#the very no-nonsense professionals

[quatregats]

I'm rereading Master and Commander and I'm deeply in danger of just posting every single passage from it ever but I did love the way that the capture of the prize in Chapter 6 was framed on either side by the logbook's entry, and also the way he transitions out of it to set the scene and tone:

Sunday, July 1 … Mustered the ship’s company by divisions read the Articles of War performed Divine Service and committed the body of Henry Gouges to the deep. At noon dº weather. Ditto weather: but the sun sank towards a livid, purple, tumescent cloud-bank piled deep on the western horizon, and it was clear to every seaman aboard that it was not going to remain ditto much longer. The seamen, sprawling abroad on the fo’c’sle and combing out their long hair or plaiting it up again for one another, kindly explained to the landmen that this long swell from the south and east, this strange sticky heat that came both from the sky and the glassy surface of the heaving sea, and this horribly threatening appearance of the sun, meant that there was to be a coming dissolution of all natural bonds, an apocalyptic upheaval, a right dirty night ahead. The sailormen had plenty of time to depress their hearers, already low in their spirits because of the unnatural death of Henry Gouges (had said, ‘Ha, ha, mates, I am fifty years old this day. Oh dear,’ and had died sitting there, still holding his untasted grog) – they had plenty of time, for this was Sunday afternoon, when in the course of nature the fo’c’sle was covered with sailors at their ease, their pigtails undone. Some of the more gifted had queues they could tuck into their belts; and now that these ornaments were loosened and combed out, lank when still wet, or bushy when dry and as yet ungreased, they gave their owners a strangely awful and foreboding look, like oracles; which added to the landmen’s uneasiness.

[...]

Jack leant back against the curved run of the stern-window and let Killick’s version of coffee down by gulps into his grateful stomach; and at the same time that its warmth spread through him, so there ran a lively tide of settled, pure, unfevered happiness – a happiness that another commander (remembering his own first prize) might have discerned from the log-entry, although it was not specifically mentioned there: 1/2 past 10 tacked, 11 in courses, reefed topsail. AM cloudy and rain. 1/2 past 4 chase observed E by S, distance 1/2 mile. Bore up and took possession of dº, which proved to be L’Aimable Louise, French polacre laden with corn and general merchandise for Cette, of about 200 tons, 6 guns and 19 men. Sent her with an officer and eight men to Mahon.

[apheliia]

the more pantalone lore we get, the clearer it becomes that dottore is most likely the more rational and "sane" one in that business partnership

[oxventurequotes]

johnny: you can move thirty feet

mike: per what

johnny: round

mike: and a round is?

johnny: SIX SECONDS

[thebirdandhersong]

house on fire :)

[laurenttheninth]

*chanting to myself* I will not be offended by clown stereotypes, I will not be offended by clown stereotypes…

[stranded-labyrinth]

sorry i'm slightly livid but less than friendly reminder that if your AO3 Bookmark is public, the author of the fic can see what you wrote in it, and so can everyone else.

if you're for some reason bookmarking a fic you didn't particularly enjoy, just keep it private if you want to leave your negative commentary. everyone has different tastes, nobody needs to know that you didn't like that particular fic, and the author especially doesn't need to hear your griping (or your rating system, for that matter).

it may not be in the comments section, but you've left an equivalent to a hate comment. there's no point in acting like you haven't.

[theflyestwhiteboyofthemall]

finishing uni is being forcibly expelled from the world of sweats and suck in to the world of professional wear *gags*

[novemberdevils]

first off— OBSESSED with inertia. The characterizations, the tropes, the formula 1 of it all. The writing. It’s so good I can’t believe it’s real and I get to read it.

second- for the ask game 🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go? would love to know how you just casually churned out 170k words and we’re only at chapter 5 !!

thank you!!! this is very sweet i appreciate it <3 inertia my beloved i know i say it all the time but i am soso happy there r people out there who appreciate the fic it brings me infinite joy. and to answer question...

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

uh i am the world's worst outliner. like i am so terrible at it. i think i have a tendency to get impatient during the outlining process and i just want to write the thing so then i just start writing it 😭 i have always been this way about Everything like when i used to be more focused on original fiction i would start writing a novel with like a vague plan and some characters and a blank google doc. which, fun fact, means the first drafts were always a giant mess, but that's fine. who needs an outline anyway???

for inertia specifically, i did try outlining the fic beforehand, but uh the outline is like really suck. it's bad. it is borderline Nothing. i have a document for it but it's mostly just a picture of the race schedule and some notes that i've made while writing the fic so i don't forget certain things, and i have a more specific "outline" for a couple of the races (all of the american races have outlines, the last two races have notes, and a few rounds at the beginning) but re: i got super impatient while outlining so i just made a document and started writing the fic lmao. i will go back and add things like if i had an idea for something i wanted to happen in a later race i would go in and add it so i don't forget to make Thing happen but for the most part a lot of the races have 0 plan. i just write shit. i'm making it all up as i go. godspeed

and another one of my personal issues with outlines is i suck so bad at sticking to them. everything i write at some point grows a mind of its own and diverges off the outline -- i have a note on my inertia outline doc that says nico was in a title battle the previous season. fun fact: no he was not. but i had half-intended for that to be true at some point, then i changed it. because who cares!

the one thing i do have super formally outlined is actually nico and jack's championship points. i made a spreadsheet where i decided their placements for every race and totaled up their points so i would know who wins, who's leading at any given point in the season, et cetera. and i do stick to that because i've made their title fight super close on purpose and i don't want to diverge from that. my beautiful championship points spreadsheet...

also ik i've said it before but this fic was originally supposed to be a oneshot (a long oneshot tho, i was aiming for ~70k words total) and look how that ended up. so outlines are a joke. i have a lot of respect for people who can effectively outline and stick to it, i am just not one of them and i never have been. the 170k words i have written of this are built on vibes and one google sheet that's it

fanfic writer ask game

[gcrdy]

GUESS WHO I GOT TO SEE LIVE TONIGHT (fighting for his life doing a totally improv musical)

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

Perfect way to explain how stupid is this shit:

They are fucking fictional, the same way I don't go to say to you how freaking boring I found the way you play with your dolls, let me play with mine as if I was Sid from Toy Story. THEY. ARE. FICTIONAL. DOLLS.

(also, honey, the weirdos and the freaks were here before, if you think incest is now appearing in fandom spaces... Hot take: you're the fish outside the water)

The amount of incest, noncon, and pedophilic jjk smut content is getting out of hand.

"Just scroll if you don't like it!" - this doesn't negate the fact they're posting disgusting scenarios. They're targeting an audience of people who should seek therapy. That kind of shit is not okay.

It's like saying "scroll part a zoophile account on Twitter if u don't like it." See how stupid it sounds?

This Fandom is slowly becoming one i regret being in because of just how disgusting people are becoming. Come on guys, do better.

It's okay to have kinks and fetishes, but that doesn't mean they're okay. It's not okay to sexualize minors, it's not okay to sexualizw little space, it's not okay to sexualize r//pe! I get dubcon, but noncon? That's literally just nonconsensual sex.

Anyways. Rant over. Do better, people.

[kashverse]

the first time it happens, sukuna doesn't even react.

your daughter, a tiny little thing with a head full of wild hair that looks just like his but with your color, storms up to him while he's adjusting his tie. she's got a determined look on her face, a plastic figurine clutched in her tiny hands—a sonny angel doll, of all things.

"papa, hold," she demands, her chubby fingers working to shove it into the breast pocket of his pristine, custom-made suit. he looks down at her, red eyes blinking slowly. then he looks at you, standing off to the side, barely holding back your laughter.

"what is this?" he asks flatly.

"sonny angel," your daughter says like it's obvious. "he's cute. for you."

you make a choked noise behind your hand, and sukuna exhales through his nose. his baby girl, his tiny menace, is standing there with all the confidence of someone who has never been told 'no' in her life. because, well. she hasn't. so what does he do? he lets her shove the damn thing in his pocket. adjusts it a little so it's sitting neatly, because if he's going to have a tiny cherub-faced baby figurine sticking out of his suit, it's at least going to look intentional.

"happy?" he asks.

his daughter beams at him, gives his pant leg a firm pat like he's done a good job, then scurries off to continue whatever other toddler nonsense she was up to before this. you’re wheezing in the corner.

"don't say a word," he warns, fixing his cuffs.

you grin. "i didn't say anything."

cut to his meeting later that day. sukuna walks in like he owns the place (because he does), radiating his usual aura of dominance and unrelenting authority. his executives are already seated, tense and ready, knowing full well that sukuna does not entertain idiocy. but today? today there is something new. today, nestled neatly in the breast pocket of his three-piece suit, is a tiny, plastic baby figurine wearing a duck hat.

the entire room freezes.

one poor soul, likely new and unaware of how the corporate hierarchy works under sukuna, makes the grave mistake of letting out the faintest, almost imperceptible snort.

sukuna turns his head very slowly.

"who the fuck just laughed?"

silence. absolute, suffocating silence. the man looks down at his notes as if they might save him from impending doom.

sukuna leans back in his chair, tapping a clawed finger against the conference table.

"anyone else got something to say about my sonny angel?"

no one breathes.

good.

he conducts the rest of the meeting as if nothing is out of place, occasionally adjusting the little doll in his pocket like it's just another part of his attire.

by the end of the week, rumors have spread. no one dares to question the sonny angel. entire powerpoint presentations are given with the utmost professionalism while a tiny, smiling cherub peeks out of sukuna’s suit.

by the end of the month, it becomes an unofficial rule of the office. mock the sonny angel? fired. make a comment? fired. even looking at it for too long earns you a pointed glare.

and by the end of the quarter, the entire upper management team has started discreetly wearing their own sonny angels in solidarity. your daughter, completely oblivious to the corporate chaos she has caused, simply continues her toddler life, happy and content in the knowledge that her papa always carries her gift with him.

and sukuna? well. if having a tiny plastic baby in his pocket means seeing his little girl’s delighted grin every morning, then so be it.

[superfluouskeys]

god FINALLY the end of the term is in sight (actual) (real) (really mean it this time) (no seriously) (:'))

[youareinlove]

I remember travis being pissed off because someone said he was a wide receiver and he was like “i wish i was paid like one”

YUP, i remember his vanity fair interview in the 2022-23 off-season where he was like “yeah sometimes i wonder if i’m being undervalued but i don’t know that i’d get more money if i asked anyway” and the answer has ended up being yes he would

[culxiaa-fn]

Have you played through The Wild Fairy of Erinnyes quest series?

Yes! But the thing is my memory is the same as a gold fish 😞 but i do vaguely remember that Pahsiv is talking about "that visitors" and about he is protecting Fountaine and how he sense the evil presence and how the "visitors" is extremely busy... Since well different languages and all but i read somewhere that the "visitors" name/pronounciation is similar to Neuvillette's name so yeah it's saved to believe that it is Neuvillette himself... And how after the quest finished there are a few friendly Vishaps around Loch Urania... Not to mention Pahsiv herself is a huge possibility of Vishap disguising as Melusines considering it's easier to go around since Melusines is socially acceptable to Fontaine. Although it's not obviously said in game it's probably correct to assume that considering Vishap is very flexible with their shapes and form.

But man... The whole Sovereign and Vishap stuff despite much have been revealed it still has many mysteries... But they probably there to celebrate their lord getting back his authority 😭 "My lord congratulations 🎉🎉"

[starsofang]

Single Dad!Simon who vowed to never trust another woman again after his failed past. He was locked up with the key thrown away, permanently off of the market.

At least that’s what he’d told himself for years. Now, he was beginning to have cold feet.

Simon needed a nanny, one that he could trust completely. He didn’t play about his child, and he’d be damned if he got set up with someone of ill intentions.

But, he was desperate.

Price needed him back periodically, even after his retirement, and he agreed. After all, money was tight when he parented on his own with a growing child.

That was when you came in. Soap had been a pal and recommended an old family friend, somebody he knew Simon could trust with his kid. Simon was skeptical, of course, but Soap had never done him wrong. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Simon wanted to have a trial period to see if you were truly built for the task. He wouldn’t let you off easily. His child was his world, and women weren’t exactly in his deck of cards when it came to trust.

You were as sweet as honey upon the first meeting with a smile that could outdo the sun. Your voice was soft as rain, flowing out of you like a summer song. You spoke to him with the upmost respect, and even more so with his child.

Simon knew he could trust Soap in guaranteeing somebody safe. You were the perfect candidate. He just didn’t know it would lead into him feeling emotions he’d buried a long, long time ago.

Attraction. Interest. A crush, dare he say, like he was a stupid high school kid that just saw the prettiest girl in class and fell head over heels.

He had a silly crush on his child’s nanny when he fully intended to keep it short and professional. That was the way he operated. He was like a working machine, and you had undone his mechanics so easily to the point he struggled to function.

Seeing you with his child only caused his attraction to fester deeper. His child became attached to your hip, smiling more than they had ever done, rambling nonsense to him every time he returned home and you left to go to yours.

It was becoming hard to deny it. You opened an old wound of Simon’s, awakening that deep and dreadful loneliness he felt every passing day. Every smile, every laugh, every Mr. Riley even though you were close in age, all of it had him on the edge of his seat.

He wanted more. He was tired of denying himself happiness. The idea of pushing away every woman was still very vivid in his mind, but denying you just seemed criminal the more time passed.

“I never got to thank you for allowing me in to your home, Mr. Riley,” you told him one day, ever so sweet.

“Thought I told you to call me Simon,” he grunted, avoiding your eyes as the two of you stood in the doorway.

“Right. Simon,” you corrected with a radiant smile. “You have quite the kid, I’ll tell you that. I always look forward to coming over. It makes my day seeing the two of you.”

Simon could feel his heart pattering against his ribcage. His hands were sweaty, and he prayed you didn’t notice him swipe them along his jeans.

“Both of us?” he hummed.

“Of course. You’re just as exciting to see, too, Mr. Ri- Simon.”

Simon’s lips quirked up the slightest bit, but his heart was in his ass. For the first time in a long time, a woman was making him shy and nervous, and it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.

“You’re always free to come over for dinner,” he offered.

“That sounds great, I’d love to have dinner with the two of you!” you exclaimed, beaming.

He didn’t understand how you could be so bright yet so oblivious at the same time.

Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “I meant, the two of us.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads, and he nearly slammed the door in your face from the sheer anxiety that spiked in him. He couldn’t read your mind or what you were feeling, and Simon wished he had never said anything to begin with.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said instead. Now it was Simon’s turn to stare at you crazy. “I’d love that.”

Simon realized he was staring too long, so he cleared his throat once again, giving you a brief nod and looking away. “Alright. I’ll text you a day and have Soap pick up the little monster for the night.”

When you agreed and left with the smile that made his heart ache, he didn’t waste a second in texting Soap, telling him he’d be on nanny duty for one night that week.

Soap was quick to agree, but not without a little “You’re welcome ;)” text back.

[zhelin-thames]

Fuck off Satan

inspired by this post

Danny Phantom, the Ghost King and part-time Justice League member, stood in the Watchtower briefing room, arms crossed and very much trying to look professional. The meeting had been dragging on, and his phone had already buzzed twice, much to Batman’s annoyance.

The third time, it started vibrating again, drawing glares from the Dark Knight and a few raised eyebrows from other Leaguers.

"Phantom," Batman said, his voice a growl.

Danny sighed, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Ghost King business doesn’t wait. Let me just—" He hit the answer button with a sharp jab.

"What?!" Danny snapped, glaring at the screen.

The room fell silent. They hadn’t seen Phantom lose his temper like this before.

On the other end, a smooth, deep voice oozed through the speaker.

"Respectfully, my liege, I ask that you reconsider my proposal on—"

Danny cut him off mid-sentence. "Not today, Satan." With an exasperated sigh, he ended the call and pocketed the phone without another thought.

The reaction was immediate. Superman chuckled, Green Lantern grinned, and Flash burst into laughter. Even Wonder Woman's lips twitched upward.

"Nice," Hal said, giving Phantom a thumbs-up. "Solid delivery."

Danny waved it off. "What can I say? He’s persistent, and I’ve got no time for his nonsense today."

But not everyone was laughing. Constantine sat ramrod straight, pale as a sheet, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.

"Danny," Constantine croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Was that the Satan? Like... Lucifer Morningstar Satan?"

Danny blinked, tilting his head. "Uh, yeah? Who else would it be? Dude’s been pestering me about a territorial dispute with the Infinite Realms for weeks."

The entire room went quiet again, and all eyes turned to Constantine. The seasoned warlock looked like he might pass out on the spot.

"You just hung up on the actual Devil," Constantine hissed, his British accent thick with disbelief.

Danny shrugged. "Yeah, and? He’s one of my subjects. I’m the Ghost King. I outrank him. If he wants to whine about his little hellish boundaries, he can take a number."

Constantine’s eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking someone to share in his existential terror, but the rest of the League didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of what just happened.

"You outrank..." Constantine trailed off, rubbing his temples. "Bloody hell, kid, you don’t just hang up on Lucifer!"

Danny smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Oh, I do. And I’ll do it again if he calls during League meetings. I’ve got enough on my plate without playing arbiter for Hell’s bureaucracy."

Clark patted Constantine on the shoulder. "Relax, John. Sounds like Danny has it under control."

John groaned. "We’re all doomed."

Danny, unfazed, pulled out his phone again and started texting. "Now, if we’re done freaking out, can we get back to the meeting? Or do I need to block Satan’s number to make that happen?"

The League collectively laughed, except for Constantine, who was muttering something about needing stronger wards and a drink.