#twenty FUCKING PAGES OF THIS BULLSHIT
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Santago’s New Sleigh
Pongo accidentally reveals his secret persona to Fudge a few days before Christmas. What does the Outfitter do? He builds a core component for Santago that’s been sorely missed.
Featuring @anryl ‘s Danny and @deltheor ‘s Sydney, with brief mentions of @skell-pilot-sora ‘s Ruadha and @stargazer-ele ‘s Polaris.
“Damn, Pon. Whatever you’re reading, it must be important.”
Pongo squeaked, looking up from his comm device to meet Fudge’s gaze. He’d decided to visit Fudge’s lab, a routine at this point since Fudge had the tendency to lock himself away for days on end working on new inventions. Most often he’d make conversation with the Outfitter as he worked, a measure against Fudge’s self-inflicted loneliness, but today was not like most days. Pongo had decided to get a headstart on the Christmas list for the year, and instead of using the regular paper, he’d made the transfer over to keeping a digital list on his comm device. After all, the last few times he’d been out in public checking over the paper list, he’d gotten caught and sheepishly had to explain himself. His identity as Santa had to be a secret, after all! Wasn’t that the point of being Santa? If everyone knew that he was the one dropping off their gifts, then the magic of Christmas would surely be ruined!
So, with the transfer to a digital list, Pongo was excited to covertly check everything over and make sure he’d gotten all the residents of NLA. Since Fudge was busy building stuff, Pongo didn’t think he’d notice or deign to bring it up. When Pongo didn’t respond immediately, Fudge raised an eyebrow. He was perched on top of a ladder looking down at Pongo; he’d been working on his Skell and had been too short to reach the back panel behind its face. The height advantage made Pongo feel more than a little exposed, and he had to briefly wonder if Fudge felt like that all the time.
“So? What are you reading?” Fudge probed.
“N-Nothing!” Pongo defended himself, tucking his comm device in his pocket. It was a harder maneuver than he anticipated, considering he was awkwardly seated on what may have possibly been the only clean chair in the entire lab surrounded by spare parts and mechanical debris.
“Ooh, did you get a text from that rich guy you’re dating?”
“Oh, ah, n-no.”
“Wait…Pongo, are you reading something naughty?”
“WHAT?!”
“I’m just messing with ya,” Fudge cackled, stepping down off of his ladder and approaching Pongo - who, at that moment, was as red as a tomato. “Whatever it is, you’re like…super into it. I mean, you didn’t hear me ask you if you could hand me a tool before.”
“...RIPS, did he really ask me that?” Pongo mumbled.
Fudge’s AI system responded nearly immediately. “AFFIRMATIVE, MASTER CALDRAVIX. IN FACT, MASTER CARSON ASKED YOU FOR THE SOLDERING IRON TWICE WITHIN THE PAST THIRTY SECONDS.”
“Gods above,” Pongo sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Sorry, Fudge. You are right, I got distracted.”
“You still haven’t told me what you were reading, though, so now I’m curious,” Fudge knocked some stuff off of his desk, leaning against the empty space he had created and crossing his arms over his chest. “Spill the beans.”
“...What beans?”
“Fucking hell, it’s a saying. Means ya gotta tell the truth.”
“Oh, well, um…” Pongo shrank into himself. His hand palmed the pocket containing his comm device despite his uncertainty. Why did it seem like every year, someone new had to learn about his masquerade? And why couldn’t he lie?! Seriously, this would be so much easier if he could think of a valid excuse for being distracted, but nothing came to mind. At least it was Fudge and not some stranger, right?
With a defeated sigh, Pongo pulled his comm device back out. As it opened back onto the Christmas list, he explained, “It is the list of gifts for the residents of NLA this year. The songs always say that Santa checks it twice, so I was going through it again to make sure I got everyone.”
“Your list has everyone in the fucking ci - wait a fucking minute,” Fudge’s eyes widened, his arms falling to his sides. “Are you the fucker that delivers everyone’s gifts each Christmas?”
“Y-Yes,” Pongo admitted.
“Holy shit!! Holy shit,” Fudge exclaimed, slowly becoming more and more excited, “The Outfitters have tried laying traps for you for years now! They wanted to know who you were so badly! I should’ve fucking known it was you, only someone like you would be able to pull a stunt like that off every year, you gotta tell me everything about how you operate - are there people that help you behind the scenes? Did you recruit some aprica for your sleigh? Oh fuck, I wonder what your sleigh looks like, I bet it’s a -”
“I do not have a sleigh,” Pongo interjected, “I just use my Skell every year. Eros is able to carry the weight of everything just fine.”
Fudge stopped suddenly. “You don’t have a sleigh.”
“No?”
“...”
Pongo prepared himself for another rant, a bout of frustration. Fudge was an easy man to annoy, and something about that confession made him feel defenseless. He’d never really thought about the specifics regarding Santa’s sleigh, taking it as something he could easily swap out and get the same result. But maybe the decision to do so cost him some necessary Christmas magic? As Pongo silently cursed his oversight, Fudge’s shock slowly turned into something else. Pongo expected a scowl, but he was greeted with a far greater sight. A devilish grin, a plan hatching in Fudge’s mind. Oh, he looked positively demonic like this, but the wider the grin grew, the better Pongo felt. After all, that grin could only mean one thing.
Fudge had an idea.
“RIPS, cancel all the plans I had for tonight,” He told his AI, spinning around and scurrying around to the side of his desk. “Tell Alexa I came down with mimfluenza or some shit, I don’t fucking care. Someone else can take up repair duty for the week. We’ve got a rush order to deal with.”
“What are you planning?” Pongo asked, standing up. At the same time, Fudge pulled out some blueprint paper, slamming it on the empty space on his desk. He kept his hand firmly placed on top of it, whipping a pencil out of thin air and smirking over his shoulder.
“Tonight,” Fudge said, “I’m building Santa’s sleigh.”
~
True to his word, Fudge sketched out a sleigh to build, decked out with all sorts of functions that Pongo couldn’t wrap his head around. All he was able to gather was that it’d be able to fly in a similar manner to a Skell and wouldn’t require the use of reindeer (or aprica, which couldn’t fly anyways!). It’d have a functional GPS system and a way for Pongo to input all of his stops, as well as check which locations and people had been given their gifts and which hadn’t. The sleigh would be powered by nuclear energy and have safety guards in place in case of an emergency, and - above all else - it would have a sick paint job. Pongo didn’t make the comment in the moment, but Fudge’s excitement almost made him cry. He was acting like a little kid, waiting for his presents under the tree, living in the memory of youth. It was too beautiful a moment for Pongo to squander.
After assessing what necessary for the sleigh, Fudge gave Pongo a shopping list of parts to acquire from the Outfitters and the shops in Armory Alley. The names boggled Pongo’s mind, and trying to pronounce any of them was hard enough, but he didn’t even know their purpose! It resulted in a lot of confusion. Thank the gods Pongo never decided to become an Outfitter, honestly.
Luckily, none of the parts Fudge requested were too big to carry, and Pongo now walked confidently with a shopping bag full of pipes and gears and other knickknacks. It was heavy, of course, but nothing Pongo couldn’t handle. He decided to peruse the commercial district afterwards in the hopes that he could pick up some last-minute gifts from the list. It was busy, but predictable at this point - Pongo was a pro at his job, after all! Years and years of experience shopping for the good people of NLA taught him a thing or two about savings, navigating the crowds, and -
“Pongo!”
Oh, someone said his name! But in the thick of the crowd, Pongo couldn’t identify the source right away. He scoured the road, the sidewalks, trying to see who could’ve called out to him. Only when a hand clasped his shoulder did he realize that the person had been behind him all long, and that person had some rather recognizable metallic red fingers.
“Sydney!” Pongo twisted around and gave Sydney a hug, wrapping his arms over his shoulders. Sydney chuckled underneath him, returning the embrace gingerly. When they separated, Pongo asked, “Doing some last minute shopping for Christmas?”
“Kinda,” He replied, “Looks like you are, too. Is it for the…you know…”
“Oh! Well, technically yes,” Pongo realized Sydney was referring to the bag of parts he was holding onto, “One of my Outfitter friends caught on and insisted that I need a sleigh. He asked me to get some parts to help construct it. He needed…” A pause, as he attempted to remember the names. “...A regeneration corepipe, a couple formstruct plating adhesives, a type three automotive latching mechanism…” Another pause, when he couldn’t bring himself to try and pronounce the names of the more complicated ones. “...some other things, too. I must admit, this kind of stuff is not something I understand well.”
Sydney peered into the bag, his head tilting in curiosity. Pongo made a mental note that he looked rather dashing today, dressed up in one of his fancier white suits. The red tie around his neck matched his arms in grandeur, a slight sheen to them that reflected the sunlight just enough to stand out. Gods above, it even made his eyes pop, a vibrant and passionate crimson hue.
“...Pon?” Sydney glanced up, wearing a faint smile.
“Mm?”
“That’s not a regeneration corepipe. That’s a regeneration corner pipe. Same material, but not the same purpose.”
Pongo’s face fell, the color draining from his face. “Oh, shoot! I should go back and get the right one then, gods I thought -”
“I’ll come with you, if you want,” He offered, “And don’t beat yourself up for not getting it right. It’s a pretty common misconception. Lots of Outfitters mix it up, even.”
“I appreciate that,” Pongo smiled wide, the quick bout of fear residing into his typical cheeriness, “Goodness, I am lucky to have someone so smart by my side!”
Sydney rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush forming across his cheeks. “I mean, I’m an Outfitter now. I’m supposed to know these things.”
“I wonder if Fudge would welcome your help in constructing the sleigh,” He mused out loud, a careful hand upon his chin. “He insisted that he would be able to complete it before my departure, but…”
“If you’re trying to play friend matchmaker again, I’m not really sure it’ll work out.”
“One bad introduction should not define the entire experience! I mean, do you remember how we met?”
Sydney stiffened at that. “Ah, y-yeah, um…”
“I said it before and I will say it again: I forgive you for doing that,” Pongo gently nudged Sydney’s shoulder, an act of reassurance. “That aside, if it truly makes you uncomfortable, I will not ask Fudge about it. You will at least get the chance to meet him on Christmas Eve!”
“You still expect me to be there?” He asked, “I mean, last year was just a fluke.”
“Part of the magic of Christmas is spending time with your loved ones,” Pongo asserted, “And last I checked, you are under that umbrella.” A pause, a shy smile. “It would not be the same without you there.”
There was a sliver of hesitation in Sydney’s gaze, biting the inside of his lip where the scar ran across his jawline. An image came to mind of Pongo running kisses down its path, but he had some amount of restraint, considering this was a public setting. There’d be time to sing those praises after he’d completed his mission.
“I’ll be there,” Sydney eventually promised, and Pongo allowed himself to break his self-inflicted restraints and give him a quick peck on the lips.
“Thank you, Sydney,” Pongo said, “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”
Then, taking Sydney’s hand in his own, Pongo glanced up towards the administrative district, the high and mighty BLADE Tower radiant in the afternoon sun. “Alright, now come and show me which one is the corepipe!”
“Okay, okay,” Sydney couldn’t help but chuckle as Pongo nearly dragged him across the sidewalk, and he eventually took the lead down to the hangar’s elevator. Pongo smiled wide the whole way back, his mind swimming with a list of things still left to do, gifts he still needed to get, hugs he still needed to give. Gods above, how Christmas filled him with such wondrous spirit! Not that he wasn’t full of love every other day of the year, but ever since he’d heard of Christmas, something about the holiday gave him the excuse to take things up a level. And considering last year’s Christmas had been…well, less than satisfactory, given his whole “missing both of his legs” deal, Pongo was excited to return to the field and make this Christmas one to remember.
Just thinking about how magical everything felt, he allowed himself to daydream, to imagine how perfect the night would turn out to be. What could possibly go wrong?
~
Fudge would never admit this to anybody out loud, but damn, did he love Christmas. It had always been one of his favorite times of the year, a moment always shared with his dad and the rest of Carson Tech. There was a kind of feeling that didn’t come with any other holiday, the feeling of spending time with those you loved most. All that “Christmas spirit” bullshit that the commercials and songs spouted over the intercoms got on his nerves pretty quickly, but even then, they held some truth to them.
So hearing that Pongo was the famed Santa Claus that had been delivering presents for the past couple years, hearing that he didn’t have any mode of transportation aside from his own Skell? What a brilliant excuse to combine two of his favorite things!!
Working on something this secret, though, meant that Fudge had to make a few sacrifices. RIPS was automatically programmed to notify Fudge of any incoming calls, and of all the calls he got leading up to Christmas Eve, the majority were from three people. The first was Ruadha, who was simply happy to talk to Fudge over the comm device about everything and anything. They did pry about the whole “secret invention” thing, which Fudge fully expected, but it still prompted him to put up some extra security measures for his lab just in case the little gremlin decided to pay a surprise visit.
The second frequent caller was his father, Antonio Carson. Those calls were daily, and the conversations were on the same wavelength as those Fudge had with Ruadha, sprinkled with a few fatherly words of advice. He didn’t ask about the secret invention as much as Fudge thought he would, but he quickly found out the reason why. Turns out, his father also had a secret he was working on, and he explained that it didn’t feel right asking for a secret to be revealed when he was in no position to return the gesture. That didn’t stop Fudge from wondering what it could be, though.
The third most frequent caller was none other than Polaris. However, that had been something of an error on her part. For whatever fucking reason, she called him a grand total of eight times in a ten minute time frame. When Fudge finally ordered RIPS to pick up so he could scream bloody murder at Polaris, her voice was muffled and far away. Fudge rolled his eyes, immediately deciphering what was happening - especially since Polaris wasn’t the only voice he heard on the other line. Nope, there was a second person in the background, though he wasn’t about to guess what the fuck they were doing. All he said before hanging up was “Blackmail material”. Whether or not it was worthy blackmail material, Fudge wasn’t sure. It just felt good to scare her.
The sleigh was easy enough to build, so long as it had Fudge’s undivided attention. Pongo returned with the parts far sooner than he expected, and Pongo even handed him an extra regeneration corner pipe. “I mixed them up,” Pongo had admitted, and to that, Fudge had responded, “I’ll call this an early Christmas present then”. Pongo didn’t stay much longer after that, and so Fudge got absorbed into his work for the next few days.
Christmas Eve came, and by the time the sun had set below the horizon, the final touches were being made to the sleigh. Fudge wiped his brow, gazing lovingly at his newest masterpiece. He couldn’t think of anything else it would need, so he set his tools down and asked RIPS, “Send a text to Pongo and ask him where the rendezvous is for the operation tonight.”
“YES, MASTER CARSON.”
A few minutes passed, a bliss that came with success and pride, before RIPS informed Fudge, “MASTER CALDRAVIX HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE RENDEZVOUS LOCATION IS ON TOP OF BLADE TOWER IN THE ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT.”
“Alright, sounds like a pla -” Fudge stopped. “...Oh. Oh fuck.”
RIPS didn’t even need to ask. How in the ever loving fuck was he supposed to get this sleigh to the top of BLADE Tower without anybody noticing? Fudge groaned, the base of his palms digging into his eyebrows. Looked like he had some more work to do.
~
As fate would have it, a quick invisibility cloak did the trick. Was it as polished as the rest of the sleigh? Oh absolutely fucking not. Was Fudge a little ashamed of how spotty that last minute detail was? Yep. But hey, it would work for tonight, and he’d have an entire year to refine it further.
With the invisibility cloak on, Fudge used his Amdusias Hades to lift the sleigh and carefully fly it to the top of BLADE Tower. Luckily, the vast majority of NLA’s population had retired for the night, so questions about his Skell’s cupped arms were few and easily dismissed. As he flew closer, Fudge spotted other Skells parked on top of the tower - ah fuck, was he late? Whatever the case was, he landed near the edge, setting the sleigh down as gently as possible before exiting his Skell and greeting everyone outside. He recognized Eros, Pongo’s Skell, which had a comically large sack placed in front of it. Those were the presents, presumably, and thinking about its contents made Fudge’s heart flutter for a moment. Not too far from the Skell’s feet was Pongo, dressed in a rather nice Santa outfit, complete with the hat atop his head. Was that puffball on the hat’s tip heart-shaped? Okay, that was a nice touch. He waved to Fudge as he approached, and that was when Fudge saw the person he’d been talking to.
“L, what the fuck are you wearing?” Fudge asked, nearly choking on his words. The jolly blue xeno was wearing a rather skimpy elf outfit, rather akin to those cursed bunnybods Fudge occasionally witnessed BLADES strutting around in.
“It is our Christmas attire!” L exclaimed cheerfully, unaware of just how he appeared, “We parade in this every year during Christmas’s Evening!”
“Costumes are not necessary, but I think they are rather fun,” Pongo chirped, “When I recruited Danniel, I gave him reindeer antlers. I…well, I am not quite sure what I would give you, Fudge. I think we might need to duplicate some roles.”
“I’m the sleigh guy. Isn’t that enough?” Fudge raised an eyebrow, praying to every god that he wouldn’t have to wear something stupid. Sensing his unease, Pongo gave him a reassuring grin.
“It is more than enough. Though, ah…where exactly is the sleigh?”
Oh, right. Fudge turned back towards his Skell, towards the still invisible sleigh. Pulling out his comm device, he typed in the command for the invisibility device to decloak, and in moments, the sleigh revealed itself to the bystanders atop BLADE Tower. The sides shone a metallic red, glistening in the remnants of the sunset. The seat inside was lined with as plush a fabric as Fudge could find - don’t ask him what material it was, because honestly, that was not Fudge’s area of expertise. A control panel sat in front of the seating, forming a near-perfect semicircle that was reminiscent of the paneling inside a standard Skell. Even the buttons were in a similar arrangement, though none of them were lit up. Pongo would have to turn the bad boy on before the real light show began.
“Oh my gods,” Pongo breathed, “Fudge, you are brilliant.”
“Go ahead and take a closer look if you want,” Fudge told him, “It’s yours, after all.”
That was all Pongo needed to rush forward, squealing like a child, admiring all of the detailwork in half-formed ramblings. Fudge allowed himself a second to revel in the pride, the absolue beauty that he’d managed to build in record time. However, as he glanced to the left, to the right, he realized that there were a few more people here that he hadn’t interacted with. Another darker skinned fellow with reindeer antlers and freckles that rivaled Fudge’s stood awkwardly nearby, for instance. Pongo had mentioned his name over texts - Danny, right? Pongo had the tendency to call people by their full names, an endearing sign of respect that he’d apparently learned early on in his life. Eh, fuck it, Fudge could try to make conversation.
“Danny, yeah?” Fudge started, and the address made Danny make a little noise from the back of his throat.
“Oh, ah, y-yeah! Nice to meet you,” He replied, offering a gloved hand out to shake. As Fudge shook it with his left hand, he could immediately tell that the material under the fabric was different, clearly not the standard mimeosome framework. Fudge resisted every temptation to probe into the details, so he broke off the handshake first and shifted focus.
“How’d you get roped into this shit, then?”
“Oh! A few years ago, Pongo bumped into me while he had his Christmas list out, and I saw it and decided to offer my help,” Danny explained, “He said I could be Rudolph since he was Santa and L was an elf.”
“Does that mean you helped him deliver everywhere in the city?” Fudge asked, genuinely curious as to his role.
“No, I just help him find everything on his list. He does all the deliveries himself - and now he’ll do them with a really cool looking sleigh!” He said, eyeing the sleigh that Pongo was still bouncing around. Seriously, how could anyone have that amount of energy? As he watched the show unfold, Danny continued, “The sleigh looks incredible, by the way. It must’ve taken a long time to build!”
“Eh, three days, give or take,” Fudge shrugged, and he couldn’t really determine why Danny’s eyes grew wide at the answer. “It doesn’t have nearly all of the features I wanted it to have, but it’s got more than enough to function for tonight. Next year I’ll have made it perfect.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Danny agreed, “I look forward to seeing it!”
They both watched as Pongo boarded his Skell, the heavy sack of presents lifting easily in Eros’s arms. Fudge tensed; he hadn’t given Pongo the go-ahead to load the sleigh yet, and he wanted to make sure the weight distribution wasn’t going to fuck up the sleigh’s integrity. But the sack came down on the back half of the sleigh, and though Fudge was bracing for the worst, he heard no signs of the sleigh faltering. Pongo then exited his Skell and continued to geek out over how wonderful the sleigh was, with L piping in with his own compliments every so often.
It was then that Fudge spotted another figure approaching out of the corner of his eye, though they seemed to be ignoring him and Danny. Metallic red arms poked out of a pristine white suit - wait, okay, was there a trend here? Why did everyone have metal arms aside from L? What a weird fucking bias. Whatever the case, the suit alone was enough for Fudge to identify the man as none other than Sydney. He wasn’t wearing any sort of Christmas costume, but that also made him stick out like a sore thumb. That, and the brooding. If there was anything that could get on Fudge’s nerves, it was brooding.
However, he could already hear Pongo’s voice in the back of his mind, an innocent excitement about his friends and loved ones helping him out on one of the most important nights of the year. So Fudge swallowed his pride and took a cautious step forward, enough that he was an equal distance away from both Danny and Sydney. Sydney cast his glance downwards, and Fudge fought the urge to smack the look off of his face. It wasn’t even like the guy was acting high and mighty - it was the fucking height advantage and the fact that Sydney looked so punchable! Hold it together, Fudge, just for the night. He tried to be civil, thinking that maybe he could see past the horrible first impression he was getting.
“So you’re Sydney.”
“Yeah.”
“...”
“...”
Yeah, no, Fudge didn’t like this guy at all. Why was Pongo’s taste in men so shitty? Whatever, he could deal with working alongside this douchebag for a night. But that didn’t stop him from squinting, from looking this guy up and down and crossing his arms. Sydney scowled, staring right back at him. Oh, now, this was gonna be fun. He could practically smell the distaste in the air, the fuel being poured onto the fire.
“Are two of my favorite people getting along?” Pongo merrily asked from the side of the sleigh, innocent to the vitriolic stand-off happening in front of him.
Fudge looked away quickly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney do the same. They both responded at the same time.
“No fuckin’ problems here.”
“Yeah, we’re fine.”
Pongo positively beamed at that. “Fantastic! Oh, that makes me feel a lot better. I was starting to think that adding onto the team so quickly would be awkward!”
“The Christmas legend states that the more there are, the merrier you’ll be,” L chirped, “And it’s impossible not to be merry on this wondrous night!”
“It’s definitely nice seeing all the Christmas decorations from up here. Shows how everyone’s still festive!” Danny gazed down at the city below, the districts of the lower level shining in all sorts of Christmas lights. Fudge was eventually able to spot his own contribution to the front of the test hangar, though he felt a little disappointed by the fact that they blended in with the rest of the lights from his current viewpoint.
“So what’s the procedure now?” Fudge asked, sneaking a peek down at his comm device once more. “All the necessary last-minute detailing on the sleigh is done, and judging by the scans, it’s holding the sack’s weight just fine. Should be good for takeoff whenever you’re ready, Santa.”
“L’Cirufe, is every present accounted for?” Pongo said, turning to the xenoform.
“All presents counted and accounted!” He confirmed, “Whenever you’re ready to depart, we shall light the way!”
“Alright! Then it is time to test the sleigh,” Pongo turned back to Fudge, “Remind me what the controls are again? You said there were a few important things to remember.”
“Right,” Fudge adjusted the collar of his sweater, clearing his throat. Could he make himself look a little taller, a little more important? He hoped the bravado did the trick. “When you get into the sleigh, you’ll see a huge panel in front of you. I’ve designed it so it’s similar in appearance to your everyday Skell, with Arts buttons and everything. Center button turns the entire thing on, check to make sure all the other buttons light up when you do that. If they all look good, use the levers to take her up gently - too much force and you’ll shoot straight up vertically into the air.”
“Oh, like what Sydney did with his golden Ares once,” Pongo nodded in understanding, though the comment made Sydney mutter something under his breath about that not being his fault.
“I don’t wanna fucking know,” Fudge said curtly, “But yeah. Don’t drive like a bitch and you should be fine. Worst case scenario, think of it like a Skell, and ask yourself what you’d do if you were in a Skell. Danny and I will be on the comm network on it too, in case you’ve got any questions.”
“Wait, I’m gonna be connected to it?” Danny seemed surprised at this revelation, and Fudge did his best not to roll his eyes and scoff.
“I’m making you the navigator, so yeah. Next year I’ll probably install a GPS into the sleigh so Pon can go his own route, but as it stands, I had three days to build an entire fucking sleigh from scratch, so now that’s your job. Rudolph’s supposed to drive the sleigh, y’know, so at least now your role’s gonna be a little more accurate.” He took a moment to adjust his goggles, which were starting to slide down over his face. The wind was really being a bitch about this, huh? “Anyways, I’ll be connected to it too, since I gotta perform system checks and make sure the whole thing’s running smoothly.”
“And what will Sydney be doing?” Pongo asked sweetly.
Fudge looked at Sydney. Sydney looked at Fudge.
“...Emotional support elf,” Fudge shrugged.
“Excuse me -”
“Anyways, if anything goes south, you can reach me and Danny through the intercom in the sleigh,” Fudge talked over Sydney’s protests, “Oh, and don’t like…lean out of the side or some shit. I’m not gonna be held responsible for Santa’s death.”
“Why didn’t you make any fucking guard rails if you were worried about that?!” Sydney raised.
“Alright, bitchbaby, next time you can make the sleigh in three days, how about that?”
“I could do it in two, and I could do it with enough safety features so I wouldn’t have to fucking worry about Santa splatting into the middle of the residential district’s tennis court!!”
“Batter up then, asshole, God fuckin’ knows you’ve got enough credits up your ass to make it happen! Can’t fuckin’ wait to get blinded on Christmas Eve looking for Santa, dashing through the snow on a gold mercedes sleigh!”
“At least mine would look like a star descending from the heavens! What does yours do, crash and burn? Don’t think I don’t know the Carson legacy just because I haven’t been building fire hazards as long as you have.”
“You fucking piece of shit -”
“GUYS.”
Sydney and Fudge had gotten in each others’ faces, teeth bared and trading verbal blows. Fudge could feel the blood beneath his skin boiling, fuel on a fire that wouldn’t stop burning until it knew the sweet taste of victory. But just as he was about to make things physical, Danny placed himself between the two arguing Outfitters, stretching his arms out to create distance between them. Right, Danny was a Mediator. He was trying to mediate. How cute.
“Now is not the night to do this,” Danny said sternly, “You’re allowed to not be friends, but maybe save the arguing for when you’re not in front of Pongo.”
Fudge looked over, and Pongo was by L’s side, having watched the entire argument unfold. Fudge had been so focused on the fire inside his heart that he didn’t realize that he’d taken some of Pongo’s warmth to do so, the air now a frostbitten chill. Pongo was frozen to the spot, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Oh shit, were those tears in the corners of his eyes? Damnit, Fudge really dropped the ball on this one. But still, it was not an easy feat to temper his anger, so his next statement still contained a level of animosity that wasn’t meant for Pongo.
“Get in the fucking sleigh, Santa.”
Pongo didn’t move immediately, though the brief flash in his eyes indicated that he’d heard Fudge loud and clear. However, after taking a moment in the silence, Pongo’s first steps were not towards the sleigh. Instead, he strode over to Fudge, leaned down, and hugged him tight. Fudge gasped, squirming in Pongo’s grip for a moment.
“Thank you for doing this,” Pongo whispered into Fudge’s shoulder, “I am so grateful to have a friend like you in my life.”
“Oh, uh…” Fudge found himself at a loss for words, stumbling upon the bashful, “Don’t mention it. Least I could do.”
Pongo pulled away then, turning and giving Sydney the same hug. Fudge could hear him whisper something too, and whatever it was, it made Sydney’s expression melt. Pongo left Sydney with a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and after giving Danny a hug of his own, he rejoined L by the sleigh. They exchanged a quick hug before Pongo climbed aboard, sliding into his seat in front of the sleigh’s controls. As Fudge had instructed before, Pongo tapped the center button, and the sleigh roared to life, the thrusters in the rear glowing a vibrant red. Before initiating takeoff, he looked to Fudge, and Fudge gave a thumbs-up to indicate that all systems were green.
After that, Fudge could only describe the takeoff as something out of a movie. The sleigh began to ride, slowly, steadily, the flames behind leaving trails of embers and stardust behind it. Though the sleigh wobbled in its ascent, it soon found its balance, and Pongo found his confidence behind the controls. Every system remained operational as the thrusters were given more juice, and the sleigh rocketed off into the night. Fudge even swore that he heard Pongo trying to mimic Santa’s laughter, a hearty “Ho Ho Ho” that echoed across the city. It would’ve brought tears to his eyes if he wasn’t in the company of others, though he promptly noticed that L had begun openly weeping. Danny was the first to ask if he was okay, and to that, L had responded that he was overwhelmed with joy. Thank the fucking gods, honestly.
And so the ragtag group of Santago’s helpers watched as, once again, Santago took to the skies to deliver presents to all of the citizens of NLA. In the silence of their awe, Fudge smiled, and uttered a single phrase.
“Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.”
#xenoblade x#Santago's New Sleigh: Short Story#danniel#fudge#sydney#l'cirufe#twenty FUCKING PAGES OF THIS BULLSHIT#this is far from my best work but that's okay#I had fun writing it and that's what matters#anyways fudge welcome to the fucked up little santago team lmao
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Fuck this guy. Thanks to him Hitler was able to rise to power + I'm pretty sure he was a Christian supremacist + I'm equally sure he was antisemitic because wtf does 'jewish people are a pariah people and they have pariah capitalism' mean????? This guy looks like Rasputin but instead of having a huge dick he is a huge dick
#fuck him fuck him fuck him#my professor is trying to kill me with these assignments istg#first I have to analyse one of bolsonaro's speeches#then I've had to read TWENTY-SIX pages of Weber bullshit and make a 1k-word summary of them#what's next? will I have to psychoanalyse trump? either of the bushes?#please someone end my misery#can't we talk about Roosevelt during the great depression or something?#I like roosevelt during the great depression#+ after the great depression I think he's one of the best presidents the us has had#but yk only from the limited knowledge I have of him lol#anyways fuck weber
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This is the public statement from @alepresser and myself which went up at Webtoons tonight.
Now for some ranting. Just from me, not from Ale—she's innocent of the art crimes I've committed in the past, and boy howdy have I committed art crimes.
This is the first page of my first webcomic, A Girl and Her Fed. I started this thing back in 2006. (I don't actually need a head count of those reading this who weren't yet born in 2006. I'm sure you're delightful and I wish you well in college.)
And this is the last page I drew in early 2020 before I turned art duties over to Dr. Beer. It's better, right?
Well, these days, A Girl and Her Fed has pages like this:
I drew this comic for fourteen fucking years because it's a story I wanted to tell, and I thought webcomics were the perfect format for it. I didn't know how to draw. I got better through sheer obstinate perseverance and sticking to deadlines as best I could for, again, fourteen fucking years. I sought out a replacement artist when I ran into time constraints and couldn't do art plus writing anymore; I'm a much better writer than an artist, so I had no problems whatsoever kicking art to the curb.
The first time Ale sent me art that would go up on the website—art I hadn't needed to draw myself—I literally cried in relief because I had been grinding myself down for, yet again, fourteen fucking years.
So when I read comments from people who say they want to make a webcomic but can't draw themselves and therefore need to resort to AI, that little line between my eyes gets dangerously deep.
This isn't like I'm some old dude who's bitching over student loans getting cancelled after making regular payments. This is me, someone who threw raw art onto the internet like a monkey hurling fresh poo, because I wanted to make a webcomic and the art is part of the process of storytelling via webcomics! I could've (arguably should've) hired an artist right out of the gate, and that would've been part of the process of making comics, too: a partnership between an artist and a writer is also something which grows and develops over time.
For example, after Dr. Beer and I spent two years working on AGAHF, we decided we enjoyed our partnership so much that we set out to make another webcomic! It's great! It's got wonderful art and consistent storytelling! You should read it!
But turning art duties over to unaltered images generated by AI because you want to make a webcomic but "just can't draw" is, frankly, a bullshit excuse. I'm not talking about persons who are physically unable to draw due to disability—I'm talking about people who say they want to make webcomics but simply don't wanna do the art part.
Friends, if you don't want to show your entire ass in front of God and country, you don't actually want to make a webcomic.
Do the thing yourself.
If you're scared, don't be. Take the plunge. Set a goal of twenty strips and do the thing yourself. If you can already draw but can't write? Great! Write twenty strips, write forty panels, etc. You might surprise yourself. If you can write but can't draw? Great! Draw twenty panels and see what happens.
Whatever comes out of it, it's a thing you've done yourself. It's something new you've given to the world, no matter how big or small. Be proud of that. And if you need to partner with someone else to make your comic dreams work? You can do that, too! It's still a thing you've done yourself, and many projects are stronger when done together.
...but maaaaaaaaaybe hire that partner before you've busted your own ass for fourteen fucking years. That one's on me.
#webcomic#webcomics#side quested#comic#comics#indie comics#webtoon#webtoons#AI#ai art#ai generated#ai image#ai artwork#artificial intelligence
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Quotes about John Lennon’s sexuality
This is just a reference post for convenience, not an analysis (but I’ve added some comments here and there). This is extremely long with a lot of quotes! And where there's smoke there's fire, imo.
John's (internalized) homophobia: Starting with this topic to provide context & contrast to the rest of this post
At the party the boys’ old friend Bob Wooler, the Cavern emcee, made a crack to John about his holiday. John, who’d had plenty to drink, exploded. He leapt on Bob, and by the time he was dragged off Bob had a black eye and badly bruised ribs. I took John home as fast as I could, and Brian drove Bob to the hospital.
I was appalled that John had lashed out again. I’d thought those days were over. But John was still livid, muttering that Bob had called him a queer.
Cynthia Lennon, John
[Bob Wooler had] insinuated that me and Brian had had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind with drink. You know, when you get down to the point where you want to drink out of all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, ‘Come on, John, tell me’ – something like that – ‘Tell me about you and Brian, we all know.’ And obviously I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. If somebody said it now, I wouldn’t give a shit.
John Lennon, John Lennon: For The Record, Peter McCabe and Robert D Schonfeld
“The Beatles’ first national coverage was me beating up Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st party because he intimated I was homosexual. I must have had a fear that maybe I was homosexual to attack him like that and it’s very complicated reasoning. But I was very drunk and I hit him and I could have really killed somebody then. And that scared me… That was in the Daily Mirror, it was the back page…”
John Lennon, talking about a (one sided) fight he had with Cavern DJ Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st birthday party in 1963.
Everyone in Liverpool knew that Epstein was gay, and some kid in the audience screamed, ‘John Lennon’s a fucking queer!’ And John – who never wore his glasses on stage – put his guitar down and went into the crowd, shouting, ‘Who said that?’ So this kid says, ‘I fucking did.’ John went after him and BAM, gave him the Liverpool kiss, sticking the nut on him – twice! And the kid went down in a mass of blood, snot and teeth. Then John got back on the stage. ‘Anybody else?’ he asked. Silence. ‘All right then. “Some Other Guy”.’”
Lemmy Kilmister, White Line Fever: The Biography. (2004)
“Victim in 1961 was one of the first British films to deal properly and thoughtfully with the subject. Dirk Bogarde welcomed the opportunity to play the homosexual barrister, and there were some very tense scenes between him and his wife, Sylvia Syms. In one scene, Dirk Bogarde lifts his garage door at the back of the mews to discover that someone has painted graffiti about him on the wall. The Beatles were sitting together at a Cavern lunchtime session and John Lennon, who was talking to Paul and George, was making biting remarks about Victim, which was on at the Odeon. I knew by then that Brian was what he was, and I thought, ‘Well, I am surprised at John, who is 21 and a young man of the world.’ He was making such nasty, puritanical observations, but I never said anything as they didn’t know that I was listening.”
Bob Wooler, c/o Spencer Leigh, The Best of Fellas: The Story of Bob Wooler. (2002)
If somebody is going to manage me, I want to know them inside out. He told me he was a fag.
I like “Honky Tonk Woman” but I think Mick’s a joke, with all that fag dancing, I always did
I think its concept is revolutionary, and I hope it’s for workers and not for tarts and fags.
I don’t know about the “history”; the people who are in control and in power, and the class system and the whole bullshit bourgeoisie is exactly the same, except there is a lot of fag middle class kids with long, long hair walking around London in trendy clothes
I don’t dig that junkie fag scene he lives in; I don’t know whether he lives like that or what.
Casual homophobia in Lennon Remembers (Notable for the increase in homophobic language post-primary scream therapy, here is some interesting speculation about how these two things are related)
The violence that had been building inside John Lennon all night came bursting out the moment he left the studio. It struck so fast and unexpectedly that it stunned May Pang. She recalled that John was walking unsteadily toward the parking lot when suddenly he cast a drunken look over his shoulder at Jesse Ed Davis. Running over to him, Lennon gave Jesse Ed a passionate kiss on the mouth. Not to be outdone, Jesse Ed grabbed John and kissed him back. Lennon screamed, “F****t!” — and knocked Jesse flat on his ass.
The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (May Pang, describing an incident during the recording of Rock 'n' Roll in 1973: p.564)
It turned into a full-on fight. John was incredibly strong! He got me in some kind of a hold behind my back that I could not get out of, like a full nelson. And he started to kiss me on the mouth! He was laughin’ and kissin’ me on the mouth. I was strugglin’ to git away and I couldn’t git away. Then he stuck his tongue in my mouth. God! So I bit him. Bit him on the tongue. That pissed him off. So he grabbed the marble ashtray that we couldn’t break and banged me on the head. Knocked me cold.
The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (a direct quote from Jesse Ed Davis about a different night: p. 576-577)
Alternatively, he could be openly supportive:
Why make it sad to be gay?
Doing your thing is O.K.
Our bodies our own
So leave us alone
Go play with yourself – today.
A poem submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972
John spreading rumours: John (and Yoko) had a propensity for intentionally spreading rumours about his sexuality, with many people claiming that he found it funny. Multiple people refused to believe his own words about his experiences or willingness with men.
John told me he had had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I mentioned this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn't really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once. John was certainly not homosexual, and this boast, or lie, would have given the wrong impression. It was also not fair on Cynthia, his then wife.
Hunter Davies, The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (updated edition, 2010)
John himself said he finally allowed Brian to make love to him “to get it out of the way.” Those who knew John well, who had known him for years, don’t believe it for a moment. John was aggressively heterosexual and had never given a hint that he was anything but.
Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours: My Life With The Beatles, 2014
John roared with laughter at the rumours that began afterwards. Typically, he encouraged the stories that he and Brian were gay lovers because he thought it was funny and John was one of the world’s great wind-up merchants. He told me afterwards in one of our frankest heart-to-hearts that Brian never seriously did proposition him. He had teased Brian about the young men he kept gazing at and the odd ones who had found their way to his room. Brian had joked to John about the women who hurled themselves at him. ‘If he’d asked me, I probably would have done anything he wanted. I was so much in awe of Brian then I’d have tried a night of vice-versa. But he never wanted me like that. Sure, I took the mickey a bit and pretended to lead him on. But we both knew we were joking.
Alistair Taylor, With The Beatles, 2003
Years later, John finally came clean about what had happened: not to anyone who’d been around at the time, but to the unshockable woman with whom he shared the last decade of his life. He said that one night during the trip, Brian had cast aside shyness and scruples and finally come on to him, but that he’d replied, “If you feel like that, go out and find a hustler.” Afterward, he had deliberately fed Pete Shotton the myth of his brief surrender, so that everyone would believe his power over Brian to be absolute.
Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008
The next night Elliot [Mintz] took us out with a friend of his, Sal Mineo, and we all went to a gay cabaret/discotheque. John was oblivious to the gay ambience. He was curious about everyone’s sexuality and liked to gossip about who was sleeping with whom, whether they were gay or straight. John made no judgements about homosexuality but was really curious about who was and who wasn’t gay.
He knew that his appearance at a gay club might start rumors about his own sexuality, and it made him laugh. He told me that there had been rumors about him and his first manager, Brian Epstein, and that he usually didn’t deny them. He liked the fact that people could be titillated by having suspicions about his masculinity. Then I was the one who was laughing. “How could anyone believe a man who likes women as much as you do is gay?” I told him.
May Pang’s Loving John (1983).
Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?
A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.
Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…
A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..
John Lennon self interview for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).
John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.
Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.
John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]
John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).
“It’s great,” Ono laughs. “I mean, both John and I thought it was good that people think we were bisexual, or homosexual.” She laughs again.
“Uh, well, the story I was told was a very explicit story, and from that I think they didn’t have it [sex],” Ono tells me. “But they went to Spain, and when they came back, tons of reporters were asking, ‘Did you do it, did you do it?’ So he said, ‘I did it.’ Isn’t that amazing? But of course he would say that. I’m sure Brian Epstein made a move, yeah.”
And Lennon said no to Epstein?
“He just didn’t want to do it, I think.”
Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).
Over dinner the Wenners learned the secrets of the Beatles kingdom from Ono, who would often suggest to Wenner that John Lennon was gay. “She’s always hinted that there was some gay component to John,” said Wenner, “but in a vague or generalized way, like, ‘Isn’t everybody gay?’ Or, ‘I always told John he was gay.’ ” (She also told McCartney this theory after Lennon died, which he didn’t believe.)”
Joe Hagan, Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner & Rolling Stone Magazine. (2017)
On the other hand, he supposedly hated the rumours:
Claims have been made since that Brian and John had a gay relationship. Nothing could be further from the truth. John was a hundred per cent heterosexual and, like most lads at that time, horrified by the idea of homosexuality.
It was a holiday John came to regret because it sparked off a string of rumours about his relationship with Brian. He had to put up with sly digs, winks and innuendo that he was secretly gay. It infuriated him: all he'd wanted was a break with a friend, but it was turned into so much more.
Cynthia Lennon, John, 2005
And I just went on holiday. I watched Brian picking up the boys. I like playing a bit faggy, all that. It was enjoyable, but there were big rumours in Liverpool, it was terrible. Very embarrassing. Rumors about you and Brian? Oh, fuck knows—yes, yes. I was pretty close to Brian because if somebody's going to manage me, I want to know them inside out.
John Lennon, Jann S. Wenner, Lennon Remembers, 1970
Unfortunately, certain Liverpool acquaintances (who had no way of knowing that there was a kernel of truth to their allegations) wouldn't let John hear the end of it. All in good fun, no doubt, but John was still too enamored of his macho self-image to take lightly any inference that he was anything less than 100 percent heterosexual.
The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton
John's comments about his sexuality:
It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right. We go through the trauma of life and death every day so it’s not so much of a worry about what sex we are anymore.
John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: Yoko Ono and her sixteen-track voice. (March 18th, 1971)
I just realized that [Yoko] knew everything I knew, and more, probably, and it was coming out of a woman’s head. It just sort of bowled me over, you know? And it was like finding gold or something. To find somebody that you can go and get pissed with, and have exactly the same relationship as any mate in Liverpool you’d ever had, but also you could go to bed with him, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired, or sick, or depressed. It could also be Mother. And obviously, that’s what the male-female – you know, you could take those roles with each other.
John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld c/o Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld, John Lennon: For The Record. (September 5th, 1971)
It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?
John Lennon, interview w/ Sandra Shevey. (Mid-June?, 1972)
I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship.
It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.
John Lennon, Rolling Stone, 1980
I was thinking, if only I could get out of Liverpool, be famous and rich, that would be great. I’ve always wanted to be a famous artist, you know? Possibly I’d have to marry a very rich old lady… or man, you know… to… to look after me while I did my art. But then Rock & Roll came and I thought ‘Ah, this is the one’, so I didn’t have to marry anybody or live with them, you know?
John Lennon interview
There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”
John Lennon: The Life
I look at early pictures of meself, and I was torn between being Marlon Brando and being the sensitive poet – the Oscar Wilde part of me with the velvet, feminine side. I was always torn between the two, mainly opting for the macho side, because if you showed the other side, you were dead.
John Lennon, December 5th, 1980
“John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, “She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.” John said to me, “If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, ‘Actually, Yoko is a guy.’ Maybe that will do it!”
Yoko Ono, interview w/ Jon Wiener, c/o Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon In His Time. (1984)
In this intense, intimate and revealing original cassette recording of a private conversation in 1969 between John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the couple speaks primarily about Yoko’s past relationships, her music and art, and their random views on sex, love, promiscuity, and homosexuality. […] [Lennon] adds that he had never met an attractive woman that had sexually aroused him to any great degree.
Description of the 45-minute audiotape auctioned in 2009 by Alexander Autographs.
Yoko's comments about his sexuality:
“Well, that’s another thing. John and I had a big talk about it, saying, basically, all of us must be bisexual. And we were sort of in a situation of thinking that we’re not [bisexual] because of society. So we are hiding the other side of ourselves, which is less acceptable. But I don’t have a strong sexual desire towards another woman.”
Did Lennon have sex with other men?
“I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono.
“No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.”
So did Lennon ever have sex with men?
“No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”
Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).
"As mild and oblique as the comment was [Paul's "You took your lucky break and broke it in two" line from "Too Many People"], it seemed to cut John to the heart. On top of the questionnaire inside theMcCartney album and the lawsuit, it was like the tipping point between a divorcing couple that turns love into savage, no-holds-barred hostility. Indeed, John's wounded anger was more that of an ex-spouse than ex-colleague, reinforcing a suspicion already in Yoko's mind that his feelings for Paul had been far more intense than the world at large ever guessed. From chance remarks he had made, she gathered there had even been a moment where - on the principle that bohemians should try everything - he had contemplated an affair with Paul, but had been deterred by Paul's immovable heterosexuality. Nor, apparently, was Yoko the only one to have picked up on this. Around Apple, in her hearing, Paul would sometimes be called John's princess. She had also once heard a rehearsal tape with John's voice calling out "Paul ... Paul ... " in a strangely subservient, pleading way. "I knew there was something going on there," she remembers. "From his point of view, not from Paul's. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn't help wondering what it was really about.""
Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008
I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong with me, John, and Paul.
Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968
Friends & acquaintances comments on his sexuality:
I realised I was probably bisexual; there was nothing to be ashamed of in this – John Lennon had reputedly spoken to mutual friends of his own experiments.
Who I Am: A Memoir, Pete Townshend 2012
PAUL: There were lots of people asking cheeky questions, and they were always saying, “Well, why–have you ever tried homosexuality, John?” You know, they always used to ask all that kind of stuff. I remember John saying to them, “No, I’ve never met a fella I fancy enough.” And that was his kind of opinion. You know, “I may go–I may be gay one day, if some fella really turns me on.” He was–he was that open about it. But as far as I was concerned, I slept in a million hotel rooms–as we all did–slept in a million places with John, and there was never any hint of it.
December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott
“And you, Icke?” asked Paul. “Who’s your favourite author?”
“Henry Miller. I think he’s very good,” I said.
In that moment John suddenly looked over at me. Until then he had been watching Bettina, the bar lady, rinsing glasses and tidying up the bar, with his typical somewhat blasé expression. Our discussion hadn’t seemed to interest him much. Now he was looking directly into my eyes. Quietly and without taking his eyes off me, he walked around the whole counter over to me, planted a kiss on my mouth and went back to his spot. At first, I was quite surprised and didn’t know what to do about it, then I found it rather funny and thought little of it. A few days later, it happened again. I happened upon* him in the hallway behind the stage and again he took my hand and kissed me. At some point the thought occurred to me, “man, he thinks I’m gay, but I can’t help him with that.” What was really going on, I don’t know. Maybe he meant the kisses as overtures; he was even treated as a closet case by homosexuals.
Hans-Walther (Icke) Braun (a friend of the Beatles in Hamburg)
"What happened," John explained, "is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: 'Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.'
"And he said to me, 'Actually, John, I don't do that kind of thing. That's not what I like to do.'
"'Well,' I said, 'what is it you want to do, then?'
"And he said, 'I'd really just like to touch you, John.'
"And so I let him toss me off."
And that was that. End of story.
"That's all, John?" I said. "Well, so what? What's the big fucking deal, then?"
"Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He's having a fucking hard enough time anyway." This was in reference to the "butch" dockers who, on several recent occasions, had rewarded Brian's advances by beating him to a bloody pulp.
"So what harm did it do, then, Pete, for fuck's sake?" John asked rhetorically. "No harm at all. The poor fucking bastard, he can't help the way he is."
"No need to get so worked up," I said. "You know I don't give a shit. What's a fucking wank between friends anyway?"
Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life, 1983
I think he was trying to find himself a… what he’d call a soulmate. Someone who had as mad ideas as he had. I think he felt that she had the talent… but that’s debatable. But he needed that— he didn’t need a ‘mumsie’ partner at that point. He needed a mate. And I think he actually said, at some stage, in an interview that, you know— She’s the nearest thing to a man — a mate; man — that he’s ever had in a woman.
Cynthia Lennon, interviewed by Alex Belfield for BBC Radio (2006).
Paul wrote to me from the Star Club in Hamburg once, a great letter, it even had doodles on the front of it, but it was stolen.
He said that in one of the clubs one night John Lennon ended up with a stunning, exotic-looking woman—only to discover on closer inspection that she was a he, which all the other Beatles found hilarious.
Sue Johnston (actress), The Mirror. (August 23rd, 2011)
Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. ‘There was one particular club he used to like,’ Tony Sheridan remembers, ‘full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.’
In John Lennon: The Life by Philip Norman (2008).
“We’d read all these things about leather and we didn’t have any leather but I had my oilskins and we had some polythene bags from somewhere. We all dressed up in them and wore them in bed. John stayed the night with us in the same bed. I don’t think anything very exciting happened and we all wondered what the fun was in being ‘kinky’. It was probably more my idea than John’s.”
Royston Ellis
In the same book Pauline speculates, sensationally, that John and her brother had a homosexual relationship. ‘I have known in my heart for many years that Stuart and John had a sexual relationship,’ she writes, though she fails to provide any firm evidence. Pauline wonders whether this ‘relationship’ was the real cause of the antagonism between Paul and Stu.
Fab, An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney
Journalist & author comments on his sexuality:
“No, he wasn’t sexually attracted to Paul. Paul was very very pretty, but he actually wasn’t someone who made gay men fancy him. John was much more likely to make a gay man like Brian Epstein because John seemed so straight, there was nothing sort of girly about John at all. But John wanted to be, in his mind, a real artist, that is someone who painted and did sculpture. And he thought that a real artist or he called it a bohemian, should be open to all experiences. He should perhaps have a homosexual experience. Who was around? Paul was around. They used to share beds you know, in these cheap hotels when they would go around with the Beatles. There was never any question of Paul ever reciprocating such a thing, it was merely a thought that according to Yoko had flitted across John’s mind. Now John could use sexuality, I mean he did somewhat play on the fact that Brian Epstein, the Beatles manager, was in love with him you know, but it was just a game really with John.”
Philip Norman interview
"Yet even [John's resentment over Paul announcing the breakup first] does not explain his later remark to Yoko that no one had ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him. It almost suggests that, deep beneath the schoolboy friendship and the complementary musical brilliance, lay some streak of homosexual adoration that John himself never realised. He might have longed to get away from Paul, but he could never quite get over him."
Philip Norman, Shout!, 1981
And any mention of Paul brought a wintry bleakness to her face. 'John always used to say,' [Yoko] told me at one point, 'that no one ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him.' The words suggested a far deeper emotional attachment between the two than the world had ever suspected---they were like those of a spurned lover---and I naturally included them in my account of my visit for the Sunday Times. After it appeared, I returned to my London flat one evening to be told by my then girlfriend, ‘Paul, phoned you.’ She said he wanted to know what Yoko had meant and that he’d seemed upset rather than angry.
Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.
“If you had a choice, Eppy,” John said, “if you could press a button and be hetero, would you do it?”
Brian thought for a moment. “Strangely, no,” he said.
A little later a peculiar game developed. John would point out some passing man to Brian, and Brian would explain to him what it was about the fellow that he found attractive or unattractive. “I was rather enjoying the experience,” John said, “thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this.” And still later, back in their hotel suite, drunk and sleepy from the sweet Spanish wine, Brian and John undressed in silence.
“It’s okay, Eppy,” John said, and lay down on his bed. Brian would have liked to have hugged him, but he was afraid. Instead, John lay there, tentative and still, and Brian fulfilled the fantasies he was so sure would bring him contentment, only to awake the next morning as hollow as before.
Peter Brown, The Love You Make, 1983
“[John and Janov] talked…about Brian Epstein…‘He knew Brian had adored him, and there was a lot of guilt there about the way he'd depended on Brian yet mistreated him,’ Janov recalls. They talked about John's notorious Spanish holiday with Brian in 1963 and the (to John) insignificant physical encounter that had resulted. The more Janov heard about Brian, the more he longed to have had him as a patient. ‘God, that was a tragic story. There was someone who needed therapy even more than John did.’”
Phillip Normans book, John Lennon: The Life.
Whilst the Beatles had always been marketed as a heterosexual group - in contrast with the Stones, whose image was androgynous - they were sympathetic to the homosexual population. Lennon himself was alleged to have had affairs with both men and women, and although he never openly admitted it to me, his condemnation of Britain as a land which feeds on a homosexual subsculture persuades me at this late stage that he was speaking from experience. I am sure that the break-up of the Beatles, or, more specifically, of John and Paul, must have been more traumatic than any of us suspect.
Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon
‘OK: John Reid said that when we were in Boston with Elton and John in 1974, he couldn’t resist asking John whether the rumours about him and Epstein were true. This was in response to John having said to John Reid, “You’re the most intimidating man I’ve met since Brian Epstein.” And so John Reid, never knowingly one to miss an opportunity, said, “Did you ever have sex with Brian?” And John said, “Twice. Once to see what it was like, and once to make sure I didn’t like it.”
‘All these years, by the way, I have not wanted to be the guy who declared, “John Lennon and Brian Epstein had sex.” You can appreciate how I feel about this. Do we want the historical record to be accurate, or does John have a right to privacy? And would it upset Cynthia [by now deceased], or Julian? I don’t mind about Yoko, she’d probably think it was a great idea. Bisexuality, wooh.’
‘Simon Napier-Bell said that both Epstein and John told him they did it in Spain,’ I said.
‘Ah, I’m not the only one. Good,’ replied Paul.
...
But then there were John’s liaisons with David Bowie, which David himself told me about. According to him, it happened on several occasions. He didn’t go into detail, nor did I press him, but he was perfectly open about it. About Mick Jagger, too, I told Paul.
‘Huh. I feel sort of left out,’ said Paul.
Paul Gambaccini, Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon
"That Bowie worshipped Lennon was no secret…They'd met in Los Angeles, [Bowie] told me, during John's Lost Weekend…The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May [Pang] and far away from Yoko. They gender bendered about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his… They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in the proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends!"
Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon
Marriage, Divorce & replacing Paul with Yoko:
"I used my resentment and withdrawing from Paul and the Beatles and the relationship with Paul to write 'How Do You Sleep?'
John (Source: Bill Harry, The John Lennon Encyclopedia, 2001)
JOHN: In a marriage, or a love affair – when the seven-year-itch or the twelve-year (note: there is no such thing as the twelve year itch but guess how long J&P were together) or whatever these things that you have to go through – there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship.
September, 1980
There seem to be certain cycles that relationships go through. And the critical points are at different parts of the different cycles, different points on the – if there’s a straight line, there are different points, you know? And the bit, the new way of talking is like, “Well, why have a relationship? We can just stop and get another one.” But the karmic joke about that is, that any new relationship, presuming you’re lucky enough to find a new relationship anywhere near the relationship that you’re giving up – or exchanging, or walking away from, or have destroyed by inattention or inadvertent or selfishness or whatever it is – that you have to go through the same thing again anyway. You reach the same point.
John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)
"I'd like to thank Elton and the boys for having me on tonight. We tried to think of a number to finish off with so I can get out of here and be sick, and we thought we'd do a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul."
John, introducing "I Saw Her Standing There" at the Thanksgiving show at Madison Square Garden in 1974
You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden.
1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King
TRYNKA: When The Beatles split, did you feel relief?
YOKO: No. I always thought, “John won’t be doing this thing with The Beatles and eventually I can do my work too.” That was my plan. But suddenly he’s saying, “I burned my bridge with them, so now it’s you, okay?” I thought, “My God, he was getting the thrill of working with three very strong individuals, and now I have to take all that brunt.” He did put it that way; he was “riding on the boat called Paul, and now I’m going to ride on a boat called Yoko.”
Yoko Ono, interview w/ Paul Trynka for MOJO. (May, 2003)
“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”
Paul McCartney, interview with German tv program Exclusiv, April 1985.
BARROW: She was a very strong influence on John, and may well have been telling him that he could do best on his own, but I still think that on the back of John’s mind would be this sort of fascination with wanting to get back with the first girlfriend, if you’d like [laughs], and it was to get back with Paul that he had so much history with.
Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer
"[Paul] said it was written about Julian. He knew I was splitting with Cyn and leaving Julian then. He was driving to see Julian to say hello. He had been like an uncle. And he came up with 'Hey Jude.' But I always heard it as a song to me. Now I'm sounding like one of those fans reading things into it...Think about it: Yoko had just come into the picture. He is saying 'Hey, Jude' - 'Hey, John.' Subconsciously, he was saying, 'Go ahead, leave me.' On a conscious level, he didn't want me to go ahead. The angel in him was saying 'Bless you.' The Devil in him didn't like it at all, because he didn't want to lose his partner."
John (Source: Playboy, 1980)
SALEWICZ: Well, I always found it interesting the fact that he got – I mean, it seemed too much like coincidence to me, the fact that he got married a week or month after you. You know what I mean?
PAUL: Yeah. I think we spurred each other into marriage. I mean, you know. They were very strong together, which left me out of the picture. So I got together with Linda and then we got strong with our own kind of thing. And I used to listen to a lot of what they said. I remember him saying to me, “You’ve got to work at marriage,” which is something I still remember as a bit of advice. I still remember that. Um… And then yeah, I think they were a little bit peeved that we got married first. Probably. In a little way, you know, just minor jealousies. And so they got married. I don’t know if that’s – I mean, who knows… [inaudible] making it up, anyway.
September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London): journalist Chris Salewicz
“If you look at interviews and stuff with John, from around about that time he was in Imagine [documentary] he kind of admits that he’s having problems with himself. So, well, the first thing you do when you’re having problems with yourself is you bitch about someone else. And the closest person was me…He had a real go at me. I personally think it was ‘cause he was trying to clear the decks for Yoko. He’s got a new love, he’s trying to say to her, “Look, baby, I love you. I hate those guys.”
Paul McCartney
"The line [the walrus was Paul] was put in partly because I was feeling guilty because I was with Yoko and I was leaving Paul. It's a very perverse way of saying to Paul: 'here, have this crumb, this illusion, this stroke - because I'm leaving.'" -John
Playboy, 1980
JOHN: And throwing in the line “the Walrus was Paul” just to confuse everybody a bit more. And because I felt slightly guilty because I’d got Yoko, and he’d got nothing, and I was gonna quit. [laughs; bleak] And so I thought ‘Walrus’ has now become [in] meaning, “I am the one.” It didn’t mean that in the song, originally. It just meant I’m the – it could have been I’m the – “I’m The Fox Terrier,” you know. I mean, it’s just a bit of poetry.
August, 1980: John talks to Playboy writer David Sheff about ‘Glass Onion’.
"I started thinking, 'Well, if that's the case [not getting back together], I had better get myself together. I just can't let John control the situation and dump us as if we're the jilted girlfriends.'"
The Beatles, Anthology, 1995
“After we’d done the One To One concert film,” recalled Steve Gebhardt, “I remember John saying to me that the days of everything being Johnandyoko – one word – were over. I was shocked.” Ono completed her record, Approximately Infinite Universe, which was greeted more positively than her previous releases. Lennon did his best to publicise it, writing a personal note to the Capitol Records boss asking him to throw the company’s weight behind it. But in mid-January 1973 Lennon and Ono quarrelled publicly at another party. “I wish I was back with Paul,” Lennon reportedly said.
Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of The Beatles. (2009)
YOKO: I think that it’s like [John] was married to Paul, and now he was married to me… So it was a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back, really. John had a lot of respect for Paul, and of course, love. But I would think that if the truth may be told, the love was lost on both ways. There were times that Paul did say a lot of strange things about John, so that I know that it wasn’t like Paul loved John but John didn’t love Paul, or John actually loved Paul but Paul didn’t. I mean, it was like a very healthy situation where they outgrew each other’s company.
And only until John became what he is now – which is after John’s death that people started to revere John – it became an issue for Paul. Because you have to understand that table was turned many times. One, when John made the Jesus Christ remark, and Paul became virtually a leader. And John turned the table on Paul by becoming a partner with me, probably. But then the thing is, the table was turned again by Paul becoming extremely successful with Wings. So he was doing alright, while John did Some Time in New York City with me, and then followed that with Mind Games or something, you know.
1990: Yoko
“They loved each other more than most couples do, and when they split it was more wrenching than most divorces”
Beatles publicist Tony Barrow on Lennon and McCartney
““I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce.””
Yoko Ono (You Never Give Me Your Money, Peter Doggett)
“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible”
Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life
“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”
Paul McCartney, Interview by Duncan Fallowell in the Chicago Tribune, October 14th, 1984
Knowing John so well, I believe that the only reason he picked Yoko was [he wanted] a negative reaction. I mean, it was purely a negative reaction because he couldn’t take any more girls in the world, actually. I mean, he knew that he could have any girl. And the girls, that were nice-looking—he couldn’t stand them. I mean, from morning to night, there were girls not boys—actually, running after them. We used to go to his house and think that we are in peace. Suddenly a girl with a broken leg is jumping over John’s fence to, to get an autograph. It was a pain in the neck. John wanted to be with a woman. But he needed as well very, very much a friend. He needed a male friend. And my opinion is that Yoko, he managed somehow to combine both. He had a fear for pretty women running after him. Yoko was not very pretty, uh, at all, and he replaced a male in his life plus a female.
Magic Alex, All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines
Jealousy regarding Paul Mccartney: I wouldn't consider any of this especially convincing on it's own, however John's consistent dislike for and rudeness towards Paul's partners is notable
I was a very possessive and jealous guy, and the lyrics explain that pretty clearly. Not just jealous towards Yoko, but towards everything, male and female – incredibly possessive.
1970 (audio snippet approx 2:06)
In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said.
Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes. (July 20th, 1986)
Q: I saw that thing in The Observer the other week, about the manuscript of the Apple Beatles biography and the vitriolic comments John made in the margins.
I think that shows the sort of pain he was going through. Look, he was a great guy, great sense of humour and I’d do it all again. I’d go through it all again, and have him slagging me off again just because he was so great; those are all the down moments, there was much more pleasure than has really come out. I had a wonderful time, with one of the world’s most talented people. We had all that craziness, but if someone took one of your wedding photos and put ‘funeral’ on it, as he did on that manuscript, you’d tend to feel a bit sorry for the guy. I’ll tell you what, if I’d ever done that to him, he would’ve just hit the roof. But I just sat through it all like mild-mannered Clark Kent
Q: When did you actually get a perspective on it?
I still haven’t. It’s still inside me. John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.
Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)
Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda."
JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda."
Q: "When did you first meet her?"
JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."
John Lennon Interview: St. Regis Hotel, New York City 9/5/1971
One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, ‘Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.’ [He was] a frothing mad person—he knew how to have ‘fun.’
George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)
"One time Paul had a chick in bed and John came in and got a pair of scissors and cut all her clothes into pieces and then wrecked the wardrobe. He got like that occasionally, it was because of the pills and being up too long."
George Harrison (Source: The Beatles, Anthology, 1995)
"I remember I had a girlfriend called Celia. I must have been 16 or 17, about the same age as her...we went out one evening and for some reason John tagged along, I can't remember why it was. I think he'd thought I was going to see him, I thought I'd cancelled it and he showed up at my house. But he was a mate, and he came on a date with this Celia girl, and at the end of the date she said, 'Why did you bring that dreadful guy?' And of course I said, 'Well, he's all right really.' And I think, in many ways, I always found myself doing that. It was always, 'Well, I know he was rude; it was funny, though, wasn't it?'"
Paul, Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997
I came for dinner, and I was the only girl there. John definitely didn't like that. He didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic. As far as he was concerned, I had no business being invited to dinner with the four of them. For him this was an exclusive boys' club. He was purposely making me feel uneasy. At one point, the boys were handing around a scrapbook -- looking at pictures of that first tour. John made some snide comment like, "What is SHE doing here?" I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner.
Peggy Lipton, Breathing Out, 2005
Whether it was her cool confidence or her posh accent, something about Jane goaded John to direct his caustic eyes in her direction.
“Well. Let’s all play a question-and-answer-game!” He announced a bit too cheerily. Then he turned to Jane. “So tell us, luv, how do girls play with themselves?”
Silence. Jane’s eyes widened. Paul, sitting close to her on the floor, put his hand in the air, as if he could wave John’s words back into his mouth. “John! John!” he yelped. “Stop it. You can’t do that.”
John just smiled, peering intently through his glasses. “No, you can tell us. Come on. We all want to know, come on.”
Paul, looking aghast, shook his head vehemently. “John. For christsakes, John.”
Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life
JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is.
MCCABE: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted?
JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand… I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty, whatever it was. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane Asher, because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like, boom! She was in and that was the end of it.
John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)
Random cute things: flirting etc
I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”
Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).
We were away. The boys had relaxed. As we walked off to do the next scene, I heard them joshing each other, like schoolboys on the way to class. 'Are those jeans tight, Paul?' That was John. 'What do you mean tight?' 'I can see your suspender belt through 'em and your stockings. You've got ladders in them.'
Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography by Victor Spinetti
“I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight.’ was met with the reply ‘Sod off, Lennon.’”
Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964
To Lennon, [Paul] was "cute, and didn’t he know it," a born performer who was also a "thruster" and an "operator" behind the scenes.
Christopher Sandford, Paul McCartney, 2005
In a late wee-hour-of-the-morning talk, he once told me, ‘I’m just like everybody else Harry, I fell for Paul’s looks.”
Harry Nilsson speaking about John Lennon
HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]
February 17th, 1984: Harry Nilsson
PAUL: It’s like, uh, “We have to get back.” “We’re on our way home.”
JOHN: Yeah.
PAUL: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing—
JOHN: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers.
PAUL: [reserved] Yeah. [pause]
JOHN: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two.
PAUL: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway.
Get Back sessions
PAUL: Okay, “two of us riding nowhere” that’s as if…we’re like…two, but then “we’re on our way home”
JOHN: It’s like we’re like a couple of queens.
PAUL: Yeah. Well, you know. Well, I mean, that’s…
JOHN: We’re a couple of queens…
PAUL: That’s just too bad. Unless you want to get Paul and Paula in. Poetic license, John.
JOHN: You’re telling me, Paul.
Get Back sessions
#mclennon#paul mccartney#john lennon#the beatles#philip norman's quotes are my favourite#that man deserves an olympic medal in mental gymnastics
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Americano PT. 8 | Jude Bellingham x Reader
What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?
A/N: this one is a bit on the shorter side, but I promise next chapter will be juicy! 😉
W/C: 3.086
part seven
"Wait- why am I actually kind of bitter about this?"
I mumble, looking up at Luis. He turns around, moving his camera away to look at me.
"Bitter about what?" He asks, fidgeting with the settings of the device.
"They literally crap out money- but get a free BMW?" I question, folding my arms.
"Oh, please. Will you stop being such a negative person?"
He gives me a nasty look, his hand coming to grab my arm.
"Or go sit in the car..?" He adds, pointing behind me.
"No, it's too hot to sit in the car.." I complain, adjusting my sleeve.
"Why did you even follow me here in the first place?" He asks, raising his brows.
"I was done with my to-do list and didn't want to stay cooped up in the office.."
Not to mention to avoid the insanely annoying looks I had been receiving ever since those stupid rumors and photos had been out.
"Okay, just stay back and watch then.."
I watch him make cinematic shots of each individual model and car. My patience begins to thin when he's still busy with it twenty minutes later.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to keep myself busy. I carefully scroll through my Instagram explore page, ignoring the thousands of follower requests to my account.
The internet was very quick, so within hours of my face being online, people had found both my full name and social media accounts.
"y/n!"
I freeze, holding my phone against my chest, and turn in the direction the noise came from.
I make immediate eye contact with Valeria, her obnoxiously fake smile burning my eyes instantly.
"Yeah? Anything wrong with the shoot?" I ask, shoving my phone into my pocket.
"No, the players have just arrived- and it's a better look if you're off your phone and look interested."
I fight the urge to snort at her ridiculous comment, and just nod before I lose it.
"Sure, any reason you're here today? It's only for some short clips..”
I watch her take a step forward, a hand reaching up to her hip. She moves her neck in a weird way, staring at me for a moment.
"It's always good to see how my juniors work, and how close they are to the players is really something I like keeping an eye on.."
Oh- surprise, she was here for something stupid!
I was already over her snarky remarks, especially those insinuating a romantic relationship between Jude and me.
The thought only makes me want to gag.
I shiver at the cursed idea, noticing a few players already walking over to check out the new car they chose, and look back at Valeria.
"Well, I'm sure some of the guys really need your presence and knowledge. Please, go and join them.."
I instigate, hoping and wishing she goes to bother Toni instead.
For some reason, he could handle her bullshit really well.
"Oh, don't mind if I do.." She chuckles, immediately turning her back to me and walking away.
I sigh in relief, rubbing my nape to try to release some tension from my body.
I begin walking up to the cars myself, reading off every license plate to see which player got what model.
I stop at the car chosen by Aurélien, observing the details of the 'i4 eDrive35'.
« Très belle, non? » I hear him say. I nod, pursing my lips.
« Le couleur- noir est parfait.. » I compliment, stepping back to get a better view.
I open my mouth to say something else- but I'm startled by a loud car horn, it almost makes my eardrums explode. I shut my eyes tightly, not reacting fast enough to cover my ears properly.
"What the fuck.." I mumble, looking to my left. An obviously aggravated expression on my face, because who the hell thought that was a good idea?
“Jude! Get out of your mom’s car, please!” I exclaim, seeing him stand at the driver’s door.
The man couldn’t even drive, but got to choose a car for himself?
Not even that- he also chose the most expensive model worth more than a hundred thousand euros?
Life is so unfair.
“You’re standing in the way!” He exclaims, walking around to sit in the passenger seat. Another staff member comes over to drive him around the parking lot.
I give him a nasty look, stepping aside and looking back at Aurélien.
“Why don’t you join him?” He suggests, an obvious smirk on his face.
“What? Why would I do that?” I ask, raising my brows and folding my arms defensively.
“You know- nice car and fun drive..” He trails off, glancing at the moving car.
“I would feel like I’m in danger without him even being the driver..” I state, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand.
He chuckles, as if to mock the fear for my safety. I shrug it off, looking behind me to see where Luis is.
“Come on- get in the car and I’ll get Luis to do a little video..” I usher, walking away to get Luis.
The entire shoot takes us about an hour before we’re finally done. I quickly bid farewell and thank fellow staff members for their hard work before jumping into my car.
I go to start my car, looking up to see where Luis is. I roll my windows down, letting some fresh air into the car, hoping he’ll be here quickly.
“No- it’s just annoying because I’m trying to do my job properly and I’m getting the craziest stares. Like, does having a conversation with someone mean we’re married with three kids and a chihuahua?!” I exclaim, looking at Amira on FaceTime.
“And you attended his match, and you wore his name on your shirt and spoke to his family and-"
I cut her off with a loud groan, rubbing my eyes in irritation.
“You’re the one who set me up!”
“I thought you already knew it was his shirt! Should I have worn Jude’s while you wore Trent’s?” She defends herself, a smirk forming on her lips.
I shake my head, dropping my pencil on the table.
I had been studying all day and had stopped the instant Amira called me.
“The way I can’t even get mad at anyone about this- ugh..” I complain, shifting in my chair.
“And those follow requests are so annoying..”
I grumble, totally aware of the fact that I had been complaining about literally every single thing and then some.
“Girl, if you set your account on public again and accept those followers..”
“What? I’m going to clout chase being that douche's fake girlfriend?”
“Obviously?”
“I have to take over my dad’s firm one day, and you want me to be known for dating my coworker?”
“Too late-"
I stop paying attention to what she’s saying when the front door opens, my gaze moving to see my dad walking in.
“I’m going to call you back later.” I mutter to Amira, waving at her until she hangs up.
I close my laptop, standing up to walk over to the door.
“Hey, dad- you’re late.” I say, grabbing his laptop bag off of him.
“I had a lot of work to review. Did you have dinner?” He asks, hanging his coat up on the coat rack.
“I had some of the food auntie Carmen made. You?”
“We all had dinner in the office. Everyone has been going home late these days.” He says, washing his hands in the kitchen sink before loosening his tie.
“With what?” I ask, setting his laptop bag on the table, prying into his business.
“Can’t say, but- don’t you think you need to tell me something?” He suddenly asks, turning to me.
I freeze, looking at him with wide eyes.
What the hell would I be hiding from him?
“Uh- no? I’m not sure what you’re talking about?” I state, scratching my nape in confusion.
“Are you sure?” He presses on, coming to hold onto my shoulders.
“I’m sure. What am I supposed to hide from you?” I ask, getting rather defensive, a frown forming in between my brows as I keep staring at him.
He notices my irritation, letting go of my shoulders and holding his hands up in surrender.
“Okay- I understand. Don’t get all angry at me..” He says, smiling.
“I’m not angry- just confused..”
“Forget I asked- How was work? How about you tell me about that instead?”
I purse my lips, looking down at my laptop.
“Alright, the players got new cars, so we had to do a shoot for BMW..” I mutter, fiddling with my notebook.
“You look so down, y/n. What? Are you jealous? I got you your new Audi less than two years ago..”
“What do you mean, dad? I love that car, would not exchange an Audi for a BMW- I have some car knowledge.” I state, my expression changing as I explain to him.
“That’s right! Come to me when you really want to change your car. I’ll call up some people I know.”
I make my way towards the printer, looking for the documents I had sent over to be copied a couple hours ago. Finding them, I quickly read them through to confirm the pages are complete, until I’m stopped by Hugo.
“Are you ready for El Classico week?” He asks, making a copy of something.
Most people, as in football fans, would say an El Classico is a match you shouldn’t miss. The long-standing rivalry between the two clubs was always interesting to watch, and I would definitely agree a hundred percent-
Only, if it didn’t mean we had to ensure our match posts, interviews, and statements were properly prepared and triple-checked and approved days leading up to the match.
Of course, I loved watching the game- but the way it exhausted literally everyone involved was no fun.
What made it harder was the fact that we had a whole Champions League match to worry about first. To sum it all up, no one was getting sleep for the next two weeks.
“Yeah, just really busy with preparations.” I reply, folding the corner of the documents.
“Good luck, we’ve all been having sleepless nights. It will be worth it in the end- you’ve experienced this before. Just keep on doing what you always do.”
I nod in acknowledgment, smiling at him.
“You’re right, we will put our best foot forward.” I give him a thumbs up, chuckling.
“Good- I’ll see you at lunch. Work hard!” He encourages, patting my shoulder before leaving with his printed papers.
I sigh in relief when he leaves, making my way up to my desk. I place the documents on the table, before running down to the pitch. Having to finish some last-minute recording of the match preparations.
I walk over to the pitch, training is already in full motion, and I notice Luis already there. I look around for any other staff members, only seeing the creepy guy I ran into weeks ago standing across the pitch.
The guy was a walking, real-life jumpscare at this point. I’d only run into him at random moments, and the way he’d look at me had my heart leaping into my throat.
“You’re late.” Luis complains, bringing me out of my thoughts, fiddling with a black cable.
“Did those two minutes kill you?” I ask, sighing, and look at the players who were training.
“Of boredom, yes..” He replies, and I notice the small- very slight compliment in his words. A smile forming on my face as I chuckle.
“We would’ve been absolutely fucked if Kepa didn’t save that one..” I mutter, insanely stressed, as I eye the scoreboard in the Lluís Companys Olympic Stadium. A temporary stadium FC Barcelona had been using for this season.
“Don’t say that- you have no trust in this team whatsoever..” Luis complains, looking up at me.
“Who will score?” I ask, we loved guessing who would score and assist goals during every match.
“Jude.” He immediately says, not hesitating one bit.
“No- I’m guessing Vinicius..” I say, eyes darting back to my laptop screen.
“I will be right- just watch..”
“It’s his second El Classico and his first in season one. What is he going-” I immediately stop talking when I notice a chance to score, my hands tangle into my shirt as I see how much space there is to score.
I gasp, and my jaw slacks open when Jude scores an absolute screamer, which I’d obviously never admit to him.
“I told you!” Luis screams, celebrating like it’s his birthday. I scoff, secretly happy we were put out of our 0-1 misery, and search for the draft I’m supposed to publish.
A couple minutes pass, it’s almost full time, and extra time is finally announced. The away side is full of Madridistas, all sitting on the edge of their seats until Luca kicks the ball towards Jude and GOAL!
The away side celebrates happily, with another El Classico win in our pocket. I quickly manage and do what I have to do, before we both get up to go back inside.
I was both delighted and annoyed at the fact that we won. Of course, it’s always amazing to win a match like this, especially when we were doing so well this season. Also because it’s Luca’s 500th match, and an assist is pretty amazing to pull off on a day like this.
The only thing making me have bitter feelings was the fact that I had to interview Jude today. Normally, Man Of The Match interviews with him were already horrific to experience. An elaborate interview with him, after I’d been avoiding him like the plague, wasn’t necessarily something I would want to do.
“Can you go first? I’ve got to pee really badly..” I say to Luis, placing my bag down and running towards the restroom. Finishing my business up quickly and washing my hands thoroughly.
I look around me for a bit, knowing that sometimes players would use these restrooms as well. I had heard about instances where the players of the opposite team had raged against our team’s staff members. Which definitely had me watching my back in moments like these.
I had interacted with some players of FC Barcelona, and they hadn’t been disrespectful so far.
Thus, I’m not too fazed when the door to the restroom opens. I look up as a sweaty and tired Ferran Tores walks in.
We make immediate eye contact, and I nod in greeting, shooting him a quick ‘hello' before pulling some paper towels from the dispenser to dry my hands.
He seems to be seething in anger, so I break eye contact, looking away.
“This is a staff bathroom, are you aware of that?”
He suddenly says, water splashing from the faucet as he begins washing his face.
“Sorry?” I question, wondering what he’s getting at.
“Not for girlfriends.” He mutters, turning the faucet off.
My face twists into one of confusion, the words throwing me for a loop. Seems like he notices, and he opens his mouth again.
“You’re Bellingham’s girl, aren’t you? This is the staff restroom.” He enunciates every single word as if I’m a kindergartner, it makes me freeze for a second.
I struggle to stop myself from reacting thoughtlessly, not knowing if I should be crying or laughing.
My hand reaches for my staff badge hanging from my neck, waving it in front of his face.
“Do I look like a girlfriend?” I ask, dropping my badge and stepping out before he can apologize.
Asshole, losing doesn’t give you the right to be so damn rude.
How could I even get rid of these stupid fucking rumors?
“Okay, smile!” I exclaim, holding Luis’s camera up to take a photo of the squad. With the happiness of winning an El Classico and the celebration of Luca's milestone came a lot of excitement and enthusiasm.
I hold back a chuckle at the sight of Aurélien laying on the floor, instructing some of them to move a bit for a better shot.
We take multiple photos together, staff members taking photos with the squad while I force them to stand in front of the camera.
“y/n, come here, and we’ll take a picture!” Antonio urges, snatching the camera off of me and pushing me to stand in front of the camera.
I feel myself being pushed, until I find myself almost pressing into Jude’s side.
I curse to myself, forcing an awkward smile as I pose next to everyone.
“What? Surely, you don’t think I bite?” Jude whispers, his arm dropping to his side.
“Please, shut up and pose. We still have that interview, so don’t start now..” I mutter between a clenched smile, pretending I’m not fazed.
I hear a soft chuckle, a mocking and breathy ‘sure’ leaving his mouth.
It gives me shivers down my spine, and I fight the urge to step on his shoe, focusing on posing instead.
This will be a long, long interview..
“You should’ve told me you’re leaving.” I mumble, mouth full of cereal and milk.
“Sorry, been so busy, didn’t even come to mind.” My dad says, walking around the house as he gets ready for work.
“Where is that blue tie I just got?” He shouts from his room.
“I ironed it! It’s in the bottom drawer!” I shout, scrolling through my messages.
“Got it!”
I hum, chugging the leftover milk in my bowl before standing up from the dining table.
“When are you going? Will you be gone for long?” I ask, watching him put the tie on in his bedroom.
“This weekend. It’s a crucial case, so I’ll be back when it’s totally over. Don’t get up to mischief. I know how you get when you’re home alone.” He points, giving me a stern look.
“Yeah, sure, I will plan a house party or two..” I joke, but it doesn’t land as he continues staring me down.
“Okay! I will be a responsible adult and call you or auntie Carmen when something happens..”
“Good, I’m leaving to get to work. Will you be back on time for dinner?” He says, grabbing his paperwork and laptop bag.
“Yeah, can we order in tonight?” I give him a pleading look, walking him out.
“You know I can’t deny my daughter happiness in the form of burgers and fries...”
#jude bellingham#jude bellingham x reader#jude x reader#jude bellingham imagine#real madrid fc#jude bellingham fanfic#footballer x reader#football imagines#football fanfic#football#football imagine#bellingham x reader#real madrid
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How to Disappear - Chapter 1
Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC
Word count: 2389 words
Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.
WARNINGS: Some depiction of violence, misogyny, and the usual TW for it being The Boys (Amazon)
Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page
Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness
Eden Reid was at the start of her daily fucking crack ass of the dawn morning jog across Laurance Harbor Beach, sandy-brown hair up in a high pony, dressed in her usual bland sweats and black running shoes, when she came across him, unconscious along the shoreline, the waves repeatedly caressing him, gently, before retreating.
As she stared at him, the young woman noticed his tattered costume and the bruising littered on his face and skin, and that he did not appear to be breathing. For a moment, Eden contemplated what to do, because she knew that she couldn’t take him to any emergency room or call 911.
Because she knew exactly who he was.
Of course, she knew exactly who he fucking was, pretty much most of the world knew who exactly he fucking was.
He was Soldier Boy, the old leader of Payback, fought in all those important wars in the last century, America’s first and greatest Supe, a man who was supposed to be dead and yet somehow was now alive, lying on the beach in front of her.
And apparently now a Super-Terrorist, according to the news outlets, who for the past week have only been reporting on the attack on the Seven Tower, and how Queen Maeve had successfully saved the country with her sacrificial takedown of Soviet-brainwashed Soldier Boy; his defeat was supposed to be symbolic of a new age for freedom and safety for the masses.
Unlike most of the people Eden knew though, she wasn’t blinded by the lies fed to the masses on a silver spoon by the media and corporations like Vought International.
Eden knew, Eden knew all too well that Supes were nothing but selfish bastards at best, and that none of them give a single fuck about saving others. Eden knew that the mainstream media hyperinflated the heroism of ‘heroes’, and failed to report the deaths of normal civilians, who were nothing more than simply collateral damage. And Eden knew that if she was told that unconscious man lying before her was nothing but a villain, then that was not the full story.
And she knew this all this because if her abilities were not so weak, she would have been just another Supe on Vought or some other fuck’s payroll, spouting the exact same bullshit.
But no, her ability of super strength was, ironically, too weak to even be considered as a D-list Supe, despite her family’s dreams for her, and now in her mid-twenties, she wastes her days away as a receptionist at a private clinic in East Brunswick. So much for the glamorous life of the ‘super-abled’.
However, her abilities were not weak enough apparently to carry the heavy ass man before her. Although he did not appear much taller than she was, he was at least twice her size, and as she lifted him up into her arms, Eden gave a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn’t see a single living soul as she carried the unconscious vigilante to her car, and that the oversized grey zip that she draped over him concealed his appearance well enough.
What the fuck was is my problem? Eden thought as she dropped Soldier Boy into the trunk of Mazda, a black SUV she bought years ago when she moved out of her childhood home.
Eden didn’t need this shit. It’s been years since she dropped out of Godolkin and left behind the world of fucked up Supes and drugs, and she was at peace living in solitude at her cabin by Norvin Green Forest. She didn’t need to get herself involved in dangerous shit. So why had she gotten herself involved by kidnapping the unconscious man who was lying in the trunk of her vehicle?
Eden couldn’t explain it. To call it a curiosity would be an understatement; it was more like a compulsion. She had acted thoughtlessly, as though she were possessed by something, and now, on her half hour drive back to her home in the woods, Eden began to regret what she had done.
Days passed and life continued as normal for Eden. She kept her unconscious house guest in a spare bedroom of her small cabin, and went to her 9 to 5 throughout the work week as usual.
In a way, Eden hoped that if Soldier Boy woke up in her home, he would simply leave, and that she would not have to meet him or explain anything. But every evening, following her commute, Eden was greeted by her dark home, and when checking on her guest, she found him unconscious, but still alive and in her spare bed.
Eden often thought about whether she should call the cops or to dump the unconscious Supe back at the beach (or literally anywhere else). But she did not do that, because she knew that by this point, it would simply make her a walking target either for Vought or the government, and really, it was a miracle that she had not been caught transporting him to her place from the beach. For all she knew though, some government entity or Vought was spying on her this very minute.
So instead, the young woman resigned herself to the guest bedroom, where she left Soldier Boy to lay on the queen-sized bed, most of its real estate which he occupied. As he lay there motionless, Eden would periodically cleanse his face and exposed skin with a damp wash cloth (not knowing what else to do that would help him), before covering him with a light blanket. For the rest of the night, Eden would sit on the cream armchair by him, mindlessly watching the news on the small TV set in the room, on low volume, while thinking about anything and everything.
It's not that Eden did not have anything else to do, or that she had no one. Eden prefers to consider her lifestyle as a self-imposed exile, because she knew that she could not rely on anyone. Disconnecting herself from the world, being in nature, was healing to her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get herself to trust anyone, not anymore.
And so, Eden spent several weeks like this, working during the day, going on her daily runs (though now in the forest rather than the beach), and barely sleeping at night, passively watching the news and her unconscious guest, who’s bruising slowly faded away. Soldier Boy looked exactly as he did in his old film, Red Thunder, Eden noticed, and had not aged in the slightest, which bewildered her.
But despite being the vision of health, Soldier Boy did not wake, and Eden did not know what to do.
More often than Eden would like to admit, Eden watched Soldier Boy, observing his long lashes and the way his now steady breathing never wavered – not even when Eden would wipe a damp wash cloth across his body – and she noticed how quickly his stubble grew into a fuller beard, but never to the point of the point of overgrowth, despite the lack of grooming.
Eden also noticed how humorous it was that practically the only topic on the news channels was Soldier Boy himself, and how it was reported that he was not a Super-Terrorist anymore, but an odd dichotomy of hero and victim to Soviet radicalization. And so, the narrative shifted, not that she believed it to be the full truth. Yet something Eden knew to be true was not on any news channel or online forum: Soldier Boy was not dead but alive, albeit unconscious in some cabin hidden away in the mountains.
Or rather that was the truth, until Soldier Boy regained consciousness.
It happened so quickly, and Eden was not entirely awake to even process exactly what happened.
One moment, Eden was drifting into sleep, in her usual seat on the armchair, with the lamp lights dim, the moonlight from the window behind filtering into the room, and the TV white noise drowning out the silence. The next moment, Eden found herself gasping for breath, suffocating, as two strong hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the armchair.
Eyes still half-asleep but now tearful, Eden met the vicious stare of her now-awakened guest, and suddenly, she came to her senses. Mustering up all her strength, Eden pushed against his chest, the supe-strength of which took her attacker by slight surprise. His hold on her throat relaxed slightly, and Eden quickly grabbed his wrists to keep his grip loose.
“Let me go –” Eden choked out, trying to breath.
As though confused, Soldier Boy tilted his head, but his expression remained in its remorselessly neutral expression. Fear shot through her veins when Eden realized that her strength did not affect him but rather spiked the smallest amount of curiosity.
“I was just trying to help you.” Eden sputtered out incoherently as she felt the grip began to tighten again. Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes at this, and then right on cue, something else caught his attention.
The tiny TV in the room switched to midnight rerun of The Cameron Coleman Hour on the Vought News Network, and broadcast invaded the room, with the image of Soldier Boy plastered over the screen.
“Good evening everybody, welcome back …” Cameron Coleman’s voice echoed throughout the room.
As it did, Soldier Boy loosened his grip on Eden’s throat, letting her go. Eden’s hand shot up to her neck, strands of her sandy-brown hair falling to her face as she gasped for more air. Her skin felt sore, and she knew that if she were a normal person, she would have been dead by now, at the very least from a broken neck.
“… and please welcome our guest of the evening, Defense Secretary Chris Barney.” The cheering track played on TV bounced off the walls in the guest room, while the camera panned from Cameron Coleman onto a burgeoned man his early-thirties, already balding, and Soldier Boy’s attention was entirely captivated by what was on TV.
“Mr. Secretary, thank you so much for joining us.” Chris Barney, in his mechanical voice, thanked his interviewer as well, and Eden, with her hands on her tender neck, watched as Soldier Boy was entirely captivated by the TV interview.
“I want to kick off by asking you to directly respond to the idea that Soldier Boy and this new age of Super-Terrorism, which involves Supes living in our country, should be the Pentagon and American public’s top concern.”
“See Cameron, I am not going to beat around the bush. Soldier Boy’s attack in Manhattan is an isolated incident, and the FBSA has taken great strides in tackling this matter, and in the mere weeks past, there is already a significant reduction in the number of violent incidences within the public, both super-abled and not. So to answer your question, no it is not a concern for both the Pentagon and America, especially as Soldier Boy is an isolated incident, and dead at that.”
Chris Barney’s voice bounced off the walls, and as it sounded off, and he answered follow up questions relating to terror attacks, which Soldier Boy ignored, as he began to speak over him, his voice both low but loud, full of contempt.
“So that’s it, huh – I’m dead. I’m fucking dead to the American people. Again.”
Eden did not know what to say, and took a step back, the back of her legs now pressed to the wooden side table by the bed.
“I fought for this country. I fucking gave up my life for this fucked up country, and what do I get in return? Fucking nothing.”
As he spoke, spitting out each syllable, Eden noticed how Soldier Boy clinched his fists tightly, and wondered whether he would just destroy her home, or kill her as well. She remained silent, not daring to even breath too loudly as though that would set him off. But Eden’s heart was beating at a million miles per minute, and she was sure that Soldier Boy could hear it.
Reminded of her presence, Soldier Boy turned around and glanced over Eden, as though he were a predator contemplating whether his prey was worthy of slaughter. His deliberation lasted only a few moments. With only two tall strides, Soldier Boy, in his tattered costume, came face-to-face with the young woman stood before him, brushing away a thick strand that had fallen in front of her eyes.
“What’s your name doll?”
Soldier Boy’s voice was deep, and though he did not swear or say anything malignant, Eden was still frightened, but willed herself to not shake in her fuzzy slippers.
“Eden,” Eden responded quietly, but Soldier Boy’s furrowed eyebrows made her paranoid that he either hadn’t heard her, or that she hadn’t actually said anything.
“Eden Reid, um, Sir.” Eden said once again, only slightly more audibly, while looking to the ground, so as to avoid his burning stare. At this, Soldier Boy chuckled and gently took push a hand to her chin, tilting her face upwards, making her look back at him again.
“Well, aren’t you sweet, Miss Reid.” Soldier Boy spoke, the side of his mouth tilting upwards. Inching his face closer, he continued speaking, his breath blowing over Eden’s face. “Have you got any pills, sweetheart?”
Eden shook her head slowly, now shaking slightly and regretting her personal stance on being drug-free.
“Weed?”
Eden shook her head again, and she felt her heart speed up anymore. At this, Soldier Boy turned away to let out a frustrated sigh, before facing her again.
“A good girl. Surely you can be resourceful and find something, doll. Age of feminism and all.”
Soldier Boy’s tone was condescending, but thankfully, Eden knew that her co-worker, Matt, had an affinity for her and substance abuse, so she might be able to score something from him. Pressing her lips together, Eden nodded, which made Soldier Boy smile. Letting go of her chi, Soldier Boy turned around and sat on the armchair to his right, paying attention to the TV again, which was still playing the Cameron Coleman interview rerun.
“Well then, chop-chop sweetheart. And afterwards, you can tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I’m here with you.”
Author's Note: This is an AU story where rather than getting captured, Soldier Boy/Ben ends up projecting himself into the Hudson River. I am not a Geography or Physics major, so none of this actually makes sense or is realistic.
– Chapter 2
#the boys#the boys tv#the boys amazon#soldier boy#soldier boy ben#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x oc#soldier boy x original character#soldier boy fanfiction#fanfiction#imagin#jensen ackles#fanfic#you imagine#homelander#starlight#queenmaeve#billy butcher#hughie#amazonprime#amazonprimevideo
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TripAdvisor's Top 10 Things To Do In Volterra, Tuscany (18+)
Part 1 | Next Part
Pairing: Aro/F!Reader(No use of y/n).
Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact).
Word Count: ~3000.
Warnings: Pretty tame beginnings tbh but future warnings for Stalking, Toxic relationships and power imbalances, Blood and gore, Devious little fruity men, and Reader-insert being a terrible enough person that it sort of balances it all out?? Idk. Yes there will be weird vampire sex.
Read it on Ao3 Here!
__________________________________
It’s in early Summer that you meet him for the first time.
One sentence typed and re-written with two pages to fill and three proseccos nursed over some amount of hours. A hot afternoon is well on its way to becoming a balmy night, and daytime family shoppers along the tight, sloping roads in Volterra have condensed into young adults seeking whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of rolling hills and old brick- oh, that’s not a bad line.
Rapping the enter key, you make room for the statement.
Whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of-
A pang of revulsion hits.
Fuck it. It’s shit.
You slam on the backspace, offsetting just a little of the temptation to hurl your laptop over the retaining wall and onto the road below.
“Top-up?”
Panic jolts down your spine at the black suit of a hospitality worker in your periphery. You haven’t bought anything since the sun was up. Not since the first prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the second prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the third prosecco, and the humiliating explanation that a family-run business simply cannot keep giving you any more of Nonna’s war-time era bread baskets.
It’s not your fault that no one’s come along to pick up the tab of a pretty tourist tonight. Alcohol’s usually pretty cheap when some cashed-up slob in linen intends to use it to leverage against you later in the night. It’s getting ridiculous out here. It’s been hours, and not only have you gotten a solid zero words into your article — you’ve been squatting here with the nicest view in Volterra for long enough that you fear the staff and your fellow patrons have begun to make assumptions about you.
You have no money left.
They can’t know you have no money left.
You offer up a smile. “Just water, please.”
You’re met with a pained reflection of the look. Maybe yours is just as sad. They leave with a hurried nod, too busy serving every other table to have time to bother with your bullshit. Maybe you should just order something. Drop a precious thirty on a four-ingredient carbonara that’ll either have you hungry again in an hour or shitting your guts out for the next twenty-four. Wasteful spending, either way. There’s only a few hundred euros left, and you can’t afford to keep doing this.
Rolling hills. Just write something about rolling fucking hills and go back to the airbnb.
Your fingers poise over the keyboard.
“Mi scusi—“
“Just water’s fine.” You nearly snap.
“Oh, you speak English.”
Another black suit in your periphery. Another wave of shame. You look up again, and the well-pressed suit standing before you smiles a mildly manic, overly familiar smile. “Good evening. I’m dreadfully sorry to ask, but would you mind moving on?”
He’s exceptionally pale, you observe. Perfect teeth. Wonderful hair that reminds you of some kind of animal.
Your brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”
“Yes. That’s fine. No harm done.” The man’s already turned away from you, clicking at the boy who had yet to fetch your water. “Un'altra sedia. Per favore-“
“I’m not done sitting here.” You say.
That smile on his face strains. Just a little.
“Well, you see,” He offers, “I like to sit here — as well as my company, and you’ve been here for—“ the smile tightens further, and you rejoice in your judgement. He feels entitled to this spot. This is his seat you’re in.
He’s just as much of a dick about this as you are.
“Four hours — and this is an exceptional spot to view the end of the sunset at this time of year.”
What a fucking prick. What sweet vindication.
“Yeah.” You agree, not budging. “It seems like it.”
“Is she gone, yet?”
Another suit approaches. This time blonde. Younger. Early-twenties perhaps, as opposed to your original assailant’s early-forties. There’s a scowl fixed to his face, exacerbated by a scoff when his gaze finds you still seated.
You don’t even give him the time of day, turning back to the brunette. “I’m working. You’re distracting me. I might’ve been gone already if you weren’t bothering me.”
“Oh please.” He lets out a breath of laughter. “You haven’t made a keystroke in over twenty minutes.”
“It’s called incubating.”
“A charming term for a nothing activity. Please move.”
“No.”
“You’re drawing attention.” Now it’s a hiss.
“Good. Let me finish my article.”
Maybe if you act distressed enough, you’ll get a free pity meal.
“God.” The blonde snarls, snapping his attention behind him, to where a small pod of similarly dressed, similarly toneless people have arrived. “Forget it, Aro. We’re missing it.”
The brunette’s head whips around, as does yours, to catch the last sliver of sun disappearing behind the hills, only the reddest of remnants remaining of its aura on the horizon. Your argument carried you through the entirety of a sunset, and the man — Aro — purses his lips into that same tight smile. Over his shoulder, the blonde retreats, muttering under his breath and merging with the herd.
Seemingly victorious, your fingers hover over the keyboard again, and Aro leans down, not quite in your space. Just close enough for you to find yourself captivated by those filed-straight teeth again.
“A word to the wise —“ He says, tone hushed, pressing a hand to the table. Fingers inches from yours. “That was the Summer solstice drawing to a close, and you made us miss it-“
“I think you took care of that one yourself, actually."
He leans closer. “You’ve drawn enough eyes to protect yourself until the locals forget this, but some of us — my friend Caius, especially — are very fond of our evening routine; and some of us can hold a grudge. You’d do well to move on before the week’s end.”
You’d be happy to punch him if you weren’t thinking so hard about that free meal, so instead, you opt to flash a smile of your own. “You’d do well to eat my ass.”
There’s a pause. A tick of his brow. A tiny twitch at a corner of his mouth. Filmy eyes bore into yours, flickering minutely to your throat.
“Buonanotte. Do try to become at least conversational in Italian.” Aro’s gaze flits to the bare centimetres between your hands. He makes a point to withdraw it across the table, slowly. Like it would simply be beneath him to touch you. “What’s the saying? When in Rome?”
Then, he’s turning. Taking his leave. Shrouded in black cloth the moment he passes into his crowd of gothic friends.
Your gaze lingers on the retreating group. A subtle glance is afforded in your direction from one of the men in his company. Tall. Far too solemn for such an exciting night.
A young man at a neighbouring table leans over to you, and you’ve spent so long looking at milky white faces at you’re nearly blinded by the hue of his sunburned face. “Ravers.” He comments. American. “Don’t mind ‘em. Probably gonna go take horse tranqs in some warehouse.”
Horse. That’s what you were trying to think of. His hair reminded you of a horse.
“I am sorry for the commotion.” The hospitality worker returns. A glass of tap water is set down before you. “Could I offer you dinner on the house?”
…
Victory.
You crack a grin up at your server. “Hey, what’s buonanotte mean?”
__________________________________
For such a compact place, you do not run into Aro again. Nor any of the grimly dressed people that had been in his company.
Over the weeks spanning your stay, tourists come and go, but many of the faces in Volterra remain the same. Permanent residents remain static and likely have been so for generations. Mornings, recently, have held you in increasingly high regard; your refusal to leave their cramped community with each new brief wave of visitors bringing familiarity usually only reserved for years-old neighbours. Now you're no less annoying than a particularly entitled local.
None of whom, curiously, show any traits of albinism. Funny, considering you’d had a run in with at least half a dozen in a single night.
“Are you now living here?” A busboy asks in the evening, passing your table (god, you love claiming that) on his way to clean another. You like this one. He’s gotten into a habit of sneaking an extra biscotti onto your saucer when you order. “How is your article?”
“It’s…” The look on your face tells enough to warrant a laugh.
“I have a cousin in Florence. Single.” He explains. “He would take one look at you and fall in love. You can marry him. Take his money. His car? Three wheels. Loser. You can do what ever you want if you marry him.”
“I’ll think about it.” You assure him, turning back to your laptop.
Huh.
Odd.
There’s a smear of black in your periphery again.
That hasn’t happened since-
Your gaze snaps upward, meeting the eye of the rude bastard who’d made a martyr of you in front of the restaurant. Same phoney smile still plastered on his face. Something surges in your chest — fight instinct activating, readying you rip out a hunk of his hair should the situation call for it.
You open your mouth. Preparing a scathing slew of words.
“Oh, hi.”
Aro — you recall — doesn’t reply. Not until he plucks a chair from a nearby table and sets it down across from you. At your table. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t apologise. He just sits and watches you with his pleasant expression and his milky eyes and his horse hair. His wake wafts old paper and lint; like community library, or a darkroom, or a basement.
Your skin runs cold. Oh fuck, is he actually making good on that threat from the other night?
“Buona—“ A gesture is extended to you.
“—sera?”
“Very good.” He affirms with a too-animated grin. Like you’re a toddler. Bit patronising. “Going native, are you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Caffè in the evening, just like the locals do it. And you’ve been here every night for the better part of three weeks. One might say you were squatting.”
He’s been watching you.
He’s wearing an identical suit to the one he wore last you’d encountered him.
He’s a weirdo. You should find another stranger to cling to. Pretend to go home with them to discourage him from following more of your routine—
“Funny. I haven’t seen you.” You reply, bluntly.
A micro expression must give your thoughts away, because his eyebrows shoot up in mock-surprise. “Oh? Oh. My friends have mentioned seeing you. I hope you don’t mind — we tend to keep an eye out for people who cross our paths. Small circles and what have you.”
“That’s fair. You did threaten me last time we met.”
“Water under the bridge.” Aro dismisses. “Gossip gets around. People notice you staying.”
Your caution doesn’t dissipate. “Insular but curious?”
His smile widens. “Exactly! I’m Aro."
“I know. I heard one of your friends say it.” You reply, before giving your own name.
“I know.” Aro mirrors, and then fails to follow-up. Then, he moves to stand from his seat, pausing to consider something. “Care to walk with me?”
“Give me a minute. I’m working.”
An outright lie. You commit to typing gibberish for several minutes before closing the device and packing it away. All the while, he watches you like he’s watching a fish in a bowl.
“Upfront?” You say, standing, and he follows suit. “I carry a box cutter.”
“Wonderful.”
“Also, I choose where we go.”
He tips steepled fingers in a mockery of a bow. “Of course. Lead the way.”
Cramped as the little city may be, it’s surprisingly much harder to navigate when you’re trying to remain in the most well-lit spots. Conversation speeds up and slows with your meandering and Aro’s occasional interjection, all the while keeping a good bit of distance between you while you walk. His hands remain clasped in front of him, where you can see them. Making a show that he means you no harm.
He probably won’t murder you tonight, you decide.
You learn that he’s quite fond of history. That his friends are much the same. Even the ones that are very clearly children have a passion for preserving the arts and maintaining what Aro defines as ’cultural customs’.
It all sounds vague enough to be a little fucking hinky, but there’s a degree of relief that washes over you when Aro assures you they’re not funded by the Catholic church.
He’s also a bit pretty, and you’re humble enough to admit that your brain goes smooth when you’re confronted with pretty.
“So what is it you’ve been trying to write all week?” He eventually asks, gaze flickering to the laptop folded under your arms.
“That’s the issue.” You admit. “I haven’t really found my muse.”
“You just write about anything?” He presses.
You snort. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Right now I’m giving travel writing a whirl. Saved up a while after I finished my degree, but the longer I’m out here, the more I’m starting to realise student loans can’t really be paid off in stories.”
“Is it the stories upsetting you?” Aro frowns. “Or the loans?”
“It’s kind of fucking hard to feel inspired when all you’ve got in savings is the plane ticket home.”
“That explains all those free meals you’ve been charming everyone into.”
The heat returns to your face. He’s really been keeping an eye on you.
“Yeah — I’ve, uh—“ You keep your gaze front and centre on the road. “Sort of run out of money.”
Aro considers that for a moment. His steps slow. Then stop.
“Then, would you like a job?” He asks.
Your brow furrows, thoughts already flicking through every possible trafficking scenario and how to stage a rebuttal, and his hand raises in defence just as you open your mouth. “You would be working with a few young friends of mine.”
You think about that. “Oh, yeah. Very…varied sense of fashion.”
“Heidi’s dress sense is the most modern of us, I assure you. She leads our public outreach, but she’s a single point of contact.” Aro explains, trailing off into thoughtful contemplation. “I like to pride myself on the diversity of our group, but things don’t move as slowly as they once did, and the internet is becoming too big a sandbox for just one voice to be heard so much lately. Perhaps you could lend a hand.”
All of Aro’s words up until that pitch have sounded pretty organic in comparison. That whole thing was rehearsed, for certain.
“I don’t buy it.”
“Would you, if you had an allowance?”
”Well, yeah. That’s sort of what a job is.” You frown. For an apparently wealthy man, he's not great with employment terminology.
“You’d be compensated more than fairly.” He persists. “Most of us are volunteers, but if it helps put food on our tables, I’d be curious to see how successful you might be.”
He’s got you by the balls with this whole money thing, you won’t lie. It makes it hard to say no.
“What do you and those other two do, then?” You ask, referring to the men he had stuck to his side on your last meeting. Scraping through whatever you can amidst the glamour of his offer just to find something to poke holes in.
“We boss everyone around.”
Once it’s adequately clear that you’re not amused, Aro pivots, resuming his pace. “Marcus is in charge of relations. Caius keeps everyone in line, and I oversee the structure of everything we do.” He expands. “I do a lot of travelling. Talent scouting, recruitment. We’re globally spread. It’s…busy work, keeping track of everyone.”
“Sounds like you don’t have middle management.” You comment. “Why not hire me for that?”
That earns you a chuckle.
”It’s not perfect, but it’s preferable that olive branches are extended personally.”
”So you’re middle management.”
“In less grand terms, you could say I’m intuitive.” Aro explains, lingering for you for fall back into step. When you stop again, he does too. “I’m quite good at reading people.”
“An empath, are we?” You ask drily, turning your attention over the retaining wall at blackened country hills.
He doesn’t pick up on it. “How kind of you to say. No —“ He extends a well-manicured hand to you, keeping respectable distance. Just enough to demonstrate that this is an offer. Not an order.
He’d look like kind of a jerk if you left him hanging, so you relent and offer your own.
“If I touch you, I can see your thoughts.”
Your hand stops just short of his, pulling away just as he reaches for you. “Sorry. I’m not into the whole street art thing.”
“Not to worry.” Aro assures, outstretching his fingers until the tendons flex over his knuckles. “I’d never commit such an act without your consent.”
“Yeah. I already fell for a a bracelet scam in Barcelona.” You insist. “Once bitten, twice shy. Maybe another time.”
Aro observes you for a long moment. He’s been doing a lot of that, tonight.
“Perhaps another time.” He agrees, and the beat he takes doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s not used to being denied.
“You’re not rescinding the job offer for that, are you?” You frown.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends now.” Aro replies. “Besides; if anything, if you’re sitting in my office I won’t have to worry about you taking my favourite seat outside.”
You squint at him. Unblinking. He only gives you patience in return.
“I’ll get you in contact with one of my colleagues, and one day, you’ll let me perform my party trick for you. Sound agreement?”
It’s all just a little too good to be true, and a little too weird to be charming. You attempt a sympathetic look, but it feels more like an outright wince. “I’m sorry, it’s gonna have to be a no.”
Aro’s lips purse. His fingers lock together at his front, knuckles pressing while he thinks.
Then, he regards you with a split-second point of his finger. A final bid.
”I’ll pay for your dinner tonight.”
…
Sold.
#to everyone who heard i was writing a oneshot: im sorry#aro volturi#twilight fanfiction#aro x reader#further tagged as:#TTTVT#oh yeah if you're new here and you see a typo#no you didn't
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So I may have been slightly hyped for this book the past few months
For the three of you who haven't heard about this, MMPR: The Return is a story set in the future of an alternate universe of the MMPRs; one where Jason, Zack, and Trini didn't give up their powers upon the eve of the Peace Conference, and thus the team stayed together even after high school. But fast forward twenty-two years later, and the team has broken up due to some sort of tragedy - we know from the Re-Imagine prologue in the 30 Year Anniversary book, Zordon and Alpha were destroyed by Zedd and Rita. But other stuff seems to have happened too. What is that stuff? I guess we're about to find out!
Oh, and I should mention this was written by the original Pink Ranger herself, Amy Jo Johnson. (and her partner, Matt Hotson.) That might be important to know.
It's Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Return #1!
= Three pages in and Jason's already getting his ass kicked. You're forty-five years old, man, you should be at the club
= I know this was debated a bit when the book was announced - how it would line up with Thuy and JDF's passings, especially after coming off the heels of Once and Always, where the focal point was Trini's daughter taking up her powers after Trini's death. (For what it's worth, this book was first conceived pre-pandemic, long before OaA. Making comics takes a long time.) And while Tommy is still a bit up in the air (despite what we'll see in a few pages) Trini does seem to have definitively passed due to illness.
While I definitely get the frustration of Thuy's passing essentially sealing Trini's fate - especially in a comic book, where you don't have to worry about actor restrictions - I'm a little more generous towards it here because Amy and Thuy were close friends and she actually dealt with her death personally compared to how the OaA writers, well......didn't. And this issue is clearly paralleling Kimberly's motivations and feelings to Amy's real-life ones, so this just feels like another part of that.
(Also to contrast OaA's handling of Trini - a) her passing here isn't caused by a graphic onscreen explosion, proving the whole "well they HAD to show it onscreen for more impact!!!" was bullshit b) her friends AND THE WIDER COMMUNITY are actually grieving and talking about her impact on everyone as well as using the non-actor-restriction to SHOW it and c) The book actually gives her a JOB. TWO jobs!!!!!!! Yeah OaA why the fuck did you send ZACK to Congress WHEN IT CLEARLY SHOULD HAVE BEEN TRINI
also I like her middle-aged design. prettyyyyyy)
= onto lighter topics HEYYYY IT'S THESE GUYS!! Bulk and Skull are married and you just can't see the ring through Bulk's gloves, it's real and true
= speaking of which this whole flashback is adorable and nostalgic but I want to point out some background details
= Ernie is just trying to run a fucking business here
= go white boy go
= ZACK/KIM HAS FINALLY COME BACK TO ME MY FUCKING BELOVEDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! God, when WAS the last time they actually talked one-on-one in the main series
= FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
= so along with some other stuff I'm definitely taking this as foreshadowing that Trini wasn't cut off from Kim like the boys were. That's the power of WOMEN (and also if we get Aunt Trini flashbacks with Olivia I'll fucking CRYYYYYY)
= Absolutely obsessed with Billy's face here
= D:
= So besides the Trini stuff I want to the keep the Once and Always comparisons to a minimum but it's very funny how both storylines involve Billy using a company as a front for his embezzlement schemes. At least his telecom company PROBABLY isn't war profiteering
= also Alpha's rose <3
= so anyway Jason's gone rogue and was pretending he's the main character until he suddenly went missing, as shown in the first few pages. And Billy and Zack want to become Rangers again to try and find him.
= but the thing is guys, Kim has won the idgaf war. She's depressed, she's traumatized, she spent twenty-two years raising a child with Tommy's genes all by herself, she's tired. She does NOT want to be wrapped up in Jason's midlife crisis drama
= Zack getting so mad and wanting to risk it all for Jason hell yeah those are my Jason/Zack crumbs
= Mysterious shadowy figure watching the old people drama from a distance, you are just like me fr
= OLIVIA THAT'S FUCKING OLIVIAAAAAAAAAAAA and she already sounds so CUTE. If you go back to the diner scene you can see the phone constantly buzzing until Kim finally puts it away. She's like mom. mom. mom. MOM
= also just because the tragic Tomberly family storyline already makes me want to kms do you think that ring is kind of small and plain because Tommy and Kim were so young when they got married and it's all Tommy could afford. And Kim still wears it to this day. I want to die
= It's already been confirmed that Selena is indeed referring to Sylvia here, so I won't talk about that. What I DO want to talk about is Kim's casual momwear. Those sweatpants!!!!!!!!!!
= It would be really funny if Kim just. immediately slammed the door shut
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Simonrileyscockring aka Maxim is a liar and claims frogchiro stole their ideas. Here's proof he lied.
@simonrileyscockring Now since you dont wanna acknowledge me or my post calling you out, i decided to make it its own post so more people can see it. I don't like liars. i don't like virtue signalers "dni proshippers" we interacted tons of times, i sent you asks, my own art, we talked in dms, i even checked on you when i worried about you and now you're worried about "proshippers" and realize the term i identify with, which means "anti-harassment, respecting peoples fictional preferences" and not whatever tiktok-brained bullshit you think it is? So convenient you say that AFTER i send you an ask asking if you were gonna acknowledge what the hell you did.
edits: the only edits i did was "@/" Konigsblog cause they said they apologized and acknowledged what they did, whether or not the apology is accepted is not up to me.
original call out below:
you absolute dunce. i LOVED your writing before but the drama on your page, responding to hate anons rather than just deleting their asks drove me off. I have so many words for you
EVERYONE can see your personal posts, they just don't LIKE them cause who the fuck wants to like a post that's a vent post? it feels wrong, people see it and choose not to react, people see you vagueing about someone stealing "your" concepts (which theyve written BEFORE cod fandom erupted on tumblr and aka before YOUR popularity) they'll want to know cause stealing writing is very serious!! but oh wait!!! they didn't steal shit!!! They never wrote about a teenager, which btw when you say all this shit and show no proof it fucking sucks!! cause people are so tiktok-brained that they will believe anything!
Because you decided to pull a fuckin mean girl move with @/konigsblog you ruined someone's love for writing and this fandom. "no one got harmed" my fucking ass. You as a writer should know that motivation comes and goes, and that hyperfixtations can be the closest thing to people. So rather than acting like a fucking man, you vague and claim they wrote about a minor as well, btw heres the teenager you claim is well, a teenager
Scaramouche is a puppet made by Raiden Ei, over 500 years ago to the current time in genshin impact. When Raiden Ei's sister had passed and she wanted to make a puppet to be the archon but she left him in a slumbering state, free from her own control cause he came to life crying which puppets aren't supposed to do. He woke up and thought she abandoned him, then OVER 5 HUNDRED YEARS AND THREE BETRYALS LATER. The fandom baby-fies him admittedly, but he's not obsessed with his mother nor does he have a teenager mentality. He's a bitter and aloof character, only getting mad when his creation or betrayals are brought up,
"a teenager physqiue" Okay lets challenge that, In the game this model is called Short_Male, it been used for Cyno, Tighnari, Kazuha, Xiao, Albedo, Mika, Chongyun, Bennet, Xingqiu, Heizou, Gorou, Venti, Razor, and even the male traveller.(I'm gonna use basic terms since you obviously never played the game if you think he's child like) Cyno is basically an officer in the game for the Akademiya, aka an adult. Tighnari is basically like a forest ranger, an adult. Kazuha sails around the sea while being a poet AND a sword expert because of his family line, becoming an expert swordsman takes YEARS even in real life, he's an adult. Xiao is over 5,000 years old and a "deputy" for an Archon. Albedo is a synthetic experiment human made 500 years ago from the current timeline in the game. Heizou is also a cop, an adult. Gorou is a fucking ADMIRAL, an adult. VENTI is literally over 2k years old. an adult. The traveller is AT LEAST over a thousand years old, cause the traveller that you choose slumbers for 500 years.
The rest are hinted to be late teenagers or early twenties depending on who you ask.
I even took pictures of these models in-game compared to a Tall_Male model!
Here's scaramouche, compared to Diluc and Tighnari! who aren't children! Now let's see an actual model of CONFIRMED children, why don't we?
here we have klee, who despite being something like 50 or 75 years old, is still mentally a child!! So she has the child model since she is still physically growing up, unlike Scaramouche AND Albedo.
Scaramouche isn't a child. he doesn't have child-like features. He's not obsessed with his mother, cause he does not have one cause motherfucker is a 500-year-old puppet, he's mentally an adult, physically an adult that was prepared for archon duties.
Sorry, i droned on about this for so long but i just fuckkking hate it when people are wrong. So blindly like you are,
here's proof that you said that, incase you go on a deleting frenzy.
Now let's talk about the point system, point systems are so widespread in real life and in fiction, even i used a point system once before. So to see it, in a COMPETITION(cause they are in the pervy AU) between men isn't weird to see. If you genuinely had a problem with this, Kin would've LOVED to talk it out with you as they're lovely and understanding human being.
the stray cat au? i even remember reading about it on both of your blogs but heres the thing.... the last time they wrote about it was in October.. of last year.
i had to search your blog just in case i was wrong in thinking they wrote it before you did.
as you can see, this is march of this YEAR. checking your archive, you made your blog back in February of this year. To claim they stole your concept of stray cat is beyond fucking insane, as well as bringing up the post with scaramouche in it cause.. that was over at least 10 months ago, cause Kin had went on a hiatus when December came around and came back with a COD hyperfixtation.
Onto the stealing the hubull concept! Searching their blog I can't find any evidence of them even writing a bull-like idea, at all. So you seemed to pull that one straight out of your ass.
So let's go over this real quick! one more time for the people in the back!!!
@simonrileyscockring made a post vagueing that someone stole their concepts and ideas, @/konigsblog replies below asking, hey who is it? maxim responds saying its @frogchiro and claiming that they wrote about a teenager and stole their point system for an au. Publicly. Instead of going to Frogchiro and trying to work it out, like a 23-year-old should. You keep drilling on about it, claiming that people trying to defend them are being your entertainment now
sure some people shouldn't have come in attacking you, i won't defend people who throw cruel words at you. You can claim this to be an attack but all i'm doing is calling you out, cause as you claim "it doesn't affect the way you live your life" you let it go and ruin someone else's way of life, destroying their love for fandom and writing. As a writer yourself that ive SEEN struggle with motivation AND hate anons, you of ALL people should fucking understand that getting your love for writing ruined is a terrible thing to happen especially when its an outlet for stress.
"i wanna talk shit in peace, not have my shit gossiped about." .. that is noooot how the internet works OR how shit-talking works, as the biggest shit-talker in MY family, i understand that when i talk shit, there's another person behind me talking shit. When YOU post vagueing about someone, and then continue talking about them, people will gossip about you. End of story. You should've blocked them in the first place, you also should've messaged Kongisblog PRIVATELY if you really wanted to avoid all of them. The only screenshots that i know that kin was sent, were you confirming that they "stole" your ideas and that they wrote about a teenager. How can they refute your claims without knowing what your claims are. They had to defend themselves from people in their inbox.
So, really in the end here, you fucked up. As a previous fan of your im highly disappointed in you but seeing how you act i doubt that will affect you, i make this post-DEFENDING frogchiro from pointless claims, AND in hopes that anyone who wants to follow you. Will find this post cause you are a fucking asshole to the core. Step back and realize that while it may not affect you, your actions affect others.
#call of duty x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw2 x reader#call of duty headcanons#abo 141#141 abo#pervy 141#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#call of duty mw2 x reader#simon riley x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john price x reader#phillip graves x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#rodolfo parra x reader
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tuesday again 2/6/2024
some weeks it's really hard to come up with a snappy little bon mot to put here
listening
Barbarella, by a fuck of a lot of people. yes i DID watch this movie this week! this is the single catchiest theme song i have ever heard. i cannot link the actual opening credits scene bc tumblr will censor that shit SO fast. spotify
youtube
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reading
Rebecca Roanhorse's Tread of Angels novella. this is an urban magic old west religious fantasy novella. VERY sangfielle friendsatthetable vibes, there's an old west mining town centered around the body of the demon Abbadon, which is being mined for its powerful properties. demons and angels have sort of interbred throughout the human population. there is some deeply nerdy catholic bullshit and i say that as someone who was in catholic school for fifteen years. actually let's just take Roanhorse's explanation
the setting and premise are not where the novella bites off way more than it can chew. the main character, a cardsharp, has a chanteuse sister being held accused of a murder and she's got 48hrs to prove her innocence. the time limit and general structure is good, and it uses its side characters wisely, there's just a fuck of a lot of them.
in general, this novella does not have the emotional room to make its emotional beats really count. for example, there was a second breakup with an ex after a night of passion that mostly just left me confused. more broadly, the main character has an oldest sister's selfsacrificing nature that has twisted into utter ruthlessness with regards to her sister, and i'm both impressed Roanhorse managed to convey that in so few pages and annoyed bc i really wanted to see more of that in way more detail. due to the nature of it being a novella, the series of escalating decisions she takes feel very jagged in their escalation. i hope that makes sense.
it's got really interesting ideas! i want to know more about the ideas! i wish this was a full book instead of a novella, so the ending hits a little better instead of a Well That Just Happened way. from this interview it seems Roanhorse also wanted it to be a full book, but it was sort of a "i need something short and sweet so i don't go insane while adapting my other book for TV" (which is very exciting!!!)
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watching
really a bizarre set of films. extremely unemployed energy in this watchlist this week. largely composed of "what's on my letterboxed watchlist and also available for free on tubi, with brief forays into hulu"
Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons (2013, dir. Chow). loved the overall visual design of the antagonists and the monsters, did not overall love this movie. it is a solid martial arts showcase and the first twenty minutes with freshwater JAWS are the most tightly plotted. it kind of flounders (lol) after that. can't find a gif i like.
INU-OH (2021, dir. Yuasa) genuinely healed my heart a little i think. queer (complimentary, not queer in the western massachusetts housing coop way) feudal anime glam rock opera. i am sooooooo picky about bad dads in movies as a driving force but this really soothed my daddy issues. stuck the landing on both storytelling and visuals.
Barbarella (1968, dir. Vadim) WOW Jane Fonda was hot. this was both sillier and less porny than i was led to believe (if we ignore the softcore porn opening credits). however horny this movie was it was not brave enough to have some girl-on-girl action with barbarella and the evil empress, even though the evil empress never seems to actually learn her name and just calls her “pretty” or “pretty-pretty”. shoutout to the one fic on ao3 that rectifies this situation. certainly a piece of scifi history, i wish modern scifi was as brave with its theatrical set dressing, i think one viewing is good enough for me bc i cannot stop thinking about how all the women on set might have been treated.
john philip law popped up and i said out loud to my cat “hey i know him from cowboys”
Flower Drum Song (1961, dir. Koster) got conned into watching this by the hotvintagemen poll bc i wanted to see what james shigeta’s deal was, and if he did have a sort of ratpack sensibility as the propaganda described. he does! however this movie is unrelentingly awful. it is so so so slow. all of its comedy is racism-based. it feels like a three and a half hour two-VHS set instead of two hours. i like to think i have a stronger stomach for older media and am able to consider things as products of their times but this is my upper limit i think. one brief fleeting moment of cool production with this triple mirror effect
Dirty Dancing (1987, dir. Ardolino). we were trying to find something to watch on either peacock or hbo max, and when i said "oh i've never seen that" out loud my my best friend said "that's insane we're watching it". i did not hate this movie, but i feel like i missed some critical window of development in which i would have had to see this movie to really love it. i had sort of an abnormal high school experience and i am a smidge too old to relate to bildungsroman any more. but it was cute! it was fine! i think patrick swayze’s jawline could cut glass. this film was made after Roe v Wade (1973) and i feel like the backstreet abortion b-plot has done this interesting 180 from sort of a historical novelty to a real threat and terror again. fun!
that’s it for the watching section i promise
-
playing
im doing the thing where i play a game for ten minutes, put it down, and then pick it back up again, which is probably not terrific for the health of my elderly switch. but whatever. what have i been up to in breath of the wild?
not a ton of progress map-wise, but did make it up to zora’s domain.
i was planning on the camel being the first divine beast, to get that over with bc i had such a devil of a time in my last playthrough, but the thing about the desert is it’s really far away.
dicked around the dueling peaks stables for a while without managing to defeat that guardian and unlock that shrine. so it goes. i think i really need an actual guardian shield from one of the minor tests of strength shrines instead of a normie shield. this line and sidequest made me laugh— it wasn’t terribly hard to find this little cache but it was a tricky bit of gliding.
didn’t realize the horses don’t have that much vertical threat perception, just like real horses. this little band walked right under me and i failed to glide down and land perfectly on someone’s back, which did freak them all out.
i think my new favorite place in a game is this little grove clinging to the side of the dueling peaks. it felt very peaceful and cozy. nothing can get me up there and there’s more than enough room to make a little campfire and cook dinner and not roll off the mountain in a sleeping bag the middle of the night.
also fully kitted out my house bc i had a very successful mining expedition along dueling peaks. EXTREMELY forgiving and generous secondary opening area imo, thanks game
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making
i started this glitch sampler pattern by tumblr's own mathysphere (not @'d bc this is a fuck of a long post) at the beginning of the pandemic, june 2020, while thinking "eh let's give this friends at the table counterweight thing a shot" got most of the way through both counterweight and this piece, put it down bc i was so annoyed with all the confetti stitches (random one-off stitches of colors that aren't anywhere near other stitches of the same color. i think i resorted to fraychek at several points in the rover square) and then put it down so long i had to throw it out during the great moth debacle, bc it was partly eaten.
here's what it will look like finished, and a link to buy the pattern
i think this time around i am a much better technical stitcher (the first crack at this i didn't know the loop method of starting, or pin stitches, or really any alternate endings except running the tail under the last few stitches). i usually stitch with three strands bc i like the look, but i think the loop method with three strands is overly fiddly. i have not picked up cross stitch since mmmm 2021, but any mistakes or unevenness in this will simply contribute to the glitch effect. i'm going to go back and backstitch the four "frames" and key portions of the sampler to highlight portions of the glitches (eg the yellow and blue centers of the spiral galaxy, the interior of the eclipse, perhaps add an antenna to the rover).
still not my tidiest back, but hey. it's going to sit in a frame and not have any sort of friction or extra force applied to it ever
i am really looking forward to framing this in a deep shadowbox, i have an idea about how to mat it with little melty cutouts for the drips at the bottom.
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Chasing you Chapter 1 {Complete}
Summary: Jake retires from the military honorably. He steps into a new roll, ready to settle down in his hometown of Texas. He is placed on your shift. Your current relationship is stable until the dust settles, revealing cracks in the foundation.
Warnings: Cursing, violence, police experiences based on truth, accurate on most accounts of law enforcement, it might get gory at times. Be aware of blood, drugs, and all things law enforcement. Smut eventually. A/N may have my true experience attached if you're interested. All real names redacted. Y/n used once.
Next chapter || Masterlist
Whispers went around the department. There was a new guy starting today. The women in the office were saying he was fine as hell, and the men were saying he was just a pretty boy who thought he could handle this.
You sat back in your seat. You texted James, your boyfriend. 'Can you get milk and eggs on your way home? We're out.' James agreed with a thumbs up emoji.
You had just started your shift. It was opposite to your boyfriends now. You were on the night shift, twelve hours of complete bullshit. The dark night hid some of the worst people. The FNG, fucking new guy, didn't know what he was getting himself into.
On queue, the FNG walked into the squad room. He sat in the squad room next to Grant, the corporal that had been there for a while now. Everyone quieted down, looking at the new guy. "What's up, man? How'd you like that OC spray?" Grant had been the first to speak up. He volunteered some at the law enforcement academy, and he was supervising the pepper spray training to make sure no one got injured. You swore up and down, and the man just enjoyed them withering in pain.
"Man, fuck that shit. I took a shower that night, and it started back up." The gorgeous man chuckled. Clapping his hand to grants in a shake. He leaned back in his seat.
You remember the OC spray. You've used it a small handful of times. You opted for the taser more often. Electric currents were much less likely to blow back onto you. The spray had thirty seconds of calm, then the fire would set in burning your eyes, nose, mouth, throat, neck, anything it came in contact with would be in a constant state of hell burning through your soul. Water tended to reactivate it after it wore off. There was a twenty-four period of chance it would reactivate, dragging you through hell all over again. You'd rather have your toenails ripped off than ever go through that again.
All the men in the room laughed at the man's misfortune. "Yeah the sadistic fucks don't warn you about the water..." Rastley, a fellow officer, chimed in.
Everyone settled into their seats as the sergeant walked in. "Im sure everyone has noticed the new officer on duty." He paused, pulling out papers that were for the new payroll. He passed them around the room for everyone to fill out. "This is Seresin. Jacob is your first name, right, and your badge number?" Sergeant Valley looked up at Seresin. "Just Jake, sir. Number 267"
Sgt. Valley nodded and looked back around the room. "Jake Seresin 267." He wrote down the new information on a notebook page with his shifts names and numbers. "Everyone go around the room and introduced yourself"
"Norman Grant 298, I'm your corporal." Grant was an older man with dark chocolate skin. His hair had been shaved completely bald. He was in the army before settling back a few towns over from his hometown. His body was still in great shape for his age.
"Walt Rastley 245" He was a younger man. He was in his mid twenties. His hair was a bright blonde in a neat gel combed style. His body was in top physical performance.
You sat up slightly as the attention turned to you. "Y/F/N Monroe 251" You nodded at Seresin. His eyes met yours with a nod and a smile in your direction. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of green. They looked familiar. You were in a relationship, but that didn't mean you couldn't appreciate a nice-looking man for what he was, and he was definitely something worth looking at.
His attention turned to the next man to speak. "She's my 'Marilyn'." You rolled your eyes playfully at the next officers comment. Everyone chuckled at the statement.
"He tries to make everyone believe he's my Kennedy. Right, Mr. President?" You added jokingly, pressing your lips together in a mocking smile.
"Hey, a man can dream." He puts his hands up in defense, then relaxes back in his seat. "Liam Kennedy 232" Liam was a Kennedy looking man. His hair was also perfectly gelled but had a chocolate brown color. Your relationship was platonic and playful, and you would call him one of your best friends on the shift. He turned his face back to you and wiggled his brows playfully at you.
The other officers on shift introduced themselves. Twelve officers in total were on the shift, including you. You were the only female on shift. That was normal. Every shift had one female, and because of short staffing, most couldn't afford to have more than that.
"Seresin, you will be riding with Mr. President Kennedy here." Sgt rolled out a big barrel laugh.
"That name doesn't sound as sweet coming off your lips, sarge." Kennedy matched the laugh. Leaning into the side of his chair.
"You will be riding with him for the next couple shifts. He will be your FTO for now. I will let you know when that changes. Everyone else, same positions as yesterday." Sgt valley walked around and placed his on Kennedy's shoulder, squeezing. This wasn't the military. Law enforcement was much more smooth and less formal. There was more under the wire talking. Kennedy knew what Sgt was telling him. He was saying without words. 'Give the new guy a warm welcome to hell'
"Yes, sir" Seresin nodded and grabbed his bag. Everyone else watched the clock tick.
"Eh, if we release early, then maybe they will pay it back, and we can get an early breakfast. Dismissed." The officers walked out to their cars five minutes earlier than normal. Settling in the seats of the patrol cas, starting up and testing the sirens, lights, and all the bells and whistles.
You sat down in your seat. You were parked next to Kennedy. Once you both finished testing, you looked over at Kennedy. "I'm going past Churchill Road." You were in the same zone as Kennedy.
You backed up and started driving to your post. Once you made it, you drove around the area. "251 to dispatch I'm 10-8." You heard chatters confirming and marking you as in service from dispatch, then the officer you took over from called back he was 10-7. Leaving his location and out of service in the area.
You drove around watching cars slow down when they saw you. It was funny to watch people get flustered without even seeing their body movements.
Your tag reader started signaling you to a car. You shifted behind the car and turned on your siren and lights. The car started speeding up. You groaned. "So it's gonna be that kind of night." You clicked your radio. "251 to all units. I'm 10-80 with a white accord. Be advised that he is heading east bound on Oak Thorn towards you 232. Dispatch can you run the plate number Charlie, Romeo, India, Victor, 347" You were currently chasing the accord as it sped through the highway.
Dispatch ran the plate through the system and found a frequent flyers name. "Dispatch to 251. It's under Jordan Barn." You groaned even louder. This isn't his first time by any means, and he tended to get aggressive. "232 can you 25. Requesting back up east bound of Oak Thorn." You called for assistance through the radio.
Kennedy watched your location and turned in your direction, hitting his radio. "Im en route to you, eta four minutes." Kennedy turned on his lights and rushed to your side of the zone. "Did you catch all that?" He asked his rookie passenger.
Seresin nodded. His heart started to pump a burst of adrenaline through his limbs. "Your Marilyn found trouble..." He started. Kennedy chuckled swiftly making turns and weaving through traffic. Seresin continues, "She's chasing a white accord east bound on Oak Thorn. The tag is registered to a Jordan Barn."
Kennedy was about a minute out from the chase. "You're gonna catch on quick. Watch out for Barn, he is a firecracker. Man's a drug dealer with an attitude problem."
"Noted." Seresin watched ahead seeing lights in the distance.
"I'm behind you 251." Kennedy called out over the radio to you.
You had been devising a plan while he took his four minutes to get to you. "251 to 298." You paused, waiting for Cpl Grant's go-ahead to be called over the radio. You then continued. "The accord isn't going to stop. It doesn't look like anyone else is in the vehicle. Requesting to do a pit maneuver."
Grant was on the other side of town pulling over a mini van that had a taillight out. He waited before exiting his vehicle, calling back over the radio. "If you have back up, then go ahead and run it. 245, go ahead and head over that way if you're not 10-6. They may need the backup." Grant exited his vehicle and walked to the window. "Did you know your light is out in the back, ma'am?"
Rastley called over the radio. "10-4 I'm en route 251. Eta eight minutes."
You started back your radio traffic. "10-4 298" you paused briefly, acknowledging Rastley. "232, you ready."
Kennedy confirmed over the radio. "10-4" Kennedy looked over to Seresin. "When we get out, you make sure you have your gun ready. If it's Jordan, he is normally armed he hasnt fired yet, but if he sees an opportunity, he's going to take it."
You grabbed the wheel of your car and accelerated pushing just past his back bumper. You nipped at it. His car spun around to a stop. You ripped your car around, pushing into the back tailgate, blocking his exit. Kennedy pulled into the front. Blocking his exit the other way. All three officers exited the patrol cars. "Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" Kennedy yelled out to the suspect. His gun was drawn.
Jordan Barn pulled his gun out and waved it around at the officers. "I ain't going back. You ain't taking me no damn where."
You held your ground with your gun drawn, not pulling any closer to him. "Jordan put the gun down."
Jordan spun his eyes around. "You ain't going to take me you stupid bitch." Jordan had his weapon pointed towards you but then dropped it by his side still holding it. He couldn't admit defeat but knew he was cornered.
That's it. Keep talking. Your mind racing with the adrenaline. Jordan had his back to Seresin and Kennedy. You kept your eyes on Jordan but could see them move in to disarm him. You had to keep his attention on you. "Jordan, I'm hurt by that. I thought you got clean." Kennedy glanced into the truck not seeing anyone else in the car hiding.
Before Jordan could respond, he was disarmed and tackled by Seresin. Kennedy pulled out his cuffs, pinning them tightly behind his back. Kennedy started patting him down, checking for more weapons, but being careful of needles. The instant the gun was thrown from his hand, you ran to the tossed weapon and secured it.
"I got it." You placed the weapon on the hood of Kennedy's car. Seresin and Kennedy picked up the man and pushed him in the back of their car when they knew he was clear.
"We're going to take him to the jail, gotta show the rookie. First, you owe me one. Second, search the car, and if you find anything, call me. I'll add it to the charges." Kennedy walked to the driver's side door and got in. Seresin got in his side, and they took off after you picked the gun back up.
Rastley pulled up right as the pair took off. He stepped out if the vehicle. "Shows over?"
You nodded. "He had a gun. It's Jordan so you know somethings in here. You can help me search if you want."
Rastley nodded. "You know I love a search." You both opened the doors a stench filled your nose. "Damn something died in here." His nose scrunched up.
You sifted through the items both of you were careful about needles. "I got about ten needles over here. Nothings in them" You collected them in an evidence bag knowing there was remainders still in the bottom.
"Nothing over here." You pulled back the carpet and found a box. "I think I got it." You opened the box to find heroin. "Yup I got it. That's a trafficking charge. Jesus, go grab your scale."
A/N: Some radio traffic may not be 100 percent accurate. I worked in the jail, so we didn't use ETA(estimated time of arrival) or a lot of the 10 codes.
#top gun maverick#hangman x reader#top gun fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x reader#jake hangman imagine#hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin#hangman x you#jake seresin imagine#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#jake seresin smut#jake hangman fic#jake hangman x reader#jake hangman smut#jake hangman x you#jake hangman x y/n#hangman angst#hangman x y/n#hangman fluff#hangman x oc#hangman seresin x reader#hangman top gun#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x oc#jake seresin top gun#jake seresin x y/n#jake seresin series#jake seresin fic#top gun imagine
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Warrior nun prompt: Jealous Ava. We can't get enough of Jealous Ava.
thank you, anon!
It starts simply enough.
The first time, Ava’s behind the bar. She’s in the middle of a long, long conversation with Hans—the product of a dead Tuesday afternoon. She’s just been right about something completely unimportant and is poised to gloat when a customer enters.
The woman is probably in her twenties. She’s got short brown hair and a bunch of tattoos and piercings and Ava thinks: this girl is cool. A cool new friend.
“Hey! What can I get you?” She says with the best welcoming grin she can manage.
The girl is aloof too, which adds to the cool. She orders a negroni and stands at the bar with her back to Ava while she makes it. Thing is, a person can only be so aloof before it gets objectively not cool, and Ava’s picked up on the vibe before she puts all her eggs in the friend basket. She’s cracking open a new bottle of Campari when the rest of the metephor-eggs fall right out.
Bea’s posted up in her little corner like always, going over the books like there's nothing more important. She goes over the books like, eight times a day, but it’s Beatrice and Beatrice never does anything by half-measures. She fills every cup to the brim, every line of every page in perfectly-spaced script.
And without her knowledge, this woman, this once-cool woman is leering at her.
If Beatrice could wrest her focus away from a task without a fight breaking out, like, ever, then maybe she’d see. Maybe she’d give the woman one of those looks that could cut glass and send her running. Ava’s seen it before—that’s what real cool is.
But Beatrice has her nose in the binder, maneuvering her pen through her fingers with the expertise of someone who can knife someone between the eyes from across a room. Ava drops her orange twice.
“Negroni,” Ava announces, none too kind.
She starts cleaning and the fucking woman doesn’t even turn to look—doesn’t even thank her. She just grabs her drink and walks right over to Beatrice and sits at her table.
That’s Bea’s fucking table, Ava thinks. That’s her personal space.
Obviously they’re going to have a situation, because Bea is going to knock the shit—
Bea closes her binder, smiles—smiles at the woman.
Does she know this asshole? Beatrice is an excellent judge of character, there’s no way she’d give the time of day to—
They’re talking.
“Uh… Ava?”
She doesn’t take her eyes off the table. “Huh?”
It's Hans. “The, uh—the glass is clean.”
…so it is.
~
The woman is back.
She’s lucky they’re busy and Hans is the only one that can take her order for her stupid idiot negroni because if it were up to Ava? Oh—
Discreet, she hears Bea’s voice in her head.
Yeah, but she can get into a little bar fight. It’s just that this woman is rude. She sees her being rude to Hans too, from across the bar. Same bullshit as last time.
Luckily, Bea doesn’t have to field this woman today, because she’s retreated to her hidey hole upstairs. She goes up there when they get busy, this Ava knows. Maybe if Ava popped up to check on her, to let her know not to come down until the woman is gone—
Bea’s coming down the stairs. Shit.
Ava watches the exact moment the woman clocks Bea, and Bea—ever perceptive—notices her too.
The woman raises her glass towards Bea, and Ava wants to throw up. Lame. Lame, lame, how stupid and lame.
But—and this is maddening—Bea walks right up to the woman and accepts a hug.
“Excuse me?”
She feels like her head’s going to detach she whips it around so fast. “What?”
The patron looks affronted. “A beer. Give me one.”
Ooooh she does not have a wherewithal to fight this man and the woman bothering Beatrice. She shoves a beer into his hand and when she turns to look, both Bea and the woman are gone.
Something cold slips down her spine, and she doesn’t stop to think about what it might be.
~
The third time it happens, Ava has to do something.
Twice is a coincidence. Thrice? No.
The woman doesn’t even go to the bar first, she heads right for Bea and Bea gives her a hug and for fuck’s sake.
“Hey Hans?” She’s not really going to ask him. “I’m going to take a break.”
It’s four in the afternoon and her shift started thirty minutes ago. Hans is probably saying as much as she stalks towards Bea’s table, but she's not listening to anything but the blood rushing in her ears.
“Hey, welcome,” her voice is too loud, too grating. Whatever. “Did you need something from the bar?” The woman opens and closes her mouth like a fish, and Ava doesn’t give her a chance to respond. “Beatrice? Can you help me grab some more beers?”
Bea is on her feet in a second, which is excellent, but apologizes to the woman for leaving, which is not.
“Ava?” Bea’s asking, right behind her as they climb the stairs. “Ava, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Who is that?”
“Who is—the woman I was sitting with?”
“Yeah. Yes. She comes around here all the time and sits with you! I just—I want to know who she is.” The moment it comes out of her mouth, the moment she can hear what she’s been thinking… Ava realizes how insane it sounds. “I mean. You—you know who I hang out with, right? Hans… uh. Jakob from the pool… that one time.”
Bea looks at Ava like she’s been slapped.
“Help me to better understand this, Ava.”
“Sure. Yes.”
“You brought me up here in… in a frenzy, as if something terrible had happened and you want to know—“ She stops, and in the moment of silence, Ava has a chance to… reflect. Beatrice takes a breath. “Her name is Ana,” Bea says, measured, “she’s a new friend.”
Ava nods like her head’s come undone, unsure of what the hell else to do.
Beatrice looks away. “She’s… she’s experienced many of the same things I have.”
Ava doesn’t realize until Beatrice speaks that she’s been holding her breath. It comes out in a rush, a sigh of relief, maybe? She hasn’t totally fucked up.
“Like what?” She tries.
Bea won’t look at her. “Our upbringings were… similar.”
The cold, ugly little thing in Ava’s spine makes itself known again. Beatrice doesn’t talk much about her childhood. Ava knows the basics: her education in the UK, the fact that she’s an only child, the shitty shitty reality of her parents—
Oh.
“Oh,” Ava says, dumb.
Beatrice nods. “It’s… comforting. To be understood.”
I understand you, the little ugly thing screams, smashing its shitty little fists against Ava’s ribs.
“I'm glad,” she says instead, and means it.
Bea looks at her then, and Ava can’t imagine that she doesn’t see what Ava’s feeling. She feels exposed. If Bea does, she doesn’t comment on it then, just smiles.
“Thank you, Ava,” she says, and it's enough.
#warrior nun#wn#ava silva#sister beatrice#warrior nun fic#warrior nun fanfiction#avatrice#avatrice fic#avatrice fanfiction#fanfiction#fic#fanfic#my fanfiction#my writing#writing#prompts#writing prompts
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Pageboy - Let's Do This Thing
In keeping with my brand of, well, Ellen-posting, since my name is Ellie, I thought I'd continue Ellen-posting by reading a book by someone who used to be named Ellen and doing a review of said book for radblr. I'm going to break it up into chunks so you're not faced with giant posts of me rambling or EP rambling.
I would like to say that I feel like there are very few 30-somethings who should be writing memoirs. I've had a pretty exciting thirty-ish years on the planet and I don't think I'm qualified to write a memoir - not because it wouldn't be full of interesting, beautiful, life-changing, sometimes horrible things but because I'm only thirty-ish. I prefer memoirs by people who've lived a bit longer - but again, this is only my preference. I don't read a lot of memoirs as a whole, I guess.
Anyway.
Ellie's Read and Review of Pageboy (Part One)
Author's Note
EP is "grateful and terrified" because trans people "face increasing physical violence" and "our humanity is regularly 'debated' in the media" (citations not given)
the book would not have been written without the "health care" she received, which seems weird because what she describes in the first paragraph about not being able to write seems like ADHD and instead of taking Adderall and being seen by a therapist she took testosterone and had her breasts surgically removed
quotes Leslie Feinberg who, among other things, was a very serious pronoun enthusiast (as evident by Feinberg's Wikipedia page, no I'm not being sarcastic here, just go read it and tell me I'm not wrong)
I want to be a jackass about the last paragraph of the author's note but even I don't have it in me, because it makes sense and is kind.
Chapter One
EP meets someone named Paula and falls in love with her and they do mushrooms together
She thinks about Paula on her trip through Europe
They go to a gay bar
This line hit far harder than it had any right to:
She kisses Paula and it's marvelous
Chapter Two
The Village Voice writes a shitty article about EP calling her a "dyke" after Juno comes out
which is a name she was called many times growing up in Canada
EP played soccer and once went to a tournament in a town I would visit some twenty-odd years later for very different reasons
this is important because she rooms with a girl she has a crush on
she tries to come out to this girl as bisexual
the girl says "no you're not" and then her friends make fun of EP
I learn that Tim Horton's has bagels, which confuses me but is in fact true
EP's grandmother asks her father what they're going to do if it turns out EP is gay
the lines in this chapter that punched me in the chest:
because fuck yeah I was a fucked up kid who didn't plan to live much beyond age 18, EP, I see you
fame is not what EP thought it might be; she doesn't want to wear a dress to things but somehow they tell her she has to and she isn't allowed to say no (which I get, and is not great, but eventually you need to be able to say no and do what you want)
another magazine in Canada asks if she's gay
Paula from Chapter One is seen with her and it's speculated they're in a relationship; Paula's not out to her family and so things are all very sad and EP feels like she will never be free to be who she is
At this point I am just sad. I came out later in my life (22), and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria much later (33), but at age 12 after a lifetime of wearing dresses and having my hair the way my mother wanted it, I stopped letting that happen. I started to wear what I want. I grew out my hair. I learned about makeup and shaving and for a little bit bought into it and then said "fuck no," which I continue to do to this day because it's bullshit.
Who in EP's life thought it wasn't okay for her to wear pants, and why didn't she or someone else stop them? I've obviously never been a famous actor but as an actor aren't you the person in charge of what happens to your image? Why wasn't her publicist or her agent on her side?
I had a lot of good people in my life who made me believe in a future for myself. Sometimes they had to carry me physically through what was happening to make sure I made it to that future, and I'm here today because those people didn't give up on me. Where were those people in EP's life?
There are things about the EP situation that make me bow in over my ribcage. It's just sad, and seeing paths others take that look like they make sense to everyone but which seem to say something entirely different when looked at upside down... which is a rambling way of saying that it's almost 4 am and someone should have told EP she could have been a happy lesbian who wears pants without having her breasts surgically removed and taking cross-sex hormones.
Anyway, the laundry's done, more later.
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out of the woods yet // Steve Harrington x librarian!reader
chapter one
Summary: Steve finds himself bizarrely curious about the new employee at Hawkins Public Library
Content Warning: nothing really! this is all set up for the real stuff. I'm posting this to this blog bc there WILL be smut eventually (hopefully later this week mwahaha)
Word Count: 1k
A/N: I'm going to try to write a thousand words a day each day until s4 drops and then maybe past that if I like the way the series turns out. This is a lot more tame than my usual stuff (so far) but also will become more angst/smut heavy down the road I think, if I can keep up with it lol
Series Masterlist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What took you so long?” Steve chastises as Dustin slams down the English-to-Russian dictionary on the back room table of Scoops Ahoy.
“First of all, I biked all the way across town and back,” Dustin starts. “And second of all, the librarians there hate me. Probably because I keep taking books without checking them out.”
Steve vaguely remembers there once was something Dustin mentioned about an annoying librarian last year when he had tried to research what species Dart was. He can’t remember the rest of the details. “You did that again? What’s-her-name is going to be pissed.”
“Her name is Marissa,” Dustin says, in that tone that he uses when he’s proud of knowing something that everyone else doesn’t, “but it wasn’t her. There’s a new one, some younger girl,” Dustin continues.
This intrigues Steve, but he’s not sure why. Maybe because if it was someone who grew up in Hawkins, Dustin would have known and used her name, because Dustin somehow knows everything. He didn’t, so she must be new in town, and if Steve is honest with himself, the prospect of a girl who never knew him during high school seems like it could be an opportunity. No, opportunity is the wrong word, his mind corrects him, but he can’t exactly deduce what he actually means. Opportunity seems like he’s expecting something. He’s not. A chance, maybe, is the right term. Like maybe this time, he could make sure he wouldn’t fuck it all up, and that King Steve persona would finally be behind him for good. A voice in his head murmurs the word bullshit, and he snaps out of his trance, unable to resist asking for more information. “A younger girl?” Steve echoes.
“Younger than Marissa.” Dustin has already opened the dictionary, fully focused on the pages, and not Steve’s sudden interest in the ages of the employees of Hawkins Public Library.
Steve pauses. That doesn’t really narrow it down. Marissa is probably forty, from what little Steve remembers of her. “But older than you?” Steve presses.
“Yes, like… twenty something, I think?” Dustin mutters impatiently.
Steve can’t help himself. “What was she like? She pretty?”
Dustin looks at Steve like he’s grown gills and turned into a swamp monster from one of those old cheesy horror films with the bad effects that used to terrify Steve as a kid, but have since lost their appeal after everything he’s seen. Steve evaluates his options and chooses to stick to his decision to get sidetracked and act like Dustin is the one who’s crazy.
“What??” Steve asks, amused.
“Dude, why does it matter? Let’s just try to translate this before someone figures out we know about this transmission in the first place,” Dustin says incredulously.
Steve drops the subject.
~~~~~~~~~~
Obviously, Steve doesn’t think about the new librarian for a while. After his third concussion in three years, Steve is surprised he remembers the conversation about her at the beginning of the Starcourt Mall disaster at all. The skin around his eye has almost healed, tinged that off-yellow color that bruises turn before they disappear, but his lip is still slightly split when two weeks later, Dustin shoves the dictionary at him.
Or what remains of the dictionary. The back cover is torn and the pages are dog-eared, bent, and the spine is cracked from the group’s stressful research. The edges of half of the book are stained with something that looks like it could be blood or ketchup, and the entire book has warped.
“What’re you giving this to me for?” Steve balks. He didn’t even know Dustin still had it– he assumed it was destroyed in the battle or shortly after when the city started tearing the mall down. He supposes all things considered, the condition could be worse. He also knows there’s no way the library is gonna want the book back when they see its condition.
“Return it for me,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “Please?”
“Seriously? I run your errands now?” Steve demands, still not taking the book, partially for the sake of arguing, partially because it looks gross. All things considered, this is one of the easier things Dustin has ever asked him to do, and Steve knows he should be lucky Dustin isn’t asking him to investigate an inter-dimensional slug-demon-thing again or something equally weird and terrifying. Privately, he’s impressed at the resilience of his younger friend to go on treating him the same no matter how many times the world threatens to end. On a shallower level, Steve’s interest in learning more about the librarian Dustin met the last time he was there is winning over. He reminds himself that he doesn’t even know her name or what she looks like, but there’s probably no harm in curiosity, Steve figures.
Dustin sees right through him and grins smugly, “I thought you could meet the new librarian, since you were so weird about it before,” he says, again trying to hand Steve the book.
The state of the dictionary disgusts even Steve (who has been known to neglect a book or two in his past) as he looks at it, and he’s not looking forward to this being his first introduction with the potentially pretty, young, new-in-town librarian. Then he remembers that Dustin didn’t check out the book in the first place, which has the potential to make the librarian even madder. Maybe Dustin isn’t even trying to set Steve up with this woman after all, maybe he just really doesn’t want to show his face in Hawkins Public Library for real.
Dustin offers him an out when Steve doesn’t respond to his playful goading. “They’re hiring, I saw the sign. Maybe you can check it out,” he says, gesturing with the book again.
Steve knows damn well Dustin doesn’t really think Steve wants to work at Hawkins Public Library. But for that matter, Steve didn’t really want to work at Scoops Ahoy either, and now that the mall has burned down, Steve’s options are limited. Unless he wants to work for his dad, which he really, really does not. He shrugs, rolls his eyes, snatches the book from Dustin, and heads to the library.
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Now that I’ve finished Altered Carbon, I think it would be fun to share one of my notes from my notes app that I’ve been writing on since I’ve started it. I’ve cried a lot about this book, and everything I’ve ever left behind has claw marks.
This book definitely has claw marks.
It includes all of my favorite moments and parts of the book down below :)
Things I love about book Kovacs
- he’s trying to quit smoking
- His hallucinations are of Jimmy and Virginia Vadura
- Him and Ortega don’t actually hate eachother that much in the beginning
- At first Takeshi doesn’t actually hate Bancroft either
- He’s genuinely confused about earth terms
- He was mad that at the Wei clinic they didn’t give him back his watch or his bandana, simply because he just bought it and he’d liked the watch
- He likes shopping
- He likes fruit juice???
- Gaslit Umou into being late to Psychasec because he needed to eat breakfast
- He deals with hangovers like a champ
- Started smoking in the construct once he remembered it had no real consequences in the real
- Understands female complexity/differences between male and female
- Knows how to handle gentle situations most of the time (victor talking about his daughter, Kristen talking about Ryker.)
- Quotes poetry from Quell
- Also enjoys poetry (ex; the carving on the bench at the faculty when he’s waiting for the doctor.)
- Slept for twenty hours after the Wei clinic??
- His emotion (though i do miss the scene where he’s drugged up outside of the raven talking to Quell. ‘250 years is long enough. It’s time to move on.’ ‘Never. You hear me? Never.’)
- His love for Sarah
- His attempts at smiling
- His explanation of personality frag!!!!
- Chapter 20 as a whole is so amazing (talking about Ryker- him and Curtis, bla bla bla, mostly just Elias and Kristen stuff.)
- Ramen just awakens something in him
- Actually very good at telling children’s stories to Ortega (like a dad.)
- Good at cracking jokes
- His interaction with the little girl in the second page of chapter 25???!?? (He shoots her with a little finger gun when he realizes she’s looking at him expectantly after seeing his weapon.)
- After the whole blown up building Kadmni thing (‘that’s fucking enough!’) he smokes because he just decides it’s not worth it
- Him and Trepp playing card games on the airship that Trepp had taught him
- He literally reaches for his Nemex every three seconds istg
- Remaining ‘innocent at the core’ -reileen
- Apparently having a very deep very drugged convo about cats in chapter 26
- Kovacs is a MUNCH
- Repeats the same Virginia Vidora quote over again. ‘We take what is offered. And sometimes, that must be enough.’
- Reileen always starting off her talks with him in Japanese because she thinks it unites them in a way
- Had to stop himself from calling reileen ray
- He actually DOES genuinely smile (ex; when Irene is exited about the limo)
- ‘I’m a sucker for family reunions.’ HE ACTUALLY DOES CARE (maybe it’s because him and Sarah never got to have one after he was taken out of the store.)
- Sleeping in the car (limo) so Irene can get laid
- The guilt/itchiness he has after relapsing into smoking
- Him and Trepp are actually friends and she insists that they go party, drink coffee, play card games together, ect.
- Considers trepp not getting into the envoys a ‘Lucky escape’
- Trepp n Kovacs playful teasing
- He missed Ortega when she left the Hendrix and didn’t come back. ‘I missed Ortega.’ Page 356
- Bancroft saying he’d been around for the RD’s of two of his children. (Going out of order back to the beginning)
- Doesn’t bullshit. Didn’t tell Irene it would pass when she was feeling hurt after being resleeved.
- It was nerve wracking to him to watch Irene code
- Reileen and Miriam slept together??
- Takeshis urge to be cruel
- Got anyoyed when Miller was tapping on the table and just flatted out his hand LMFAO
- When he heard he got a call he immediately asked if it was Ortega.
- Literally seconds before he’s about to get beat to death in the Panamrose he thinks about how bored he is
- Still, right before he about to die, he thinks about Ortega and calls her a ‘pocket of calm’
- He’s ready to die, not awfully upset about it because he knows Kristen has enough information to get Reileen and also because he knows Sarah will be released
- Trepp saves him in the Panama rose
- He talks to his dad mid fight after not hearing him forever. Before he killed Kadmin (calling him the ‘patchwork man’) he asks if he wants to say anything.
- He’s afraid to alter his virtual self because he thinks it’s not far away from what reileen and Bancroft do
- Sits on a forklift after the fight thinking. He’s weirdly soft.
- Claims that nothing hurt more then the realization that this would be his and Ortegas last moments together
- Held hands with her too
- Would’ve given anything to not have to dissolve what was growing between them.
- He loves her more in the book than he did in the show (and it’s making me sob.)
- He literally is arguing with himself when he is double sleeved
- He almost killed someone at 16 because he looked like his dad
- Also wanted to help the Elliot’s because of his family and his mom who was like Lizzy
- Absolutely does not want to talk about his past and his father/family
- Planning to get drunk because he doesn’t want to talk to himself sober
- Disappointed with his copy for smoking
- Takeshi fter the microsurgery is down at the lake with a little girl who seemed to ‘adopt him’
- He’s actually kind of heartbroken when him and Kristen’s relationship changes after he is resleeved.
- Makes his day that he can still make Ortega laugh before he convinces her to get him some stiff because he thought their dynamic was weird afterwards
- Before he and Reileen fall to their deaths he says, ‘When they ask how I died,' I said, 'tell them: still angry’ as well as ‘that’s fucking enough’
- Once his clone lost to rock paper scissors and was set to die, he asks if he wants him to tell Jimmy anything. I sobbed.
- Kept accidentally talking about Reileen in present terms after she died.
- He gave money to Irene once he’s about to leave for Lizzy. (‘I want there to be something clean at the end of all this, something I can feel good about.’)
- He held Irene after that.
- He attempts to laugh with Ortega before he goes
- His quote saying that no matter what you always leave alone. (‘Whatever world it is, whatever you've done there for better or worse, you always leave the same way. Alone.’)
- His last wishes are for Kristen to get Ryker to stop smoking once he’s out of the store
#altered carbon#joel kinnaman#Takeshi Kovacs#reileen kawahara#kristen ortega#Elias Ryker#Richard Morgan#books#books and reading#books and literature#bookshelf#reading books#emotional damage after this#post-read#book review#writer#once again#like I say in every post about this book#book takeshi gets a 10/10 for me
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leave my fucking friends alone you attention seeking cunt. I will fucking end you . this is your last warning. ☺️ 💜
yikes, someone needs to come collect their feral dog. what was it y’all were crying about how i should be ‘responsible’ for my followers and friends? yeah, maybe heed your own advice there sweetheart.
first up, i am not the one who needs to leave anyone alone, bitch i’m trying and yet here YOU are in my inbox spewing utter nonsense that tbh could be considered a violent threat, hmm let’s see what tumblr has to say about that shall we? i haven’t spoke about your friend in days, as i’m sure you can see from the fact you’re on my blog snooping, the last thing i said in reference to them was when they were mass tagging me in nonsense a few days ago; which ironically enough made them according to tumblr activity page my fourth biggest fan - but i am the stalker, right?
i have not attempted to contact them once, no via anon asks or otherwise, and yet i had their other friend harass me on discord, have you in my inbox, off anon because i had to turn it off to avoid further idiocy, and yet you still managed, so congrats, i guess?
it’s like beating an old dead horse at this point. the only people continuing the drama and bullshit is on your friends side, me and my mutuals are fucking tired on the constant daily harassment and attempt at getting attention.
i beg of you to use a little critical thinking skills about the situation. but then, if you’re in my inbox with this bullshit critical thinking is obviously beyond you. so i shouldn’t expect too much, but i’d like to think it’s common knowledge and courtesy not to threaten and harass strangers on the internet. seriously, you’re a faceless internet troll threatening to ‘fucking end me’ listen to yourself, what makes you think it’s acceptable to speak to someone that way?
also, im not sure if y’all are aware but time zones exist and i am in GMT. i was fucking sleeping until twenty minutes ago. i have barely been online all week bc i have a real life outside of the internet and a full time career, quite literally, fuck off and leave me alone. i don’t care about a bunch of idiotic gen z kids on tumblr.
and just for fyi; who’s really stalking who bestie?
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