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mimi-0007 · 1 month

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FATHER & SON: James Earl Jones with his Father Robert Earl Jones on Stage in the 1962 Production "Moon on a Rainbow Shawl."

Robert Earl Jones (February 3, 1910 – September 7, 2006), sometimes credited as Earl Jones, was an American actor and professional boxer. One of the first prominent Black film stars, Jones was a living link with the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s, having worked with Langston Hughes early in his career.

Jones was best known for his leading roles in films such as Lying Lips (1939) and later in his career for supporting roles in films such as The Sting (1973), Trading Places (1983), The Cotton Club (1984), and Witness (1985).

Jones was born in northwestern Mississippi; the specific location is unclear as some sources indicate Senatobia, while others suggest nearby Coldwater. He left school at an early age to work as a sharecropper to help his family. He later became a prizefighter. Under the name "Battling Bill Stovall", he was a sparring partner of Joe Louis.

Jones became interested in theater after he moved to Chicago, as one of the thousands leaving the South in the Great Migration. He moved on to New York by the 1930s. He worked with young people in the Works Progress Administration, the largest New Deal agency, through which he met Langston Hughes, a young poet and playwright. Hughes cast him in his 1938 play, Don't You Want to Be Free?.

Jones also entered the film business, appearing in more than twenty films. His film career started with the leading role of a detective in the 1939 race film Lying Lips, written and directed by Oscar Micheaux, and Jones made his next screen appearance in Micheaux's The Notorious Elinor Lee (1940). Jones acted mostly in crime movies and dramas after that, with such highlights as Wild River (1960) and One Potato, Two Potato (1964). In the Oscar-winning 1973 film The Sting, he played Luther Coleman, an aging grifter whose con is requited with murder leading to the eponymous "sting". In the later 20th century, Jones appeared in several other noted films: Trading Places (1983) and Witness (1985).

Toward the end of his life, Jones was noted for his stage portrayal of Creon in The Gospel at Colonus (1988), a black musical version of the Oedipus legend. He also appeared in episodes of the long-running TV shows Lou Grant and Kojak. One of his last stage roles was in a 1991 Broadway production of Mule Bone by Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston, another important writer of the Harlem Renaissance. His last film was Rain Without Thunder (1993).

Although blacklisted by the House Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s due to involvement with leftist groups, Jones was ultimately honored with a lifetime achievement award by the U.S. National Black Theatre Festival.

Jones was married three times. As a young man, he married Ruth Connolly (died 1986) in 1929; they had a son, James Earl Jones. Jones and Connolly separated before James was born in 1931, and the couple divorced in 1933. Jones did not come to know his son until the mid-1950s. He adopted a second son, Matthew Earl Jones. Jones died on September 7, 2006, in Englewood, New Jersey, from natural causes at age 96.

THEATRE

1945 The Hasty Heart (Blossom) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1945 Strange Fruit (Henry) McIntosh NY theater production

1948 Volpone (Commendatori) City Center

1948 Set My People Free (Ned Bennett) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1949 Caesar and Cleopatra (Nubian Slave) National Theatre, Broadway

1952 Fancy Meeting You Again (Second Nubian) Royale Theatre, Broadway

1956 Mister Johnson (Moma) Martin Beck Theater, Broadway

1962 Infidel Caesar (Soldier) Music Box Theater, Broadway

1962 The Moon Besieged (Shields Green) Lyceum Theatre, Broadway

1962 Moon on a Rainbow Shawl (Charlie Adams) East 11th Street Theatre, New York

1968 More Stately Mansions (Cato) Broadhurst Theatre, Broadway

1975 All God's Chillun Got Wings (Street Person) Circle in the Square Theatre, Broadway

1975 Death of a Salesman (Charley)

1977 Unexpected Guests (Man) Little Theatre, Broadway

1988 The Gospel at Colonus (Creon) Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, Broadway

1991 Mule Bone (Willie Lewis) Ethel Barrymore Theatre, Broadway

FILMS

1939 Lying Lips (Detective Wenzer )

1940 The Notorious Elinor Lee (Benny Blue)

1959 Odds Against Tomorrow (Club Employee uncredited)

1960 Wild River (Sam Johnson uncredited)

1960 The Secret of the Purple Reef (Tobias)

1964 Terror in the City (Farmer)

1964 One Potato, Two Potato (William Richards)

1968 Hang 'Em High

1971 Mississippi Summer (Performer)

1973 The Sting (Luther Coleman)

1974 Cockfighter (Buford)

1977 Proof of the Man (Wilshire Hayward )

1982 Cold River (The Trapper)

1983 Trading Places (Attendant)

1983 Sleepaway Camp (Ben)

1984 The Cotton Club (Stage Door Joe)

1984 Billions for Boris (Grandaddy)

1985 Witness (Custodian)

1988 Starlight: A Musical Movie (Joe)

1990 Maniac Cop 2 (Harry)

1993 Rain Without Thunder (Old Lawyer)

TELEVISION

1964 The Defenders (Joe Dean) Episode: The Brother Killers

1976 Kojak (Judge) Episode: Where to Go if you Have Nowhere to Go?

1977 The Displaced Person (Astor) Television movie

1978 Lou Grant (Earl Humphrey) Episode: Renewal

1979 Jennifer's Journey (Reuven )Television movie

1980 Oye Ollie (Performer) Television series

1981 The Sophisticated Gents (Big Ralph Joplin) 3 episodes

1982 One Life to Live

1985 Great Performances (Creon) Episode: The Gospel at Colonus

1990 True Blue (Performer) Episode: Blue Monday

#james earl jones #black tumblr #black literature #black community #black excellence #blackexcellence365 #actor #robert earl jones #stage actor

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turnstileskyline · 2 years

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This is an ask about The Muppets. Take it as a free invitation to go on whatever Muppet-related tangent your heart so desires <3

im going to take this ask to talk about richard hunt :) he joined the jim henson company way back when it was henson associates, in 1969. he was 18, fresh out of high school, and already experienced in puppetry and performing.

hunt joined the muppet team in a very muppet-esque way, by calling sesame street from a phone booth and asking if henson associates was hiring. and, somehow, they happened to be auditioning people that same day. he worked the great santa claus switch in 1970, and aided in muppet appearances on programs like the ed sullivan show. on sesame street, he often aided in operation, frequently performing ernie’s right hand or the back end of mr snuffleupagus. one of his first main characters was sully, one half of the construction duo of biff and sully (biff was performed by jerry nelson, who richard hunt would often be paired with in performances). the story goes that richard hunt wanted to perform a frequent character, rather than assisting in the operation of other characters – and so he was assigned sully, who had no spoken or sung lines. hunt eventually took on multiple characters, like gladys the cow, don music, and forgetful jones, although following his death, many have been phased out or put in the background.

his most recognizable characters come from the muppet show, where he would perform scooter (the excitable stagehand of the muppet show often found pestering kermit backstage,) janice (the lead guitarist of dr. teeth and the electric mayhem, typically paired with jerry nelson’s floyd pepper,) beaker, statler, wayne, and sweetums. when fraggle rock began, hunt was one of henson’s core team of performers, so he was often shooting sesame street – a fact that didn’t stop him from performing junior gorg, gunge, mudwell, and the wizard, among others.

when jim henson died in 1990, he chose richard hunt to lead his memorial service. hunt had been with the muppets for 21 years at this point, and had become one of henson’s most trusted puppeteers and closest friends. he would often goof off backstage, entertaining guests to the studios with whatever puppet was closest to him. colleagues recall that he brought the energy to every set he was on, playing pranks on new hires, smoking joints with jerry nelson backstage, and inviting the cast and crew to gay bars with him after sesame street tapings. one of the most famous stories about him was his frustration with elmo, who he briefly performed before the furry red monster became a childhood icon. reportedly frustrated that he couldn’t figure out what to do with the character, he threw the puppet across the room, exclaiming to kevin clash (who caught the puppet) something along the lines of “someone else do it!”

he passed in 1992 from complications caused by the AIDS virus. matt baume has described him as “one of the most famous gay men in the world who nobody recognized”. following his death, the muppet workshop created a panel for the aids quilt to memorialize him. hunt was integral to the success of the muppets, due both to his skills in performing and to the energy and spirit he brought to every production he was a part of.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 5 months

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hiii when you get a chance could you maybeee write a lil something about how 12 casey and raph both kinda of fall for the reader because she’s like them in a way?

like they would be a trio and really great friends and their feelings individually grow for her 😋 like maybe at first they were all just best friends and having fun but then as their feelings grew the hanging out kind of grew into jealousy and the readers like wtf guys

JUST A LIKE SOMETHING ON MY MIND 🤭 have a great day/night 💋

Jealous Trio

2012!Raphael x reader (a little 2012!Casey Jones x reader)

A/N: I normally don’t write for Casey, but I think I can manage this. Hope you enjoy❤️💋

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

You’re best friends with Raphael and Casey Jones, but as it happens so often with teenagers, the two guys develop a crush on you.

Warnings: Spelling and jealous bois❤️

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

It didn’t take a lot to understand how you, Raphael, and Casey Jones could form such a close friend group. All three of you were loud, sharped mouthed and easily prone to physical reactions. Mikey found out the hard way, that throwing his water balloons while the three of you were deeply engaged in a video game, was a very, very bad idea. He found that being chased around the lair by three hot tempered teenagers just was worth it. Especially not when they actually caught him.

You meet Raphael the same day you meet Casey Jones, in an alley further from home than you had intended to go. But in your angered state, after an argument with your parents, you did not take the time to notice your surroundings. And neither did you notice the strange emotionless men in the alley you had just entered. They leaped for you, and you screamed. But then a certain mutant turtle and a human boy came to your rescue, taking out the Kraang.

“I had it under control!”, you told them, your face flustered by the sudden rescue, as you stumped on the dead droid.

“Sure”, Raphael had said with Casey leaning his elbow on his shoulder. “That scream sounded like a person in full control”.

And that was the start of a strong friendship between the three of you. It didn’t take long before Raph and Casey would come and knock on your bedroom window, and asked if you wanted to hang out. That usually involved fighting Kraang droids or Foot ninjas, so obviously you said yes, bringing a baseball bat.

The three of you had used countless nights on the roofs of New York City, doing everything from playful ninja training to a strange game of hockey and baseball, that involved you hitting whatever hockey puck Casey sent your way with your baseball bat, sending it flying over the street. Yes, you had bused several windows, and yes, all three of you ran whenever that happened. It quickly became a fun inside joke that often caused Leonardo to be uneasy whenever he heard it.

But as it often happened with teeangers and friendships, emotions started sparking. In school Casey found his thoughts drifting more than usual, all finding their way to you and how hard you swung your baseball bat. You had once taken a Foot ninja out with one swing. That was impressive. So impressive that Casey found himself smiling at the memory. Raphael too found your face taking up more space in his head as usual. There was this time you had taken his sais, before doing a well meaning impression of him. Normally that would anger Raphael, causing him to yell and maybe even throw punches, but watching you with his sais made him feel warm inside. He too found himself smiling at the thought.

But for quite some time, neither Raph nor Casey knew about the other’s growing thoughts and feelings about you. For long they kept quiet, watching you with fond smiles, just being happy to have you around. Until one day they both realized that they were not alone with their thoughts.

It all began on a chilly evening when the three of you found yourselves on the rooftop of your apartment building, gazing at the city skyline. The distant sounds of traffic and the occasional sirens filled the air as you shared stories and laughter. You, not able to sit still that evening, found yourself standing out on the roof, just swinging your bat aimlessly, laughing at the nice stretching in your arms as you did so.

Raphael, perched on the edge of the building, stole glances in your direction when he thought you weren't looking. The tough exterior that defined his character softened whenever he spoke or looked at you, his eyes betraying a vulnerability he seldom showed.

Casey, armed with his hockey stick, leaned against a water tower, his eyes fixed on you and the movement of your arms. His tough, streetwise demeanor melted away in your presence, replaced by a genuine warmth that only you seemed to inspire.

It was there on the rooftop, that both Casey and Raph noticed the way the other was looking at you. The sudden realization hit both of them hard, as if it was a puck being shot at them by your bat. The realization that they were not alone in their admiration and growing feelings for you.

This marked a turn in your trio’s friendship. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the unspoken tension between Raphael and Casey grew more palpable. Each found themselves grappling with emotions they couldn't quite put into words. Soon it wasn’t uncommon for Raph and Casey to start silent arguments while you weren’t looking, or even pushing or shoving to be the one that got to walk you home.

The tension built moths, a simmering undercurrent that now threatened to erupt into a full-blown argument, even with you around. For everyone around you it was quite obvious what was going on. Both Casey and Raph was crushing hardcore on you, and yet, you were totally oblivious to this. You still hung out with them, happy and joyous as ever, not seeing the foul looks your two best friends were giving each other over your shoulder.

Raph and Casey would start seeking you out on their own without the other. Soon you would be met by Raphael on your fire escape or a never ending string of texts from Casey, asking if you wanted to hang out. You found that a little strange. For a whole month the three of you never hung out all together, but just you and one of the two. Raph would bring you to the lair or hang out on the roof, while Casey would come to your place or find a place for the two of you to play your hockey baseball game.

Then one day Raphael and Casey found themselves on the rooftop of your apartment building once again, the city lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars, as the two of them stared at each other in shock. Both of them had come to your apartment, wanting to heat if you wanted to hang out. But unbeknown to them, they had had the same exact thought that night.

“What are you doing here?”, Casey asked.

“I could ask you the same thing”, Raph said, narrowing his eyes.

The two boys angrily stared each other down, arms crossed, eyes narrow, fist clenched and jaws tight, hoping it was enough to scare the other off. But they both stood their ground, blame laying on their stubborn nature.

Casey sighed, leaning against a ventilation duct, a scowl etched on his face. "Look, Raph, we gotta talk about this".

Raphael shot a glare in Casey's direction, acting as if he had no idea what he was talking about. "Talk about what?"

Casey's frustration boiled over, coming out in an agitated growl. "You know what I'm talkin' about, Raph. Her. (Y/N). We can't keep goin' on like this".

Raphael's eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. "What's your problem, Jones? You got somethin' to say, spit it out".

The hockey-masked vigilante took a deep breath, attempting to rein in his anger. "I can't ignore this anymore, Raph. We're both into her, and it's messin' with the team dynamic. We haven’t hung out in a month. We gotta figure out who's gonna make a move or back off".

Raphael scoffed. "Why should I back off? She ain't yours, Jones".

Casey's jaw clenched. "She's not yours either, tough guy. But we can't keep playin' these silent games. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to us".

Raphael took a step closer, his body tense. "You think you're better for her, is that it? What makes you so damn special?"

Casey's voice rose, matching Raphael's intensity. "I'm not sayin' I'm better, but I'm not gonna sit back and watch you hoard all her attention!”

As the argument reached its peak, you emerged onto the rooftop. Having heard the voices of your two best friends from your window, you decided to go up and check on them, only to be met by them screaming and yelling at each other.

"Hey! Guys! What's going on up here?"

Raphael and Casey snapped their attention to you, their faces immediately shifting to nervous embarrassment. Raphael scratched the back of his head, a weak smile on his face. "Nothin', just havin' a disagreement about... baseball".

Casey rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, because that's a good diversion". That comment caused Raph to glare at him.

Not the least bit convinced, you crossed your arms, a stern look on your face. “Spill or I’ll get the bat”.

Panicked, both boys looked at each other. None of them were ready to tell you about their feelings, yet they knew you wouldn’t give up before they told you the truth. Curse you being as stubborn as them. And curse you for making them so nervous, when they normally would be calm.

“Raph has a crush on you!”, Casey yelled, pushing the terrapin towards you. Raph locked up, staring at you frozen in fear.

You smirked. “Is that so?”

Unsure of what to do, Raph grabbed onto Casey and pushed him towards you as well. “Casey has a crush on you too!”

Your smirk turned to an expression of shock, eyes moving between your two best friends. “Really?” Their nervous demeanor spoke volumes, telling you that it indeed was true. Your two best friends had feelings for you. “Is that why you guys haven’t hung out in a month?” The boys nodded, their eyes on the ground, both slightly ashamed.

A silence fell upon all of you, not really sure what to say. You had never guessed, nor thought that your best friends could have a crush on you, and therefore did not know what to think of it. The thought was knew and still strange to you, yet, you cared deeply for the two guys infront of you. For goodness sake, they were your best friends!

“So”, you started, catching their attention in less than a second. “My parents won’t come home before tomorrow evening. Do you guys wanna come down and watch a movie?”

The two guys looked shocked at you, before turning to one another, friendly smiles forming on their faces.

“That sounds good”, Raphael said with Casey nodding in agreement, before following you down into your apartment.

That evening you, Raph and Casey hung out in your living room, talking and laughing at the action movie playing on your television. You had to admit, it was nice to be together with your two best friends once again, feeling the calm and joy once more. As strange as it was to know that both of them had a crush on you, you were happy to be close to them once more. And tomorrow when they had gone home, you would sit down and have a real think through. Did you feel the same way? And even if you did, were you ready to start a relationship with any of them? And were you willing to run the risk of not just ruining one friendship, but two? You did not know. And as you sat and watched the movie with Raph and Casey, you still didn’t know. But you had tomorrow to worry about that. That evening, it was all about enjoying your time with your friends.

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

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i know now it’ll pass - ch. 1

still me here

You have to understand, working at Nelson Road isn’t what everyone thinks it is. It’s a job. You’re not best friends with Ms. Welton, you don’t share inside jokes with Coach Lasso, and not a single member of the team could pick you out from a crowd. You talked to Keeley Jones exactly one time when she stumbled upon your office, lost in a hunt for Roy.

And none of that is bad. It’s not a bad thing. What it is is good money and security to get your own one-bedroom flat as well as food on the table and whatever else you might need. You have a few friends there and your direct supervisor is nice and overall it’s a great environment. You’re not sure you could ask for anything more.

It’s just not as glamorous as people believe.

Your friends think it’s great that you work in the same building as AFC Richmond legends like Roy Kent and Dani Rojas. They bombard you with questions every girls’ night, which you indulge with a laugh.

As you sip your drink on the couch, surrounded by friends and giggles, you decide you live a pretty great life.

—

You don’t sleep well. You never have, and you’re concerned you never will. You’ve taken to sitting on your front steps with a blanket and a cup of tea in the hopes that it will cause your body to produce melatonin so you can get enough sleep to get through the day. Your “tea time” is usually anywhere from 2am-5am, and you’ve woken up many a morning curled up on the steps.

There are two good things that come out of tea time: the sunrise and your increased ability to cover up the bags under your eyes.

This Monday is different in that it’s worse. Much worse.

You’ve been on the porch for three goddamn hours, since 1am, and nothing is helping. You’re so tired that your eyes feel like little weights, and yet you can’t fall asleep.

You’re leaning against a support beam with the realization that your work day is going to suck, when you see Jamie run by in the street. He doesn’t see you, what with it being 4:15am and all. Roy jogs by a few minutes later. You wince. You can tell his knee’s killing him by the way he’s running. He’ll probably take it out on the lads at training, and you find strange comfort in the knowledge that you’re not the only one who will be suffering at Nelson Road.

—

Oh god, you’re going to die. This is it, this is the end, death is imminent and you’re going to let the Grim Reaper snatch you with his scythe or whatever the hell he does with that thing.

See, Mondays are when you get all your steps in because you’re walking all up and down Nelson Road collecting signatures and passing around documents. It’s usually pretty nice and culminates in a stop at Higgins’ office, who will offer you whatever candy he has at his desk or sometimes a cup of tea.

(He has a knack for offering the tea when you’re especially tired. You’re not sure how he can tell, but chalk it up to the plethora of sons he has.)

Anyway, this Monday you’re on your way to meet Higgins with a bundle of papers in your arms and you must have blacked out ever so slightly because you rammed straight into the team coming in from the pitch for lunch.

Documents are flying and you’re wobbly on your feet and now there’s like twenty beefy footballers helping you scramble to pick everything up while you say, “Sorry, sorry,” on repeat.

“Not a problem, love,” says Jamie Tartt, handing you the completed stack. It’s a little wrinkled and haphazard, but all you can think about is the fact that you revealed yourself to be a klutz to the whole team.

Girls’ night is about to get embarrassing. Especially because Jamie’s hand brushed yours for a millisecond and it caused literal sparks to shoot up your arm.

You’re frozen as they walk away, silently cursing your stupid screwed up sleep patterns. You had better get some sleep tonight.

—

You don’t. Your mind keeps replaying that touch like you’re a middle school girl who’s just discovered boys don’t have cooties. You wrestle a few hours in between 11 and 3, but find yourself on the steps again by 4, definitely not hoping Jamie runs by again.

He doesn’t.

—

Tuesday is not worse, but it’s not better. You’re eating lunch at your desk because you’ve decided never to leave it again, but unfortunately Jim in HR needs a signature and you’re the one who has to get up so he can collect it. You sigh and close your laptop.

You’re padding to the other side of the building and congratulating yourself on the decision to wear flats today when you turn a corner and smack into something solid.

You stumble back but catch yourself before you hit the ground.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you say to Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes.

He half-grins. “Little wobbly there, innit?” he says before he’s gone.

Rats.

—

Tuesday night means you’re awake due to sheer humiliation. It’s bad enough that your celebrity crush is now Jamie Tartt, but the fact that you’ve literally talked to him twice and both times have been because you weren’t watching where you were going?

You have half a mind to email in your resignation, but as you put the kettle on for 3am tea you realize you need the stability Nelson Road provides. You’re not sure you can go back to living with three other flatmates.

Your only consolation is that there’s no way Jamie Tartt knows who you are or that his damn blue eyes are seared into your brain.

You’ve snatched five hours of sleep this time, and you’re hoping you’ll be asleep again before the sunrise, but the odds are not looking good. It’s Wednesday, and you’re going to need all the help you can get in order to make it through the longest day of the week.

Jamie runs by again. Roy notices you under the porch light and gives a two-finger salute as he hobbles by. You raise your cup in return, grateful that he at least will have no idea who you are, much less that you work in the same building.

—

Wednesday is fine except you’re exhausted, and Laughing Liam’s goddamn laugh is making your head pound. You set a timer and fall asleep on your lunch break.

—

You take a breath. Then another. And another. Deep breaths, you remind yourself. It’s not that big of a deal.

You skipped the porch in favor of staying in bed, with the hopes that maybe a softer environment would be more conducive for sleep. It wasn’t, and the bags under your eyes are not good. They are so not good that you can’t completely cover them. You feel so awful that you forgo tea in favor of coffee, extra strong. You down it in three burning gulps and head out the door, ready to face Thursday.

—

It gives you a headache, but you’re awake. You’re trying to kill the dull, persistent pain with some water but it’s not helping. You rest your forehead on the community water jug for a moment as footsteps walk past you, slow down, then backtrack.

“Porch girl,” says Roy Kent, recognition in his voice.

You turn your head, still on the jug, and nod. Roy Kent nods back and grunts, “You’re up fucking early,” then keeps walking.

Ah shit.

—

Friday. It’s Friday. It’s Friday and you held off from sitting on the steps until exactly 2:37 at which point you felt that if you stayed in bed any longer, you would suffocate or go crazy. Maybe both.

You set down an empty cup of chamomile and pull your blanket closer as you inhale the crisp air. You feel something like sleep creeping up on you, so you close your eyes and finally succumb to the call.

You wake to someone shaking your shoulder and an urgent voice saying, “Oi, you dead? Can you hear me?”

You blink groggily, aware of the fact that you’ve just gotten maybe an hour of sleep and it isn’t going to be enough to get you through the day. Tears begin to slide down your face, unbidden, as you try to control your sheer frustration at being woken up.

“Oh shit,” says the voice, then Roy Kent says, “You fucking broke her,” and you think maybe you actually are still asleep and this is all a dream.

But it can’t be because the hand is still on your shoulder, and it’s warm and solid and there’s no way your subconscious would be so cruel as to have Jamie Tartt and Roy Kent find you passed out on your front steps.

Your subconscious wouldn’t be so cruel, but the universe apparently is.

You force your eyes open. Jamie and Roy look concerned.

“You alright?” Jamie asks. “Thought you were proper dead.”

“Jesus Christ,” Roy mutters, turning back to you. “Look, we’re sorry for waking you. We’ll get out of your fucking hair.”

You nod mutely as they turn and jog off. It’s not until they’re well out of sight that you realize they didn’t even ask your name.

Table of Contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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etrangersvoyageant · 5 months

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The bed was a vast welcoming organism, a sea culture or synthetic plant, enraptured by the object it absorbed. As I headed deeper into mists and old stories, into windy images poised on the rim of sleep, I began to feel that the bed was having a dream and that the dream was me. One candle burned, this light not quite eluding my awareness. I was barely conscious, being dreamed by a preternatural entity, taken for a mind’s ride into the mystery of things. It was all a question of control. I was being dreamed-smoked-created. The dream took form as a man asleep in a bed situated in the middle of a room in which a lone candle burned. This was not real but a dream and I was no more than the stale chemical breath of the dreamer. Don DeLillo, Great Jones Street

#quote #Don DeLillo #Great Jones Street

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avastrasposts · 5 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - Four

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

I kinda figured you all would like Joel's visit to the bakery! Handy man Joel with his green plaid flannel shirt and tool belt... 🥰

This week's Pedro boy is actually forcing me to adjust the warning level, things get a bit spicier than usual with this one around and I think you'll understand when you see who it is....

Series Master List

The little bakery is buzzing with customers this warm summer evening, you’re serving everyone as fast as possible, cursing the stomach bug that had put the kid who worked extra out of commission for the week. As you ring up two slices of lemon meringue pie for Mrs Callahan from down the street, you notice the buzz increasing in the shop, almost like a wave of excitement. You glance towards the door to see if you can spot the source of the commotion and see a tall, proud looking, man closing it behind himself. His rich yellow jacket is all you have time to notice before you’re pulled back to Mrs Jones asking about the amount of sugar in the Millionaire’s Shortbread (a lot, you assure her, no, it’s not healthy just because it contains peanuts).

You lose track of the stranger as you work your way through the long line, finally looking up to realize he’s the only one left in the shop, except for little Mrs Levinson who is just stepping through the door. The man gallantly takes a step back and indicates with his outstretched hand that she should be served before him.

“Please, my lady, I would be offended if you insisted on waiting behind me.”

He has an accent that you can’t place, vaguely Mediterranean maybe, and clearly very good manners. Mrs Levinson gives him a pleased smile and steps up to the counter to buy her regular weekend dark rye loaf, six chocolate chip cookies and one whole apple and cinnamon crumb coffee cake.

“The grandchildren are visiting on Sunday, and they love your cookies, dear,” she informs you, “the mother just doesn’t know how to bake, why my son married a woman who can’t cook or bake I will never understand.”

“I’m sure she has many other good qualities and skills, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, this is a weekly complaint.

“He should’ve married you, dear, how you are still single is beyond me, such a talented girl in the kitchen,” she pats your hand as she hands over her purse for you to count out what she owes. “But Mrs Pike’s son is single, recently divorced, I’ll make sure she sends him here to buy something, he’s such a lovely boy.”

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, but I don’t need to be set up, I barely have time to run this bakery, I don’t have time for dating.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find time, my dear,” she winks at you and gives the dark haired man behind her another wink as she turns to leave.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say to him as the door closes behind Mrs Levinson.

“No trouble, my lady, I was more than delighted to enjoy the view of such a talented girl,” he says with a confident smile, sauntering over towards the counter.

Now that he’s not hidden by the crowd you can see that he is in fact wearing a long robe, reaching down below his knees. But that’s not where your eyes are drawn, instead you find yourself actively trying not to stare at the deep v of bare, tan skin visible where his robe sits open, adorned by an expensive looking necklace. You pull your eyes up to his face, putting on your customer smile, and mentally slapping yourself.

“What can I help you with today, sir?”

At your words you see his mouth quirk in a wicked grin and his eyes wander over as much of you as he can see behind the counter. Ordinarily you’d be somewhat offended by such blatant staring but…considering your own struggle to not gawk at him, if feels admissible.

“I’m sure you can help me with a great many things, my lady,” he says, the lilt in his voice fitting his strange clothes, and the double meaning isn’t lost on you. You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms.

“Really?” you challenge, “And what else but baked goods do you enter a bakery for?”

“Depends on the girl, or the woman, working in the bakery,” he smirks, “when the lady of the bakery is as beautiful as you, I’d like to buy a great many other things than her cakes.”

This line makes you roll your eyes so far back into your head you think they might get stuck there.

“You really think coming into a bakery and suggesting prostitution to the woman who works there is going to win you any favors?”

Now it’s the man’s turn to raise his eyebrows and look surprised for a moment, then he bends his head, bowing deeply to you.

“My lady, I did not wish to offend you at all, I was not suggesting that I would buy any such services from you. Rather I was, badly I’m sure, suggesting that I would like to buy such a beautiful lady gifts, rather than just buying her cakes.”

He looks up at you, his handsome face giving you an apologetic smile, “Please, truly, I did not mean to offend you.”

“Alright, I believe you for now,” you reply, accepting his apology with a slight scowl, “So what can I help you with? In the baked goods department,” you emphasize, waving over towards the display cases.

“I have this,” he says, pulling a bottle of wine from the satchel he has hanging at his side, “it’s cold and delicious on this warm day, but I would like to have something to eat with it. And I saw that you have these,” he points to one of the bags of lemon and almond biscotti in your display case. “They remind me of the small cakes we have back in my city, Sunspear. Will you please let me buy a bag of them?”

“Of course,” you reply, reaching for the biscotti, “Anything else?”

“An hour of your company?” he says, smoothly, with a smile, “But I won’t offer to pay for it, just beg that you will join me with this wine, and your lovely cakes, as a small apology for offending you.”

You look at the man standing on the other side of the counter. His confident smirk has been replaced by an apologetic smile, his arms outstretched as if he’s holding himself open for you to review and decide upon. You glance at the clock on the wall, fifteen minutes to closing but the foot traffic outside on the street has trickled down to nothing, everyone is on their way home to enjoy the last of the warm sunshine. It won’t be the end of the world if you close up a few minutes early today. And this man does intrigue you, with his accent and his strange clothes.

“Ok, fine,” you say, “An hour, but I have no wine glasses.”

“My sweet lady of the bakery, I’m sure I will survive without glasses, as long as I have your company to keep me distracted,” he winks at you and his demeanor changes back into confidence once again as you wave him behind the counter.

“C’mon then, we can sit out back, but only on the stairs I’m afraid.”

“I have sat on much worse in my days, I assure you,” he chuckles, “even a prince of Dorne can’t expect to sit only on feather pillows every hour of his life.”

“You’re a prince?” you ask but it really doesn’t surprise you. He looks every bit like a prince from some exotic country you’ve never heard of.

“Prince Oberyn Martell, my lady,” he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “It is my pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” you smirk, his over the top chivalry is making your inner rebel come out, and you gladly direct him to the somewhat crumbling back stairs, fishing a bottle opener out of a drawer on the way. Drinking wine from the bottle on the back stairs, overlooking the trash cans and patchy grass that lines the dingy alley behind your bakery, is probably not something a prince usually does.

Oberyn is looking around the area outside the door as you bring the bottle opener and the biscotti.

“Wait a moment,” he says, holding up his hand to you before he unbuckles the belt that’s holding his robe together, and dropping it on the ground. He shrugs out of the robe and shakes it out, spreading the luxurious looking fabric out over the steps and then holding out his hand for you.

“Please, my lady,” he says, “it will be a little bit more comfortable for you than sitting on the cold stone.”

“No, but your robe, it’ll be ruined,” you protest, but he shakes his head, “It’s nothing, just a little dust. Do not think me such a feeble prince that I am above getting a little bit dirty.” With his last word he winks at you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile back, taking his hand.

“I don’t know what kind of prince you are, I’ve never even heard of Dorne.”

He lets go of your hand as you settle on the top step and he sits himself on the one below, taking the bottle opener from you.

“Dorne is a beautiful country, warm, much warmer than here, surrounded by turquoise blue ocean, white beaches and fragrant lemon groves,” he says, “And my home, the city of Sunspear, is the world’s most beautiful city, colorful, richly decorated, cooled from the hot sun by our water gardens and palm trees. It is ruled by my brother, the king. I am my father’s second son, fortunately enough for me, for I would’ve made a terrible king.”

He smiles as he speaks of his home, a warm smile, as he pulls the cork from the wine bottle.

“Ladies first,” he says and holds the bottle out to you, you accept it, taking a sip of the cool white wine. It really is delicious; crisp, fresh and an undertone of a rich, buttery flavor.

“This is very nice wine,” you say, giving the bottle back to him and he smiles.

“Made all that much better by the company.”

“Cheesy, but I appreciate the effort,” you grin and he looks confused, lowering the bottle that he was just about to drink from. “Cheesy?” he asks, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah, you know, ‘cheesy’, when something is lame, or over the top, corny?”

“I assure you, my lady, I did not intend to be over the top with my compliment, if anything, it was not enough,” he smiles warmly at you, and you feel butterflies in the pit of your belly. Either the wine is working very fast, or this strange man and his flirtatious way is getting to you.

“I could say so much more about your beauty and the joy it is to spend a warm summer evening in your company with good wine and delicious cakes,” Oberyn’s eyes are glinting as he watches you squirm and he takes a sip from the bottle.

You feel your cheeks heat up and you drop your eyes to your hands, suddenly feeling very flustered by his flattery, distracting yourself by picking at some dry dough caught on your nail.

“Oh, the biscuits!” he exclaims suddenly and stands up, “We need just a…” he disappears into the kitchen and you look up as he turns around, scanning the shelves before he finds what he’s looking for, “Ah! Just what we need!” he says and returns to the steps, sinking down next to you again with a small bowl in his hand. “The biscuits are to be dipped in the wine, to soak up its delicious flavor and blend with the sweetness.”

He demonstrates by pouring some of the wine into the bowl and taking the bag of biscuits from you, opening it up. He takes one of the biscotti and dips the end in the wine, letting it sit for a few seconds before taking a bite.

His eyes hold yours as he slowly chews the biscotti, humming slightly under his breath. “My sweet lady, this is exquisite,” he says, awe in his voice once he’s swallowed. “I would hire you as my own personal baker any day, would you wish to leave these premises.”

“Thank you for the offer, that’s very generous,” you say, taking one of the biscuits and dipping it in the wine, copying Oberyn, “but I like running my own business.”

As you bite into the biscotti you hold back a moan, you’ve never tried this before but now you understand why he insisted, the crunchy biscotti has softened slightly and been filled with the crips flavors of the wine, the lemon and almond adding to the complexity.

“This is really good, Oberyn,” you smile, taking the second half, “Thank you for introducing me to it.”

“It was all my pleasure, my lady,” he replies, leaning back against the stairs and taking a sip of the wine from the bottle. When he tilts his head back, his long neck is exposed, even more now when he’s only wearing his shirt, a smattering of freckles on his tanned skin, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. It occurs to you that the man exudes confidence in everything he does, even the way he brings the bottle back down, handing it to you with a small, crooked smile, the way he’s leaning on one elbow against the step just above him, long legs stretched out comfortably in his soft looking leather boots, utterly relaxed even on the crumbling back stairs.

You take the bottle from him and take another sip, the cool wine slipping down far too easily. From the corner of your eye you see Oberyn take another biscotti and dip it into the wine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. With a small smirk he puts the biscuit in his mouth, closing his soft looking lips around it, sucking lightly while he lets his eyes linger on you. You feel heat creep up your throat, there is such promise in his eyes, such a challenge in his flirting. It’s like he’s daring you to flirt back, to push him just a little to see how he reacts. You feel a familiar heat spread through your core, a temptation to entice him. But his confidence, just the way he takes the bottle from your hand, his long fingers caressing yours with intent, almost intimidates you. If you flirt with him, even just a little bit, you think he might challenge you even more, see how far you’re willing to go, and you’re not sure you can trust your body to resist. His easy assertiveness, the way he leans back against the stairs, his hand now resting just an inch from your waist, it both unnerves you and makes arousal thrum under your skin.

With a slight tremble to your hand, you take the bottle again and take another sip, bigger this time and it goes down the wrong way, your nerves getting the better of you. With a cough you splutter into the crook of your elbow, your eyes watering. The prince shoots up and immediately puts his hand on your back, patting you lightly a few times before he begins to rub circles between your shoulder blades.

“Careful there, my lady, are you all right?” His eyebrows have pulled together in concern and he leans forward, looking at your face. You feel the tears that formed spill over and roll down your cheeks as you cough a few more times.

“Y-yes, yes, I-I think so, thank you,” you finally say with a croaky voice, “it just went down the wrong way.”

Taking a deep breath, you almost choke again when Oberyn gently cups your face with his large hands and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, softly running them under your eyes.

“Can I fetch you some water?” he asks, his voice low and concerned, but you shake your head.

“No, thank you, I’m ok now,” you say, taking a steadying breath. He’s so very close now, looking into your eyes with a soft smile and you notice how one of his eyes is made amber by the evening sunlight, the other dark chocolate brown, half hidden in shadow. You feel like your brain is spinning in place, wheels turning but not moving forward, as you’re unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. His hands are still on your cheeks, warm and soft even though you can feel the rough calluses on his palms.

His eyes finally leave yours, only to very slowly move down to your lips, holding his gaze there for several seconds before he looks back up again. His face transforms into a more roguish smile and he drops his hands from your face, moving to pick up another biscotti and dipping it into the wine.

“My lady, please,” he says, holding it up to you, one hand cupped under it to catch any drops of wine, as he offers it to you, holding it by your lips.

You don’t know why, but you obediently open your mouth, letting him feed you the biscotti, tasting the tang of the wine and the sweetness of the sugar as you break it off in the middle. The tip of Oberyn’s tongue comes out to wet his lips as he watches you swallow it down, and then he dips the second half in the wine again, and places it between his own lips. All the while his eyes never leave yours.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile, and he leans back against the door frame, crossing his arms over his lap.

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he says, matter of factly, “if you want me too.”

You reach for the wine bottle to distract yourself while you calm your beating heart, keeping your eyes on him, that smirk still lingering on his lips as he watches you take a small, controlled sip, this time.

You pour some more wine into the bowl and place the bottle on the top step, reaching for another biscotti and making up your mind. Dipping the delicate biscuit in the wine you look up at Oberyn, holding his gaze while you bring it up to his mouth, mimicking his gesture of cupping your hand under it. A wicked smile flickers across his face as he obediently opens his mouth and takes the biscotti. But he doesn’t bite it in half, instead he leans forward and closes his lips around your fingertips, his tongue licking at them as he takes the whole thing into his mouth. It’s warm and wet around your fingers and he gently sucks on them as he pulls back, a low hum escaping his throat. The touch of his tongue shoots a jolt of electricity through your body, settling firmly between your legs and your breath hitches.

Oberyn swallows the biscuit and takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth again, with his eyes locked on yours he takes each finger between his lips and sucks them clean. When your pinky leaves his lips he moves forward, taking your chin between his thumb and finger, holding you steady, your heart beating its own erratic rhythm in your chest.

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he repeats, looking from your eyes to your lips and up again.

You don’t trust your voice, so instead you inhale, his warm scent; oranges, cinnamon, sandalwood, filling your nose, and you lean forward. He doesn’t smile this time, instead he mirrors your movement until your lips brush, your heads tilting ever so slightly to come closer together, mouths angeling as he presses a soft, gentle, explorative kiss to your tingling lips. Warm hands slip up your neck, into your hair, large enough to cup the back of your head as his thumbs stroke your cheeks.

His next kiss is more insistent, his lips parting to taste with the tip of his soft tongue, licking the seam of your mouth. Your body seems to have lost all will to follow your head, it just moves as he moves you, pulling you closer to his lips, opening up to his tongue, letting him slip inside and explore, tangelling together as he tangles his hands in your hair, making you lean closer into him. Without knowing how you got there, you find yourself sitting on his lap, his hand finding your thigh and pulling your leg over. When he puts his hands on your hips and slides your body closer to his, your mind goes blank and you moan into his mouth. He’s distinctly hard underneath you, the thin fabric of his trousers doing nothing to hide the firm length of his cock, and he groans with delight as you roll your hips over him.

“Sweet thing,” he whispers, his lips momentarily leaving yours, “sweet, sweet lady, I knew your kisses would be as sweet as your cakes.” His fingers dig into your hips, his mouth pressing firmer against yours as he sucks on the tip of your tongue, pulling back just a fraction and trailing kisses and bites over your jaw, down your throat, pushing back your t-shirt to suck a mark into your collar bone, making you keen and whimper under his warm mouth.

“I wonder if you’re as sweet everywhere,” he mumbles, fingers digging into your hips and dragging you over his heavy length, straining against his trousers, “I would very much like to find out.”

You lean your head back, exposing your throat to him as he continues to kiss and lick the soft skin of your neck, heat is building rapidly in your body and for a second you feel as if you’re looking down on yourself from above. Straddling the handsome prince on the stairs, sitting on his golden yellow robe, his face buried against your neck, his hands rolling your hips over his erection as you pant to the darkening sky above. With a groan you put your hands on his shoulders and push away, stumbling back onto your feet.

“You’re dangerous to be around, Oberyn,” you pant as his hands slip away from your hips. His mouth hangs open as he reaches for you. In the dimming light you can see the prominent bulge of his trousers, it makes your mouth water, the image of sliding down over it coming unbidden to your mind.

“It’s just pleasure,” he says, his voice dark and mischievous, “no guilt to be had over feeling pleasure.”

“No, but I’m not about to have sex with a stranger on the back steps of my bakery,” you say, taking a deep breath, running your hands over your head, down your face, to ground yourself again.

“Well, then the question beckons to be asked,” Oberyn grins, “where would you have sex with a stranger?”

“I don’t have sex with strangers,” you say, shaking your head and quickly stepping past him, into the kitchen again. Behind you, you hear him get up and pick up the bottle, the remaining biscuits and the bowl. Placing them on the counter inside the door he follows you out to the shop as he slips his robe back on, where you unlock the door and wait for him to approach. A big part of you doesn't want him to leave, but you know that if you let him stay, he’ll have you naked on one of the counters within minutes, your body will betray you and let him do whatever he wants.

“If you let me, I would like to not be a stranger to you,” Oberyn says as he reaches you by the door, “Would you let me come back and take you out, maybe show you Sunspear, my city?”

“Show me the life of a prince?” you ask, you doubt you’ll see him again once he leaves, “Sure, come back and show me another side of yourself, and I’ll consider whether or not I want you to be a stranger.”

“You don’t think I’ll come back,” he replies, a crooked smile on his lips, “have I made such a flighty impression on you, such a poor representation of who I am?” He chuckles, taking your hand and bowing low, pressing a feather light kiss to it.

“I promise, my sweet lady of the bakery, I will come back and I will show you the true colors of a prince of Dorne. Until then I will keep your honeyed kisses close in my memory.”

He opens the front door and steps through it, before turning and smiling back at you, “And I’ll keep your delicious moans even closer on lonely nights.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks again as he winks, a mischievous smirk on his face, before he bow lows again and disappears down the street.

Part Five

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #game of thrones #a bakers dozen #pedrostories

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