#(a topic that i have actually written a paper about) by the end i was ready to punch it in its non-existent face. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months ago

Text

Growing

Summary: After a concerning phone call from his daughter's Principal, Javi goes to find out the true reason why she's really there in the first place.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (No use of y/n)

Warnings: Honestly this is all fluff 😭 Misogyny, dress codes being the dumbest thing in the world, Javi going full dad mode ™️, Javi being the best girl dad, Sappy Dad Javi loving his daughters so much

A/N: This story is inspired by this ask and what started as a short little snippet ended up being 4k long 🥴 I've written so much for Javi being a dad to his younger daughters, but I will fight anyone who says he isn't the best girl dad at every phase of life his daughters are in 🥺 Javi loves all his daughters equally, but I just know he and Lucy have such a special bond and it makes me wanna cry and scream all at once. I ain't gonna lie, ya girl shed a few tears with this one 🥲 oldest daughters with emotionally unavailable fathers gang rise

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“It should be fucking illegal to work when it’s this hot.”

“How long have you lived in Texas for, you fucking moron? Of course it’s hot. It’s Texas. Stop bitching, you baby.”

“Oh shut up. You’re telling me you're comfortable right now?”

“No, you idiot. It’s hot as Satan’s asshole in here. Of course I’m not. But whining isn’t gonna make it not hot.”

“I know it’s not. Just let me complain, okay? Fuck, I honestly may take Satan’s asshole over this…”

While no one at the Laredo Sheriff’s department was a stranger to the sweltering Texas heat, even Javi couldn’t argue with his fellow co-workers that for a morning in late May, there was no denying it was already miserably hot outside.

He had just finished getting an earful about the topic from his daughters this morning during school drop-off, complaining that they may actually die of heat stroke before the day is done, and that his youngest, Harper, may die from “smelly boy sweat”, since no boy in the 7th grade was wearing enough deodorant as they should be (and that, he couldn’t argue).

“Cater’s right, Miller. Complaining isn’t helping you get all your shit done, and I need that file by the end of the day.” Javi grumbled, surprising Agent Carter and Miller as he passed their desks on the way to his office, making the pair raise their hands in defense in justification of their weather woes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t worry, it’ll be done before the end of the day. If I don’t melt into a puddle first…” Agent Miller grumbled, sticking his face back into the piles of papers scattered across his desk.

While he would never give his co-workers the satisfaction of knowing he was just as irritated by the early onset heatwave as they were, Javi’s suit jacket was already shed and sleeves were rolled up past his elbows before he had barely made it through his office door.

As he took a seat at his desk, looking over his list of to-do’s for today, he was taken aback to hear the aggressive ringing of his phone this early, wondering what could have already gone so wrong that someone already needed to get a hold of him.

Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggg-

“Laredo Sheriff’s Department, this is Peña.”

“Hi Mr. Peña. This is Mr. Wilson, Assistant Principal over at United High School.”

Javi sat up just a little straighter in his desk chair, running his hand over the back of his neck, a jolt of nerves hitting his stomach like he was the one being called down to the principal’s office.

Javi had gotten plenty of phone calls from his daughter’s school throughout the years. Calls to pick one of them up and take them home because they were sick, forgotten lunchboxes and school projects, one justified elementary school fist fight- Javi had pretty much heard it all.

Now that your daughters had reached middle school and high school, the calls home now came few and far between, and most of the time, came from the girls themselves on their own phones, more often than not, in the form of your middle daughter, Elliot, asking if he would come pick her up because school was “the most boring place on earth”.

He took a moment to try and compose himself, knowing that if one of the girls was sick, they would have texted him, or would have gotten a call from an office secretary, and last time he checked, Assistant Principals weren’t calling parents in the middle of a work day just to sprinkle in some good news.

So what in the hell was he calling for?

“Uh, H-hi, Mr. Wilson. Can I ask, um, what uh- what’s the reason for the phone call? Is everything okay?”

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m calling because I’m here with your daughter. Unfortunately, she’s here after a teacher referral for disrespectful and defiant behavior.”

Javi could feel his brow furrow and face scrunch in genuine confusion, practically left speechless by Mr. Wilson’s statement. Sure, his daughter Elliot was going through a little bit of a “phase” right now, but even though she had come out of the womb with an iron will power and enough sass to fuel a small country, she knew better than to talk back to adults, especially her teachers.

“Are- Are you serious? I’m really sorry, Mr. Wilson. Could you um- What did Elliot do?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have clarified. While I have had the… pleasure…. of meeting your daughter, Elliot, she’s not the one I’m calling about. Mr. Peña, I’m calling about your daughter, Lucy.”

If the phone call itself wasn’t already enough to knock Javi on his ass, that statement sure as hell was.

“Lucy? There’s no fucking way.” He thought to himself.

In all 12 years Lucy had been in school, the worst thing any teacher had ever had to say about your oldest daughter was that she was an overachiever. Lucy was your classic, type-A oldest daughter- She was a straight A student, captain of her soccer team, a member of every club under the sun, and most importantly, was the kindest kid a parent could ask for. Lucy lived by the rules, so the fact that she went out of her way to break one, let alone be disrespectful about it? Something wasn’t adding up.

“I… Mr. Wilson, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna be rude, but- are you sure you’ve got the right kid?” Javi stammered, still in shock from what he had just heard, wondering when someone was going to walk in and tell him this was some sort of weird prank.

“Oh yes, I’m sure. Mr. Peña, I think it may be best if you and your wife just come down to the school to talk about this.”

“Um, my- my wife is out of town helping her dad out after surgery but uh- yeah, I’ll um, I’ll be there in the next uh- shit…” He muttered, looking down at his watch, quickly calculating in his brain, “the next 30 minutes?”

“Great. We’ll see you then, Mr. Peña. Goodbye.”

“B-bye.”

Javi sat there for a moment, phone still held to his ear as the dial tone rang, shooting in one ear and out the other as he tried to process what had just happened. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his confusion enough to let his nerves take over, frantically scrambling to grab his things before storming out of the office even faster than he had entered a few moments ago.

As soon as he was in the car, Javi was frantically dialing your number, backing out of his parking spot and pulling out onto the road like he was being called for some sort of life threatening emergency.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up…” Javi huffed, anxiously tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, waiting for you to answer.

“Hey, honey! What’s up? Hold on- yes, it’s Javi. Okay. I- yes, I will. All my family says hi and that we miss you! What’s going on?” You answered, an unsuspecting cheer in your tone, just happy to hear his voice.

“Uh- yeah, tell them, I- yeah, I say hi, too.” Javi responded, clearly frazzled and distracted as he sped down the road, wishing he would have taken a police squad car instead of his truck to get to Lucy’s school sooner.

“Javi, what’s going on? Are you okay?” You asked, clearly sensing the concern in his voice.

“I just got a call from the Assistant Principal that Lucy is down in the office because she got a referral for being defiant and disrespectful.”

“Wait, you mean Elliot?”

“No. Lucy.”

“Oh shit.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Did they tell you why? Or what happened? That doesn’t seem like her at all. She- she knows better than that? And how much trouble she’d be in?”

“No, I’m going down to the school right now. If I wasn’t already sweating bad enough because it’s hot as fuck here today, I sure fucking am now.” Javi grumbled, pushing up his sleeves further before wiping the sweat accumulating on his forehead, sticking his dark curls to his skin.

“Hey, hey, Jav. I’m sure it will be okay. I’m sure there’s gotta be a reason. Take a few deep breaths, okay? Please just keep me posted.”

“Okay. I-I will.”

“It’ll be okay, Papa Bear. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

With a quick beep on the other end of the phone, Javi set down his phone in his lap, wrapping his fingers around the wheel with an iron grip and clenching his jaw until it hurt, turning on the radio as loud as it could go to drown out the “what-if’s” dancing around his mind in what was going to be the world’s longest 10 minute drive to United High School.

Javi had found himself in plenty of stressful situations throughout his life. Hell, stress was a given working as a DEA agent in Colombia trying to take down the biggest drug lords of the 20th century. Yet somehow, Javi found himself just as nervous, if not more, as he walked into the main office of Lucy’s high school, trying to figure out what she had done that was worthy of a trip to the Assistant Principal.

After some directions from one of the secretaries, Javi found Mr. Wilson’s office door, giving it a few raps before it was answered by a short and stout older man, his poorly balding head adorned with a limited amount of scraggly gray hairs and face painted with an unamused half-smile.

“Mr. Peña? Please, come in and take a seat.” Mr. Wilson sighed, gesturing to an open chair next to his daughter, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes peeled to the floor, seemingly trying to shrink herself as small as possible into her chair.

Before Javi could even ask Lucy what was going on or if she was okay, Mr. Wilson had already begun on his rant, promptly taking a seat behind his desk with a deep sigh, forcing the attention onto him.

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m sorry to have to call you in from your job, but I felt that this was something that more than warranted a parental visit. As if it wasn’t bad enough she is already deliberately breaking our school’s dress code, Lucy's already been one of several students down here today who have had the audacity to argue with both teachers and myself about the issue.”

Just as Javi was about to speak, he stopped himself in disbelief, trying to process what he had just heard, looking over at Lucy, trying to hold back her tears before turning back to Mr. Wilson.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I think I must be missing something. This is about what Lucy’s wearing?” Javi asked, scratching the back of his head in confusion.

“Yes.” Mr. Wilson replied, almost annoyed that Javi’s immediate response was shock, rather than anger. “Our dress code clearly states that girls may not wear shorts below fingertip length or tank tops that are less than 3 fingers thick across the strap. It’s a distraction for both male staff and students. As your daughter is a Junior, this rule should come as no surprise to her. On top of this, she and a few other girls in the hallway this morning were written up for resisting coming to the office after teachers on dress code duty had written them up.”

Javi had to visibly shake his head, trying to make sure he had really understood what he had just heard as his jaw hung open in disbelief. He took a deep breath, trying not to laugh to himself out of shock and building anger, asking one more time to make sure he truly comprehended this was the reason for the phone call this morning.

“I’m sorry, I really think I must not be understanding this.”

“That’s not what happened…” Lucy quietly piped in, eyes still glued to the floor.

“Please, Ms. Peña, why don’t you enlighten us, then?” Mr. Wilson replied, a sarcastic delight in his tone.

“I was on my way to second period when I got stopped by one of the teachers in the hallway. She told me that she needed to measure my tank top and shorts to make sure they were up to dress code. I knew they were kinda short but it’s like, a million degrees outside today and everyone is miserable because the air conditioning doesn’t work in half the rooms on the second floor.” Lucy paused, sitting up a little taller in her chair, looking over at her dad, her face filled riddled with guilt. Javi looked back at her, quietly nodding in reassurance for her to keep going.

“But um, the teacher said that my shorts were too short, and that I needed to go to the office so they could write me a dress code referral. But I had a huge presentation that I’ve been working on that I was supposed to give today for my second period science class, and Ms. Feltmate told us that if we miss the presentation portion of our project, we get an automatic 20% reduction in our grade. I’ve worked so hard on that project, and I told the teacher in the hallway I couldn’t go because I’d miss my presentation. She told me she didn’t care, and that I should have known better, and then I told her it wasn’t fair that she’s going to ruin my grade on this project because of my shorts when literally everyone in the school is breaking dress code today because it’s so hot out. I tried to tell her I’d even go before 3rd period so I didn’t have to miss my presentation but she told me she didn’t believe me and that she was going to write me up. So, I’ve been down here until you came. I’m- I’m sorry, Dad.”

At this point, tears were welling in Lucy’s eyes, her voice quivering and bottom lip trembling, trying to keep from completely sobbing in front of her Dad and Assistant Principal, looking up at Javi with regret and shame for what she’d done.

If Javi wasn’t upset before his daughter’s testimony, now, he was absolutely fuming. Javi was using every ounce of composure he had left to keep from completely exploding as he readjusted himself in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with Mr. Wilson.

“Mr. Wilson, what period should Lucy be in right now?” Javi asked, trying to keep as calm as possible while he waited for Mr. Wilson’s surprised response.

“Uh- I believe 4th period just started? Why?”

“So you mean to tell me, Mr. Wilson, that not only has my daughter missed out on a huge presentation that she has spent countless hours working on, she’s also missed out on two other classes because you think that keeping her here in your office because of her shorts is more important than her learning?”

Mr. Wilson stared back at Javi in a silent shock, taken aback that he was in fact, not on his side at all, and was seconds away from absolutely ripping him a new one for what he had done to his daughter.

“Well, y-yes, but-” Mr. Wilson stammered, trying to rebuttal.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, but this is the goddamn stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Lucy is a straight A student. She cares more about school than any kid I’ve ever met. She is smart, and hard working, and the fact that you wanna actively punish her for that just because she’s wearing shorts when it’s the hottest damn day of the year is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Second of all, if playing dress code police is more important to you than girls going to class because some teenage creeps, better yet, staff members can’t keep it in their pants, you’ve got a way bigger issue on your hands than what my daughter chooses to wear to school.”

A stark silence hung in the air for a moment filled with mixture of Javi’s fumes, Lucy’s shock and surprise, and Mr. Wilson’s overwhelming embarrassment at the situation he had brought upon himself. Before Mr. Wilson could even try to muster out some sort of defense, Javi was already standing up out of his chair, nudging Lucy to do the same.

“Grab your stuff, Lu, we’re going.”

“Mr. Peña, let me assure you that-”

“Mr. Wilson, the only thing you need to assure me is that you’re going to explain to her teacher where Lucy was wasting her time this morning so she can give her presentation for full credit, and that I’m not gonna hear from you again in regards to what my kid wears to school when it’s 105 degrees outside. Have a nice day.”

Without another word, Javi was already halfway out the door, Lucy quickly following behind him as he signed her out for the rest of the day before silently storming out to his truck slamming the door behind him as Lucy sheepishly crawled into the passenger side, setting her backpack between her feet.

“Dad, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Lu, I’m not mad at you. You have nothing to apologize for. You think I’d be upset with you because of that?”

“Well, I don’t know, I mean, I did technically break the rules, and you had to leave work to come here, and-”

“Hey.” Javi paused, putting a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, getting her to take her eyes out of her lap and look at him, “Lucy, I’m proud of you. You stood up for yourself for something that was clearly important to you when you knew what other people were doing wasn’t right. I could never be mad at you for that.”

Finally, a small smile pursed the edges of Lucy’s lips, shrugging her shoulders to try and play off her dad’s compliment, even though they both knew Javi was more than right to be proud of what his daughter had done.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course, Lu. I’m being serious though, what you did takes a lotta balls. You should be proud of yourself.” Javi smiled, giving Lucy a little nudge with the hand still placed on her shoulder.

“Ew, Dad, gross.” Lucy sighed, rolling her eyes as she playfully shoved her Dad’s arm off her, the pair quietly laughing to themselves.

“You promise I’m not in trouble?” Lucy asked again, raising an eyebrow at her dad.

“The only punishment I’m making you endure is forcing you to spend some time with your old man for the rest of the day.” Javi smirked, fastening his seatbelt before looking over his shoulder to back out of his haphazard park job.

“Could be worse.” Lucy teased, giving her Dad a little shrug, secretly excited that not only had her Dad stood up for her without a second thought, but was letting her ditch school to spend time together. While at the ripe age of 17, she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Lucy knew how lucky she was to have a dad like hers. “Do we have to listen to your old man music while we drive, or is that also part of the punishment?”

“Yup. No Jonas Brothers for this drive, Lucy Lu.”

“Dad, I haven’t listened to the Jonas Brothers in years. I don’t even like them anymore.” Lucy laughed, cringing at Javi’s presumed music interests for her. “That’s okay, I don’t mind your old man music. You’re better than Mom. She’s been on a huge ABBA kick every time we drive to soccer practice, and if I hear “Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie” one more time, my ears may bleed.”

Reaching over the center console Lucy grabbed the aux cord, plugging in her phone, scrunching her face in concentration as she scrolled through a few different playlists until landing on something that seemed to fit the bill, setting her phone in her lap while turning up the volume.

Dun.

Dunnnadnun.

Dunanun.

Javi couldn’t help but smile at Lucy’s pick of “Back in Black” by AC/DC, one of Lucy’s favorite songs her and Javi would listen to on her drives hockey practices and games when she was little, claiming the song gave her special powers to “kick boys butts” when she played.

“Damn, you must really want me to kick your ass in putt putt, huh?” Javi teased, hinting at his makeshift plans for the rest of the afternoon.

“Really? That's what we're doing? Dad, no offense, but you suck at putt putt. Are you trying to make this easy for me? Because if that’s the case, then I’ll start planning my flavor choice for my extra scoop of winner’s ice cream now.”

“Whatever you say, smartass.”

After 18 holes of mini-golf, Javi couldn’t even pretend that he put up a fight against Lucy, admitting in defeat that he didn’t even stand a chance against her, not even foregoing bribery to get her to throw away his embarrassingly high score card as proof of his loss.

Per tradition in the Peña household, Lucy rightfully earned her extra scoop of ice cream at Eva’s Dairy Barn for her impressive putt putt victory, her and Javi settling in on their favorite bench by the little stream that ran behind the ice cream shop, where their family had spend more than their fair share of time enjoying their favorite treats while stomping and splashing in the creek.

“Victory sure does taste sweet.” Lucy joked, sticking her tongue out at Javi as she bit into her ice cream, Javi rolling his eyes at her even though she had every right to give him shit after his terrible performance.

“Well if you can find a college with a putt putt scholarship, that’s the place to go.” Javi smiled before the pair went quiet, the reality of knowing Lucy would be seriously starting to look at colleges soon weighing heavy in his throat and deep in his chest. “Have you uh, thought anymore about schools you like?” He asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, rather than the complete and utter terror he really felt.

“I don’t know… a lot of people from school are talking about going to Texas Tech or Texas A&M… I think I like Texas A&M but, I don’t know, it’s just….” Lucy paused, taking a deep breath, anxiously twiddling with her fingers.

“Just what, Lu?”

“It’s almost 6 hours away. I know it’s not really that far but, I don’t know… I’m just really worried that I’ll miss you guys. Don’t tell Elliot and Harper I said that.”

It took everything in Javi not to melt into a weepy, sobbing mess right then and there on that bench, wondering how yesterday, he was bringing Lucy home from the hospital, scared shitless on how in the world he was going to be a father, let alone a half decent one, and now, here Lucy was, nearly an adult who had blossomed into the most wonderful daughter he could have asked for, and was getting ready to leave for college.

Wrapping his arm over Lucy’s shoulder, she let her head fall next to his, sitting for a moment in a thoughtful silence before Javi spoke.

“No matter where you go or what you do, you know that we’ll always be there for you, right? Even when you’re sick of us. You’re an amazing kid, Lu. We’re all so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. We’ll be there for you even if you’re on the other end of the earth if that’s where you wanna go. I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Javi couldn’t help but reach up to wipe the tears welling in his eyes with the back of his hand after a quick kiss on Lucy's forehead, making Lucy laugh as she tried to hide the tears of her own.

“Dad, are you crying?”

“No… A little… I’m just really pissed you beat me at mini golf, okay?” Javi joked, trying to use a little humor before he became a total sap. “Alright, we should probably head home before Elliot and Harper get too suspicious.”

“Not looking forward to the 10 pounds of shit they’re gonna give me when I found out I got called down to the principal's office.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Elliot will happily triple your visits by the time she’s your age. As for Harper, God, I honestly worry she’s gonna be calling the principal down to see her.”

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I’m your favorite child?”

“No, this is my subtle way of thanking you that despite your run in with the pants police today, you’re the one I’m least worried about having to bail out of jail one day. Don’t tell them I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Dad.”

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@purpleprincess75

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stllmnstr · 4 months ago

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sacred monsters [teaser!]

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

teaser word count: 1.7k

teaser warnings: swearing

release date: saturday, august 3, 10 PM EST

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

note: this fic is my BABYYY so I really hope it’s well received and you all have a good time with it. it’s probably no surprise that still monster is one of my absolute favorite enha songs, and this story is essentially (my interpretation of) it in written form. this is going to be a multi-part story, and as of right now, the first part is almost ready to share. for now, enjoy this snippet!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh.

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer.

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity.

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional.

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes.

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice.

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips.

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim.

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete, well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features.

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday.

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task.

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed.

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening.

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door.

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in.

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day.

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips.

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance.

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person.

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you.

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?”

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe.

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came.

Heesung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it.

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches.

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost.

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you.

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway.

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to.

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes.

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego.

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.”

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now.

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly.

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life.

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heesung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all.

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: thanks for checking out this little snippet! I can't wait to share the full first part soon. this one is going to be so much fun I'm buzzing already. I don't have a tag list, but I will most likely update this post and reblog it once I have a confirmed release date. like I said in the note at the beginning, I'm anticipating it will be ready to go by this sunday (august 4 EST) at the latest. woo!

#heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios

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im-sleepdeprived · 5 months ago

Text

Seasonal • Pt. 3

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: inspired by the taylor swift song ‘peter’ where you and peter discover just how hard it is to hold on to something from your past, no mater how much you love each other

a/n: SHITS STARTING TO GET REALLLL (you’ll see) next part is gonna go soooooo hard omg, i already have the beginning of it written (pls don’t hate me after this btw☹️)

warnings: angst, lying, things have to get worse before they can get better, alcohol n stuff

masterlist, read part 1, part 2

Summer break rolled around faster than you could blink and before you knew it, your first year at college was over. Though it was a bit of a long adjustment period, and you were certainly going through some things in your life, it was amazing. You couldn’t wait to come back in the fall as a sophomore. This time, your place on the paper was secure, you’d probably get a good topic for the first edition when you get back (or better than last year's at least), and you actually had friends now.

You and Alyssa had agreed to rent out an apartment for the next school year and you were excited to be living with one of your closest friends. You’d picked out the place together, it was near campus, small, cheap, and perfect for just the two of you. You’d be moving in a week before school started back up.

You were going to be spending the summer back home with your parents, a lot of your friends from Columbia were staying in the city so you’d be able to hang out all through break. You’d checked and (subtly) made sure with Ned that Peter wasn’t planning on coming home during break.

On a phone call a few days after your last day, you and Ned were congratulating each other on getting through the year and he had mentioned something about Peter receiving some award from some science club. You asked him if he was going to be seeing him over the break to which he’d replied with ‘Peter’s stuck down in North Carolina but I was thinking about catching a flight and spending a few weeks with him.’

You hadn’t talked to Peter lately, since last winter actually. You had stopped reaching out first, deciding that if he wanted to talk to you, he would. Apparently, he didn’t want to.

You hadn’t received any texts from him since that night you’d caught him walking the streets with May after he’d told you he couldn’t make it back to New York. It was obvious he’d lied but…you just weren’t sure why.

After all, he’d been the one to reach out that time. He’d been the one to initiate everything, so why would he lie about it? You didn’t know but you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Because…this was Peter. He literally saved lives in his spare time. It was hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that he would go out of his way just to hurt you.

After wishing Ned a great break you’d called your Mom and confirmed your summer plans with them. She was more than happy and told you you could just pop in unannounced and she wouldn’t mind one bit.

Now you were looking at all your boxes shoved in your childhood room. You’d moved all of your things out of your dorm but you and Alyssa weren’t moving into your apartment until the end of summer so until then, you were stuck here. In this room that felt a little too nostalgic for your liking, feeling like you’d lived a thousand lifetimes since last year.

Something sparkled in your peripheral vision, making you turn your head and— oh. The gift you’d bought for Peter sat perfectly wrapped, much to your dismay, in one of your boxes. The minimal light that filtered through your window had managed to hit it just right, where it was stuck between a few other of your belongings and you wondered what kind of sick sign that was.

Sighing, you made your way over to the box, fished it out, and shoved it into the back of your closet. The little tag where you’d written his name with a small heart beside it stuck out and you pushed it right back in.

Maybe you should just get rid of it. No, you should just get rid of it. It wasn’t as if you were still planning on giving it to him or seeing him at all. And yet…you held on.

“May’s coming over for dinner! Is that…okay?”

Something you were hoping to work on this break was spending time with your old friends. You remembered thinking last year that you’d fight to keep your friendships intact and you hadn’t done the best job with that lately.

May was one of those friends. And since you didn’t have Peter pushing the two of you together like he once did, and you didn’t have the advantage of living across the hall from each other, it’d been a while.

You wished you could say it was just the way things were. That life had gotten in the way and it wasn’t on purpose but…it kinda was.

You weren’t exactly avoiding her but you also weren’t going out of your way to see her again because you knew it would’ve been easy to just pop in on a random afternoon and say hi. Or have dinner together with your parents.

After the breakup, losing Peter hurt, but you’d expected that. What you hadn’t expected was losing May. It was an easy thing to overlook but it hit you like a ton of bricks. The two of you had become really close during your time with Peter, hell she was half the reason you were so excited to see them during winter break, and you were sure your relationship extended beyond him but…you were scared. You were scared of being wrong.

“Of course it’s okay,” you said to your Mom, who stood nervously at your door. You tried to keep your voice light, careful not to let it betray you and indicate the immediate nervousness you felt at her words.

“Are you sure sweetie? I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Mom,” you rolled your eyes, “it’s May. We’ve known her for forever, your best friends. I’m fine. I actually…I really miss her.”

She smiled at you, “She misses you too honey, she’ll be so glad to see you.” You shot her a smile and she returned it with a pair of thumbs up before scurrying off.

You tried not to stress yourself out too much, because it was exactly as you’d told your mom, this was May. She’d known you long before you and Peter were a thing, and you hoped now that you weren’t a thing things could still be okay between the two of you.

It wasn’t long before you heard a knock on your door. “Sweetie, could you get that? Your Dad’s out and I’ve got my hands full,” your Mom yelled from the kitchen.

Your heart fell a little and you mentally scolded yourself for feeling that way. You made your way to the door and opened it with sweaty palms. May stood before you, holding a bottle of wine, and sporting one of those beautiful, mood-changing smiles of hers.

“Y/N!” She barely got out before she was pulling you into one of those warm hugs you’d missed so much. No one could give a hug quite like May Parker.

You felt relief flush through your system, and suddenly, all your worrying from before seemed so silly. Of course she wouldn’t hate you.

You held her tighter, “Hi May.”

“Oh my goodness,” she pulled away and smiled at you, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know right? It’s just been a lot, with college and…stuff.” She gave you a bittersweet smile. “I get it.” You both knew what she meant and her voice was so genuine you could’ve burst into tears right then.

“Here let me take this,” you grabbed the bottle of wine from her, “come in, take a seat, I’ll pour you a cup.”

You ran into the kitchen, “May’s here,” you informed your mom as you grabbed a wine glass and moved to open the bottle.

“Oh great, did she bring that,” she pointed towards the bottle in your hands. When you nodded she grabbed it from you along with the cup, “Don’t worry about it sweetie, I’ll open this, I need you to take those though.”

She nodded towards a tray of cheese and crackers which you grabbed and made your way back to the living room. Your mom followed with the wine, which she set on the table so she could pull May into a big hug. “I know you live right across the hall but I feel like I barely even see you!”

After they exchanged pleasantries, they started chatting as they ate the appetizers and drank their wine. A few questions were thrown at you, about school, summer plans, and other things. You answered as best you could, but there was something still plaguing your mind.

“I’ll go get dinner on the table, Y/N will keep you company.” Your mom said as she stood up and made her way back to the kitchen.

You had barely registered what she'd said, too busy looking around the living room and recalling the last time May was here. Or at least, here at the same time as you. It was your high school graduation, you and Peter had been shoved into a corner while she and your parents fawned over the both of you. It was hard to believe that was the same day everything changed.

As if reading your mind, she started talking, “I know things are different now.” She got up from her chair, sat beside you on the sofa, and grabbed your hand, “But they don’t have to be. Not for us.”

You squeezed her hand and smiled at her, “Good because I don’t want things to be different between us.”

“Me neither,” she grinned and pulled you into another hug, which you gladly accepted.

“Y’know,” you mumbled into her hair, “I was kinda scared you hated me now.”

She laughed as if you’d just told the world’s funniest joke. Pulling away, she smirked at you and said, “For someone smart enough to get into Columbia, you're kinda stupid.”

You laughed loudly, “Okay, fair.”

Suddenly, your mom called out, stating that dinner was all set up and ready. “Come on,” May stood up and held her hand out for you, “we can talk more about this later, I’m starving.”

Grinning, you accepted her hand and stood up, “Good, because we made your favorite.”

She gasped, hands flying to her mouth, “The tacos?! With the sauce?”

Laughing, you nodded, “Yup, just for you.”

“Oh my god,” she squeezed your arm, “If I did hate you, which I absolutely don’t, this would be your redemption moment!”

“Come on,” you dragged her to the table. Dinner went well, it was amazing to spend time with May again and your heart ached when you realized how long you’d spent away from her. You’d have to fix that, maybe she’d be open to going out for brunch together on weekends.

Some time into the conversation, Peter was brought up. May had said something or other about one of his classes and your mom asked how he was doing down at Duke. As soon as the question had left her mouth, both pairs of eyes were bearing down on you.

You smiled softly and rolled your eyes, “You guys, don’t make it weird, because it isn’t.”

They didn’t say anything which made you hold up your hands, “Do you want me to leave? Cause I’m fine with talking about him, but if you aren’t-”

“No, of course not!” May rushed out.

“We just don’t want to make it weird!” Your mom tried.

“But it isn’t! Weird, like you said. It isn’t weird.” May stumbled, and it made your heart clench when you realized how similar it was to Peter when he was doing that nervous rambling thing of his you used to love so much. Maybe it was weird. But you didn’t want it to be.

“It isn’t,” you smiled again. If you wanted a relationship with May, of course, there’d be talk about Peter. The sooner you get over it, the better.

“Okay…good.” Everyone was quiet for a moment, so you decided to speak up for both of them. “So May, how was Peter’s first year at Duke?”

“Good, good.” She nodded. “He started his break around the same time you did, but he’s in some science program? I’m not sure, he’s told me all about it but you know that boy, he talks like a scientist already, I barely understand anything. Sometimes it’s like a whole other language.” She and your mom laughed and you let out a small chuckle as well. “But anyway,” she continued, “he’s staying there until next semester starts. They do special research and stuff over the summer,” she waved her hand dismissively, “Or something like that, but you get the idea. And he loves it.” She smiled proudly.

You were happy for him, you really were. Sometimes it was the only thing that gave you peace about him being so far away, the fact that you knew Duke was perfect for him. It had everything he could ever want, the perfect environment for him to thrive in, and from what you’d heard from Ned (and now May) that was exactly what he was doing.

But no matter how much you knew you should be proud and happy for him, and only proud and happy, you couldn’t help the twinge of bitterness that wormed its way around your ribs and squeezed tightly every time you heard just how great he was doing at his new place. So great, that he’d left for there early. So great, that he wasn’t even coming home for summer break now.

It wasn’t fair, not in the slightest bit, but no matter how much you tried to brush it off because you knew how ridiculous you would sound to anyone else, it was there every time he was brought up in a conversation.

That was another thing. everyone seemed to know everything about him at all times and it felt like a slap to the face every time someone brought up something that, if it were to have happened last year, you would’ve been the first to know.

You’d lied before, things were weird. They were weird and you hated it so much you were willing to ignore it so you didn’t have to acknowledge it. You were hoping the weirdness would just grow a pair of legs and walk away because you weren’t quite sure how to face it. Your lives were so intertwined that no matter how much you ignored it, ignored him, it was bound to be brought up again and you’d be stuck with that same gross, sticky, squeezing, feeling.

Your mother and May had switched topics, apparently, they hadn’t noticed you drifting off into your head and you were glad for it. Soon, dinner was over and you and May were doing the dishes and talking about your current TV shows, while your mom cleaned around and got dessert ready.

“I’ve been on a Modern Family kick lately,” she told you as you rinsed a plate and handed it to her to dry.

“Classic,” you stated, washing another pate, “the Thanksgiving episode is my favorite, you know, with the suitcase turkey and the backpack turkey.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, “I love that one.”

“Actually, I really miss New Girl, I’ve been wanting to rewatch that one.”

“Remember when we used to quote Schmidt all the time?” She laughed and leaned against the countertop. “You and Peter would run around yelling ‘Youths!’?”

“Oh yeah,” you grinned, “and when I used to say ‘Are you the criminals? From the statistics?’ Every time he talked about catching someone on patrol.”

“Yes! I know he’d act annoyed, but he definitely found it hilarious.”

“Oh for sure,” you nodded.

May let out a sigh and turned her body completely towards you. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a total dumbass.”

You shook your head as you said in a gentle voice, “Weren’t we just saying over dinner how smart that boy is?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she looked at you knowingly. “Peter is smart, but sometimes I wonder if that kid has a brain at all.” You huffed out a laugh but she grabbed both your soapy hands before she continued, “I mean it Y/N, I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cared for you. And he’s an idiot if he thinks a couple hundred miles are going to change things between you both.”

You refrained from saying he was the one who changed things while he was still across the hall from you. You knew she was only trying to help but you really thought this was making you feel worse about it. “It’s okay,” you said in as calm a voice as you could muster, “It was what he wanted, and from what I’ve heard he’s doing amazing over there, I’m happy for him.”

She looked as if she wanted to protest your little facade and you really hoped she wouldn’t push. You didn’t think you could get through this without tears. Suddenly, as soon as she opened her mouth, your phone started ringing. You looked over the counter to see it was Alyssa calling.

“I’m really sorry May but this is my friend I’m moving in with next semester, she probably wants to finalize some things,” you grabbed your phone and gave her an apologetic smile.

“No worries honey, go ahead.” She smiled at you and you thanked her before running to your room to answer.

Turned out Lyss just wanted to check in on you, claiming she missed you and you told her how unintentionally perfect her timing was. She laughed and said she was always happy to help. The two of you talked for a few minutes before she had to go again and when you stepped out to see May, she was getting ready to leave.

“So soon,” you asked with a frown.

May nodded and gave you a small smile. “Yeah, I‘ve got to be up early, we have an order coming in at the community center and I’m supposed to sign off on it.”

“Oh, well,” you cleared your throat, “it was really nice to see you May, like, really nice.”

“C’mere honey,” she held out her arms and pulled you into a hug.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though you weren’t quite sure what you were thanking her for. For not hating you, for being so understanding about avoiding her, for what she’d been saying earlier even if it had sorta broken your heart.

“You don’t need to thank me, but I would really like to see you more often,” she squeezed you more time before letting go.

“Definitely,” you agreed.

“We’ll set something up then,” she grinned and said one last goodbye before making her way across the hall.

You put on a cute outfit, feeling extra excited about today. You and MJ had finally made plans to get together. You reallyneeded this, you hadn’t spent proper time together in a criminally long time and you were hoping to make up for that.

She’d been away visiting her girlfriend’s family for the summer and now there were only a couple days before you were supposed to be moving in with Alyssa. You’d made her send you her travel itinerary so could out your day together, from start to finish.

The two of you were going to hit all your favorite spots. First, you were going to grab coffee at your favorite spot, after that you were going to hit some bookstores, some were your old favorites you used to visit together in high school and some were new ones you’d sent to each other in hopes of trying out together. Then you were planning on hitting The Met and finding the funniest pieces there.

“Hey,” you said as you picked up your phone when you heard it ring.

“Hey loser, I’m downstairs,” MJ’s voice rang through your speakers making you squeal with excitement.

“I’m on my way down! Just one second I need to find my shoes,” you shoved around your closet, frustration growing by the second at the minuscule task keeping you from seeing your friend.

“Calm down Y/N,” she laughed, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” you grumbled. “It’s been way too long. Oh my GOD! I just had these dumb shoes—” you paused, “Wait never mind, I found them. I placed them by my door.”

MJ cackled on the other end, “Good, now put those bitches on, and get your ass down here Y/L/N, I miss my best friend.”

You felt giddy at her words, “Ok, ok I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She hung up and you raced to shove on your shoes so you could get down there as quickly as possible. Once your shoes were on you were bounding out the door, down the stars, and out another door before you could pull her into the biggest hug.

“I missed you so much,” you mumbled against her shoulder.

“I missed you more,” she admitted.

“Come on,” you grinned at her, “we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“And I can’t say anything 'cause it’s just not my place, y’know?”

“No, I totally understand,” you nodded even though she couldn’t see you. MJ was currently on the other side of the shelf you were browsing and she was telling you about Laura’s family (you’d called them her in-laws and she’d threatened to punch you). Apparently, Laura had a little sister who MJ had found to be extremely obnoxious and arrogant.

You were currently on your third bookstore and the cup of iced coffee in your hand was now more of a cup of melted ice which was making your hand numb. You looked around and spotted a trash can in the corner of the store. As you were making your way over there, MJ continued her little rant, “Don’t even get me started on the way she talks to Laura, it’s just so fucking disrespectful. Honestly, I wanna smack some sense into the little brat.” She said the last part a little quieter but you still heard her.

Dumping your coffee into the trash bin, you walked over to the side of the shelf she was occupying, leaned against it, and frowned. “I’m sure she was a pain in the ass MJ, but really? That bad?”

She stared you down.

“Alright,” you held up both your hands, “that bad.” She merely nodded as she kept browsing. You both held bags in your hands filled with your previous finds, MJ’s slightly bigger than yours.

“Oh and I didn’t even tell you about the time that she—”

“Can I help you ladies with anything.” You jumped at the voice behind you. You turned around to see a kid about your age and judging by the name tag and the outfit, you were pretty sure he worked here.

“Um,” you snuck a peek at MJ who had gone stone-faced, not planning on acknowledging him at all, then turned back to the man before you. He looked to be about your age, with rusty blonde hair and light blue eyes. Despite addressing the both of you, he was looking at you expectantly.

“No, we’re fine thank you,” you gave him a close-lipped smile, to which he returned with a full grin. “Alright, well if you change your minds I’ll be right over there.”

You waved at him and he shot you a wink as he walked off. when you turned to continue your conversation MJ was smirking at you.

“What?” You asked her confused.

She just shook her head and smirked, “Nothing,” she grabbed your arm and tugged you beside her, “Come on, I’m just getting this,” she held up her book. “Did you like anything?”

You shook your head, “Eh, I have most of these.”

“Alright, well I’m gonna go check out, wait for me?”

“Of course,” you offered to hold her other bag while she went to pay for her new book and you stood to the side scrolling on your phone while you waited for her.

“Hey,” you looked up to see the guy from earlier.

“Hi,” you weren’t sure what he wanted, you weren’t even browsing anymore.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“Y/N, and you?” You asked politely as if you couldn’t read it on the right side of his chest.

“Isaac” he grinned and held out a hand for you to shake. You accepted and smiled, “Nice to meet you, Isaac.”

“It was really nice to meet you, Y/N. Hopefully, we can meet again,” he held out a slip of paper

“Oh,” you spoke dumbfounded. He shot you a wink and stalked away while you stared at the paper as if it could speak.

“Are you seeing something I’m not?” MJ asked. You hadn’t even realized she was done checking out, too busy staring at the little slip of paper in your hands.

“He gave you his number Y/N, stop acting so surprised.” She rolled her eyes but you just furrowed your brows.

“Come on,” she led you to the front of the store and held the door open for you as you walked out. “Aren’t you gonna ask me what I think?” She said once the two of you were on the sidewalk.

“Oh…yeah, of course.” You weren’t planning on bringing it up again at all, actually.

“I think you should call him.”

“Wait…what?” You stopped your walking, not bothering to hide the confusion in your tone or your expression.

“You heard me,” she stopped as well, staring you down. “Why wouldn’t you go out with him? He looks good enough, he’s clearly into you, and he works at a bookstore. All good things.”

You stared at her for a moment. Everything she was saying was valid but all you could think about was—

“Don’t think about him right now, you broke up over a year ago.”

Ouch.

“I’m not thinking about him,” you lied, “I’m sure he’s out living his own life.”

“He is,” she said seriously.

Wait, what?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I was on the phone with him a couple of weeks ago and he was going crazy trying to decide what to wear. And there was a girl knocking on his door, telling him they were expected at some restaurant and they couldn’t be late.”

“Well…how do you know it was a date?” You tried to reason before you lost your mind.

She rolled her eyes, but then her expression softened, “He was getting dressed up Y/N, like, date dressed up. And I looked up the restaurant after I heard the name, definitely not a casual place. He’s dating again, probably has been for a while.”

No. Oh no.

Your head was spinning. There was no way this could be true. Right?!

MJ went on about how it wasn’t right you were waiting around while he was doing whatever he pleased and how she didn’t like to see you so mopey but you could barely comprehend what she was saying.

You felt all those gross feelings from all the other times Peter’s wonderful life at Duke was mentioned, wrapped around your ribs, your chest, and squeeze, except this time it didn’t fade.

The bitterness, the jealousy, the feeling of being pushed aside, all of them so big, so huge, you could barely keep track of your thoughts. But there was one particular thought sticking out, how you’d never imagined Peter Parker, your first love, the only boy you’d ever loved, would ever make you feel this way.

“I’m really sorry Y/N,” MJ said genuinely. “I just thought you deserved to know. I know you have this fantasy that the two of you might end up together again but…I don’t think he feels the same.”

“Don’t be sorry,” your mouth felt dry. “We broke up, he’s free to do whatever he pleases.”

“Maybe,” she sighed, “but he’s such a dick Y/N, please don’t let it bother you. He’s not worth it.”

That’s where you thought she was wrong, he was worth it. He was worth everything to you and the thought of him with someone else was making you feel sick. You couldn’t do this here, in the middle of the street, in front of MJ. As much as you loved her, you didn’t think she’d really understand. Plus, it was true, you had been waiting for your day together all summer, and you weren’t going to let this ruin it.

“Forget about him, I’m not gonna let him ruin our day. He’s not here, he doesn’t matter.” You could wait until you got home to freak out.

MJ seemed to love your response. She nodded, “He’s not here, he doesn’t matter.”

If only it were that easy.

You couldn’t seem to get your mind off of Peter all day. It was like the breakup all over again except, this time, it was worse. At least during the breakup, you’d held on to the fact that he did want to be with you, and he would if he could, it was your lives just taking different courses at the moment and you’d find each other afterward. But apparently not.

You’d done a good enough job at keeping up a cheery disposition for MJ, not wanting to ruin your day together just because the guy who’d broken up with you over a year ago was dating again. Even if you had felt your heart shatter at her words.

The two of you had gone to The Met and grabbed some dinner afterward before going your separate ways. By the time you were walking back to your apartment, the sun had already started its descent. You paused for a moment, lowering one of your newly purchased books you were skimming through as you stared at the ever-darkening sky. You wondered if there would ever come a time when you would see the stars and not think of him. Hell, you couldn’t even see the stars right now and you still thought of him.

Your mind wandered to when he’d taught you about seasonal constellations and you started to wonder if that’s what you were, you and Peter. Something temporary, a fleeting moment in time. Sure, he’d told you that the stars were always in the sky, and it was only a matter of light and location that determined whether or not they shone. But as you stared at the sky, you wondered how that was even possible. How it could look so clear, so empty, and yet, you knew they were there.

The stars might always be there, but you weren’t guaranteed you’d see them. Just like the way Peter’s effect on your life would always be present, there was no denying you wouldn’t be the person you are right now, hell you might not have even been going to the school you went to if it weren’t for him. But that didn’t mean the two of you were guaranteed a future.

Maybe the two of you would never get the right light or location to shine again. Maybe you were more of a Halley’s Comet, a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

And maybe you were a fool for holding out hope this long.

You tried to ration it out with yourself. When he’d said that thing about ‘growing and earning perspective’ you’d always thought of it in an academic/life sort of way. As in, you’d establish yourselves in your fields, you’d take opportunities, focus on your studies, and learn as much as you could, about school and about yourselves.

But maybe…maybe Peter had meant something else, something more..intimate. Your stomach churned at the thought. Had he really just broken things off with you so he could go to college and fuck around freely? You supposed it was better than him fucking around while you were together but still, you didn’t feel any better.

You knew you were probably being too dramatic about it, after all, you weren’t together. End of story. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him with other girls, you weren’t expecting him to shun all romantic endeavors for you but…you weren’t expecting it to happen so fast.

MJ had been the one to tell. For her to already have known, it must’ve been serious. You knew Peter cared what she thought (she was always sort of the critic of the group, you all valued her opinion) so he wouldn’t have told her or let her believe it if it was just a simple thing. The thought hit you like a knife to the gut. Peter was moving on.

Why shouldn’t you?

You slept in the next morning, trying to enjoy your days before school started up again, and maybe because you were still mopey about Peter. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t until you got a phone call from Alyssa that you actually sat up straight. “Hey Lyss, what’s up?”

“Hi Y/N! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you smiled. She always had a way of cheering you up, finding out about Peter right before you moved in with Lyss was probably a blessing. “Not gonna lie though, I’m staring at the boxes in my room and I’m already tired thinking about moving them all tomorrow,” you laughed.

“Oh my god same! But I’m not worried too much about it anymore, James and some of his friends offered to help us.”

“Oh, really?” You hadn’t heard about that. “That’s really sweet of them.”

“I know right? Well, technically James offered for them to help, as soon as he heard. But he said he talked to them afterward and they were okay with it.”

“That’s cool,” you’d have to make sure to thank James when you saw him again.

The two of you talked about when you’d be ready tomorrow and when you’d have time to go grocery shopping to buy the basics. You’d spend tomorrow afternoon moving your things in and you'd probably barely be done by nightfall.

You had set an alarm to wake you up early and you’d be packing your things into your parent's car, which you were borrowing. And you were going to try your very best to not think of Peter Parker.

Moving was a pain.

You were exhausted. Your back hurt, your arms were sore, and you resented yourself for being a bookworm now more than ever. Books were heavy.

Now you, Alyssa, and James were lounging on the floor of the living room having drinks in your first official apartment. To say you were excited was an understatement.

“I can’t believe we’re finally done,” Alyssa groaned as she threw her head back. James’ friends had left after you’d finished with the major things that needed to be brought up and you were eternally grateful they were there to help at all. You weren’t sure how you and Lyss would’ve handled chairs and couches by yourself.

“I can't believe we have our own place,” you grinned. James grinned right back and held up a hand for you to high-five, which you gladly accepted.

“Yeah, nice going you two,” he looked around and nodded, “this is a pretty good place. And what makes it even better, I’m just a couple of blocks from here.”

“Does that mean we’re going to be seeing more of you?” Lyss wrinkled her nose in feigned disgust and James flipped her off, making you laugh.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be thanking me right now,” James narrowed his eyes at her and she scoffed.

“I have thanked you dumbass, multiple times. And so has she,” she jutted her thumb at you.

“One more time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Seriously James?” He didn’t budge. She rolled her eyes before reluctantly saying, “Thank you so very much, we appreciate your help.”

James grinned widely, “Anything for a couple of pretty ladies,” he winked at you. “And I’d never miss a chance to get in a favor with the editor-in-chief.”

“Right,” you said, “you're in charge of assigning the articles when we get back, right Lyss?”

She nodded but she and James exchanged a look that gave you the feeling there was something you weren’t privy to, like there was something else he wanted from her.

“So Y/N,” he turned to you suddenly, ignoring Lyss’s prying eyes shooting at him, “excited to be back on the paper? Hopefully, you’ll get something better than some lousy bathroom renovations this time.”

You nodded, “‘Course I’m excited. And I don’t mind what I get, I’m alright with writing whatever, I’m just glad to be a part of the paper in general.” It wasn’t an easy task, getting on the writing team, but you’d done it and you’d always be grateful.

“Oh don’t be humble,” he rolled his eyes playfully, making you laugh, “I’m sure Lyss will give you something reallyjuicy.” There it was, another look exchanged between the two of them.

Alyssa turned towards you and smiled “Do you know that annual photography competition?”

“Oh yeah, that’s a big thing isn’t it?” It was major, from what you’d heard.

“Yeah, it is, and so is the article that needs to be written.” You tried to hide your grin but she didn’t bother hiding hers. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this, but what the hell,” she shrugged carelessly, “it was rescheduled. So instead of it being held at the start of the fall semester like it usually is, it’ll be held a few weeks after we all come back for the spring semester. And you’re getting the article.”

That got you to sit up. “Are you serious,” you gripped her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Lyss, that’s amazing! Holy fuck,” you laughed breathlessly.

“I’m sorry about the wait, I didn’t know about the postponement until after I’d chosen you,” she shot you an apologetic look.

You shook your head quickly, “Are you kidding? This is amazing!”

“Congrats Y/N,” James grinned at you and pointed his bottle at you before bringing it up to his lips.

Before you could thank him, Alyssa spoke up, “He knew about it. Actually, he advocated for you to have it.”

Your jaw dropped as you stared at the two of them, “Are you serious?” You repeated.

James glared at her before returning his gaze to you and chuckling slightly, “Well she definitely wasn’t supposed to tell you that, but yes I did. You’re a great writer Y/N, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, James,” you said sincerely, “that—that means a lot. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He shot you a smile that felt different than any you’d ever seen on him, it was genuine. It wasn’t a cocky smirk or a cunning grin, it was a real smile and it warmed your heart.

“It’s not until next semester of course,” Alyssa’s voice cut in, catching your attention again, “and you’ll be getting stuff now, when we go back, duh. But I just wanted you to know,” she smiled at you.

You leaned over and pulled her into a hug, “Thank you.” You shot a look at James, “and thank you too. Thank you both,” you pulled away.

You don’t need to thank us Y/N, you’ve earned it,” James said genuinely. You shot him a soft smile and stood up. “I’m going to use the bathroom and when I get back, we’re toasting to this.”

“I’ll open you a bottle,” James promised and you thanked him before walking down the hall and opening the door to the bathroom. You were buzzing, this was an amazing opportunity, so many people were involved in that photography competition, and so many people read that article. It was always on the front page!

You couldn’t fight your smile as you left the restroom and you were so ready to thank them again for—

“Get a favor in with me my ass,” Alyssa hissed and you stopped in the hallway to listen to them. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but you could’ve sworn you’d heard your name a couple of seconds ago. “We both know why you reallywanted to help with the move.”

“You need to butt out Lyss,” James whispered back.

“Butt out? What do you mean butt out, you were just asking me to be your wing woman!”

“That was before you ratted me out for suggesting her for the photography article.”

“Oh please,” you heard her scoff and you could practically hear her rolling her eyes, “if anything, that totally worked in your favor.”

James grumbled something you couldn’t make out and you were about to step out when you heard Lyss speak up again, this time in a more gentle voice, “Look, you really like her, I think you should do something about it.”

You froze in your spot. “I thought you were the one who told me to take it slow, or back off completely.” James shot back.

“I know, but last year she was going through something. Now, I think you have an actual shot.”

Your mind flew back to MJ and what she’d said a couple of days ago outside that bookstore where the guy had given you his number. Everything about Peter and you moving on…

What if this was your shot?

You turned the corner, stepping out of the hall as if nothing had happened. “Got my bottle for me,” you smiled at James.

“All ready,” he held it up for you and grinned. You grabbed it and fell back into your spot on the floor, a little closer to James this time.

“Y/N we were just talking about—” Alyssa had started but her phone started ringing. She looked down and murmured a little curse. “Sorry guys, I have to take this, it’s my mom and she gets so pissed if I don’t answer her.” She grabbed her phone and stood up. You could’ve sworn you saw her glare a bit in James’ direction.

This was your chance.

Alyssa stepped away and you heard her voice fade as she moved further into the apartment. James leaned back, lifting his arms over his head, and stretched. You watched as his shirt lifted slightly and you looked down, feeling your face flush.

He took a swig of his drink and when you realized he probably wasn’t going to start any conversation, you cleared his throat to catch his attention. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He smirked, “Why’re you asking?”

“Well…you flirt a lot and I guess I was just wondering if that was your personality or—”

“Or if I’m into you?” He finished and you nodded. “And what if I was into you?”

“Then I’d ask if you wanted to go out sometime.” You sucked in a breath. You’d never done this before, asking someone out. It was nerve-wracking.

“Are you asking me out on a date Y/L/N?” He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes, not appreciating the blush flaming on your cheeks.

“Depends…would you say yes?”

His smirk turned into a grin, “Yes. I would.”

“Cool,” you nodded, taking a sip from the bottle in your hands and looking away from him. You weren’t quite sure what to do now.

He laughed before leaning closer to you, “You have my number saved, right?” You nodded. “Good. I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay,” you said in a low voice. There was no need to speak up, he was right in front of you, and you found yourself stricken, not for the first time, by how beautiful his eyes were. Like vibrant lily pads floating across a pond on a warm spring day.

“Okay,” he repeated, matching your tone. The two of you stayed like that, staring at each other, neither of you speaking. You hadn’t even realized how close your faces had gotten until Alyssa stepped back out.

“Sorry about that, she just wanted to know how the move went.” You jumped back and James straightened back up. She eyes the two of you suspiciously before taking a seat.

“Did you tell her it went well?” He asked her.

She nodded and her gaze flickered between you and James. “Anything I missed?” She asked lightly.

You and James stared at each other for a moment, your mouth falling open yet you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Thankfully, James was quicker, “Not really, Y/N was just telling me how excited she was for the article.”

“Yup,” you nodded quickly, “sooooo excited.”

“Okay,” Alyssa grinned wide as if she could see right through your bullshit, “alright.”

James stood up and groaned as he stretched out his arms and legs. You felt a pang of guilt run through when you realized that after everything he’d done, he sat on the floor. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger by the door and swinging it on. “Thanks for the company, and you’re welcome for the help."

“Bye,” Alyssa sang out.

“Bye,” you waved at him and smiled, “thanks again for everything.”

He grinned, “Bye girls,” he said, but his gaze was on you. He grabbed his bottle and opened the door to leave.

As soon as the click of the closing door sounded, Alyssa was turning toward you with a huge grin on her face. “I give it a few weeks and you’re exclusive.”

Of course she knew.

“I’ve got Professor Bell this semester.”

“Oh I know him,” you said. “He’s the one who’s never got a completed syllabus, right?”

James rolled his eyes. “Yes. The dude’s not that bad honestly, but he can't teach for shit. He’s absent for half the class, it’s like he forgets he’s a professor or something. And he’s always disheveled like he just got laid in his car.”

You laughed out loud. You and James went out after that night when he’d helped you and Alyssa move into your apartment. He’d planned a date and picked you up and the two of you really hit it off. He was different than you in a lot of ways and you supposed that’s part of the reason the two of you worked. Alyssa had been right, it wasn’t long before the two of you were exclusive.

He’d gone home to visit his family in Long Island for the first week of winter break and he’d invited you to go along, but you’d declined, claiming you had to spend the holidays with your family. He’d understood and was back in the city shortly after. He’d surprised you by showing up to your parents’ apartment unannounced and he’d brought flowers and gifts. After that, you thought you kinda had to meet his parents, so you took a short trip with him shortly before break ended. You’d had a good time and they were sweet people

It was spring now and Columbia seemed to bloom just as much as the flowers planted around its campus. It was gorgeous really, the trees were a vibrant green after looking so dull in the winter, the grass was luscious and perfectly cut, and the students were glowing after their long break. You were only a couple of days into the new semester but you were already feeling better than you were at the start of the year.

“The photography competition is coming up,” James stated as you passed a lamppost that had a flyer taped on it as you walked together to the newsroom, his arm draped around your waist.

“I know,” you grinned, “Lyss sent me links to the past few articles online, dating back at least 8 years. I’ve been reading up on it so much I think I know everything there is about the thing, and photography in general.”

James smirked, “Well look at you. I knew you were the perfect girl for the job. Are you taking a date to this thing?”

You grinned, “Are you offering?” It was pretty fancy, held at a venue close to the school, the winner received a cash prize and an internship with whichever newspaper or magazine was sponsoring it that year.

“Offering to go to this upscale party thing with the prettiest girl on campus? I’d be honored.”

“Great. Dress up, this thing has a dress code.”

“Will do. Can’t wait to look at some lame photo with you all night.” He leaned down to kiss you.

You laughed as you tried to kiss him back, “It’s actually really cool! These kids are super talented and they come up with wonderful ideas. One year, a kid submitted a photo of a broken camera, but the screen was still on, and on it was a picture of his childhood home. Photography is a chance to see the world through someone else’s eyes for a change, and it’s amazing what you could learn about someone if you just pay a little bit of attention to their photo.”

He chuckled, “It’s cute how much you care about this.”

You frowned. “Yeah, well it’s really interesting,” you shook your head, “you’ll see what I’m talking about when we go.”

He clicked his tongue, “They’re just pictures babe, what’s the big deal? I could take one right now.” He held up his phone with his free hand.

It wasn’t right, you knew that, but you couldn’t help the little whisper in your brain that said Peter wouldn’t act like this. Peter loved photography, you wouldn’t even need to explain to him how special it was, he already knew.

Seeing the flyers all around campus had been a little off-putting at first. Sure you were excited to get the front page topic, but all you could remember was last year, when you’d seen the flyers and took that as a sign to reach out again.

Not that it had gotten you anywhere.

You tried to shove the memory away. It wouldn’t do you any good dwelling on him right now, you had James in your life now, and you were happy. Or trying to be. You reminded yourself of the words you had told MJ that day at the end of summer.

He’s not here, he doesn’t matter.

And as if the universe were playing the biggest joke on you, as if all the stars in the sky had gathered around to play one big, cosmic, prank on you, you heard the very last voice you ever expected to hear. Ever.

“Ace, is that you?”

read part 4 here

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 7 months ago

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Do it for Him | Do You Even Love Me? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Voicing the thoughts that had been on your mind for so long leaves you broken and regretting every decision you've ever made. Pairing: Daughter in law reader x Father in Law Jungkook (Yändere) Word Count: 1.1k~ Warnings: An argument and some explicit language (kinda but not really) a/n: This is a hypothetical situation and is NOT what happens in the story. Oc and Jungkook don't end up together and I'll be writing another bonus chapter about how everything ends but this is simply a longer drabble that I just decided to make into a bonus chapter since I think some of you would be interested in reading it 😁 P.s. Requested by an annon 💜 (also written in one sitting so ignore any mistakes lol) Series Masterlist

"How was your day today?" I ask half heartedly, wondering if he'll actually speak to me like a human being today or skip to having sex again like he's done almost every time he's come to visit lately.

"It was fine but I don't want to talk about work since it looks like someone's been missing me huh?" he taunts, taking my want for interaction with him as a sign of an insatiable hunger he wishes I shared.

"I did miss you but I missed being with you, not just sex" I say, pressing on his chest to keep some space between us to show I'm serious and want to talk about this.

He stops and waits for me to continue but his eyes don't leave my body for a second.

"When I told you I loved you I didn't mean for our life to end up like this" I say, referring to the way we've been living for the past year.

"What's wrong? Did you need something else? You have my credit card and I told you before that you didn't have to ask me for anything. If you want it then get it. It's the least I could do for my beautiful Angel" he says while caressing my face but I take a step back, not letting him put me under his spell again.

"I'm not talking about money Jungkook. I'm talking about how I told you I didn't want to live as 'The other woman'. You told me you were going to get a divorce and let the children and I move in with you. Not just have you pop by at this separate house you have us living in" I say.

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water and placing the cup down on the counter. "I told you I would take care of it" he growls out while leaning both hands against the sink, clearly not appreciating the topic of conversation when all he had been looking for was a quick fuck.

"You told me that a year ago and from what I've seen you've been lying to me this whole time. Have you even filed the papers? You know that neither of you love each other so what's the point of keeping this whole charade going?" I say, following after him and standing my ground, not letting him drop this.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself so he won't blow up on me like he has in the past. "These things take time Angel, plus going through a divorce would make my company take a big hit and might ruin some of the relationships I've built" he tries to explain but I'm not having it.

"If your company is all you care about then maybe all of this was a mistake" I say, turning around to walk into my bedroom with him following lazily behind me.

"You know I care about you too Angel" he says, leaning in the doorway while I've decided to plot down on the bed, running my fingers through my hair and trying to figure out if any of this was a good idea.

From the looks of it to any outsider this whole relationship was bound to go up in flames sooner or later. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Was I really that naïve to think that somehow things would change if we were actually together? Did I really think that he was capable of loving me too?

"No I don't know that. I know that you love my body and that you love having sex with me and the idea of being with me and stealing me away from your son but I don't even know if you actually love me. Y/n. Not Angel, not the mother of your children, not the daughter in law that you took advantage of, just me" I spout off everything that's been on my mind and I can see that he starts to more or less assess our relationship and I really hope I'm going to get the answer I'm hoping for.

"You knew who I was when you first met me. You knew who I was when you married my son and you definitely knew what you were getting yourself into when you left him to be with me. I'm not this loving and kind husband that you want me to be and deep down you know that too. Do I care about you? Yes, I do. Do I love you? I don't know. I don't know if I do and I don't know if I ever will and if that's not good enough for you then be my guest, say the word and we can end this right now" he says and every condescending word that falls from his lips is like a knife through my heart.

I choke back a sob as my eyes glass over leaving him rolling his eyes, clearly not having the patience to deal with this today.

"Seems like you've got some stuff to think about and from the looks of it I've got some business to attend to" he says, hinting at the headache it's going to be for him to go through with this divorce.

He strides over to the bed where I'm sat with my head down, trying and failing to hold back my tears and picks up my chin. "Just remember who you're dealing with Angel okay? It will make all of ours lives so much easier if you stop thinking that you can change me" he says, caressing my face again, driving the knife deeper.

"I am who I am and if you can't accept that then I think we have some hard decisions we'll need to make here" he says a wipes away a few of my tears before tapping underneath my chin twice and walking away.

"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up and following him out, my vision going glossy. "It seems you're not in the mood that I thought you might be in so I think it's best if I go. Give my love to the children" he says over his shoulder and walks out, leaving me speechless and beyond heart broken, mourning the life I had with his son all over again and missing the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return.

"What have I done?" I whimper, sinking to the floor and sobbing, wishing that I could take it all back. That I could start over and never get mixed up with this family no matter how in love I was with his son. I never knew that a love that was once so pure would be traded for one that is so devastatingly one sided, wrecking my life beyond compare and stealing what little pieces of me I had left.

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mythserene · 11 months ago

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A BEATLE DIDN’T SAY THAT! Lewisohn’s lab-created quotes

“One of the things about this book that is a strength is it’s not me saying anything, it’s them or other people. I shape the text, I plot where it goes, I weave it, but the quotes are theirs. And so when I’ve got Paul McCartney behaving in a way some readers might think, ‘Whatever, oh dear,’ it’s actually him saying it. So you end up thinking that to his own credit he said that. It’s not me saying it.” (Mark Lewisohn, ‘Noted,’ (October 7, 2013) Somerset, Guy.)

This is hella long, and that's because it's actually a full blog post. (In case you want it in a less monstrous form.)

A lot of people for a long time have put a lot of trust in Mark Lewisohn’s footnotes. Or at least in the fact of those footnotes. Because once you dig through them for any length of time you quickly discover that Mark Lewisohn’s footnotes hold secrets that would get him expelled from any undergraduate program. They reveal a “history” often contrived through a mass of Frankenquotes, ala carte creations, Lewisohn rephrased ‘paraphrases,’ and worse. For some parts of the narrative things aren’t too bad, yet in others monsters lurk around every corner. But this is not the sort of thing that’s graded on a curve, and it is past time to have a conversation about what standards should be accepted in Beatles’ scholarship.

Lewisohn lists his sources unlike most others. And his footnotes alone are more insightful than some other writers’ books. (Reddit, r/beatles)

I do not judge footnotes based on their insightfulness, nor do I want to single out a redditor, but I grabbed the comment because it’s an opinion that is widely shared and even accepted as canon. At least by people who have not combed those freakish footnotes. And while the pages of piled up sources do look fearsome en masse, a closer inspection reveals an offense to the truth, a threat to the record, and a blight on Beatles’ historiography.

“The rules for writing history are obvious. Who does not perceive that its chief law is never to dare say anything false, and never dare withhold anything true? The slightest suspicion of hatred or favor must be avoided. That such should be the foundations is known to all; the materials with which the building will be raised consist of facts and words.” –Cicero

A Look at Lewisohn’s Lab-created Frankenquotes

FIRST, WHAT ARE QUOTES? AND WHY ARE QUOTES?

Quotes are the soul and center of recorded—and recording— history.

And the rules around quotes and quotation marks are pretty simple. Most people, even if they’ve never written anything beyond a term paper, understand what quotation marks represent.

A set of quotation marks means, “This person said or wrote ‘these exact words’ at some given time.” You can smash a quote from two hours before or two years before right up against a separate quote to make your point—although it might get your grade lowered—but what you cannot do is take two different statements from two different times and make them seem like they are one statement.

When you put words inside one set of quotation marks you are stating, in black and white, that the identified person made this statement. That they said all those words together—or if you want to excise a reasonable part and use ellipses to represent that— as part of the same statement.

Look, combining two separate quotes that are not part of the same thought or topic is not a subjective issue. It is not an issue of controversy. Quotes are the bone marrow of written history. Quotes are the alpha and omega. In academic work or journalism they have to be, which makes sense as soon as you think about it. If it was cool for me to take a transcript and grab half a sentence from page 2 and half a sentence from page 17, push them together as if those words were spoken one after the other in a single thought, I bet I can manage to get those words to say almost anything I want.

Separate thoughts must be in two separate quotation marks. Separate. Somewhere between four sentences and a paragraph is widely accepted as the “two separate quotes” line, and there can be some ethical and technical wiggle room in a long rant by a person, but what makes all that subjective nonsense go out the window is if the quotes come from two separate questions. Or two separate days. That’s two quotes. Not hard.

Which again, makes sense if the point is conveying information to the reader and lessening the chance of a writer manipulating someone else’s words to express something that the person didn’t mean.

This is the contract inherent in a quote. These are the rules we all agree to and understand, and these are the reasons why. And there’s no reason to break them.

Why do you want me to believe that John said these two things at one time? What was wrong with what he did say?

THE FOUR MOST COMMON WAYS MARK LEWISOHN MAULS THE MEANING OF THE QUOTE:

The Basic Lewisohn Frankenquote 🧟‍♂️

(“CONCLUDING FIVE WORDS FROM—” – I cannot even see the point of this THREE PART monster. Full footnote reads: 9) Author interview with Tony Meehan, September 6, 1995. (“I met George again in 1968 and for some reason he was harboring a grudge against me. He was very, very uptight about it—’You blocked us getting a recording contract …’ ”) First part of George quote from interview by Terry David Mulligan, The Great Canadian Gold Rush, CBC radio, May 30 and June 6, 1977; concluding five words from interview for The Beatles Anthology)

This three-headed monster attributed to George Harrison is a very dull little guy. Not particularly venomous. Just convenient, I guess. For whatever reason, Mark Lewisohn decided it was worth rummaging through the quote buffet until he collected enough pieces for George Harrison to say this thing. “…concluding five words from…” What are we even doing here? No, really. Please tell me.

And like a lot of the footnotes for these bespoke quotations, there are further problems. “[F]rom interview for Beatles Anthology”? An interview that aired? In one of the episodes? Can you narrow it down? I guess I’ll just have to listen very closely to them all and hope I don’t miss the five words.

But if we got bogged down in the sorts of trivial details that would immediately lose a college student a letter grade off a History 101 paper we would never get anywhere. We have to stick to the violent felonies.

*Love the "George would say——" Uh, would he? Well, I guess after all that trouble you went to, he would now. It's really incredible how cavalier Lewisohn is about a Beatle's words.

These sorts of reconstituted, lab-engineered, made up “quotes” are shot throughout Tune In. “Quotes” made up of words from two, three, and even four sources, spoken months or often years apart.

Ala Carte Creations 🍱

It really is a buffet, and these ala carte creations come in all shapes and sizes. They might just be words that have been plucked up and glued back together to make something more useful to a particular narrative. (Ellipses or dash optional.)

TUNE IN: “John saw a bigger picture, and it would be surprising if it wasn’t equally obvious, or made obvious, to Brian and George. He likened Paul’s enduring snag with Brian to his other long-standing difficulty: ‘[Brian] and Paul didn’t get along—it was a bit like [Stuart and Paul] between the two of them.’” (Footnote 37: Interview by Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld, September 1971)

Bonus 🍒 Phoebe's dramatic reading of John's original quote:

The Donut 🍩

Then there are a seemingly uncountable number of “quotes” with a sentence or three ripped out from the middle, but with zero representation that more words were ever there. (And in most of these particular deceptions, the simple representation of something excised (. . .) would make the quote fine. There are a lot of these, but they are also the easiest to fix.)

Chapter 10: “I was in a sort of blind rage for two years. [I was e]ither drunk or fighting. **It had been the same with other girlfriends I’d had.** There was something the matter with me.”

And then there are the true buffet bonanzas, words lifted and twisted beyond recognition until they say something brand spanking new.

However, John remembered Paul’s attitude to Brian being very different. John was always emphatic that Paul didn’t want Brian as the Beatles’ manager and presented obstacles to destabilize him, to make his job difficult … like turning up late for meetings. “Three of us chose Epstein. Paul used to sulk and God knows what … [Paul] wasn’t that keen [on Brian]—he’s more conservative, the way he approaches things. He even says that: it’s nothing he denies.”

The Lewisohn Remixes 🍸

And then there are the “paraphrases.” I couldn’t even begin to guess how many of these there are, and often they aren’t even paraphrases, but whole new Mark Lewisohn re-interpretations with quotation marks slapped around them. But if you don’t check, you probably won’t know, because like this Lewisohn rewrite of a well-known Mrs. Harrison quote, there’s a good chance you’ll recognize the bulk of it, making it less likely that you’ll catch the scalpel work excising Paul. And while I don’t want to get caught in the nooks and crannies of intent in an example like this one I have to say, just this once, that what has to be a purposeful excising of Paul to create a slightly new quote on one side, combined with a badly acted, bad faith—(or bad scholar)—“Where was Paul when John’s mom died?” on the other, is par for the course.

George Harrison’s mom’s made up Lewisohn rephrase which coincidentally removes Paul from the imagery.] ❦ LEWISOHN:“ Asked some years later to describe how he’d been able to help John cope with the loss of Julia, Paul could remember nothing of the period at all. It could be they didn’t see much of each other in the summer of 1958. John was working at the airport, and Paul and George went on holiday together—adventurous for boys of 16 and 15. But Louise Harrison would recall how she encouraged George to visit John at Mendips, “so he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts.” ❦ DAVIES: “They were still practicing a lot at George’s house, the only house where they got endless hospitality and encouragement. . . . I forced George to go round and see him, to make sure he still went off playing in their group and just didn’t sit and brood. They all went through a lot together, even in those early days, and they always helped each other.”

Why do you have to slice and dice and reconstitute people’s words? No writer, and certainly no historian, should ever feel empowered to take words from a historical figure from two or three different places and topics and times, splice them together, and tell us, “Winston Churchill said this.” No he didn’t! Why are you so intent on changing the words of the people you’re writing about? What’s wrong with just using two different quotes?

You cannot take two or three quotes from two or three or even four separate statements, stick them between one set of quotation marks and say John or Paul or George or Joe Smith said this.

No they didn’t. They never said that. Why do you want me to think they did??

All these words are Abraham Lincoln’s, but this is not a Lincoln quote:

“Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. Whether it be true or not, I can say for one that I have no other so great as that of — making a most discreditable exhibition of myself.”

(I kept it ridiculous, although I didn’t have to.)

But I want you, the reader, to be saying to yourself, “Okay, enough already. I get it!” Because in the last few days I have wandered too far into the weeds too many times and written far too many words detailing the multiplicity of ways Mr. Lewisohn does violence to each and every law of reporting historical facts, and could write many more. And I will post a more detailed list of the crimes against the quote that I am charging Mark Lewisohn with as we go forward, but I don’t think we need that now. The fact is that every fair-minded person knows what quotation marks represent, and there is no more fair-minded group of people than serious Beatles fans and scholars. And it is those fair-minded scholars who I want most to hear me. Whether you’ve written books or host a podcast or just know that you know a whole lot of stuff and take seriously your part of the trust in preserving the truth about The Beatles for us and future generations, it is you I am really talking to. My Cicero quoting-freaks. The ones who care about getting it right.

“The chief, the only, aim of style is to put facts in a clear light, with no concealment.” - Lucian of Samosata

⁠What footnotes can do, and what footnotes can’t.

You can list multiple sources in a single footnote. That’s not only fine, it’s correct. If I want to tell part of a story based on several sources, that often means several sources in a footnote. But not for one, single quote.

The problem isn’t the footnote, it’s the bioengineered quote on the page that you swept under a footnote hoping I wouldn’t notice.

Which leads us to what a footnote is not. A footnote is not a post-hoc fixative for your textual sins. You cannot do whatever you want as long as you confess it in a footnote. A footnote is not a magic spell. A footnote is not the universally understood symbol for “I have my fingers crossed behind my back.” You cannot fix lies and misrepresentations in the footnotes. Footnotes aren’t for trying to chase down three different sources to match up which part of a manufactured “quote” someone said on which date. Footnotes are not the picture on the front of a puzzle box. I should not need to find corner pieces to figure out which of these George Harrison words were actually spoken together.

Footnotes are a truthful and independently verifiable record of primary sources. It’s that simple.

And taking Mark Lewisohn completely out of the picture for a moment, I feel sure we can all agree that neither John Lennon nor Paul McCartney nor George Harrison nor Ritchie Starkey would want anyone rearranging their words as if they were guitar chords. You wouldn’t take three-quarters of Penny Lane and one-quarter of Across the Universe, put them together and call it a Beatles‘ song. So don’t take three quarters of John to Jann Wenner and one-quarter of John to Lisa Robinson, put them together and call it a Beatle’s quote.

MY PERSONAL STANDARD IS THAT IF SOMEONE REPRESENTS, “A BEATLE SAID THIS,” IT BETTER DAMN WELL BE SOMETHING A BEATLE SAID.

None of the Beatles, dead or alive, would be cool with their words being taken out of context at all, let alone two or three different statements on god knows what being combined into one. This isn’t hard, though. Use two or three separate quotation marks, and don’t take statements out of context. Don’t mix and match their words, but don’t twist them, either. If a person said something, it is the historian’s duty to represent those words to the best of your ability, and then use them to tell a factual story focused on what you feel is important. Staying true to the original words and true to their meaning. If you can’t use those words without twisting them, then change your story to fit their words, not the other way around. If their statement helps tell the story your way, use it! For goodness sake, John Lennon said at least two opposing things about almost every topic on earth, so there should be enough to choose from without being deceptive. I actually want the truth. Don’t you?

Biography is story based around accurately represented, trustworthy and verifiable facts. And look, Beatles fans, whoever your favorite is: we are not going to get the truth about his history if we don’t learn to take these things seriously. Let’s have—if not high standards—at least the lowest generally accepted standards. In the mid-term we need a lot more Beatles scholars with a lot more points of view, and now—right now—we need experienced Beatles scholars to prioritize searching out and finding smart, interested people to mentor. And we simply must ensure that we aren’t allowing to solidify into stone “facts” that are not facts and statements no one ever made. I don’t think any honest Beatles fan—(which rounds up to all of them)—wants any question around that issue.

The record is the most important thing. Now, and always. This is not about John versus Paul. John versus Paul may live on always in our hearts, but for Beatles history, it’s the wrong question. I’d rather someone be up front about their loves, but in the end the focus should be on representing the primary facts in their most pristine form. Love who you love most, but place truth above all. Pristine facts. Pristine quotes. Nothing hidden. Nothing misrepresented.

Let the historical actors speak for themselves. That is their right.

And the historian’s duty.

NEXT, WE DISSECT A MONSTER.

Final note: I became frustrated and (maybe strangely) offended by Lewisohn's obscene pretenses in 2020, but my frustrations were nebulous and unfocused until this incredible AKOM series. I feel much better now. Angrier. But better. They worked their asses off. 🥂

#lewisohn #akom #the beatles #tune in #fine tuning #frankenquotes #lewisohn's monsters #historiography #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mark lewisohn #a beatle never said that #beatles #brian epstein #allen klein #Spotify

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laura1633 · 5 months ago

Text

I do have lots of lovely asks to respond to which I will respond to tomorrow 💕. For now I thought I would post this. It is something I wrote a while ago, it was part of a longer one shot but never worked out quite how I wanted but I thought I would post this random bit here as I think it works as a stand alone scene.

Doodles

Max feels like he's back at school as he sits in the latest driver's briefing with his FIA branded notepad and pen. He's not entirely sure whose idea it was to make everyone takes notes but if he had to bet on it he would be placing all of his money on George. The Brit is sat in the front row of the meeting with his notepad open and pen already pressed down on the page because god forbid he misses jotting anything down.

There's a few other seemingly willing participants, Esteban and Logan have at least got the notepad open, but for the most part everyone seems a little unimpressed. The Dutchman gazes down the line of chairs, smirking to himself as he sees Fernando and Valtteri ripping pages out and making paper airplanes.

The meeting starts a little later than planned, the delay and the fact the room is so warm is enough to almost send Max off to sleep, the Dutchman just catches himself a few times before nodding off entirely. It's not that he's not interested in safety measures or discussing the ins and outs of penalties but sometimes the topic of conversation can be a little uninspiring. Todays hot topic seems to be something about underwear or he supposes they could be talking about tyre blankets, Max isn't entirely sure because he zoned out at the start and now nothing makes sense.

The Red Bull driver sits up a little straighter in his seat and finally opens his notepad and starts doodling, laughing quietly to himself as he sketches out a picture of a cat in a top hat. It's a useful way of staying awake, his gaze fixed down on the paper as he mindlessly scrawls anything that comes to his head.

He's pretty absorbed in what he is doing when Daniel suddenly nudges him in the side and taps down on his own pad to show Max his own drawing. It’s a huge cock complete with little beads of what is presumably pre-cum dripping from the tip. Max chuckles childishly and loudly. A few other drivers turn around to see what the fuss is about and Max just about manages to hold on and not let himself descend into uncontrollably laughter.

The meeting ends about an hour after its scheduled end time and there is an audible sigh of relief as the drivers start getting to their feet. Max jumps up purposefully and starts bolting for the door hoping to get some nice fresh air and maybe a can of Red Bull to wake him up.

"Hey" George coughs loudly trying to gather everyone's attention, there's a few groans as everyone stops making their escape, "Someone dropped their notepad”

Fuck.

Max rolls his eyes, he's pretty sure he's going to be scolded for dropping his pad down on the floor. He's just about to own up to his mistake when he sees George open the book and the Dutchman's heart almost punches its way clean out of his chest.

"Is this yours Charles?" George waves the book in the Monegasque's direction.

"No" Charles huffs, clearly a little put out at being blamed. Not that this is the crime of the century, it's a notepad in a multi billion pound industry.

"It has your name in it ...oh wait no..." George frowns at the book again "Max Leclerc”

A strange gargled sound forms in the back of Max's throat as his face burns up into a nice bright red colour. He's pretty sure this is how he is going to die. It's not going to be some heroic death or some nice peaceful passing around love ones, it's going to be right here in the driver's briefing room surrounded by colleagues as he succumbs to embarrassment.

"Max Leclerc, actually Max Verstappen-Leclerc, it's written in a heart" George mumbles again and if Max could form any words right now he would tell the Brit to stop talking because he's already received the fatal blow and any further embarrassment is purely overkill. Instead he just stands there and lets his whole body glow red and his palms turn sweaty.

If he didn't feel like he was in high school before then he certainly does now. The page of his notebook is full of signatures, his signature, his signature if he married Charles and took his surname to be precise. It's like something he watched girls do in class all those years ago. It's surrounded by hearts with different variations of their name smashed together, Max Leclerc, Charles Verstappen, Max Leclerc-Verstappen, Max Verstappen-Leclerc.

"Max is this yours then?" George murmurs a little more quietly. Max honestly preferred it when the Brit was being brash and to the point because it somehow seems even more humiliating now that the Mercedes driver seems to understand what he is looking at and has shifted into using a more sympathetic tone.

"No" Max snaps, although he guesses the fact he is blushing and almost on the verge of tears is enough to highlight the fact he is in fact lying.

"Okay Okay" Daniel laughs, "I think he's embarrassed enough" The Aussie ruffles his hand playfully through Max's hair, "Sorry Maxie, it's my awful sense of humour, I thought it would be funny”

"It's yours" George scrunches his face up looking a little confused.

"Yeah" Daniel snatches the notepad out of George's hand, "I was just fucking around to wind him up.”

Max isn't sure whether anyone is convinced or not but he's never been so grateful to anyone in his whole life when Daniel links arms with him and strides out of the room confidently.

#Lestappen fanfiction #Lestappen #Max Verstappen fanfiction

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for assuming a fellow student used ChatGTP on one of our group projects?

i’m in my late 20s, and i decided to pursue a (post bachelor) degree where one of the required courses is also open to bachelor degree students. this is a class that is heavy on fieldwork, meaning we go into the field, and then go home and write a paper about it, and since this group is small enough, group reports are done with everyone collaborating, no sub groups. our first report was pretty much torpedoed by our professor, who took serious issue with how we didn’t call in ahead for some format changes, didn’t write the report in a way she liked, dismissed our photographs as unprofessional, and almost accused one of our members of committing plagiarism because for one section of the report, we were asked to do risk analysis. since we had never been taught an official way to do it, and the professor gave us an old report from a few years ago as a reference point, that member used it to base her own analysis and the professor went so ballistic, our member was almost in tears. so now you know that the professor is extremely sensitive about the topic of plagiarism. of which she considers chatgtp a part of.

now, the second time around i was in charge of managing the report, and i decided to make it absolutely perfect so we could minimize any friction with the professor. so, same as last time, the group distributed report sections amongst ourselves, and i would edit and coordinate so that the end result would be coherent and to our professor’s liking. and when it came time for me to start editing the document, i start with the introduction, which sounded very familiar in tone, and it read very nonsensically to me. almost like no one who was actually trying to convey an idea would write those sentences. when it dawned on me that possibly, the reason why the sentences sounded so nonsensical was because the writer could have used chatgtp, but that the tone and topics sounded straight up lifted from the introduction i wrote for our first group report, i was pretty damn mad, but i decided to take a diplomatic approach.

i contacted another group member who had formerly been a students association leader and asked her to mediate for me: had this student used chatgtp lifting from my introduction? his response was that no, he hadn’t, but that he had “taken inspiration” from my introduction to write his. hearing this was very aggravating, especially since the mediator a. disagreed that it sounded AI generated and b. said maybe i should be flattered because i’m just a really good writer. this despite the fact that the introductions for the two reports did not have anything to do with one another. they had different objectives and different skills to practice, so even if he had just “taken inspiration” from my introduction, he had written a terrible introduction that could barely be understood, paying no attention to what he was supposed to be writing. so at that point i just took over that section in the rewrite because i felt like i couldn’t trust him to actually put in any work and contribute.

later on in the editing process, i also caught some suspicious sentences in another section, written by someone else, that sounded like someone had copy pasted from another source. i didn’t think of this as an intentional attempt at plagiarism, more like whoever wrote it had pasted some reference sentences to write his own things rewording the core idea and then citing the sources. but i still took the time to message the guy and tell him maybe he should be more careful in case our professor got on our case over it and started yelling plagiarism about it. and his answer was to be offended that i would even accuse him of such a thing, and that maybe i should be careful about levying such serious accusations at people.

this guy had never been cold to me in my life. i think the other two must have talked about my chatgtp suspicions in some other group chat and now i was the bad guy for having even briefly suspected that something had been up. i decided to just concentrate in doing my job and ignore whatever shit these people had started about me behind my back, and what do you know, we get our report back with perfect marks. no thank yous. no word about it in the group chat where we organized. this despite the fact that when we handed in our first report, much appreciation was given to the girl that helped organize the report hand-in. hell, about half an hour before i handed in the report the girl i asked to be our mediator sent a meme saying “leaving before i end up looking like an idiot” before leaving the group chat which was. an insane thing to have to face in response to my working my ass off to make the report work.

if it were just the guy that i had accused of using chatgtp who turned on me that were acting like an asshole, i could take it, maybe that the mediator, but it’s ridiculous that we turned things around completely from the first report and no one’s mentioned the report since i handed it in. did they all just suddenly decide to enforce the silent treatment? did i not approach it in the right way? i said at multiple points that i wasn’t interested in bringing this up to our professor because as i mentioned earlier, she can be kind of a pain to deal with, especially where alleged plagiarism is being discussed.

for context: the group member who wrote the suspicious introduction had never been a very involved student in the class, which could be a constant bummer considering it was a very group oriented fieldwork class. he had previously mentioned he had no idea what to put in the introduction. i still don’t think i would have given a single thought about his previous track record in class if this incident hadn’t happened.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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lookingatacupoftea · 3 months ago

Text

Too Many Layers?

Since the NG allegations (which I find very credible and disturbing and will not otherwise address in this post -- please see this roundup for more info and share to get the word out), I've been leaning more into fanworks and starting to let go of canon, particularly s2 and possible s3* canon.

I've also been taking a more critical eye to canon and revisiting my own interpretations of Good Omens the show. Here are the questions I've been rotating in my mind:

Can we trust NG to actually write a good ending for these beloved characters?

Is s2 more poorly written than I had previously acknowledged?

One of the most interesting things about Good Omens is the sheer number of themes and layers of text and subtext that it presents. I have been wont to think of these layers largely positively. Prior to recent events, I had repressed any fleeting concerns that this multiplicity of layers was so egregious as to be a weakness. But now I'm re-considering it.

In particular, the show presents heaven and hell in contradictory ways that are, in my opinion, the root of most of the vastly different takes. Is heaven Amazon or the KGB or the Catholic Church? Is hell better than, the same, or worse than heaven? Is being an angel or a demon a job, an identity, or both? I think you can see hints of all these possible interpretations in the show itself, and the ones you gravitate toward can dramatically change how you interpret the show and particularly Aziraphale's feelings and actions. Is this lack of clarity a purposeful mystery that will be resolved in s3, a reflection of the complexities of institutions and systems in the real world, or a sign of lazy writing?

I had thought my takes were right (don't we all?) because I thought I understood the purpose that drove NG and the smaller set of themes captured in the book that I thought were being expanded and tweaked but ultimately preserved in the TV show as a love letter to TP. (I recommend @nofomogirl's meta on the competing book and show canons, which does a very good job at capturing the discrepancies between them and the challenges one can have in integrating them).

But clearly NG is not the person I thought he was and so I feel much less certain than I did that I understand his purpose in GO the show. How far has he strayed from the characters and themes in the book? How much has he elevated his self-insert character, Crowley, over Aziraphale? To what extent is the TV show, especially s2, overstuffed with layers and themes and clues in order to appeal to as wide an audience as possible? To what extent are flaws in the writing papered over by the top-notch acting and dedication to detail shown by the crew? Will an NG-authored s3 effectively narrow and focus and resolve some of these contradictory layers or will it continue to be a bit of a (beautiful) mess?

I don't have an answer. On the one hand, all of these layers and subtexts make the show a fascinating one for analysis and a great jumping-off point for fanworks. On the other hand, maybe a show can be too packed with themes and texts and allusions, to the extent that it sacrifices clarity.

*I respect a variety of perspectives on the topic of whether there should be a s3 and, if so, whether one should watch it. This post isn't really about and I'd rather not debate it here. Here is one petition calling for NG's removal as GO showrunner and another calling for more investigation and for companies to pull back on working with him. I believe there are also plans in the works for a fandom fundraiser to support survivors of sexual violence.

#i have no idea how to tag this #should i include his name?#but i'm not really talking about the allegations #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens heaven and hell #good omens theories

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listen-to-the-inner-walrus · 1 year ago

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can you explain why you dont believe the titanic switch conspiracy theory? didnt they find a propeller with "olympic" written on it amongst the wreckage?

i feel like the phrase "you just activated my trap card" applies here but i have also never watched yu-gi-oh so dont fully know the correct use of that. anyway whats the text limit on a tumblr post because i think i might hit it with this response.

before we begin (if you wanna join me on this fucking journey), ill just drop some useful sources on the topic:

olympic & titanic - an analysis of the robin gardiner conspiracy theory dissertation by mark chirnside in july 2006

titanic or olympic: which ship sank? by steve hall and bruce beveridge

olympic & titanic: the truth behind the conspiracy by steve hall and bruce beveridge

with that shipkeeping housekeeping out of the way, lets jump into it after the cut

so hands up, how many people knew that this theory originated in a book from 1995?

yeah, its a pretty modern theory considering titanic sank in 1912. the theory originated in the riddle of the titanic by robin gardiner and dan van der dat.

and the theory argues that the ships were switched and titanic (actually olympic) was deliberately sank as part of an insurance scam. now they didnt do this at all for shits and giggles. instead, the theory posits that the navy enquiry that followed the 1911 collision between hms hawke and olympic was biased which meant white star line couldnt recover the costs of repair from lloyds (the insurance company), and therefore, they wrote olmpic off as too damaged to be repaired, lied about the amount of damage, switched the ships and sank olympic disguised as titanic to recover some costs.

far-fetched? oh definitely and it gets worse, but ill leave that til later in this gargantuan response because its really fucking funny.

(seriously, i recommend you read til the end or just skip to the part where i start talking about the sinking itself because fam, gardiners theory gets wild )

according to van der dat, who is a dutch journalist and naval history writer with an incredibly dutch name, gardiner had wrote the manuscript after researching the titanic for however many years and sent it to his literary agent. this agent had previously worked with van der dat and so sent it to him to double-check the information by going back to the original sources. he then rewrote the book with line-by-line consultation with gardiner.

and would you like to hear a quote from van der dat regarding the theory? i think you would:

"the publishers were disillusioned when the theory did not stand up"

he also, in correspondence with titanic author and researcher paul lee, called it "bilge" which is a fun ship joke alongside calling the theory bullshit.

anyway, the publishers went ahead with the book anyway because fuck integrity, i guess... thats kinda harsh considering this first book (oh yeah, theres more) was praised for stellar research and for being balanced, and the final chapter of the book literally acknowledges that the wreck has titanics shipyard number (401) on it, hence disproving the theory.

in 1997, it was published in the us under the name the titanic conspiracy - cover-ups and mysteries of the worlds most famous sea disaster, and it sold like sliced bread in 1928 because 1997 was titanic fever, baby!

unsurprisingly, gardiner's following books (titanic: the ship that never sank? in 1998; the history of the white star line in 2001; the great titanic conspiracy in 2010) were a lot less well-received and were not co-authored by van der dat.

"but wait, kai!" you might shout if youre up to date with issues of the times from 1914, "what about raymond asquith's comments? he was junior counsel for the board of trade at the sinking inquiry!"

and i would say, what about it? the letter asquith wrote to the times was a sarcastic letter in response to a prior stance taken by the paper.

yes, he said "the architect, the owner, and the captain to repair their desperate fortunes by sinking the ship and sharing the insurance money" but said letter also included the phrase "manipulating dummy icebergs".

if were taking sarcastic or satirical responses outside of their original contexts as serious quotes, then i guess i need to cancel my dropout subscription since the company holds the opinion that oj simpson is innocent.

and while were here, that single deathbed confession from james fenton is not evidence of anything. his name is not on any crew lists or survivor lists, and not a single payment was ever claimed by a crewman called james fenton. he was not on board the titanic and his claims hold no weight.

now, my go-to explanation as to why i dont believe the switch theory is that their insurance scam would have lost them money and they would know that it would have lost them money.

see, it cost white star (which was a subsidiary of the international mercantile marine) £1.5million/$7.5million to build titanic and they insured it by lloyds (you can check their records on their website) for £1million/$5million.

you dont have to be good at maths to see a problem here.

they didnt just not insure the rest; it was self-insured by imm's insurance fund, but that still means theyd have lost £500,000/$2.5million on the sunken ship.

this whole insurance thing was established by uh the united states senate inquiry report:

"the vessel fully equipped, cost £1,500,000 sterling, or about $7,500,000. at the time of the accident the vessel carried insurance of £1,000,000 sterling or about $5,000,000, the remaining risk being carried by the company's insurance fund."

oh and the £1,000,009 insurance was announced in the daily mirror on 16th april 1912

and the insurance scam seemingly thought up by someones whose first and only introduction to maths was golf isnt the only way white star would have lost money on this.

after the sinking, olympic was temporarily pulled from service to increase safety measures like adding more lifeboats. obviously, a logical move made by a company with a brand new, safer ship on their hands who were desperate for any money they can make.

white star also halted construction of britannic, titanics other sister ship, in order to alter the design and make it safer. this costs quite a bit of money and is, again, an odd choice for a company apparently desperate for money.

and hey, question for you guys: if you were alive in 1913 and needed to cross the atlantic, would you

a) choose the near identical sister ship of that ship that sank last year and was the deadliest sinking of a ship at that time

b) choose any other option such as the lusitania or the mauretania or the ss france or the ss imperator

personally id take my chances with option a, idk about you

yeah so the point im making here is that the sinking of the titanic was what the kids say

a marketing disaster

it was the loss of the newest flagship on its maiden fucking voyage and it had been touted as "practically unsinkable". maybe just maybe people wouldnt feel that comfortable getting on a white star line ship after that.

i dont have any figures for you because reading through a detailed account of white stars history just is not on my to-do list, but that doesnt even matter. what matters is that its clearly a massive risk and who the fuck is taking that risk?

as titanic author, senan molony states:

"one doesnt need to compare designs and count portholes - a moments serious consideration of the reputational risk involved - individually and collectively - is all that is required to end any entertainment of the notion"

anyway, you guys wanna compare designs and count portholes? yeah? okay, here we go!

may i present a non-exhaustive list of differences between the ships:

olympics wheelhouse was curved; titanics was flat

titanic was 4 inches longer

the porthole arrangements on shelter deck c were different

on b deck, olympic had a 1st class promenade; titanic had 2 private verandahs and suites (put a pin in this by the way, it comes back in the best of ways)

titanic had additional cabins on promenade deck a

olympics promenade was open all the way along; on titanic, the forward half of the 1st class promenade on a-deck was enclosed with retractable glass screens

on titanic, the forward bridge wings aft docking bridge on the stern extended over the ships side by a couple of feet; this would not be true for olympic until the 1912/13 refit

the officers deck house was pushed out more on titanic

the iron gates of the elevators were different between the ships and this is evident in the wreck itself

their propellers had different pitches and hence not interchangeable (pitch is a theoretical concept which is like the distance a propeller would move if it turned once through something solid, yeah i dont know either)

the wireless cabin had an outside window on olympic, but not titanic

further, it was placed on the port side of the officers deck house on olympic but amidship on titanic

they had different air vent arrangements around the funnels

white star line cut the ships names into the shell-plating at the bow and stern, four feet high and a ½ inch deep

now, please, close your eyes, take a deep breath and consider how much money it would cost to switch just the list above. now compare all of that to the -£500,000/$2.5million youre losing in the insurance scam.

truly, a spend less on candles situation.

and while we're here, shall we quickly talk about how much hush money white star would be paying to silence everyone about this since its apparently an illegal insurance scam.

not to make another non-exhaustive list but heres just who i can think of that youd have to silence:

the 15,000 workers employed directly by the shipyard

the 20,000+ workers in support services or sub contractors

any permanent or casual staff at the belfast dock and harbour comission

all of the officers and crew who came directly from olympic onto titanic such as the captain or stewardess violet jessop (puppet history fans rise up) who interestingly remarked on how improved titanic was compared to olympic

any staff at white star, imm and harland & wolff (where she was built) who would be in the know such as designers

passengers who had previously sailed on olympic who then sailed on titanic

just like anyone in belfast who walked past while the ships were docked together

olympics wreckers: thomas wards & sons who kept huge loose-leaf ledgers for each ships. the one for olympic was 72 pages long and funnily enough olympics yard number and builders I'd frequently appear in it, as seen below

bob ballard who was the one who found titanic. hes known as a very honest man and didnt even claim salvage rights on titanic because he assumed everyone else would also recognise it was a gravesite. he also said "i think it is the titanic at the bottom of the ocean"

every other explorer or researcher like james fucking cameron or us navy consultant and titanic wreck explorer, parks stephenson

its been estimated likely over 60,000 people were involved in just the building of titanic. this was ⅕ of belfasts population and ⅓ of the working population. heres a photo of them leaving olympic at the end of the day

now maybe im just a fool, but that looks like a lot of people you need to silence, and unless white star were blackmailing them or idk fucking killing them i guess, thats a lot of hush money just in the photo above.

i mean, theres also the claim, from noted liar james fenton, that the surviving crew were forced to sign the official secrets act of 1911, but that act was about espionage that benefits the enemy military so im not sure how this is relevant to the switch, and also, again, the guy was never on the ship.

are you perhaps starting to get the picture as to why i dont believe the conspiracy theory because im still going.

okay so as established, if the ships were switched, there would have clearly been a lot of work that would need to be done to switch the ships.

and i only mentioned some of the structural differences, i didnt get into the aesthetic differences like the floor tiles and carpeting being different colours, or how the lounge furniture in each ship having the ship name on them.

mind you, this is what titanic looked like (in the foreground) when olympic was first docked next to her:

this was taken around october 11. olympic docked next to titanic on october 7th for repairs after that whole catastrophic collision.

now how much time do you think it was before olympic sailed away? mind you, titanic has already been launched at this point and just needs to be fitted-out, and that normally takes around 4 to 6 months?

oh, what was that? 44 days? why, kid, youre going somewhere. it was 44 days exactly!

now, i dont think i need to get into the fact that the dock only had 1 crane (which you needed to install and uninstall funnels and machinery) that physically couldnt reach olympic unless she was moved or how olympic was painted white for her launch and then painted black and that the white paint would get exposed in rough weather so the same would have to be applied to titanic so it would look convincingly like olympic.

i mean, you have that information now, but im hoping just by the words "44 days", you might get how off the wall insane it is to suggest white star was able to switch the ships so well no one noticed for decades in 44 fucking days.

"wait kai, youre forgetting that they were docked together again!" you shout, "after olympic threw a propeller, they were docked together from march 1st to march 7th 1912"

and i dont know dude, im pretty sure white star cant warp space time so i really dont know what eight extra days is gonna do.

i hate to strawman but man, the late robin gardiner would have won a gold medal in scarecrow hide and seek.

lets also take a quick detour into the idea that olympics repairs were so expensive.

without getting into gardiners claims about the damage because theres no evidence of it and as mark chirnside states "there are no credible sources indicating that the damage to olympic was worse than reported at the time - and indeed ample sworn expert testimony to the contrary", lets just quickly go over some financial stuff.

during the case, it was unofficially estimated that the damage didnt exceed $125,000. imm, by including lost passenger receipts, wanted to claim for as high as $750,000, but they lost that case.

during the year 1911, imms surplus profit was $822,062. so weve got:

750,000 > 822,062

now as we might remember from key stage 1 maths, the bigger number eats the smaller number, aka, their surplus profit covered the costs of repair.

aka, no ill-advised insurance scam needed.

"thousands of people in belfast would have seen the switch operation - and yet there is not one word in the papers of reporters or photographers rushing out to find out what was happening."

-dr paul lee

so this is the section where i ask how did no one fucking notice?

no one on titanic, who had previously sailed on olympic, ever said anything about the switch other than one guy who was literally not on the ship at any point.

no one who has ever explored the wreck or done research on it has definitively stated it was olympic. rather, they have definitively stated otherwise.

for example, what remains of the base on the wheelhouse shows it to be straight and not curved, and as you might remember: titanics wheelhouse was heterosexual straight and olympics was curved.

(id be impressed if you did remember)

also, as parks stephenson has stated:

"weve got actual high def images of this wreck. ive seen with my own eyes. weve identified the name titanic on the port bow"

its difficult to make out but its there; the name is on the fucking ship.

also, as you might remember, titanics b-deck was different to olympics. the 2 suites there were nicknamed the "millionaire suites" and jim cameron has used rovs to go inside of them.

funnily enough, robin gardiner has gone on the record saying that these suites didnt exist so make of that what you will.

and further, no one noticed anything about olympic even though she sailed for 24 more years. theres no written record of anything, theres nothing in the board of trade reports, theres no photographic proof and theres not even fucking hearsay.

she served as a damn troopship in ww1, youd figure someone would figure it out as all of her fittings were ripped out.

but no, theres nothing.

as i mentioned above, olympic was scrapped in 1935, but some of her fittings were auctioned off and still exist today. and these have the number 400 on them because that was her shipyard number. titanics was 401 and the wreck reflects this also:

the wooden parts are from olympic; the other has been salvaged from titanics wreck.

theres even the famous myth that olympic or olympus as one person told me is written on the propeller at the bottom of the ocean. its not, but you can see the number 401 written on it:

and while were disproving myths about the name olympic being on the titanic, the story about olympic being engraved on titanics lifeboats is also false:

theres no written testimony, no sketches and no photographs of this.

white star didnt engrave names onto lifeboats, the names were on metal plates that were screwed on

do you really think they did all of this work but just didnt fucking swap the lifeboats? if theyre this stupid, how did it take until 1995 for someone to figure it out?

we can also discuss the stupid olympic room thing while were here. see theres a maritime superstition that changing the name on a ship is bad luck and obviously, if youre swapping the ships, youre changing the names.

so to... get around this? cheat luck? outsmart superstition? i dont fucking know, to take a detour to avoid this, white star named a room "the olympic room."

i cannot find any evidence at all that this room ever existed. its not in the design plans or the blueprints, and no passenger or crew has ever said it existed, so im pretty sure the room just didnt exist.

and even if it did exist, titanic was in the olympic class of ships. thats what olympic, titanic and britannic were. its not weird to have an olympic room on an olympic class ship. i mean it is weird in this case since the room didnt exist, but you get my point.

and heres some quickfire myths and falsehoods

the myth about the 14 vs 16 bow portholes is also a false. yes, titanic had 14 portholes on launch but an extra 2 were added before her maiden voyage so yes, the ship photographed departing southampton with 16 bow portholes is the titanic, and do you really think it would take 83 years to figure this out if it was this easy?

similarly, titanic did have evenly spaced b-deck windows on launch, but then the extra verandahs and suites were added so the window configuration was altered, so that photograph is off the titanic.

the idea that titanic had a 2 degree list to port like the olympic before her is evidence of the switch theory is, to borrow a word from dan van der dat, bilge. plenty of ships at the time and now have minor lists. the one on titanic was only recorded by 2 passengers and we know that the list was related to coal consumption. it means nothing.

jp morgan (owner of imm) did not cancel last minute. as mark baber points out on encyclopedia titanica, it was announced in the new york times that hed be in venice on april 23. at that time, transatlantic voyages took at least 5 days so it would at least be a 10 day round trip and likely not give him time to get to venice for the opening of a store of whatever it was.

also, j bruce ismays wife and kids also didnt cancel last minute. theyd already decided to go on holiday to wales rather than sail on titanic.

addendum to that point: if ismay knew it was going to be sank deliberately and so warned his wife, why would he get on board himself? further, why would harland and wolff designer thomas andrews (who did not survive by the way) get on board?

and we're finally at my favourite part of this entire mess: the sinking itself.

see, a deliberate sinking doesnt really make sense for titanic because the conditions under which she sank has led to the descriptor "freak sinking."

these are: a new moon meaning less light, unusually calm ocean that disallowed lookouts to watch for foam as waves hit any icebergs, ice having drifted further south than normal for that time of year, and a sideways glancing blow that breached more watertight compartments than the ship could handle and stay afloat.

and idk dude, is there not an easier way? like maybe some light arson. just call it an accidental fire that got out of control and led to the ship being a write-off, this isnt difficult.

but you see gardiner has an answer to this, and i am laughing as im typing this, he claims that:

titanic didnt hit an iceberg, it hit an imm rescue ship.

thats right, this guy fully says titanic didnt hit an iceberg. apparently it hit another ship and NO ONE FUCKING NOTICED

i mean we have testimony from survivors but fuck them i guess.

he claims that as titanic was apparently a "steel double-hulled vessel" so an iceberg simply couldnt inflict so much damage.

yeah titanic wasnt double-hulled. she had a double bottom, but it was only after titanic that shipbuilders were like ah maybe full double hulls arent an unnecessary expense after all.

theres also the issue of uh no evidence of this rescue ship ever existing? at all? i dont know where it came from, i dont know where it went, and who fucking knows, maybe it was called the rms cotton eyed joe.

yeah so weve got a theory riddled with problems and im just gonna introduce some more problems with this theory as gardiner has also alleged that:

the original plan was to open the seacocks and slowly flood the ship, but this was interrupted by titanic hitting another ship

1) titanic didnt have seacocks? and 2) was the rest of it a coincidence then? i think its meant to be a coincidence.

i believe his theory is alleging that the crew on titanic would open the seacocks that didnt exist to flood the ship slowly, and that the imm rescue ship that also didnt exist was in the area in advance to help evacuate passengers, alongside other ships such as the ss californian.

this is that ship that was like 10 miles away or something and didnt respond to titanics distress signals. according to gardiner, they were expecting a rendezvous with titanic according to the "original plan", but never received it.

instead, they saw the rockets of the fabled imm rescue ship and helped them instead.

this is fucking stupid.

i cant be charitable here, its a fucking stupid theory. i mean, that imm ship did not exist, and also californian is a ridiculous choice for a rescue ship. her capacity was 47 passengers and 55 crew; there were more than 2200 people on board titanic.

to counteract this argument, gardiner alleges carpathia was also in on the scheme as a rescue ship. she, at least, had capacity for the passengers, but theres also several problems with this too.

for one, it was fucking 50 miles away and famously arrived several hours after the sinking even though the captain had her running at top speed to get there.

for two, carpathia was owned by cunard, white stars rival. was their rival line in on the insurance scam??? how much money did they have to pay cunard for this????? why? just why?

do you understand why i dont believe it? please tell me you understand. i need you to understand. i need you to tell me that you understand that the guy who created this conspiracy claimed titanic didnt hit an iceberg.

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