips.

You glared daggers into his soul but blushed non the less.

“Don’t look at me like that, sugar~” he smirked before pulling out his gun again.

You watched, glancing up at him suspiciously.

“Now Sargent.. I want you to be a good girl and open you pretty mouth~” he put the gun right at your lips, “and I’m not afraid to shoot.” He warned.

With a glare you opened your mouth and let Graves push his gun into your mouth.

“Atta girl~” he praised making your Pusey flutter at the praise.

You sucked on the gun obediently, gagging softly when Graves thrusts it a bit to far down your throat.

After a few minutes he pulled the gun out of your mouth, the weapon was dripping with your saliva. The after taste of metal lingered in your mouth as you watched him trail the slick gun down your bare torso, all the way down to your wet cunt.

“Graves.” You said as your squirmed to get away.

“Ah, ah, ah..” He warned, “Stay fucking still.” He spat.

He pressed the gun to your clit, moving it in gentle circles sending sparks of pleasure up you spine before trailing it farther down to your opening. He shoved the gun inside you with ease thanks to your spit and slight wetness. You gasped in horror and in shock at the intrusion. He started rubbing your clit while thrusting his gun in and out of your pussy making you moan softly.

The sensation of his gun rubbing against your inner walls was strange and uncomfortable but it was overshadowed by the pleasure building up inside of you thanks to the stimulation on your clit. Graves kissed you sloppily, sucking and nibbling at you bottom lip. You could only mewl and whimper into his mouth.

You came with a loud sob of pleasure, glaring at Graves with tear filled eyes while tears cascaded down you cheeks. You were utterly ashamed that you enjoyed your orgasm.

“There you go, Sugar~ didn’t that feel fucking amazing~” Graves purred stroking away your tears while pulling out the gun from your pussy and shoving it into your mouth again.

He made you clean all your juices from the gun before putting it away in its holster on his belt which he was now unbuckling.

He crawled over you, sucking and kissing your neck and face while rubbing his hard cock in between your slick folds. Your cunt fluttered still recovering from your orgasm.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me C/S~” Graves purred as he played with your tits.

He slid his cock inside you, eliciting a sharp gasp which he silenced by kissing your lips. He was much bigger than you expected, and stretched your cunt deliciously.

“Fuck sugar~ you feel so fucking amazing~” Graves said as he started to thrust inside you.

You blushed completely and utterly embarrassed and flustered by his comment and the obscene noises your slick cunt was making.

His slow thrusts quickly morphed into fast and hard thrust that repeatedly bruised your cervix. Tears continued to run down your cheeks from both pleasure and shame.

“Fuck baby~” he groaned, “M’gonna fucking breed y’a~ gonna give you a sweet baby boy~” his cock twitched inside of you, “no.. I’m gonna give you fucking twins~ two sweet little baby boys~ fuck yeah~” he said as he sighed in pleasure.

Grave’s comments made you pussy tighten around his cock. He let out a soft hiss before pressing your legs to your chest to continue pounding into you.

He rubbed quick circles of your clit, not bothered to be gentle, only wanting you to cream his cock.

When you climaxed you moaned loudly, gripping his shoulders tightly as you pussy squeezed around his cock.

“Fuuuck!~ m’cumming~” he groaned thrusting into you deeply before he flooded your insides with his seed.

The warmth that spread inside you made you let out a soft noise of pleasure.

You and Graves went for two more rounds before he left you in the crumbling home, naked, leaking cum and feeling utterly ashamed and filthy.

You weakly and slowly put on you clothes, you hissed in pain as you moved your shoulder.

Suddenly your radio buzzed, “Ghost to C/S how copy?” Ghost’s gravely voice echoed in the silence.

You grabbed the device with a shaky hand.

“C/S to Ghost… I-“ You tried to speak but something inside you wouldn’t allow you, to ashamed to admit what you had just done.

“C/S are you alright?” Ghost asked.

“No..” you sobbed, “Graves- he.. fuck.. he.” You couldn’t get any words out but it seemed Ghost had picked up on what you were trying to communicate.

“Can you still get to the church C/S?” He asked

“Negative lieutenant.. my shoulder is injured and I can’t.. walk..” You respond wiping your tears frantically.

“I’m leaving the church right now C/S sit tight. Where are you?” He said before informing soap to stop heading for the church.

“I’m in the house beside the coffee shop..” you muttered as you put your mask and goggles back on.

“Copy that. Sit tight.” He said before your radio went silent.

You stuff the radio back in its pocket on your vest and sit on the floor. Letting your thoughts consume you…

[justforbooks]

James Earl Jones

American actor hailed for his many classical roles whose voice became known to millions as that of Darth Vader in Star Wars

During the run of the 2011 revival of Alfred Uhry’s Driving Miss Daisy in London, with Vanessa Redgrave, the actor James Earl Jones, who has died aged 93, was presented with an honorary Oscar by Ben Kingsley, with a link from the Wyndham’s theatre to the awards ceremony in Hollywood.

Glenn Close in Los Angeles said that Jones represented the “essence of truly great acting” and Kingsley spoke of his imposing physical presence, his 1,000-kilowatt smile, his basso profundo voice and his great stillness. Jones’s voice was known to millions as that of Darth Vader in the original Star Wars film trilogy and Mufasa in the 1994 Disney animation The Lion King, as well as being the signature sound of US TV news (“This is CNN”) for many years.

His status as the leading black actor of his generation was established with the Tony award he won in 1969 for his performance as the boxer Jack Jefferson (a fictional version of Jack Johnson) in Howard Sackler’s The Great White Hope on Broadway, a role he repeated in Martin Ritt’s 1970 film, and which earned him an Oscar nomination.

On screen, Jones – as the fictional Douglass Dilman – played the first African-American president, in Joseph Sargent’s 1972 movie The Man, based on an Irving Wallace novel. His stage career was notable for encompassing great roles in the classical repertoire, such as King Lear, Othello, Hickey in Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh and Big Daddy in Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

He was born in Arkabutla, Mississippi, the son of Robert Earl Jones, a minor actor, boxer, butler and chauffeur, and his wife Ruth (nee Connolly), a teacher, and was proud of claiming African and Irish ancestry. His father left home soon after he was born, and he was raised on a farm in Jackson, Michigan, by his maternal grandparents, John and Maggie Connolly. He spoke with a stutter, a problem he dealt with at Brown’s school in Brethren, Michigan, by reading poetry aloud.

On graduating from the University of Michigan, he served as a US Army Ranger in the Korean war. He began working as an actor and stage manager at the Ramsdell theatre in Manistee, Michigan, where he played his first Othello in 1955, an indication perhaps of his early power and presence.

The family had moved from the deep south to Michigan to find work, and now Jones went to New York to join his father in the theatre and to study at the American Theatre Wing with Lee Strasberg. He made his Broadway debut at the Cort theatre in 1958 in Dory Schary’s Sunrise at Campobello, a play about Franklin D Roosevelt.

He was soon a cornerstone of Joseph Papp’s New York Shakespeare festival in Central Park, playing Caliban in The Tempest, Macduff in Macbeth and another Othello in the 1964 season. He also established a foothold in films, as Lt Lothar Zogg in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr Strangelove (1963), a cold war satire in which Peter Sellers shone with brilliance in three separate roles.

The Great White Hope came to the Alvin theatre in New York from the Arena Stage in Washington, where Jones first unleashed his shattering, shaven-headed performance – he was described as chuckling like thunder, beating his chest and rolling his eyes – in a production by Edwin Sherin that exposed racism in the fight game at the very time of Muhammad Ali’s suspension from the ring on the grounds of his refusal to sign up for military service in the Vietnam war.

Lorraine Hansberry’s Les Blancs (1970) was a response to Jean Genet’s The Blacks, in which Jones, who remained much more of an off-Broadway fixture than a Broadway star in this period, despite his eminence, played a westernised urban African man returning to his village for his father’s funeral. With Papp’s Public theatre, he featured in an all-black version of The Cherry Orchard in 1972, following with John Steinbeck’s Lennie in Of Mice and Men on Broadway and returning to Central Park as a stately King Lear in 1974.

When he played Paul Robeson on Broadway in the 1977-78 season, there was a kerfuffle over alleged misrepresentations in Robeson’s life, but Jones was supported in a letter to the newspapers signed by Edward Albee, Stephen Sondheim, Arthur Miller, Lillian Hellman and Richard Rodgers. He played his final Othello on Broadway in 1982, partnered by Christopher Plummer as Iago, and appeared in the same year in Master Harold and the Boys by Athol Fugard, a white South African playwright he often championed in New York.

In August Wilson’s Fences (1987), part of that writer’s cycle of the century “black experience” plays, he was described as an erupting volcano as a Pittsburgh garbage collector who had lost his dreams of a football career and was too old to play once the major leagues admitted black players. His character, Troy Maxson, is a classic of the modern repertoire, confined in a world of 1950s racism, and has since been played by Denzel Washington and Lenny Henry.

Jones’s film career was solid if not spectacular. Playing Sheikh Abdul, he joined a roll call of British comedy stars – Terry-Thomas, Irene Handl, Roy Kinnear, Spike Milligan and Peter Ustinov – in Marty Feldman’s The Last Remake of Beau Geste (1977), in stark contrast to his (at first uncredited) Malcolm X in Ali’s own biopic, The Greatest (1977), with a screenplay by Ring Lardner. He also appeared in Peter Masterson’s Convicts (1991), a civil war drama; Jon Amiel’s Sommersby (1993), with Richard Gere and Jodie Foster; and Darrell Roodt’s Cry, the Beloved Country (1995), scripted by Ronald Harwood, in which he played a black South African pastor in conflict with his white landowning neighbour in the 40s.

In all these performances, Jones quietly carried his nation’s history on his shoulders. On stage, this sense could irradiate a performance such as that in his partnership with Leslie Uggams in the 2005 Broadway revival at the Cort of Ernest Thompson’s elegiac On Golden Pond; he and Uggams reinvented the film performances of Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn as an old couple in a Maine summer house.

He brought his Broadway Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof to London in 2009, playing an electrifying scene with Adrian Lester as his broken sports star son, Brick, at the Novello theatre. The coarse, cancer-ridden big plantation owner was transformed into a rumbling, bear-like figure with a totally unexpected streak of benignity perhaps not entirely suited to the character. But that old voice still rolled through the stalls like a mellow mist, rich as molasses.

That benign streak paid off handsomely, though, in the London reprise of a deeply sentimental Broadway comedy (and Hollywood movie), Driving Miss Daisy, in which his partnership as a chauffeur to Redgrave (unlikely casting as a wealthy southern US Jewish widow, though she got the scantiness down to a tee) was a delightful two-step around the evolving issues of racial tension between 1948 and 1973.

So deep was this bond with Redgrave that he returned to London for a third time in 2013 to play Benedick to her Beatrice in Mark Rylance’s controversial Old Vic production of Much Ado About Nothing, the middle-aged banter of the romantically at-odds couple transformed into wistful, nostalgia for seniors.

His last appearance on Broadway was in a 2015 revival of DL Coburn’s The Gin Game, opposite Cicely Tyson. He was given a lifetime achievement Tony award in 2017, and the Cort theatre was renamed the James Earl Jones theatre in 2022.

Jones’s first marriage, to Julienne Marie (1968-72), ended in divorce. In 1982 he married Cecilia Hart with whom he had a son, Flynn. She died in 2016. He is survived by Flynn, also an actor, and a brother, Matthew.

🔔 James Earl Jones, actor, born 17 January 1931; died 9 September 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[violette-hue]

Red Lipstick

Summary: Daichi can't stop thinking about how you'll look as he fucks your face with red lipstick

Trigger Warning(s): smut, smut with little plot, face fucking, cum on the face, little to no proof reading, slight (?) breeding kink, holiday parties

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing(s): Daichi x female reader

A/N: Please enjoy the bread @ceo-of-daichi @kingdaddydaichi and anyone else that loves Daichi

**minors and ageless blogs do not interact**

Daichi couldn’t stop looking at your lips since you’d left the house. He knew he should’ve been paying more attention to his Sargent, or even his Corporal, but he couldn’t. Your lips looked too damn good in that shade of red. Had your lips always been so plump? So fuckable? The hand around the champagne glass he was holding clenched slightly . This party had only just started and he already wanted to leave. He took a long drink of the bubbly liquor. 

It’s not exactly that this party was boring. It was boring, but he knew it was just the beginning. There was a process to go through. Mingling. Formalities. Speech. Party. They were now halfway through the formalities. That was the boring part. In a perfect world he’d be interested in meeting the other sectors’ Corporals and Sergents, maybe even try to climb the latter. But god he could not stop looking at your mouth as you talked. 

He supposed he’d always taken your mouth for granted until now. He loved the way you took him in your mouth, yes, but he’d always enjoyed fucking you more. Spilling his seed within and pushing it deep inside you. But now he wanted to know what it would be like to spill himself in your mouth—on your face. Daichi shifted from foot to foot. 

He casually looked over to you, to find you already looking at him. You scrunched your eyebrows, only enough for him to notice. He knew what you were asking—If he was okay. He wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly say that. You’d probably go into a small panic and pull him to the side just to ask what was wrong. And he couldn’t exactly tell you his fantasy. Not yet at least. Daichi knew if he told you, you’d be on your knees begging for his cum. He felt his cock twitch and shifted again. He wondered if you caught on. 

He practically groaned when you walked in front of him and took his hand. He was far from touch starved, but it didn’t help the way you brushed subtly against him. Neither did the small smirk on your face help when your ass pressed against his hard cock. 

Reluctantly, he let you take him to a nearby table to hear the speech. It was a long speech, long enough to sedate the intense lust driving him. But then he stole one glance at you as you took a sip of water, and there it was again. His cock straining against his slacks, begging to be taken out and stroked. As he watched you licked your ruby lips, he could feel the precum spilling into his boxers. 

The sound of applause drew him out of his stupor, and he clapped along with his colleagues. He shuffled along with everyone else to the reception area where music was already playing, his hands firmly placed on your hips. 

“What’s got you so hard, babe?” Daichi heard you ask quietly, your head turning slightly to face him. If he hadn’t been fixated on your lips, he wouldn’t have heard you at all. 

Daichi had to suppress his irritation at the question. The answer was obvious. “You.”

“Me?” You feigned confusion. “Little ol’ me? I haven’t done a thing.”

His grip on your hips tightened and he pressed himself against you. He leaned down to speak in your ear, a gesture that to others seemed innocent. “You’ve been tempting me all night with those red lips of yours.” He pressed a hard kiss against the back of your ear. He smiled as he felt a shiver roll through your body. 

“It’s a nice color, isn’t it?” you mused, a smirk gracing your lips. “I wonder how it’d look smeared on your—”

Daichi guided you back towards the entrance, muttering something about an emergency to his colleagues. Of course there was no emergency, unless they counted going back to the hotel you shared for the weekend and fucking you until morning. That was his current emergency. He’d fuck your mouth first–that he knew, needed. Then he’d have you writhing beneath him as he ate you out. Daichi opened the door for you, practically pushing you inside and rushed to the driver’s side. 

It only took ten minutes to reach the hotel, and then another five to get to the hotel room. It wasn’t like he was counting. Which he was. It was just he’d never been so hard before for so long. The anticipation made him more aroused as you opened the door to the room. He closed the door quickly with his foot, hastily undoing his belt and zipper. His cock was freed, a hand stroking it sensually. 

“Get on your knees,” he commanded. Daichi didn’t think he’d ever been eager enough to be so dominant and commanding, but gods be damned if he was going to wait. One more look at those ruby lips and he thought he might just come undone. 

Thank heavens you obeyed. He wasn’t up to the brattiness–at least not now. He stepped closer to you, the tip of his cock tracing your bottom lip. Smearing the red lipstick. Daichi groaned deeply. He wanted to see the lipstick all over your face. At the base of his fat cock. 

“Open your mouth.” 

He pushed his cock in your mouth slowly as you opened your mouth, another deep groan pushing from his chest. You flicked your tongue against the head of his penis and his eyes rolled back. He let you suck him off, let you bob your head up and down his thick shaft, let you tighten your cheeks as you moved. He was trying desperately to keep himself under his control, but as he dug his fingers in your hair and heard you choke on him, he snapped. 

His other hand tangled itself within your hair, both of his hands now on your head. He snapped his hips against your face, balls slapping against your chin and his cock hitting the back of your throat. You let out another choking sound, and he thought he might have gone too far. Until your hand gently cupped his balls and started massaging them. 

Daichi was moaning now, thrusting harshly into your mouth and guiding your head to take you in with his hands. He loved this so much, loved the way your lipstick was already smearing all over your face. Loved the way your mascara ran as tears streamed down your cheeks. God, you looked like such a mess.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing such a good job,” he praised. And you were. He could practically feel the head of his cock twitch against the back of your throat. He was going to cum soon. 

He pulled himself out of you harshly, eliciting a soft whine from your lips. He pumped himself–once, twice–until his cock was twitching as he unloaded himself on your face. He watched as the cloudy liquid squirted on your face, in your open mouth. It still wasn’t enough. He let the tip of his penis rest against your bottom lip, still hard. 

“You look so fucking hot,” Daichi breathed. “You’re such a good girl.”

You smiled, the action causing slight friction against his cock. “I want you to mount me and spill your cum inside me.” You stroked his shaft and pressed a kiss to his tip. 

Daichi practically groaned. “Anything for you, baby.”

[ryethebrokengae]

Just thinking about Price walking into the base kitchen in the middle of the night to find you{Trans masc, post T and top chop reader} dancing to Closer by NIN[This shits gonna be nasty, enjoy]:

You were making yourself a snack, not being able to sleep. You put on your play list while moving around the kitchen to gather the things needed to make yourself pancakes.

One of your favorite songs, Closer by nine inch nails, came on and you started moving your head to the beat.

Once the first verse came on you started moving the rest of your body with the music.

'You let me violate you,

You let me desecrate you,

You let me penetrate you,

You let me complicate you'

You move your hips to it, spinning around while putting together the dry ingredients. While jamming out you didn't notice Price leaning against the door jam to watch you.

'(Help me) I broke apart my insides,

(Help me) I've got no soul to sell

(Help me) the only thing that works for me

Help me get away from myself'

You mix the wet ingredients into the bowl while head banging to the beat. Mouthing along with the words, twisting your torso in time with the words.

Unknowingly giving Price a great show of your ass.

'I wanna fuck you like an animal,

I wanna feel you from the inside,

I wanna fuck you like an animal,

My whole existence is flawed,

You get me closer to god'

Once the song gets to the chorus you're full on dancing. Head banging with your eyes closed, spinning in a slow circle while you roll your hips back and forth. Left hip moving back while the right one moves forward.

'You can have my isolation'

You suddenly feel Price's hands on your hips while you're turned to face the counter again. Suddenly stopping your dancing.

'You can have the hate that it brings'

You feel Price's lips on your neck, kissing you slowly. Whispering into your skin.

"Don't let me stop you."

'You can have my absence of faith'

You grin to yourself, resuming the motions of your hips. Now purposely rolling your ass back into his hips. Feeling him almost growl into your neck. His hold on your hips tightening, but not restricting your movement.

'You can have my everything'

Price suddenly shoves your torso to be pressed to the counter. Impatiently pushing away the ingredients you had laid out.

You let out a small squeak at his shove, teasingly shaking your ass against him.

'(Help me) tear down my reason,

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell,

(Help me) you make me perfect,

Help me become somebody else'

Price leans over you, nipping at your neck. A rumble coming from his chest in warning.

His fingers hooking in the waist band of your sweat pants, pulling them just past your ass.

Price let's out a groan at seeing you're not wearing any boxers. Running his thumb along the very inside of your thigh, enamored by how wet you are already.

"Fuckin' hell, Sargent." He whispers out, quickly shoving a single finger down to the third knuckle inside of you.

'I wanna fuck you like an animal'

You let out a yelp at the sudden intrusion. Quickly recovering from the surprise. Pressing yourself further against him. Head landing on your arms resting on the counter. You let out a loud moan.

'I wanna feel you from the inside'

Price hooks his finger inside of you, feeling your walls until he brushes against your g-spot. Causing you to buck your hips back, releasing a pathetic moan.

Price is barely hanging onto his self control. Quickly removing his finger from you. Shushing the whine that leaves your lips. Unbuckling his pants, and pushing his boxers down just enough to let his cock slap against his stomach. Resting the hard length on your ass, rubbing the underside along your pussy. Collecting your wetness.

'I wanna fuck you like an animal'

You feel Price pull back slightly, the weight of his hard cock no longer resting on you.

When you feel the tip of him pressed against the entrance to your cunt. Pushing himself forward until just the tip is in.

You let out a loud whine at the stretch, hips twitching down. Unconsciously rolling your hips down.

You hear Price groan in unison with your whine. Hand running along your spine, pushing your shirt up with it. Fingers pressing into your skin, short nails gently scraping your skin.

'My whole existence is flawed,

You get me closer to god'

At the end of the second chorus Price thrusts forward, filling you completely. His head falls back, panting slightly.

Your hands in the counter grasping, trying to find anything to hold onto. Panting harshly, cunt clenching around him once. Causing him to thrust forward again, pulling a small scream from you.

As the instrumental portion of the song plays Price pulls back and starts a good, harsh pace of fucking into you. Hands on your hips, gripping so hard you can nearly feel the bruises forming already.

Every few thrusts a whiney moan falls out of your mouth, face hidden in your arms. Price tut's behind you, grabbing your hair.

'Through every forest'

"I don't think so." He pulls your head back, forcing you to arch your back.

You moan loudly, clenching around his cock once more.

'Above the trees,

Within my stomach,

Scraped off my knees'

You hear a restrained groan fall from Price's lips. Thrusting forward harshly three more times, before you feel him start to fill you.

'I drink the honey'

You can feel the sheen of sweat cool on your skin. Clenching around him again purposefully.

He lets out a strangled moan, grip on your hips tightening.

"S-stop that" The Captain grunts out.

'Inside your hive'

You feel Price lean back, pulling out of you slowly. You let out a whine at the sensitivity. Pussy clenching unconsciously once he's fully pulled out. Causing drops of him to leak out of you, slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh.

'You are the reason'

Price chuckles breathlessly, squeezing your ass once last time before gently pulling your sweatpants back up over your hips. Cum most definitely staining the crotch of them.

You hear Price put himself back in his boxers. Before rebuckling his pants, while you catch your breath. He rubs your back through your shirt, leaning forwards to press a kiss to the back of your neck.

'I stay alive'

"Looks like you're gonna need new pancake mix." He whispers into your ear.

You turn your head to find you had spilled all of your pancake mix on the counter during your 'activities'. Somehow only getting a few drops on your skin.

You groan in frustration, dropping your head onto the counter again.

Price chuckles. Rubbing your back again, before you no longer feel him behind you. Peaking your eyes open you see Price grabbing paper towels to wipe up the mess.

You push yourself off of the counter to help him clean up. But he tut's at you, shaking his head.

"No no, you just sit there for me. I've got this." He says, picking you up to sit you on the counter. Pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

You feel yourself flush watching your Captain clean up spilt batter, then re-gathering the ingredients to make a new batch. His eyes moving from the task at hand and back to you all the while.

&A/n: I'm still working on the Simon Riley smut, but I thought of this in the middle of the night while I was making myself a pancake XD.

And pretend the song isn't just 6 minutes lmaooo

[an0thercufan]

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, enyways sorry and thank y'all for your patience

Finally draw them

Since Gooch doesn't know anything about technology, I thought it would be interesting if he knew a lot about it

oh yeah, little witch

WHY IS HE SO SMOLL >:"V

This was mostly ppu stuff

[thenewcaptainunderpants]

second story dump! this covers the end of act 1 and also noticeably has WAAAAY less finished art. from here memories become a little more hazy and starts incorporating stuff I thought of more recently.

Heatwave was an intermediate chapter, a brief “break” with a more lighthearted, episodic story. this was a trend I wanted to establish for each arc where before things get serious, we have a more light adventure. Heatwave would’ve had the following subplots, all taking place on a particularly hot day of the year;

Kipper and Fink are met by Mr. Fyde, who’s having trouble controlling his avocado powers. Years ago, he figured how to go in and out of tree form, and travelled the world. Upon returning to Piqua, however, he made a shocking realization—the avocados he grows now ARENT avacados. they’re eggs. they’re mini fydes

Loogie meanwhile desperately tries to find Twice some kind of job/place to live as they can’t afford to have FIVE roommates. shenanigans ensue.

Bugg is just trying to find some shade, man. ANY shade at all, god help him

as you can imagine, all these goals would’ve been resolved somehow. i don’t remember fyde ever returning for a follow up story so his ending specifically im not sure but I REALLY wanted to emphasize the relationship between fink and kipper here. fink’s reaction to the wedgie magee incident was probably the most damaging to his ability to trust/socialize with other people in spite of being able to move on. kipper meanwhile ruminates on the incident a lot as well but is more regretful/remorseful than just upset. this contrast will be especially important when we get to

fink does not remember his friends. he doesn’t remember his past. hell, he doesn’t even remember his own full name. all he remembers is using Body’s Delights’ new “Wipes of Wisdom” to clean up the burrito that the ginger haired guy sprayed in his face. and he’s not alone. all over the place, people are losing their memories, and all of these people used the Wipes of Wisdom. they turn to the wipes as their only solution, only to see that they should turn their attention to Piqua’s biggest billboard at 1pm.

that billboard is when Body’s Delights’ ceo, Theodore Murdsley, goes public for the first time. that billboard is where he tells all the braindead wipers to follow his every command. That billboard is when he tells them all to FIND captain underpants and FINISH HIM.

of course, kipper sees this. and while fink does too, by this point he’s been exposed enough to other people to not be directly effected. but almost everybody else is, or is at risk.

kipper teams up with twice again, but following behind is janitor master Mr. Ree and the eccentric Sargent Boxers! with the help of George, Harold, and Melvin, and Kipper’s roommates to boot, the group try desperately to broadcast Murdsley��s secret deactivation protocol to snap everybody out.

All the while, their previous attempts to reverse the wipes’ effects on their OWN instead result in fink reverting to that of a 6th grade bully. through fink’s regression, kipper has to truly confront his fixation on that period and the effect it had on others, and hopefully bring fink back to normal.

the day is eventually saved, and Murdsley disappears in ruin, and summer begins to draw to a close. Fink and Kipper reconcile and the future, for a brief moment, looks bright…

(to be continued)

[halfavampvancey]

Sydney Sargent in the Ron Stampler Cool Guy boxers send tweet

ANYWAYS HAPPY TRANS VISIBILITY DAY!! TAKE A SYDNEY SARGENT FOR ALL OF YOUR TRANS TROUBLES

[manwalksintobar]

Clip-On Tie: The Diary of a New York Art Museum Security Guard  // David Berman

Relentlessly the minutes, some of them golden, touched. —John Ashbery

I had a real problem with time during my first few weeks of guarding. I sought a way to compress it, to make the six hour shift go faster. I tried meditation but I’ve never been quite sure if I’m doing it right. It always feels like I’m just being quiet.

Now I try not to do any waiting while on post. I use the time to build the useless or impossible things that populate the only intellectual frontier that interests me anymore. Today I started working on an opera about the Ohio state legislature, to be sung in German. After six hours on post it’s starting to come together.

Where the guards lean against the walls, the blue polyester jackets leave stains. Every few months the curators notice these blurry marks and for a few days we are warned not to lean. The older guards get together and moan about their feet. “In Philadelphia,” one always says, “the guards sit in chairs.”

I’m surprised at how many of the museum’s visitors are upset by the distortion of the human form in modern art. Is it the violence? It’s classical structure that always gives me the creeps. The blank eyes, whether stone or metal, always look murdered.

Mr. Demario is the most romantic of the guards. In the middle of a discussion about hat sizes he turns to me and says “I have a very big head … it’s so full of dreams.”

“I want to write unfinished christmas plays” because everyone’s present happiness depends on their image and predictions of the future. “I want to write obscure Danish plays” because everyone’s present happiness depends on the idea that there is a lot out there that we haven’t seen yet.

All the guards know the lady with Tourette’s syndrome. She comes to every new show and, despite her shaking and strange cussing, never gets near the painting or causes any trouble. Its the other museumgoers that look over at us as if to say “why don’t you do something?” when she stands before the priceless Pollock, grunting “nigger … nigger … nigger.”

I painted the back of a nickel and quietly placed it of the gallery’s stone floor. A blue sky and clouds over Monticello. An hour has gone by without anyone noticing it. Finally a little girl picks it up and puts it in her pocket.

I asked Ondre, a Mormon guard, if he looks forward to the Judgement Day. He said, “sometimes, when the city and the job get to be too much. That’s when I say, ‘I don’t care if the Lord comes today,’ even if I’m not ready.”

Over the course of a play, the audience fades and fades until the moment of applause when they take the room back, feeling their presence and power. “We have not been erased.” Clap, clap, clap.

Octavio Torres is the oldest guard of all. He is in his seventies and his body is completely rigid from arthritis. An ex-boxer with a thick Puerto Rican accent, he is barely five feet tall. On his days off he watches Popeye in his South Bronx Apartment. “I like him. He takes punishment. He remind me of Jake LaMotta.”

Torres loves to joke around. In the locker room after work he tells everyone that Mohammed lived in a tree and ate bananas back home in Africa. Mohammed laughs and calls Torres “little Spanish faggot.” Everyone is so happy, so glad to be going home or out into the city. Torres and I look at each other, smiling, and he says “we are men. we must joke.”

II

A portrait is a painting with something wrong with the mouth. —John Singer Sargent

I was operating the elevator when the repairman came aboard. After a lot of small talk he let me in on an industry secret: the “door close” button is not wired to anything. “It’s just a pacifier,” he said.

On a normal day I think in questions: “Should I quit my job? Why can’t I relate to people? Where am I going?” I can never answer them conclusively and only wear myself out. When I’m high in the back of a club listening to Son Seals play I only think in answers: “I’ll move to El Paso this fall. These solos are wandering into every unused space. My girlfriend is pretty good looking after all. I should see about buying a mausoleum.”

A municipal concession to human psychology: The insides of buses are lit at night because people will not sit in dark rooms with strangers.

I bought some greeting cards in a Nungessers junk shop last night. They’re not much more than twenty years old but the sentiments are already foreign. Fluff from other eras always turns my stomach. What if no one feels these feelings anymore. Do they go down in history like famous clothes?

I wonder if Jackson Pollock unconsciously designed so many of these canvases to have the same dimensions as U.S. paper currency, accidentally imbuing them with some concrete power.

Working at the museum is changing the way I look at everyday objects. Eating at an Italian restaurant, I look at the red and white gridded tablecloth and wonder that all the dishes have their owned unnamed coordinates.

All the guards are freaks. That is a fact. Wouldn’t standing alone in a corner six hours a day over many years change you?

After work I head back home to Brooklyn, where the nights smell like burnt hair. I see a mother yelling at her kid for working the candy machine wrong. She takes all the fun out of candy.

Susan’s blind date was a real mess. At the end of the night he walked her home. She was locked out of her own apartment. Frustrated, she asked him to break the door in. He grunted and bucked against it until she was completely repulsed. The sight of him brutally breaking into her apartment frightened her. She screamed for him to get out.

I overhear two tourists walking by my post in the museum: “The Orientals have to invade Paris by 1998.”

Barnet Newman on an Arizona road painting crew. Richard Serra paperweights for sale in the museum gift shop. Did the first impressionists have glaucoma?

Older lady and friend in museum today: “This is my first chinese companion. I am going through a nervous period right now. Thank you … This is my chinese companion.”

I walked into the locker room and catch Tony Pasciucco cleaning earwax off his hearing aid, “Christmas carolers shot dead in Brooklyn last night.”

“What’s that?”

III

I guess you’re a bore, but in that you’re not charmless, because a bore is a straight line that finds a wealth in division. —Lou Reed

An autograph hound: “I get them and lose them or throw them away. I only enjoy the asking. Or I concentrate on one star and get hundreds from him.”

The tired Indian counterman at the coffeeshop saddens me like the Bhopal accident never could. It’s the nearness, of course. As I’m leaving I call out to the manager, “you have shit coffee. Fuck you.”

A woman walks onto the gallery floor. All the guards look over. She appears to be a star, a celebrity of some sort. Finally the word comes around: she’s just rich.

New York is never more beautiful than it is right after work.

Waiting for the subway, I noticed a bit of neatly written graffiti on a movie poster. “Keep a clear head” printed on Rocky’s forehead. Free advice to the city. I’m positive that it’s the same hand that wrote “concentrate” above that urinal in Hoboken.

Burgoyne Diller’s paintings reflect nicely on the glossy floors. These reflections should be the actual works, the paintings could function as the projection devices.

I wonder if Donald Judd got his idea for the wall boxes from the rows of air conditioning units jutting out of apartment building windows.

The Queen of Sweden came into the museum with her entourage today. Across the gallery Mr. Demario’s elaborate hand gestures told me that a “knockout” was at large. She stood in front of the Jeff Koons sculpture as the guide intoned “these two vacuum cleaners, which are hermaphrodites …”

One of the worst things about guarding is having to stand next to tourists that have doused themselves in perfume. Shouldn’t they be subject to ticketing by the police? How is this different from walking around with a loud radio on your shoulder, or reaching out and touching a stranger’s face?

The sense of humor of other ages has always seemed bad.

I kill time on post by studying coins. The detail on the back of the penny is incredible (you can see tourists walking up the memorial steps, and the statue through the columns) but it’s a shame that Lincoln has to be on the front. Why not Franklin Pierce of New Hampshire?

Mohammed has threatened to use African magic to get our supervisor fired. I spend all day encouraging him to go ahead with his plan.

“If I have sex with Kelly while she’s under the impression that I’m rich, it will certainly teach her a lesson, but am I right in teaching it?”

The ceilings of the museum are packed with asbestos that occasionally drops to the gallery floor in small clumps. Museum policy states that the entire building must be shut down and the workers be sent home with pay when this happens. The fact that the asbestos had been regularly falling next to Eric’s guard post has the administration suspicious. Rumor has it that he brings samples to work in a jar.

In the 1940s men often traced the shape of a curvy woman in the air with their hands. Women were known to throw their drinks into men’s faces when angry.

I stepped outside the museum on my lunch break and smelled burning leaves. “Ah fall,” I thought for a second, and then realized my mistake: a building was burning down the block. I wonder how long the mind can be suspended between these two answers, the wrong cause and the right cause, because I like hanging in that split second.

I was surprised to find out that Wittgenstein was gay.

IV

Move a fin and the world turns

—Throbbing Gristle

There is a beggar across the street from the museum. Every time he is given change he looks away and says “thank you, God” just above a whisper. People walk away slightly hurt and angry. Steve hates him.

When I was six, I saw my father nonchalantly rip a dollar bill in half. I could not believe my eyes.

Three people walked into the museum restaurant today. All three wore white turbans. At first I thought they had head wounds, then realized they were members of an eastern religion that I could not quite place. They stood and gazed over the salad bar, considering their strict dietary laws.

Lou giving advice on how to dress: “Now you go get yourself a pair of black shoes and a pair of brown shoes … ”

Kenneth Noland and Brice Marden’s color field paintings are intended to be non-referential but they cause me to imagine strange high school football team uniforms anyway.

Sometimes, out of the blue, I’ll speak in a rigid monotone: “Hello Joan” that really unnerves Joan, whoever the hell she is.

Waiting for a friend at the 33rd street subway station, we look at the map, covered in stops. Steve looks at me angrily and says “what makes you think she’ll be here and not here, or here, or at any of these?”

Two men on TV point guns at each other: “Drop it.” “No, you drop it.” “No, you drop it.” I’m interested in how the director will resolve this loop.

His paintings were like speculations on the future published in the full knowledge that they would one day become obsolete collector’s items.

Mr. Demario has a real talent for writing jokes about great opening lines: “I was at this parade in India … ” or “I was at a roller rink when it began to storm and I missed the last bus home … ” When he finishes he laughs nervously, his lips rolling back like carpets to reveal how wrecked his teeth are.

When looking at Donald Judd’s sculpture, it helps to keep in mind that the polio virus is a perfectly symmetrical twenty-sided solid.

The restaurant next to the museum stopped putting toothpicks out for the customers. One month later they closed down. I had warned them to put the toothpicks back out.

I spend a lot of my day in front of Rockwell Kent’s “The Trapper.” The painting always engages me because I’m torn on whether it depicts a sunrise or a sunset. They seem equally possible and there are no clues in the shape of the snowbanks or in the position of the sun to let me know. The docent tries to convince me that it doesn’t matter, that there can be two paintings. But that kind of lazy permissiveness obscures the third “true” painting.

Lawren shows me her distorted “wanted poster” woodcuts. “But you could never catch anybody with these things.” “That’s the point,” she says. “Your point is that people shouldn’t get caught?”

These pictures were titled “Jackson’s Body” or “Jackson’s Head” but never “Jackson.”

Mr. Demario is having more problems. His wife, a nun who left the convent at age 34 to marry him, has developed a spastic colon. He has invited me out to dinner so that we can discuss his problems in greater detail than we can on the gallery floors. He knows a place where they make a great “sweet and pungent pork.”

With Frederic Church’s paintings, looking one hundred miles into the distance, over mountain ranges and beyond, it’s always difficult to remember that the paint is only a millimeter thick.

Why did jazz turn up its nose at the tuba?

Last night at the Biennial opening, I overheard Frank Stella whispering some wisecracks about the new Rauschenberg piece to his wife. She gently punched him in the ribs as if to say “behave!” and they walked on. After seeing Rauschenberg through the eyes of a peer, I feel more confident about calling his late work “flimsy.”

V

If there’s ever a problem, I film it and it’s no longer a problem. It’s a film. —Andy Warhol

It would be a tragedy to spend your whole life desperately wanting to be something that you already were, all along.

On Fridays the guards are given ten minutes to take their paychecks to the bank. The beautiful tellers have become arrogant from handling money all day. If they have time, they flirt with the big accounts.

European tourists move about the museum half-interested, exactly fifty percent interested. Do they ever spill a drink or piss on their shoes?

Sometimes, when a beautiful Italian girl wanders into an empty gallery I fantasize about walking over and kissing her on the neck. When she turned around and saw that I was a guard, I would straighten up and whisper “no kissing allowed.”

The classicist’s theme is the recovery of the subjective mind, the healing of the subjective mind. Well, our courts are clogged with these minds.

The nineteen year old Cusies are the only twins on the guard force. The girls insist that their spooked grandmother tried to murder them twice during their infancy. First, she gave them diet gum in an attempt to dehydrate them. Second, she sent them new blankets in the mail—the blankets had been soaked in insecticide.

Christ’s message twisted: Only love your enemies.

If the fable of “The grasshopper and the ants” was amended so that the world ended before the turn of winter, then the grasshopper would have been wiser and the moral would have vindicated him. In a story, the location of the ending is very deliberate.

I’ve been photographing the imprints that deck chairs leave on the back of people’s legs.

A lady comes into the museum: “I am a woman on TV. You have never had a TV … now get off my show!” It only took a few minutes of this kind of talk to make me feel like the intruder.

“He” was a sensitive reader, almost too delicate to withstand the commands and admonitions of punctuation.

Two drunks outside the Greenpoint subway: “You better leave an hour early to get there on time.” They are lying, they never go anywhere, I thought to myself. For whose benefit would they be acting? Why am I so suspicious?

John Baldessari burned all his pre-1967 paintings. “I think that’s odd behaviour but I would like to get in touch with him anyway, to see about using the ashes as makeup for this play I’m writing about British coal miners.”

After guarding masterpieces for weeks, it feels good to stand in my dentist’s office before this cheap painting of a ship.

If the world was a bit smaller, just three neighborhoods smaller, maybe things would work out. I’ve heard that there’s a scarcity of luxury. In the movie theatres each person has to share an armrest with a stranger.

What Duchamp did with the urinal no longer surprises me, what surprises me is the idea that they had urinals back then.

I am waiting for the bus when I smell something burning. I turn to the man standing next to me and ask if he smells it too. In preparing to speak he lets a cloud of condensed breath out into the freezing air. For a half second my mind plays a trick on me. “Oh no, he’s burning,” I think.

No one gets hungry at the sight of a lush cornfield or a herd of cattle. It’s enough to tell you that we’re full of education, not awareness.

The painter eyes his subject. It’s a single piece of fruit, yellow and shaped like a lightbulb, split open to show the cavity where the pit would normally be, if the pit were not swirling around inside the painter’s mouth.

[iammistressofmyfate]

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Jordan/Declan Lynch, Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch

Tags: Professor Adam Parrish, Artist Ronan Lynch, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Domestic Bliss, Flashbacks, Slice of Life, Established Relationship, New Relationship, Married Life, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Ronan Lynch's Hand Kink, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Bisexual Adam Parrish, Professor/Artist AU, Anxiety, Arguing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dating, Meet-Cute

Summary: Professor Adam Parrish-Lynch goes about his day to day life with his famous artist husband, Ronan Lynch

Excerpt:

Adam couldn't sleep. 

He wasn't going to be able to go back to bed until he got this scene out of his head. He'd thought of the dialogue as he'd been winding down for sleep and it was just too good for him to leave alone. 

It kept him awake. He'd needed to write it down. 

He hadn’t looked at the time, simply sneaking off to the office, curling up in his desk chair, and opening his laptop. He’d been typing away for a while because the scene was really flowing. He’d been stopping and starting with it for a few weeks, so this felt very promising and satisfying. 

Adam ran a hand through his hair, reading over what he’d written, sitting in the dark office with nothing but the glow of his laptop, which probably wasn’t great for his eyes. He read over what he had written, curling his legs up to his chest. 

"The fuck, Parrish."

Adam's head snapped up. In the doorway, yawning, dressed in nothing but his black boxer briefs, was Ronan. 

Adam blinked. 

"Writing," he replied slowly.

"It's three a.m.," Ronan said.

Adam's eyes glanced at the time in the corner of his laptop screen. 

"So it is."

[Chapter Three]

[The Beginning]

[ronans-sepiaphotograph]

I posted 3,932 times in 2022

That's 289 more posts than 2021!

34 posts created (1%)

3,898 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@smolcattowo

@chibichococloud123 (thanks for the tag<333)

@pitipossum

@babbling-brook-of-books

@fauxdaylight

I tagged 567 of my posts in 2022

#adam parrish - 75 posts

#ronan lynch - 63 posts

#pratt's fics - 58 posts

#the raven cycle - 58 posts

#the raven king - 57 posts

#greywaren spoilers - 54 posts

#maggie stiefvater - 54 posts

#richard campbell gansey iii - 54 posts

#blue sargent - 54 posts

#noah czerny - 54 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#imagine adam being a boxer all powerful yet graceful as he moves and ronan is at the side of the ring *almost* biting the head of his mic

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

AO3 FIC MASTERLIST:

Been meaning to do this for a while so here we go. An incomplete list of my fics on AO3:

1. You stole a piece of my heart and took it with you.

Fandom: All For The Game-Nora Sakavic, Carry On Series-Rainbow Rowell

Word count: 15k+

Summary:

Neil Josten has been kidnapped and Andrew's life turns upside down, months after Baltimore happened. Somewhere in London, a particular Simon Snow gets hurt out of nowhere, leaving more questions than before. Will Andrew Minyard find Neil? Will Baz and Penny find out what is happening to Simon? What happens when all of them cross paths? Will they survive or will they lose what they fought so hard to gain?

Archive warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, major character death

Completion status: Complete

2. Can I call you tonight?

Fandom: Raven Cycle-Maggie Stiefvater, All For The Game-Nora Sakavic

Word count: 90k+

Summary:

And then they were roommates.

Adam and Andrew are best friends turned roommates turned co-workers. Andrew is searching for a new roommate since Adam lives at the Harvard campus with Neil Josten. And Andrew's roommate turns out to be a certain blue-eyed boy who Adam knows. Will Adam face Ronan Lynch again? After breaking his heart or will he choose to not face him at all? And will Neil find out that Andrew has a thing for him? Or will Andrew have to make a grand confession of love?

This is a story about friendships, caring and most importantly, finding love in the cracks that time leaves.

Archive warnings: -

Completion status: Complete

3. My Daddy loves you, Mr. Lynch.

Fandom: Raven Cycle-Maggie Stiefvater

Word count: 55K+

Summary:

Adam Parrish is a successful lawyer, single dad living in New York with one of his best friends. Ronan Lynch is a kindergarten teacher, part-time farmer living in New York with his pet Raven.

It's been six years since they saw each other, after Ronan broke up with him and now Adam is turning 25 and Gansey and Blue kidnap Ronan for Adam's birthday.

What happens when his particularly attractive, magical ex-boyfriend enters his life again? And Adam is hearing things again. Is it just him or is his magic coming back to him? Will Adam allow himself to have it again, with his and his baby boy's heart on the line or will he let Ronan go? But what if some bonds are never meant to be broken? What if one particular baby is magical too? Maybe love and magic are the answers.

Archive warnings: -

Completion status: Complete

4. Pinch of salt.

Fandom: All For The Game-Nora Sakavic

Word count: 50k+

See the full post

28 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#4

PYNCH PRETTY WOMAN AU PYNCH PRETTY WOMAN AU PYNCH PRETTY WOMAN AU PYNCH PRETTY WOMAN AU PYNCH PRETTY WOMAN AU

HERE WE GO IM SO EXCITED IM SCREAMING SKDJSKD

30 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

#3

Is it just me or the scene where Adam touched Ronan, who's become this weird alien entity and laughs is pretty similar to that scene in Howl's Moving Castle when Sophie touches Howl, who's become this weird bird thing and he recognises her??

36 notes - Posted October 25, 2022

#2

IM- ???????

They have my heart

37 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

This is literally Andreil

154 notes - Posted February 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 1.12

Beer Birthdays

Adolph Coors Jr. (1884)

Adolph Coors III (1916)

Five Favorite Birthdays

Pierre de Fermat; mathematician (1665)

John Lasseter; animation director, Pixar (1957)

Joe E. Lewis; actor, comedian (1902)

Charles Perrault; poet, writer (1628)

John Singer Sargent; artist (1856)

Famous Birthdays

Kirstie Alley; actor (1955)

Long John Baldry; blues singer (1941)

Jeff Bezos; entrepreneur, "Amazon" (1964)

Edmund Burke; Irish politician, philosopher (1729)

Melanie Chisholm; pop singer, "Spice Girl" (1975)

Tom Dempsey; New Orleans Saints K, record holder 63-yard FG (1947)

George Duke; musician (1946)

Joe Frazier; boxer (1944)

Herman Goering; Nazi propaganda minister (1893)

HAL 9000; computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1997)

Ira Hayes; US Marine hero, raised flag on Iwo Jima (1923)

Patsy Kelly; actor (1910)

Vendela Kirsebom; model (1967)

"The Amazing" Kreskin; magician, entertainer (1935)

Rush Limbaugh; right-wing blowhard (1951)

Jack London; writer (1876)

Ray Manzarek; rock musician, "Doors" (1943)

Mississippi Fred McDowell; jazz musician (1904)

Thomas Moran; artist (1837)

Walter Mosley; mystery writer (1952)

Paul H. Müeller; chemist, DDT inventor (1899)

Oliver Platt; actor (1960)

Ray Price; country singer (1926)

Tex Ritter; country singer (1905)

Howard Stern; radio entertainer (1954)

Adrian van Utrecht; artist (1599)

Swami Vivekananda; Indian spiritual leader (1863)

John Winthrop; 1st Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony (1588)

Glenn Yarbrough; musician (1930)

Henny Youngman; comedian (1906)

Rob Zombie; rock musician (1966)