#jjj

[dailydoseofsluttythoughts]

♡ Not Finished ♡

"You cryin' doll?" He teased, smirking at the streaks of mascara you were leaving behind as you pressed your face harder into the couch cushion. He'd worry about the stains later. For now it's all about you.

He's been pounding your sweet little pussy non-stop for the last 15 minutes. He'd gotten tired of playing his video game and finally turned his concentration to you.

Nothing about this man is small either. Not his devotion to you, nor the size of his cock. He sets a pace that is down right brutal. With the only sound leaving your mouth being screams of pleasure, timed precisely with his harsh thrusts.

"S'too b-big" you stuttered out, tiny hands gripping the blanket you had been cuddling up with whilst you watched Aoi play Fallout. He loved the game but he loved you more. He'd seen you squirming out if the corner of his eye the while time.

"Seen you take toys bigger than this baby, so yer' gonna take what I give you. Or are you not my good little girl?" His question had your eyes popping open as you shook your head side-to-side, smearing more mascara along the couch. "No, m' a good girl, I can take it!" You proclaimed, the only thought in your head is to take his cock as well as you can.

Aoi shifted his position and placed on of his knees on the couch while his other leg stayed put. The angle forced his cock to ram up against that sweet spongey spot that damn near made your vision go black. "Fuck, right there baby, right fucking there, don't stop"

Your screeching did nothing but spur him on more, his hips drilling into you harder with each deep stroke. His girth was filling you up more satisfyingly than any toy you've played with.

This wasn't normal Aoi behavior either. Normally he was gentle and patient, but sometimes, if he was pent up enough, you would end up like this. Face down ass up, and letting him take you for whatever he wanted.

His right hand rose into the air and came crashing down on your ass check, jiggling the soft flesh and leaving a pleasant sting where it had made contact.

"Tha's it baby girl, such a good slut f'me, taking my cock so well, without any prep too. I'll be sure to give you a nice big reward after this" He uttered out, in between thrusts. Chasing his own release as well as yours becoming his next goal.

His thrusts were sporadic and rough as he gripped the flesh of your waist tighter, bringing your ass back to meet the slap of his thighs.

"Aoi, m'gunna cum, keep going, keep going.." He was knocking the breath right out of your lungs. Your mouth just repeating those words like it's your own personal mantra.

"Oh yeah? Make a mess for me baby" His voice deepened slightly, a trait you had come to love, and you could tell he was close to his orgasm.

"fffuuck, Yesss" sheer bliss consumed your body, and the pounding of his cock never ceased as waves of pleasure rolled over your body. Aoi's hand came down to rub quick back and forth motions on your swollen, puffy clit, sending you deeper into your release, as a clear, sticky liquid gushed out of your cunt. This pushed him into the throws of his own release.

Thick, hot spurts of cum roped into your pussy as his thrusting slowed to a stop. Heavy breathing was all that you could hear before he slowly pulled his softening dick out of your abused hole.

Aoi flipped you over onto the dryest part of the couch and walked out of the room to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of ice water and a warm towel.

Getting on his knees in front of you he carefully wiped the remnants of your spend off of your thighs, and legs before softly dabbing your aching pussy.

"Thank you Aoi" Even though your head was cloudy and you could barley form a thought, your first instinct was to thank him.

"Hell'r you thanking me for, jus' doin' ma job" He replied, clapping his hands softly to replace one of the ice cubes in ur drink for a straw, knowing you can't bring yourself to lift the cup for that long.

"Did I... Did I take it too far?" He asked, not realy knowing if he wanted to know the answer.

"Of course not baby, that was amazing" You smiled softly as u spoke.

"Oh okay, good.. But you know what that means, right, baby?"

"What?"

"Means I'm not finished with you" He smirked.

And that's a wrap for my first post‼️‼️hope y'all had fun reading bc I had fun writing😋

#todo aoi #todo aoi smut #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi x reader smut #jjj #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu todo #aoi todo #smut #tw.degradation #todo #x reader smut #todo aoi x black!reader #black!reader #black!fem!reader #college au #gojo satoru #yuji itadori #jjk men #Spotify

[tapakah0]

#I am okay #I am well #I am okay yy #uu #jjj #akkaka #cass fanart tag #cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the turtles #rise of the tmnt #future donnie #future leo

[spaceshipsandpurpledrank]

#talkin #tik tok #peter parker #spiderman #jjj #j jonah jameson

[respect-the-hyphen]

imagine if there was a tone indicator that was, like, /jjj. it would mean either you are being very, very delusional or you are actively lying through your teeth

#spiderman #spider man #marvel spiderman #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #spider speaking #peter parker #queue #jjj #jj jameson #j jonah jameson

[oliveroctavius]

Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

#olivertxt #comics #reductionist takes from people who clearly do not care about this arc have been getting under my skin for ages #gwen stacy #robbie robertson #jjj #/ racism

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: drug use, dubcon, attempted sa, violence, blood, nsfw

a/n: it seems unfair on such a beautiful day as this when i have witnessed joh in the flesh to bring you such an angsty chapter, but...here we are. the story, the fluff as we have known it, is about to take a turn. yet another two parter. please be careful with this one.

pt. xxii.i, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“'Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…' He laughed. 'She’s dead.'"

“The veins in your eyes. They look like…lightning.”

I pursed my lips.

“Did you know that?” he asked eagerly.

This wasn’t going well. “Lift your arms, John.”

The sheer curiosity in his expression turned into a smirk that would have been playful in a different moment, but for now made my stomach lunge to expel itself through my mouth. “Are you trying to get into my trousers?”

“I’m trying…to get you ready for bed. You need to rest,” I said as calmly as I could though my blood had been absolutely roiling for the past half hour.

John lifted a hand, unsteady like he was under anesthesia. He gripped the collar of my dressing gown and tried to pull me down toward him, but his strength was buffeted by whatever was in his system and his hand plummeted to the mattress. “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I should explain from the beginning, shouldn’t I?

It started with one of John’s nightly phone calls, the ones I’d been surviving off of once again after he returned to Headley Grange after my birthday. Weeks had passed and the girls and me were…surviving would be the best way to put it.

This night’s phone call, this bloody fucking night’s phone call, was out of the ordinary because it was made from a telephone booth.

“I don’t have long,” John said, no, slurred into the receiver.

“You’re drunk,” I remarked with a giggle. Not the first time I’d dealt with him intoxicated or under the influence of some substance on a phone call. Speaking with him in such a state didn’t sit well in my gut, but clouded by the haze of what I thought to be love, I was willing to overlook it.

“Not drunk. Tipsy,” he replied with an obvious smile on his lips.

I had been awaiting his call on the sofa, nodding off several times before the phone finally rang. I was admittedly grateful the call would be short. “And I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, darling,” he cooed. “Of course you are. You should sleep.”

“I was waiting for your call.”

“Did I keep you awake?”

I let out a laugh, shaking low in my chest. “Yes, you dolt. Now say sweet things to make up for it.”

“Ah…let’s see…”

The seconds ticked by.

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “Have you forgotten all the things you like about me?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m trying to decide how to say what I want to say.”

I stared across the room without seeing, heart pounding at the back of my tongue.

“You’ll say I’m being…I don’t know.”

“Say it, John, just say it.”

There was a thunk on the line. John leaning up against the wall of the phone booth or accidentally knocking the phone against the holder. I wondered if he was really so drunk he was swaying back and forth.

“We should tell them, shouldn’t we? They should know.”

I furrowed my brow. “Your bandmates? What on Earth do they have to do with anything?”

“No, no, no, MmmJulia.”

I sat all the way up, my adrenaline pumping, completely erasing my previous desire for sleep.

“When I get home, I’m going to tell the girls. ‘Bout you and me.”

I sucked in my cheeks to hold in a squeal of delight. I wasn’t sure it was warranted. Had to remain coolheaded. Reasonable. “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what –” He hiccupped. “I know what I’m saying.”

“Mhm. Well, call me in the morning and tell me if you remember, alright?”

“Julia.”

I shut my eyes and pursed my lips. Damn him for the way he said my name like that with such need it made me forget myself.

John breathed harshly into the phone. “I’ll remember.”

I swallowed. “Just because you’ll remember doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t want me to tell them?” His question was equally taunting and disappointed.

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t know if they’re…” The girls would never be ready. It would never be the right time. Regardless of their affection for me, I was explicitly in their eyes that I was Julia. The nanny. I would not fill the role of “mum”. But stepping into the spot next to John would change that. To tell them that we’ve been pulling the wool over their eyes, doing the things their mother did with their father, hiding behind a moniker.

Children are always smarter than we give them credit for.

I could already imagine the betrayal they’d feel.

“They’re ready,” John said firmly. “They’re – I’m ready.”

But I wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Running out of time, got to go.”

“Be careful.”

“Am. Always. Sleep.”

He hung up without another word. And though my heart throbbed excitedly at the idea that maybe our transformative relationship would transform even further, I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt looking at the phone in my hand.

Being with John, really with him, would mean taking on all parts of his life. He’d have to take on mine too, but not in the same way. Not when mine was so small in comparison. Not when I had packed away my life to fit into his because it was my job. My duty.

As his employee.

As a woman.

I let my mind rove the place I had never let it go before.

To be with John. That would mean an eventual marriage, wouldn’t it? And an eventual marriage would mean a commitment to caring for his children. Having more, should he be agreeable to it. I would go from nanny to mother.

Ostensibly, nothing should change.

But it would.

Because I had not yet seen the hard parts of a musician’s life. Over those few weeks, John was only a phone call away. If something was wrong, he could make the drive back whatever time of day.

How would I survive with him across the ocean?

How would I survive knowing the kind of man he became when the woman he loved was out of reach?

I spiraled so fast for so long that exhaustion returned quickly. I buried myself in bed, trying to push away all of my questions. I could save those for the light of day. For a sober John.

At least that’s what I thought. What I hoped.

Instead, I woke up to a crunching sound outside. Brittle and hard against my eardrums. I leapt out of bed and hurried to the windows overlooking the driveway, peering through the curtains.

There was a dark blue car I’d never seen parked askew in the driveway, illuminated by the yellow lamplight. In its wake, one of the stone planters was left shattered across the ground, dirt in the tire tracks, flowers smashed up.

I held my breath and watched as the driver got out of the car. Feral haired and bearded.

Richard Cole.

An arm shot out from the passenger window and a bellowing voice cried out, “Ya thick fuckin’ wanker!”

A voice I'd recognize anywhere. The voice of Peter Grant.

Richard growled something in return before slamming his car door and tripping toward the front door.

I leapt into action, afraid that in whatever state he was in it would wake the girls, grabbing my robe and sprinting down the backstairs, past the studio, and into the foyer.

The banging began just seconds before I reached the door. Bang, bang –

“One moment!” I hissed as loud as I could, pulling my robe on to at least be somewhat decent. I threw open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say, tying a defiant knot in my robe sash.

Richard, whose first impression had not been terribly pleasant back in Montreux, had a marked look of fear in his eyes. Rather than being tense at the corners, they were loose and…wide. “John, he’s –he made us come here.”

A jab of unease in my chest. “John.”

“Yes, yes, he’s –”

I pushed past Richard and descended the front steps, paying no mind to my bare feet, set on the backdoor of the car.

Peter emerged just in time to intercept me. “Julia, wait, I need to warn you –”

There was an inconsolable sob from the back of the car, one I had not heard since that night on the kitchen floor when John broke the glass and the world shifted on its axis. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, trying to get past him as my insides did everything to lurch me into the car to get to John as fast as possible.

Peter grabbed my bicep. “Listen to me. It’s all just a bad reaction.”

“Please, please, please –” John begged.

His pain was my pain. All of my nerves trembled, desperation rippling through my muscles. I pulled against Peter. Need to get to him. Need to –

John went on and on. “I need to see her, I need –”

“Let me go,” I snapped at Peter.

John shrieked. I’d never heard a sound like that from a grown man.

But it wasn’t wordless.

It was –

“Maureen!”

My entire body went rigid. I stopped fighting Peter’s strength.

“Julia…” Peter said in a soft tone.

I finally looked up at the giant. I was surprised Peter was capable of such gentleness.

“He does not know what he says,” Peter went on, words clipped and precise.

“He misses her,” I said in a vacant tone.

Peter shook his head. “No, no. He thinks she’s here.”

The crying continued. The begging for her. “What did you do to him?” I asked, trying to buy myself time before I had to face the wailing mess.

“No one did anything –” Richard began to argue.

“Cole, fuck off,” Peter pulled out his Mr. Hyde impression before shifting back to Dr. Jekyll. “You know what it’s like? The drinking and then the pills and –”

I ripped my arm from his touch. “I do not know what it’s like.” Not even my torrid past could have prepared me for this.

Peter huffed, holding his last thread of patience for me. “It’s a bad trip. That’s all. He’s confused.”

“If it’s just a bad trip why did you –”

He grimaced. “He’s been going on like this for hours now. We can’t get him to stop. And we thought seeing you would bring him back. Remind him of the…the reality.”

I looked between Peter and Richard. Their expressions told me everything. They knew. Not only in a Montreux, “Let’s get John laid,” way.

They knew everything. 

Gathering my courage, I pulled away from Peter and Richard, grabbed the car door handle, and pulled it open.

John was splayed out in the seat, head resting in the lap of a man I’d never seen before whose exhaustion with the situation was split with a smile of relief at the sight of me. However, John didn't seem to notice me as he convulsed with full body sobs.

“John?” I said, interrupting the weeping.

It took considerable effort for John to lift himself and look at me. His face was streaked with tears, hair a wreck, and his eyes black as night with the kind of high that takes you low. “Oh. Julia.”

Is that disappointment?

A smile crossed his face. “Juuuulia." He slapped his palm to his forehead, a bubbly guffaw tripping out of his mouth. “It’s Julia, of course it is.”

“We told you we’d take you home,” the man says meekly, voice tinged with an Irish accent.

“Yes, but I didn’t – I forgot –” John wiped his hand down his face and collapsed back into the arms of the small Irishman. His expression looked like it was melting. “Not Maureen. Julia.”

My stomach twisted. I leaned down onto the seat and held out my hand. “John, why don’t we head inside?”

John reached out for my hand, fingers stumbling to interlock with mine.

I pulled while the man pushed until John was sat on the edge of the seat, the soles of his shoes landing against the gravel as if for the first time. He curled forward, his head making him top heavy. I braced his shoulders. “John –”

While his body lacked strength everywhere else, his arms looped around me, right under my backside, his face buried into my belly. He inhaled deeply and then, on the exhale, said again, “Julia.”

If we weren’t being watched, I would have reciprocated the intimacy. Instead, I tucked my hands under his arms and started to lift. “Can you –” I grunted. “Stand?”

“Of course, I can stand,” he mumbled, rising to his feet, dragging his face up the length of my body until I forced him away.

“There you go,” I said with an attempted smile, my hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go upstairs and get you ready for bed, hm?”

He nodded hardily. “Oh yes. Yes, yes –“ He spun on his heel and took a step forward. Immediately, his legs gave out, crumpling beneath him like paper.

“Easy, there,” Peter said, catching John by the upper arm before he fell to the ground.

In Peter’s grip, John looked like a toddler being dragged out of a store for throwing a tantrum. I couldn’t help my revulsion. “Let’s get him inside," Peter ordered, almost nonplussed.

Richard grabbed John from the other side and began to drag him into the house.

I padded behind them, trying to get their attention. “You have to be quiet, the girls are –‘”

“Uh huh.”

“Take him up the backstairs. To my room,” I said, no longer afraid of my lack of propriety.

John’s head bobbed backward.

“Jesus Christ, for a little guy he’s dense, isn’t he?” Richard strained as they dragged John to the door.

“For fuck’s sake.” Peter ripped John from Richard’s grip, a doll rather than a person, and threw him over his shoulder. “Lead me, Cole.”

“Please, just not the main bedroom,” I squeaked, trying to snake past them to lead them where I wanted them to go.

John turned his head against Peter’s back toward me, eyes gleaming. “Juuuuulia.”

I stopped in my tracks and contemplated running in the other direction. That was not John. Not the John I knew. This was his doppelganger. It must have been. Otherwise, this was an alternate personality, one I wasn’t supposed to see.

A part of him I had been blissfully ignorant to.

I watched them go inside, remaining planted in one spot, wishing I could go home.

But home was here.

“Mandrax.”

I turned to find the little Irishman at my elbow. He was rearranging his black locks, palming it flat on his head.

“At least some of it was Mandrax,” he said, dropping his hands at his sides and smiling sympathetically. “Pills. Mix them with alcohol and lord knows what else…”

We both stared through the open door, watching Peter and Richard struggling up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine in the morning,” he offered.

“Yes, but will I?” I said, attempting a joke.

His eyebrows lifted. “That is a question, isn’t it?”

I exhaled through my nose, something like a laugh, but pathetic.

“I’m BP. The boys call me Beep.”

I tried to smile. In better circumstances, I would ask for the rest of his story. But tonight I wasn’t allotted that privilege. “I’m Julia.”

“Mm. Yes, well aware.”

I wondered how aware. Was he aware in passing? By accident? Had John tripped into another realm of consciousness and waxed poetic about me? “Sorry you got roped into this.”

He shrugged. “Happens with them.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cole!” Peter boomed from inside.

My body lurched back into action, into the house and up the main staircase. “You need to be quiet!” I scolded in the loudest whisper I could muster.

Peter turned, halfway in the door of the master, causing John’s head to knock into the doorframe. John whimpered.

“Oh, fucking hell," Richard hissed.

I followed Peter and Richard into the master bedroom and monitored John as he was laid out across the bed. I didn’t even care at that point they hadn’t followed instructions. I just wanted them gone.

“There you go, mate. You’re home now, alright? Nothing to cry over. Julia's right 'ere. She'll take care of you, alright?" Peter said, dusting his hands together. “Julia, hope you don’t mind if we bunk up.”

“Here?!” This was sheer lunacy.

Richard snorted, “No, in the stables. Where else?”

“We can’t make that drive again, not after all this. We’ll be out of your hair in the morning and we’ll take ‘im with us,” Peter explained, jerking his thumb at John.

I glanced at John who seemed nearly catatonic with his eyes trained on the ceiling and his hands bunched up on his chest. He’d be fine for a few moments, I reasoned. “Fine. Follow me.”

I led Richard, Peter, and BP, who lingered in the doorway like a phantom, down the hall to the guest rooms, the doors directly across from the girls’. “I swear to god, if you make any noise at all, I’ll have you drawn and quartered tonight.”

"I'd believe her," Beep muttered.

“Promise, all we need is a place to lay our heads, love,” Peter said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Just don’t wake the girls and we won’t have a problem.”

I started back down the hallway, leaving them to squabble and figure out who would share a room since there were only two to speak of. Before I slipped into the master, I glared over my shoulder and hushed them once more with narrowed, deathly eyes.

In an instant, the three men disappeared into the guest rooms.

With that settled, I could deal with John.

The room was silent except for his breathing.

It was the first time I got a good look at the room. Everything was spotlessly clean, not a hair out of place. Just a thin coating of dust across the room. And a glass on one of the night stands with a dried up ring of dust in the bottom. The water had completely evaporated.

A chill went through me, imagining who might have put the glass there with the intention to return to it at a later date.

Whether it was Maureen or John didn’t change the tragedy of the object.

John began to hum and swing his legs. He flung one hand through the air. It landed on his belt buckle. “Get these off,” he muttered in discomfort. His hand flopped like a dying fish, unable to grip and twist the leather the way he needed to be able to free himself.

“I’ll help.”

And that’s how we got into the conversation of the veins in my eyes being lightning bolts and the attempt at me getting his shirt up over his head and the flirtations and the…

 “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I ignored him though I strained not to cry. I removed his belt, but didn’t dare touch the closure on his trousers. His arms were slack enough that I was able to pull his jumper up his neck, then work it over his head. When he reemerged, he puffed hair away from his mouth, giggling. “Randy,” he said, unable to form a sentence around it.

“I’m not randy, John,” I say with firmness.

“You’re removing my clothes, M –”

“Julia,” I interrupted. “I’m Julia. Not Maureen.”

John’s lazy eyes crimped open, clarity forming somewhere in the back of his mind. “Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…” He laughed. “She’s dead.”

I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but I couldn’t just leave him half dressed in the master. In hindsight, I should have. I tried to tune out his repetition of the word, “Dead,” as if it was a beat to a song rather than a horrible truth as I pulled his undershirt up halfway, revealing his pale navel.

John’s hand slid around my wrist. “Jewwwwwwwwwel.”

I suppressed a smile for the nickname. Auntie Gin’s nickname. “Take it off the rest of the way if you can,” I muttered, then went to root through the dresser for a nightshirt or something to cover him up.

Measured breaths. Clenched muscles. Only a few more moments. He’ll be out soon.

John made sounds of struggle behind me. I didn’t turn despite wanting to help. There was the soft sound of fabric falling to the ground followed by a grunt of relief. “I feel funny.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you need to get some sleep,” I say, grabbing a very wrinkled nightshirt from the drawer.

John was no longer squirming; he looked tossed across the bed like a ragdoll. Breath thick and deep. The only thing that made it clear he was still alive.

I returned to him with the shirt. One more step to victory. John seemed unaffected, staring off at something. A hallucination or a waking sleep. I took this as my opportunity to remove his pants. It took a bit of effort to wiggle them out from beneath his body without his help but not much. My heart plummeted to see his bare legs, the slight of skin where his briefs shrouded his crotch. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want him. The feeling of desire…all drained out of me.

Of course, it’s more than natural not to want someone at all times.

But since Montreux, before then even, all I had done was want. And I had had.

What emptiness would arise if desire was not there to fill it?

I didn’t want to think about it.

“Just the shirt and then you can rest, John, alright?” I said softly.

He cooperated as much as he could. Sitting up took all his might, but once upright, I was able to shimmy the shirt over his head, down his torso. It was long enough to hit midthigh, swallowing up his small frame. And his smallness made me even sadder.

“There you are,” I said. “Ready for bed.”

John started to lean forward. If I dared step away, he would teeter off the edge of the bed and come crashing to the floor. I remained before him, let his forehead clunk against my clavicle.

“You didn’t just pass out, did you?” I asked. My pulse quickened. I grabbed his arms to shake him. “John, you’re awake still aren’t you?”

“Yesssss,” he slurred into my chest. “I’m…” he sighed. “Awake.”

His lips traced my skin with each word, like a baby drooling against my breast and…it endeared me to him. I wish it hadn’t.

I tentatively scraped my fingers through his hair to the back of his scalp and dropped a kiss to the crown of his head. He didn't need my ire. Not right now. In the morning, I'd want him to remember the way I cared for him? Not the anger or disdain.

“Mmm…”

“Julia,” I said firmly. “I’m Julia.”

“MmmmJuuuuuuulia…” John self-corrected.

“Yes, that’s right.”

John’s mouth opened wider, a messy kiss against my skin, spit trailing over my clavicle.

“John…” I admonished. But I did not draw away.

A mistake.

I let him kiss the spot over and over. Juvenile. Inexperienced. Like a barrister’s son in a closet.

Something about it…so nostalgic.

I could have a brief moment of longing. Of realizing how good it was to hold him when I expected another week before he'd be home. Of remembering what he said to me earlier that night on the phone. If I was going to be his and vice versa in not only our eyes but those of the girls…I could do this. I was sure I could do this.

Only a brief moment, though.

Because in one singular moment in time, that delight was eclipsed by pain. Sharp pain, potentially skin splitting.

He bit me.

Teeth sunk into skin, viscous and full of claim.

John fucking bit me.

I yelped out, tried to jerk away, not caring if he tore the flesh off my body. Would be better to lose skin than be cannibalized by a lover.

John wrapped his around me, splayed his hands against my back, overcome by a sudden strength, and pulled me toward him.

“John, let go of me,” I cried out, pushing on his shoulders.

His mouth finally released the patch of skin he’d suckled. He growled. Something. Words I didn’t know, could not hear, did not care about.

I just wanted him to let go.

Something was coursing through him that reversed all the lethargy, something that propelled his strength to a level I’d never known and didn’t know he was capable of. Before I could squirm out of his grasp, John pulled me off my feet and rolled himself over me so we were clumsily pressed together on the bed.

He dragged his mouth across my chest to another open plot of skin.

With an open palm, I pressed his forehead away from me.

He laughed, muttered a garble of my name.

My whole body was hotter than hell as I tried to wriggle myself out from under him, inching further and further onto the bed. But somehow, John’s body had transformed into a lead curtain over me, pinning me to the bed, one of my hands unceremoniously scrunched behind my back.

I could not move. 

And he had all the control.

“John, don’t,” I said through a tense whisper. I could scream. I could shout. But I wondered who would come running first. The men. Or the girls.

I couldn’t risk it being the latter. 

John’s hands slid down my thighs, moving up the fabric until he cupped my bottom and squeezed. Hard. Until it pinched.

I again tried to squirm away. “You’re hurting me!”

“Randy…” he drawled, lifting his head and smiling stupidly.

John launched himself forward, toward my mouth, his hardened erection grinding into my belly, painful from the poor angle.

His teeth gnashed into my lips. I tasted metal in my mouth, blood drawn from a split lip.

I had only a moment to think.

One of us would be the villain in the morning. And I couldn’t bear for it to be John.

I forced my hand onto his chin, cupping it as hard as I could, then pressed him back away from me, enough that he couldn’t snag another kiss.

Our eyes met for a split second and I nearly lost my bravado.

I couldn’t live with myself if I did, though. That’s what I decided in that moment.

I released his chin, wound my open palm back, and slapped him hard in the side of his face, my palm connecting with his cheek and part of his upper lip, and my fingers clipping his nose.

He howled in pain, retreating back onto his knees.

I was released from the vise of his body and yet I felt as though I was moving through molasses as I dragged myself back across the bed to the opposite edge.

John’s hand covered his face, the wince still settled over his eyes.

I waited. A moment. Another. Praying he would find reality again.

Finally, he withdrew his hand to reveal a streak of cherry red blood pouring from his nose and down his chin. Quite literally dripping. Already a few dots blotted the fabric of the bedspread.

I didn’t know I had that kind of strength in me.

John was at a loss for words. Nonplussed, of course, by the mess. But his eyes were filled with that same distress he met me with when he was laid up in the back of the car, jerking back and forth, full of new tears. “I…” he started.

“I told you to stop,” I said icily. “I told you not to.”

He looked down at the bedspread spattered in his blood. It was a lot of blood, enough to give me cause to worry. Except I couldn’t.

Not with terror gripping my body.

What do you do when the man you know shows you the monster you didn’t think existed in him?

John folded his lips together, blood smearing through the creases. “Mm. Mmm.”

I would not, could not sit here and be called his wife’s name. Not after he nearly had the gall to take from me.

I tore up from the bed without another word. The floor traveled beneath my feet, something in control of my body I had never known before, until I had my hand on the cool door knob. It settled my temperature just enough to come back to reality.

“No, no, no,” John was moaning. Movement. Footsteps. “Don’t go. Don’t go.”

I threw open the door and turned to slam it behind me, getting one last glimpse of John to my horror.

His blue eyes were alert to the point I thought they might fall right out of his head. His hair mussed. His face…bloodied. And the fresh nightshirt looked like a smock he’d worn to butcher a pig.

And he was coming toward me.

I did not wait.

I shut it with all my might and held tight to the knob. It jerked and jittered in my hand, scraping my skin. But I didn’t care. The animal was to stay inside the cage. That was my only goal.

John put up a good fight, clawing at the door, desperate to pull it open. On more than one occasion, he managed to pull hard enough to get an inch or two of space for his fingers to slip through. If he could just wrench the door open, he could pull me back inside.

I leaned back, all my weight going into keeping the door shut, and tucked my head between my biceps, praying he’d give up.

Over my heart pounding in my ears came his sounds. “Please, please, please let me out. Please don’t leave me alone.”

A despondent cry shuddered through the door, so loud it vibrated the door knob. A thud against the wood. No doubt the weight of his body giving up. Giving in. The inching slide of his form to the floor. The repetition of the word “please” until it was shrouded by tearful sobs.

I fell to my knees in front of the door, my hand still on the door knob in case I needed to tame the beast again.

John was only an inch away. Weeping.

Not for me.

Not even because of me.

It was all for her.

All the same, I leant my head against the door and listened to him weep, held vigil. I didn’t have vespers for the mass, but I remained there all the same though I could still feel his fingers dimpling my thighs though I’d said “don’t”.

“What did I do wrong? What did I do? Why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated over and over to every question until eventually not a single question was left.

All that remained was soft, hollow breathing on the other side of the door.

"Go to bed, John," I said hoarsely, trying to smile so my voice sounded soothing. "It will all be better in the morning. Alright?"

There was no answer.

"John?"

Nothing. I thanked the lord he was probably asleep.

I dropped my hand from the door knob. My muscles and bones ached from keeping the position for so long.

“Julia.”

I jumped at the sound of the small voice. I turned to find Tamara in the hallway outside her door, her ruddy hair all askew.

“What’s wrong? Why are you up?”

She rolled her hands in the front of her nightgown. “What’s going on?”

I forced a smile. “Nothi—”

Something thumped against the door to the bedroom. Someone. A final rallying cry.

I grabbed the door knob again just to be sure.

“Who’s in there?” Tamara asked, her eyes widening with fear.

“No one,” I said without thinking. “Don’t…worry, alright?”

Children know more than you give them credit for. They are also children. And sometimes, though it hurts, the children must be lied to.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

Though the hallway was dim, I could see her eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flicked from me to the door and back again. Then, she nodded and did as she was told, disappearing into the other room in an instant.

I sat with my back to the door and closed my eyes. It had started with a drunken promise. One that might break my heart, yes, but a break so minor compared to this.

Lifting a hand to my chest, I carefully slid my fingers along the inflamed bite mark.

The depressions made by his teeth remained.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking, @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

#thank you em for the feedback that was so good i could cry #john paul jones #led zeppelin #wildflowers #john paul jones x oc #wf #jjj

[dailybugle-blr]

"Team Red" Takes to the Streets: Daredevil, Deadpool, and Spider-Man Unite

by Clara Haynes, reporter

Photo submitted by Peter Parker

NEW YORK CITY - In a city teeming with crime and chaos, a new trio of masked crusaders has emerged, striking fear into the hearts of criminals and drawing both admiration and skepticism from the public. This unlikely alliance, dubbed "Team Red," consists of Daredevil, Deadpool and Spider-Man – three enigmatic figures with their own unique styles of crime-fighting. But as they join forces to combat the forces of evil, questions arise: are they the heroes New York needs, or are they merely another band of vigilantes running amok in our streets?

Daredevil, or Devil of Hell's Kitchen, has long been a symbol of justice, using his heightened senses and martial arts prowess to defend the innocent and uphold the law. His relentless pursuit of justice has earned him both praise and condemnation, but his commitment to his cause remains unwavering.

Deadpool, or Merc with a Mouth, brings his own brand of chaotic energy to the team. Armed with an arsenal of weapons and a quick wit, Deadpool's unorthodox methods often leave a trail of destruction in his wake. While some see him as a reckless wildcard, others admire his willingness to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

And then there's Spider-Man, the friendly neighborhood wall-crawler. With his incredible agility, web-slinging abilities and sense of responsibility, Spider-Man has become a beloved figure in the city, swinging into action whenever danger strikes. But his association with Team Red raises eyebrows among some, who question whether he's aligning himself with the right crowd.

"Team Red may have good intentions, but their methods leave much to be desired," said Captain George Stacy of the NYPD. "We can't have masked vigilantes running around unchecked, putting themselves and others at risk. It's a recipe for disaster."

Despite the controversy surrounding them, Team Red continues to operate in the shadows, taking on the criminal underworld with gusto and determination. Whether they will be hailed as heroes or condemned as vigilantes remains to be seen, but one thing is for certain: with Team Red on the streets, New York City will never be the same.

#daily bugle #the daily bugle #marvel mcu #marvel comics #marvel #marvel spiderman #spiderman #spider man #peter parker #daredevil #matt murdock #deadpool #wade wilson #jjj #jj jameson #j jonah jameson

[nerdesque]

Notice how every time JJJ finds out it’s Peter under the mask, his tune changes. Every comic arc, every elseworlds rendition, all of it.

Jameson never hated Spider-Man as a person. He hates the idea of masked men running around dealing what they believe to be justice, with no sense of accountability if their judgement goes wrong. The reason he’s so vocal and harsh is because hero worship has a chance of making the public think “this person can do no wrong.” When that happens, there’s no chance being held accountable when they do the wrong thing.

The second he knows it’s Peter, he knows that if there’s one hero that’s going to hold himself accountable for everything, it’s Spider-Man, because he knows Peter has the moral fiber to call himself out and make things right if he gets it wrong.

#spider-man #marvel #comics #jjj #jj jameson #peter parker #marvel comics #j jonah jameson #spider man #comic books

[cultofstan]

May I present: The Handsome Men of Ultimate Spider-Man #1 (2024)

#spiderman #ultimate spider man #new ultimate universe #marvel #marvel comics #peter parker #ben parker #uncle ben #jjj #j jonah jameson

[theshadowrealmitself]

Considering the fact that JJJ’s beef with Spiderman isn’t because he’s evil, he just doesn’t like power going unchecked (in some versions, in others he’s just an asshole), it would make sense how Peter’s supporting himself while living in fucking New York on freelance photographer paycheck, JJJ might actually be paying him decently for his pictures

(Personally I like the hc that Peter just has a ton of gigs he bounces between more)

#Spiderman #spider-man #spider man #peter parker #jjj #j jonah jameson #it’s always when I’m hella busy that I think about a ton of things I wanna post

[m-milk0205]

#ricky jupe park #jupe #jean jacket #nope #nope movie #nope film #nope fanart #steven yeun #jjj

[orangeispice]

r/AmItheAsshole - 8 days ago nycWallcrawler

AITA for crashing my aunt's wedding?

I (21M) was raised by my aunt (60F) and uncle from a very young age, and I've always seen them as my parents. My uncle passed away around five years ago, and I know my aunt's been very lonely when I moved out for university.

Recently, my aunt took in a tenant (~50M? idk exactly). He's a marine biologist of sorts but I knew there was something fishy (pun fully intended) about him.

I know a friend in "law enforcement" (for lack of a better term, but he's not a cop) who's had a few run-ins with the guy, and he's been arrested for committing several major offenses. Also, he's linked to my late girlfriend's father's death in the line of duty.

I didn't even know there was anything romantic going on between by aunt and this guy. In all honesty, I've been preoccupied with my own issues.

Recently, I found a letter adressed to the guy regarding the acquisition of some land that my aunt is set to inherit. Without going into detail, it's clear he's involved in some shady shit. So I went to go look for my aunt, and after running practically all over the city, I find her getting married to this guy in some old building!

So I'm about to bust in and say my piece, when this mob boss breaks in before I can and starts attacking the guy. So naturally, I also run in and intervene, and I'm able to get my aunt out of there. Problem is, she didn't know it was me getting her out of there, but she hates the guy who rescued her, who was me.

So, AITA for crashing my aunt's wedding?

J. Jonah Jameson YTA: what do you mean she didn't know who the person rescuing her was? were you wearing a mask? are you one of those caped menaces terrorizing the city? This reply has been removed

Betty_B_5 INFO: If she's like a parent to you, how did you not notice this at all? What other issues could possibly be more important??? nycWallcrawler I'm getting over the loss of my girlfriend and trying to get a custom car built. lizzie1964 …those are two very different things flamingDorito5 i know who you are; btw the car is done nycWallcrawler never speak to me again

MJackpot nta!!! if this guy is really that suspicious, and there's a literal??? mob boss?? after him??? then get your aunt OUT OF THERE babygirl!!

#aita #spiderman #peter parker #otto octavius #jjj #betty brant #liz allen #johnny storm #mary jane watson #funny

[tuxedosaurus]

I’ve heard a few ppl express distaste for Insomiac’s version J Jonah Jameson because of how EXTREME he is about disliking Spider-Man.

Personal taste is valid and all, but let’s not act like JJJ wasn’t constantly an obnoxious shithead about Spider-Man in Marvel’s mainline comics until like a decade ago.

(mainline specifically, because Ultimate JJJ was way less obsessed)

We’re just more aware now of how unpleasant his kind of obnoxious obsession is thanks to loud radio hosts/podcasters. He isn’t changed, the audience just has better standards.

#marvel comics #marvel #jjj #j jonah jameson #spider man #spiderman #spider man 2 ps5 #spider man ps4 #insomniac spider man

[oliveroctavius]

(USM #8)

#usm #images undescribed #aunt may #jjj #maybe I just really like it when people yell at Jameson over the phone #using the Bugle + Urich's investigations as an in-road for how a teenager would find out about organized crime is pretty good #oliverliveblogs

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxi.ii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: nsfw

a/n: happy birthday to our one and only joh. enjoy the fluff while it lasts because next chapter, i'm coming at you with some angst 😈

pt. xxi.ii, horned poppy

“I’m trying to give all that I can.”

I felt a myriad of pebbles jabbing into my side beneath the blanket. But I didn’t mind, not with John’s body pressed up against mine after so long apart. We were wrapped in the picnic blanket; bellies full, skin chilled from the sea air.

I nuzzled my face into John’s neck, unable to get enough of his scent. Beneath the fresh twist of aftershave was his smell, a smell completely eluding description. Specific to him. No inhale was quite enough, like some sort of despicable drug meant to be my undoing.

“Mm…” John hummed from his half-waking state.

I felt the vibrations through his neck against my lips and pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Are you happy?” he said through a voice sticky from wine and berries.

“Of course,” I said and slid my hands around his waist, his shirt already completely mussed in my hands. I pulled the fabric aside, let my hands graze his skin. “Are you?” I asked, digging my nails in slightly.

I detected the beginnings of a whimper at the very back of his throat. Distant, maybe even hopeful. “I was in desperate need of some estrogen,” he replied.

With a laugh, I wormed myself closer, if that were even possible. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Julia…”

“Why do you always say that? ‘Julia…’ like I’ve done something bad?”

John craned his head back so our eyes could meet. “Well, would you say that this is something a good girl would do?”

Good girl. A thrall of nerves rumbled in my mouth.

His lips brushed the corner of my mouth. “Pressed up against me…”

“Under a blanket,” I added pointedly, not daring to draw away.

“In broad daylight,” he corrected then snatched my lips into a kiss.

I laughed into his mouth. Deep, throaty. “You shouldn’t be surprised, at this point,” I offered as I slid my hands to his belly and wriggled my fingers into the waistband of his slacks.

A breath hiccupped out of his mouth. “I didn’t say I was surprised. Not at all.”

“Mm, I’m predictable?” I pouted as I undid the button on his trousers.

“I didn’t say that with – ha –” John’s cadence jumped when I pushed my hand into the crotch of his pants, fondling him over his underwear.

“Then what is it?” I said, a playful plea. “I’m not surprising and I’m not predictable, so what am I?”

John hardened as my hand passed over him again and again. My center began to throb for him. “You’re Julia. Which is the best thing you could be.”

My heart leapt. John was the devil and I knew it. Anything from his lips was molten sugar. He knew I’d devour it and let my teeth rot.

And I adored him. Even more than that. I was falling in love with him. Before that thought could burble out of my mouth in some trembling, tender sigh, I captured his mouth with mine and kissed. Kissed, kissed, kissed. Thoughtless lips. Thoughtless fucking heart.

I pulled the blanket further over the both of us for good measure before shifting his pants downward. My bare palm connected with his hardened cock, eliciting a wordless hiss from his mouth.

There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but the intent was clear: get him between my legs as fast as possible and keep him there as long as possible to feel like forever. Remember each and every ridge and curve of him buried inside. Capture the moment so that I could survive until his future return.

We shifted back and forth, hips trying to catch, until we found the appropriate angle for the head of his member to dip inside me.

John let out a breath through his nose like an angry bull, the air skimming my neck. “Here? Really?”

“When are you going back?” I asked, nonsequiting.

His response was stolen as I moved my hips forward, taking him slightly deeper.

The stretch felt new again. I gripped his shirt and took pause as my body adjusted to the beginning of fullness.

“Morning,” John finally responded, word strangled in his throat. “I’ll leave…in the morning.”

A smile graced my lips, genuine, from the bottom of my heart. The girls would get to see him, however brief.

“Christ, Julia, you want me to talk sense right now and I’m halfway in the…” John pressed his forehead to my shoulder and groaned.

“Has it really been so long that you’re this desperate?”

“I used to get it every night, if you’ve forgotten.”

I laughed, biting at his chin. “You’re saying I’ve been spoiling you.”

John’s hand rustled under the cover, gripped my ass. “Please, Julia.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

Shifting his pelvis, John slid inside me, inch by inch, deeper and deeper, until there was no way we could be closer. His intake of breath was as if for the first time, a dormant god awakened by a thoughtless mortal.

He clung to me, quiet desperation. Unmoving. “Feel so good,” he sighed into my ear.

From somewhere down the beach came the chortling of some seabirds. I pulled the blanket tighter around us, so tight there would be no room to thrust or undulate. All that existed amidst the blanket was one body with two beating hearts and a familiar arousal. No need to consummate, no need to rush. In fact, it was a feeling I wanted to live in forever.

Not just a feeling. Wanted him to live in me forever. A piece. Just a little.

I scared myself with the very thought.

Love is a laughable little word. Love is an emotion that belongs to children, adults, and animals indiscriminately. Between friends, family members, between humans and nature, between children and their most treasured teddy bears.

But life…the possibility of building a life even creating a life. That is proprietary to one particular kind of relationship.

I dug my fingernails into his back, eyes widening at the thought of something I couldn’t deny I wanted. “John…” my voice cracked.

John gripped me back. “What, Julia? What, love?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t say it. Because what would I say? That I loved him? Wanted him in more beyond the secret of a blanket? Wanted the girls to know?

Wanted a future?

I couldn’t say any of that.

Tears streamed down my face. I buried my face into his shoulder and squeezed myself around him. “Need you to come,” I finally choked out. “Need to feel you.”

And when he whispered my name again in my ear, I knew he’d give me what I wanted.

Under the blanket, our friction grew. Micromotions and clenching muscles, panting breaths, until it was utterly clear John couldn’t hold out much longer.

A single moment, a pinpoint of clarity. The sky expanding, shafts of light through the gray clouds, shuffling waves on the shore.

That could be enough, couldn’t it?

“Oh, god,” John murmured in a strangled tone before releasing inside. He spread one hand against my lower back, heaving breaths to try and catch up to himself.

I hummed with satisfaction. No need for an orgasm on my part, not after what happened in the Rolls.

Just having him close.

Like this.

Mine.

“Why do you feel so good? Always?” John kissed me. “Always,” he repeated, nudging his nose with mine.

If he noticed the remnants of my tears, he said nothing.

“I don’t know what to do about you, Julia.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

John slid one arm free from the blanket and cupped the back of my head. Forehead pressed against mine. I listened to him breathe until he gained the courage to say what he wanted to. “I don’t know, I…I want you to know I care for you.”

I tilted my mouth toward his, needy for a kiss.

“I’m trying to give all that I can.”

I could read between the words. The subtle admission.

I want to. I'm trying. But I can't. Yet.

All this had started with him needing a nanny. Then needing a lover. Baby steps.

Except children…when they take their steps they already know they want to run. If they run too soon, they’ll fall.

Were we about to run? Or had we already started?

And when were we going to fall face first in the mud, muck everything up?

Only time would tell.

“I know you are, darling,” I whispered. “You’ve given me so much.”

John smiled with a solemn satisfaction which I stole off his face with a kiss.

“Now, stop being so dower when you’re inside me, hm? You’re going to create a Pavlovian response that my fanny makes you all serious, now –”

That knocked him into a laugh, changing the tenor of the conversation to the better.

I let myself smile again. It’s your birthday, Julia. Let it be happy.

Time slipped through our fingers quicker than quick and before we knew it, we had to be back on the road to Crowborough. The ride back was quiet except for the crinkling radio. I remained glued to John’s side the whole way back, the kerchief around my neck, the flowers desperate for water on the seat beside me.

Once we turned down Warren Lane, there was a natural parting between the two of us as I slid back into my seat, knowing that the girls were already home, thanks to Annie fetching them from school. No need to add to further confusion or to corner us into naming something that didn’t yet want to be named.

And thank goodness we did; the moment we pulled up, the girls rushed out in their school uniforms and nearly bum rushed the car. Of course, it was for John, as it always should be. “Wait, wait, wait,” I cried out, holding my hand out toward them, “for the car to stop!”

The easy dandy John Paul Jones brought the car to a stop and leapt out of the car toward the children, almost like his adoring public. I wondered how it compared to the screams of his fans. However, if I had learned John at all in the short time we’d known one another, I’d say anything with the band held no candle to this.

“You’ve all grown! I’ll be a dwarf soon!” he said as he embraced them, fake tears in his voice.

“It’s been two weeks!” Tamara rightly pointed out in her matter-of-fact way.

As I stepped out of the car, basking in the scene, I was surprised when Jacinda wriggled out of John’s arms and came tripping toward me, catching herself at my waist. I tripped back against the car door, laughing. “Cin, what on earth!”

“Are you having a good birthday?” she asked, grinning up at me.

For a split second, I detected a knowingness in her eyes. I shook it off, gave her a tight squeeze. “It’s been a perfect birthday. Now let’s go inside.”

She giggled. “Yes, let’s.”

I raised an eyebrow. Something was afoot.

“Julia!” Kiera scrambled over and grabbed my hand. “You look older!”

“Oh! Thanks,” I said dryly, ignoring John’s snickering.

Annie appeared in the doorway. “Now, what have I said about leaving the door open? Inside, the lot of you!”

No one argued and, once inside, I was directed straight to the kitchen, Kiera pressing on my hindquarters without mercy. “Come look, come look, come look!”

“Tamara! Her eyes!” Jacinda directed.

Tamara tucked her hands over my eyes; I nearly had to take pause at how much that one gesture made me realize how she’d grown since March. “What are you up to?!” I exclaimed.

“Easy now, careful with the birthday girl,” Annie squawked.

After nearly being run into the doorframe, the girls got me into the kitchen without injury.

“Three, two, one…open!” Jacinda announced.

Tamara’s hands lifted, revealing a beautiful triple decker cake with white cream and bright red strawberries between each layer. Evidently homemade and with a childlike touch of strawberries slices placed together in hearts on the top.

“Surprise!” Kiera yelped, jumping out from behind me and grinning her big, somewhat toothless grin. “Your favorite!”

I gasped, “You remembered!” I should have known all the nagging last week about favorite sweets would have been for something like this.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Annie said, tapping my shoulder. “From the girls.”

I eyed Annie with a subtle shake of my head. “First a picnic and now this, It’s too much, it’s…”

“Do you want a slice?” Kiera asked, climbing up on a stool to stick her finger in the cream.

John swept in, gripping the littlest under her armpits and yanking her back from the cake. “After dinner, love.”

“Can’t we start with dessert instead?” Jacinda asked helplessly.

“Please, Daddy, we’ve been working on it for hours and Annie didn’t even let us lick the bowl,” Tamara complained.

John and I laughed, especially when Annie cocked her shoulder and added, “That’s my gratuity and they knew that.”

“Well, what do you think, John?” I asked, threading my fingers through Tamara’s hair, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “Dessert first wouldn’t hurt just once, hm?”

The girls all shot up on their tiptoes, repeating “please” over and over in an effort to appease their father. And John relished making them wait on the edge for his answer. “If that’s what the birthday girl wants.”

The celebration that followed was momentous. We all gathered around the table with a plate of cake and delighted in fresh cream and zippy strawberries, almost bypassing the ritual of “Happy Birthday” and “make a wish”. Amidst all the chatting and laughter, cake was nearly polished off and there was no room for dinner much to Annie’s grumbling chagrin.

From time to time, I noticed John appraising the white lilies in their vase. Compared to the wildflowers, they were more flamboyant. Still, though, uglier.

I made a note to offer them to Annie to take home and revel in herself. I only needed flowers from one man.

“Julia, is this the best birthday ever?” Kiera asked, coming over to my seat and pushing her way onto my lap.

I hugged her close, peering over her head at John across the table who was the last of us to still have cake on his plate, his fork awaiting his mouth with another bite. “Oh, absolutely. The best ever,” I said. “Thanks to you girls. And Annie. And your father.”

John looked away then, cheeks turning bright red.

“We’re sort of like your best friends, right?” Kiera went on, her legs swinging back and forth over me.

“Better than best,” I replied. Meaning it.

Kiera simply smiled and dropped her head on my shoulder.

It was all falling into place. So easy. So simple.

“Can we look at the book now?”

We all glanced over to the doorway where Jacinda stood with the yellow photo album. The same they’d looked at on Tamara’s birthday.

Tamara rolled her eyes, “Julia isn’t in the book, Cindy.”

Jacinda pulled the album closer to her chest. “I know, but we always look at the book.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to invite myself into a family tradition, but didn’t want to break Jacinda’s heart.

Clearing his throat, John finally spoke, “Tamara’s right, Julia isn’t in the book.”

Jacinda’s brow pinched in distress.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t look at it, though,” he added with a soft smile.

“What will Julia look at if there aren’t pictures of her in it?” Kiera asked.

I shook my head. She was sounding just like my little brother, Anson, the apple of everyone’s eye at all times, even if he had to force it. “I’m happy to look at all your pictures, it doesn’t matter if I’m in them.”

Tamara twisted her lips to the side. “But it’s your birthday.”

“Tell you what,” John announced, patting his mouth off with his napkin and tossing it down before pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve got an idea. Give me two minutes.”

Jacinda set the book down in front of me with a proud smile. “These are where we keep the best pictures.”

“And we look at it on every birthday,” Kiera added.

“It’s just because Daddy likes to embarrass us with our baby pictures,” Tamara grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

I laughed. “Oh, I’d love to see that.”

“Julia…” she moaned.

John returned right quick with a Polaroid camera in his hand. “Alright, girls, gather together around Julia would you?”

My heart plummeted. “I am in no shape for a picture, John.”

“Oh, nonsense, you look beautiful,” he uttered while checking the cartridge for film.

I tried not to gasp in delight as the girls crowded me. Kiera on my knee, Jacinda leaning on my shoulder, and Tamara at the back of my chair. 

“We haven’t taken a picture in forever,” Kiera said with delight.

“Because you’re missing your teeth,” Tamara jabbed.

Kiera lifted her chin, grit her teeth, and stuck her tongue through one of the gaping holes toward Tamara. Appropriately, Tamara squealed in disgust.

I playfully thwacked each of them. “Girls, please, we’re about to take a picture. Be pleasant, hm?”

With a few final checks and a swipe of my thumb across the corner of Jacinda’s mouth, we were ready. John poised himself behind the camera and counted down as we all smiled.

“Three…two…”

“My cheeks hurt, Daddy,” Kiera complained through clenched teeth.

I laughed as the flash went off.

A few minutes later, John opened the book to the very last page and slid the developed picture beneath the clear plastic. Kiera smiling maniacally with me caught in a blurry mid-laugh with Jacinda and Tamara. On the white frame, he’d written, “Julia’s First Birthday”.

I blinked in confusion for a moment.

“First? Julia’s older than one,” Jacinda said with a furrowed brow.

John settled into the chair beside mine and folded his hands on the table. “First of many birthdays with Julia, I hope.”

I smiled as our eyes met.

“I hope so too,” Kiera said, looping her arms around my neck. “How old are you, anyway?”

I grunted. “Old.”

“Oh hush,” Annie scolded from the sink where she was scraping off dishes.

“Now, Julia’s in the book, which means we’ve got to start at the beginning,” John said, turning the album back to the very first page.

The beginning. The beginning of their family. Not mine. Or was it? Now that I existed between the pages, a moment in time pressed between his three daughters who I loved dearly, did that mean I could claim the Baldwins as my own?

I glanced down at a wedding photograph. A young John and Mo. So young together. My contentment didn’t shrivel at the sight though my insides drooped.

“That’s Mummy and Daddy when they got married,” Jacinda explained to me.

“It rained the whole day,” Tamara added as she took a seat, emphasis on the word “whole”, the hallmark of being told the story many times and learning the exact cadence in which it was told.

“Did it really?” I asked.

Jacinda nodded. “But Mummy always says – said it’s very good luck for it to rain on your wedding day.”

“Is that true, Daddy?” Kiera prodded.

I held my breath, feeling the eternity it took for John to answer. The slow curl of his lips and the difficulty he had raising his gaze to look at his girls. I was ready to turn the page, to tell them to move it along and not worry about his answer, when he inhaled and puffed his chest with pride, his eyes regarding each of his daughters.

“Oh yes, girls. It’s fantastic luck.”

My heart quadrupled in size when he then looked at me.

Because somehow, despite all the pain that brought him to this moment, our paths crossing was perhaps a stroke of luck.

After all, there’s no sunshine without the rain.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @digitcc, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking, @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

#john paul jones #led zeppelin #wildflowers #wf #john paul jones x oc #jjj

[dailybugle-blr]

Spider-Man: Savior or Scourge of the City?

by J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief

Submitted photo

NEW YORK CITY - Spider-Man's latest exploits have once again thrust him into the spotlight, igniting a debate over his true intentions and impact on the city. Is the web-slinger a valiant defender of justice or a dangerous menace lurking in the shadows?

"For years, I've seen Spider-Man swinging around the city, and I used to think he was doing good," said Mary Smith, resident of Queens. "But lately, it seems like he causes more trouble than he prevents. My shop was damaged in one of his fights, and I'm still trying to recover from the losses."

Critics argue that Spider-Man's vigilantism undermines the authority of law enforcement and poses a threat to public safety. Operating outside the bounds of legal oversight, Spider-Man's actions blur the lines between heroism and recklessness. As such, questions persist regarding his true identity, motives and allegiance.

"While I appreciate Spider-Man's efforts to keep the city safe, there's no denying the damage he leaves behind," said David Johnson, taxi driver. "I've had my fair share of close calls when he's swinging through traffic. It's like he doesn't care about anyone else's safety."

In the face of mounting scrutiny, it is imperative that Spider-Man be held to the same standards as any other citizen. The people of New York deserve answers, accountability and assurances that their safety is not compromised in the pursuit of justice.

"We need to know who Spider-Man really is and what his intentions are," said Jessica Rodriguez, concerned citizen. "If he wants to continue operating in our city, he needs to be transparent and accountable for his actions. Otherwise, he's just another criminal hiding behind a mask."

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel spiderman #j jonah jameson #jjj #jj jameson #the daily bugle #daily bugle #spider man #spiderman #marvel spider man #mcu spiderman #marvel mcu #mcu #peter parker