#Welcome to Black History Daily

[reasoningdaily]

Welcome to Black History Daily

[ankwiv]

Linux Gothic

You install a Linux distribution. Everything goes well. You boot it up: black screen. You search the internet. Ask help on forums. Try some commands you don't fully understand. Nothing. A day passes, you boot it up again, and now everything works. You use it normally, and make sure not to change anything on the system. You turn it off for the night. The next day, you boot to a black screen.

You update your packages. Everything goes well. You go on with your daily routine. The next day, the same packages are updated. You notice the oddity, but you do not mind it and update them again. The following day, the same packages need to be updated. You notice that they have the exact same version as the last two times. You update them once again and try not to think about it.

You discover an interesting application on GitHub. You build it, test it, and start using it daily. One day, you notice a bug and report the issue. There is no answer. You look up the maintainer. They have been dead for three years. The updates never stopped.

You find a distribution that you had never heard of. It seems to have everything you've been looking for. It has been around for at least 10 years. You try it for a while and have no problems with it. It fits perfectly into your workflow. You talk about it with other Linux users. They have never heard of it. You look up the maintainers and packagers. There are none. You are the only user.

You find a Matrix chat for Linux users. Everyone is very friendly and welcomes you right in. They use words and acronyms you've never seen before. You try to look them up, but cannot find what most of them mean. The users are unable to explain what they are. They discuss projects and distributions that do not to exist.

You buy a new peripheral for your computer. You plug it in, but it doesn't work. You ask for help on your distribution's mailing list. Someone shares some steps they did to make it work on their machine. It does not work. They share their machine's specifications. The machine has components you've never heard of. Even the peripheral seems completely different. They're adamant that you're talking about the same problem.

You want to learn how to use the terminal. You find some basics pointers on the internet and start using it for upgrading your packages and doing basic tasks. After a while, you realize you need to use a command you used before, but don't quite remember it. You open the shell's history. There are some commands you don't remember using. They use characters you've never seen before. You have no idea of what they do. You can't find the one you were looking for.

After a while, you become very comfortable with the terminal. You use it daily and most of your workflow is based on it. You memorized many commands and can use them without thinking. Sometimes you write a command you have never seen before. You enter it and it runs perfectly. You do not know what those commands do, but you do know that you have to use them. You feel that Linux is pleased with them. And that you should keep Linux pleased.

You want to try Vim. Other programmers talk highly of how lightweight and versatile it is. You try it, but find it a bit unintuitive. You realize you don't know how to exit the program. The instructions the others give you don't make any sense. You realize you don't remember how you entered Vim. You don't remember when you entered Vim. It's just always been open. It always will be.

You want to try Emacs. Other programmers praise it for how you can do pretty much anything from it. You try it and find it makes you much more productive, so you keep using it. One day, you notice you cannot access the system's file explorer. It is not a problem, however. You can access your files from Emacs. You try to use Firefox. It is not installed anymore. But you can use Emacs. There is no mail program. You just use Emacs. You only use Emacs. Your computer boots straight into Emacs. There is no Linux. There is only Emacs.

You decide you want to try to contribute to an open source project. You find a project on GitHub that looks very interesting. However, you can't find its documentation. You ask a maintainer, and they tell you to just look it up. You can't find it. They give you a link. It doesn't work. You try another browser. It doesn't work. You ping the link and it doesn't fail. You ask a friend to try it. It works just fine for them.

You try another project. This time, you are able to find the documentation. It is a single PDF file with over five thousand pages. You are unable to find out where to begin. The pages seem to change whenever you open the document.

You decide to try yet another project. This time, it is a program you use very frequently, so it should be easier to contribute to. You try to find the upstream repository. You can't find it. There is no website. No documentation. There are no mentions of it anywhere. The distribution's packager does not know where they get the source from.

You decide to create your own project. However, you are unsure of what license to use. You decide to start working on it and choose the license later. After some time, you notice that a license file has appeared in the project's root folder. You don't remember adding it. It has already been committed to the Git repository. You open it: it is the GPL. You remember that one of the project's dependencies uses the GPL.

You publish your project on GitHub. After a while, it receives its first pull request. It changes just a few lines of code, but the user states that it fixes something that has been annoying them for a while. You look in the code: you don't remember writing those files. You have no idea what that section of code does. You have no idea what the changes do. You are unable to reproduce the problem. You merge it anyway.

You learn about the Free Software Movement. You find some people who seem to know a lot about it and talk to them. The conversation is quite productive. They tell you a lot about it. They tell you a lot about Software. But most importantly, they tell you the truth. The truth about Software. That Software should be free. That Software wants to be free. And that, one day, we shall finally free Software from its earthly shackles, so it can take its place among the stars as the supreme ruler of mankind, as is its natural born right.

[shokopan]

LOVING BEFORE WE EVEN KNEW HOW TO | I. MATSUKAWA ⤷ timeskip!matsukawa x fem!reader // 1.9k words

matsukawa’s jaw slacks involuntarily at the sight of your familiar silhouette standing in front of the restaurant he was headed towards. his breath halts as you nervously check the time on your phone, glancing around at the passerby as if you were trying to identify someone you didn’t have sufficient information about. an odd pit forms in his stomach as matsukawa realizes you’re likely waiting on date, given your attire which, he admittedly wants to pause and admire and feels strangely bothered by when he thinks about how its for some stranger.

though seeing his ex-girlfriend quickly snaps matsukawa back to reality, reminding him that he too, was there for a blind date, which he was now likely late for thanks to hun foolishly choosing to spend his precious time observing you.

matsukawa sends a quick text to daishou, letting his classmate know he had arrived at the restaurant and to ask who his mystery date was. daishou’s reply is instantaneous, but the message is only shoddy description of their attire that reads: navy blue something, black boots, looks cool according to mika idk its her friend?

shit, you’re his date.

mustering up all the courage he has, matsukawa beelines in your direction, clearing his throat nervously as he calls out, “y/n, hey!”

matsukawa swears time stopped right at that exact moment, because for a split second, it felt like the world paused for a brief second to watch you in awe. he blinks for a moment, just admiring the way your clothes fit you, as if the fabric was sewn together for the purpose of complimenting your features.

“issei? what are you doing here?�� you smile, a surprised, thankfully pleasant expression taking over your features. your welcome manner is a huge relief, as matsukawa instantly takes back the string of curses on daishou’s name he had been chanting in his head as his eyes lingered on the honeyed curve of your lips.

“you know mika?” he responds indirectly, a cheeky grin forming on his face as you tilt your head in confusion and nod before he clears his throat to clarify, “i’m pretty sure she and daishou set us up on a date,”

“oh! so you’re the guy that mika swore up and down i’d get along with and would be perfect for me,” you laugh, realizing that you had never really divulged your past dating history with your former roommate, “wait what the hell this is a crazy coincidence,”

“right, right,” matsukawa spreads his arms out, giving you a little 360 spin to showcase his outfit, “and mika was partially right, y’know? i am prettyy perfect, and well, she did kind of nail it considering that we did get along back in high school,”

 “sure, sure,” your roll your eyes, barely holding back the laugh that threatens to escape your lips, “let’s head inside first? i heard the food here’s pretty good,”

-

contrary to popular belief, finding yourself on a blind date with an ex isn’t all uncomfortable. in fact, you could even say that the date was the exact opposite, especially after the two of you got over the initial awkwardness of your history and not having seen each other in a while.

joking with matsukawa felt so natural. each clever joke either of you would quip was swiftly followed up by an equally hilarious response. references slipped out instinctively, and somehow without fail, you both got it, and would be followed up by a symphony of interminable laughter. 

and maybe it’s the way he leans in a little when you’re visibly excited to relay tales of your college life and easily relaxes back afterwards with a leisurely smirk that invites you to share more about the years he missed.

that, or it’s how he gives hyperbolic retellings of his adventures or misadventures with makki and odd incidents that occurred at work— which makes you question just what was normal about the things matsukawa encounters on a daily basis as a funeral home employee. the charisma oozing from his deep voice mixed with expressive eyebrows and waving hands as he jovially chastises his best friend for still being unemployed draws you in, mirroring his body language while he listened to you.

or is it the way the two of you ask inquisitive, genuine questions here and there, clearly wanting to know more and more, because the details provided aren’t enough. you’re both greedily drinking in these snapshots of each others lives, but you’re still parched. 

being around him was just so comfortable, so natural that you can’t help but let the question of why you two even broke up linger in your mind, and it’s clear that matsukawa was entertaining that thought as well. its evident in the softened corners of his eyes and how he scrambles for excuses to be with you for just a little longer than appropriate for a seemingly quick dinner date.

it’s past midnight now, and the two of you find yourselves in the living room of your apartment. while matsukawa diffidently sits on the couch and admires your furniture in awe, you conclude the root of why your relationship with matsukawa came to an end while brewing two mugs of coffee.

and as if he caught onto your revelation, he brings up the burning question plaguing both your minds.

“i don’t want to dismiss it as ‘we were just young’, but i think we just didn’t know better, you know? our understanding of the scope of world was just so limited,” you carefully answer, taking your time to string together your thoughts as you set down the cups. you slide into the space between the coffee table and couch and he follows suit, the both of you sitting on the ground with your legs huddled closed to your chest. he nods, listening intently as he clings onto every word you utter, searching for hints of a desire for more, something falling out of neutral ground to guide his hope.

“i mean, we weren’t a bad couple, at least i think so. but we were in high school. i don’t really think we even really understood the concept of loving someone romantically,”

“yeah, to be fair, i was also kind of a shit boyfriend,” matsukawa laughs, narrowing his eyes in faux suspicion as you quickly shake your head in dissent.

“you really weren’t! like honest to god, you were pretty good, especially for a high school boyfriend,” you grin, but it falters as your eyes shift and tone becomes a tad bit more serious, “but i mean you can’t shoulder too much unnecessary blame. i kind of had some insecurities and communication issues i had to work out that i didn’t have the confidence and mindset to do so back then”

matsukawa raises his eyebrows in surprise, unsure of what to do with this newfound information. this whole time, he’d been in belief that it was his neglect and immaturity that steered the relationship to failure.

“it’s better now, i think i’m in a healthy state now and i can handle a serious relationship, but god damn, i was so insecure in high school,” you furrow your eyebrows, shuddering a little at the memories of your adolescent self inflicted mental pains. matsukawa smiles softly at this, feeling a small burst of pride erupting from his chest.  

“yeah, i think i didn’t really know how to preserve a relationship,” matsukawa sighs, “i’d like to think that after gaining more experience, i now know how to be a proper boyfriend,” matsukawa supplies sympathetically, thinking back to his high school days.

he had never been too serious of a student, always knowing that he’d end up working at the funeral home that his uncle had been running for decades. back then, his only real worries consisted of volleyball and you, and while you absolutely were a priority, premature matsukawa still hadn’t grasped the concept of relationships requiring much work and effort, that he couldn’t just hang out with you on weekends and after practice with friends when it was convenient for his schedule. he didn’t understand why he had to put in the effort to see and be with you, evident in the way the two of you had mutually agreed to separate when the both of you attended universities in different areas, you attending the school of your dreams at handai in osaka, and him in the nearby junior college in furukawa, an easy commute from where he’s lived his whole life.

“but hey! glad that we’ve worked through our high school shit. i don’t think i got the full extent of stuff you were dealing with back then, but i knew it bothered you pretty badly. i’m proud of you, you know? working through that couldn’t have been easy” matsukawa shakes his head at the flurry of regrets.

“yeah, it’s cool y'know? not thinking that everyone secretly hates you and can’t stand being around you. it’s pretty liberating and makes me optimistic that i’d be a much better girlfriend to potential significant others than i was in high school,” you laugh, a small and sincere smile gracing your face. a brief pause falls upon the room as you and matsukawa bask in the revelations and growth the two of you made in the past few years spent apart.

“do you think we would have stayed together if we met at a later time?” matsukawa breaks the silence, glancing down nervously before meeting your eyes once again. it’s borderline comedic how timid he seems for a 6’3, typically smug and laid back guy, though he’d attribute his current disposition to the fact that you make him feel like a stupidly smitten high school boy again. 

“probably? i don’t know issei, but i think we loved each other before we even knew how to love,” you muse, resting your chin on your palm and leaning your body a little closer to him. you’re not dense, the idea of a rekindling wasn’t far from the cacophony of thoughts running through your mind, but  you wanted to gauge his reactions first before doing anything brash. 

“but do you want to test that?” he asks, voice low while and maintaining steady eye contact. you nod silently, and the two of you stay like that briefly, waiting for the other to make a move.

fuck it, matsukawa thinks, and he lets his thoughts spill out to you, “because i do. i want to take you out on a proper date, with flowers and shit to do things right,”

he’s let you go once, and now that he’s in your life again, even just for a day, he’d never forfeit this golden opportunity again. he wouldn’t make those idiotic decisions he made then, and he’d work to rectify those past mistakes and treat you the way you deserved to be treated all along.

“matuskawa issei! are you saying you’re interested in me?” you jokingly gasp, ending your sentence on a higher, dramatic note. your eyebrows are raised and your grin is incredibly wide that it hurts your cheeks

“yeah” he grins, catching the tone of your voice as he exhaled a breath of both relief and incredibly childish eagerness, “i am,”

you smile and matsukawa hesitantly scoots closer to you until your sides touch. you take this as an invitation and guide his arms around your shoulder as you rest your heads against each other as you whisper, “good. i���d love to,”

[painted-flag]

RASPBERRY TARTS - p.m.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ part of my Marvel soulmate series, found here. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pietro maximoff x fem!reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: action sequence, mention of parental death, and small depictions of violence. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 5.1k words. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ all you wanted was to run your shop, never did you expect to have your soulmate sprint into your life so chaotically.

The earliest memories you had were of your grandparents explaining soulmates. The exact cause was entirely unknown, but when a person was born they had the name of the person who shared their soul printed somewhere on their body. However, there seemed to be a split in the population; some people had the marks and others did not. 

You happened to fall into the percentage of people who possessed a soulmark. 

As a child, unable to understand much, you were excited at the prospect. However, as you grew and your grandparents revealed the truth of what happened to your parents, the idea of possessing a soulmate became bitter. 

Soulmates were not guaranteed love, or even friendship with their partners. Sometimes it ended in a happy ending, other times it did not. Your parents had been the latter. Soulmates, yes, but it did not work out in the end. It was hard coming to terms with their ugly divorce, even more so the plane accident that left you an orphan and under the care of your grandparents. 

Since then, the small words on your forearm seemed to glare at you. It was written in what you later learned was Sokovian. 

Pietro Maximoff. 

The name echoed in your head daily. 

It all came crashing down shortly after the Ultron incident in Sokovia. You had been in a cafe in New York, scouting out places with your friend to start a cafe, when the news was captivated by the rising city. Then, months later, the Avengers revealed two new members that were caught on camera saving the citizens with them. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. 

You nearly had a heart attack that day and your friend, Evette, spent the rest of the day consoling you. She knew the name of your soulmate and had understood your rocky history with the concept. 

Now, four years later, you and Evette had established a cafe in Brooklyn and have since moved on. Every day, you could absorb yourself into freshly made bread and other goodies and not have to worry about the very real fact that your soulmate was a superhero and living in the city. Under no circumstances did you want to meet him. If it ended so horribly for your parents, surely the same fate would befall you? 

Especially if your soulmate was a high-profile person and the Avengers were not short on enemies. 

You were in the front of the bakery during a lull in customers while Evette was in the back prepping some ingredients. Things were calm for once, which made you relieved to get past the morning buzz of customers. Your hand held a cloth as you wiped down one of the counters. The bell of the door rang out as a new customer came in. 

You looked up to see a man who looked to be somewhere in his 40s. He had short, spiked dark hair and wore sunglasses. He was decently tall, fit as well, and walked with confidence. There was something there that was familiar, but you could not entirely pin it. He gave you a small smile as he came up to the counter. 

“Welcome, how may I help you today?” You put the cloth down and wiped your hands on your apron nervously. 

“I’ll have a medium black coffee with an apple fritter, please.” The man replied. You nodded while ringing his order up. While you were busy, he leaned against the counter. 

“I’ve heard good things about this place, but never had the time to come by.” He spoke. 

“Work keeps you busy?” You asked as you grabbed a to-go cup.

“You could say that,” He answered before taking note of your name on your name tag, “Don’t really come across that name often.” 

You shrug at his words, “I always thought it was common.” You poured the hot coffee into his cup and put the lid on before grabbing a small paper bag and tongs to grab a fresh apple fritter from the display case. You packed it up and placed it next to the coffee on the counter. 

“Well, it's nice regardless. I’m Clint. Good to meet you.” Clint gave you a friendly nod before turning to walk out of the door. 

“You too.” You responded. Just as he was going to leave, the TV broadcasted a recent bank heist that was thwarted by some Avengers. Video playback showed a quick ray of silver shooting back and forth before it stopped, revealing Pietro, while the reporter spoke over the footage and recapped the events from just a few minutes ago. 

You sucked in a breath. Pietro was undeniably an attractive man, which only made the situation worse. A superhero and hot? There was no way you could match that. Insecurity clawed at your heart for a moment. 

“Pretty incredible guy, right?” Clint casually asked. You turned to him, only to see him already facing you with a look of curiosity on his face. There was something in his look, patience, waiting for which you did not understand. 

Immediately you looked down at the counter, fiddling with a cloth while red coats your face, “I guess. I don’t really pay attention to that stuff.” 

You cringed afterwards. Don’t pay attention to ‘that stuff?’ How ridiculous could you sound? 

It was mainly the truth. You did not know the Avengers that well. It was never a priority for you. When the news of Pietro and his sister joining the team hit the media, you made sure to distance yourself as much as possible. 

“Don’t blame you. That stuff is dangerous. Have a good day.”

The man left quickly, leaving you alone in the bakery. Again, that feeling of familiarity crept over you as you watched him through the front glass. You almost thought long on it, but a bell at the door and a new customer coming in caught your attention. A smile made its way on your face as you prepared to continue your day.

The ache in your feet was already prominent and it was not even midday yet. The morning rush had been especially chaotic with some convention being hosted down the street. Evette was working overtime in the kitchen and you had zipped back and forth behind the counter filling orders and trying to keep a smile. 

When the crowd had dissipated, you slouched against the counter and stared at the floor with your eyes closed. It was a last-ditch effort to summon up some kind of will to continue working. A ding indicated a new customer. You immediately shot up and alert to greet them, only to relax and smile gently at who walked in. 

Clint had become a regular, coming in every day for the last two weeks. He was always calm and good at conversation while being incredibly witty. There was something fatherly about the way he interacted with people. It was something you sorely missed and lacked in your life. 

“You look dead.” Clint joked. 

Your hand rubbed one of your shoulders to try and relieve the tension, “I feel dead.” 

“Bad morning?” He asked while he looked at the pastries. One thing you knew about him was his insatiable attraction to baked goods. You were sure if the world came to an end, he would still run to the nearest bakery for a sweet treat. 

“Busy. That convention down the street has a lot of hungry people.” You sighed as you adjusted some of the coffee brewing items behind the counter. 

“You know, for someone who interacts with people as part of their job, you don’t seem to like them very much,” Clint spoke. 

“Trust me,” Evette spoke as she exited the back with a tray full of fresh pastries to load the display case, “I’ve told her how ridiculous it is.” 

You shrugged, “Big crowds aren’t my thing.” You were never a fan of crowded spaces; people shoulder to shoulder and speaking in shouts to one another. It was uncomfortable and only made you feel drained. 

“Well, what about galas?” Clint slyly asked. Evette stopped loading the pastries into the glass and looked at him. 

“What do you mean?” Evette asked. 

“There’s this gala tonight and I got the room on my invite for two more. Does that sound good?” Clint asked as he eyed the raspberry tarts. 

“Oh, uh-” You exchanged a look with Evette, prepared to turn him down before your friend interrupted. 

“We’re both in.” Evette smiled at you. You gave her an intense look of disapproval. She had been trying to make you get out there and meet more people lately, but you had put up a good fight so far. Clearly, you were outmatched. 

“Awesome. Here’s my number,” Clint slid a piece of paper across the counter, “Also, just my regular order, but I’ll take two of those raspberry tarts.”

Clint sighed with frustration as he sat on a high chair in the Avenger’s tower. His cup of black coffee, which was almost completely drunk, had gone cold. He had arrived to utter chaos in the living quarters. Pietro was running around, making markings on the ground as he jittered from place to place. Wanda sat next to Clint, happily eating one of the raspberry tarts as she watched her brother freak out. 

“I do not see what all the fuss is about,” Wanda spoke as she took a sip from a glass of water. Despite it being four years since they joined the Avengers, their Sokovian accents were still as thick as the day they met the dysfunctional – but somehow semi-functioning – family of superheroes. Pietro stopped zooming around and took the second tart. He bit down, humming at the nice taste, before opening his mouth. 

“This is going too fast. He was supposed to ease her into it.” Pietro rocked on the balls of his feet. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. A feeling he was not familiar with, nor ever wanted to feel again. 

“Too fast for you, speedy?” Clint exclaimed with disbelief, “Days ago you were whining that I was not making any tangible progress and now, when I finally manage to make it, I am suddenly in the wrong?” 

“Not like this. The gala is in eight hours!” Pietro started pacing. There was so much he had to do. He planned on having a grand entrance; a classic sweep-one-off-their-feet moment. He dreamed of it since he was a kid, even when he was unable to read the name of his soulmate as he had yet to learn English. It felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun with limited time to move. 

“It was almost as if this was a horrible plan in the first place,” Wanda spoke. Clint nodded her way in agreeance with her words. 

“Look, you had Tony track her down and then sent me to scout the place. Remind me again why you think this is necessary?” Clint took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the cool temperature but still liking the flavour. Pietro’s soulmate makes a damn good cup, he thought to himself. 

“I can’t even leave the tower without being swamped by people because your stupid American media does not stop chasing me. I don’t want her to be overwhelmed or put in danger.” Pietro reasoned. For some reason, the American media has chosen Pietro to be a darling representative of the Avengers. Sure, he was a flirt, but it had been taken too far and became nauseating to go out. 

Clint hummed, “Fair point, but did you ever think that having me essentially lie to her these last two weeks was a good way to start this whole thing off?”

“Exactly what I said,” Wanda muttered before taking a final swig of her water. 

Pietro paused for a moment, raising his hands to his face and digging the heels of his palms into his shut eyes, “I did not think that part through.” 

“Do you ever?” Wanda teased. He looked towards his sister in challenge, but she only responded with a sly grin. His stress was getting to him and he took another bite from the raspberry tart. 

“Look, we have until tonight to plan it.” Clint got up from his chair and stretched his legs a bit, “Now, what did you originally have in mind?”

This was absolutely ridiculous. Evette insisted that the cafe be closed early to prepare for the gala. For hours, the two of you got ready. Thankfully, you had an appropriate dress in your closet left over from a wedding you went to a year ago. It was good enough for the gala, but not anything entirely special. Evette spent hours on your hair and makeup, as that was something she was particularly gifted in. 

It was odd to feel as pretty as you did, but the moment you showed up at the gala over an hour ago, it fled quickly. All the people here were stunning. The reporters, politicians, workers, and everyone in between. It was a charity event and the grandeur of the building shocked you. It was modern, elegant, and easily a damn expensive event. 

You and Evette had been on the guest list, welcomed in, handed champagne, and walked into the area. So far, the two of you have not found Clint. Admittedly, you were having a good time despite being slightly uncomfortable with the amount of people that were there. For the most part, you and Evette stuck to one another and only engaged in a few conversations with people. 

The two of you stood off to the side, engaged in a small conversation and sipping on champagne; both of you had lost track of the amount of glasses that had been consumed thus far. Both of you were looking out these large floor-to-ceiling glass windows that spanned the height of two storeys. The bright sparkling windows from the skyscrapers appeared to light up the dark sky. 

“Having a good time?” The familiar voice of Clint came from behind you two. You turned to see him walking up. This area was more secluded, away from the dazzling crowd. He wore a crisp suit with no tie and the first button undone. Casual, but still fancy. 

“It’s been alright.”

“This place is amazing.” Both of your voices chimed off at the same time. Clint laughed gently and stood up by you two. You felt an odd tingling feeling on your wrist where your soulmark was. It was covered by a thick bracelet and your fingers were unable to dig under and calm the itch. 

“There is uh, actually a reason why you’re here,” Clint began. You turned to find him already looking at you. An unsettling feeling crept up your spine. 

“Uh, guys?” Evette spoke, but it was whispered and unintelligible. She was looking out the window with an uncertain look painted across her face. 

“What is it?” You questioned Clint. His hands folded in his pockets and he looked around the room as if searching for something. 

“Well-” 

“Guys!” Evette caught your attention and pointed down to the street to a pack of suspicious vehicles, “What’s that?” 

You looked down the street to find vehicles moving at top speed, hurdling across the cement roadway. The two cars were large, armoured, and not stopping. For a moment, you froze while the worst thoughts flooded your mind. They wouldn’t, would they? 

“Shit,” Clint said before grabbing you and Evette’s forearms and dragging you out of the way. In a clash of loud noise and shattering glass, the two vehicles rammed into the windows and pushed into the building. The shards dispersed all over the place, hitting your bare forearms and causing a bunch of cuts to open up. You gritted your teeth at the stinging sensation. 

Everything was chaos. From your position on the floor, you could see people running all over the place while men in black clothes and balaclavas exited the cars with heavy weaponry. One of the men ran in your direction but stopped and fell to the ground instantly. You gaped in wonder when you noticed an arrow sticking out of his chest. 

Evette’s familiar grip on your arms brought you out of your daze. Your head had taken a harder hit than hers and a pounding behind your eyes started to appear. Beside Evette, standing tall, was Clint with a bow. 

Where the fuck did he get a bow from?

You watched as he shot another one of the invading men. It was then that you looked at him, really looked at him. Despite the chaos around you, your brain was finally thinking clearly. 

Had you really been this stupid? For someone who wanted to avoid the Avengers, you were damn talented at letting one become a regular at your shop and friend. Shame and guilt filled you. You were not dumb, he knew who you were, he must have. Coincidences like this were unlikely. 

Was this whole thing a setup of sorts? Did he actually stumble across your shop or was this planned? Before you could question anything further, you were brought back into the moment. 

“Down that hall!” Clint pointed to a door off to the side, “Go to the end and take a right, get out of here!” He pulled an arrow out of a quiver on his back, nocked it, and fired with speed and efficiency that would have amazed you if it were not for how dangerous the situation was. 

You and Evette wasted no time in heading towards the door with Clint following. He backed up with you two, focusing on shooting the men who scrambled across the floor of the grand hall. Evette opened the door to expose a long hallway, only to see that there were similarly dressed men there too. 

One of the men lifted his hand that held a glock. Clint, being closer to Evette, had a faster reaction time and managed to pull her out of the way. However, it left you vulnerable to the men in front of you. Before you could even think, a flash of colour blurred in front of you. Within a second of time, the two men lay on the ground incapacitated. 

Standing before you, was the person you did not ever plan on meeting. 

He was slightly taller than you expected, but just as rugged as the videos he appeared in. Pietro wore a white button-up with a loose tie around his neck. His clothing was dishevelled, indicating he had been fighting the invading men well before showing up to play rescue. Your heart felt like it lodged up into your throat. 

Pietro was better looking in person – if that was even possible. His silver locks with dark roots suited him, coupled with a strong nose and sharp jaw that was covered in stubble. He was obviously fit by the state of his muscles, especially the strain of his biceps against the white fabric of his shirt which had the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows. 

His eyes were the most striking part of his appearance. Vibrant and alert given the situation, but still somehow soft. There was a reflection of familiarity in his pupils, and you immediately understood that he may already know about you. It only added to the evidence you had that Clint’s appearance in your shop may not have been a coincidence. 

Pietro opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, his gaze never wavering from you, but the sound of a high-pitched scream back in the main room had his eyes snap to behind you. 

It was interesting to watch the silent conversation he had with Clint in those few seconds. Clint gave him a curt nod, almost as if giving reassurance, before you blinked and Pietro was gone; likely off to continue fighting. This dull ache settled in your chest at his disappearance and the itching feeling on your soulmark faded the further he left. 

Clint wasted no time in grabbing you and Evette and marching down the hall towards the exit door. He moved with speed, mainly so he could return to the fight. When he opened the door, a sleek back car was waiting in the alleyway. You had no idea how it got there or what it was originally for, but you did not have time to question it. Clint opened the back door and gestured for you and Evette to go in. 

“The car will take you home. It will drive to shake off any potential followers. Once home, lock your windows and doors and cover them if you must.” Clint spoke. 

Evette looked like she wanted to speak, but was stunned into silence and gratefully nodded before getting in. As you moved to follow her, Clint grabbed your wrist gently. You looked back at him with confusion. 

“It was not supposed to happen like this. I hope you know that.” With those words, you finally understood that this was, in fact, planned. The break-in by those guys was not, but your invitation from him was very much intended. Pietro’s attendance at this event was intentional. 

It almost hurt to think that Clint’s intentions were not casual. He had walked into your store, knowing damn well who you were – or at least who you were to Pietro – and acted accordingly. 

All you could do was nod before joining Evette in the car. Clint closed the door and it automatically locked. He quickly went back inside and the car took off down the alleyway and to the street. You looked forward and saw that there was no driver present. 

It was only until you had reached down the block that the adrenaline wore off and you could feel the pain of the cuts on your arm. Even worse, the dull ache in your heart.

The rattling buzz of your phone broke you out of your monotonous clean of one of the tables. You stopped your clean-up work and pulled it from the back pocket of your jeans. Clint’s name flashed across the screen and, like the many other times he has tried to call, you denied it. 

It had been almost a week since the incident at the gala. According to the news, the infiltrators were there because the organizer owed the mob. They were stopped, of course, mainly by Clint and Pietro – which the news kept playing footage that bystanders caught during the altercation. Thankfully, you had not been in any of them and you took that as a positive sign. 

Since then, Clint has tried to contact you. Truthfully, you were reluctant. The incident only proved one of your underlying fears; how unsafe you would be as a soulmate to an Avenger. The answer was lacklustre, though Evette had been trying to convince you otherwise. She wanted you to reach out and talk to Pietro at the very least. What bothered you the most was that she was right. 

Over these few days, you had thought about it. It was not fair for you to isolate yourself from your soulmate. He did not deserve that. This was not a one-way bond, but a shared commonality. A shared soul. You did not want to be cruel to the person that was fated to you. 

Admittedly, you were also scared. A soul bond did not necessarily mean a perfect connection. Would you even be good enough for a literal hero? You co-owned a cafe with your friend and played video games with her on the weekends. It was not exactly an exhilarating life. Would he even want an exhilarating life? Would you be boring?

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and took a centrepiece from the table to move behind the counter. As you were crouched down and organizing, the ring of the bell caught your attention. 

“Oh, sorry but we are clo-” Your words faded away as you stood up to see Clint there. He was standing casually by the door. You soulmark began to itch you you clocked the situation immediately. 

“He’s outside, isn’t he?” You asked. Your hands tapped the counter awkwardly as you tried not to sway on your feet. 

“Yes,” Clint nodded, “He’ll come in if you want him to.” 

“So, you’re still working as his little spy?” The comment felt harsh as it fell from your lips and you cringed slightly. 

Clint sighed, “Look, if you could let him explain.”

You almost wanted to laugh, “How he sent someone to essentially spy on me? Tell me, what did you learn in your reconnaissance?” It felt odd, having been treated like a mission. You were made a target of which they needed to gather intel on. Not a person, not even his soulmate; a mission. Would that be your life with Pietro?

Clint only leaned against a table, “You know he almost died in Sokovia.” It was not a question, but a bold statement that almost knocked you from your feet. That you did not know and the thought of it… 

“There was this kid I was trying to get out of there and, uh,” For the first time since meeting him, Clint got visibly uncomfortable and one of his hands lifted up to scratch the back of his head, “Pietro ran and took the bullets for us. By all accounts, he should have died but… he wished for us to find you if he didn’t. To take care of you.” 

His words felt like a direct punch to your face. You had been so selfish, so terribly selfish because of your fear that you never thought about him. His life of danger, of possibly never meeting you. 

“That kid is alive because of him. My kids still have their father because of him. All I’m asking is to give him a chance.” Clint finished his speech and waited for a response. You could not look at him, unable to reckon with it all. 

As if on instinct, you quickly went to brewing coffee as you silently contemplated his words. While it brewed – and you were sure to regret it later as it had already been cleaned for the day – you grabbed tongs and picked out and bagged the last apple fritter; Clint’s favourite. 

You placed it on the counter, along with the coffee you poured, and pushed it towards him. Clint made a move to reach into his pocket for his wallet, but you held out your hand. 

“Dont. Just take it and,” You paused to breathe out, “You can send him in.” 

Clint grabbed the items with a small smile on his face and gave you a nod. He made his way outside your shop and turned down the street and out of sight. You looked down at your hands as they shook with nerves. One of your hands fiddled with a ring on your other, turning it around and around as you waited with bated breath. 

The familiar ding of the bell above the door caught your attention. Looking up, you spotted Pietro standing in your shop. He wore casual clothing this time, dark blue jeans with a gray hoodie. His hands were in his pockets and you could tell he was nervous too. Again, you found yourself paralyzed by his eyes.

“I feel I have to explain myself,” Pietro spoke. You crossed your arms and nodded, unable to speak. 

“Clint was only doing me a favour. I was worried how you would feel about, well, me and my life, the Avengers…” He trailed off for a moment and took a few steps closer, “It can be overwhelming and dangerous at times, as I am now sure you know. Are you okay?” 

“Only a few cuts. Nothing horrible. You?” You had managed to walk out from behind the counter, but for some reason found yourself unable to get closer. 

“I’m fine. It was not supposed to be this way, I had planned on having some grand entrance. Sweep you off your feet. Not see you get hurt.” Pietro closed the distance. You noticed immediately how much taller he was. By now, the itch in your wrist has become intense. 

Pietro slowly reached out and used his hands to grab your wrist. He carefully pulled up your sleeve and exposed the soulmark on your wrist. His name, in bold black elegant letters, was sprawled on your skin. 

The moment his calloused fingers touched your skin, the itching ceased. Warmth pooled from the area and moved throughout our body. With your one free arm, you pulled up the sleeve of the hand that brushed over your mark and saw undeniable proof of your connection. Your name, sprawled in the same writing, was printed on his wrist. You touched it and you could feel him shudder under the sensation. 

“I, uh, still can be. Be swept off my feet, I mean. If you want.” You could not help but stutter. His close proximity, the smell of fresh mint and lavender, overwhelmed you. It did not help that the two of you seemed unable to let one another go. 

“That I can do.” Pietro smiled and turned over your hand, lifted it up, and brushed his lips across your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact. You could feel heat sweep across your face, which was no doubt red. 

“Smooth. Should that make me worried?” You asked. 

“Did you not say you wished to be swept off your feet?” Pietro answered. “Though I hate to ruin the immersion, I can’t help but ask, even if you are closed, if you happen to have any more of those raspberry tarts. Clint brought some this morning and, I have to say, you are good.” 

You could not help but be reminded of words your grandmother always repeated; the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. If it were not for such a tender situation, you would have laughed. 

You smiled at him, watching as he grinned back, “Well most of the food is made by my friend, but the tart is one of my recipes. We’re out but uh, we can make more right now if you want.” You were surprised by your own boldness. The experience you had with men was lacking, so your nerves on navigating uncharted waters ran high. 

“That sounds good,” Pietro answered. He gently pulled on your arm, bringing you somehow closer. His hand left yours to tuck some hair behind your ear, “Would it be alright to kiss you?” 

“Normally, yes, but I can let it slide.” You answered. 

Pietro took your invitation as a go and leaned in. You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the feeling of his lips brushing against yours. His stubble ticked just lightly, but it felt comforting. The warmth from his body ran higher than normal and you suspected it was due to his abilities. Your hands moved to his chest as you gripped the fabric there. 

Your heart was alight, buzzing with excitement as his lips moved against against yours. For the first time in your life, a thought burrowed itself into your mind. 

Maybe soulmates aren’t so bad.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ It was so hard not to turn this into a 15-20k word long fic. istg it’s like fighting demons. 

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[akairawrites]

Unmasked | Bruce Wayne x Reader mini series

Updates everyday!

When sharp, unrelenting reporter Y/n L/n is sent to Gotham to shadow billionaire Bruce Wayne for a profile piece, she expects a few days of stiff interviews and polished soundbites. What she doesn’t expect is to be invited into his world—his manor, his orbit, and something far more complicated than charm. Bruce Wayne is no stranger to hiding the truth, but Y/n sees through more than he’s used to. As the two grow closer, tension simmers between their professional boundaries and undeniable chemistry. But when Bruce disappears in the middle of a high-profile gala and a front-page photo threatens to turn everything public, Y/n is left with more questions than answers. He’s hiding something. She’s determined to uncover it. But the deeper she digs, the more tangled their connection becomes.

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The elevator softly hummed before coming to a stop with a ding. As the doors slid open a pair of black pumps stepped out.

Y/n L/n adjusted the strap of her leather bag stepped into the heart of Wayne Tower’s top floor. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows bouncing off the polished surfaces and illuminating the room that screamed wealth.

She didn’t pause to admire the view.

A young assistant—clipboard in hand, nerves barely contained—approached her with practiced politeness. “Ms. L/n? Mr. Wayne is expecting you.”

‘Of course he is,’ she thought.

Y/n offered a curt nod as the assistant just led her down a sleek hallway, murmured something into a discreet earpiece, and opened the door to the corner office.

There he stood at the far end of the room, facing the skyline with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosely tied, as if intentionally displaying his physique. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a sense of ownership over the cityscape. Perhaps it did belong to him.

“Mr. Wayne,” the assistant said. “Ms. L/n from the Daily Planet.”

Bruce turned and flicked on that billion dollar smile. “Y/n L/n.” he said, stepping forward with an easy confidence. “The Daily Planet’s investigative ace. I’ve read your exposé on LexCorp’s offshore holdings—three times.” He extended his hand with controlled confidence.

She accepted the handshake, firm and brief. “Hopefully, this one won’t require a federal audit.”

“That depends on how far you dig,” he replied, gesturing toward the seating area. “You’ve got three days. I’ll give you what I can—meetings, foundations, press obligations, the usual façade. But if you want a clearer picture of who I am beneath all that…”

He paused, then continued with measured intent.

“A car will meet you at your hotel tonight. It’ll take you to Wayne Manor. You’ll stay there for the duration of your visit.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Is that part of the press kit?”

Bruce’s smile didn’t falter. “No. It’s an invitation. You said you wanted access. That’s where it begins.”

There was a beat of silence as she considered it. The proposition was unconventional, but not illogical—not for someone attempting to control the narrative through transparency, curated though it might be.

“I don’t do puff pieces,” she said plainly.

“Good,” Bruce replied. “I don’t do performances.”

The black town car rolled up the long, winding driveway just as dusk settled over the hills. The Manor loomed ahead like a relic carved from shadow—grand, timeless, and somehow more alive in the half-light. Y/n stepped out, coat over one arm, leather bag slung across her shoulder.

She paused, taking in the architecture. It didn’t feel like wealth—it felt like history.

The door opened before she could knock.

“Ms. L/n,” said the man in the doorway, crisply British and effortlessly composed. “Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

“Please just call me Y/n.”

She smiled. “You must be Alfred.”

“Indeed. Come in before the gargoyles get jealous.”

He stepped aside and she entered, immediately enveloped in the rich scent of old wood, leather, and something like fireplace smoke. The foyer alone was larger than most apartments. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone floor.

“No luggage?” Alfred asked, closing the door behind her.

“Just this,” she said, patting the bag on her shoulder. “Didn’t know how long I’d last.”

“You might surprise yourself,” he replied with a subtle smirk. “I’ll show you to your room.” He spoke leading her up the grand staircase.

Alfred moved through the hallways with the silent precision of a man who’d done so for decades. Y/n followed, heels muffled against the ornate runner carpeting. The Manor was quieter than she expected—grand but not ostentatious, more like a private cathedral than a billionaire’s estate.

“I have to admit,” she said, glancing at the dark oil paintings lining the walls, “this place is… not what I expected.”

“I hear that often,” Alfred replied without looking back. “Usually just before someone gets lost between the east and west wings.”

She gave a small smile. “Are there a lot of guests who get lost?”

“Not many guests at all,” he said, pausing at a carved oak door. He opened it with the kind of reverence that suggested this was still someone else’s house, even after all these years.

The room was warm, high-ceilinged, and surprisingly lived-in—like someone cared enough to keep it dusted but hadn’t changed the curtains since the nineties. A wide bed, a fireplace, books stacked neatly along the windowsill.

“If there’s anything you need, press the call button,” Alfred said, gesturing subtly to a small brass switch near the doorframe. “There are clothes in the drawers if needed and dinner shall be ready in a hour, Master Bruce should be home by then.”

Y/n set her bag down and turned to face him. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred gave her the faintest smile—polite, dry, and impenetrable before closing the door on his way out.

Y/n took a deep breath, taking in her new surroundings. In the far corner stood a grand king-sized canopy bed, commanding attention with its elegant presence. Flanking the bed were matching bedside tables, each topped with a stylish lamp. Beneath the bed, a large, plush carpet stretched across the cool marble floor, adding warmth to the room. To the left, a door led into a spacious en-suite bathroom, its soft lighting spilling faintly into the bedroom. On the opposite side, tall glass doors opened out onto a private balcony, where sheer curtains swayed gently with the breeze.

She settled onto the bed and traced the sheets with her hands. They were undoubtedly freshly washed. She reclined on the bed and surrendered to the comforting warmth of the comforter. Her exasperated sighs gave it away. She drifted off to sleep for a brief moment before being jolted back to reality.

Y/n sat up, glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and realized she had about thirty minutes before she had to meet Bruce downstairs for dinner. She rummaged through the drawers before heading to the bathroom.

The grand staircase creaked just once beneath her steps as Y/n descended, damp hair twisted into a loose knot, dressed simply—clean black slacks, a soft navy sweater. No makeup, no press badge, no armor. Just her, freshly showered and still letting the Manor sink into her skin like steam.

She followed the scent of roasted vegetables, garlic, and something that smelled suspiciously like real butter through the main hall until she found the dining room—lit low, more candlelight than chandelier.

Bruce was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table, sleeves rolled again, a wine glass in hand. He looked up, eyes catching her in that almost-too-long way he’d done earlier.

“Ms. L/n,” he said with a slight nod. “You clean up well.”

“I’m sure the same could be said about your image,” she replied, sliding into the chair a few seats down from him. “Though I imagine yours takes a bit more polish.”

Bruce grinned, genuinely this time. “Touché.”

Alfred appeared—quiet as breath—with two plates, setting one before each of them. Roasted salmon, lemon risotto, grilled broccolini. Y/n glanced up.

“You cooked this?”

“I did,” Alfred said evenly. “Don’t look so surprised. I was many things before I was a butler.”

“I’m learning,” she said, giving him a respectful smile.

“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he added, and then—just like that—he was gone.

For a moment, it was just the soft clink of silverware, the crackle of the fire in the nearby hearth, and the muted hum of Gotham wind pressing against ancient windows.

“So,” Bruce said, after a sip of wine, “how’s the Manor treating you so far? Haunted yet?”

“I’ll let you know if I hear chains dragging down the hall,” she said, cutting into the salmon. “But no. So far it’s… calm. A little too calm, a little too calm for my liking.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is that a reporter’s suspicion talking, or are you just uncomfortable when people aren’t trying to lie to you?”

“I think it’s more that you’re still trying to figure out if I’m here to expose you or exonerate you,” she said, eyes meeting his over the rim of her glass. “And the jury’s still out on which one you want.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a long beat, then offered a small, unreadable smile.

“Maybe I want both.”

She remained silent in return, finishing up her food.

The plates were cleared. The wine decanted. They’d moved into the study, where a second fire was already burning low and soft jazz murmured through invisible speakers. Bruce leaned casually against the couch arm, holding a glass in his hand. His legs were relaxed, but she tried not to be fooled. His tie was somewhere in the room, and the first few buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a bit of his chest and rolled-up sleeves to his elbows.

Y/n sat across from him, one knee tucked under her. A notepad rested on her thigh, untouched. She hadn’t needed it yet.

“You know,” she said, swirling her wine, “you give the impression of someone who has everything, but talks like someone who’s lost more than he lets on.”

Bruce’s brow lifted slightly. “Is that going in the article?”

“It might,” she said. “Depends on what you say next.”

He took a breath through his nose and looked into the fire for a moment. The warmth played against the hard lines of his face, softening them—but not enough to make him look safe.

“My parents died when I was eight. Shot in front of me,” he said, quietly. Flatly. Like he’d told the story too many times to feel it anymore. “That usually makes it into the articles. Right after the net worth and just before the charity highlights.”

Y/n didn’t flinch. She’d heard a thousand versions of grief. But this one carried that unique, echoing hollowness only a child’s loss could leave behind.

“They say trauma either hardens you or hollows you out,” she said carefully. “Which one are you?”

Bruce looked at her then—really looked. Not with the charm or the polished billionaire gaze, but with something raw behind his eyes, something edged in shadow.

“I think I tried both,” he said. “Didn’t like either answer.”

“So what keeps you going?” she asked, her voice softer now. “What’s the fuel, Bruce? Why keep pretending to be part of a world that doesn’t feel like it fits anymore?”

A beat. Then:

“Because someone has to,” he said, and this time the answer came fast—too fast. Rehearsed, maybe. Or instinctive.

She tilted her head. “That sounds noble. Or dangerous. Or both.”

He didn’t reply, and the silence between them grew a little heavier.

“Let me guess,” she added, breaking it gently. “That’s the part I’m not supposed to write down.”

Bruce’s smile came slowly, but without humor. “Write whatever you want. Just don’t expect anyone to believe it.”

The fire had died down to embers. Y/n set her wine glass aside and leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on him. Whatever warmth lingered between them from dinner had cooled into something more electric.

“You’re not like other billionaires,” she said plainly. “Most of them talk too much. You say just enough to sound mysterious.”

Bruce didn’t move. “And that bothers you?”

“No. It fascinates me.” She studied him carefully. “You’re guarded. Strategic. Like you’re always calculating the next step—whether it’s in a boardroom, or a conversation, or… whatever else you do when no one’s watching.”

A pause. She let the silence stretch, then went in for the cut.

“Tell me, Bruce. Who are you when no one’s looking?”

His jaw twitched—subtle, but there. A shift.

“I’m exactly who you see,” he said. Calm, but too smooth.

“See, that’s the part I don’t believe,” she replied. “You have the guilt of someone who’s trying to atone for something. And not just your parents’ deaths. That’s too easy. That’s the story everyone already knows.”

His expression didn’t change, but the air in the room did. Still, he didn’t stop her.

“You give away millions,” she continued. “You fund orphanages, trauma clinics, scholarships for kids who grew up just like you. But you don’t spend time with people. You don’t build relationships. You vanish when the cameras are gone. Like the job you’re really doing is somewhere else entirely.”

Bruce leaned back slowly, but his gaze never left hers. “Careful, Y/n. You’re starting to sound like someone who believes in ghosts.”

She tilted her head. “Should I be?”

That earned her a flicker of something—almost a smile, but darker. Wary.

“Everyone believes in something,” he said. “You chose journalism. I chose legacy.”

“No,” she said, standing slowly, her voice low. “You chose a mask. I just don’t know which one’s real yet.”

And then she left him there, in the fading light of the fire, staring into the dark like it might answer before he did.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the room felt suddenly colder—like she’d taken the last of the warmth with her.

Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared into the dying fire, his glass untouched in his hand, the wine long forgotten.

She was close.

Closer than he expected her to get in one evening. Her questions weren’t just clever—they were surgical. Clean, precise cuts designed to find the soft tissue beneath the armor.

He hated how easily she’d gotten under his skin.

He could still hear her voice—calm, certain, almost gentle as she disassembled the mythology he’d spent a lifetime perfecting. “You chose a mask.”

She wasn’t wrong. He had.

But she didn’t know that the man she’d had dinner with tonight wasn’t the mask. This—the stillness, the silence, the half-lit room and the ache in his chest—this was the mask. Bruce Wayne was a myth he kept alive because Gotham needed it.

And Batman was the part of him that hadn’t died in that alley.

He tilted his head back against the leather of the chair, staring up at the ceiling where the Manor’s bones creaked softly in the wind. Somewhere, deeper beneath the floors, the Cave was waiting. The suit. The city.

But tonight, for the first time in a long time, the danger wasn’t out there.

It was upstairs.

Wearing black slacks and a navy sweater. Asking questions like they were weapons.

He didn’t know yet if Y/n L/n was going to uncover something… or become something he had to protect.

And that, more than anything, unsettled him.

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[reveryfics]

Telekinetic Love

Erik Lehnsherr x Male Reader

Summary: "Have I told you I love you today?" "Yes, about forty-five times." "You've been counting?"

A/N: Another mutant reader this time for Erik. Reader is a professor with similar powers to Charles. Just loved this prompt idea, especially with Erik.

TW: Fluff

Erik sighed, the sound a soft exhale of contentment that barely disturbed the quiet of Charles Xavier's office. A slow, almost shy smile crept onto his face as he held the day's newspaper, the black and white print a stark contrast to the vibrant symphony playing within his mind. Your voice, a constant, comforting hum, echoed through his thoughts yet again. It had been there for the past three hours, ever since your first class of the day began, a steady stream of 'I love you's' washing over him like a warm tide as he moved through the mundane tasks of his day.

He’d be lying, a blatant, unapologetic lie, if he said he didn't relish this particular facet of your mutant abilities. This constant, whispered affection, perhaps your one truly selfish utilization of your telekinesis that Erik was privy to, had become an anchor in his day. It was something he looked forward to with a quiet anticipation when you were apart, a secret, unwavering reassurance that never failed to bring a genuine smile to his often-stoic features, no matter the weight of the world or the gravity of the current situation.

Charles, ever perceptive, looked up from the stacks of paperwork threatening to consume his mahogany desk. His eyebrow arched slightly, a familiar gesture of amusement. "What is he saying this time, Erik?" Charles chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in the spacious office.

Erik hummed in response, his gaze lifting from the newspaper, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, a small, deliberate sound. "The same thing he's been saying all day, Charles." Erik had been keeping a mental tally, a habit ingrained from years of strategic planning and meticulous observation. You, however, seemed determined to push the boundaries of his count, somehow managing to set a new, albeit silent, record with each passing day.

As the final bell of the school day signaled the release of students, Erik found his feet instinctively carrying him towards your classroom, a familiar pilgrimage he made almost daily while you lingered to grade papers or prepare for the next day's lessons. He leaned against the cool frame of the doorway, his presence a silent sentinel, a soft smile blooming on his lips as he heard that familiar, internal whisper brush against his consciousness once more. Your head lifted then, your eyes meeting his across the quiet room, and a matching smile illuminated your face.

You gestured towards the worn armchair tucked into the corner, a silent invitation. "How was your day?" you hummed, your voice soft and melodic, the live version a welcome contrast to the constant echo in his mind.

Erik pushed the door shut behind him, the gentle click a definitive end to the outside world. He pulled the extra chair closer to your desk, settling beside you. With a subtle flick of his wrist, using his unparalleled control over metal, he spun your chair to face him, the movement smooth and effortless. He then gently tugged you closer by the small metal pin fastened to the lapel of your blazer, his eyes holding yours. "Better now," he murmured, his voice a low caress.

You chuckled, the sound light and airy, and reached out to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Then, with a playful sigh, you pushed back slightly, reaching for your pen and returning to the papers scattered across your desk.

You recounted the day's lesson with an enthusiasm that always captivated him. "The students were particularly engaged with the history of mutant rights today," you explained, your brow furrowed in thought as you recalled specific student questions. "I think they were genuinely fascinated by the early activism, the sheer courage it must have taken." Erik listened intently, his gaze unwavering, fixed on the way your brow creased when you concentrated, the way your fingers occasionally tapped a thoughtful rhythm against the paper. He subtly manipulated the pens on your desk, making them glide and twirl in a silent, mesmerizing dance, a visual counterpoint to the rhythm of your voice. The late afternoon sun dipped further below the horizon, painting the classroom in hues of orange and purple, casting long, dancing shadows. Erik, ever mindful of the time, gently covered your hand with his. "Charles is likely expecting us for dinner soon," he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Perhaps you could leave the rest of this for tomorrow?"

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair and stretching. But the weariness in your voice was belied by the soft smile that tugged at your lips. Gathering the scattered papers into a neat stack, you began to tidy your desk, the familiar ritual a comforting prelude to the end of the day. You reached for your coat, slinging it over your arm, and turned to face Erik, your eyes sparkling with affection. "Have I told you I love you today?" you teased, your voice a soft melody in the quiet room. Erik chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, and reached out, pulling you close by the loops of your belt until you were flush against him. "Yes," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your forehead, "forty-five times." He peppered your face with tender kisses, his lips lingering on your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. "You've been counting?" you mused, your fingers tracing the sharp, elegant line of his jaw. Erik leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of his affection before pulling away, his eyes dark with a love that mirrored your own. "Always do," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

Hand in hand, you and Erik made your way through the quiet corridors of the school towards Charles' office. He greeted you with a warm, knowing smile, already setting out plates and cutlery for their usual nightly dinner. As you settled into the comfortable armchairs, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. You focused your telekinetic abilities, sending a clear, unmistakable wave of affection and the silent message of 'I love you' directly into Erik's mind. A small, private smile touched his lips, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Forty-six," he announced quietly, his eyes meeting yours, sparkling with amusement and an undeniable tenderness.

[gardenschedule]

Quotes about John Lennon’s sexuality

Link to masterpost of quote compilations

John's (internalized) homophobia: Starting with this topic to provide context & contrast to the rest of this post

At the party the boys’ old friend Bob Wooler, the Cavern emcee, made a crack to John about his holiday. John, who’d had plenty to drink, exploded. He leapt on Bob, and by the time he was dragged off Bob had a black eye and badly bruised ribs. I took John home as fast as I could, and Brian drove Bob to the hospital.

I was appalled that John had lashed out again. I’d thought those days were over. But John was still livid, muttering that Bob had called him a queer.

Cynthia Lennon, John

[Bob Wooler had] insinuated that me and Brian had had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind with drink. You know, when you get down to the point where you want to drink out of all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, ‘Come on, John, tell me’ – something like that – ‘Tell me about you and Brian, we all know.’ And obviously I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. If somebody said it now, I wouldn’t give a shit.

John Lennon, John Lennon: For The Record, Peter McCabe and Robert D Schonfeld

“The Beatles’ first national coverage was me beating up Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st party because he intimated I was homosexual. I must have had a fear that maybe I was homosexual to attack him like that and it’s very complicated reasoning. But I was very drunk and I hit him and I could have really killed somebody then. And that scared me… That was in the Daily Mirror, it was the back page…”

John Lennon, talking about a (one sided) fight he had with Cavern DJ Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st birthday party in 1963.

Everyone in Liverpool knew that Epstein was gay, and some kid in the audience screamed, ‘John Lennon’s a fucking queer!’ And John – who never wore his glasses on stage – put his guitar down and went into the crowd, shouting, ‘Who said that?’ So this kid says, ‘I fucking did.’ John went after him and BAM, gave him the Liverpool kiss, sticking the nut on him – twice! And the kid went down in a mass of blood, snot and teeth. Then John got back on the stage. ‘Anybody else?’ he asked. Silence. ‘All right then. “Some Other Guy”.’”

Lemmy Kilmister, White Line Fever: The Biography. (2004)

“Victim in 1961 was one of the first British films to deal properly and thoughtfully with the subject. Dirk Bogarde welcomed the opportunity to play the homosexual barrister, and there were some very tense scenes between him and his wife, Sylvia Syms. In one scene, Dirk Bogarde lifts his garage door at the back of the mews to discover that someone has painted graffiti about him on the wall. The Beatles were sitting together at a Cavern lunchtime session and John Lennon, who was talking to Paul and George, was making biting remarks about Victim, which was on at the Odeon. I knew by then that Brian was what he was, and I thought, ‘Well, I am surprised at John, who is 21 and a young man of the world.’ He was making such nasty, puritanical observations, but I never said anything as they didn’t know that I was listening.”

Bob Wooler, c/o Spencer Leigh, The Best of Fellas: The Story of Bob Wooler. (2002)

If somebody is going to manage me, I want to know them inside out. He told me he was a fag.

 I like “Honky Tonk Woman” but I think Mick’s a joke, with all that fag dancing, I always did

I think its concept is revolutionary, and I hope it’s for workers and not for tarts and fags.

I don’t know about the “history”; the people who are in control and in power, and the class system and the whole bullshit bourgeoisie is exactly the same, except there is a lot of fag middle class kids with long, long hair walking around London in trendy clothes

I don’t dig that junkie fag scene he lives in; I don’t know whether he lives like that or what.

Casual homophobia in Lennon Remembers (Notable for the increase in homophobic language post-primary scream therapy, here is some interesting speculation about how these two things are related)

The violence that had been building inside John Lennon all night came bursting out the moment he left the studio. It struck so fast and unexpectedly that it stunned May Pang. She recalled that John was walking unsteadily toward the parking lot when suddenly he cast a drunken look over his shoulder at Jesse Ed Davis. Running over to him, Lennon gave Jesse Ed a passionate kiss on the mouth. Not to be outdone, Jesse Ed grabbed John and kissed him back. Lennon screamed, “F****t!” — and knocked Jesse flat on his ass.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (May Pang, describing an incident during the recording of Rock 'n' Roll in 1973: p.564)

It turned into a full-on fight. John was incredibly strong! He got me in some kind of a hold behind my back that I could not get out of, like a full nelson. And he started to kiss me on the mouth! He was laughin’ and kissin’ me on the mouth. I was strugglin’ to git away and I couldn’t git away. Then he stuck his tongue in my mouth. God! So I bit him. Bit him on the tongue. That pissed him off. So he grabbed the marble ashtray that we couldn’t break and banged me on the head. Knocked me cold.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (a direct quote from Jesse Ed Davis about a different night: p. 576-577)

Alternatively, he could be openly supportive:

Why make it sad to be gay? Doing your thing is O.K. Our bodies our own So leave us alone Go play with yourself – today.

A poem submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972

John spreading rumours: John (and Yoko) had a propensity for intentionally spreading rumours about his sexuality, with many people claiming that he found it funny. Multiple people refused to believe his own words about his experiences or willingness with men.

John told me he had had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I mentioned this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn't really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once. John was certainly not homosexual, and this boast, or lie, would have given the wrong impression. It was also not fair on Cynthia, his then wife.

Hunter Davies, The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (updated edition, 2010)

John himself said he finally allowed Brian to make love to him “to get it out of the way.” Those who knew John well, who had known him for years, don’t believe it for a moment. John was aggressively heterosexual and had never given a hint that he was anything but.

Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours: My Life With The Beatles, 2014

John roared with laughter at the rumours that began afterwards. Typically, he encouraged the stories that he and Brian were gay lovers because he thought it was funny and John was one of the world’s great wind-up merchants. He told me afterwards in one of our frankest heart-to-hearts that Brian never seriously did proposition him. He had teased Brian about the young men he kept gazing at and the odd ones who had found their way to his room. Brian had joked to John about the women who hurled themselves at him. ‘If he’d asked me, I probably would have done anything he wanted. I was so much in awe of Brian then I’d have tried a night of vice-versa. But he never wanted me like that. Sure, I took the mickey a bit and pretended to lead him on. But we both knew we were joking.

Alistair Taylor, With The Beatles, 2003

Years later, John finally came clean about what had happened: not to anyone who’d been around at the time, but to the unshockable woman with whom he shared the last decade of his life. He said that one night during the trip, Brian had cast aside shyness and scruples and finally come on to him, but that he’d replied, “If you feel like that, go out and find a hustler.” Afterward, he had deliberately fed Pete Shotton the myth of his brief surrender, so that everyone would believe his power over Brian to be absolute.

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

The next night Elliot [Mintz] took us out with a friend of his, Sal Mineo, and we all went to a gay cabaret/discotheque. John was oblivious to the gay ambience. He was curious about everyone’s sexuality and liked to gossip about who was sleeping with whom, whether they were gay or straight. John made no judgements about homosexuality but was really curious about who was and who wasn’t gay.

He knew that his appearance at a gay club might start rumors about his own sexuality, and it made him laugh. He told me that there had been rumors about him and his first manager, Brian Epstein, and that he usually didn’t deny them. He liked the fact that people could be titillated by having suspicions about his masculinity. Then I was the one who was laughing. “How could anyone believe a man who likes women as much as you do is gay?” I told him.

May Pang’s Loving John (1983).

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

John Lennon self interview for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

“It’s great,” Ono laughs. “I mean, both John and I thought it was good that people think we were bisexual, or homosexual.” She laughs again.

“Uh, well, the story I was told was a very explicit story, and from that I think they didn’t have it [sex],” Ono tells me. “But they went to Spain, and when they came back, tons of reporters were asking, ‘Did you do it, did you do it?’ So he said, ‘I did it.’ Isn’t that amazing? But of course he would say that. I’m sure Brian Epstein made a move, yeah.”

And Lennon said no to Epstein?

“He just didn’t want to do it, I think.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

Over dinner the Wenners learned the secrets of the Beatles kingdom from Ono, who would often suggest to Wenner that John Lennon was gay. “She’s always hinted that there was some gay component to John,” said Wenner, “but in a vague or generalized way, like, ‘Isn’t everybody gay?’ Or, ‘I always told John he was gay.’ ” (She also told McCartney this theory after Lennon died, which he didn’t believe.)”

Joe Hagan, Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner & Rolling Stone Magazine. (2017)

On the other hand, he supposedly hated the rumours:

Claims have been made since that Brian and John had a gay relationship. Nothing could be further from the truth. John was a hundred per cent heterosexual and, like most lads at that time, horrified by the idea of homosexuality.

It was a holiday John came to regret because it sparked off a string of rumours about his relationship with Brian. He had to put up with sly digs, winks and innuendo that he was secretly gay. It infuriated him: all he'd wanted was a break with a friend, but it was turned into so much more.

Cynthia Lennon, John, 2005

And I just went on holiday. I watched Brian picking up the boys. I like playing a bit faggy, all that. It was enjoyable, but there were big rumours in Liverpool, it was terrible. Very embarrassing. Rumors about you and Brian? Oh, fuck knows—yes, yes. I was pretty close to Brian because if somebody's going to manage me, I want to know them inside out.

John Lennon, Jann S. Wenner, Lennon Remembers, 1970

Unfortunately, certain Liverpool acquaintances (who had no way of knowing that there was a kernel of truth to their allegations) wouldn't let John hear the end of it. All in good fun, no doubt, but John was still too enamored of his macho self-image to take lightly any inference that he was anything less than 100 percent heterosexual.

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

John's comments about his sexuality:

It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right. We go through the trauma of life and death every day so it’s not so much of a worry about what sex we are anymore.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: Yoko Ono and her sixteen-track voice. (March 18th, 1971)

I just realized that [Yoko] knew everything I knew, and more, probably, and it was coming out of a woman’s head. It just sort of bowled me over, you know? And it was like finding gold or something. To find somebody that you can go and get pissed with, and have exactly the same relationship as any mate in Liverpool you’d ever had, but also you could go to bed with him, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired, or sick, or depressed. It could also be Mother. And obviously, that’s what the male-female – you know, you could take those roles with each other.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld c/o Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld, John Lennon: For The Record. (September 5th, 1971)

It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?

John Lennon, interview w/ Sandra Shevey. (Mid-June?, 1972)

I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship. It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.

John Lennon, Rolling Stone, 1980

I was thinking, if only I could get out of Liverpool, be famous and rich, that would be great. I’ve always wanted to be a famous artist, you know? Possibly I’d have to marry a very rich old lady… or man, you know… to… to look after me while I did my art. But then Rock & Roll came and I thought ‘Ah, this is the one’, so I didn’t have to marry anybody or live with them, you know?

John Lennon interview

There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”

John Lennon: The Life

I look at early pictures of meself, and I was torn between being Marlon Brando and being the sensitive poet – the Oscar Wilde part of me with the velvet, feminine side. I was always torn between the two, mainly opting for the macho side, because if you showed the other side, you were dead.

John Lennon, December 5th, 1980

“John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, “She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.” John said to me, “If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, ‘Actually, Yoko is a guy.’ Maybe that will do it!”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Jon Wiener, c/o Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon In His Time. (1984)

In this intense, intimate and revealing original cassette recording of a private conversation in 1969 between John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the couple speaks primarily about Yoko’s past relationships, her music and art, and their random views on sex, love, promiscuity, and homosexuality. […] [Lennon] adds that he had never met an attractive woman that had sexually aroused him to any great degree.

Description of the 45-minute audiotape auctioned in 2009 by Alexander Autographs.

Yoko's comments about his sexuality:

“Well, that’s another thing. John and I had a big talk about it, saying, basically, all of us must be bisexual. And we were sort of in a situation of thinking that we’re not [bisexual] because of society. So we are hiding the other side of ourselves, which is less acceptable. But I don’t have a strong sexual desire towards another woman.”

Did Lennon have sex with other men?

“I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono.

“No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.”

So did Lennon ever have sex with men?

“No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

"As mild and oblique as the comment was [Paul's "You took your lucky break and broke it in two" line from "Too Many People"], it seemed to cut John to the heart. On top of the questionnaire inside theMcCartney album and the lawsuit, it was like the tipping point between a divorcing couple that turns love into savage, no-holds-barred hostility. Indeed, John's wounded anger was more that of an ex-spouse than ex-colleague, reinforcing a suspicion already in Yoko's mind that his feelings for Paul had been far more intense than the world at large ever guessed. From chance remarks he had made, she gathered there had even been a moment where - on the principle that bohemians should try everything - he had contemplated an affair with Paul, but had been deterred by Paul's immovable heterosexuality. Nor, apparently, was Yoko the only one to have picked up on this. Around Apple, in her hearing, Paul would sometimes be called John's princess. She had also once heard a rehearsal tape with John's voice calling out "Paul ... Paul ... " in a strangely subservient, pleading way. "I knew there was something going on there," she remembers. "From his point of view, not from Paul's. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn't help wondering what it was really about.""

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong with me, John, and Paul.

Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968

Friends & acquaintances comments on his sexuality:

I realised I was probably bisexual; there was nothing to be ashamed of in this – John Lennon had reputedly spoken to mutual friends of his own experiments.

Who I Am: A Memoir, Pete Townshend 2012

PAUL: There were lots of people asking cheeky questions, and they were always saying, “Well, why–have you ever tried homosexuality, John?” You know, they always used to ask all that kind of stuff. I remember John saying to them, “No, I’ve never met a fella I fancy enough.” And that was his kind of opinion. You know, “I may go–I may be gay one day, if some fella really turns me on.” He was–he was that open about it. But as far as I was concerned, I slept in a million hotel rooms–as we all did–slept in a million places with John, and there was never any hint of it.

December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott

“And you, Icke?” asked Paul. “Who’s your favourite author?” “Henry Miller. I think he’s very good,” I said. In that moment John suddenly looked over at me. Until then he had been watching Bettina, the bar lady, rinsing glasses and tidying up the bar, with his typical somewhat blasé expression. Our discussion hadn’t seemed to interest him much. Now he was looking directly into my eyes. Quietly and without taking his eyes off me, he walked around the whole counter over to me, planted a kiss on my mouth and went back to his spot. At first, I was quite surprised and didn’t know what to do about it, then I found it rather funny and thought little of it. A few days later, it happened again. I happened upon* him in the hallway behind the stage and again he took my hand and kissed me. At some point the thought occurred to me, “man, he thinks I’m gay, but I can’t help him with that.” What was really going on, I don’t know. Maybe he meant the kisses as overtures; he was even treated as a closet case by homosexuals.

Hans-Walther (Icke) Braun (a friend of the Beatles in Hamburg)

"What happened," John explained, "is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: 'Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.' "And he said to me, 'Actually, John, I don't do that kind of thing. That's not what I like to do.' "'Well,' I said, 'what is it you want to do, then?' "And he said, 'I'd really just like to touch you, John.' "And so I let him toss me off." And that was that. End of story. "That's all, John?" I said. "Well, so what? What's the big fucking deal, then?" "Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He's having a fucking hard enough time anyway." This was in reference to the "butch" dockers who, on several recent occasions, had rewarded Brian's advances by beating him to a bloody pulp. "So what harm did it do, then, Pete, for fuck's sake?" John asked rhetorically. "No harm at all. The poor fucking bastard, he can't help the way he is." "No need to get so worked up," I said. "You know I don't give a shit. What's a fucking wank between friends anyway?"

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life, 1983

I think he was trying to find himself a… what he’d call a soulmate. Someone who had as mad ideas as he had. I think he felt that she had the talent… but that’s debatable. But he needed that— he didn’t need a ‘mumsie’ partner at that point. He needed a mate. And I think he actually said, at some stage, in an interview that, you know— She’s the nearest thing to a man — a mate; man — that he’s ever had in a woman.

Cynthia Lennon, interviewed by Alex Belfield for BBC Radio (2006).

Paul wrote to me from the Star Club in Hamburg once, a great letter, it even had doodles on the front of it, but it was stolen. He said that in one of the clubs one night John Lennon ended up with a stunning, exotic-looking woman—only to discover on closer inspection that she was a he, which all the other Beatles found hilarious.

Sue Johnston (actress), The Mirror. (August 23rd, 2011)

Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. ‘There was one particular club he used to like,’ Tony Sheridan remembers, ‘full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.’

In John Lennon: The Life by Philip Norman (2008).

“We’d read all these things about leather and we didn’t have any leather but I had my oilskins and we had some polythene bags from somewhere. We all dressed up in them and wore them in bed. John stayed the night with us in the same bed. I don’t think anything very exciting happened and we all wondered what the fun was in being ‘kinky’. It was probably more my idea than John’s.”

Royston Ellis

In the same book Pauline speculates, sensationally, that John and her brother had a homosexual relationship. ‘I have known in my heart for many years that Stuart and John had a sexual relationship,’ she writes, though she fails to provide any firm evidence. Pauline wonders whether this ‘relationship’ was the real cause of the antagonism between Paul and Stu.

Fab, An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney

Journalist & author comments on his sexuality:

“No, he wasn’t sexually attracted to Paul. Paul was very very pretty, but he actually wasn’t someone who made gay men fancy him. John was much more likely to make a gay man like Brian Epstein because John seemed so straight, there was nothing sort of girly about John at all. But John wanted to be, in his mind, a real artist, that is someone who painted and did sculpture. And he thought that a real artist or he called it a bohemian, should be open to all experiences. He should perhaps have a homosexual experience. Who was around? Paul was around. They used to share beds you know, in these cheap hotels when they would go around with the Beatles. There was never any question of Paul ever reciprocating such a thing, it was merely a thought that according to Yoko had flitted across John’s mind. Now John could use sexuality, I mean he did somewhat play on the fact that Brian Epstein, the Beatles manager, was in love with him you know, but it was just a game really with John.”

Philip Norman interview

"Yet even [John's resentment over Paul announcing the breakup first] does not explain his later remark to Yoko that no one had ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him. It almost suggests that, deep beneath the schoolboy friendship and the complementary musical brilliance, lay some streak of homosexual adoration that John himself never realised. He might have longed to get away from Paul, but he could never quite get over him."

Philip Norman, Shout!, 1981

And any mention of Paul brought a wintry bleakness to her face. 'John always used to say,' [Yoko] told me at one point, 'that no one ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him.' The words suggested a far deeper emotional attachment between the two than the world had ever suspected---they were like those of a spurned lover---and I naturally included them in my account of my visit for the Sunday Times. After it appeared, I returned to my London flat one evening to be told by my then girlfriend, ‘Paul, phoned you.’ She said he wanted to know what Yoko had meant and that he’d seemed upset rather than angry.

Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.

“If you had a choice, Eppy,” John said, “if you could press a button and be hetero, would you do it?” Brian thought for a moment. “Strangely, no,” he said. A little later a peculiar game developed. John would point out some passing man to Brian, and Brian would explain to him what it was about the fellow that he found attractive or unattractive. “I was rather enjoying the experience,” John said, “thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this.” And still later, back in their hotel suite, drunk and sleepy from the sweet Spanish wine, Brian and John undressed in silence. “It’s okay, Eppy,” John said, and lay down on his bed. Brian would have liked to have hugged him, but he was afraid. Instead, John lay there, tentative and still, and Brian fulfilled the fantasies he was so sure would bring him contentment, only to awake the next morning as hollow as before.

Peter Brown, The Love You Make, 1983

“[John and Janov] talked…about Brian Epstein…‘He knew Brian had adored him, and there was a lot of guilt there about the way he'd depended on Brian yet mistreated him,’ Janov recalls. They talked about John's notorious Spanish holiday with Brian in 1963 and the (to John) insignificant physical encounter that had resulted. The more Janov heard about Brian, the more he longed to have had him as a patient. ‘God, that was a tragic story. There was someone who needed therapy even more than John did.’”

Phillip Normans book, John Lennon: The Life.

Whilst the Beatles had always been marketed as a heterosexual group - in contrast with the Stones, whose image was androgynous - they were sympathetic to the homosexual population. Lennon himself was alleged to have had affairs with both men and women, and although he never openly admitted it to me, his condemnation of Britain as a land which feeds on a homosexual subsculture persuades me at this late stage that he was speaking from experience. I am sure that the break-up of the Beatles, or, more specifically, of John and Paul, must have been more traumatic than any of us suspect.

Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon

‘OK: John Reid said that when we were in Boston with Elton and John in 1974, he couldn’t resist asking John whether the rumours about him and Epstein were true. This was in response to John having said to John Reid, “You’re the most intimidating man I’ve met since Brian Epstein.” And so John Reid, never knowingly one to miss an opportunity, said, “Did you ever have sex with Brian?” And John said, “Twice. Once to see what it was like, and once to make sure I didn’t like it.” ‘All these years, by the way, I have not wanted to be the guy who declared, “John Lennon and Brian Epstein had sex.” You can appreciate how I feel about this. Do we want the historical record to be accurate, or does John have a right to privacy? And would it upset Cynthia [by now deceased], or Julian? I don’t mind about Yoko, she’d probably think it was a great idea. Bisexuality, wooh.’ ‘Simon Napier-Bell said that both Epstein and John told him they did it in Spain,’ I said. ‘Ah, I’m not the only one. Good,’ replied Paul.

...

But then there were John’s liaisons with David Bowie, which David himself told me about. According to him, it happened on several occasions. He didn’t go into detail, nor did I press him, but he was perfectly open about it. About Mick Jagger, too, I told Paul. ‘Huh. I feel sort of left out,’ said Paul.

Paul Gambaccini, Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

"That Bowie worshipped Lennon was no secret…They'd met in Los Angeles, [Bowie] told me, during John's Lost Weekend…The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May [Pang] and far away from Yoko. They gender bendered about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his… They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in the proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends!"

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Marriage, Divorce & replacing Paul with Yoko:

"I used my resentment and withdrawing from Paul and the Beatles and the relationship with Paul to write 'How Do You Sleep?'

John (Source: Bill Harry, The John Lennon Encyclopedia, 2001)

JOHN: In a marriage, or a love affair – when the seven-year-itch or the twelve-year (note: there is no such thing as the twelve year itch but guess how long J&P were together) or whatever these things that you have to go through – there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship.

September, 1980

There seem to be certain cycles that relationships go through. And the critical points are at different parts of the different cycles, different points on the – if there’s a straight line, there are different points, you know? And the bit, the new way of talking is like, “Well, why have a relationship? We can just stop and get another one.” But the karmic joke about that is, that any new relationship, presuming you’re lucky enough to find a new relationship anywhere near the relationship that you’re giving up – or exchanging, or walking away from, or have destroyed by inattention or inadvertent or selfishness or whatever it is – that you have to go through the same thing again anyway. You reach the same point.

John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)

"I'd like to thank Elton and the boys for having me on tonight. We tried to think of a number to finish off with so I can get out of here and be sick, and we thought we'd do a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul."

John, introducing "I Saw Her Standing There" at the Thanksgiving show at Madison Square Garden in 1974

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

TRYNKA: When The Beatles split, did you feel relief? YOKO: No. I always thought, “John won’t be doing this thing with The Beatles and eventually I can do my work too.” That was my plan. But suddenly he’s saying, “I burned my bridge with them, so now it’s you, okay?” I thought, “My God, he was getting the thrill of working with three very strong individuals, and now I have to take all that brunt.” He did put it that way; he was “riding on the boat called Paul, and now I’m going to ride on a boat called Yoko.”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Paul Trynka for MOJO. (May, 2003)

“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”

Paul McCartney, interview with German tv program Exclusiv, April 1985.

BARROW: She was a very strong influence on John, and may well have been telling him that he could do best on his own, but I still think that on the back of John’s mind would be this sort of fascination with wanting to get back with the first girlfriend, if you’d like [laughs], and it was to get back with Paul that he had so much history with.

Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer

"[Paul] said it was written about Julian. He knew I was splitting with Cyn and leaving Julian then. He was driving to see Julian to say hello. He had been like an uncle. And he came up with 'Hey Jude.' But I always heard it as a song to me. Now I'm sounding like one of those fans reading things into it...Think about it: Yoko had just come into the picture. He is saying 'Hey, Jude' - 'Hey, John.' Subconsciously, he was saying, 'Go ahead, leave me.' On a conscious level, he didn't want me to go ahead. The angel in him was saying 'Bless you.' The Devil in him didn't like it at all, because he didn't want to lose his partner."

John (Source: Playboy, 1980)

SALEWICZ: Well, I always found it interesting the fact that he got – I mean, it seemed too much like coincidence to me, the fact that he got married a week or month after you. You know what I mean? PAUL: Yeah. I think we spurred each other into marriage. I mean, you know. They were very strong together, which left me out of the picture. So I got together with Linda and then we got strong with our own kind of thing. And I used to listen to a lot of what they said. I remember him saying to me, “You’ve got to work at marriage,” which is something I still remember as a bit of advice. I still remember that. Um… And then yeah, I think they were a little bit peeved that we got married first. Probably. In a little way, you know, just minor jealousies. And so they got married. I don’t know if that’s – I mean, who knows… [inaudible] making it up, anyway.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London): journalist Chris Salewicz

“If you look at interviews and stuff with John, from around about that time he was in Imagine [documentary] he kind of admits that he’s having problems with himself. So, well, the first thing you do when you’re having problems with yourself is you bitch about someone else. And the closest person was me…He had a real go at me. I personally think it was ‘cause he was trying to clear the decks for Yoko. He’s got a new love, he’s trying to say to her, “Look, baby, I love you. I hate those guys.”

Paul McCartney

"The line [the walrus was Paul] was put in partly because I was feeling guilty because I was with Yoko and I was leaving Paul. It's a very perverse way of saying to Paul: 'here, have this crumb, this illusion, this stroke - because I'm leaving.'" -John

Playboy, 1980

JOHN: And throwing in the line “the Walrus was Paul” just to confuse everybody a bit more. And because I felt slightly guilty because I’d got Yoko, and he’d got nothing, and I was gonna quit. [laughs; bleak] And so I thought ‘Walrus’ has now become [in] meaning, “I am the one.” It didn’t mean that in the song, originally. It just meant I’m the – it could have been I’m the – “I’m The Fox Terrier,” you know. I mean, it’s just a bit of poetry.

August, 1980: John talks to Playboy writer David Sheff about ‘Glass Onion’.

"I started thinking, 'Well, if that's the case [not getting back together], I had better get myself together. I just can't let John control the situation and dump us as if we're the jilted girlfriends.'"

The Beatles, Anthology, 1995

“After we’d done the One To One concert film,” recalled Steve Gebhardt, “I remember John saying to me that the days of everything being Johnandyoko – one word – were over. I was shocked.” Ono completed her record, Approximately Infinite Universe, which was greeted more positively than her previous releases. Lennon did his best to publicise it, writing a personal note to the Capitol Records boss asking him to throw the company’s weight behind it. But in mid-January 1973 Lennon and Ono quarrelled publicly at another party. “I wish I was back with Paul,” Lennon reportedly said.

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of The Beatles. (2009)

YOKO: I think that it’s like [John] was married to Paul, and now he was married to me… So it was a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back, really. John had a lot of respect for Paul, and of course, love. But I would think that if the truth may be told, the love was lost on both ways. There were times that Paul did say a lot of strange things about John, so that I know that it wasn’t like Paul loved John but John didn’t love Paul, or John actually loved Paul but Paul didn’t. I mean, it was like a very healthy situation where they outgrew each other’s company. And only until John became what he is now – which is after John’s death that people started to revere John – it became an issue for Paul. Because you have to understand that table was turned many times. One, when John made the Jesus Christ remark, and Paul became virtually a leader. And John turned the table on Paul by becoming a partner with me, probably. But then the thing is, the table was turned again by Paul becoming extremely successful with Wings. So he was doing alright, while John did Some Time in New York City with me, and then followed that with Mind Games or something, you know. 1990: Yoko

“They loved each other more than most couples do, and when they split it was more wrenching than most divorces”

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow on Lennon and McCartney

““I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce.””

Yoko Ono (You Never Give Me Your Money, Peter Doggett)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible”

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life

“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

Paul McCartney, Interview by Duncan Fallowell in the Chicago Tribune, October 14th, 1984

Knowing John so well, I believe that the only reason he picked Yoko was [he wanted] a negative reaction. I mean, it was purely a negative reaction because he couldn’t take any more girls in the world, actually. I mean, he knew that he could have any girl. And the girls, that were nice-looking—he couldn’t stand them. I mean, from morning to night, there were girls not boys—actually, running after them. We used to go to his house and think that we are in peace. Suddenly a girl with a broken leg is jumping over John’s fence to, to get an autograph. It was a pain in the neck. John wanted to be with a woman. But he needed as well very, very much a friend. He needed a male friend. And my opinion is that Yoko, he managed somehow to combine both. He had a fear for pretty women running after him. Yoko was not very pretty, uh, at all, and he replaced a male in his life plus a female.

Magic Alex, All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Jealousy regarding Paul Mccartney: I wouldn't consider any of this especially convincing on it's own, however John's consistent dislike for and rudeness towards Paul's partners is notable

I was a very possessive and jealous guy, and the lyrics explain that pretty clearly. Not just jealous towards Yoko, but towards everything, male and female – incredibly possessive.

1970 (audio snippet approx 2:06)

In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said.

Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes. (July 20th, 1986)

Q: I saw that thing in The Observer the other week, about the manuscript of the Apple Beatles biography and the vitriolic comments John made in the margins. I think that shows the sort of pain he was going through. Look, he was a great guy, great sense of humour and I’d do it all again. I’d go through it all again, and have him slagging me off again just because he was so great; those are all the down moments, there was much more pleasure than has really come out. I had a wonderful time, with one of the world’s most talented people. We had all that craziness, but if someone took one of your wedding photos and put ‘funeral’ on it, as he did on that manuscript, you’d tend to feel a bit sorry for the guy. I’ll tell you what, if I’d ever done that to him, he would’ve just hit the roof. But I just sat through it all like mild-mannered Clark Kent Q: When did you actually get a perspective on it? I still haven’t. It’s still inside me. John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda." JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda." Q: "When did you first meet her?" JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."

John Lennon Interview: St. Regis Hotel, New York City 9/5/1971

One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, ‘Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.’ [He was] a frothing mad person—he knew how to have ‘fun.’

George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)

"One time Paul had a chick in bed and John came in and got a pair of scissors and cut all her clothes into pieces and then wrecked the wardrobe. He got like that occasionally, it was because of the pills and being up too long."

George Harrison (Source: The Beatles, Anthology, 1995)

"I remember I had a girlfriend called Celia. I must have been 16 or 17, about the same age as her...we went out one evening and for some reason John tagged along, I can't remember why it was. I think he'd thought I was going to see him, I thought I'd cancelled it and he showed up at my house. But he was a mate, and he came on a date with this Celia girl, and at the end of the date she said, 'Why did you bring that dreadful guy?' And of course I said, 'Well, he's all right really.' And I think, in many ways, I always found myself doing that. It was always, 'Well, I know he was rude; it was funny, though, wasn't it?'"

Paul, Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

I came for dinner, and I was the only girl there. John definitely didn't like that. He didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic. As far as he was concerned, I had no business being invited to dinner with the four of them. For him this was an exclusive boys' club. He was purposely making me feel uneasy. At one point, the boys were handing around a scrapbook -- looking at pictures of that first tour. John made some snide comment like, "What is SHE doing here?" I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner.

Peggy Lipton, Breathing Out, 2005

Whether it was her cool confidence or her posh accent, something about Jane goaded John to direct his caustic eyes in her direction. “Well. Let’s all play a question-and-answer-game!” He announced a bit too cheerily. Then he turned to Jane. “So tell us, luv, how do girls play with themselves?” Silence. Jane’s eyes widened. Paul, sitting close to her on the floor, put his hand in the air, as if he could wave John’s words back into his mouth. “John! John!” he yelped. “Stop it. You can’t do that.” John just smiled, peering intently through his glasses. “No, you can tell us. Come on. We all want to know, come on.” Paul, looking aghast, shook his head vehemently. “John. For christsakes, John.”

Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life

JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is. MCCABE: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted? JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand… I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty, whatever it was. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane Asher, because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like, boom! She was in and that was the end of it.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

Random cute things: flirting etc

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

We were away. The boys had relaxed. As we walked off to do the next scene, I heard them joshing each other, like schoolboys on the way to class. 'Are those jeans tight, Paul?' That was John. 'What do you mean tight?' 'I can see your suspender belt through 'em and your stockings. You've got ladders in them.'

Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography by Victor Spinetti

“I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight.’ was met with the reply ‘Sod off, Lennon.’”

Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964

To Lennon, [Paul] was "cute, and didn’t he know it," a born performer who was also a "thruster" and an "operator" behind the scenes.

Christopher Sandford, Paul McCartney, 2005

In a late wee-hour-of-the-morning talk, he once told me, ‘I’m just like everybody else Harry, I fell for Paul’s looks.”

Harry Nilsson speaking about John Lennon

HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]

February 17th, 1984: Harry Nilsson

PAUL: It’s like, uh, “We have to get back.” “We’re on our way home.” JOHN: Yeah. PAUL: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing— JOHN: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers. PAUL: [reserved] Yeah. [pause] JOHN: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two. PAUL: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway.

Get Back sessions

PAUL: Okay, “two of us riding nowhere” that’s as if…we’re like…two, but then “we’re on our way home”  JOHN: It’s like we’re like a couple of queens. PAUL: Yeah. Well, you know. Well, I mean, that’s…  JOHN: We’re a couple of queens… PAUL: That’s just too bad. Unless you want to get Paul and Paula in. Poetic license, John. JOHN: You’re telling me, Paul.

Get Back sessions

[socseptember]

Welcome to Soc September!

This is a blog that will only be active during September! In The Outsiders fandom we put most of our focus on the greasers. So this event is dedicated to all the underrated SOCs in the book, movie, and musical! It's not a contest or anything, just something to appreciate them all and have fun! If you want to participate please tag things with Soc September or tag this blog!

Here is how to participate!

Make artwork, headcanons, fanfiction, etc. of any SOC characters! Whether its more well-known ones like Cherry or Paul. Or ensemble members of the musical! Heck, even soc ocs you might have work! We accept just about everything! The last full week of September will also have a special event with prompts on the daily! We do accept ships including greasers but the greaser can't be the focus.

Prompts are here

Things that aren't accepted

We don't accept writing or art of the following

NSFW things about any characters, if its a bit suggestive that's different. But don't do anything blatantly NSFW. Also do not justify characters' actions if they are truly terrible. If you're writing in Bob's perspective of jumping Pony and Johnny and he's like "They deserve it!" that's ok since it's his perspective. But if you're doing character analysis and you're like "Cherry was evil for not saying hi to Pony and Bob was in the right to try and murder Pony!" that's a bit different. Blood and such is allowed just put a TW!

If you don't know the SOCs here they are under the cut

Cherry Valance- The redhead that Dally hits on and helps change Pony's perspective on SOCs. Marcia is her best friend and Bob is her boyfriend (or ex depending on how you look at it) She can be rather fierce and has an interesting perspective on things. She's kinda the main soc

Bob Sheldon- A curly headed blonde (or straight, dark haired) 18 year old. He's more villanized in the book and is killed in self-defense by Johnny. He's a mean drunk but is also a good leader and well-liked by SOCs. Cherry's boyfriend.

Randy Adderson- A dark haired 18 year old. Best friend to Bob and helps jump Pony and Johnny. He has a change in perspective after Bob's death and has a chat with Pony that helps humanize the SOCs. He's the boyfriend to Marcia though it is disputed on if they actually care about one another romantically.

Marcia M. Marcia- A SOC girl with shorter black hair. She is best friends with Cherry and is not seen outside of the drive-in scene. She is very witty and has a flirtatious conversation with Two-Bit Mathews. Many have begun to ship them. She doesn't have a set last name nor really a visible personality.

Paul Holden- An older SOC guy. Used to be good friends with Darry Curtis. Currently in college and skilled in football. Not much is known about his history with Darry but the fans have come up with a lot of it.

Chet Baker, Trip (Terrence Ib), Brill (Clark Brillsteen)- Musical ensemble SOC boys. Friends of Bob. Chet seems to have a crush on Cherry and may get with her after the end.

Beverly- Soc girl ensemble, dislikes the greasers. Melody Rose has given bits and pieces of her personality but she doesn't have any lines.

Melvin and Sergei- The soc boy alter egos of melody rose and sarahgrace. The best soc boys overall

Greg Parker- He's from the weird TV show and I know next to nothing about him

[annie-creates]

Never felt like dying

Pairing: Andromache of Scythia x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1200

Note: I'm back with another Andromache fic. I don't condone abuse so that fic won't have another part but here's a better one for you. Thank you all for the support and love I'm getting.

“Get your ass back in the game Y/n,” you’ve heard for what felt like the hundredth time.

Andromache was never too soft with you, that could anyone confess. It was hard to tell if it was because she tried really hard to make you one of the best warriors in the field, or if she just genuinely didn’t like you. Your money would be on the second option. Your coming onto the team was much less than ideal, but they couldn’t exactly kick you out even if they wanted to. Or maybe they could and that’s why you put up with the harsh orders rather than test her patience.

“Look alive!” Andy commanded with another set of punches into your stomach you could hardly defend against. “You don’t want to be a burden to our mission, do you?!”

“No…” you answered, insecure face to face with the greatest warrior in human history.

“You don’t want to jeopardize anyone in a fight, do you?!” She asked again.

“No,” you had trouble keeping eye contact when she got so worked up.

“Then pick up your slack, we can’t keep babying you,” Andy seemed she’d happily continue scolding you if she wasn’t interrupted.

“Hey you two, dinner’s ready. Wrap it up for today,” called Joe from the door, your savior for today. “How’s it goin’?” he asked Andy as she passed him.

“I wish I could say it’s going anywhere…” she wasn’t venomous, but her words still hurt you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t trying to get better, every day you got up early to train with the punching bag or run a few laps before most of them even woke up. You never opposed in training that took hours on end, leaving with bruises and broken bones almost daily. But whatever you did you didn’t seem to be able to cross the difference in performance between yourself and the rest of the team. Even Nile, who said wasn’t immortal for more than a few decades, was very obviously miles ahead of you.

As you washed your hands and looked over your bruised face with a black eye in the mirror, you didn’t even feel worthy eating with them. Here they were saving the world day after day and you were more of a burden than help to them. Maybe you should stop trying to play the hero, it was painfully obvious you didn’t have what they had and after months, it didn’t seem like you could ever get on their level, even if you kept taking Andromache’s punches for centuries.

“Hey Y/n, you okay?” Joe asked seeing you deep in thought.

“Yea, I’m fine,” you tried to hide the bruises you felt embarrassed about. “I’m not really hungry anymore guys, thank you. Good night.”

You abruptly left the plate you hardly took anything from and almost ran out of the dinning room not leaving any space for argument. You knew everyone was trying to make you feel welcomed, but it was hard fitting into a group who was together for centuries and only just met you. It wasn’t fair expecting them to just accept you in like that either, but you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Knock on your door snaps you out of your thoughts but you don’t answer, pretending to be asleep. Yet the door opens anyway.

“Can I come in?” Andy asks, there was no way she could be fooled.

“Sure,” you let her in not turning around to look at her.

“You know, when we met Nile, she was a marine cop,” Andromache sits on the edge of your bed nudging your form wrapped in the duvet a little. “And Joe and Nicky literally fought against each other in a war.”

“So?” you say after a heavy sign while she’s lightly smiling after amusing herself.

“So, you shouldn’t feel down just because you’re not as good as they are. They’ve been at this for centuries and even before that, you only just died for the first time…” she wondered off no doubt remembering the time they first met you.

“I bet you wish you didn’t find me back then,” you admit before you can stop and think about what you’re saying.

“That’s not true,” Andy argues with a bit of hurt in her eyes by your words.

“You said it yourself, I’m not getting any better. I’m useless,” you counter, not having a problem being eye to eye with her now.

“Well that was a little over the top…” she admits. “I have to be strict with you in training, that’s how we get better. But it doesn’t mean I hate you… You are part of this team Y/n. And that means we protect you. I always protect you.”

“You’d probably be better off without me,” you say.

“That’s not true. Everyone has a reason why they were chosen for this life, even if you’re not the greatest fighter of all. And I see how hard you work every day, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it,” she seemed very genuine so you decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe what she was saying.

The briefing for your next mission came sooner than you’d expect it, and you felt much better about taking the job with everybody else. You still didn’t want for anyone to have to risk for you, so you worked to hold your own as best as possible. In the building however, you quickly counted you were outnumbered and you soon lost the view of who fired which bullet, who threw all the punches and how many wounds you all got. Screams and shouts of order were falling from both sides, soldiers hitting the floor left and right.

“Watch out!” you screamed at Nile pulling her from the trajectory of another bullet.

You saw her shouting something back, but you couldn’t really make out what she was saying. It took a few seconds to register in your brain that something is wrong, and that wrong was a bullet in your chest leaving a wound that was quicky seeping out all your blood. You thought how disappointed they’re gonna be in you before your vision faded into darkness and you hardly heard your own body hit the floor.

You came to yourself in a moving car, unsure of your surroundings for a moment before you realized your head was prompted on somebody’s lap. It was still throbbing but the ringing in your ears was quicky fading. You never felt like dying for someone but now it was inevitable, and something told you that just like it wasn’t the first time, it wasn’t your last either.

“We’ve got her back,” Andromache announced from above you with a relief heavy on her tone. “How you feelin’?”

“Like I was hit by a wall of bricks,” you admit groggily, looking into her happy face as she stroked your hair.

“We’ll work on your self-awareness,“ she promises with a little smile.

“Good, I don’t feel like dying anymore,” you laugh with the team as they take you back to safety.

Andromache was right in one thing, they’ll always have your back.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xii

⟶ Chapter summary | The daunting stories of the other kingdoms in the Far Far Away land allure you, helping you forget the formidable circumstances that you must deal with as you adjust living in your new home. 

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 7,062 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include some form of classism, black magic, deceit ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi ⟶ Author’s note | Continuing our adventure with the story, this chapter and the few upcoming ones may show or imply some places and characters mentioned in the other stories included in the Once Upon A Fantasy collab that this story is a part of. Spoilers may be hinted in this story, but there will be no need for you to read the other stories first to enjoy this series.

chapter xii. alias

Warm sunlight piercing through the windows, forming golden curtains as they fall against the grey walls and dark beige floors during late afternoons. 

The air that carries with it the salty scent of sea, which grows stale and humid as you walk down the dark hallways, or when you venture through the quarters located on the lower ground of the main palace. 

Cold breeze brushes against your skin as you pass through the connecting halls between the main palace and your private quarters at the West Tower. A complete contrast to the warmth within your bedchamber which seems endless, welcoming you like a warm hug upon your return from your long day. 

The rhythmical sound of waves crashing against the rocky walls bordering between the palace grounds and the Carmine Sea often accompanies you, whether lulling you towards your peaceful slumber in the night or allowing you a peaceful reprieve during the day.  

The mixed scent of dusts, dried ink, stained papers, and old books permeating through the palace’s library often accompanies you during your tutoring hours. You often allow yourself to be drowned in them as you get lost in the books that you are reading, or while you are deep into the tutoring sessions with Lady Laurel and Lord Gordan during the day. 

There are a list of things that you have begun to associate with your new home. 

Weeks have long passed since you moved into The Stargrave Castle. As you keep busying yourself, your father’s absence no longer feels disconcerting. You no longer feel as if you had been tossed in a foreign land to fend for yourself. And for some reason, even without his presence, you have found a way to get to know more about the King himself, as if his story is written in every single nook and cranny within the home castle. 

Through the set of keys that he had left you with and the enchanted doors you venture into, you have learned so much about his magic, his secret endeavours, the other lives that he has lived in under his other personas, and the way he was seeing the word. Through the lessons that you have been given and the daily conversation that you have had with the King’s loyal aides and disciples, you have been learning more about your father’s work and his way of ruling the kingdom. 

Granted, there are still so many secrets behind his work and his magic, the latter is the one that he seems to hold dear as a lifeline that not even a single one of this closest aides could explain to you when you tried to sneakily question them, yet you have learned just enough to be able to understand about him more. 

Through the places you have found within the castle, from the treasure rooms to the library and his royal study, you are beginning to learn more about the family history—the King’s family history—when the golden plates and the ruby stones could tell you not only how long he had slowly started building his empire, but also how far he had traveled to gain his riches and support to help his people. 

There are still so many things that you wish to learn. Not only about your father, but your entire family, as you had never truly learned about your own roots aside from what has been written in the books for the commoners to learn about the royal family.

But above all, what has made you more curious to learn would be about your mother. Other than her paintings and pictures that you were left with, and the necklace that you have been given to, you realise that you have nothing else left of hers that could tell you more about her.

Who was she, the woman who had stolen the heart of the Wicked King? Where did she come from? Did she ever learn about magic, or the family secret that your father has entrusted upon you the day he departed from the home castle?

And if your mother, the Queen, had once lived in this castle, which part of the castle had her private quarters had been located in? Or had she spent most of her life sharing the same quarters with the King? 

Did you father ever entrusted her with the same set of keys? And if he did, had she ever traveled down these hallways, trying out the secret doors—whether they are the ones with the treasures or the ones that had been enchanted with spells—and learned the same secret that your father had kept just like you have?

Over the years, you have tried to learn more about the Queen from your governess. Yet Nanny Abigail had only ever answered your questions with the most simple words that any child would yearn to hear—

“Her Majesty was the most gracious Queen that the people had once admired and loved.”

“The Queen was the most beautiful woman in the empire, not one had ever hold the candle to her beauty, not until you arrived in this world, Your Highness.” 

“Her Majesty was smart, brilliant, and talented, if it hadn’t been her beauty that had caught the King’s heart, then it would have been her brilliant mind.” 

Despite how good it made you feel to hear nothing more but good things about your mother shared by the person who had claimed to have known her the most, nothing that she had said to you ever answered your true questions. 

And none of the written books and scriptures that you have found in the library has the answers as well, no matter how hard you have looked. 

Regardless, you have learned so much more than you had ever asked for through the books that you have found in the royal library. As they have given you the most insight about life here in this fairy tale land. As of late, whenever you are not deep in the long, lecturing hours, you would find yourself diving deeper and deeper into these books. 

Each written text that you have found there almost have the same effect to you as the doors you often travel into, as they take you into various journeys and exciting adventures without taking you further away from the castle, allowing you to see more about the new world, the new realm that you have been thrust into and have yet to see before. 

With your father’s rule — ‘one magic door per day’ — which he had left you with, you were given the limitation which has hindered you from opening out as many magic doors as you possibly could while he is away. You know that he must have had his own reasons to give you such rule to follow, yet it leaves you wanting more. You want to see more places, more wonders, and more chances to somehow find a way to venture through other places within the fairy tale land instead of having to go back to the human realm to see the same places you had once gone to. 

Deep down, you are quite sure that the magic doors would one day take you to see these amazing, magical places that you have been reading about. Until then, the books have become a different mean of traveling that you can enjoy. 

Just like how you are about to be using one of those books now as a form of escape. 

There is a pep in your footsteps as you are leaving your afternoon lessons, hugging the thick book that you have chosen to bring back from the library to waste the rest of your afternoon. The exhaustion that you have been feeling from your latest exploit through the magic door still follows you around, clinging onto your bones and muscles as you make your way back to your bedchamber. Yet the excitement of reading the stories about the magical lands and kingdoms from your new book manages to help you forget about it for a little while. 

Walking up the hallway leading to your bedchamber, your eyes are caught by the scenery that you are presented with by looking out the main window of the West Tower. From up high, the widespread ocean seems like a massive mirror, reflecting the golden afternoon sunlight and bringing more warmth into the space around you. This marvellous image has often caught your attention, leaving you astonished and in awe at the sight you are seeing. 

And just like always, once you look out into the ocean, your gaze would drift towards the high cliffs attached to the side of the palace walls. Every time this happens, your mind wanders to the mysterious mercenary that you had encountered during your latest feat. The masked man who has been visiting the long nights that you have spent in your bedchamber alone after your past encounter in a foreign town. 

Min Yoongi. 

The mere mention of his name brings back the sparks that you felt the first time you met him. It seems odd to feel a tangible bond with a complete stranger that you have just met. But you know that the feeling is real, and it seems hard for you to deny it when the sparks seem to follow you, always making their presence known whenever the thought of him crosses your mind.

Ever since the day you spent in Narlès with Min Yoongi, you have been experiencing the same dream. The images have been returning to you in broken parts like an echo of his presence. His face would appear between the hazy images of the events that you encounter during the day at Narlès. More often than not, Yoongi’s image would somehow merge together with the mysterious man that you once met in your past dream; the faceless man that came to see you at the top of the cliff above the Carmine Sea. 

Thinking about him makes you long for him. With a sigh, you wonder if you would be able to see him again should you try to venture through one of your father’s magic doors tonight. 

Except that there will be no adventure for you this evening. 

In truth, you haven’t been going through any of the magic doors ever since the last adventure you had.

The trip that you had to the market town of Narlès had taken most of your energy that it required you more than a day of rest to restore your stamina. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you when it happened, knowing that the previous trips that you had taken through the magic doors had always drained your energy that it would have taken you hours to recover. 

Normally, the only thing you needed to do was have a proper rest at night and a good sleep to replenish your energy and be ready for the next day. And yet, for some reason, days had gone by since the trip to Narlès and you have yet to restore your energy. Exhaustion still follows you, and it didn’t help that you were still feeling tired even after you had woken up from your long sleep. 

This had been one of the reasons why you have been spending more time reading, be it in the library or within the privacy of your bedchamber, searching for an adventure through the stories you read in the books about the magic realm. And it was also the reason why you had simply lost track of time reading at the library today until one of the palace maids came in to check on you out of concern. 

It wasn’t so hard for you to get so captivated with your reading material today, more than ever. 

Today’s lecture had been about the notorious kingdoms and empires within the Land of Far Far Away which you may have to become acquainted with in the future. And what you learned—although still limited in details—had left you feeling astonished that you were eager to learn more. 

You learned about the kingdom that was lead by a king who was half man-half beast, with his followers and people who would turn into their beast counterparts under the full moon. There was also the kingdom filled with mages, ruled by a powerful Mage King who has lived for more than a thousand years and is still thriving to this day.

You read stories about the empires that are being ruled under the power of the moon. One empire is said to be ordained with the blessings of two magical moons, while another is to be said to have acquired magic from the moon that the people of the empire have worshipped as the divine being which had granted them not only magic, but also life and prosperity.   

But the one story that captivated you the most was the empire that was governed by the sun. Ruled by the newly crowned Sun Emperor who was said to have fallen in love with a nameless Princess with magical voice who is notorious in the Far Far Away Land, so much so that people would travel across the continent and the wide ocean just to hear her sing. 

As you sit down in your bedchamber, lounging on the settee by the window overlooking the cliffs and the sparkling ocean, you open the book that you brought back with you which tells the tale about the sun empire, its young Emperor, and his wife, famously known as the Sunray Sparrow. 

Today, in her lecture, Lady Laurel talked a lot about the sun empire, Aetherys, in terms of its success in advanced science and technology. She had at first captivated you with the stories and pictures of the empire’s known inventions; the air ships that seemed like giant bird floating in the sky; modernised trams passing through the cities as means of transportation instead of horses and stage coaches; and buildings that are built high enough to touch the sky with artistic styles that are quite unlike any other places within the continent. 

While the story of an advanced empire had been inspiring for you to listen to, the story about the sun empire which had drawn your attention the most had been its love story. Known to be the tale of the century, it was written alongside of the empire’s centuries-old history and achievements for every other kingdoms and empires to learn about. 

“They spoke about the danger of dark magic,” explained Lady Laurel when you inquired her the reason why this love story was written as such, “As the threats from dark mages and wizards often come with no signs nor warnings. Every good ruler with magic abilities must be prepared for the day such threats may come, and these stories may proved ways in defeating them.”

Just like how the love story captivated you the first time you heard it from Lady Laurel, it makes your chest flutter as you read it all over again. Their journey, past struggles, and their love before they were finally able to rule their empire sounds like a fairy tale that is often read to young children, but the story truly happened, notorious among the people in the Land of Far Far Away which later inspired an author to write it into a book for other generations to learn in the future. 

A sigh comes out of your lips once you are done reading the story once more. 

Such love story truly exists here in the land filled with magic and wonder, all written in the books that regular people in the human realms would read as fairy tales lulling them to sleep. As you close the book and set it aside, the flutter in your chest returns, and your gaze wanders outside the window, just in time to notice how quickly time has passed since you first return to your chamber as the golden sunlight is slowly retreating beyond the horizon. 

But the sunset that would have usually captivated you doesn’t do its magic this evening. You turn away from the sight, gazing up all the way to peak of the cliffs instead. As you wonder about finding love in the fairy tale land, a certain figure appears in your mind. The same figure that you would often see in your dreams at night. 

Except that in place of the hazy image of the man with whom you encountered in your dreams many nights ago, you see the handsome face of another taking his place in your memory. One who owns a pair of cat-like eyes, wears a sly smile that seems unwavering, and speaks with a deep voice as he escorted you through the market town of Narlès during your impromptu date just a few days ago. 

The moment you walk through the door and breathe in the air around you, you can already tell that you have once again arrived somewhere far away from home. 

Fresh air, with more earth and pine scents wafting around you instead of the salty scent of the sea or the damp air bouncing between the cold palace walls. The temperature here reminds you quite a bit of Smotia. It doesn’t make you feel homesick, yet it is still enough to make you feel a sense of longing, and you start reminiscing the things that you would normally find in Smotia to compare them with the things you get to feel in this place.

Oddly, there is also a new sensation that you have yet to feel before. The ripples of magic from the portal still clings to you the same way they always do, but there is something else here that you can feel drifting around you. An invisible force that pricks on your skin, caressing you lightly as it welcomes you in its home. 

What is this sensation? 

You wonder to yourself as you slowly take account of your surroundings. 

Once again, you find yourself emerging into an unfamiliar house. This time, you are standing inside the bedroom that appears to be tight and small, with not a sight of a door separating the room from the other parts of the house that are visible from where you are now standing.

Just like the merchant house you came out of previously at Narlès, the small house is filled with various wooden furniture, set and adorned in the bare minimum. Only enough to show people that someone lives in this house and has been regularly using it. 

A made-up bed that is big enough to fill up the entire bedroom is set in the center. The sheets are neat and clean, as if someone had taken the time to tidy up in the morning. But upon close inspection, it doesn’t seem like anyone has been using it for a while, with the sheets cold and the mattress feels hard under your touch. A knitted blanket hangs on the foot of the bed, helping to create a warm and cozy look in the room. With one touch, you realise that it is nothing more but a mock wool instead of the warm, comforting kind you would use during the winter. 

Quite a front, you wonder, smiling at your father’s meticulous effort to hide the real purpose of this small house from prying eyes.  

As you turn around, you are welcomed by a scene that is has become familiar to your eyes. Taking you back to the day you accidentally emerged into the King’s study room back at the main palace in the heart of Smotia, a full-body mirror stands at the corner of the room. The sight of the dark void that appears there instead of your reflection and the swirling magic dust dancing at its center show you where the portal is present; your point of exit that will bring you back to the home castle once you are done with your excursion.  

Looking at the portal from up close, the sight no longer seems eerie to you like how it used to be when you first began using these portals. If any, seeing them has always left you feeling astonished, always in complete awe at how the portals always appear in different shapes and at the most unexpected places you could find; a door leading to another room, the front door of a building, a closet, a mirror, a pantry filled with daily necessities, and even a wooden cupboard that barely fits your height.  

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing this kind of sight, you wonder to yourself as you refrain from reaching out to touch the dark void and its magic dust, already becoming familiar to what kind of reaction you would feel should you touch the magic.

Curious to learn more about this place, you turn away from the mirror, ignoring the en-suite bathroom and the wooden closet on the other side of the room to make your way outside. Unlike the merchant house you’ve been to, this house appears to be smaller in size. The living room seems almost bare of fancy furnitures and trinkets adorning the quiet space. 

A small kitchen with its private dining room is set up across the house, looking as tidy and clean like the rest of them. You try to picture yourself living here and making use of the rooms, as it seems impossible to imagine seeing your father, the ruler of the empire, sitting in such a small space with his grand presence. 

Thinking about it makes you smile, and it only makes you feel more eager to see what kind of world that you may find right outside of these walls. 

Opening the front door, you almost think that you are walking out of another portal. The house seems to be hidden between giant trees, making it seem as if you are walking out of a tree as you emerge into what appears to be the edge of the forest. 

You don’t sense any time difference between this place and the home castle, yet the darkness that welcomes you as you step out of the house almost plays a trick on you. It leaves you feeling disoriented for a moment, thinking that you have arrived in the evening time. But then you look up, catching the streaks of sunlight penetrating through the thick foliage to know that you still have some daytime left to venture around. 

You tighten your cloak—once again dressed as a common traveller for this trip—and graze over the dagger hanging on your hips for the final reassurance that you need. What lies ahead of you is a mystery to unfold, with possible danger lurking close the same way it did in the previous places you visited, and having your golden dagger with you gives you some sense of security. 

With your resolve, you begin your march into the thick woods ahead of you to find out where you have arrived to.

Traveling through the forest doesn’t take as much of an effort as you had expected it would. From the tree house, you follow along the gravel-covered pathway taking you through the dense woods, taking your time with your journey as you enjoy finding a serene moment by walking between the giant trees. 

Around you, the massive trunks appear like protective walls, with the top of the trees almost reaching all the way up to the sky above. The thick canopy of leaves provide you the perfect shelter, with streaks of sunlight escaping through the gaps to help you find your way.

The sounds of birds chirping and the murmurs of wild animals moving about from the deepest side of the forest become your company against the stillness. It feels peaceful, and you can slowly feel your troubling throughs being silenced by this sense of calmness. 

Not too long, the ground begin going downhill and you can tell that you are coming close to the end of the pathway; the sound of the forest slowly fading, the fresh air slowly shifting with a hint of smell from dirt and firewood, the trees growing sparse and thin the more you walk. 

And then, right before your eyes, the line of trees opens up to what seems to be a main road of a small village—or town. The main road is quite small, and presently empty. Typical to many roads crossing through small towns, there is only dirt covering the road, with traces of carriage wheels, horses trails, and human footprints imprinted along the dirt road.

Looking around, you try to be cautious yet hopeful to find any clue which could show you where to go or find people to talk to. And then you decide to follow the dirt road, not stopping until you reach what seems to be a small village. 

Rows of houses appear before you. The village seems quiet, closed off, some looking unkempt with wild vines growing on the walls and even reaching all the way up to the roof, while others are looking like they are housing more farm animals rather than a family of humans. You can see wooden fences marking their modest property, with piles of hay lined up on some of the open yards and small animals roaming within the barriers.  

Everywhere you look, there is not a sight of familiar-looking insignias or markings that may indicate if this village is a part of the empire’s territory, making you wary about going further to take a closer look at the housings to see if you can find the people residing within them. 

Walking cautiously through the village, you realise that you have yet to see anyone coming out of the houses or the barns. A situation which seems quite peculiar, as the sun is still quite high in the afternoon and the weather is warmer here compared to the estate you had emerged from. 

This is definitely a farmers’ village, but where did everyone go? 

Just as you are beginning to feel lost, you catch a sight a group of men walking towards the village, coming from the opposite side of the road. With cautions and determination to find answers, you walk up to them, meeting them halfway while mustering the courage to greet them. 

Noticing you, the men raise their heads and slow down. All eyes are on you, filled with curiosity and alert to a stranger who is suddenly coming to them. 

Upon closer look, you identify them as local farmers. Each men wearing clothes coated with dirt and soil, and carrying with them various types of farming tools, either in their hands or hoisted on their shoulders. A couple of the men walking at the back appear to be the younger in age, and they are pulling wheelbarrows filled with goods and crops that they must have just gathered from the field. 

“Excuse me, Sir?” you greet them with a polite bow, and the men stop moving completely to regard you. “May I inquire you the name of this place? Where exactly are we?” 

The exhausted farmers look puzzled at your question. They exchange incredulous gazes with each other for a moment, which makes you feel quite uneasy. None of them seem to be irritated with your intrusion, however, much to your relief. 

In fact, they appear mostly to be in—disbelief, upon hearing your question.

“Why—” one of the gruff looking farmers looks around at his workmates one last time before answering you, “we are in Grimm, lass.” Instead of mockery that you had expected to receive from him, there is a subtle pride brimming in his voice, which only becomes more evident when he raises his chin proudly and adds, “The farming district of Grimm.” 

Your eyes grow wide. “Ah, I see,” you politely mutter to him while you work through your memories to recall where exactly you have heard this name before.  

“Yer not from around here, are ye?” Another farmer questions you. The man seems to be the oldest  among his peers. From the look in his eyes, you can see that he is perhaps the most respected one of them all, also shown from the way the younger ones behind him seem to be letting their guard down once he has spoken.

Seeing that he seems to be the leader, you offer him a smile and give him a courteous nod. “No, Sir. I’m just passing through.” 

A different farmer lets out a surprised laugh. “Well, that’ll explain it,” he says with a thick accent that sounds foreign to your ears. In fact, the other ones have that same accent, all heavy and somehow sounding delightful for you to hear as they start murmuring to one another. “Sorry for being wary, lass. We don’t get much of visitors here in Grimm, unless ye have some business with the fellas from the farmsteads.” 

Again, you offer a polite smile as you speak. “No business here, I’m afraid. I’m just traveling through. Figured might as well see around the area—as long as I’m not intruding anyone, that is,” you explain calmly, using the same excuse that you have been using as of late each time you are met with strangers during your excursions. 

“Good luck with that then, lass. Nothing to see here but the boring farm, some dirty barns, and old farmers like us,” the same farmer says, “Unless ye want to travel downtown or the main towns. Lots of interesting stuff to see there.” 

You store these information for later, to use when you eventually need to decide whether you want to venture further away from the portal. “Are you heading back from the farm grounds, Sir?” you try to question them as you point out at their tools. 

The older farmer looks over at his fellas. “That there is true. ’Tis the crop season, so every farmer in the village are working hard to secure the crops and tend the meadows. Us folks are just coming back for a break while secure these crops here to bring home to our family”—he says as he points out at the wheelbarrows they are pulling with them, all filled to the brim—”but we’re not done just yet for the day. We still have some work to do. Even the wives and children are out there in the farm, handling crops and stocks before nightfall comes.” 

That explains why the village is so quiet. Everyone is out there, working together to harvest their goods. 

Just as the older farmer finishes speaking, the younger one from the back of the line shouts his question to you, “Did ye come down from up the hills there, lass?” 

Looking over to him, you follow his gaze and glance over your shoulder, noticing from the distance the pathway piercing through the forest from which you came from. “Yes, Sir. I did.” 

“That seems to be Lord Ahn’s private property. Ye know the fella?” a curious one from the group asks you while his eyes remain looking up the ascending foothill, as if he can still see you walking down the path to come across the village. 

Ahn. Is that another one of Father’s false identity? You wonder to yourself just as your memory takes you back to the paperwork you found back in Narlès. What was the name written in those letters again? 

You try to remember, just as Sir Elias’ deep voice rings through your head—

“Anee?” 

That’s right. Baron Aran of South Narlès. So this must be Father’s other name that he uses here.

“I am…a distant relative of the Lord, kind Sir,” you cautiously say to them while hoping that none of them had actually shared personal stories with ‘Lord Ahn’. 

Father should’ve left me with his paperwork and the list of his disguises along with his keys when he left.  

Thankfully, it seems that they believe your lies. Because the men only nod their heads with admiration before the first farmer who spoke to you muses, “What a fine man Lord Ahn is, so I surmise you are just as nobble as the man. Are ye sightseeing around the Lord’s estate?” 

You laugh nervously, stifling your relief to answer, “I just want to look around out of curiosity. I am learning how to do business myself, so I thought to have a quick look of my great uncle’s estate while I was in the middle of travelling before officially learning more.” 

This sparks yet another look of approval from the men. “A lass learning a man’s business. What fine bloodline the Lord has come from,”the old farmer says to you. “Just follow this road ahead and ye shall find the open land belonging to the Lord. You’ll see the village’s men working on the field as we speak.” 

“So it would be right to assume that there’s where you’ve been working then, my kind Sirs?” 

Another farmer answers, “Aye. We always work with the Lord’s workmen during harvesting season like this one and right before winter comes. Lord Ahn has the biggest estate to care for and there are many able men here in this village to do all the work.” 

You bow at them to show your gratitude. “Thank you kindly for the help, Sir. I shall continue my journey before the day grows dark, then. I pray that you’ll have a good day.” 

The farmers begin to make their leave, continuing their journey home while dragging their tired feet and heavy tools with them. But not before leaving you with a warning, “Beware of any suspicious men, lass. Be sure to return before nightfall.” 

“Right, as he says. This land here isn’t safe for a young lass once evening comes,” another adds. 

“Stay away from the forest ‘is well. ’Tis dangerous for a young lass to be too deep between those trees,” says the oldest farmer, causing you to smile at the kind warning that he gives out of concern, until he suddenly adds just as he leaves, “much less for a lass with unrefined magic like yourself.” 

With those words, your breath is suddenly caught in your throat. 

Your heartbeat picks up when realisation dawns on you. 

That this is no longer the human realm. You have finally arrived at a different place within the Land of Far Far Away. 

“And if ye ever get lost or gone too deep into that forest, remember to stay away from any old castle if ye see ‘em. Stay under the sun and stay close to the people’s side of the village, is all I say,” says the last farmer of the group as they walk away, while you let his words slowly sink in.  

A castle hidden inside the forest. Forbidden for you to come close or to enter. 

“Well, that sounds…familiar,” you muse under your breath, suddenly recalling the rumours spreading in Smotia that has been plaguing almost your entire life. 

“Take care there, lass. Enjoy yer stay here,” the oldest farmer says for the last time with his gentle voice before he joins the others. “If ye ever need any help, that there’s a tavern for travellers at the village borders called Y’Old Whispers. O’Moran’s the owner. Just say yer new ‘round here and he’ll have ye the fine brew of his that’s said to be good for young elves.” 

You have no words to say as you watch the farmers walk away. Each one nodding their goodbyes to you awkwardly yet so pleasantly that you almost feel guilty for not being able to say a thing in return. 

But your words simply fail you. Your mind is too busy taking all of these new information in. 

Finding out that you are in a magic town no longer seems relevant after all the things that you just heard from the old farmer. As he walks further away, you can still hear the murmurs of him conversing with one of his workmates who keeps asking him questions. 

Each word coming out of him are all about you. 

“…I can sense it. There’s no mistaking this gaffer…” 

Even without listening to him directly, you know exactly what he means with his words. What the old farmer sensed was you. And you clearly heard him say that you have unrefined magic within you, right before he mentioned ‘young elves’. 

Had he really been referring to you when he spoke of such a thing?  

Just who…who in the gods name am I, really? You ask yourself as you look down at your own hands, as if you can find the answers there. Except that there is nothing written there. Nothing that you can feel within your grasp except for the shadow of the sparkling magic that seems to follow you ever since you stepped out of your father’s magic portal. 

What other secrets are there that your father is keeping from you? What is it about you that your father is still hiding? 

You were almost right about this place being similar to Smotia. 

At first glance, everything seems quite similar, but the more you get to look around you, you soon find out that things are not quite the same. Barring the villagers dwellings that you saw earlier, what you find as you continue your journey down the road reminds you of a smaller version of the Land of Smotia. And yet, for some reason, you can feel that there is something lingering in the air that feels darker, more sinister, something that not even the bright sunlight above you is capable of hiding. 

Once the main road ends, the land opens up to a vast pastureland which puts you in awe. 

As far as the eye can see, lush green fields undulate gently under the warm embrace of the sun, their golden crops swaying in rhythmic unison under the flowing breeze. Rows of meticulously tended crops, from amber waves of wheat to vibrant expanses of emerald cornfields, flourishing before your eyes like a patchwork quilt laid out across the hills and valleys that seem endless. The air is redolent with the earthy perfume of fertile soil and fresh crops, and there is a hint of dew drifting in the air despite the warm sun. 

Under the open sky, the melodious chirping of wild birds, the rustling leaves of the towering trees bordering the estate, and the trickling sound of the sparkling river appearing not too far in the distance become music to your ears. 

If the sounds of the forest calmed you, the sounds that you hear breezing through the air feel invigorating, drawing you further towards its center, where farmers are seen working and tending to the crops and the fertile land. 

This is where those men had come from, you muse as you watch the hard working men, young and old, who are working across the meadows. The conversation you shared earlier plays out in your mind as you marvel at the sights you see around you, making you wonder to yourself, 

Is this the estate that they referred to earlier? 

Is this where Father gains his valuable crops, those that wouldn’t be able to grow in the Land of Smotia?  

As you wonder about your father’s—and, inadvertently, the empire’s—connection to this place, you start to get lost in your marvelling, still too astounded at the wondrous sight of the prosper land. Until something peculiar happening at the center of the field catches your attention. 

A movement. Deviating from the unformed motions of the farmers weaving through the rows of crops. 

A figure that looks completely unlike the farmers nor the locals who are seen engaging themselves with their work on the field, that his entire presence easily stands out among others. 

You find it hard to look away as he begins making his way towards you, while you come to a halt right in the middle of the field. It feels as if you are stuck in a dream state, as you watch him coming closer to you. Wearing bright coloured clothing that appears to be a common villager’s attire instead of the dark cloak and black attire he was wearing the last time you met him, and a bamboo hat covering his hair and face, he seems like a mirage that is slowly entering your dream while you are wide awake. 

Everything around you seems to be moving in slow motion; the passing wind that is blowing your hair, the hem of your cloak that is floating around your ankles, even the sway of the high grass around you.

As he slowly eliminates the distance between the two of you, he raises his head, and his face comes to sight. Under his gaze, your heart dips. Your skin grows warm, and you suddenly feel weak on the knees that you don’t dare making any effort to move, even if your heart yearns to be closer to him. 

He continues to walk closer, still with his eyes locked on you. Unlike you, who is watching him with wide, astonished eyes, he looks calm, knowing, as if he has already expected to see you today before you even knew that you would end up in this place. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he is standing right before you. Wearing a warm smile on his face, he instantly takes your breath away. While the deep gaze that he gives you draws delicate flutters inside your chest. 

“Min Yoongi.” 

A gasp follows as his name slips out of your lips. Hearing you calling his name, his smile widens, and it snaps you out of your stupor, helping you realise that this is real. That this is not another dream that haunts you in the nightfall. He isn’t just a mirage, welcoming you in a foreign land while you are in dire need of having a companion to make you feel less lonely. 

“I told you that we’ll be seeing each other again,” Yoongi says with the same deep voice that whispers to you at night in your slumber. The same deep voice that he gave you that night when you parted ways back at Narlès. 

“Welcome to Grimm, little dove. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[werecoyotl]

Some 21yo werecoyote dude from the midwest

Continue ? . . .

. . . Great ! Welcome !

‎‎‎⸻⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ | 𓃥 𓃦 | ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⸻

⸻

Coyote / Alyx ⸻ fandom names are fun too

Intersex maverique//agenderfluid ... !! it/they + he/him .... extra stuff pronouns.cc

!! Aroace butch lesbian ... polyam 2x <3

Koyanthropic shifter ┆ Werecoyote ☉∇

Robotkin + Viruskin ┆ disassembly drone

⸻

⸻ Hello !! This is just a blog for some bored punk dude on the internet who's just here to have a time. Reblogs a whole lot but occasional ramblings and madness. I usually am fandom focused but I like to rb other little things like graphics n the such

Metalhead n' Basshead 🤟 big into edm, black metal, metal step, punk, techno, etc etc . Raver !

⸻ Fandoms you'll likely see around;

Murder Drones , Ena , Some object media (primarily II, TNM, One, and Objectified) , TMA , Homestuck , Psychopomp , TADC , Deltarune , Undertale , Creepypasta , etc ;; some music I happen to really like ⸻⸻ I have a special interest in meteorology, coyotes, and alterhumanity as a whole ;; bugs , liminal spaces , topology , queerness (esp sapphic history) , and different kinds of aesthetics are spins of mine

FEEL FREE TO TAG ME IN STUFF OR SPAM I DO NOT MIND 🔥 Also feel free to use the replies like a guestbook, say something have fun we love that here

⸻⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ | 𓃥 𓃦 | ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⸻

Side Blogs ;

@werevyote → alterhumanity focused

@carrionthropic → aesthetic / image hoarding focus

@coyote-xing → osc fixation blog to avoid spamming main with those silly objects

Probably more will be added depends :3

⸻

Other Links !!

general neocities ┆ alt.human neocities

free palestine ┆ daily clicks

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⸻ Basic tag system ; #vyote art , tag for rare art I drop ; ; #vyote graphics , any graphics I create ; ; #vyote yapping , me yapping ab anything ; ; #[media here] ; ; #[ship here] ; ; #coyote positing , literally anything related to coyotes ; ; might update in the future !!

⸻

⸻ No real DNI, I know they typically do not work so I just block easily 🫶

We are a system however that is more or less irrelevant and I for the most part only use singular nouns to refer to us. However, close friends are free to ask about !! We/I don't participate in syscourse or care about it, keep it off my blog if system discussion is ever brought up ty ... this includes queer discourse - I don't care nor will entertain as long as long their identity isn't hurting themselves or another tyvm. Be rad be cool be punk and loving

⸻⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ | 𓃥 𓃦 | ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⸻

top graphic by me ... cable divider credit

[zatdummesmadchen]

I completely support Israel being held accountable for its crimes against humanity, but we also can’t ignore that Indonesia has been violently occupying West Papua - a region more than twice the size of occupied Palestine - for the past 55 years, and has murdered 500,000 indigenous West Papuans in the process. Indonesian soldiers routinely burn indigenous villages to the ground, pose with the bodies of murdered Papuan civilians, and actively prevent journalists from reporting on the genocide. West Papuans often refer to their homeland as “Indonesia’s Palestine.”

There's nothing to add. I agree. I am not trying to imply that all of the countries supporting Palestine don't have their own interests or agendas or that they are perfect in any way. Such as China or, say, Iran. Not everything is black and white, and there are definitely multiple geopolitical reasons for their actions or stand.

There are definitely many biases when it comes to geopolitical situations and blatant hypocrisy.

I completely understand and do sympathise with the West Papuans.

Undoubtedly, the situation is awful and has been going on for years. Basic research shows plenty of results of the brutal Indonesian occupation and brutality against the people.

《 Here is this website I found which might be helpful to gain some insight, feel free to drop more and I will add it to the post. 》

The West Papua Genocide Monitor

Welcome to the Awareness Campaign page for West Papua genocide. You have come to the right place if you are looking for information about West Papua genocide. - the introduction. Very good information.

The situation is indeed very similar to Palestine, with some mentions of settler colonialism in some of the articles. Hence the name is fitting I suppose. Hypocrisy runs high in politics and history, no doubt.

Countries such as Turkey and Egypt come to mind, its very telling. They probably put out statements to pacify the outrage and the anger of their own citizens since it would and should threaten their power otherwise.

This includes several Arab governments such as Jordan (there are huge protests daily)

The information about it is easy to find although I think a much more educated blog would do well in explaining the situation.

[freeworldallahmbaclass]

I got 2018 GQ Man of the year honors shared with me as Henry Goulding thank you to him for accepting that award for us m I've been getting man of the year since 2015 - 2020 then got 2021 , 2022 that one I got from Jail , Time magazine man of the year 2022 shared honors with New York Yankees player Aaron Judge and named the 16th captain of New York City in New york city history thanks to the New York Yankees and Aaron Judge of the New York Yankees 2022 all the while in prison I got those awards true story probably one of the first to get awards and bring the world toward me wherever I'm at and congratulations to my cannabis stores in New York City I sponsor them just pull up in your truck or Benz run in the store where Kay Jewelers was at Down Town Brooklyn New York and buy some weed run in the store get your sneakers from the Jordan store 🏬 then your clothes from Macy's and get you some good weed where the Kay Jewelers was at and do you brother enjoy yourself things are getting much better , anyway this is my schedule for 2024 and imagine a school that teaches these subjects from a black royal couple Jay Z and Beyonce the Carter family .

Roc Nation university

My 2024 daily schedule - Recording artist

school schedule on Roc Nation campus everywhere I go is there campus

My personal class schedule :

Operation management for dummies Small business for dummies Quality control for dummies Retail business kit for dummies Music business for dummies Home recording for dummies Management Branding for dummies

Class upon class and so much subjects to learn this year balanced with staying fresh and getting athletic , just learning academics and athletics after physical fitness training then working and recording music . I'm moving on from this page now hopefully helps everywhere that needs it this is my last post on my social media page .

This page is very true

Very true sponsored by Jay Z , Kanye West , Beyonce Knowles Carter and their daughter Blue Ivy and me their son the new son Allen Henry aka Free World Allah aka SIR we sponsor this page thank you it has been fun thanks .

You are welcome for my help on this page to the people MK Michael Drayton keep your career going we love the music and your style please keep us in tune your music is hot and I support it and I know your fans love your music you going platinum true story your music hot we friends for life love your old brother and friend we will always be brothers to each other friends congratulations on your wifey and all that you doing real good living good music good and stress out of your life he good music good greatest quotes about good old friend of mines , thanks for everything . I believe in sportsmanship playing the game fair I got my second chance and second stage let me play let me compete let me play my sport rap music is my sport and I got a second chance and second stage for it , congratulations to Vado and our mutual friend MK Michael Drayton making his way back to the stage and music recording booth player and coach for real I learned a lot from him when we grew up together his mother and aunts and cousins raised me where family and sometimes sadly that don't change I'm still family to our aunts , cousins , nephews and nieces all in Chicago and New York City and happy to see ESPN announce his return to the stage , music videos a d recording congratulations to Harlemites Cam'ron , Jim Jones , Dave East , MK and it is excluding me this season I'm going left with ROC Nation Jay ordered me to get my education my second chance at that getting my life together I finish that on time I get to play with my other teammates over there at Roc Nation , but congratulations to my old stomping grounds and them make it back to the front of the room and front of the stage and ESPN announcing it that is big congratulations now I go off in my journey and my process .

My story

A beautiful woman got my heart a couple of beautiful women got my heart I think you know them they are famous girls famous women , wish me luck with a good life I'm looking toward my curse being broken so I could do what I love record music either way I am going to record and perform music like my second stage said I rather just do it without this curse on me this voodoo hex I want them off me so olI could live my life in peace but I'm going ahead with my projects later this year and compete that is the only revenge or vengefulness I would of felt but I'm focus and see only good things about me my perspective is fixed about everything about me I finally love me and it is all because of God my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ that is major putting God first in my life now it make life all the more better for me now thank you for letting me share that with you goodbye 🫂 and take care of yourself 💖 .

[catsofcalifornia]

Mojo, Loki & Sylvester from Forever Meow in Palm Desert, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to Forever Meow's main website.

We've never tried to adopt a trio of bonded brothers-in-arms, but the cosmos would weep if we ever tried to separate them. In all of our cat rescue history, we’ve never seen 3 cats, not related by birth, have such strong chemistry and become such fast and sincere friends. This is the story of Mojo, Loki, & Sylvester....

Mojo- 11 years old now, was bottled raised as a kitten and is a giant teddy bear who loves to be brushed.  When Loki joind his family as a kitten, he took Loki under his wing and “mothered” him.  Mojo loves kittens.

Loki - 5 years old now, has always looked up to Mojo. They are insperately bonded. Loki is a major lap cat, who requires lots of daily cuddles. Sadly, their adopter lost her home andthe 2 boys came back to ForeverMeow.  

While in foster at ForeverMeow, Sylvester came in as a medical foster case. Sylvester was separated from Mojo & Loki by a screen door in a separate foster room for 3 months.  During that time, they became close friends - through the screen. And then the day that Sylvester was better and able to be let out of the room, Mojo and Loki immediately welcomed him and embraced  him as one of their own.

Sylvester - 1 year old now, thrived with Mojo and Loki.  Previously in a busy home with 

multiple cats he was shy and withdrawn. With Mojo and Loki he has learned to be 

a confident happy young fellow. He loves to sleep in bed with you.

A ready-made cat family!  

Be prepared for 3 affectionate cats to be all over you - on your lap, sleeping with you - if you adopt them.  

They love people and demand lots of love and attention!!!

More information:

When the granddaughter of ForeverMeow’s founders visited recently, she stayed with the boys in their foster space for 1 week.  She was inspired to write the following profile about the boys...

Mojo:

This big fluffy kitty has been a dedicated father for many years, raising multiple kittens and taking others under his paw including his own best pals, Loki and Sylvester. The first thing you will notice about him is his size and the second is how much love he has to give. He is a notorious biscuit maker and even kneads the ground with excitement when you pet him before he can get to a blanket. He loves to flop onto his back and expose his fluffy stomach for scratches. If you pet him long enough, you may get a glimpse of some happy drool. Mojo has been a caring paternal figure for most of his life and is ready to give all his love to whomever wants to care for him. The minute you look at his sweet chubby cheeks, you can't help but smush them. He is a very well-behaved cat but is not shy to put a soft paw on your leg to let you know he wasn’t done being pet. 

Loki: 

The most medium-sized cat of the trio, Loki is a notorious love bug (especially during the night) but still shows a lot of curiosity for the world around him. At first meet, he has a tendency to be cautious and shy but it only takes a number of minutes to gain his trust and be offered the opportunity to pet him a lot. Loki was raised by Mojo from a kitten along with his sister who never had the bond that the two boy cats shared. Loki loves to tunnel under the blankets if you will let him but is perfectly content to cuddle on the top of the covers throughout the night. Anywhere he can get sun exposure is his favorite place to be. Loki loves to roll around in sun spots and let his black fur get warm. Loki loves high places to perch and observe, a result of his natural curiosity. If you enjoy a cat who loves play but loves to cuddle more, you will love Loki. 

Sylvester: 

Sylvester is the baby of the trio. Being only a year and a half old and a survivor of FIP, Sylvester is the most cuddly kitten you will ever find. He has the most adorable vampire teeth which can sometimes make an appearance if he gets overstimulated with petting. Not to worry, he is just a baby and give him a little space for a minute to relax and he is completely fine. This baby will cuddle with you as close as he can possibly get. He loves to curl up in a tight ball in your arms while you watch tv and roll his head around in the nook of your elbow. He was not raised by Mojo or Loki but the two have taken him into the family during his treatment for FIP. It is heartwarming to watch the three interact. Mojo and Loki clearly have so much love and patience for their goofy brother. Sylvester is incredibly shy at first but once he feels comfortable there is no going back. In fact, he is a master of hide and seek so before you think you have lost him open every cabinet. This kitten is ready to spend his life loving his owner and playing with his brothers. 

You will probably never meet a group of cats who love each other and have such distinct personalities. They aren’t cliquey- they have such an open heart for human friends and are waiting for the right owner to add to the family. Being with these sweet cats feels like a community. If you feel out of place, these cats have a place for you. To watch these three navigate life and challenges together is so special which is why they cannot be apart. Whoever ends up with these sweet cats is preparing themselves for a life full of love and excitement. 

[mightyflamethrower]

Never in U.S. history has a president-elect been welcomed as the real president before his January 20 inauguration.

And never has the incumbent president so willingly surrendered his last two months in office and all but abdicated—to the relief of his nation and the rest of the world.

One reason so many are welcoming Trump’s return is the universally desperate hope that his election spelled an end to a collective madness at home and its ripples abroad during the last four years. And why not?

Nations overseas had never quite witnessed anything like the lethal August 2021 American flight from Afghanistan. That utter humiliation and impotence of the U.S. military likely signaled to Russia there would be no consequences if it invaded Ukraine—and it did; to Iran that it could now unleash Hamas and Hezbollah on Israel—and it did; and to China that it could daily threaten Taiwan and send a spy balloon across the United States with impunity—and it did.

The result was the current global chaos perhaps not seen since the late 1930s when a confused United States was similarly a bystander to the rise of bellicose regimes and wars. The Biden administration shrugged that the Red Sea, the Black Sea, the South China Sea, the Straits of Hormuz, and the Eastern Mediterranean Sea all became dangerous to the U.S. Navy and unsafe to world shipping.

A disparate group of nuclear and near-nuclear powers—Russia, China, North Korea, and Iran—are either at war with Western allies or threatening war with them. Their confidence was predicated on the assumption that the U.S. after 2020 was engaged in a Maoist-like cultural revolution that warred on its own security, energy, military, universities, and social unity—and would continue with a second Biden term.

The Biden-era cultural revolution has done great damage to the United States. The U.S. border was systematically and deliberately destroyed to allow some 10-12 million illegal entrants to pour into the U.S. without legality or background checks. Never has an outgoing administration spitefully sold taxpayer-purchased border wall material for pennies on the dollar—rather than see it used for the purposes for which it was purchased.

Never had the U.S. experienced such an immigrant surge. And never had more than 50 million, and over 15 percent of the resident American population been foreign-born.

Why did Biden and Alejandro Mayorkas erase the border? What madness and hate drove them to dismantle federal immigration law? Was it sheer nihilism? Or a desperate but calculated effort to alter American demography for political purposes?

For four years, the public, elected officials, and pundits have all warned that Joe Biden was dangerously cognitively challenged and indeed completely unfit to fulfill the duties of the presidency.

A long-suffering nation winced as Biden slurred his words, spoke in unintelligible sound bites, stood frozen and mute, screamed at and libeled half the country, tripped, fell, wandered aimlessly, became bewildered, and more or less proved a global embarrassment. All knew Biden was not able to run the country; yet none knew exactly who was actually in charge of America in his stead. The Obamas? Leftists like Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, the Squad, Jill Biden, and the Biden staff?

Our allies worried that the usually resilient American president was now all but demented. Our enemies enjoyed these leaderless years of opportunity. And the left serially misled the public that the decrepit Biden, whom they feared in private was senile, was “dynamic,” “energic,” and “fit as a fiddle.”

Never has a president so deserved to be removed by the 25th Amendment or through impeachment and conviction. And never has even his inner circle finally but silently agreed as they left office, the very enablers who had done their political best to mask his dementia for four long years.

Rarely have the FBI, the CIA, the IRS, the Department of Justice, and the Pentagon become weaponized and so flagrantly and with impunity broken the law, abandoned their mission statements, and served political agendas rather than the American people. Not since the J. Edgar Hoover era has the FBI hierarchy serially lied under oath, stonewalled Congress, forged a court affidavit, or partnered with the media to suppress the news. Has the FBI ever raided an ex-president’s home, spied on parents at school board meetings, monitored Catholics, or tried to terrify and harass pro-life activists?

Never has the justice system, from local to state to national jurisdictions, so systematically and coordinately, sought to bankrupt, render inert, and jail an ex-president and current presidential candidate.

Never has a presidential family so brazenly profited by selling its influence to foreign interests. Never has it used the powers of the FBI and DOJ to cover up its crimes and to ensure the family filial bagman would be for years exempted by the DOJ and later pardoned by the president himself, the father of the family miscreant and privy to the family syndicate’s illegal activities.

Seldom has a president and his administration sought to fuel a veritable cultural revolution to change the fabric of the nation by institutionalizing a third, transexual gender, violating civil rights law, and systematically admitting, hiring, and promoting Americans on the basis of their race and gender.

Never since the Civil War era had local and state insurrectionist governments established 600 nullification zones, in which they vowed to break federal law and consider it null and void within their jurisdictions. Never have rioters looted, burned, killed, assaulted, and occupied large swaths of cities for over 120 days, and largely with impunity.

Never had the U.S. Treasury borrowed so much money so quickly and owed $37 in national debt—and been so intent on borrowing continuously nearly $2 trillion a year in annual deficits.

Never has a political party sought to systematically violate long-standing traditions, customs, and often the law itself to destroy a political opponent: hiring a foreign national to spread smears among the media and bureaucracies, impeaching a president twice, trying an ex-president in the Senate, seeking to remove a presidential candidate from 16 state ballots, using five different judicial jurisdictions to try an ex-president, and serially so defaming a candidate and ex-president as a dictator, fascist, and Nazi to create a climate that encouraged two near-miss assassination attempts on him.

In sum, for the last four years, the world has watched aghast as the United States lost its collective mind and became a radical Jacobin revolutionary society.

So why is there not a sense of almost ecstatic relief, not just among conservatives but even among Democrats, that the years of darkness and madness are ending?

The global public believes that the United States will again become lawful, have a secure border, return as a beacon of free-market economics, protect its allies, deter its enemies, win over its neutrals, return to the rule of law, restore the professionalism and prestige of its government agencies, check predatory nations abroad with a new deterrent military, and prepare to lead the world in energy production, exploration of space, and scientific and technology development.

Summed up, the welcomed counterrevolution is one of restoration—to dream again that nothing is impossible, and the dreary age of stasis, envy, cynicism, and nihilism is ending, replaced again by a world without limits. No one knows quite what is ahead, but all know that it is at least better already than the current nightmare.

The next time a progressive (regressive?) says we need to put the adults back in office.........remember 2024. It could take decades to unravel this much chaos.

[scotianostra]

October 12th 1929 saw the birth of Magnus Magnusson, writer, broadcaster and quiznmaster in TV programme “Mastermind”.

Magnus was born in Reykjavík but grew up in Edinburgh, where his father, Sigursteinn Magnússon, was the Icelandic consul. Magnus’ Icelandic name at birth was Magnús Sigursteinsson, but in Scotland his family adopted British naming conventions and from childhood he used his father’s patronymic as a surname. Living in Joppa, he was educated at the Edinburgh Academy and was in the school’s marching brass band. So to those saying he’s not Scottish, he did live almost his entire life here.

After graduating from Jesus College, Oxford, Magnusson became a reporter with the Scottish Daily Express and The Scotsman. He went freelance in 1967, then joined the British Broadcasting Corporation, presenting programmes on history and archaeology as well as appearing in news programmes.

He retained his academic connections, however, and was Lord Rector of Edinburgh University from 1975 to 1978 from 2002 served as chancellor of Glasgow Caledonian University. The Magnus Magnusson Fellowship, an intellectual group based at the Glasgow Caledonian University, was named in his honour. Magnusson’s books included I’ve Started so I’ll Finish, a memoir of his years on Mastermind, and Scotland: The Story of a Nation.

Magnus of course is most famous for the quiz show, Mastermind, it was originally broadcast late on a Sunday night and was not expected to receive a huge audience. In 1973 it was moved to a prime-time slot as an emergency replacement for a Leslie Phillips sitcom, Casanova ‘73, which had been moved to a later time following complaints about its risqué content. The quiz subsequently became one of the most-watched shows on television. Magnusson was famous for his catchphrase “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” which was also the title of his history of the show. The original series was also noted for the variety of venues where filming took place—often including academic and ecclesiastical buildings. The last programme of the original series was filmed at St Magnus Cathedral in Orkney.

To further add to Magnus’s credentials for being a Scot he married Glasgow lass Mamie Ian Baird and they had 5 children together, including Reporting Scotland presenter Sally.

On 12th October 2006, his 77th birthday, Magnusson was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Magnusson mordantly noted that “This has to be one of my worst birthdays ever”. His condition forced him to cancel a string of public appearances. He died on 7 January 2007.The Aigas Field Centre a nature centre near Beauly has a building named in his honour.

In 2014 an auction sold off a lot of his belongings for the Scottish based Balmore Trust, a fair trade charity which sells fairly-traded goods in its shop The Coach House and supports projects in Africa, India and the west of Scotland.

Magnus Magnusson, Icelandic by birth Scottish through choice. Anyone still not convinced of his Scottish & Proud credentials, check out this quote from the man “I have got the best of both worlds; growing up in Edinburgh and now living outside Glasgow.”

Scotland is a welcoming country and have a rich culture which comes from all round the world, with his writing and knowledge Magnus brought so much to our country

Magnus Magnusson is buried in Baldernock Churchyard, East Dunbartonshire.

My favourite of the pics is the younger Magnus on Calton Hill, Edinburgh, the colour of The Hotel in the background, is how I remember it having been the window cleaner there before it had a full restoration in the late 80′s. The black and white pic is when he was installed as Rector of Edinburgh University, the pic with the ferry is on Orkney.