#do you know my blog well enough to guess what it is just based on these tags?

[doodler16]

Hello again

I am the same anon that made Loona "corkboard theorist" human disguse ask. I just say thank you for pointing solving the "loona" plothole question.

I said that a had a few other questions and this one I think is one is mainly based a small piece of worldbuilding that might seem completely unnecessary and will make me so out of it, but I wish to share it to see how other people react.

So in "Seeing Stars", Loona is walking around LA looking in social media before spotting the poster that Octavia had taken a photo of before while having a cup of coffee, specifically coffee.

Now this is very small scene, nothing all that necessary. However my weird brain attached to this through a series of questions:

How did Loona get the coffee? Well, she probably paid for it...

With what money? Possibly earth money i guess...

Now this question is rotating in my head like a microwave and lead into different uneccesary questions:

How and where did Loona get earth money? Because hell currency is completely and I know full well that their clients no longer have that currency.

Cause if she paid it with hell currency, that just opens a whole can of worms:

How does hell currency work on Earth?

Is it able to work on Earth or does it just switch to earth currency?

If it does not, do hellborns have to open a whole seperate bank account there?

Do hellborns have credit cards that they are able to use as "business expenses" when on earth?

Or they just have seperate currency altogether?

Cause for Loona to have money, let alone a bank account is that had to visit earth multiple times to get that much money to even purchase anything.

Also they're in LA, meaning that she mostly like used USD but what if she went into a country where it wasn't accepted? That would mean that she would have to gain and earn DIFFERENT currencies cause their targets are WORLDWIDE with different rules and cities.

The one answer that seems the most obvious within my mind and somewhat calms it down is that she could have just taken some from previous targets after they were killed by the imps but the only we actually seen her with the imps is in “Spring Broken” and I'm not even sure if she goes anywhere off screen when I.M.P go do their missions cause she's the one who usually has the grimoire the most after all but I don't think it helps.

I apologize again about this dumb, confusing ramble. It's been in my head and didn't have anyone to talk to or share about it cause most people I know don't even know about the shows (mainly because I hide it because it is located in hell and my family would be...slightly concerned about me, which is...understandable 😅). You don't have to answer this if you like but thank you once again^^ I enjoy your blog :3

Don’t worry you good, Anon. In Vivziepop’s human world they are shown to be dumb (which I have say makes things more convenient for IMP).

Seeing Stars, Apology Tour, Spring Broken illustrate that along with IMP able to get away scott free even without their disguises. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if Loona used Hell currency and the humans didn’t notice or care enough to check properly or process that “hey, the money this goth woman gave me money that looks weird.”

Helluva Boss’s money currency is basically the same as the human world’s money currency: taxes, credit cards, banks, etc. If humans are able to get an apartment so can a hellborn. Hellborns like Succubi and imps have credit cards. For example: Verosika mentions how Blitzø maxed her credit card for horse riding lessons in Spring Broken.

So many plot holes though.

[cachow-it]

Every time I open procreate I am jumpscared by this image

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

some people on here don't need positivity asks. popular artists and writers for example. they get enough love, show love to smaller creators instead

Hello anon! You seem confused about how this blog works. Since it seems you are not aware, this is a submission-based blog! (✨0✨) Any person can submit anyone else, regardless of how "popular" that person is. The submission button is in fact the same button you hit to send me this unfortunate and rude ask!

I assume you are not aware of this, as this ask is the only ask you sent me. No other asks, on or off anon, came in alongside this ask. Especially not any asks sending in positivity for small creators, who you claim to be concerned about. But that cannot be right, because if that were true, I would have to conclude you do not actually care about small creators at all, and only want to complain about popular creators getting positivity, which would be not very nice!

Oh, and another thing. One of this blog's only rules is to not put down one member of this fandom in order to uplift another. I assume you did not read the rules in my description, since you did not know I am submission based, so I thought I would let you know!

Ah, but actually though.

"Popular" writers and artists are in fact also people who work hard and provide the fandom with amazing works. There are a lot of popular artists and writers whose work I genuinely admire, and I am happy to use this space to express this admiration. They deserve appreciation for what they do, and as long as people are willing to submit them, I am going to post them.

(Additionally, on an entirely practical level, who am I to decide when someone is "too popular" to be posted? I cannot see anyone's follower counts. This is in fact a main feature of tumblr. Would I just be going by guess? This seems an inefficient system.) (Not that I think you care about this. I assume you have a specific list of users in your head that you, personally, subjectively, do not like, and you want me to adhere to it for your petty grudge.)

One of the many, many reasons I started this blog was in response to how certain people use confessions blogs, where I saw space for people to post anons about how they disliked popular artists and writers, such as how they hated a certain person's art or writing style, often specifying those people by name on anon to a blog with many many followers, where that person will unfortunately see it.

Another of the many, many reasons I started this blog is for my friends who are on the more popular end of the fandom, and how people treat them directly. What they have shown me of their inboxes is nightmarish, with people being rude, entitled, or cruel, simply because they assume that people's humanity does not count after a certain amount of followers. And, in the interest of full disclosure, though I am not extraordinarily popular on my main account, I have gotten my own share of nightmare anons as well.

A third of the many, many reasons I started this blog is because I have seen tumblr users post about other tumblr users by name and how they do not like their art/writing/creations, do not think they deserve their success or support, or simply do not like them without ever even meeting them. They will then post those uncaring words in those user's tumblr tags, again where those people will see them.

All of this made me very sad, because it seemed like somewhere along the way, people seemed to forget those artists and writers are people. Being popular (or perceived as popular) in fandom comes with many benefits, this is true, but it also emboldens the absolute worst members of fandom to be cruel to people they think are an acceptable target.

None of this sort of attitude makes fandom a fun place to be. Fandom is meant to be a community, based in mutual love for the same story. It is meant for making art, or writing, or cosplay, or songs, or other creations. It is made for sharing those creations with strangers who love the same thing you do, and sharing excitement and passion with other fans. It is meant for making friends. It is made out of, and meant for, love. Fandom is not only made worthwhile, but kept alive, through our support for one another.

You may think me a popular artist/writer dick-rider for acknowledging the humanity and fandom contributions of popular creators. I do not mind. I am sorry for you that simply believing people should be kind to one another, or that artists and writers should be recognized for their hard work, is so skewed in your head. I will not apologize for being kind to people, or for providing a space for kindness.

Do not mistake my existence as a positivity blog for me being a pushover. I will absolutely not tolerate any of this sort of attitude on this blog. This is a blog based in kindness, and I will shut down any asks which aim to sow any sort of rudeness.

If you actually care about small creators, be the change you want to see. Submit small creators. I am literally constantly begging for submissions, and I would love for people to submit any and all creators, big or small. I myself have submitted plenty of anons about small creators to my own blog. One of the best parts of this blog is learning about lots of creators I would not have known about before because you all submit small folks. Our support for each other is not just fandom at its best. It is what fandom is for.

All this said. Do not be hateful slime in my inbox again. I do not want to block you, because I think you, too, deserve positivity, if you receive it. But I will block you if you persist. Thank you.

[clairecrive]

Hey there, I got an idea for a request Alfies secretary is a quiet girl and Alfie is always flirting with her he loves to make her cheeks blush red. And one day she finally becomes brave and says something flirty back to him and he gets all flustered first as he wasn't expecting it and then he's like "fucking hell" with his cheeky grin and makes his move while he has the chance and gives her the best kiss of her life💖

A/n: Hello everyone!! It's been ages since I last wrote anything, let alone for Alfie. However, lately I 've been right down obsessed with him again and couldn't fight the urge to write for him. I found this in my inbox and I'm so so sorry it took me this long to write this!

I'm not going to tag anyone because I don't even know if there's still anyone reading this blog lol. but let me know If you want to be tagged.

MASTERLIST

"Cat and mouse"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Hello, luv."

"Hello, Mr Solomons."

"Ah, pet how many times do I have to tell ya, eh?" You had been working for Alfie for a while now. Enough time to make you a trusted employee. Even more than that actually. if his relentless flirting was enough of tell.

By now, you were on first name bases. But even though Alfie was quite outspoken about his appreciation of you, the only way you told him it was somewhat reciprocated was by flushing furiously whenever he flirted with you.

It wasn't enough. Not anymore. And while Alfie was patient and respectful of your shy nature, you were done with this cat and mouse dance. You wanted him. You're just waiting for the right time to go for it.

"There's Mr Shelby waiting for you in the hallway, should I let him in?"

Alfie groaned at the name. You knew it was only to keep up his burly grumpy man persona he got going on. Deep down, you thought he didn't mind Tommy's company much.

"Only if you come in with him, pet. I need something beautiful to look at to survive that fucking bore, right?"

Blushing at the insinuation you nodded before going to let Mr. Shelby in and retrieve pen and paper. This was actually part of your job description. Alfie's request was more because he was a flirt and he liked to see you flush.

Nothing but charm in his vein, let me tell you.

"Ms. Y/N will be with us so she could take notes and whatnot, I hope you don't mind Tommy but to be fair, I don't give a fuck if you do, right?"

"She always does Alfie." Tommy drily pointed out while lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah well, I like to be surrounded by beautiful things, don't I?"

"So do I, Alfie. So do I." Tommy agreed

"Alright gentlemen, if you could stop flirting with each other and move onto business please. Mr. Solomons. has a packed schedule, as I'm sure you have as well Mr. Shelby." Rearranging the papers and documents in front of you, you dressed the two men. You knew that they could go on for while like this. Especially alfie had a way of talking for hours without actually saying anything. It made for a perfect business strategy but you knew that he actually needed to settle things with Tommy.

The brume acknowledged her with just a light tilt of his lips while your boss sputtered in shock.

"Fucking hell, pet. What the fuck are ya on about, eh?" He looked at you, and you could see that other than the shock for your outrageous implication, there was actually surprise in his eyes. And then a pleased glimmer.

You only raised an eyebrow at him to silently suggest to just get on with the meeting.

"Fucking women, eh Tommy? Wild creature they are, I tell ya. You never can guess what's on their fucking mind, can ya."

"If you'd get on with it, then maybe you'll have enough time this evening so that I can tell you over dinner."

You had never seen Alfie Solomons speechless. Hell, you had never seen him be silent for more than one minute. You bet that he talked even in his sleeps.

Well, would you look at him now. Eyes wide and mouth almost open. If you hadn't just taken a huge leap out of your comfort zone, you'd find this situation funny.

Tommy Shelby probably did.

"You know what, Alfie? I'll come back tomorrow." And with just a tilt of his head in your direction, the brummie was off and out of Alfie's office.

Meanwhile, Alfie was still looking at you. Which was making you nervous. And when you were nervous, you tended to rumble.

"What? Is it such a preposterous idea?" you said being defensive.

"Fucking hell, pet. Didn't know you had it in ya."

"You're not the only one who can flirt, you know." You mumble, suddenly shy.

"Of course, not. And I fucking hope you're not going to stop either." He smirked at you. Pushing away from his desk he turned so that he was completely facing you.

"Now, why don't you come here and show me exactly what's on yer mind, eh?"

Burning. Your cheeks were burning red by now. But you did exactly what he said. You got up and you walked so that you were now facing him.

With him sitting down and you standing in front of him, you were almost the same height.

You didn't know what to do with your hands, with yourself really. That sudden burst of courage was long gone now.

Taking you in, Alfie could see that as well. Smiling, he gently pulled you even closer to him.

"We could wait 'till dinner and even after that, pet y'know? There's no rush, yeah?" He softly promised. He had been flirting with you for months after all, what's a few more weeks or however much you needed?

"I don't want to wait anymore, Alfie. I just don't know what to do." You looked at him under your lashes, all bashful and cute and Alfie could barely restrain himself.

"Then let me show ya, right?"

Gently cradling your face, Alfie leaned in. He let his nose touch yours in a gentle caress so that you had time to pulled away if you wanted to.

Then, when you didn't he finally kissed you.

It was gentle and soft and, in your opinion, the best kiss in the world.

[ckret2]

idk if you've ever answered this before (probably, the answer is always probably) but is Bill, like... capable of empathy? Of sympathy? Of love (any kind) or compassion? I guess what I'm asking is how does he relate to other people? Are they all just tools and idle amusements, or does he develop any actual genuine (positive??) attachment to them?

Everything I know about him comes from 8+ year old memories of a cartoon I haven't rewatched since, and discourse I see through your blog, so I'm not sure what the canon consensus is but your word is god enough to me on at least your specific interpretation of Bill.

(I guess it would be moot to ask why he's so fucked up. Feel free to ignore any and all of this ask, it's 12 AM and I'm trawling the web before bed)

for my specific interpretation of Bill? Have this post about empathy and a couple of posts about romantic love. (Okay—three about romance.)

But now let's forget about my interpretation and talk canon.

Empathy! You can roughly split empathy into two categories: "I can logically identify and understand what you're feeling" empathy, and "when you're sad i feel sad and when you're happy I feel happy" empathy.

We absolutely know that Bill has "I understand what you're feeling" empathy, because he uses it again and again to manipulate his victims. He has VERY good emotional intelligence. He understands his victims' insecurities, their desires, how to make them feel happy, angry, ashamed, trustful, mistrustful; he knows when and how to manipulate them based on their mood to maximum effect; etc. We see it in how he manipulates Dipper & Mabel in the show; we see it in how he turns Ford against Fiddleford in Journal 3; we see it in TBOB and on thisisnotawebsitedotcom in the way he talks about how and why he manipulated Ford.

We have no evidence he experiences "I feel what you feel" empathy. That doesn't necessarily mean he DOESN'T, but there's no evidence for it. Never see him get excited just because someone else is excited, never see him cringe sympathetically when someone else is hurt. You could say "maybe on top of being a manipulation tactic, when Bill relates to Ford's estrangement from his family by talking about his destroyed universe, he's also feeling empathy for his situation," but you could also just as easily say "nah it's just manipulation."

Common sense would say well, if he feels other people's pain, it would be harder for him to manipulate, betray, and hurt people so blithely. But we're not talking about common sense, we're talking about canon evidence! It's possible for empathetic people to hurt other people; they can just... learn not to care about that person's feelings. Which is particularly easy to do if the target is someone the person sees as "less important" or dehumanizes them. Bill sees everyone as less important than him. We can't rule either way on whether or not he's got a capacity for emotional empathy we just never see. All we can say for sure is he doesn't appear to turn it on for anyone we see.

Though we see him come close. Although he doesn't feel with any of the Pines, we can see him relate to Ford (during Weirdmageddon, throughout TBOB), to Stan (on TINAWDC), and to Mabel (in TBOB and the Dipper & Mabel's Guide book) via projecting his struggles and beliefs on to them. But in a way this is sort of, reverse empathy?; it doesn't let him feel how they feel, but it makes him assume they feel the way he does.

Sympathy! The definitions of empathy vs sympathy vs compassion are contested so I'm gonna present the definitions I'm using for this post: empathy is "i [feel/understand] what you feel" and sympathy is "i care about how you feel." There's a couple of moments in his interactions with Ford in TBOB that are blatantly manipulative (when he shows Ford what's left of his dimension; to a lesser extent, when he "helps" Ford celebrate his birthday) that might also secondarily be fleeting displays of sympathy. It's ambiguous.

Compassion! Compassion is "i'm moved to help because of how you feel." There's a moment in TBOB when he gets so irritated at Puritan misogyny that he teaches a bunch of Puritan wives how to be witches and has a girls' night burning men at the stake with them. He apparently gets no benefits from this himself, aside from funsies. Is he motivated by compassion for the ladies or ONLY by irritation at how boring the men are? Again, ambiguous.

In TBOB when discussing his exploits in the Nightmare Realm, he mentions freeing patients from insane asylums and criminals from prisons. He also repeatedly mentions disliking captivity. He might be motivated by compassion derived from empathy for prisoners. He doesn't present his motives.

Love! He calls the Henchmaniacs his "family," repeatedly brings up their worries about being erased from reality, and says he takes his party hosting duties to them very seriously. We don't know whether he actually cared about them, or merely called them a family in recognition of their consistent loyalty and obedience. He's pretty disrespectful/violent toward them but that isn't incompatible with being emotionally invested in them beyond their utility. We don't have confirmation he cares for them, or confirmation he doesn't.

Hidden in TBOB and absolutely riddled through TINAWDC are references to his parents caring about him and tender quotes. When he's so blind drunk he doesn't know where he is, he tries to call his mom and asks her to make him a sandwich after school. We know he resents how they pathologized a mutation he was born with; beyond that we can't confirm whether or not he loved them; but just beneath the surface, he's unceasingly haunted by how they loved him.

Romantic love! I wrote a post about the evidence for/against romantic attraction in TBOB. He's confirmed to have at least two ex girlfriends; in the book, he mentions missing them both. He mentions having "seduced" galaxies; we don't know whether these seductions were sexual, sexual+romantic, or metaphorical. He denies having in the exes in the same book where he discusses them, and claims that love is the pupa for hate.

You can choose to interpret this multiple ways. To me it reads most strongly as "he's been in love but sucks at maintaining a relationship because he's an asshole, and he's got sour grapes about it"; but you could read it as "he wants love but his relationships fall apart because he can't feel it and he doesn't examine why" or "the relationships were based on something other than romantic love" and not technically be wrong based on the evidence we have. What we know for sure: he's had multiple relationships; he misses them; he tries to deny they happened; he claims love's dumb.

Genuine attachment to his tools! Bill claims torturing Ford was normal Henchmaniac hazing and he wanted him to join the gang. (Dubious evidence of emotional attachment.) He goes on a raging bender when Ford refuses to join him and escapes before Bill can torture him into joining. (Stronger evidence of emotional attachment.) In Weirdmageddon, seconds after Ford tried to murder Bill, he asks Ford to join him and then turns him into a statue he carries around everywhere when Ford refuses—and this is BEFORE he discovers Ford might still have a practical use for him.

On TINAWDC, he has an exchange that boils down to "Ford was just a tool?" "You say that like it's a bad thing!" "So you never cared about him?" "I didn't say that." He goes on to refer to Ford as his pet and henchman. Demeaning—but, people do feel positively toward their pets.

(It may be worth noting he also calls Teeth the Henchmaniacs' pet. Maybe this is a consistent element to how Bill relates to sentient people.)

There's evidence in TBOB that he felt similarly about his first human henchman, the shaman—at minimum, he's very bitter when the shaman turns on him and he says he's gonna find a "new best friend."

Summary: There's evidence that Bill develops facets of positive attachments to the people around him; but we don't have any evidence that any of these attachments ever added up to a positive & healthy relationship. In all the relationships we see in depth, the toxic aspects outweighed the positive ones.

Summary of the summary: Bill has the capacity for healthy relationships but is too big a douchebag to utilize it.

[thechekhov]

Hey Chekhov! How do you start converting an AU idea from character sheets and mini comics into a plot outline for a full, continuous comic? Especially if the series you're basing it on isn't complete?

I've been following your white diamond Steven comics for years, and frankly, I love how it builds and continues the scaffolding canon laid to be something that is thematically still the same but also very unique. And I never thought I'll ever say this, but now I'm working on a canon-divergent AU with someone that's I think aiming to do something similar(continue the themes of canon but different). So I'll just like some advice, I suppose!

You might've answered something like this before, honestly, but I tried to dig a little and couldn't really find it.

Thanks, if you do answer this! I just want take the opportunity as well to say also that your comic and blog accompanied me through parts of my late teens, and I'm very grateful for you being a stabilizing influence during that time.

Thank you! I really appreciate you saying that, and I appreciate you respecting me enough to ask for advice.

As for your question...

Well, to be frank, I don't START with character sheets and mini-comics. In fact, for WD!AU, I didn't have any character sheets until I started season 2.

Think of your story as an aquarium. Your characters are fish.

Yes, they're important, but having a whole bunch of fish without any substrate, tanks, feed and WATER..... will not really make for a memorable aquarium experience.

The reality is that all stories should start with an end.

That's my personal approach, anyway.

What I mean is - you need to know the general idea for your story before you begin to write or plan it.

Let's try this:

1.Tell me about your story in THREE sentences!

Just three. Not long ones, just regular ones.

For my AU, @ask-whitepearl-and-steven, it would be:

"A young orphan runs away from home with a mysterious lady who seems more cryptid than human. He realizes that he's not human either - he used to be the ruler of an alien planet! He and the other aliens he meets decide to (REDACTED) (REDACTED) (REDACTED) and he (REDACTED) (REDACTED) (READACTED) (READ ANDCTED) (READ AND FIND OUT)."

YOU should know how YOUR story ends too! Even vaguely.

It helps if you know at what point you plan to lay down the pencil. Because if you DO know, you are always going to know which direction to walk in, even if the end is so far away it's beyond your line of sight.

It's true that when I began WDAU, I didn't have much information about White Diamond and white Pearl, because they had literally ONLY been introduced. I had to guess a lot of the details (like WP being Pink's originally) and what White would be capable of. And thankfully, my original intent for the story's end fit pretty well with what was later revealed!

But don't forget - you could also just fuck around with stuff! It's your story, after all.

And don't forget... to also look back!

2.Tell me WHY the story is happening in the first place.

There's a reason that the beginning of your story happens when it does. If there is no reason to start somewhere, then find a different place to start.

You should be able to tell me "We're picking up the story here because something significant has happened... and that significant thing happened BECAUSE...."

That 'because' is your main background information that should be revealed slowly throughout the story. In WDAU's case, we only have a few pieces of the puzzle. We know Greg's side. He know Earl's side. But there are still little bits and pieces missing! And they're all important for finding out WHY Steven ended up an orphan and WHY he is being followed by White Pearl (Earl) at the very start of the comic!

3.Tell me what the coolest and most interesting things to happen would be....and then write them!

I think this may be something that's rarely said out loud, but I will speak on the behalf of the people...

We should write the scenes we want to read. If you don't want to read the scene you're writing, then DON'T write it!

If you feel like you "have to" do a page and a half of 'lore' because you think it's traditional to have that 'explanation' about the location of your story, or the history of the species or whatever, you're simply wrong. There are other ways to reveal information aside from just forced paragraphs upon paragraphs of information that would make an SAT Reading Section sweat.

Instead, I recommend that you find the most exciting or hilarious way for the characters to discover the most important bits of info. Find a dramatic twist. Shove it into the narrative. Then, figure out what needs to happen to get there.

Ultimately, though, remember this: When you're taking advice from me or from others, don't forget to take advice from yourself, too! It's your story, after all. You know it best, and only YOU can figure out how to get it written.

I hope that helps at least a little bit! Writing it never easy, but it should still be enjoyable!

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Lunch Break - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Suggestive Content and Dialogue, Blue Balls; Third Person POV, No Y/N, No Physical Description of Reader

If you're a MINOR, please do me a favor and read SOMETHING ELSE.

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: Jake and his wife are going through a dry spell. Luckily, his secretary Linda is the best wingwoman in all of Miramar.

Master List

It wasn’t odd for Jake’s wife and the secretary in his office to communicate. But every time that Linda’s, Jake’s secretary, contact popped up, Jake’s wife always felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her mind always just went to the worst-case scenario, considering Jake's line of work. So, when she saw Linda’s name pop up, she quickly answered the phone call.

“Hi, Linda. What’s going on?” she asked worriedly, failing to hide her concern from her tone.

“Hi, sweetheart. Everything’s fine,” Linda, Jake’s secretary, immediately assured her.

“He’s in one piece?”

“Yes, he’s in one piece. He’s doing just fine.”

“But?” Jake’s wife pressed knowingly.

“But he’s in a little bit of a mood today to be quite honest with you,” Linda explained quietly, using a voice that she reserved for personal conversations.

“He’s annoyed with everyone?”

“Well, he just seems a bit cranky and snappish. I was just wondering if it was a slipping him a third coffee because he didn’t get enough sleep kind of day.”

“No, I don’t think that it,” Jake’s wife replied honestly, resting her head on her hand.

Jake’s wife had a pretty good guess about what was wrong with Jake but she didn’t know how to articulate it properly to Linda. It wasn’t exactly a secret between her and Jake that they were going through a dry spell. He was working. She was working. He was trying to get a promotion. They just moved into a new house and so when she wasn’t working, she was stressing about that.

So, yeah, they were going through a dry spell.

It happened. They went months on end without something as simple as eye contact when Jake was deployed. So, in a way, they were used to it. But, in some other ways, it was worse. They slept right beside each other every night. But they went to bed at different times and one of them was always tired or needed up get up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning and it just fizzled.

They still cuddled and talked and participated in other non-sexual forms of intimacy. But they really needed some physical intimacy in their relationship. And they needed it about three weeks ago.

“I think I know what’s wrong,” Jake’s wife informed Linda. “And don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be stopping by for lunch, if you can pencil me in.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get you two as much time as I can.”

“Thanks, Linda.”

Jake’s wife hung up the phone and headed up to their shared bedroom. As she worked remotely, she had the flexibility to take an extended lunch break. She changed into Jake’s favorite set and the sundress that he bought her when they temporarily lived in Italy. He nearly ripped it off of her the first time that she wore it and that was the exact effect she was going for.

Shoving some supplies into her purse, Jake’s wife headed out of the house to pick up lunch for the both of them. When she arrived on base, Jake was still in a debriefing, so Jake’s wife went to simply hang out with Linda until he finished up.

Linda had a good relationship with both Seresins. She had been the secretary for the flight instructors on base since forever. And Linda basically adopted Jake since they were both originally from Texas. Linda was like a second mom to them and was at their wedding. So, if Linda told her that he was in a bad, snappy mood, Jake’s wife believed her. And she took the warning seriously.

“Oh, that’s a lovely sundress, dear,” Linda complimented her as Jake’s wife sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs. “You look beautiful in it.”

“Thanks, Linda. Jake bought it for me back in Italy.”

“Ah,” Linda realized, nodding along with a knowing smile. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Yeah,” Jake’s wife sighed, smoothing out the fabric.

“Oh, it happens to all of us, dear.”

“I know. It’s just that between work and the new house and everything, we haven’t got a lot of alone time,” Jake’s wife explained quietly, shifting in her seat. “But thank you for calling me. I just don’t want him to put his foot in his mouth because we can’t communicate in our own home.”

“Of course, honey. Any time.”

Jake’s wife and Linda chatted for a bit longer until Jake arrived. He carried a large stack of files with him and Jake’s wife could tell by the way that he walked that he was annoyed. But when he spotted his wife sitting there, a new wave of energy and life seemed to wash over him in an instant.

“Baby? What are you doing here?” he called, walking over to her.

“I just thought that I would visit you and bring you some lunch,” his wife replied with a bright smile. Jake leaned down and pressed a peck to her lips before straightening up. “And I checked with Linda and she said that your meeting got pushed back.”

“It did?” Jake asked curiously, turning to Linda.

“Forty-five minutes,” Linda informed him with an encouraging smile.

“Ah,” Jake realized, nodding slowly. He turned to his wife with that particular brand of lovesickness that still made her heart flutter just like it did when they first met. “Well, then I can’t find any reason at all to not invite you back.”

Jake offered his wife a hand and they walked back into his office, shutting the door behind them. Linda chuckled to herself when the lock on the door audibly clicked.

Jake’s wife went to set the takeout bag on the desk, but Jake quickly grabbed it from her hand and set it aside. She giggled as Jake quickly set her up on his desk and stood in between her legs. He gently cupped her cheeks and tilted her head up, rubbing his thumbs along her cheekbones.

“Hey,” she breathed out, smiling softly at him.

“Linda told you about the meeting?” Jake asked, putting two and two together.

“She thought that you were being a little snappy. And well,” Jake’s wife trailed off, tugging at his belt, “I had a pretty good inkling as to why you were like that.”

“I don’t even want to know how long it’s been,” Jake muttered, pulling her lips up.

Their lips met in a desperate embrace as the acknowledgement of their dry spell took hold of them. Touches grew more needy, the kisses got sloppier, and it didn’t escape either of their minds that they were in Jake’s office. Sure, Linda would guard the door, but they were still in the offices. As if Jake needed any more motivation to reacquaint himself with his wife.

“Too fucking long,” Jake growled, grinding against her.

They were on a time crunch, so Jake couldn’t take his time, but he was going to rectify that problem when he got home that night. Jake’s wife’s grip on him tightened when he rolled his hips just right and let out a whine that had Jake grinning in an instant. Pulling away from the kiss, Jake’s wife leaned up and brushed her lips against his ear.

“Then fix that, Commander,” she whispered sultrily.

And well, Jake was never one to disappoint his wife.

Ten minutes before his next meeting, Jake and his wife emerged from his office. Linda respectfully averted her eyes. But it didn’t take an extra-long stare to notice the wrinkles in Jake’s shirt or the fact that Jake’s wife’s dress was twisted on her body and far more rumpled than before.

“I’m just going to walk her back to her car and then I’ll head to the next meeting,” Jake informed Linda quietly as he held his wife’s hand.

“I’ll let him know that you’re meeting him there,” Linda assured Jake. Turning to Jake’s wife, Linda waved kindly. “Bye, dear.”

“Bye, Linda. Thanks for the call,” Jake’s wife replied, looking quite giddy and just a bit stumbly.

“Anytime. Have a good day.”

Jake and his wife walked out to the visitor parking lot. When they reached her car, Jake gently pressed her up against it and stole another heated kiss from her. Jake snuck a squeeze up her dress, earning a playful smack to the chest in return.

“When do you get off of work?” Jake’s wife asked him, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt.

“I’ll be home by six,” Jake promised, stealing another kiss from her. “You have a lot of work tonight?”

“I’ll make time,” she returned, unable to help her smile. “Just don’t be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jake pulled his wife in for one last kiss that got just a little friskier than it should have in a base parking lot, but neither of them cared. And with one last playful smack to her ass, Jake sent his wife home and then turned to sprint at break-neck speed to his next meeting.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

ok ok ok your sub! john drabbles actually gave me the best idea. tattoo artist x john wick

tattoo artist reader is there to comfort him and make sure he’s okay and doesn’t pass out esp if it’s his first tattoo.

also writing this made me remember a fic i read that’s not finished but breaks my heart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060659/chapters/50100092 if you want to read 🖤

Thank you so much for this ask!! I've been thinking about this idea for a while actually. There was another ask about this a long time ago, maybe on my JohnWickCaretaker blog? I can't find that one, but if that was also you, then thanks a second time. Also, yaaaaay, fic recommendation! 🖤

John Wick x Tattoo Artist Reader (Gender Neutral)

Author's Note: John is a little younger in this one (I’m picturing him being 18-19), so he’s not as mature. He’s even more shy and gets defensive more easily. Also, I'm not a tattoo artist, and haven't gotten any tattoos, so this is just based on what I've read about it!

CW: forced to get a tattoo, tattoo needle, crying, reader swears frequently, bittersweet ending

Image sources: 1 2 3

“You have time for a walk-in?”

You didn’t even hear this guy open the door. Once you’re done being startled, you notice…him. You’re not supposed to let yourself think this way about clients, but shit, he’s cute. He looks soft. Mostly clean shaven, with a thin, elegant face (maybe it’s the high cheekbones), topped off with a mop of dark hair. And probably inexperienced, based on how nervous he looks. A little part of you wonders how this is going to go for him. “You’re in luck. What’s your name?”

No answer.

“Can I see an ID?”

He hesitates awkwardly. “I’m coming from Mrs. Petrov.”

Oh. So he’s one of these. You doubt that’s her real name, but Mrs. Petrov sailed into your shop one day offering to double the usual price if you’d keep quiet and ask no questions, and you sure need the money. Your skin is crawling a bit but you take a deep breath and get into it.

“Okay, good enough for me. What design are we looking at?”

He hands you a paper. It’s the same one you’ve seen half a dozen times: hands touching in prayer over an image of the cross. Guys come to you for this tat again and again, “from Mrs. Petrov.” One told you it was a mark of his acting troupe, another said it was a family crest, another a symbol of his church. They’re probably all lying, but you know better than to call them on it – or to turn any of them away. You’re pretty sure it’s a mob thing. It breaks your heart a little bit to think he’s caught up in all that. He doesn’t look the part. But then, you also know better than to judge by looks alone.

You gesture to the chair. “Settle in, face down. It’s better if we have your shirt off.” He’s way too delicious underneath it. The perfect canvas...shhhhh stop it. You’re a professional and he’s…god knows what. “This will take about four or five hours. Is that okay?”

He nods.

“Silent type I guess?”

That gets a faint smile before he lays across the bench, chin resting on folded arms. You flip the Open sign to Closed, pull on your gloves, and start prepping tools. You turn on the radio to 80s rock, filling the silence between you - though it doesn’t feel like a stressful silence, surprisingly. Both of you know how odd this situation is and you’re both just trying to get through it. There’s a camaraderie to that.

You glance down at the design in your hand and whistle. It’s pretty big, taking up most of the center of his back, between the scapulas. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well I’ll be real with you: this is going right over the spine, so you can expect some pain. Nothing that’ll kill you, just…not super pleasant. So I’ll check in from time to time, see how you’re doing. If you need a break, we can take one.”

“I won’t.” He sounds pretty sure of that. Standing behind him, you shake your head. It’s always the ones that are so sure…

“Well, after a while, I’ll need one.” You run disinfecting wipes over the center of his back and set to work. When the needle touches down for the first time, he winces once, but he doesn’t wince again for the next ten minutes of linework. It takes you that long to realize that he’s barely breathing. “Your muscles are tense, buddy. I need you to relax for me or this will hurt more.”

“…I just…don’t want to move.” There’s something so sweet about the way he says it.

“You won’t move. You’re actually less likely to shake if you can let yourself go totally limp, like you would if you were about to fall asleep. Here, sit up for a second, take a deep breath, and stretch out.” He listens, but he’s not looking at you. You’re pretty sure he’s blushing.

“Okay. I’m relaxed.” Liar. You can still feel the knots in his muscles when you touch him again. But at least it’s a little better than before, and he’s getting impatient. “Keep going.”

Well, the customer is always right. “Alright, let’s do it.” You grab your pen and get back into place. The best you can do is try to distract him. “How did you choose this tattoo anyway?” Might as well see what story this one will make up.

“I didn’t.” That’s probably the truest answer you’ve heard so far.

“Do you…like it?” God, you hope so.

“Not really.”

“…You’re telling me I’m putting something on your body right now that you don’t want there?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “Forget it.”

That’s probably for the best anyway. You’ll get too pissed off if you keep going down this line of questioning. You take a deep breath and try for something lighter. “So what do you, uh…do for fun?”

“Reading, mostly.”

“Oh, sweet. You read anything good lately?”

“Kind of. I’m reading Anna Kerenina.” He slips into a faint accent when he says it, and you have a suspicion.

“What translation?”

“Just the Russian.” He sounds a little annoyed, like you caught him out on something. You suppose you did, and it was kind of fun.

“Bilingual. That’s badass.”

“Thanks.” There’s silence again for a minute, but it feels friendlier.

“So what do you think of it?”

“It’s...fine.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of dry.”

“I guess, but I don’t mind that. I just don’t like Anna and Vronsky. Which is Tolstoy’s whole point, but…”

“They’re both little shits to everyone. Makes it hard to get invested.”

“Right, exactly.” He shifts his chin. “If I was married, I can’t imagine cheating.” From some people, a line like that would sound like a transparent attempt to come across as a “nice guy.” But he says it so wistfully, you know he means it.

Don’t say what you’re about to say. Don’t say it. Be professional.

…Fuck it, you’re doing this under the table anyway. “Are you dating anybody?”

“No.” It sounds so bitter that, for a second, you think you really are dealing with a nice-guy-impersonator. But then he clarifies. “My…lifestyle doesn’t allow for that.”

“Oh.” You can’t think of any way to reply that doesn’t involve the burning questions in your mind about what exactly this “lifestyle” entails. So you lapse into silence again, for much longer this time, just thinking, wondering what it’s like to be one of these young men with the cross tattoos. Are they all friends with each other? What exactly do they do? Is it difficult? How does it pay? How did they get into it?

You stop when you’re done with the linework. “Okay, that went great! We’re totally done with the outlines, which is half the battle. I’m going to take a break before we start on the shading.” You circle around in front of him to grab your water bottle, and catch a glimpse of his face as he’s straightening up.

He’s wiping off silent tears.

Your heart almost drops out of your chest. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but it sounds hoarse and shaky. “Just hurt more than I expected.” He huffs a laugh, trying to play the whole thing off as unimportant.

“Dude, I told you we can take breaks if you need. If you’re crying from pain, you’re too tensed up. Tell me next time, alright?” Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re rubbing his shoulder. He freezes for a second, and you pull back. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to – “

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not used to that.”

“Damn, how do they treat you at Mrs. Petrov’s place?” You’re half joking, but you want to know more and more by the second. And when he just looks grave and doesn’t answer, your heart does that weird dropping thing again.

“…Let me get you a water, okay? I’ll be right back.” You’re grateful for the short walk to the mini fridge you keep in the back of the parlor. It feels so heavy in that room. You’re starting to wish you hadn’t taken the deal, because whatever this is, you don’t want to be involved.

When you come back, he’s perfectly composed again, but looking at you more carefully this time, like he’s finally really seeing you. After he takes a drink of water, he hesitates for a second. “My name is Jardani.”

Warmly, “Nice to meet you.” You take the bottle back and set it on the table, within reach. “You’ll tell me if you get overwhelmed next time?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m trusting you.”

You watch him settle in and get back to work. It’s okay at first but there’s a dark shadow under those praying hands that needs to go right over his spine. It’s basically pure black. A couple minutes into it, he exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for a while. “Stop.”

You set your pen down right away. “You got it.” You pull up a chair next to him and he turns to look at you, without sitting up. He’s really pale. “How are you feeling?”

“Lightheaded.”

“Yeah, you can pass out if you get tense like that for too long. But you’re okay. We can take as long as you need.” You put your hand on his shoulder again, massaging it, and this time, he lets you. You can feel some of the tension finally seep away and the color returns to his cheeks. The dark pools of his eyes are fixed on yours, and if you aren’t careful, you feel like you could fall into them and drown. There’s something trapped in cold waters down there, pleading for rescue.

Yeah, sure. If you were being unprofessional before, now you’re being a downright sentimental fool. This guy has probably shot people.

Despite being deep and rumbling, his voice sounds so quiet that it’s almost shy. “You don’t know what this means to me, to have a…nice moment... Thank you.”

“Oh – you’re welcome. It’s nothing, really.” You’re absolutely done for. “Um, do you want to stand up and stretch before we get back at it?”

“Mm-hm.”

Your brain is fried but you manage to hold it together while the both of you get back into position. The rest of the session goes pretty smoothly, and you talk a little more here and there. At first it’s just about how he should take care of this thing when it’s finished – staying out of the sun and all that. But then he starts to ask you about yourself - what you read, how you got into tattooing, your favorite designs. Everything you say seems to interest him. You can’t quite believe it but he’s obviously developing a crush on you. Or at least getting attached in some way. You can’t blame him, if the smallest friendly touch is such a foreign concept.

It's too soon when you place the finishing touches. “Okay! You want to take a look?” You help him up, his hand resting in yours for an instant as he slides off the bench, stiff and probably aching. It sends a jolt straight to your heart, to support some fraction of his weight and to feel the way his fingers squeeze down on yours before letting go. You mourn the contact instantly, and distract yourself by adjusting the two mirrors that reflect into each other, allowing him to see his back. “What do you think?”

“It does look cool actually.” He cracks a little heart-melting smile, and you’re really relieved. He may not have wanted it, but at least he’s not devastated.

“’Course it does, it was done by the best in the business,” you joke. Though to be honest, you really are impressed with your handiwork. Doing the same tattoo so many times pays off – each one has looked more polished than the last. It’s almost a shame to see him put his shirt back on…for multiple reasons.

“Oh, uh…” He fishes something out of his pocket. A wad of hard cash – a LOT of it, as usual. “Here’s the payment.” And then he’s leaving, before you can do anything, say anything, even catch the breath you’d lost trying to comprehend everything that just happened.

“Hey, wait!” You don’t really know what you’re going to say, but then he’s facing you again and you have to say something, and it just comes out. “…Do you need help? I don’t know what’s going on, but look, I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong here. I don’t know who Mrs. Petrov really is and I don’t care, but if you need me to do something, like…I don’t know, call a social worker or something or help you get transport out of the city...” Your voice falters. You have no idea what he’d need and even less idea how to provide it without getting both of you killed. And what if you’ve misread the whole situation? What if you’re completely out of line?

It certainly looks that way. It’s like a switch flips in him. “No. Whatever you do, don’t fucking try anything. It’s none of your business.” It’s the coldest he’s sounded. “You won’t see me again.” The door slams behind him.

You brace a hand against the counter behind you, shaking. How could you be so stupid, honestly. This emotional roller coaster isn’t worth it. You wish you’d never seen Mrs. Petrov, let alone this Jardani with his damn pain-soaked eyes and cornered-dog behavior. There’s something awful going on, and you can’t do anything about it, you’re just making it worse. If you can get out of this deal, you have to, even if it means getting out of the city. Maybe out west - San Francisco sounds nice this time of year.

You’re just putting yourself back together and trying to decide what the hell you’re gonna do when the door flings open again and he storms back though it, stopping short right in front of you. For a second, you just stare at each other, breathing hard. Then he catches the flash of foolish happiness in your eyes at seeing him again and musters his nerves.

And he. Fucking. Kisses. You. Forcefully, with his strong hands gripping your arms and his teeth colliding with yours, pulling, desperate, rebellious, like he’s trying to tell you something he’s not allowed to say. You’re pretty sure it’s, “Thank you. For being one of the few people who cared.”

And then he’s gone again, and this time, you can feel it: he’s never coming back.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕... ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Hello👋, I'd like to request since your requests are open, can you do WxS (separately) with reader who's too kind? Like they always kind to people and always help them, making them a bit of people pleasure. And because of that, sometimes people take advantages of them. despite they know people used them, they're not brave enough to speak up and decline those people

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hii!! Of course!!

Sorry it took me so long andddd I hope you like it! ^^

Also- this felt like being called out smhw ToT

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ untill Tsukasa notices the bad side... he's actually pretty charmed by how sweet you are to him!

✧ he always makes sure to give you the respect you deserve after doing him a favor, often even exaggerating... but it's just how he is

"THIS IS PERFECT!! My star, you're the greatest, most talented, purest soul to ever exist!!! I promise to return the favor you've given me with all my life!"

"It's just some cookies, Tsukasa..."

✧ but his words are definitely comforting are and never fail to make you feel a bit special~

✧ but his feelings towards your soft side changed quickly once he overhead how your "friends" were pushing you to do the piles of homework for them...

✧ he'll randomly run up to you and stop your conversation just to protect you and tell the people you're talking to what he thinks

"I mean... I guess I have time-"

"ABSOLUTELY NO!!!! What you're doing is anything but right! Just because 'you don't feel like doing it' doesn't mean you can blame it on someone!! Do it yourself and don't overwork my amazing partner!"

✧ I feel like your "friends" might more intimidated by how loud he is rather than what he's saying... but it'll definitely leave a stinge on their reputation based on the fact whole school must've heard how he yelled...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @wholesaleboi @yulikesminori @alicewinterway18 @hakulivesformusic @sucodelaranja86 - come get your future star!

✧ Emu was a bit late with releasing that what you're doing is actually pushing yourself and not just being friendly and wanting to fill up your time...

✧ she always tries to stay optimistic, so maybe that's why?

✧ whenever you told her you promised a friend something, she'd immidietly awww

"Awww~ That's so sweet of you, Y/N! Oh! Can h come help too? Pretty pleass!!"

✧ she finally realizes you actually have a problem on one day when you took too much on your shoulder and babbled out all the list of tasks you had to do in one day...

✧ she was quick to notice you'll just tire yourself out and possibly even hurt yourself if you do it all...

"You can't do that! It's WAY too much! You can even pass out, Y/N!"

"It's fine, I can manage. It's not like I can back my words now anyway..."

"Then... give me 70%!!!"

✧ she insists on taking the bigger part since she's more energetic and will not stop bragging and begging untill you agree, so might as well give in early

✧ and she's truly a girl of her words~ She does all the work flawlessly and if you're doing your tasks slowly, she might even help with your part!

✧ she'll give you a disappointed face and words if you ever take too much and... how can you see her sad? Maybe it's her plan all along to keep you away from taking too much... Who knows this girl...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @hayillaaaaaaa @miguelito-maruti-blog @ravenmoon903 - come get your smiley girl!

✧ Nene noticed your tendency to put others before yourself rather quickly... tho she didn't think too much about it

✧ that's untill she overheard your conversation with so called "friends"

✧ she stayed hidden and just waited for the conversation to end, not wanting to emberass herself for now

✧ after you're done, she'll approach you and complain a bit about what you did

"Why didn't you tell them to fuck off?"

"That'd be mean..."

"Yeah. So what? They're being mean by pushing you, you can be 'mean' by refusing too."

✧ in the end, she helps you with whatever you agreed on... she doesn't want you to overwork yourself so might as well keep you company

✧ she'll slowly push you and try to convince you there's nothing wrong with refusing to do something for your own good sometimes and that it doesn't make you a bad guy here

✧ she'll sometimes even test you with absurd questions...

"Hey, Y/N, can you stay awake whole night just to watch over me?"

"I mean... I guess...?"

"You failed the test."

✧ just... don't try agreeing on it unless you want to spend the next hour on a lecture onto how you should take better care of yourself

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @bl4cktourmaline @ravenmoon903 - come get your shy gamer~

✧ Rui could easily see how you're being used... he used to have not so interesting opinion so he most definitely doesn't want you to live like that...

✧ he'll first start with talking to you and understanding your point of view as well as sharing his own opinion with you

"Darling... I'm sorry to tell you this but... I don't think they're your friends... they're just using you and your pure heart..."

"I mean... saying 'no' would be rude so-"

"So be rude. I don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself by pushing your health just to please other. And if you truly can't think of yourself... Think of me... I'm asking you to take care of yourself."

✧ he tries to be patient with it, knowing very well it can't be resolved over night...

✧ he's patient tho! He's willing to wait and help you for as long as you may need

✧ if he ever happens to overhear conversation that's goal is for you to do some work for the person you're talking to... he'll most likely step in

✧ he won't be mean tho... he knows it won't help and might make matters worse if anything... so he just makes an excuse

"Oh sorry... I'm already taking them out on a date today, so I'm afraid they're busy... Good luck with your homework!"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @bl4cktourmaline @superstar-ethereal @stellas-starry-stories13 @alicewinterway18 @hakulivesformusic @sucodelaranja86 - come get your crazy inventor~

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

This might be a bit of an uncomfortable topic, but do you feel that Kate's cancer diagnosis has changed the Sussex PR strategy?

I'm seeing a lot less olive branches, and less of that kind of PR overall. It stopped the "royal racist" line of attack stone cold dead.

Where do the Sussex go from here - if you care to offer an educated guess based on tracking new rumors and PR analysis - when they can't take potshots at their favorite target?

Yes and no.

Yes, the racist royal storyline has definitely been dropped, but I don't think it was exclusively because of Kate's illness. I think it was because of the hot mess Scobie (and Meghan) got into with the Dutch translation of Endgame leaking out; the only way that they could rescue themselves was if the racist royal story was dropped completely, and then Kate was sick right after and someone had a tiny sliver of humanity to know better. (My theory is that it was WME who knew better, because Sussex Squad was still going all in on kkkate.)

No, because the olive branch and reconciliation stories are still out there. It's just Harry being the face of those stories this time (they were Meghan's stories a bit before this) and they're spinning it in a "we just want to support them and help however we can" kind of way. I think the difference why this round of olive branches and reconciliation isn't getting any traction is because William and KP has done a very good job making it unequivocally clear - through leaks, through the rota, through their reactions to Charles's trial balloons - that the Waleses do not reciprocate the desire for reconciliation because they have other, more urgent, more bigger things to focus on at the moment...like health matters.

As for when they'll fire up the Kate cannon again, well, it depends by what you mean. Sussex Squad has already been fired up, each time Kate makes an appearance. They make comments on social media, which then gets picked up by the blogs and the royal rota, of things like "hmm, she can go to Wimbledon in a designer dress but she can't go to a cancer charity" or "that's a fake lookalike because her smile is different" or "look at that line on her face, that's definitely a facelift scar" or "suuuuuuuuuure, she's getting chemo because look at all that hair" or "she's really faking that smile, she absolutely hates standing next to William, they're definitely divorcing." And they'll continue making these comments every time Kate makes a public appearance because that's what they do.

If you mean when will Harry and Meghan specifically say something that targets/attacks Kate? I don't know. It could be the fall, if they see William back on his "regular" schedule but Kate is still convalescing; they could make a dig at Kate thinking William won't notice. It could be after Kate has the all-clear and is able to resume working (because the optics of beating up on a cancer patient in the media definitely isn't good, let alone a cancer patient as well-loved as Kate is). It could be if/when the Sussexes becomes desperate enough for new attention from the BRF or William.

I do feel pretty confident saying that one of the reasons the Waleses are being very careful about Kate's day-to-day is because she worsens with stress. And if there's one thing everyone knows about the Sussexes, it's that they cause, and add to, stress everywhere they go and no one wants to take the risk of the Sussexes adding to Kate's stress and triggering flare-ups. (Because my takeaway from Rebecca's article isn't that Kate was sick for weeks or months before they planned surgery, she was actually suffering for years, like maybe it was a chronic condition she could manage by avoiding triggers and it just became critically urgent in January to address.)

So I would speculate that the Sussexes might be a little more hands-off regarding their use of Kate in the media until she's fully back full-time but they'll use Sussex Squad to poke and poke and poke in the meantime.

But we'll see. Things can always change.

[iwritefandomimagines]

WRONG DECISION — ROY KENT

masterlist

pairing: roy kent x footballer!reader

description: you’ve just finished negotiating a contract to sign for arsenal, and the first thing you do is excitedly go to tell your boyfriend. you forgot, however, to factor in how he’d react to your choice of club. [based on a request]

warnings: swearing, jokey argument, a lil fluffy too

author’s note: kinda short and sweet but i hope you enjoy regardless !!! this is the first roy fic on the blog so i hope it’s okay. x

“I have news!”

Roy raised his eyebrows silently, waiting for you to blurt out what it was that you were so excited to tell him, you’d not even said hello first.

“Go on then,” he urged, and something in his face told you he already knew what you were about to say.

You perched yourself on the edge of your shared couch, where he was sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“So you know my contract is coming to an end and I said I wasn’t going to renew given the terms they wanted me to agree to?” you bit your lip, and he tilted his head, “Right.”

You’d just made one of the biggest decisions of your life and signed for one of the biggest clubs in England, and yet here you were suddenly terrified to tell your boyfriend the news.

How had you not considered that your boyfriend was a Chelsea legend and you’ve just signed for fucking Arsenal?

Sure — you were positively ecstatic at the opportunity, but you knew he wasn’t going to be all too impressed even if he did want the best for you.

As far as Roy was concerned, Chelsea were the club you should’ve set your sights on.

“I’ve been trying to keep my discussions with clubs secret from you in case they fell through, but I’ve just signed for fuckin’ Arsenal!”

You watched him grit his teeth for a moment before he forced a smile that was nothing short of sarcastic, before he then managed to muster a smile that could have appeared genuine if you didn’t know him so well.

“You’re mad,” you folded your arms across your chest, a teasing smirk on your face as you tried not to giggle at his petty irritation.

“Mad? Me? I’m not mad,” he replied, gulping, “This is big news, I’m proud of you.”

You quirked your brow at him, “Might wanna tell that to your face, babe.”

You watched his face switch through a number of expressions in a matter of seconds as he overthought how he was appearing right now.

He looked down for a moment, “I am proud of you,” he paused for a moment before looking back up at you, “But Arsenal? Really?”

“You’re just pissed I didn’t sign for Chelsea,” you tutted, “They didn’t even want me!”

“They fuckin’ did,” he countered, “They told me they did! They said they were going to try and make you an offer!”

You laughed, shuffling a little closer to him and placing your hand on his arm as you watched the veins on his forehead begin to appear as you made another confession, “Yeah, okay you’re right. They did.”

“You what?”

“They made me an offer…”

Roy went to interject, but you weren’t going to let him do so before you finished.

“But Arsenal made a better one,” you shrugged, not mad at his reaction but just rather amused, “I love you, babe, but I’m not going to just sign for Chelsea to keep you happy, you grumpy old sod.”

“Fair enough.”

You were silent for a moment, watching him fight the urge to make a comment until he no longer could, “It’s turning my stomach just thinking about you having to wear that kit, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t watch then!”

“Well I have to! I can’t not support my girlfriend, I’m not a total prick,” he grumbled, to which you quirked your brow, “I said not a total prick.”

“Then grow up and get over it, I guess. I’m a gunner now, baby! And you can’t stop it!” you singsonged as you walked away from him into your shared kitchen, hopping up on the counter and swinging your legs as you took a sip from a glass of water he’d left on the side.

He shot up to follow you, parting your knees so that he could stand between them and holding them still.

“I am really fucking proud of you, love,” he smiled, “Even if you have made the wrong decision here and picked the wrong club.”

You shoved his chest softly in jest, scoffing, “Shut up!”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, lifting his hands in surrender before cupping your chin with them, “I’m proud you’ve signed a better contract, and I will get over seeing you in that godawful fucking kit.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pressing a quick kiss to his nose and watching him roll his eyes as you did so, “Better. We’ll work on it.”

He didn’t say anything, kissing you now in such a way that made it clear he really was proud of you.

Roy knew how hard you worked and how much you loved football, and to see how well you were doing for yourself made him immensely proud.

Sure, he was less than impressed that he’d have to spend at least the next season or so in the home end at the Emirates stadium cheering you on.

But for you, he’d do anything, really.

———

sorry this was quite short but i liked it as it was and didn’t want to add superfluous filler for the sake of it so kept it short and sweet <3 hope u enjoyed and thank you again for the request x

if you’d like to request anything, feel free — and in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

[noicevibes]

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

this is a repost from my old blog! and also the first fic i wrote for tumblr lol.

pairing -> vinsmoke sanji x reader

notes -> feminine terms (mellorine, mademoiselle); kind of based off of a scene from that vr one piece game; y/n is a new straw hat member i guess + her noble family kinda sucks; kind of rushy bc i didn’t feel like writing a backstory lol; honourifics are used; maybe a little suggestive…? just in case

wc -> 1.2k

“What a cute kitchen!”

Your eyes can barely contain their sparkle as you take in the final room of the tour. Smiling, you’d realize it’s already occupied by the light chopping sounds coming from the left of the entrance. You approach him from behind, tapping him on the shoulder. “There you are, Sanji-san,” you’d gently called, not wanting to startle him in the middle of his food prep.

“Ah, _______-chan!” Throwing a careful grin of his own over his shoulder to you, he sets down his knife at the edge of the cutting board to turn completely around to you. “I was wondering when you’d make your way in. You’re just in time – I’m making lunch!”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” you apologize with a small laugh. “I think Nami was just a little… excited? Relieved? That she wasn’t “the only woman��� on the Merry anymore, I mean. Her grand tour felt more like a tea date.”

“No apologies necessary; making you feel at home with us comes first. Do you?” he asks.

“I do,” you reply easily. “Our captain encouraging me to toss a chair at my window to escape was probably one of the first signs of that one for me.”

Sanji chuckles. “I’m glad. Well, what do you think?” He raises his arms from his sides, inviting you to take in his safe haven.

“It’s quite lovely, as I suppose kitchens normally are?” You glide your fingers across the island, enjoying how smooth the surface had felt on your skin. “This is my first time being inside one.”

“Your first time?” Sanji repeats, genuinely shocked.

Nodding, “I was never allowed inside ours,” you explain. “My parents were… very conservative and traditional in their ways. It may have stemmed from them being apologists of the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, but they always said that entering such places would be beneath our name.” You sigh deeply. “I always knew they were wrong.”

For a moment, Sanji is quiet, the slight tapping of your shoes and the bubbling of the boiling liquid in the pot overtop the stove the only sounds filling the room.

“I didn’t know you were also the chef until Nami mentioned it in her tour,” you add, your voice soft. “How wonderful.” You sniff the air, your lips quickly rising once more in appreciation of the scent filling the kitchen. “Wow… That smells incredible.”

Sanji’s lips part in awe at you, watching you move closer toward the stove. Not wanting to hang your head directly over the pot, you waft the vapour closer to you, inhaling deeply.

“What do you call this, Sanji-san?” You gesture into the pot. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had this before.”

“… it’s called Sugo all’amatriciana,” he says, making his way to join her side. “A sauce made of tomatoes.” From the drawer to the right of the stove, Sanji steals a spoon. “Panchetta. Pecorino romano.” Having given the sauce a stir with a ladle, he dips the spoon inside to scoop some up. “Onion and garlic.” A hand cradling beneath the spoon’s curve, “and a bit of basil.” He lowers it toward you, and your blink. “Try it.”

“Really? Could I?”

Sanji’s lower lip curls inwards, pinching the inside flesh between his teeth when you lean forward to blow lightly on the sauce. Lips parted, you barely release a breath, one just strong enough to begin cooling it, before taking it into your mouth and sucking back the contents in the spoon.

“Sanji-san… this is delicious!!” you gush after a moment spent savouring the flavour. “It’s the perfect amount of garlic, and the pecorino tastes so fresh–” You hum almost excitedly at the leftover flavour on your tongue. “You really are such an amazing chef.”

Sanji’s grip on the handle falters, the metal slipping from between his thumb and forefinger and clattering to the floor, his other hand coming up to clap over his own mouth. Immediately, you’re turning to the cook with worry.

“Sanji-san, what’s the matter?” you ask, reaching out to him. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I did, I-I–”

“I…” You frown, the skin of your forehead bunched together in concern. “I just didn’t expect you to be so cute.”

“C-Cute?!” you exclaim, your face instantly exploding with heat.

Sanji swears his entire body stalls at your expression; like a set of cogs that’s lost one of its gears, the chef goes still, but his heart continues to pound beneath his ribs. As you attempt to collect yourself, Sanji slowly extends his hands out toward you, and places them on your shoulders.

“San… ji-san?”

“______,” he practically whispers, head tipped down toward yours. You swallow, nerved by the intensity in his one visible eye. “You really are the cutest.”

“I-I… Sanji…”

This time, your warmth is contained to your cheeks. Sanji’s smile is sweet, crooked with the relief of not being pushed away by his new female crewmate or battered on the head by them. The gentleness in your eyes entrances him, and before he can control himself, the young cook leans forward toward the young deckhand, his eyes shut and lips searching for yours. A small breath escapes you before you’re able to reel it in—it would be your first kiss. Your first kiss with, practically, a stranger. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to pull away— it’s actually quite the opposite.

Hands having risen to balance your trembling body against him, they press into the lapels of his blazer, your fingers winding around them to give him a slight tug toward you. Eye swirling with adoration, Sanji is quick to fit his lips to yours, his own hands respectfully daring to come up to rest above your hips. With a small sigh, you press into him just a little more firmly, a little more curiously, steadily becoming more and more listless the longer your kiss goes on, and despite the loss of air in your lungs, you discover it to be difficult to pull away from Sanji, your hands releasing his suit and travelling to hold him to you by his nape.

The sharp hitch of your breath should have acted as a sign that you should pull away, that you should break to breathe, but you couldn’t bear to let him go. Feeling the tip of your tongue suddenly dart along his lower lip, tasting the faintest hint of tobacco that had lingered from his last cigarette, Sanji chuckles into your mouth. Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, he gently insists on bringing you back down to earth with a subtle tap against your side that has your eyes opening. Finally, you part from him, sucking in a breath so deep that it nearly has you choking on it.

“M-Mellorine, mellorine,” Sanji calls to you over your heavy panting, a hand rising from your hip to tilt your chin toward him, “you have to breathe at some point, no?”

“I-I… I… guess…”

Sanji blinks at you, his own face flaming once again. Did she sound… disappointed? His hands, warm and slightly calloused at the tops of his palms, slide around to hold your face in them.

“I adore your enthusiasm, mademoiselle, but if you pass out, I can’t kiss you how I want to.”

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[gold-snek-hoe]

Hello and welcome to Opinions from an Internet Nobody. Today's essay:

"Ger therapy" is the new "You need Jesus": One Weirdo's Navigation through Cultural Shame

This is a supposedly well-meaning sentiment that is often weaponized against people who are behaving outside of perceived cultural norms. It's a favorite of homophobes who see queerness/transness as a mental illness, but I've been seeing it used to demonize kink (which historically is often linked to queerness), and more generally any "weird" behavior that makes people uncomfortable.

For example, otherkin, systems (especially those with fictives), and people who take fictional characters as partners. Y'know, "weirdos" who "can't separate reality from fiction." And, sure, sometimes there can be a problem with that distinction, but I know as well as you that most internet strangers saying "get therapy" don't actually give a shit about the mental health of those they target. It's code for "your behavior makes me uncomfortable, stop it."

Same sentiment as "you need Jesus."

This has actually taken me a long time to figure out. I've been in therapy for my entire adult life, working through various traumas, severe depression, anxiety, all that. Those were the biggest problems as they negatively impacted, and often endangered, my life. It was only after my hospitalization in 2020, where I was finally put on much needed medication, that I could start to grow into myself.

I changed my name. I top surgery. I came out as polyamorous. I finally got my official autism diagnosis. Now I'm fuckin' married! But... there are still things I'm working through in therapy. Mainly, shame over my "weirder" behaviors. My current therapist has been a huge blessing in helping me accept the things I was too ashamed to admit.

Now, I feel comfortable enough to share.

I'm otherkin. Always have been. My connection to my humanity is tenuous, and I'm sure that's connected to my autism. When mad, I feel phantom horns sprouting from my forehead. I have a tail that swishes back and forth at the base of my spine. In my soul, I am monstrous, and years of therapy has not erased that.

I feel like I'm only half in the physical world most of the time. This doesn't hinder my real-world success (I graduated college Summa Cum Laude, have an IMDB page, and am on my third book), but informs the way I look at the world. There's a whole other universe in my head that hums along with me in my day-to-day. That's part of why I'm so skilled as a writer. To ask me to divorce from that is to tell me to stop existing. Sorry, it's how I've always operated.

Lastly, and this is the one I'm really anxious about, I have a fictional husband. Now, looking at my blog, you might say "yeah, no shit," but I don't just ship myself with him. I mean I practice pop-culture Witchcraft, and the Goblin King is my patron. I mean I have a Labyrinth-themed tarot deck that I talk to him with. I mean I held a ritual to spiritually marry him. Basically, I Snape-wived myself.

And guess what? My therapist isn't concerned. It's not hurting my ability to live my life. I have other interests, hobbies, and goals outside of him, which he actively encourages in all our tarot sessions! I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't support me. My IRL spouse is usually there for whatever magical shit I'm doing, and supports me! Some of my closest friends know, and the only complaint I've gotten is "this guy seems important to you, I wish you told me sooner." Hell, my MOTHER knows and supports me, which is huge, because our relationship was pretty damaged after I came out as trans.

If you have a problem with the way I live my life, when literally nobody else does, take a good long look at why. You don't give a fuck about my mental health. You just don't like that I'm weird.

Tl;dr: My mental health is better than it's ever been since embracing the weird, so leave me and my imaginary husband Marak Sixfinger alone.

[narumi-gens]

Between Dreams and Reality

Gojo Satoru x gn!Reader

summary: The space between dreams and reality is a curse. Loving Gojo Satoru makes it the greatest curse of all.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, massive jjk manga spoilers, chapter 236 spoilers, angst with no happy ending, sad times guys, established relationship, gojo being his usual obnoxious self and making everything about him

notes: I'm just working through jjk 236 like the rest of you! also the title comes from something kenjaku says in the manga and it was used in the vol. 23 promo video and I loved it so much that I've been wanting to work into something so here we are.

words: 2.5k

“Hey, remember that fight we had?” Gojo asks from behind you in bed. The question pulls you from the edge of sleep, but just barely.

“Be more specific,” you grumble, too tired to even snort in response. All you can do is nuzzle further into your pillow. 

“It was about you getting remarried,” he says.

“That was a tantrum, not a fight,” you correct. “And I told you not to say re-married. We’re not married now.”

Even with your eyes closed and your back turned to him, you can feel how amused he is by your response. 

“I was kind of a dick about it, wasn’t I?” he reflects aloud into the darkness of your shared bedroom.

It’s such an unexpected moment of introspection from him — a man who doesn’t seem to know what introspection is — that even in your drowsy state, you let out a small laugh.

“When aren’t you?” you ask him through a yawn and he lets out an offended noise that tugs the corners of your lips into a sleepy smile. 

“Well, sorry I was such an asshole,” he sighs, a faint note of uncharacteristic sincerity coloring his words.

“Gojo Satoru apologizing? I must be dreaming…” you mumble.

“Oh, my aunt’s getting remarried,” you say as you read through the series of messages that your mother sent you. 

“Didn’t your uncle just die?” Gojo kindly asks. Thankfully, you’re more than used to his inability to display any form of tact.

“Well, it’s been a year. But everyone heals differently. I guess when the time is right, the time is right,” you muse. You glance over at him where he sits next to you on the couch and are surprised by the thoughtful look on his annoyingly handsome face.

You turn back to your phone, where your mother seems to be having a very similar reaction to Gojo based on her messages — especially the ones that say, “It’s too soon!”, of which there are many. 

You’ve never been all that close with your mother’s side of the family so your aunt’s decision to remarry isn’t something you have a strong opinion on one way or the other. If she’s found someone else, you wish her the best.

“How long would you wait to get remarried if I died?” Gojo suddenly asks and you scoff without looking up at him.

“To get remarried, I’d have to have been married previously, Mr. Marriage-Is-Just-A-Construct.” The words would probably sound harsh if they were coming from someone else. You speak them dryly and with clear disinterest.

“Fine. How long would you wait to get married to someone else if I died?” he rephrases his original question and you shrug, your attention focused on trying to calm your mother down.

“I don’t know. Two years?” 

“Two?!” he screeches so loudly that you flinch away from him on the couch and slap a hand over your ear. He sits up and turns to face you fully, even going so far as to slide his glasses down his nose so that he can focus the full weight of his Six Eyes on you. “That’s not even enough time for my body to get cold!”

“Can you calm down? It’s just a hypothetical,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes. You reach a hand out to push his glasses back up only for him to bat it away before you can even come into contact with his Infinity. 

“Two years!” he repeats in outrage. “There should be at least five- no, ten years of solid mourning. And I mean the whole thing. You better only dress in black and I expect weekly visits to my grave with flowers and incense. And make sure you put my portrait in the butsudan—”

“We don’t have a butsudan now,” you cut him off to point out, gesturing a wild hand out towards the rest of your shrine-free apartment. “I’m not gonna go out and buy one just because you were stupid enough to get yourself killed.”

“And definitely no dating!” he shouts over you before he brings a thoughtful finger to his chin. “In fact, you should just be like one of those widows who throw themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre. Yeah, that’d work.”

He nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with his proposed solution. 

“We’re not married, so I wouldn’t be a widow and you’re not getting a funeral pyre. This is the 21st century. Your body’s getting shipped off to a crematorium,” you tell him dryly. “They’ll cook you up. We’ll do a little bit of grieving and say a prayer or something. Then we’ll pick your bones, put everything in the urn, and be done in time for lunch.”

He slouches forward and props up his elbow on his knee so that he can rest his chin in his palm with a pout, doing everything that he can with his posture to convey his unhappiness.

“Who’s we? You and your new boyfriend?” he asks and you would liken him to a sulking teenager who didn’t get their way, but that would be an insult to the students at Jujutsu High. 

“No, me and my new husband,” you smirk and he gasps as he turns back towards you, horror coloring his features.

“This is my death! Take it seriously!” he cries.

“Satoru, you’re not dying anytime soon. Why does it matter?” you reply, your tone short as your irritation finally begins to start peeking through.

“It matters because I want to know that you’re not gonna be off fucking some other guy a week after I die,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not gonna be fucking some other guy,” you snap and now it’s your turn to lean forward in your seat, your elbows on your knees as you tiredly rub your face with your hands. 

“You will two years after I die,” he huffs and you groan at his petty response.

“Can you shut up about ‘two years’ already? It was just a number I threw out. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it,” you explain, hoping that he’ll drop the topic despite knowing that Gojo has never been one to let anything go. 

There’s a slow creeping weariness that you can feel settling into your bones. It’s one that you usually only feel after a bad mission, not when arguing with Gojo. Feeling it in such a domestic setting is putting you on edge.

“Why not? This is my death we’re talking about!” he presses and you feel your self-control crack.

“Exactly! I don’t want to think about it!” you shout back. 

You’re not sure if it’s because of how loud your voice suddenly is or the admission altogether, but it seems to stun him into silence. You immediately find yourself regretting your words, hating how exposed they’ve left you. 

The last thing you want is to see the look on his face and so you bury your face further into your hands. You can feel his gaze on you and even if he didn’t have the Six Eyes, you think it would burn just as hot. 

“I don’t want to think about you dying,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from continuing. “So can we please just drop it already?”

There’s a heavy silence that hangs over the two of you. Eventually, it breaks when Gojo lets out a soft sigh. You feel the couch cushions shifting as he leans forward and tosses an arm over your shoulders. He then drops his chin to rest on top of your head as he holds you close.

“Don’t worry. I’m the strongest,” he says, his tone light as he tries to reassure you. It’s only because you know him so well that you can tell how forced his nonchalance is. “No matter what, I’ll win.”

You find yourself wrapping his words around you, clutching onto them tightly like a safety blanket that refuse to let go of.

“Isn’t your aunt’s boyfriend like half her age?” he suddenly asks, switching the topic altogether and you lean further into his side in silent gratitude. 

“More than half. He’s younger than us,” you reply with a quiet snort, finally dropping your hands from your face.

“Hm, well good for her.”

He doesn’t respond to your taunt, and you think the universe is finally showing you mercy and allowing you to fall back asleep. But then he gives an exaggerated sigh, pulling your waning attention back to him without even needing to say a word — an art that he’s perfected over the years that you’ve been together.

“I guess you don’t need to spend ten years mourning me,” he says and you groan, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over and for him to just let you sleep like mere mortals do. “I mean, mourn me a little at least. But ten years is asking a lot, isn’t it?”

“Satoru…” you warn. It would probably sound more threatening if you hadn’t yawned halfway through saying it.

“But, just wait a while before you start dating again, alright? Even in the afterlife, I don’t know if my ego could take it if you moved onto someone new too quickly,” he jokes, but beneath the self-deprecating humor, there’s a strange vulnerability that finally has you opening your eyes.

And you immediately wish you hadn’t because doing so shatters the strange, liminal space that comes with not being fully asleep and not fully awake. Your mind is still drowsy and it takes a minute to realize that something is wrong. All that you’re aware of is that you’re now soberingly conscious. 

When reality manages to catch up with you, your world comes crashing down around you in sharp, jagged pieces. Because where only a moment ago, you could feel Gojo’s warmth behind you in bed, hear his voice in your ears, feel his presence in your life, all that’s left now is an aching void. 

You’re overcome with the urge to look over your shoulder, despite knowing that you’ll find nothing when you do so. And that’s what keeps you lying still, staring straight ahead into the dark. 

This is your own Schrödinger's cat — if you don’t turn around then you don’t know if he’s not there. Just like the cat, Gojo is still alive so long as you don’t look. 

“S-Satoru…?” you ask, unable to help yourself. Your voice is rough with sleep, and it sounds so different, so much more real, from how you just heard it when you were talking with him. Maybe that’s answer enough. 

“Satoru?” Your voice cracks when you try again, only to be met with deafening silence. 

There’s a sharp pain in your ribcage, one that you’ve become familiar with over the past few months. You instinctively bring a hand to the middle of your chest, pressing your palm down hard to alleviate the ache despite knowing that it won’t help. 

The bed has always been too large. It had to be in order to fit his lanky frame. But now it threatens to swallow you whole and you scramble to escape it, your legs getting caught in the sheets as you rush to kick them off. 

You stumble out of the bedroom and make your way to the living room, where you fling a shaking hand out to flip the light switch. The sudden brightness has you squinting and after you’ve taken a moment for your eyes to adjust, you find yourself dropping to your knees in front of the small, wooden altar that’s been set up against the wall. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you’re met with Gojo’s smiling portrait — the only way you’ll ever be face-to-face again. His sunglasses sit carefully, reverently, to one side, folded on top of his trademark blindfold. A small box of mochi from his favorite café sits on the shelf just beneath in offering. 

With slightly trembling hands, you open the butsudan’s drawer and pick up the box of incense, sighing when you open it and see that there’s only one stick left. You absently note to buy more when you go out tomorrow for your regular visit to Gojo’s grave. 

Once you’ve set the last stick in its elegant dish and lit it, you take a deep, shaking breath, and try to push down the wave of tears you feel burning behind your eyes. The fabric of your black sleep shorts is clenched tightly between your fingers where your hands sit on your thighs. 

You suddenly feel angry and you latch onto the burning emotion, desperate to feel anything other than the overwhelming grief that’s found a home deep in your soul. Its roots have grown and stretched over the months to consume every piece of you, like an invasive species that’s destroyed everything else until it’s the only thing left in your life.

“You asshole.” You meant to spit the words out, but instead, they fall flat along with your resentment. “Of course I’ll mourn you. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Your head drops forward and you cover your eyes with one hand, as if doing so will hide your tears from Gojo’s ever-watchful gaze. Despite your best efforts, your self-control finally slips and you softly begin to sob.

“Y-you wanted ten years?” you ask, still unable to look at him. “I’ll mourn you forever. I promise.”

If he was still alive, you would have offered to make him a binding vow. You should have offered to make him a binding vow. Instead, you can only make one with yourself. 

“Please tell me this is just my imagination,” you murmur, desperately hoping that some passing god will take pity on you and give you what you want more than anything. You don’t care what you have to give up, as long as they’ll give you Gojo back. 

With your eyes closed and your hand blocking any light, you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen back into that liminal space once again, where everything is and isn’t at the same time. If you try hard enough, you can almost hear him tsking and asking you why you didn’t spend more on a bigger butsudan. 

But the scent of the incense and the soft sounds of your crying keep you from slipping away from the present. 

Your vision is blurry with your tears when you lift your gaze back up to look at Gojo. As his photo grins back, you sniffle and wipe your messy face with the back of your wrist before you press your palms together and bow your head.

“I pray that this all is just my imagination,” you beg him, pleading with him to perform one last miracle for you.

But when you open your eyes and find yourself still alone, the incense burning, and only your grief and his portrait for company, you know that this is reality — even as it falls out from under you.

[adnauseum11]

Operational Risk Management (John Price x Reader)

Kate calls with some bad news.

1k words

CW: swearing, military inaccuracies

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, master list also pinned to my blog.

Masterlist

Ao3

John’s phone lights up in the center console with an incoming call just as you are returning to the flat. Two hefty shopping bags of new glitter-less decorations are safely secured in the back seat. His patience ran out about half-way back from your excursion, locked in a snarl of holiday traffic. When he began to grumble about the lack of common sense on display, you reminded him that he wanted to tag along with you. The look he gave you afterwards was dark, but you didn’t let it faze you, used as you are to his intermittent grumpiness. Still, you’re happy to claim your spoils and clear off so he can take his phone call in peace, his annoyance doing nothing to dampen your spirit. 

“Hello?” 

John’s tone is curt. The familiar sound of chopper blades swells and then he can hear Kate over the staticky line, immediately picturing her cupping her hand over the bottom of the phone as she clears the rotors. 

“John? Got some news, you aren’t going to like it. Can you talk?” 

She’s moving, likely just landed. John’s brain is leaping ahead, trying to fill in the gaps. 

“Yeah. What happened? Gaz alright?”

Kate cuts straight to the chase, apparently no time to waste on pleasantries. 

“The commander Gaz is working under is a younger brother to man killed in Las Almas - belonged to Shadow Company. He’s leveraged his position with Norris to start knocking on doors to find out what happened to his brother and he’s managed to get enough intel to hold the 141 responsible.”

“Jesus Christ Laswell.”

John’s palm comes down with a slap on the steering wheel, his mood worsening. He can feel his blood pressure rising as Kate’s terse voice washes over him.

“I suspect Norris is feeding him information. We’re going to keep working on that end, see if we can confirm anything. When you turned down the contract and that photo popped up, he tried a different path. The commander did basic training with your girl’s would-be-assailant years ago, before the dishonourable discharge. We think he’s currently switching tack again. Gaz is obviously compromised, and they’re about to ship out.”

“Ah hell Kate.” 

John’s violently pushing his fingers through his hair, the implications of Gaz being in the thick of this commander’s operation making his stomach turn to lead. 

“I didn’t know John, didn’t think Norris’ men needed further vetting. Lesson learned. I’ve got a potential intercept point. Right now, we’re handling some rendezvous communications for them as we’ve got friendlies in the field, Gaz being one. They’re going to be sent to recon a chemical manufacture plant in Lithuania for a potential raid.”

Kate’s tone suggests she’s well aware of her fuck up, and John respects her enough to leave it there, satisfied with her acknowledgement.

“There’s got to be a vulnerability we can exploit to get Gaz to safety.”

John’s instinct is to plan, even without any intel yet.

“Ghost is planning an avenue of approach for the potential intercept point before whatever the commander is up to comes to fruition out there. We urgently could use an extra set of hands in the know, Captain. Timing is critical here. Gaz’s assigned taskforce won’t be expecting us. If we do this correctly, we can bury this for good with no one the wiser.”

John looks up at the flat, can almost picture you flitting around, rearranging items to account for your new prizes. His heart sinks as he makes the only decision his conscience will allow. 

“Yeah, my bag is mostly packed. I can be at the base in a few hours for pick up if you can arrange liaison.”

Kate asks the question he’s been dreading since this conversation started. He can guess at the outcome and is in no hurry to be proven right. 

“Your girl going to be ok with the last-minute change of holiday plans?”

At the mention of you, John’s brain immediately pulls the image of you naked in the shower, flushed from the orgasm he’d just given you, admitting you’re in love. The center of his chest aches at the thought of leaving you alone during the holiday you’re so obviously excited to share with him. At one point, early on, he was confident that he knew exactly what he was doing. His emotions lately tended to be out of control and headlong, almost impossible to moderate. After years of relentlessly telling himself it was better to keep his distance, to stay platonic, he’s finally getting what he’s coveted after all this time. And still, he can’t stop his greedy heart from wanting more. He fights back the uncharacteristic swell of emotion and clears his throat, refocusing on the conversation at hand.

“I’ll handle it. Not leaving anything this volatile for someone else to clean up. I want assurance it’s over.” 

“If you’re sure. You’ve been moving fast with this woman John. I’m assuming you know what you’re doing here.”

His laugh is dark, the sound of a man whose best laid plans are unravelling in front of his eyes. 

“Gaz would do the same. I’ll sort it out on my end, set up the liaison for 19:00.”

John is all business, putting any indecision firmly to rest in short order.

“We appreciate the assist; I’ll debrief you further once you’re on route. And John?”

“Yeah?” 

He’s preoccupied, already trying to work out how to explain what’s about to happen to the woman he loves.

“Good luck, hope you bought her something nice.”

Kate’s tone is a mix of gentle teasing and honest concern. John’s foul mood refuses to rise to the occasion.

“Piss off Laswell.”

John grates out before hanging up the call and sighing deeply, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He shouts a handful of curses into the empty car, grateful for a mostly vacant street to witness his outburst. He takes several deep breaths to gather himself again before stepping out of the car to rejoin you in the flat and break the news.

Next Chapter

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[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 12

Got real close to having another Junkan minus the Kan, however I did draw a silly little doodle of Mikan in the picture frame so guess what it still counts! Sorry No.7 you are still a freak of nature among the 100 days.

This is just some more of Junko crushing super hard on Mikan, so since I have no interesting details for the pic itself, time to discuss more personal behind the scenes stuff! So I’ve mentioned a few times that when I was first making these pics I was extremely paranoid about showing anyone, especially the public, these Junkan pieces. So I might as well go into more detail about what I mean when I say that. 

My fear was never fully based in stuff like “Oh people are going to think I’m weird” or “Oh I’m going to get harassed.” When it comes to how people perceive me as a person I care more about the opinion of close friends and the people I respect rather than the general public. I wouldn’t like it if everyone thought I was some weirdo, but I can live with it. I’m hopeful that when this project starts (as a reminder these posts were prepped before the the announcement went up, I have no idea how people are reacting as I type this) I won’t be harassed or threatened for this, but I feel decently confident that I will be okay in the long run. It’ll be annoying and definitely stressful but it could be worse. 

My fear at the time was based on how it could affect my career. I have for a long time set out with a goal to make art with the intention of bringing a positive vibe to peoples lives, and the main way I hope to do that is by working on a webcomic. That said if I post Junkan and it causes people to perceive me in a negative light, my art would forever have that roadblock. I’m sure I’d still have fans, but people are less likely to partake or look fondly towards something created by someone perceived as a bad person from what I can tell. There’s also the worry of how it could affect me financially but even back then I was certain that I’d be pretty safe on that front. I’m of course long over this, that was a result of my extreme paranoia from earlier in the year. I’m content with the possibility that this event could shift public perception of my work. How that happened will be brought up much later.

Have a great day!

BONUS MESSAGE FROM FUTURE JEM: Hey there! I haven't been making major additions to these pre-scheduled posts, however I just wanted to chime into say, yeah! Past Jem was way too paranoid! I admit this blog hasn't exploded enough to attract crazy attention, but I'm happy to say I've received a lot of nice comments and the like from people as it continues. We're only 12 days in out of 100 so who knows what the future might hold, but I'm real glad to have started posting now. Take that past me!

Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the tags are always appreciated!~