#sargent boxers

[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

[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

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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.

[literatecowboy]

Kinktober 2024

3. Public Sex

Warnings: Johnny x Gaz (my beloved) ft. Price and Ghost; audience sex; orgasm control; poly!141 hints at ghoap,

“Bloody hell, they’re insatiable.”

“It’s a good idea, letting them tire each other out.”

Price and Ghost watched as Gaz squeezed Soap’s hips, pulling him into each, rough thrust. The two were in a tangled heap on a sparring mat, lips locked as they desperately pawed at each other. 

Soap broke away from the kiss, his head falling back and his mouth falling open. Gaz clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his moan, slowing his thrusts and leaning down to whisper into the Scot’s ear. 

“Quiet now, Johnny. Don’t want the rest of the gym to hear you moaning like a slut,” he growled, biting Johnny’s neck just below his ear and sucking. 

“You heard him, sargent. Keep it quiet,” Ghost barked, nodding toward Gaz, who took the direction and stuffed Soap’s boxers into his mouth before pulling out and roughly thrusting in again. 

“Ought to take him back to your quarters when Gaz is finished with him, let him get some noise out,” Price said. Ghost nodded slowly, not taking his eyes away from the sargents. 

A muffled groan pulled them from their conversation. Gaz had his fist wrapped around Soap’s cock and was pumping him slowly, perfectly in time with each of his thrusts. 

“Think Captain will let you cum for me, Johnny? I know you want to,” he purred, leaning over and licking a long stripe up Soap’s abs to his neck. 

“Please,” Johnny begged, his voice muffled through his gag. “Please let me cum, sir,” he pleaded, his head falling to the side as he stared at Price with glazed, pleasure-filled eyes. 

“What do you think, lieutenant? Think he deserves it?” Price asked, turning to Ghost. He pondered the question for a moment before nodding. 

“You can cum, Johnny. But let Gaz cum first,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. Gaz picked up the pace, his deep thrusts causing Johnny to side up on the mat. 

“Fuck, Johnny, you’re so tight,” he hissed, yanking the gag from Johnny’s mouth before dragging him into a long, deep kiss. His hips stuttered and he tensed, burying himself as deep as he could inside Johnny as he came, moaning into the kiss. 

Johnny came almost immediately after, cum shooting up and coating his abs. He wrapped his legs around Gaz’s waist, desperate to keep him in for as long as possible. They lay together, panting and enjoying each other’s embrace.

---

[waywardsou2]

Kinktober 2024: Alpha/Beta/Omega

Based on this post

Ngl this is very self indulgent and I will not be apologising for it. The scene with Soap walking in...the way it was in my head was delicious

Characters / Ships | Simon "Ghost" Riley X John "Soap" Mactavish X Male Reader

Summary | Being a male Omega in America is the worst of worst luck. Your doctor had agreed to fake the form when you were diagnosed at 11. But forgetting to take your suppressants can lead to a disaster. Or maybe a night to remember

Word Count | 4.1k+

Tags: a/b/o dynamics, scenting, double penetration, cussing, mentions of rape, dub con (if you squint), face fucking, slick, knotting

The mission had gone south. So far south that you had passed fucking geese on their way to migrate for the winter.

Two missed marks, false Intel and on-top of that a fucking snow storm had rolled in out of no where forcing the three of you to haul up in the closest building that still had its roof and walls.

That was your only grace here. That and the fact that Ghost was a walking heater. Somehow still radiating enough warmth to keep both you and Soap warm even though there was nothing to keep the chill from the storm out of this abandoned house.

The house was suitable enough. Four walls, a roof and the glass still in the windows.

All and all it could be worse.

And then it was. It got fucking worse.

Feigning needing to pee you walk away to the bathroom and lock the door. Quickly stripping off your gear as you felt something coating the inside of your boxers.

Shit

Shit shit shit

For all of your life you had been on suppressants to hide the fact that you were an Omega. Most people assumed you were a Beta and that was fine with you. They had thought that since your secondary sex characteristics started to show. But a year later they developed full and one trip to the doctors made your life come tumbling down.

In American society Omega's weren't good for anything other than being cock whores and pup bearers.

Thank fuck the doctor was reliable and had offered to fake the tests and prescribe your monthly prescription of suppressants.

After that you finished school and fresh out of highschool you enlisted to the military. Having lived with suppressants all your life you never had the face the challenges of being an Omega. Never been smelt on the streets or attacked in your own home. Everyone believes you were a Beta. And thought it was looked down upon for a man like yourself to be a Beta rather than an alpha at least you weren't an Omega. Or at least everyone believed so.

Price was the only one who knew. Since he was in-charge of what could and couldn't be delivered to the barracks and he made sure to scoop up your bi weekly delivery of suppressants and hand them to you under the table like a cover drug dealing.

Which technically it was.

You were thankful for Price.

But of course today was the day when your suppressants would start wearing off and you needed to take another dose. And instead you were a whole ocean away from getting what you needed and with a snow storm to boot. Keeping you trapped inside this house with two Alpha's.

You were so fucked

In every sense of the word

Simon and Johnny had been closest to you in the barracks despite being your Sargent and Lieutenant. The only guys who could put up with your attitude like it was a full time job. You and Johnny were the only ones who laughed at Simon's joke and only you and Simon were privy to Johnny's idle flirting. To anyone on the outside you three might've looked like a poly couple. But you were mostly happy with just being friends.

Mostly.

You'd never told either of them but you definitely had the biggest crushes on them when you first joined the military. However you never mentioned it to them because they seemed so warped around each other's fingers you didn't want to get in their way.

But right now you didn't know what to do. You didn't think leaving this room was a good idea with your heat building after years of never reaching the surface thanks to the suppressants and the puddle of slick coating the inside of your boxers and legs.

You had nothing to stop your heat and no way to cool yourself down. You could feel a sweat slowly building under your skin and a warmth in your stomach and solar plexus that was growing despite the cold. And snow wouldn't help at all you would just get hypothermia.

Fuck

"Aye lad, is everythin' aight in there?" Soaps voice called from the main room they had "set up camp" in

"Y-Yeah" you called back. You looked around and through some cupboards before you found some spare toilet paper and tried to clear up the mess in your pants but the slick in your heat was still seeping down your legs.

Sighing and smacking yourself in the head for being such an idiot you pull up your pants and buckle them as tight as you can.

Yeah as if that'll help dumbass

You open the door and hope that the Alpha's can't smell you.

You join them back in what you thought used to be a living room and sit on the dusty couch. Keeping your legs firmly crossed.

But after a while even to your nose the sent in the air was growing heavier by the second and you were starting to feel dizzy. Your body was clammy with sweat soaking your undershirt and the heat in your stomach becoming almost unbearable.

It hurt but in a good way and you couldn't think about that. Instead you watched your friends. Ghost was scoping the surroundings, not that you believed he could actually see anything useful and Soap was counting their rations to try and see how long they could survive given a worst case scenario.

You fucking hated Russia. Fuck Russia and it's stupid weather and bad Intel and bad timing.

After an hour of silence it was clear that you couldn't hide your situation anymore though you desperately tried to ignore all the signs. You watched as Soap counted the rations, he paused momentarily and you heard him take a deep breath in. Freeze and then continue calculating.

You knew that he knew you were watching him. And you knew he could smell you. His Alpha nose being attuned to the scent of an Omega in heat. The primal side of him recognises the scent of a potential mate and pup bearer.

Ghost on the other hand had gone rigid. His head no longer moving to try and see anything from a new angle out the window. You couldn't see from here but you didn't been think his eyes were moving anymore either.

Eventually he turned around. Addressing you by your rank.

Fuck

He never did that unless you were around other people. Or in deep shit. Which was often

"Private...I think there might be somethin you need to tell us"

Soap paused again, this time he looked up. He was also very rigid.

"Do I really have to say it?" You ask stubbornly as you put your hands over your stomach to cover it.

"No. Ya don't"

You sighed heavily as another warmer wave of heat washed over you.

"How come ya never told us?" Soap asked

"Johnny do you really think I would let slip to anyone in the barracks that I was secretly an Omega? I would get kicked out of the military. Or worse raped"

"Aye, that's true" he began packing away the rations before standing up

"We have about 5 days worth of rations if we stretch it. Hopefully the storm won't last that long"

Ghost looked at Soap

"Are you changing the subject?" Ghost said flatly

Soap made a face somewhere between a coy smile and a grimace

Ghost rolled his eyes inside his mask.

"How long since your last heat. I wouldn't ask, you know that. But given the situation..."

He didn't finished his sentence. It had occurred to him now what deep shit you were in. Two Alpha's with an Omega who had a lifetimes worth of heat built up in his system all trapped in a confined space. This was bound to get nasty.

"Well, I've been on suppressants since I was categorised. The doctor faked my-"

Ghost cut you off "I didn't ask for your life story. I asked for a date"

Ghost was being harsher than he was with you usually. It put you off, but you could understand why. All of you could get in deep trouble for this. Not just between each other but with higher up in command too.

"Never. I've never had one"

Ghost ran a hand over his face and turned away. A muffled 'oh for fuck sake' coming from his direction.

Generally Omega's only had sex or mated during heat. And he knew for a fact you didn't make a habit of sleeping around. If at all. The Alpha inside him reared its head at that knowledge. You were an Omega, a virgin Omega. On your first heat within walking distance of him.

He swallowed hard.

"Well we need to figure out what to do because this-" he pointed to the tree of you "-isn't going to work"

"Why not?" Soap cut in "We aren't some dickheads wandering the street waiting for an Omega to slip up. He's our friend we aren't going to do that. We are literally trained for self control Simon"

Ghost sighed again, more frustrated than anything

"I know you'd like to believe that Johnny but when has that ever happened in history? That's not how this works"

Soap swallowed. He was always good natured when it came to those he cared about and he always liked to believe best. Just because he was one of the biggest gentlemen in the barracks doesn't mean he wasn't without the influence of his primal urges. Evolution deemed it that there wasn't any other way.

Ghost walked past you and grabbed Soap by the arm. Whisking him out of the room to talk to him privately.

In the mean time another wave of heat hit and you couldn't take it anymore. You had sat there listening to the two of them while you felt your pants get soaked and waves of heat rolled through your body. It was unbearable.

You stripped yourself of your gear and under armour. Hoping that was enough but another wave of heat hit and it still wasn't enough. You took off your shirt and your boots. Trying to give your body some room to cool down but nothing worked. You were like the core of a nuclear reactor.

You heard Soap and Ghost talking heatedly in the next room over and it was enough to make your inner Omega whine. The sound of two Alpha's so close but still out of reach.

You hated how clingy and whiney you felt. You'd never dealt with the full extent of a heat. Merely a suppressed one. Mood swings, high libido and a day of hot flushes. But nothing more. This was nothing like that. This was a full blown heat. Like the stuff you read about in the pamphlets your doctor had given you.

You took a deep sniff of the air like you were taking a drag of a blunt. Clinging to it as if I was hanging in the air like fog. The smell of two Alpha's who were very very horny. The scent of want and need permeating the air.

You unbuckled your belt. All inhibitions gone.

The faint scent of two alphas.Your Alpha's. Was enough to kick start your heat fully.

You strip off your pants to find that your boxers are completely soaked all the way through. Your slick dripping through to your jeans.

You scoop up some of the slick and smell it. The intrigue getting the better of you. That's when you hear a thunk from the next room. Part of you is terrified. But that part is oh so small compared to the feelings of arousal you have thinking about your two Alpha's.

Simon walks through the door first. Seeing your completely naked, legs open with your hand in your heat touching the slick that is seeping into the couch beneath you.

As sweat trickled over your body you watched a Simon pulled off his mask and seemed to stand frozen. Fighting himself in front of you.

"Tell me to go and I will. I'll shoot myself in the foot in the other room" he says it strained. The look in his eyes filled with fire.

Your Omega reaches out for Simon. To have him help you and relieve you of the pain in your stomach. To fill you up so good. You trust him, and you know he can't help it.

This isn't the way you would have gone about this but you didn't have a choice. To you he isn't taking advantage of you though you don't have the words to say that right now. You don't have the words to tell him how much you've wanted this.

So you call his name. The word slips from your mouth in a low whine.

And he's rushing to you. Stripping himself of his gear and off his clothing in the split second it takes him to get to you.

He's on you in moments pressing his lips to your mouth and pulling your body towards his half undressed one. With his free hand he is still trying to take off the rest of his clothes. You help him out by unbuckling his pants and he takes his hand off your body to strip them off.

He's back on you again and you can feel his own heat radiating off of him. Not his natural human heater heat. This is heat from Alpha arousal.

He grinds his hips into yours desperately and tugs at your legs pulling them apart. The two of you accidentally slip off the couch but you don't stop your frantic gripping and kissing of each other.

Simon pulls away from you to to bend you over in front of him. Your knees creaking on the floor boards as you use your hands to steady yourself not to go crashing face first into the ground. Simon crouched behind you to get a full view of your heat and groans as he takes in what he sees.

"Fuck you're a Prime"

What? You hadn't ever heard that terminology used in regards to Omega's

"What?" You gasp, need still lacing your voice as you try and push back again Simon's body.

Briefly he tries to explain "God. You're a Prime. It means you don't have two holes like most Omega's. Even most male omegas have two. But all your reproductive organs are connected to the one. God damn it.

He watched as your ass leaked with shiny slick and he didn't hesitate before he stuck his fingers inside of you. They slipped too easily past the ring of muscles with how much slick had already coated your insides.

You moan at the sudden intrusion but it is so welcome. Finally some fucking action

Simon pulls his fingers in and out, a dirty squelching sound coming from your hole. Simon pulls out his fingers now covered in slick and licks them clean before shoving them back in again. All four at once.

You cry out again at the larger intrusion but you can't help but press back further into Simon. God he could work with his hands. And from watching him clean his gun you could only imagine what he looked like knuckle deep inside of you.

He pulled his fingers out again roughly and sucked them off one by one. Lapping up the slick.

"God I can't wait to fuck you. Fill you up so good little Omega"

It was then that you realised a few things.

One, whatever version of Simon you knew as Lieutenant Ghost was gone. Replaced with this inhabited, almost feral Alpha with little self control

Two, you were such a whore for Simon's dirty talk.

You felt as he pressed his cock to your hole before you were overtaken with sharp pain. He grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled you up. Your back resting against his chest as held you by the hips over his cock.

"How much" you asked breathlessly. Not being able to help how needy and horny you are for him

"Eight inches" he whispers before sliding the head of his cock inside of your ass.

You can't see it from here but you can only imagine what you look like. You moan at how much Simon is already stretching your hole and whimper at the sensation.

You beg, you beg for more and you whine and you call Simon's name.

He growls as he grips onto your hips tighter and pushes your tight hole over his cock. Sheathing it inside of your slicked heat.

You cry out again. His cock rubbing up against your insides. The tip kissing your prostate making you wriggle around for some friction.

Simon begins bucking his hips up into you. At the same time he pulls you up by the hips. His strong grip digging bruises into the flesh.

You whine at the friction and the lack of fulfilment as he pulls out only to moan again when he slides you back down and begins to pick up a comfortable rhythm. One that has your legs shaking as your toes curl by his thighs.

His thighs were huge sitting like this. Your whole body fits comfortably on his legs and the idea of his thighs pinning you down makes your squirm even more.

Through the squelching sound your combined moans you hear a muffled fuck come from the room Soap was still in. And soon in the same fashion Simon had burst through the door Johnny was following suit. Already abandoning his clothes. His belt buckle undone.

He couldn't help himself could he, the sound of your moans and Simon's dirty talk was enough to make his own cock harden and leak pre-come.

"Fuck it" he growled as he finally stripped himself entirely of his shirt and pants. He got down on his knees pressing his mouth to yours. Swallowing an on coming moan.

His tongue is instantly inside your mouth. The wet flesh invading your mouth, you welcome the feeling of his mouth on yours.

"God did kissing people always feel this good" he mumbled into your mouth.

"Just wait until you see what they are packing down stairs. This little Omega is a Prime" Simon says into your ear. Close enough so Johnny could hear it

"You have a little fantasy about Primes don't you Johnny" Simon teased

You felt Johnny's face warm up against your own and he pulls away momentarily. You see him blush.

"Si seriously?" but Simon simply chuckles.

You moan and take one of your hands off of Simons to hold onto Johnny as Simon rams into your prostate

But you aren't done. You aren't full enough yet. Desperately you look at Johnny

"Johnny fuck my face. I know you want to. Just- Jesus fuck~ Please" tears threaten to sting your eyes from the heighten emotions that were consuming you.

Johnny stops for a moment. An almost innocent look on his face before it dissolves and that same fire Simon had in his eyes, you could now see in Johnny's.

He stands up in front of you and strokes his cock a few times. You hold your mouth open, desperately, expectantly.

And Johnny puts his cock on your tongue before pushing it inside. You moan heavily and relax your jaw allowing him more room to push inside. He does and then pulls out again pushing back in and adding a few more inches.

You don't have ruler on your tongue but you guess Johnny has to be at least 6 inches.

He pushes in and out and begins to speed up to Simon's rapid pace.

The two of them ruin your holes and you moan around Johnny's cock. Sending shivers up his spine as you do so.

If you could you would be calling their names but you are too busy sucking off Johnny to do that.

God this is more than you ever wanted. Maybe not in this circumstance but in your dreams you had seen this moment. Hopped that maybe one day you would trust yourself enough to tell your best friends how you felt. And tell them about the biggest secret a person could possibly have.

And yeah it wasn't a romantic like you had daydreamed about. But this was probably the second best outcome. Being filled by your two Alpha friends.

The three of you felt your climaxes coming to a head and you moaned harder at the idea of being knotted by your alphas. Being knotted for the very first time.

Your ass clenched around Simon at the thought. Trying to hold him inside of you preemptively despite the slick.

Simon moaned in your ear and whispered "So needy. Ain't ya. Such a needy little male Omega"

Johnny threw his head back and you tried to look at him. You could feel in your mouth his knot starting to expand and you moved your hands to grip into his thighs as he continued to thrust.

As the knot built you could feel Simon attempt to pull out but you dug your nails into his thighs. He looked down at you and with the most minute movement you shook you head silently begging him not to pull out. That you could take it. You wanted to.

Knotting someone's mouth wasn't necessarily advisable but damn did you want it. So, you tugged Johnny forward as you felt Simon's rhythm become messy. He was close too.

Johnny popped first. Your begging eyes pulling his climax out of him as his knot swelled inside of your mouth as he tried to pull out and could past your jaw. He orgasmed, the cum hitting the back of your throat. You sucked, swallowing every drop wanting his cum inside of you so desperately.

Simon came next. His knot catching at your tight of muscles and you moaned feeling the size of it plug your ass as he filled you up with cum. Both of their knots release inside of you. Their size filling you up from both ends.

You came as well you dick spurting white cum over your stomach and legs in between you and Johnny

You moan as your eyes roll back in your head feeling Simon's cum coat the inside of your stomach. Or technically your womb.

After what felt like an eternity the two of them stopped cumming as their knots deflated. And gently the pulled out of you.

Your ass leaked with cum and slick and your mouth was bruised. Lips swelling slightly from how hard Johnny had been thrusting.

Since this was your first heat you assumed it would only last for 2 or 3 days. But that was still a long time especially if you were going to be snowed in.

Johnny walked away only to come back a few seconds later with that spare toilet paper you had found earlier and gently cleaned off your face and the rest of your body. Simon held you tightly not wanting to let go of you. The possessiveness still over taking him.

He butted his head into your back and you asked him what was wrong

"I wanna scent ya real bad"

Johnny hummed in agreement as he continued to clear you off to the best of his ability. Once he done a thorough job he chucked the ruined toilet paper in the tipped over bin.

Thinking it might be time to let your true intentions come out you place a hand on the one Simon was using to hold you against him and you extended one to Johnny.

"I'm sorry it happened like this. But I think my Omega finally gave out when my heat hit and the two of you were more of a catalyst than you realised. I've liked you guys for ages. I just assumed you two were an item, so I never said anythingz. I- I want you two to be my mates. If you'll have me "

Johnny took your hand and held it up to his face. A light vibration coming from him as he purred at the genuine affection.

"Are you fuckin' purin' Johnny"

"Piss off" he chuckled back

Johnny took your confession of love as the ascent to rub the scent gland on your wrist to the one on his neck. Gently kissing the tops of your fingers in the process.

Simon did the same. Taking your hand and holding it in his. Rubbing your scent glands together.

All in all. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all

Tbh I'm considering making this a part two. What do you guys think? I might make it a standalone fic on my AO3 as well

[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…?

[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]

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 !

[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)