#Johnno

[cyaregulus]

🩸Blood Lust🩸

🩸a birthday gift for loml xia !! happy birthday baby!!!

🩸Lee Jeno/Johnny Suh

🩸Explicit

🩸3.8k

🩸Read tags!!

[kevinklehr]

Book Review: Johnno, David Malouf

Book Review: Johnno, David Malouf

“We don’t have the characters now that we had in the past.” That was said by a work colleague back in the 90s who was talking about how younger generations didn’t have adventures any more, like people had in the past. So, they were watered down versions of themselves. They hadn’t built themselves to be the characters they were meant to be. This conversation kept coming to mind as I read Johnno,…

[photomatt]

The Golden Gate Project is a non-profit, by Johnno Lazetich.

[littlemetalbiter]

Throw pies in Johnny's face. 🤡

what if we 'glitter-bombed' Johnny in jail except when he opens the package it's a couple of spring loaded pies and we made that shit with ingredients that STAIN

[skopostheorie]

Reading update with Q I finished Grapes of Wrath and Johnno by David Malouf they[re straight uo books with words in them. I'm moving on to The Longest Journey . Whhy are so many gay men writing my books

[johnnparsons]

@ Connie. [text]

Johnathan: You're definitely home?

[ruleof3bobby]

JUNGLELAND (2019) Grade: C

Interesting concept that had some potential. The plot was a mix bag. The ending was a let down and a little cheesy. Jack O'Connell was good though.

[dbphantom]

LENNNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

REAL LENNY MOMENT

[tender-emotional-music]

Thinking about one of the best book quotes I’ve read:

“Maybe, in the end, even the lies we tell define us. And better, some of them, than our most earnest attempts at the truth.”

[adreamthatsworthkeeping]

The parma/parmi debate is interesting because by Australian slang standards it should be parmo.

Service station doesn't become a servi, it's servo

Devastated doesn't become deva, it's devo

Afternoon doesn't become arve, it's arvo.

The rules don't care what letters are in the word, you cut off the end and everything gets given an O.

In conclusion, chicken parmigiana should become a parmo and save all the debating.

[nakedcomedy]

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Don't miss sketch comedy from the best of the best from The Groundlings, HBO, Comedy Central, Late Night & more!

Discount tix available to students and anyone who participated in this Summers various Union Strikes!

PLUS seating, free and plentiful parking, fully accessible, drinks and charcuterie available. Get tix now:

[chrisshepherdfilms]

It's been about four years since Chris screened any of his films in public. You can see his 2016 film Johnno's Dead at @londonanimation on Wednesday 29th November 2023. It kicks off at 9pm at the Horse Hospital in London. A blast from the past. This movie is Chris's sequel too his 2003 classic Dad's Dead. Get your tickets here. @autourdeminuit @ARTEfr https://liaf.org.uk/schedule/liaf-2023-10-best-horror-films-ever-15?wcs_timestamp=1701291600

[sunlilys]

johnno rattman. a fibre print washer occupies the bathroom’s claw-foot tub.

[johnnparsons]

Jesus fucking Christ.

She reminds him of a lamb that’s fallen on it’s back, kicking it’s feet in a desperate attempt to get back up. And Johnathan just stands there, watching her as she unravels on the spot, like a man who has recently thrown up a lamb shish kebab.

“No,” he replies, “It’s not that hot.” A quick glance over his shoulders both ways, hoping the person she’d been talking to would return and save the both of them.

What is he supposed to do in this situation? Why was she stuttering so much? Uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “Let me get you some water.” He steps away for a moment and returns with a full glass of water. “Here,” he says, handing it to her.

Amélie's heart kicked into fourth gear, thumbing so thoroughly when she turned to glance up at the new voice who hadn't been there moments before, startled by the sudden, unfamiliar voice. A man, dirty blonde hair, and late forties she asumed, stood before her, tall and slightly imposing in stature. But wasn't everyone to Amélie?

She blinked once then twice trying to get her bearings again, trying to gather those crazy, upending, invasive thoughts as they swarmed her like bee's to their Queen. Gideon's friend? There were times she thought about correcting people, but in all honesty, she'd avoid questions and investigation into her relationship. She was happy that it was kept quiet, his siblings the few that had access to such information. Anxiety gnawed at her insides like a hot poker as she tried, struggled and failed to form a coherent response.

In all honesty, for now, Amélie was happy in their bubble.

"Um, yes," she managed meakly, her voice barely above a whisper. Where was that library when she needed it, where solace came in quiet rooms and words became her comfort. She felt a flush of embarrassment that rivaled blush tomatoes wash over her skin at her own awkwardness. Why did social interactions have to be so difficult?

"Sorry, I, uh, well, I thought I was talking to someone else. But I assume they got bored of my rambles. I'm, uh, y'know, sorry? For just...forcing that conversation on you. That was never..." She blew out a breath. "That was never my intention. I just...this," Amés gestured to the room. "Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here."

[enqmind]

Fic!

This is what happens when you've recently read baby trapping fics and then have a conversation about what foods you can't eat around taking certain medications.

Soap/Female Reader WC: 1.4k 18+ content.

Warnings: Baby trapping, manipulation, tampering with contraceptives, tampering with food, technically poisoning, misuse of a dietary supplement. Noncon, despite containing no actual sex (because baby trapping).

Reader notes: Implied to dislike marmite, probably isn't Scottish, dislikes masks (not a covid denier. they just make her uncomfortable).

Gothmet

 Johnny has been cooking a lot lately.

 “Trying to take after your compatriot?”

 He’d laughed at that.

 “I think you’ll find I don’t hit my Boiling Point quite so fast, love.”

 You suspected he’d last five minutes in food service, since you’re not actually allowed to explode the sous chef.

 But as a home cook? Oh, he was passable.

 His latest creation was squid ink ravioli filled with an avant garde bacon and nigella seed concoction.

 It was interesting, but good was a different question.

 “Do you like it?” He asked, puppy dog enthusiasm radiating off of him in waves.

 “… I don’t know,” you confessed. “It’s certainly interesting, but I’m not sure one way or the other.”

 You half expected his face to fall, but instead he looked thoughtful as he took a considered bite.

 “Aye, I see what you mean. This’ll take some workshopping. You willing to be my taste tester?” 

 You grinned at him over your wine.

 “It would be my pleasure.”

 “And that is my top priority, after all.”

 He didn’t seem discouraged by the half hearted kick under the table, especially if his enthusiasm for ‘dessert’ was considered.

 His new culinary interest expanded to baking.

 The next day he presented you with a zebra cake with the highest contrast you’d ever seen. The chocolate stripes were almost jet black.

 “I got some o’  that ultra Dutch processed cocoa to try making my own oreos. Ordered one of them special biscuit cutters too, but it hasn’t arrived yet. So I decided to make a very accurate zebra cake.”

 “You ordered one for bourbons too, right?”

 “What do you take me for, hen? Some kind of godless heathen?”

 You raised your hands placatingly.

 “Just making sure, Johnno. Gotta check to see if you’ve been replaced by a sexy doppelganger every now and then.”

 He squinted at you.

 “Yeah, well. You’ll get your bourbons. With bourbon cream, mind.”

 “Always trying to ply me with something, aren’t you?”

 He looked scandalised when you laughed.

 Within the week he had those biscuits ready for you. True to his word the bourbons had bourbon cream and the orefauxs (as he called them) had Baileys cream. Both were as black as the devil’s bottom.

 “I might need a new wardrobe soon if you keep this up,” you joked between mouthfuls.

 “Ah, I’ll just help you work it off. Or just buy you a new one.”

 The look you gave him might not have been as withering as you’d hoped, but he seemed to get the message.

 “I’ll try to bake you something healthier next time.”

 Something healthier meant a coal black loaf of bread.

 “It’s a black bread,” he said cheerily, “it’s got rye in it. Thought might as well go the whole hog and added some activated charcoal to make it as black as you like your coffee.”

 It was with a heavy sigh that you turned your eyes to him.

 “I can’t eat this.”

 His face did fall this time.

 “Oh. You allergic to rye? Or are you afraid I’ve slipped some marmite in?”

 “My marmite take is neither here nor there. The problem is that I’m on the pill and activated charcoal can make it not work.”

 “Oh, shit.”

 He looked so crestfallen that you felt even worse.

 “Sorry.”

 “No, no. It’s my fault. Shoulda considered that.”

 You tore off a chunk and slathered it with butter, just to see him light up a little.

 “Well, I guess half a loaf over a couple days can’t hurt too much.”

 His grin was blinding.

 “Ah, but what am I gonna do with all this spare activated charcoal? I cannae eat it all meself.”

 You gave him a grin of your own.

 “Could live up to your callsign and use it to make soap. Good for the skin and all that.”

 “Ah,” he said sagely. “So that’s why they kept showing me that melt and pour stuff. I was starting to think I’d have to assassinate Bezos for knowing too much. How’d he even find out?”

 You chuckle as you eat your chunk of bread.

 “It’s really good,” you mumbled, delight rendering you mannerless.

 Johnny puffed up with pride.

 “I’ll try a different colourant next time. Still got that squid ink, after all.”

 “How is recipe development, by the way?”

 “Can’t complain. I’ll have another plate for you in a couple o’ days.”

 “I look forward to it!”

 In the meantime you were working your way through the biscuits, cake and that half a loaf.

 The second round of ravioli was divine. Exactly what was different was a question, but if Johnny was going to continue to be a magician in the kitchen then he was allowed a few secrets.

 He joked that this was the way to your heart, and he wasn’t far wrong. There was something about a handsome and rugged man cooking for you that was so very seductive. So less ‘way to your heart’ and ‘way into your knickers’.

 His culinary adventures continued with a squid ink version of the bread (still delicious, barely tasted different) and so much chocolatey goodness.

 Despite previously thinking such things impossible, you liked chocolate as much as the next woman, it was getting more than a bit much.

 “Don’t worry. I’ll take a break on the old chocolate,” he reassured you over some jjajangmyeon. “I’ve got a few more ideas up my sleeve.”

 He bought you a pie.

 It was rectangular, but certainly a pie.

 “I thought you said you made buns?”

 “I did hen, a bun at least. This is a black bun, it’s traditional around Hogmanay.”

 When he cut it open you could see why it was called that.

 The filling was dark as a moonless night and chock full of dried fruit.

 Granted, you were a bit leery, but you gave it a shot and were pleasantly surprised.

 “This is good. Remind me to come ‘round yours for New Year’s.”

 “It’ll be an invitation, not a reminder, lass.”

 You grinned, even with currents stuck in your teeth.

 The next thing he bought you was fudge.

 You were more dubious about this one than the pie.

 “Why is it black?”

 “It’s liquorice flavoured. Me mam asked me to make some, thought I’d let you try it too.”

 Maybe you could deal with the dried fruit, but the liquorice was a bit much. All sorts were one thing, but this flavour and this texture? It was weird and gritty and didn’t go. No thank you.

 “Well, you win some you lose some,” he grinned, “they can’t all be winners.”

 The liquorice might not have been, but the black sesame seed mochi certainly was.

 “It’s good in a porridge too, they use rice starch to thicken it.”

 You raised an eyebrow at him.

 “Porridge without oats? Do your countrymen know you’re speaking such blasphemy?”

 “Aye, aye. Fair point. You keep this schtumm and I'll work on some fusion cuisine so they don’t burn me in Parliament square.”

 It took a few days, but the proper black sesame seed porridge was welcome. You’d been feeling a little under the weather lately.

 “So what do we call this? Scorean? Kortish?”

 “Please stop.”

 “You’re no fun.”

 Johnny pouted.

 “Oh right. Before I forget; what happened to that soap making? Or am I just not getting any?” It was your turn to pout.

 “Ah, I decided to go cold process. So it’ll be ready when I get back from deployment.”

 You nodded.

 “Do you want me to bring some down when I come pick you up so we can throw it at Simon? ‘Cause he’s gonna need it with that fucking mask he’s always wearing.”

 Johnny’s eyebrow’s rose.

 “I still don’t get why you hate it so much.”

 “I swear he’s making faces at me under that thing.”

 “Really?” He asked dubiously.

 “I just don’t like it. He gives me a weird vibe.”

 Johnny looked affronted.

 “Hey-“

 “Because of the mask. Hated it during the pandemic, too. I’d last three minutes in Japan in the winter.”

 “I’ll take you in the summer then,” he smiled softly, placated.

 You rolled your eyes affectionately.

 “I’ll hold you to that.”

 As ever, it was with a heavy heart that you saw him off the next day.

 He did leave you with some treats to tide you over. Another black bun, some biscuits (chocolate was back on the menu) and a box of lovely dark parkin. Altogether, it should last most of the time he was away.

 It didn’t.

 You stress ate most of it when you found out you were pregnant.

[ratblazer]

What would happen if we just . . . Put johnno in a bubble? Bubble of joy for the himb?? 🥺 The narrative doom can have everyone else, just save himb!

He'd have fun in the bubble for a little while, but then he'd get bored and upset. He needs to experience The Horrors. For enrichment.