We have an odd relationship with words. We learn a few when we are small, throughout our lives we collect others through education, conversation, our contact with books, and yet, in comparison, there are only a tiny number about whose meaning, sense, and denotation we would have absolutely no doubts, if one day, we were to ask ourselves seriously what they meant. Thus we affirm and deny, thus we convince and are convinced, thus we argue, deduce, and conclude, wandering fearlessly over the surface of concepts about which we only have the vaguest of ideas, and, despite the false air of confidence that we generally affect as we feel our way along the road in verbal darkness, we manage, more or less, to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other.
“Unfinished Conversations: New Work from the Collection”
Unfinished Conversations: New Work from the Collection opens today in our 6th floor galleries. Works by more than a dozen artists from around the world, including Kara Walker, Iman Issa, Samuel Foss, and Wolfgang Tillmans explore intertwining themes of social protest, the effect of history on the formation of identity, and how art juxtaposes fact and fiction. The exhibition title is inspired by John Akomfrah’s three-channel video installation shown here, which chronicles the life and work of the cultural theorist Stuart Hall and is on view in the final gallery of the exhibition. Find out more at mo.ma/unfinishedconversations
Not a request, but a oneshot I was dying to do since seeing that beard. This is also fuelled by the collective beard fantasies/conversations with @momis30@thedevilsmomma and a few anons.
“Should I get a skin fade or leave a bit of stubble?” Roman asked nonchalantly as if asking what the weather’s like for the day.
Y/N lowered her magazine and eyed him wearily, “In terms of what?”
“Beard,” he said, speaking with his hands before resting them on her legs that lay on his lap.
But Y/N sat up and intensified her stare, shaking her head in confusion, “Ummm and why would you do that?”
Roman noticed the stress in her voice as she challenged him. He stroked the beard, thinking of a good way to word it. He knew how much she loved it.
“It’s getting hotter, I can’t cope with a damn forest on my face,”
“Babe, we’re in Florida. It’s hot every day of the year, bullshit, don’t you even dare,”
“It’s my beard,” he mumbled, pulling a childish face.
“I said you’re right,” he winked. “Nah but for real, I need to get it trimmed for that GQ shoot,”
“Fuck them, y'can’t shave it. I need you to keep it!”
“You wanna tell them that for me?” he smiled.
“Hell yeah, me and a load of other women, I’ve checked the stats, I know I have a backing,” Y/N said confidently, putting the magazine down.
This was serious business.
“Keep it please? I rarely ask for favours, do this one for me,”
“For what reason?”
“Other than you look so frickin’ sexy?” She asked, biting her lip as she admired him, always, with or without the beard. “It feels so good when you kiss me…”
“So you want me to keep it just for kissing?”
She shook her head no and climbed on his lap, straddling him and cupping his face.
“Noo, you look hella good with it, and without. But with it, you’re like the equivalent of a man in a suit, it does things to me,”
“Oh yeah?” he smirked, shooting his brow up. “Things like what?”
“Inspiring a looot of dirty thoughts,” she whispered in his ear before nibbling and gyrating against him. “Wanna hear what else?”
“Uhhh yeah, I guess so, maybe one or two,” he said tryna act cool about the whole thing, but he was dying inside, aroused by the mere prospect of her being turned on.
“I love it when it grazes my thighs when you go down on me,” she said daringly, watching him for his response.
He smirked, and shifted slightly in his seat, “I believe you told me this before,”
“Have I also told you that it feels nice on my pussy?”
“Dirty girl. I mean, I forgot, but we can always reenact this, jig my memory a bit,”
“Yes, and for demonstration purposes,” she hissed.
He rolled her over onto her back, not wasting anytime, he put his hand down boy-shorts before looking up and giving her a ‘really’ look. She smiled, biting on her finger seductively.
“Oops,” she shrugged with a giggle.
He groaned and sat up for a second, slipping them off and admired how wet she was for him. So pretty, ready and welcoming.
“Y'know what it does to me when you don’t wear any panties,”
“And y'know what it does to me when you grow your beard,” she retorted.
He licked his lips and grabbed her legs, drawing her closer to him. He leant down and kissed her, distracting her and slipped himself inside her. She moaned in his mouth, accidentally biting his lip as he rested all the way inside her. He pulled away and gazed down at her, expecting to see the disappointment or frustration for not going down on her first, but she looked satiated, waiting for him to rock into her.
“C'mon baby,” she urged, her legs wrapping around his waist and egging him on.
He followed command, gyrating slowly but with power, filling her all the way in each time. She gasped in his ear with each thrust, nibbling her neck, biting her ear and then back down to her neck. And when he took a break from that, he was nuzzling against her neck, his beard rubbing against her smooth skin.
When he felt her walls contract and her nails digging into his biceps, he pulled out slowly, much to her disappointment. His body tightened at the cry that left her lips.
“Roman,” she whined, vocalising her disappointment.
“What sweetie?” he feigned oblivion, his voice light.
“Y'know what, I was gonna cum,”
“Too bad,” he smirked deviously at her and winked.
He began the trail at her décolletage, peppering her body with kisses, enough to make her forget the missed orgasm. She shivered as he descended on her body, he was sucking her breasts tenderly one second, the next, he was at her naval, or tracing the line where her thighs joined the rest of her body.
Her mouth watered at the promise of his lips on hers, drinking from her fountain, suckling, nibbling and biting. And he did just that. Her legs tightened around him, securing him in place as he nibbled at her nub. With each tug, his beard grazed the inside of her thighs. She trembled at the feeling, automatically gripping his hair in a balled fist. He lapped at her again, enjoying her sweet romantic serenades she was blessing him with.
“Fuuuuck,” she squealed, her back lifting off the couch.
He flicked his tongue at her nub, then sucked it gently until he felt her legs shaking, before relocating to her opening where she oozed out, trickling into his mouth. He suckled at her, wrapping his lips around her and enjoying each taste. She found her back lifting off the couch and grip on him tightening. And as hers did, so did his on her thighs. She was gonna hate him tomorrow for this, for that beard that lusciously caressed her skin, with a prickly graze.
“I know you’re cumming,” he commented, eyeing her up from his position as he feasted on her, tasting every inch of her sweet flesh.
She nodded in response, her thighs clamped tighter around him so she could savour that facial hair on her skin. She rolled her hips emphatically beneath him, because she couldn’t get enough but she wanted to come undone at the same time. He was in no rush so he continued at his pace, and thought to spice things up a little bit more. He dipped his index finger in there, then another followed.
“Roman…baby…fuck,” she shrieked, attempting to free herself from him to get a moment to breathe and recuperate from the sensory overload.
The pinpricks of his beard brushing over her wet folds sent her over the edge, stimulating her clitoris and he felt the effect of it when her walls clenched around his fingers.
“Do that again,” she begged.
“Mhhh?” he asked, intentionally so that he could vibrate against her.
“Do it again…I wanna feel your beard on me,” she managed to say in between breathy moans. “Yes! Yes! Yessss!”
He obeyed his woman, watching her as he did so, how she fell apart with that gesture alone, even though it was her own command. He could see the impending agonising yet blissful release building up in her, so he was gonna give it to her.
“Come for me,”
“You’re…uhhh…touching…” touching her g-spot, she wanted to moan but the words escaped her.
His fingers mimicked his shaft; separating her lips and stroking her as he lapped at her simultaneously. He gazed up from between her legs, wondering why she’d let go of his hair and saw that she’d closed her eyes and pinched her stiff nipples, rubbing them between her two fingers. She could have sworn she’d just touched the sky. He grabbed one of her hands and replaced it with his mouth, and then she came; thrusting her body upwards into him. She trembled, and gasped, too weak to scream any profanities, even as she watched him suck her juices off his fingers, and her lower half tingled from the constant friction. It was so worth it.
“Well…” she began, speechless. “Wow,”
“You okay?” he chuckled.
“Yeah,” she reciprocated the chuckle, lost in thought. “Give me a minute baby, I need to catch my breath,”
“Who said this show’s about me?” he questioned her before curling his arm around her, hurling her into a sitting position.
And when she realised just what was happening, she could’ve sworn she’d cum at the thought alone.
“Oh jheeze,” she cried, holding onto the couch head rest as he helped her lower her.
“Uhhh…oh my fucking Go- Roman!” she thrushed against him, rolling her hips on him frantically as her lips seperated at the mercy of his tongue; his beard freely brushing against it. This was heaven. It was pure bliss.
Y/N sat at her desk at work the following morning, fidgetting as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Her legs ached. Her thighs ached. Her thighs burnt. Her pussy felt sore, all from the intensive session last night.
She’d complain, really she would, had the pain not derived from a such a euphoric night. The lasting bittersweet pain of his beard grazing whatever part of her skin it made contact with, made her salivate at the mouth, wanting to do it all over again. Right there. On her office desk, legs splayed out for him as he brought her right to the edge of the table and feasted on her like he did last night. But she glanced up and counted four and a half more hours until she’d go home.
Roman: What’s up? 😕
Y/N: I can’t sit down properly
Y/N: And I’m walking like a freshly fucked virgin. I’m so sore.
Y/N: Help! People at work keep asking me what’s wrong
Roman: LOOL! 😏 what can I say?
Y/N: Seriously, fuck you
Roman: Poor choice of words
Y/N: I’m using leg day as an excuse for walking funny 😔
Roman: Lame. Tell them what really happened
Y/N: Fuck off
Y/N: I hate you and your stupid beard
Roman: You weren’t saying that when you were sitting on my face though. It’s fine, I’ll get rid of it.
Y/N: NO! NO! Keep it around…for demonstration purposes
Roman: We’ll see
Roman: 😏😏😏😏 If I keep it, it’s for my fans…not you, y'don’t deserve it
New multi-part Omelia fic. AU. Owen teaches at an all girls, posh, private school in London, and the new biology teacher catches his attention…
“Sir,” a young girl called out, “I’ve finished my drawing!”
“Bring it up then Natalie,” Owen Hunt told her, barely looking up from his novel- a story involving a female serial killer. “If you’ve finished you can get on with any other homework you have girls.”
The teenagers, one by one, finished and took their drawing to the teacher’s desk. Soon, they were bored of finishing homework, and they collectively decided initiate a conversation with their teacher.
“Mr Hunt, where is Miss Roper today?”
“She’s sick Sally,” he answered about the missing art teacher. “Work.”
“Are you qualified to teach us art?”
“Well, Sophie, considering all my qualifications are in sports and physical education, what do you think?” Owen grumbled.
“Sir, are you any good at art?” Ali, a particularly chatty student asked him.
“No, but you girls all seem to be. Well done. Now, homework, go!”
“But sir, it’s the beginning of term- we’ve not really got any homework…” Ali admitted.
“OK, well, read then,” he suggested, holding his book up in mid-air to demonstrate what a book actually was.
“How long have you been in London Mr Hunt?” Millie, a clever but disruptive student asked, cottoning on to the conversation idea. The American accent had always puzzled the girls and a variety of reasons for his move to the UK had done multiple rounds of gossip amongst the students at Grace Secondary Girls’ School.
“Erm, about four years, why?”
“Why did you come here?” Millie prodded further.
“For my family,” he answered.
“But sir, you’re not English,” Ali scoffed. “Surely your family is American?”
“No, my wife was English.”
“Are you MARRIED?!” Millie gasped. “How come we never knew?! You’ve been our sports teacher for three years and you never told us!”
“Firstly, I was married. Secondly, I wasn’t aware that you were entitled to my entire private life story Millie,” he chuckled.
“So you’re not married?” Sally asked.
“Sir, have you met the new biology teacher?” Sophie wondered, sounding more interested than usual.
“No, why?” Owen frowned.
“Oh, no reason really… she’s American like you, that’s all. I thought perhaps you knew her…”
The Largest Infiltration of the US Government in History —- Operation Snow White
Spies have had their place in history ever since the beginning of city states, kingdoms, and empires, providing important intelligence about an adversary and enemy. Perhaps the golden age of spying occurred during the Cold War, where American and Soviet spies seemed to be behind every corner, listening in to every conversation and collecting every scrap of data that could be found. So it would be no surprise to learn that the largest infiltration of the United States Government occurred in the 1970’s. However, the source of the infiltration was not from the Soviet Union or any of the other communist bloc countries of the Cold War. Rather, the infiltration came from a most unexpected and unusual source; The Church of Scientology.
Formed in 1954 by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, the Church of Scientology had been under the suspicion of governments throughout the 1960’s and 70’s. The church was especially under close scrutiny by the US Government, who suspected the church was a cult which brainwashed and manipulated it members, and suspected the organization of tax fraud. In the late 1960’s a plan called “Operation Snow White” was drawn up by L. Ron’s wife, Mary Sue Hubbard, 2nd in command and head of the Guardian Office. The Guardian Office was a section of the church devoted to protecting the interests of the Scientology, especially against journalists, critics, and anyone who spoke out against the religion. Organized and planned by the Guardian Office, Operation Snow White called for the infiltration of various agencies in the US Government. Scientology members were to get jobs within these agencies, then use their positions to steal any government documents which portrayed the Church of Scientology in a negative light and to plant false information. Between 1973 and 1977, covert agents managed to infiltrate 136 government agencies, among them; the FBI, CIA, IRS, FDA, DEA, Coast Guard Intelligence, the Department of Justice, the Treasury Department, dozens of US Embassies, the American Medical Association, and the National Institute of Mental Health. In addition, they infiltrated foreign governments such as Canada and the UK, infiltrated numerous private agencies, and infiltrated other law enforcement agencies such as the LAPD, NYPD, Washington D.C. Police Department, and INTERPOL.
By 1977, the Church of Scientology had one of the largest spy networks across the globe, with around 5,000 secret agents infiltrating organizations across 30 countries. It was in that year that everything fell apart. It started when two agents, Gerald Wolfe and Michael Meisner were arrested in Justice Department offices with fake ID’s. The two tried cover story after cover story, but eventually spilled everything and turned state’s evidence for a plea bargain. On July 8th, 1977 the FBI raided Scientology centers in LA, Hollywood, and New York City. The Los Angeles raid alone lasted 21 hours and resulted in the filling of a 16 ton truck with documents and other evidence. The investigation revealed that the Church of Scientology had stolen 90,000 confidential documents, had wiretapped government officials on a number of occasions, and exposed almost all of the 5,000 agents that made up Scientology’s spy network. The investigation also revealed another program called “Operation Freakout”, a plan to frame journalist Paulette Cooper, who was critical of the church, with making false bomb threats in the hope of having her imprisoned or committed to a mental institution.
By 1978, the Scientology spy network had been completely dismantled. Mary Sue Hubbard and 11 other high ranking members of the Church of Scientology were indicted on charges of obstruction of justice, burglary, theft of documents, and theft of government property. All either were found guilty or pleaded guilty, and were charged with a 5 to 6 year prison sentence and $10,000 fine. L. Ron Hubbard was named as a co-conspirator, but was never charged as he spent the rest of his life in hiding ( a time when he wrote Battlefield Earth) avoiding various charges by the US government, French government, and numerous private lawsuits.
10 years since they first met in a classroom in Wilmslow, The 1975 are ready to unveil their eponymous debut album. A collection of memories, overheard conversations, and snapshots in time. The 1975 is a love letter to youth, played out in bold and brash Technicolor. The 1975 make pop music, but not as you know it.