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muzaktomyears · 6 months ago

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John Lennon and Yoko Ono: his affairs, binges and diet pills

For years the radio host Elliot Mintz was the only person the former Beatle and his wife trusted. Now, he has written a book about his intense relationship with the couple — including what really happened during Lennon’s infamous ‘Lost Weekend’

John Lennon, Yoko Ono and Elliot Mintz outside the Mampei Hotel in Karuizawa, Japan, 1977. Right: Lennon and Ono in 1980

I am holding a pair of glasses. They are antique, made of steel wire and perfectly round. The trademarked name is the Panto 45. This is the 26th pair of John’s glasses I’ve examined on this snowy night in February 1981. It’s been about two months since he was gunned down in New York outside the Dakota, the gothic edifice where he and Yoko Ono had been living since 1973.

I’ve been tasked with the responsibility of inventorying his personal effects so that Yoko, and posterity, would know precisely what he had left behind. I did not want this task. For one thing, I live 2,500 miles from the Dakota, in Los Angeles, where I host a late-night radio interview show. But Yoko asked me to do it, and I have rarely been able to say no to Yoko, let alone John.

I found their idealism infectious and inspiring. Still, as I got to know John and Yoko as flesh-and-blood friends, I began to see their flawed human sides as well.

The trio at a restaurant in Kyoto, 1977

Yoko, for one, was even more airy and ethereal in private than she was in the media. She could be a fountain of aphorisms, dispensing endless nuggets of Zen-like philosophy. Her haiku-esque homilies on manifesting one’s desires or the wisdom of the nonrational mind could be a bit much for some people.

There were moments when even I was a bit baffled by it all. Except then she would say or do something that would absolutely convince me that she was connected to some higher plane.

John, meanwhile, was every bit as charming, funny and intelligent as he came across in public. But I gradually discovered he was far from perfect. For starters, for a guy who aspired to be a world-shaking peacemaker — a thought leader on a par with Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr and Nelson Mandela — he was surprisingly uninformed about historic figures like, well, Gandhi, King and Mandela.

He also had some Luddite-like notions about science, particularly medicine, extending well beyond his annoyance at “daddy doctors” for not letting him perform his own weight-loss injections. Even though John had smoked, ingested or snorted just about every illegal recreational drug he could get his hands on, he was weirdly suspicious of the ones that were properly prescribed and proven efficacious.

Lennon and Ono on The Dick Cavett Show, 1971

John and Yoko could be incredibly sensitive, honest, provocative, caring, creative, generous and wise. They could also be self-centred, desperate, vain, petty and annoying. In John’s case, also shockingly cruel — even to Yoko.

An example…

Early one morning in November 1972, the red ceiling light that would flash whenever my hotline to John and Yoko rang started blinking. I picked up.

“Ellie, I f***ed up,” were the first words out of John’s mouth.

“Why?” I groggily asked. “What did you do?”

“We were at this party last night,” he said, “and I got loaded. And there was a girl…”

I sat up in bed.

The party was at Jerry Rubin’s Greenwich Village apartment. A small crowd of well-connected peaceniks had gathered to watch the presidential election returns on television. As it became clear that Richard Nixon would win re-election by a landslide, the mood grew bleaker and the crowd began drinking more heavily.

Alcohol was not John’s friend and on this occasion, John’s evil inner gremlins truly outdid themselves.

I got some of the specifics from a hungover John during his morning-after call. The upshot was that John had indeed hit it off with some girl at the party and had slipped into a bedroom with her, where they proceeded to have such loud, raucous sex that everyone sitting around the TV in Rubin’s living room — including Yoko — could clearly hear them going at it.

Lennon and Mintz in 1972

At one point, a well-meaning guest put a record on the turntable — Bob Dylan’s 11-minute ballad Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands — at high volume. Yoko sat on the sofa in stunned, mortified silence.

Whatever they said to each other later, I suspect the conversation was not a pleasant one.

“I slept on the sofa,” John told me, sounding defeated and embarrassed — although, frankly, not quite as contrite as I thought his situation warranted. “Things like that happen,” he said, way too matter-of-factly for my taste. “A bloke cheats on his wife… If I weren’t famous, nobody would care.”

Yoko, unsurprisingly, felt differently.

“Are you OK?” I gently asked her when I phoned to check in on her a few hours later.

“There is no answer to that question,” she said shakily.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive him?”

“I can forgive him,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened. I don’t know if it will ever be the same.”

After a few weeks of cooling down, though — during which Yoko wrote and recorded Death of Samantha, her bluesy ode to burying one’s pain for the sake of outward appearances — the crisis seemed to abate. John and Yoko chose to roll the cosmic dice with a spectacular gesture of faith and hope in the staying power of their love. They bought an apartment in the Dakota.

“It’s apartment No 72,” Yoko announced when she called to tell me about the purchase. “Do you see the significance?”

Lennon’s 38th birthday party, 1978

When you add seven and two, you get nine, Yoko explained, which was a hugely significant numeral to the Lennons, a magic integer that seemed to mysteriously recur throughout John’s life. Yoko would rattle off the number’s many repeated appearances: John was born on October 9. She was born on February 18 (1 plus 8). Paul McCartney’s last name has nine letters…

I was somewhat mystified as to why they chose this particular neighbourhood. “Aren’t you worried it’ll be too stuffy for you?” I asked John. “Will the people who live there even know who you are?”

“I don’t want them to know who we are,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t want to know who they are. We just want to be left alone.”

The Dakota struck me as one of the most eerily beautiful — and oddly daunting — structures in all of New York. John and Yoko greeted me in the vaulted vestibule, eager to begin our tour, which started on the ground floor with the new headquarters for Studio One, the business entity behind John and Yoko’s creative enterprises. Tellingly, John did not have an office in Studio One; Yoko did.

The main attraction was on the seventh floor. It was nearly 5,000sq ft, with massive windows offering eye-popping views of Central Park. Virtually everything in its expansive living room, from the plush carpeting to the grand Steinway piano, was as white as Japanese snowbells.

Lennon, Ono and Mintz at a Shinto temple in Kyoto. The custom was to hang your horoscope on a line

There was only one highly conspicuous work of art in the White Room: a Plexiglass case on a white pedestal, in which was a 3,000-year-old sarcophagus. John and Yoko had scored the very last mummy allowed out of Egypt before the Egyptian government put a ban on exporting their national antiquities.

“You should x-ray it and see what’s inside,” I suggested. “There might be something of great value, like precious jewels.”

“I don’t care what’s inside,” Yoko responded. “The great value is the magic of the mummy itself.”

Another thing I clearly remember about that long afternoon at the Dakota was how enthusiastic both John and Yoko seemed about the life they were building together in this new nest. John giddily described the “entertainment centre” he wanted to construct in a nook off the kitchen. Yoko, ever the artist, chattered about the endless design ideas she had. It was all too easy to forget about the pain and stress they’d been dealing with. I managed to convince myself that the worst was over for John and Yoko. I was wrong.

There are those who believe Yoko not only approved of the affair but arranged it. That she planted May Pang in the seat next to John on that American Airlines flight from New York to Los Angeles knowing full well what was likely to happen. That their comely 23-year-old assistant would sooner or later end up sleeping with her husband.

It’s possible, I suppose. It could be she saw some strategic long-term advantage in setting up the affair; by handpicking John’s mistress, she might have felt she could exert some dominion over his extramarital wanderings. Perhaps, thanks to her mystical advisers, she really did see that John was heading for a free fall and was endeavouring to soften his inevitable crash.

If any of that is true, though, Yoko never breathed a word of it to me. All she said in October 1973 was that she was sending John and an assistant to LA. Could I please meet them at the airport?

With his assistant and lover, May Pang, 1974

I was by then aware that their marriage was in deep trouble. Despite their best efforts to mend the relationship, the red light on my bedroom ceiling had been blinking even more feverishly than usual leading up to what would later be known as John’s “Lost Weekend”, the 18 months he spent in exile from his wife in New York.

Yoko’s demeanour back then, as always, was not demonstrably emotional but it was clear from our phone conversations that she was in pain. John’s calls were every bit as depressing.

“Has Mother been talking to you about us?” he asked during one early morning chat.

“Yoko talks to me about everything,” I answered vaguely.

“The other day I shaved and got dressed up and told her I wanted to take her to her favourite restaurant and she turned me down,” he lamented. “She said she didn’t have time. Me own f***ing wife said that to me!”

Yoko has always been a methodical person, and my guess is that she precisely and carefully orchestrated John’s eviction from the Dakota. John might not have even realised what was happening to him. He certainly didn’t seem like a man who’d been kicked out of his home when I met him and May Pang at LA airport.

“You look trim, Ellie,” he said with a big grin when I greeted them. “Have you been taking those diet pills again?”

They had very little luggage, suggesting that neither of them was expecting a long stay. My instructions from Yoko were to drive them to music manager Lou Adler’s house in Bel Air, a mini-mansion up on Stone Canyon Road.

“I need some money,” John said as we settled into my weary old Jaguar. “Mother said these could be used for money,” John continued, shoving a fistful of traveller’s cheques in my hand.

The couple outside the Dakota building in New York, 1980. They bought an apartment there in 1973

John was functionally a child when it came to taking care of himself. But then, that was what May was for. Whatever other intentions Yoko may or may not have had for the assistant, her primary job was to make sure John was properly fed and cared for, that all his basic needs — or at least most of them — were satisfied.

John and I spent a lot of time together over the next several weeks. He was also expanding his friendship circle in LA, hanging out with people like Harry Nilsson, the brilliant but notoriously hell-raising singer-songwriter. But after three or four months, much of his initial enthusiasm had boiled off and his mood was starting to curdle. He was missing Yoko: he began asking me when I thought she’d be ready for him to come home. He started spending more and more time with Nilsson, drinking at the Troubadour till all hours. After John famously got thrown out for drunkenly heckling the Smothers Brothers, the late-night shenanigans moved to the Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset. That’s where John and Harry and a collection of others — including my old pals Micky Dolenz and Alice Cooper — formed an infamous drinking club known as the Hollywood Vampires.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the level of unbridled indulgences that took place in the Rainbow’s VIP room, a small alcove atop some stairs overlooking the bar. The amount of alcohol imbibed was staggering, to say the least, and there were also small bags of cocaine discreetly passed into the room. Nilsson, a great big bear of a man, could pound down a dozen or so brandy alexanders — a potent mix of brandy and cream, his cocktail of choice, which John soon adopted as his own — in a single sitting.

Not being a celebrity, I was never invited to become a member of the Hollywood Vampires, but I was a welcome visitor and spent many a late night on the edges of their wild, sometimes harrowing saturnalias.

Lennon with his Hollywood Vampires drinking partners, from left, Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper and Micky Dolenz, November 1973

There was always a crowd of attractive young women at the bottom of the steps leading to the Vampires’ VIP lair. Frankly, though, by the time the boys descended, usually at closing time, most of them were too wasted to take advantage of the opportunity. I lost count of the number of times I all but carried John down those stairs and poured him into whatever car service I had called to the bar’s car park.

For the most part, I kept my promise to Yoko: I kept John safe. But one night, I realised things were starting to spiral out of my control. Normally, John didn’t put up much of a fight when I helped him down the stairs at the Rainbow Bar but on this occasion, he resisted. He didn’t want to go home.

He pushed away and dived straight into the crowd. It was my worst nightmare: a drunken star lost inside a drunken mob.

Finally, I spotted John with Nilsson at the edge of the car park, the two of them climbing into the back of a black limousine. A moment later, it pulled away into the night, going I had no idea where.

John, I realised with a sinking feeling in my gut, was slipping away.

I was about to walk into the nadir of the Lost Weekend, John’s rock bottom. The call came not on the hotline but my regular house phone, and the voice on the other end identified himself as a security officer working for Phil Spector. John was in trouble: could I please hurry over to Adler’s house and help “calm him down”.

What I saw when I stepped into Adler’s living room some 20 minutes later looked like a scene out of The Exorcist. Drunk and wild-eyed, John was strapped to a high-backed chair, his arms and legs restrained with ropes, which he was struggling against with all his might as he shouted obscenities at his captors, a pair of beefy-armed bodyguards who stood in awkward silence nearby. The place was a shambles. John had torn some of Adler’s framed gold records off the walls and smashed them to pieces. Bits of broken wood and shattered Plexiglass littered the floor.

The couple in Selfridges in London where Ono was signing copies of her book Grapefruit, July 1971

Apparently, the meltdown had started earlier that evening at the studio, where John and Phil had nearly come to blows. What precisely they were arguing about, nobody seemed to remember. But the session ended early with Phil’s guards restraining John and shuttling him to Adler’s house, where John slipped away from them long enough to pick up some sort of walking stick or cane, which he swung wildly around the living room until the guards were able to subdue him.

I slowly stepped up to John, who had stopped shouting. His head hung low on his shoulders, his chest heaving furiously. After a long beat, he slowly lifted his eyes to me. He looked possessed.

“Get these ropes off me!” he erupted. “Get them off me, you…”

And then John spat out an epithet so hurtful and offensive, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.

I looked straight into his eyes, barely containing my disgust and disappointment. He looked back into mine. And that exchange of glances seemed to reach some shred of humanity buried deep in John’s alcohol-addled brain. Suddenly he became very, very quiet.

After a moment or two, I turned to the guards. “I think you can take those ropes off him,” I said. “I think he’s done.”

John stood up, rubbed his wrists and, without another word, slowly made his way down the hall to the bedroom, where he must have collapsed on the mattress and passed out.

The next day, as I was getting ready to leave for work, the hotline started flashing.

“Ellie?” John said. “I’m sorry for what I said. But if you think about it, if that’s the worst thing I could say about you, you couldn’t be all that bad, right?”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said.

“Well, welcome to the real world, Mother Virgin Mary. I’m me. I have a big mouth and express meself the way I feel when I feel it. I don’t hide behind some microphone. I sing into it or speak into it when it suits me. I’m not always the Imagine guy or the Jealous Guy or the Walrus. So I said I’m sorry to you. That’s all I can do.

Lennon and Ono in 1972

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“No,” I answered. “I think I’m going to take the night off.”

For the first time I can remember, I was the one who hung up the phone.

Obviously, our friendship took a hit after the incident at Adler’s house; how could it not? For the next several months, John and I barely spent time together — at least, not in person. We would talk almost every day on the phone, as we always had, and eventually our rapport began to feel as easy and familiar as ever. But I no longer joined him for evenings at the Troubadour or the Rainbow.

John, meanwhile, had shifted from the mayhem of the Spector sessions to the slightly lesser bedlam of producing a record for his pal Harry Nilsson. The most notable thing about the Pussy Cats sessions was who else was in the room. Ringo Starr sat in on drums. And although it never made it onto Nilsson’s album, another ex-Beatle unexpectedly turned up and even sang with John, the first time the two of them had performed together since the Beatles split.

I wasn’t present but later heard that Paul McCartney and his wife, Linda, had popped in without warning, bringing Stevie Wonder with them. According to those who were there, John and Paul seemed to pick up their friendship as if they were teenagers again, but when John told me about it later, he was kind of dismissive about it, saying, “They were all just looking at us, thinking that something big was going to happen. To me, it was just playing with Paul.”

Lennon with Harry Nilsson, left, outside the Troubadour club in West Hollywood, having just been ejected for heckling a performance by the Smothers Brothers, March 12, 1974

What John didn’t know, though, was that, according to Yoko, Paul had an ulterior motive for the visit. A few days earlier, she had called me to explain the machinations behind the visit.

Yoko told me she spoke with Paul, who offered to speak with John. “I thought it was very kind,” she said. “I was very appreciative. But I made it very clear to Paul that it wasn’t something I was asking him to do. It would have to be Paul’s idea, not mine.”

To me, there was never any question that John desperately wanted to get back with Yoko. Yes, he had feelings for May, yet at some point during virtually every phone call I had with him, John would sooner or later beseech me to talk to Yoko on his behalf. “Tell Mother I’m ready to come home, Ellie. Tell her I’m a changed man.”

“I don’t think she wants to hear it from me,” I would say. “She wants you to show it to her.”

Paul, I later heard, gave John similar advice. Sometime after popping into the studio in Burbank, he sat down with John and laid out, step by step, what he would need to do to win Yoko back.

It’s impossible to say if Paul’s presentation was what did it, or if John experienced some other epiphany around that time, but over the ensuing months he did indeed begin to clean up his act. In the summer of 1974, he started working on his next album, Walls and Bridges, regularly flying to New York for rehearsals and recordings at the Record Plant on West 44th Street. By all accounts, those sessions were entirely professional, with John showing up 100 per cent sober every day.

At the Grammy Awards in New York, March 1, 1975

Then, as work on the album neared completion, John made a fateful decision: he decided not to wait any longer for Yoko’s invitation to return to New York. Instead, towards the end of the summer, he and May rented an apartment of their own on the Upper East Side. It was a small but comfortable place that had a wraparound balcony with spectacular views of the East River.

When I flew to New York to tape some interviews, I took the opportunity to pay them a visit — my first face-to-face meeting with John since the ugliness at Adler’s house. It was an awkward encounter for numerous reasons. For one thing, I had just spent an afternoon with Yoko at the Dakota, some 20 blocks away; taking a cab across town to John and May’s felt something akin to betrayal.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension, May gave me a wide berth, leaving to make some phone calls in a bedroom while John and I stood together on the balcony, catching up.

“Does this make you feel uneasy?” John asked after a beat.

“You mean being here with you and May? Yes, a little,” I admitted. “It just reminds me of the fact that you and Mother are still separated, and that makes me sad.”

“Well, that’s the way Mother wants it,” he said. “At least for now.”

Then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm over my shoulders and added, “Don’t look so glum, me boy. Put on your radio face. There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.”

It was one of the few times he’d quoted a line to me from a Beatles song.

Walls and Bridges was released a month or so later. John sent a prereleased signed copy (“To my little dream lover on ice, with love and old pianos,” he wrote, referring to my affection for Bobby Darin’s hit song).

As it happened, Elton John had joined John on keyboards for one song on the album. Elton made a bet with John. If the song was a hit, John would have to perform at Elton’s upcoming concert at Madison Square Garden. John agreed, never imagining he’d have to honour that promise.

Of course, Elton was spot on: Whatever Gets You Thru the Night did indeed become John’s first No 1 solo single. And so it came to pass that, in November 1974, onstage at Madison Square Garden, in front of thousands and thousands of fans, that the Lost Weekend finally began to fade to a finish.

Lennon’s surprise appearance at Elton John’s concert at Madison Square Garden, November 28, 1974

The details of what exactly transpired backstage that night remain, 50 years later, shrouded in some mystery. What is known is that Yoko, who’d been invited to the concert by Elton’s manager, was in the audience. She couldn’t have been prepared for the reaction around her when Elton announced, about two thirds into the concert, that he was bringing John onto the stage for his first public performance in two years. The crowd went berserk.

After the show, Elton’s manager approached Yoko and told her that Elton had requested her presence in his dressing room. Yoko was led backstage to a door with a star on it. She knocked, the entrance opened, and inside she saw her husband standing there, alone.

I cannot tell you what happened after the dressing room door closed behind them. Nobody but Yoko knows that, and she has never shared with me any details. What I can tell you is that in the weeks and months that followed, there must have been many more rendezvous as Yoko and John re-established their connection, even as he continued living with May in their East Side apartment.

According to one of May’s early accounts, John was ultimately hypnotised into ending his relationship with her; she has long claimed that Yoko hired a mesmerist to help John quit smoking but that it was all a ruse to brainwash him into splitting up with her so he could return to Yoko. To this day, many people believe that story. But I know for certain that it wasn’t true. Because, as it happens, I’m the one who arranged the hypnotist.

Yoko had nothing to do with it.

John had remembered that I had interviewed a hypnotist on my radio show and asked me if he might be able to help him kick nicotine.

At the Lincoln Center in New York, circa 1975

I called the hypnotist, planned for him to fly to New York, booked him a room in a Midtown hotel, and set up an appointment with John. In just about every respect, though, the hypnosis was a total bust. John told me immediately afterwards he was never put under; the hypnotist claimed John was but just couldn’t remember. The hypnotist also turned out to be something of a diva. He disliked his hotel — he thought the desk clerks were rude — and checked out the next day, flying back to LA in a huff.

John didn’t quit smoking, not for a minute, so it’s hard to imagine the hypnotist had succeeded in brainwashing him into anything else — like, say, leaving a lover. But the very next day, John did break it off with May and returned to the Dakota, resuming his marriage to Yoko and ending, at last, the long and lonely winter that had been the Lost Weekend. He called me in LA shortly afterwards to share the happy news.

He said, “Let the media know the separation did not work.”

‘He’d weigh himself twice a day’

Elliot Mintz on his friendship with John and Yoko. By Georgina Roberts

When a red light in Elliot Mintz’s bedroom flashed, it meant that John Lennon or Yoko Ono was calling him on a special hotline. “In an average week, 20 hours of phone conversation would not be unusual,” the 79-year-old former radio DJ and talk-show host says from his Beverly Hills living room.

Mintz describes the friendship with the couple that “dominated” nine years of his life as “almost a kind of marriage”. He was taken aback when Ono called him in 1971 to thank him for not asking about Lennon when he interviewed her on his radio show. When they began to speak for hours at night, she batted away his concern that her husband might get jealous, saying, “Aren’t you giving yourself a little too much credit, Elliot?”

Lennon first called Mintz to ask if he could get him fat-melting pills. “That was my first conversation with John Lennon. It wasn’t philosophical. It wasn’t about Elvis or the Beatles. It was about weight loss,” he says. Sometimes Lennon would weigh himself twice a day and the couple “were obsessive about diet”.

In Hotel Okura in Tokyo, October 1975

After six months of speaking, the couple summoned him to meet them in Ojai, California, where they were trying to kick a methadone addiction. Ono barely spoke until she was in a bathroom with the tap running. “She whispered to me, ‘This house is bugged. Everything we say here, they’re listening. So you have to be very careful what you say.’ ” FBI files released years later showed that Ono wasn’t being paranoid. President Nixon had placed the couple under surveillance after rumours they planned to disrupt his convention, Mintz says.

His clandestine friendship with the couple wreaked havoc on his love life. When he couldn’t explain whom he’d been speaking to in the middle of the night, one love interest assumed he was married and stormed out. “I realised at that moment that my love life would have to take a back seat to my relationship with John and Yoko,” he says.

There were times when lines were crossed in the friendship. One morning, Lennon summoned Mintz to kick out a girl who’d stayed the night. “I told him, ‘Please don’t ask me to do something like that again.’ He flipped out. He said, ‘I will effing ask you to do anything that I feel like asking you to do. Do you understand that?’ ” Mintz was hurt and offended. The next day was one of the few times he said no to “grabbing a bite” with Lennon.

Becoming parents was “the biggest game-changer” for the couple. After his son Sean was delivered via caesarean section in 1975, “John was outraged that when Yoko was clearly struggling, doctors would come up to him and say, ‘I’ve always dreamt of shaking your hand.’ He would bark at them, ‘Look after me wife!’ ”

While Lennon threw himself into childcare, Ono, who came from a banking dynasty, handled the couple’s finances. After becoming stratospherically famous so young, Lennon was “clueless” about money. “I doubt if John was ever in a supermarket, went to a bank, wrote a cheque. That’s what Yoko did,” Mintz says. “If not for Yoko, there’d be no money in the Lennon-Ono estate today.”

A drawing by Lennon on a postcard from Japan sent to Mintz in 1977

The first time Mintz met their son, Lennon said protectively, “Not too close. Germs.” “He said, ‘Look, we were going to make you the godfather, but we decided on Elton, because he would at least give him better Christmas presents.’ ” “This is typical John,” Mintz says.

Sean would only spend five years with his father before Lennon was murdered outside the Dakota in December 1980. Lennon had always “poo-pooed” Mintz’s requests for him to employ more security. “John said, ‘I’m just a rock’n’roll singer. Who would want to hurt me?’ ”

When Mintz speaks about learning of Lennon’s murder from a weeping flight attendant, his honeyed radio-presenter voice cracks with emotion. “Even now, after all these years, just thinking about that moment…” He trails off. The most gut-wrenching of his responsibilities was making an inventory of Lennon’s possessions. When he signed for a stapled brown paper bag that came from the hospital where Lennon was taken after he was shot, he could not bear to open it. “It was what John was wearing, what he had on him when he fell, including his broken, bloodied glasses.”

He is reticent about his friendship with Ono today. “I want to give her a sense of privacy,” he says, but adds, “It still feels like family. I still love her dearly.” The last time he saw her was at her 91st birthday in February. It was there that Sean encouraged Mintz to write his book, We All Shine On. Does he think Ono will like it? “I’ve never tried to predict a Yoko Ono conclusion.”

How different would his life be if he had never met the couple? “I could have got married. Could have had children.” Were the sacrifices worth it? “Of course. I got to spend that amount of my time with these two extraordinary people.”

We All Shine On: John, Yoko, & Me by Elliot Mintz (Bantam, £25).

(source)

#john lennon #yoko ono #elliot mintz

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jazziejax · 3 months ago

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𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐙

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Bad Boys AU! Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC & Bad Boys AU! Aaron Pierre x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - A normal day for the FBI agents who bicker like a married couple is the first day of many odd ones for a rich and beautiful business woman. But let’s look into how they first met.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - cursing…a lot, mentions of people’s races, descriptions of appearances, mentions of escorting, food wasting, I hope that’s all but let me know if I missed anything.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I have a lot planned for this Bad Boys AU, and I’m gonna love every second of it. That’s is if I get to wiring it all….we’ll see. I don’t want to poor anything but this could be a love triangle or… something polyamorous. UNEDITED AS OF RIGHT NOW!!!, I really wanted to get this out because I was so exited about what you guys thought, it’s 2:13 am. Also, this could be read as an ‘x reader’ I try to tray away from detailed descriptions. I just like to use names because it’s easier for me, I know you are all sick and tried of the self inserts and OC’s. It’s just easier for me to add a name :(

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4,282+

𝐌𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟓

“Does this spaceship have any damn air in it?” The man from the passenger seat with his shades on asked, his voice muffled as he chewed on his burger. The sun was beating down on them through the small car and the heat was causing him to become irritable.

The taller and lighter man glanced over at him, his hand on the steering wheel as he leaned back in his expensive leather seats. “Quit worrying about my air and start worrying about that food in my car.” He said, glancing back at the road before looking back over at the hungry man over his own shades. “What is this having a picnic shit in my car?” He asked.

Kelvin sighed, pushing his shades up to rest on his head. “Please man, not right now, not today.” He said, annoyance clear on his tongue as he looked over at his partner. “I’m not getting any at home, don’t deny me this.” He spat before moving to take another bite of his burger. The light-skinned man couldn’t help the small amused grin that made its way into his face. “I mean, yeah, how could you when you still live with your mother.” He chortled. Kelvin snapped his head over to him, his eyes sharp. “I do not live with my mother!”

“Yes, you do. You live with your whole damn family!”

“I do not! I bought my family a big ass house and this economy is shit, okay?” Kelvin stated through slightly clenched teeth. “I can’t keep taking women back to my crappy ass apartment that I got on my crappy ass cop salary!” He continued as Aaron sped through the sunny city in the Florida heat. Unbeknownst to both of them, a car was in their trail.

Aaron was about to respond again before he got distracted by the huge bite Kelvin took from the burger and the fries he stuffed from his lap. He scrubbed his lip over at him. “Could you watch it with all that shit, alright?” Kelvin rolled his eyes and threw his head back with a grin as she chewed his food. After swallowing, he gave the man next to him a dead stare.

“Where are your cup holders?” He asked, disregarding what the man said as he looked around the small car. Aaron trained his eyes back on the road, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t have one.”

“The hell do you mean you don’t have one?” He asked, his face scrunched in pure befuddlement at what his friend was saying. “$80,000 for this car and you ain’t got no damn cup holders?”

“It’s $105,000 and this just happens to be one of the fastest production of cars on the planet,” Aaron told him confidently, speeding the old model sports car up on the road out of pure cockiness. “0-16 in four seconds, sweetie. It’s a limited edition.” He smirked.

“Limited?” Kelvin said. “You got damn right it’s limited. No cup holder, no back seat. This is a shiny duck with two chairs in it. And I guess that makes us the balls just dragging the fuck along, huh?” He hissed before he reached into his lap for some fries, but the fast car and his clumsy nature caused the fries to fall, falling out of the small carton box they were in. “Oh, damn.” He mumbled, shooting a glance at his driving friend. Aaron’s head quickly snapped over to him, looking between the spilled fries and his hungry partner. “Sorry.” Kelvin winced.

Aaron then quickly wrapped the sports car into the nearest sidewalk, parking the vehicle. He took his shades off, still looking between the food on his floor and the crevices in between with a sharp eye, and then back up at the quickly agitated man. “Get it up.” He said firmly. Kelvin scoffed, looking the man up and down as he held his half-eaten burger.

“Now I know you see I can’t get down there. There’s no place for me to sit anything with this shitty car of yours.” He spat. The pair were so caught up in their bickering that they still didn’t catch the car that’s been trailing them, park right when they did. “And you got a damn engineering floor up in here, my shit ain’t going down up in there.” He said, holding up his hand to show that it wouldn’t fit.

“You know what, I’m not your damn mama.” Aaron spat. “I shouldn’t be cleaning up after your filthy ass.” Kelvin immediately held his finger up to his face. “Keep my mother out of your mouth, A-A-Ron, I told you that.”

“Quit calling me that!”

“And watch my hand, okay?” Kelvin ignored him as he continued, moving to try and stuff his hand in between the seats. “It can barely get down there. And when it does, it gets stuck. And what does that make, you get this shit!” He chided, hosing up the same hand to show his now crooked and coned fingers, a small grinning his face. Aaron gave him a black stare, both of the men unbeknownst to the women coming down the sidewalk and the woman from behind them sent as a distraction.

“You gone get them fries,” Aaron told him.

And while they were absorbed within their world of car chat and being tailed, two women were walking down the street having a conversation of their own.

“Thanks again, Fab.” One of the women said, glancing next to her to see her friend licking away at the frozen cream treat in the sugar cone. “For the ice cream, I mean.” She mumbled, glancing back down her the pink ice cream she held in her fist. The other woman glanced over as she swept her fresh blow out from her face. “I told you it was no problem, Addy.” She shrugged before giving her double chocolate ice cream another lick, the Miami sun shining down on her bronze skin.

It was silent then, the pair listening to the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement, Addy’s kitten heels making small taps while Fabiola’s stilettos punted against the pavement in her tried strut. They enjoyed their treats under the blazing sun, ears tuned into the chirping grids, the sound of playing children, and the city life moving past them. The air was thick with tension, both of their thoughts filled with burning assumptions, unanswered questions, and overflowing uncertainty.

This was still new for them. All of it. Although Addison and Fabiola had been friends for a while, their new living situation was still a task to get around, and there were certain lines neither of them ever crossed. Knowing each other since junior year of college, most would say they were best friends with opposite personalities. Addy was an adrenaline junkie to her core. She spent most of her college time drinking and throwing ragers. She was known for her sweet personality and down with all the frats and sororities. And no matter how hard she partied, she never failed an exam. Essays might not have been her strongest suit but she was damn good with numbers.

Fabiola on the other hand was sort of the opposite. She had her fair share of nice times on campus but she wasn’t really a ‘people person’. Fabiola grew up as the youngest girl of three boys with a beautiful mother and a strict and traditional father. She was a bossy perfectionist with a small temper and a no-bullshit attitude. All that to say, she was spoiled rotten, and making friends didn’t come easy. She hadn’t had a consistent friend in her life up until college. Now, she wasn’t a complete loner, she had friends at school growing up, but she never went out of her way to hang out with any of them. She was focused on one thing and that was her career. After seeing her mom be a housewife for so long, she knew it was a life that she never wanted to live. So he had her group and stuck to them.

That was until she was almost failing trigonometry and everyone she knew was recommending the campus's famous engineering major, Addison Montez. They would meet in the library every Friday afternoon to study, and eventually Fab began to help Addy with her papers for history. They were studying friends until the oh-so-comfortable and relaxed Addison recommended they go out to a party instead of being trapped within the thick smell of old paper and stale wood. And after that homecoming rager that took place at the HBCU two miles out, let’s just say they were almost inseparable after that.

It’s been years since then though. Life got real for them quickly and it was hard to keep in touch. Fabiola went on to inherit most of the money of her father when he passed since two of her brothers ended up being absolute useless shits with no career and the eldest son ran the medical equipment company. All while her mother ran off to Switzerland to marry a rich white man who was also widowed. They all still kept in touch but things were a little odd now.

Addison’s life, on the other hand, went a little downhill. She was never able to her master's degree because she didn’t have the money to pay for college. Things got so stressful for her point that she had to drop out, which her folks were not happy about. She could only live in her small hometown in the middle of bun-fuck nowhere working at GoodWill for two years before she packed her things into her shit box of a car and ran. That’s how she ended up in Miami, in her little apartment now making more than she was at Goodwill, although life still wasn’t that great considering what she now did for money. And that didn’t last long because the building she lived in was sold and she now needed a place to crash until she collected more cash.

And after bumping into Fabiola at the lingerie store, things went from there. They were friends again after so long. Casual and lighthearted conversations filled their hearts pure.

But their forced proximity begged for more clarity.

Fabiola moved her brown leather bag to her other hand, slipping it into the cuff of her elbow as she continued to eat her ice cream, biting into the cone and then licking some of the cream that fell away from her deep red manicured nails. She then looked down at her outfit, making sure the dripping treat didn’t hit her nice sweater or her crisp white shirt under it. “Just say what you’re thinking Addison.” She said, not even looking over at her friend before going back to her ice cream once she saw her outfit was clear.

Addison glanced over at her, licking her ice cream at a slower pace as her mind became more closed with doubts. She had her arms crossed, her free hand against the hairs in her exposed arms, due to the black halter turtle neck she had on that matched her small black heels, all paired with simple jeans. “I just…you don’t know how much I appreciate you.” She said. Her words were met with a groan from Fabiola, the woman throwing her head back.

“Enough.” She said firmly, turning her head to her. “You’ve said thank you to me more than you’ve lived longer with me. And it’s been two weeks.”

“I know, I know,” Addy added in a dejected tone, only giving the strawberry-flavored dessert in her hand kitten licks. “It just really means a lot to me right now. You don’t even know how much.” She said, letting out a small sigh. Fabiola’s eyes flickered back at her at her mellow tone, taking in the woman’s lost stare and guarded form. She awkwardly pressed her lips together, her eyes flicking away since she found the cars passing on the street much more interesting than the emotionally charged atmosphere. She then gulped. “Just say what you really want to say.” She said, the words coming out firmer than she anticipated. She ignored it, however, her eyes still looking at anything but the woman next to her as they walked back to her car.

Addison glanced her way when she spoke, but was met with the woman tucking her shoulder-length blowout behind her ear. She gulped herself, pursing her lips as she looked away. “I…” She trailed off. “I just don’t think it’s best for me to say it in this environment. In the open.”

“I would rather you say it before we’re trapped in my car for the next twenty minutes until we make it back to my place.” Fabiola didn’t miss a beat, cutting her eyes at her from the corner. “No pressure but it might be more awkward for you.” She said, and before she could finish, she then realized why she didn’t have many friends. Feelings were never really her thing, and this sensitive subject that Addison was clearly going through wasn’t her forte at all.

Addison nodded at her words as she licked her lips, totally forgetting about the melting treat in her hands. “Yeah, you’re right.” She sighed. “Okay. I, um…. Okay…I…work for a Madam.” She added quickly after her stuttering spout, then ate the rest of her ice cream as quickly as she could. Fabiola turned her lips up at her, watching as the woman sucked the ice cream that was most just cream now, from the cone. Addison turned to her, seeing her disgusted face. “Okay, damn, no need for the look.” She spat.

Fabiola blinked. “No, that was for the way you ate the rest of that ice cream.” She added, giving her a sideways glance as she bit into her cone. “I don’t really care about that other thing.” She shrugged as she brought her gold wire shades down to cover her eyes, her hair blowing more in its free form with the wind in her strut. Addison’s brows shot out at that. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged as she sped up some, seeing her car in the distance. “A check is a check, sweetie.” She said, flashing the girl a smirk and wink before licking at her ice cream again. They were coming upon her car, causing the woman to dig into her purse to find her keys with one hand. Addison blinked, shocked at her blasé attitude, and nodded her head as she followed after the woman. “Well, it’s not really a check.” She added with a small smirk. Fabiola glanced over at her, her arm still out as she dug into her purse to fetch her keys. “Well, money is still money.” She added, mocking annoyance with a smirk still on her lips as she found her keys. Addison grinned as well, watching as the woman stepped into the street to open her car door.

They paused however at the sound of commotion at the car behind them.

Back in the car, Kelvin and Aaron were still arguing.

“How imma get the damn fries, A-A-Ron?”

“Quit calling me that! Now look, this ain’t no got damn Denny’s, ain’t no eating in my car.” Aaron said before movement out of the windshield window caught his attention. His eyes were completely disregarding the woman in white, tilting his head to look around the planned distraction at the two women coming down the pavement.

“I wouldn’t be buying no shit from Denny’s anyway!” Kelvin continued, not paying attention to what the other man was staring at. “I don’t like the way we would’ve been treated.” He said before his eyes caught sight of the woman in white walking around the car. He looked the pale gorgeous woman in the short white dress up and down before glancing back at Aaron. “You weren’t worried about no damn fries anyway.” He snarked, looking the man up and down. “You all up in that.” He said. He then realized Aaron wasn’t all up in that white woman passing by, but the two beauties walking down the street. Kelvin glanced over, and it was like everything transformed into slow motion.

They watched as a woman in a grey suit practically strutted down the street. Her straight hair was touching her collarbones and belonged in the wind, her shades covering her eyes. She walked with a sense of authority and confidence, her equally attractive friend a few steps behind her, as she licked away at the chocolate ice cream in her hands.

“Damn.” Kelvin and Aaron said at the same time in the same breathy tone, tilting their heads as they looked the duo up and down, moving to the car in front of them.

They couldn’t admire her long before they were interrupted by the sight of guns entering their periphery.

“Get out of the car.” The scrawny white guy spat at Aaron. He glanced at the man before shaking his head with a sigh while Kelvin just dripped his.

“Damn.” He and Kelvin repeated. L

Kelvin looked the big burly man next to him up and down in disgust before his eyes went back to the gun lined at his face. “Now ain’t this some bullshit.” He spat. “The fuck is this?” Their attention was no longer on the women in front of them, but their attention was now on them.

“Me and my team, we’ve had a big week, so just get the fuck out of the car.” The white guy spat at them. Kelvin was too busy squinting his eyes against the sun as he looked out of the car at the large guy who held him at gunpoint. “Damn!” He said again, looking him up and down. “What you weigh in at, 350? I bet you a big Popeye chicken-eating son of bitch, ain’t you? Churches?” He asked causing Aaron to roll his eyes as he brought his hands up in surrender. “Hey, hey. Let’s chill.” He began when the man brought the gun closer.

Kelvin turned to his partner, his arms still down as he frowned. “Why do I always gotta get the big thick mothafuckas?” He tiffed. This only gained a reaction from the men who were robbing them. “Get the hell out of the car, now!” The white guy hissed as he moved to piped the door, causing the large guy to follow. Aaron and Kelvin were quick to exit, their hands raised. “Alright, alright, alright!” Kelvin yelled as he stepped out with his cup in his hand. He looked at the man in front of him while the other guy tried to lean Aaron against the car.

Fabiola and Addison looked back at the commotion, their mouths dropping at the sight of the robbery happening in front of them. Addison was quick to drop the soggy cone and move to the car, squatting down some in case things got wild but Fabiola was stuck, the rest of her cone in her mouth, scared to move in case the men’s guns turned their way. They stood there, just watching and listening.

“You know, now this is some funny shit,” Aaron said, his tone fed up as he held his hands up, glancing between the men that surround him.

“Shut up!” The small guy yelled. But Aaron just ignored him, looking at the angry man. “Let me tell you how bad a day you’re having. Right now you’re having a couple of FBI agents.” He stated. The shirt guy with sweat sliding down his face just looked at him. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m a stand-up comedian.” He added. “And I suck! That’s why I need your car.” He shouted through clenched teeth as he took a step closer.

“We’re dealing with a couple of cops and some lunatics out here,” Fabiola stared on with bated breath, not able to rip her eyes star from the scene.

“Hey, look!” Kelvin spoke up, still not having taken his eyes off the man in front of him. “I ain’t no Wesley Snipes, I just hang out with stupid ass friends that drive stupid ass cars that’s attract a lot mothafuckin’ attention!” He yelled, emphasizing his words every time he glanced back at said ‘stupid ass friend’, who now had a gun to his head. Aaron didn’t seem to care about any of that at the moment, his jaw downing at Kelvin’s statement.

“You know what? I need to jump over this car and smack you upside your peasy ass head, that’s what I need to do.”

This caused Kelvin to turn around, the men now facing each other as they disregarded the burglars who watched them. Fabiola furrowed her bed at them while Addison raised from her crouch position, less scared as she watched the so-called cops argue with guns to their backs. “A couple of lunatics as cops too.” She said, adding to what she heard Fabiola state. They watched as the men screamed at one another, the men with guns slightly backing off out of confusion and tension.

“Yeah, cause your ass was arguing over a stupid ass, mothafuckin, French fry!”

“It’s not about the French fry!”

“It’s a fry!”

“It’s about your lack of respect for other people's property!” Aaron screamed, pointing over at him.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The scrawny man behind Aaron yelled.

“That shit is stupid!” Kelvin shouted back at Aaron. “Shut the fuck up!” The large dark-skinned man spoke up, pointing his gun at him. Kelvin’s head snapped back to him, face grimaced in pure anger. “Hold on! You hold the FUCK ON!” He yelled at him before turning back to argue. “Now you want some bad enough, come get some!” He added before quickly turning around and throwing his chocolate milkshake onto the large man, not missing a beat to kick him in the nuts and then rip the gun off his hips. All while Aaron simultaneously elbowed the man behind him in the face before then turning to sucker punch him, causing the perps to both hit the ground.

“You like that shit?!” Kelvin continued to yell, pointing his gun down at him. He moved around, kicking the gun far from the burglars' hands as he held his own to the man’s head. “Wesley Snipes, Passenger 57! Now give me a mothafuckin’ handy wipe!” He spat with a smirk, his glare on the large man.

Aaron let out a sigh as he pulled out his gun, pointing it down at the man who seemed to be concussed on the ground.

“Now let’s hear one of those jokes, bitch.” He spat. He heard w let out a large laugh from the other side of the car, causing him to glance over. He had a smirk of his own on his lips, green eyes relaxing in the sun. Their ultra-cool moment was interrupted by the sound of a car unlocking, causing both cops to look over at the two women from earlier staring at them.

Addison was quick to open her door, her eyes darting between the scene in front of her one last time. “Sick shit.” She said with a grin before entering the car. Fabiola still stood there, shocked as she looked between the two cops. It seemed as though the halt in the screaming caused her to snap out of her thoughts, leading her to blink. Her eyes moved over to the shorter man, who was dressed in a simple white tee and black dress pants, all high in his built figure. The hold of his chain, belt buckle, and other jewelry stood out against his brown skin. His shirt waves were smooth on his head and his cute face was sort of clean-shaven, her eyes attaching themselves to his stunning and plump lips.

“What she said.” She spoke up, nodding her head to the woman in the car. “That was…cool.” She nodded. Her sultry voice caused both men to tense up but quickly relaxed, the smooth sound unexpected to both of them. Her shades were also on, covering her eyes from telling them what she truly thought, and why she was still there speaking to them. Kelvin nodded his head at her, not hiding the way he looked her up and down. “Thanks.” He said, a small smirk making his way into his lips.

She nodded at him before her eyes then made their way to the man on the other side of the car. His figure was taller and larger, and although his suit was baggier, she could tell the muscles under it were strong and sculpted. His outfit was similar to Kevin’s, although his was grey and he had his blazer on. What caught her attention the most was his eyes, the bright and striking color of them held her captivated from the rest of his face. The icy blue irises looked back at her as her eyes gave his face a quick once over, admiring his large ears and nice goatee, and a sexy smolder on his lips.

“Nice car.” She added, nodding at the fancy Porsche that they surrounded. Aaron blinked, his eyes not leaving her face. He was caught in the way the hair blew the wind, framing her face perfectly. Though he only knew her for mere seconds, he hoped desperately that some unknown force would come in a swoop the glasses from her face to see her clearly. “Thank you. Porsche.” He said, snapping out of his quick start of thinking. His eyes then moved to the one she stood by, nodding his ear down to it. “What that?” He asked.

The pair could both see one of her brow arch at his question, a smirk making its way into her lips. “A Ferrari.” She said, placing her hand on her hip as she looked between the two of them. Aaron’s eyes widened as he stood straighter, looking between the car and the woman. “F512M. Nice right? I know.” He said, not even waiting for a response to her question that she answered herself before opening the door. She didn’t even give them one last glance before hopping into the nice grey car and pulling off, making sure to rev her nice engine.

Kelvin and Aaron stood there, guns still pinged at her knocked-out perps, watching the car as it quickly drove away from them. Kelvin seemed to relax without the woman in his vicinity, his shoulders dropping but his arms still raised to aim his gun. “We should get these guys…somewhere. I want ‘em the hell up outta my face.” He grumbled before moving to grab his phone and pager from the car to call down the local police. Aaron raised as well, his gaze moving from the sunset the woman drove off into, to the hot pavement the burglar laid on. “Forget them, this one’s probably dead. I wanna know who the hell that was.”

“Someone out of both of our leagues,” Kelvin added, his focus on the phone in his hands. Aaron jerked his head back, sending the man a dirty look. Before he could even begin an argument, Kelvin had already raised his finger, halting him. “Even for you Mr.Playboy. You don’t have a Ferrari.” He said before sending him a sarcastic smile and then turning away with the phone held up his ear.

Meanwhile, in the car, Fabiola had a grin on her face as she pushed her glasses back up into her hair. “Girl, them cops were fione!” She said, causing Addison to laugh. “You know, besides all the armed robbery stuff, that wasn’t a bad sight. I love to see some brothers in action.” She cheesed, letting out a laugh as she rethought the whole ordeal they witnessed.

“Yeah, they were pretty fine.” Addison nodded, dragging out the word pity as she grabbed the matinee she left in the woman’s dashboard. “And probably married. Brothas that cute can’t be single. Agents at that. And in that car? I know their women love them.”

“Mmhmm.” Fabiola hummed in agreement, a small smirk on her lips as she nodded her head. She then let out a scoff at a sudden thought. “Probably white women too.” She stated, causing Addison to let one out as well. “Let’s get off that.” Fabiola waved off with a quick roll of her eyes. She couldn’t dwell on the thought of those fine men being tired down so some non-sisters that couldn’t love them and understand like she could.

What the hell am I talking about? I don’t know them and I’m damn sure never gonna to see them again, get over it, girl. This is the adrenaline and sugar talking. She thought to herself.

“Why the hell don’t I know Miami was this crazy? I knew it was fun in the sun but damn, am I gonna get a gun pulled on me?”

“I’m this car in certain areas? Sista they might try to kidnap you for ransom.”

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

My tumblr is tripping, I don’t have a tag list for some reasons so if you want to be part of it, let me know, and pretend that Aaron has an American accent or I will make jokes on why a British man is apart of the United States FBI.

#jazziejax navigation #aaron pierre #kelvin harrison jr.#aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x reader #kelvinharrisonjrfanfic #kelvin harrison jr. x black oc #kelvin harrison jr x black!reader #kelvin harrison jr x reader #bad boys #will smith #martin lawrence #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre x oc

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mickandmusings · 10 months ago

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i. true blue

part one of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: The summer he turned nine, Jake was convinced he'd spend it like any other summer: riding his bike down dirt roads with all the other kids, lending a helping hand on the family farm, and brushing up on his backyard football. His life hits a tailspin when a new family moves into the house just down the road, leading him to a friendship and feelings he never saw coming.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: cute childhood friends to lovers, small sections of angst, tragic backstories and southern traditions. primarily self indulgent. this is written by someone from the most southern small town imaginable, so it's written with love as an ode to my own hometown, enjoy. <3

In the great state of Texas, just a few hours south of Austin, sits a small town called Haven. It was a fitting name for a town so picturesque-miles and miles of endless farmland, stunning sunsets and sunrises, and the beauty of the state's flora and fauna. However, in all it's Southern small-town glory, it was home to little else. There was the hub of activity 'downtown'-the one school system, a family-owned restaurant, a convenience store, the First Baptist Church of Haven, and a hair salon. On the outskirts of Haven sat a large patch of barbed-wire fenced farmland, one that spanned most of the remaining parts of the small town, more than the eye could see. It was large enough to have its own unpaved road-Seresin Farm Road-and was home to only one house, the Seresin family house.

The Seresin family had owned the land long before the turn of the century, and had been passed down from generation to generation ever since. The Seresin's owned much of Haven to begin with, their farmland excluded. Most of the businesses rented their buildings from Jacob Seresin Sr., with the exception of the school system and the church. Despite their seemingly looming hand of ownership, you'd never know they held power at all. Mrs. Janet Seresin-first lady of the Seresin estate-was known as the town egg lady, always more than happy to pass out dozens of Styrofoam cartons free of charge. She held the unofficial prize of having the best homemade ice cream in all of Haven, and anyone in the small town would attest. Jacob Seresin Sr.-head of the Seresin farm and Janet's husband-was regarded in the same warm fashion. You could find him driving up and down the main street in his trusty red farm truck, often loaded with feed or some kind of good necessary to keep his place up and running. He'd stop and talk to anyone and everyone, literally everyone, he knew. He had been the one to help nearly everyone in his community rebuild after natural disasters, always willing to help someone in need, never asking for anything in return. The Seresin's were Haven's unofficial first family, leaders of sorts, in the small town.

Their son, Jacob Seresin Jr., was elusive and a topic nearly everyone knew to avoid. He had been raised on the family farm, attended the local school, lived and breathed the same life as everyone else, but found himself itching for more. He quickly fell into trouble with the local law, and with a last name like Seresin, he got away with mostly everything, which, perhaps, was his greatest downfall. He had gotten his high school girlfriend-a sweet local girl named Georgia Joann Smith-pregnant their senior year. When she broke the news, he'd taken off in his truck to Kentucky, where it was rumored he still was, looking for something he could never find. Nine months later, Jacob Thomas Seresin III, or 'Jake' as he preferred, was born, healthy, all ten fingers and toes. Just hours after birth, his mother fell gravely ill, and made her own swift exit in death. She left behind only one thing-her son. Jacob Sr. and Janet took him in with no questions asked, raising him as any grandparent would. Jake, luckily, seemed to inherit more of his mother than his father. His blonde hair gleamed in the Texas sun, turning almost gold in the heat-filled summers. His green eyes held his kindness-a sharp contrast to his father's dark brown eyes that seemed to only hold his anger. Jake bore Georgia's gentle soul, her wide smile and her witty personality, she lived on in Jake entirely. So when the new family moved into the empty house at the end of Seresin Farm Road, Janet had zero hesitations in sending Jake down to welcome their new neighbors to Haven. She'd spent the entire morning making homemade bread, having to occasionally swat away Jake's hands from the counter or tell him to completely get out of the kitchen while the loaves cooled. After lunch, she handed him a well-wrapped loaf and gave him instructions to take it to the newcomers, which Jake did without complaint. He'd placed the bread into the metal basket attached to his royal blue bike, trekking down their long and winding driveway. When he'd arrived nearly ten minutes later, he had parked his bike on the edge of the lawn, against a towering oak tree. He made a point to kick the dirt off his shoes, not wanting to track it onto the seemingly freshly painted, white wrap-around porch. He lifts his first to wrap against the door, one with a glass cut-out, much different than the screen door on his farmhouse. He fixed his windswept hair in the reflection of the window, remembering Granny's words of always looking well put together when meeting new people. The door's lock clicked, and when Jake looked up to see the man or lady of the house, he instead had to look down, finding a girl who couldn't be much younger than him. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at him, hair pushed out of her face with colorful butterfly shaped clips. Her eyes were captivating, and all of Jake's intended Southern charm had flown out the window. She smiles shyly at Jake, wondering why this stranger was on her porch.

"Uh, this is for you-or,uh-your parents," his arm extends the bread as he stammered. "My Granny made it, we live at the farm on the end of the road, we-uh, she-wanted to invite you to the neighborhood. I'm Jake."

Jake stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake, and winced internally. His Pawpaw would be reprimanding him if he saw this-it wasn't polite to make a lady shake your hand. Shaking hands was for business deals, and Jake had just shook her hand like she'd bought his show heifer. Jake's mind was clouded for a reason he couldn't explain, and he wasn't thinking straight. The girl blushed and smiled slightly.

"I'm Honey," her voice was quiet but pronounced. "That's not actually my name, but everyone calls me Honey, so, you can call me Honey. Um, is your house the one with the big magnolia tree in the front?"

Jake nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, shimmering with something Jake couldn't make out. Quietness settled over them before Honey spoke again.

"Is that your bike?" Honey points at his bike leaning against the tree.

"Yeah! Most kids ride their bikes everywhere here."

"C-Could I ride with you, maybe?" Her voice was suddenly shy, no longer meeting Jake's eyes. "It's just summer and I-I don't know anyone yet and-"

"Yes!" Jake cut her off, and mentally scolded himself, but as Honey flashed him a wide smile he couldn't find himself caring. She tossed the bread on the table just inside the door, slid on her purple jelly sandals and shut the door behind her. She led Jake to the empty garage, only full of empty moving boxes and a bright yellow bike. As she led them out of the garage and towards the edge of the yard, Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

"Shouldn't you let your momma know you left, leave her a note or somethin'?"

Honey's eyes cut to her feet, her smile fading.

"She won't care, I'll be back before she will. S-She's a nurse, works the night shift at the old folks home in the next town over."

Jake nodded but said nothing, pedaling off on his own bike to lead her back down to his farm.

From that moment on, Jake and Honey were practically inseparable. The entire summer was spent with a blue bike parked next to a yellow one, swimming in the creek behind Jake's house, and running around the farm with nothing but their imagination and makeshift stick swords. Jake's Border Collie, John Wayne, became a frightening dragon of their imagination, and Honey taught Jake how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers in the fields. Janet had grown fond of looking out her front window to see Honey sitting next to Jake under her magnolia tree, reading her Boxcar Children book as much as she could with Jake chattering next to her. Even when Jake was busy with his farm chores, Honey would sit placidly under the tree, enjoying the occasional breeze as she read her book of the week. After the long summer, Jacob Sr. had started referring to it as "Honey's tree," and he'd laugh to himself every time he saw the girl sitting quietly under it. Both Janet and Jacob Sr. loved having the sweet but shy girl around, especially when they found out that she spent most of her time alone in that house down the road. On the last night before summer ended, Jake and Honey sat under the tree, swatting at mosquitoes as the Texas sun set. Jake looked over at Honey, who had finally put her book down, and asked:

"Why do you like this tree so much?"

She smiled a smile that Jake knew to be half-hearted and brought her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps.

"It reminds me of home."

Honey had moved from her tiny town in Mississippi that summer, and she often talked of her home there, the friends and family she'd left behind, how her mother had left when her grandmother died, looking for a fresh start.

"My Gram had a tree like this in her yard, and she'd babysit me when Mom worked," Honey's eyes rested on the ground, where she was picking grass from the ground around her bare feet. "She'd read to me a lot, and it was my favorite place in the world. Sometimes when I read here it sort of feels like I never left."

Jake simply nodded, thinking of the mother he'd only met in pictures, and the grandparents he wouldn't trade for the world's richest man. Neither of them spoke a word about the statement she made, but they understood what it meant to both of them. Even at age nine, Jake was in love with the girl next door, even if he didn't know it yet. From the first year they met and every year after, Jake and Honey found themselves under the magnolia blossoms. Well, almost every year...

As the budding teens entered into their freshman year at Haven High School, the differences between their personalities became more apparent than ever. Jake was the ideal all-American southern boy: athletic, outgoing, someone who guys high-fived in the hallway, and one that girls would be late to class just to get a glimpse of. Jake was never one to let the attention get to his head, at least not too much. Sure, he enjoyed the feeling of being liked, and, sure, he could be cocky at times, but he was never the one to bully those completely different from him. Someone like Honey. Honey had always been quiet, shy by nature, and the very definition of an advanced student. She was beloved by her teachers, but not as well received by her classmates. With a town as small as Haven, it was either incredibly easy or incredibly hard to make friends, and for Honey, it seemed to be the latter. It wasn't as if Honey was perpetually odd-she wasn't homely or weird, just quiet. Jake was the only one who knew about her boisterous laugh that could be prompted with his corny jokes, or her wild streak, like sneaking into his bedroom window after she and her mother got into yet another fight.

At the beginning of the school year, she spent her breaks talking to Jake, and she sat next to him at lunch. He'd let her ramble about her current read, and he'd talk about yesterday's football practice. She'd leave with the promise to come around for dinner, Mrs. Janet was making her favorite. However, when football season started, and Jake had made an infamous saving play at one of the first few games, he had peaked in popularity. Honey found herself on the outside of his swarm of new friends, listening to him talk to his football buddies while the girls that followed shot her sympathetic or lethal glances. She'd ignored it at first, simply enjoying her paperback until Jake could spare himself a minute to talk to her. Eventually, the bell would sound before she even got the chance to say 'hello' to him, and, with her heart suddenly heavy, she'd make her way to class. The routine lasted for weeks and she'd find herself waiting by the phone, figuring Jake would call her after football practice, but she'd only be greeted with silence through the night. After the second week of no contact, she decided to leave Jake and his new friends to their own devices, opting to sit in the library for breaks, taking her lunch in the empty courtyard. It was like Jake hadn't noticed her absence at all, at least in her mind, but Jacob Sr. and Janet noticed immediately. They had missed her bright aura that lit up their farmhouse, watching as she greeted the dogs as she parked her now lilac bike in the driveway. Janet missed her companionship as Honey would watch her sew patches onto Jacob Sr. and Jake's clothes, and her husband missed catching up with her over dinner. The only time they'd see her anymore would be on Friday nights, at Jake's games. She'd sit in the bleachers with them, decked out in her navy blue and gold, watching intently as the boys in jerseys made their way up and down the field. At the end of the game, she'd say her goodbyes before Jake would find his grandparents and they wouldn't see her until the following Friday. In typical grandparent fashion, Janet had assumed Jake had done something. Her grandson was kind, gentlemanly, but he also had a sharp tongue and a big head, which he sometimes used in malice. So, over dinner one Thursday, Janet finally dipped her toes into the water.

"Maybe you should talk to Honey after the game tomorrow, she always seems to slip away before you two get to catch up."

Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he wiped his mouth, looking up at his grandmother.

"Honey? At a football game? Granny, I don't really think that's her scene. She hates when we have a pep rally at school, I don't think she's going to a football game voluntarily."

Jacob Sr. and Janet give each other a knowing look across the table.

"How blind are ya, son?" Jacob Sr.'s voice is accusatory.

Jake looks up from his plate, looking over at his grandfather with a confused look.

"She's been at every game this season, Jake," his grandmother's voice speaks, much softer than her husbands. "She sits next to us in the stands. When was the last time you two talked? Just the two of you?"

Jake scoffs at his grandmother's accusation, his head shaking as he tried to wrack his brain for the last time he'd talked to his best friend.

"Maybe a week or so ago, I-I can't remember."

"That's a damn shame," Jacob Sr.'s voice grumbled. "She's a sweet girl, smart too. I know she doesn't run the same circles as you and your new buddies, but she's a good friend Jake, and you're treatin' her as if she doesn't exist. She still comes to all of those games. I'm not tellin' you what to do, but maybe give her a call, and pray to the Lord above that she wants to talk to your dumb ass."

Jake's heart sank as he carried out his nightly farm chores that night, thinking of how he had treated Honey. He knew what the other girls in the group said about her, how she was 'quiet' and 'weird,' often making comments that were completely false or disrespectful. Jake always shut the comments down, but found himself not bothering to talk to the one person who had always been there for him. Was it his fear of his new friends thinking he was weird? Did he think he wouldn't be surrounded by his football buddies if they saw him talking to someone like Honey? As Jake shut the barn door, he sighed, deciding he didn't care about either. Honey had been his friend for years, long before high school or popularity, or stupid teenage rules. She'd never changed, she was still the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. That night, as he sat by the phone thinking of what to say, he'd heard the faintest knock on his door. He figured it was his Granny coming to tell him goodnight, so he made quick work of making his way to the door and flinging it open. Instead of his grandmother, Honey stood in front of him. She held an algebra textbook in her arms, her eyes never meeting his, her arms crossed protectively. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks staining her cheeks. She'd been crying, and Jake knew Honey all too well, her tears had nothing to do with the algebra assignment. Something had happened to her.

"Uh, hey, I-I know it's late, and I didn't want to bother you, but I've been workin' on this stupid algebra assignment for three hours, and i-it's not making a lick of sense. You-You're the only person I know who could help me, so if you could just show me how to do one, I'll be out of your hair. I know you have a game tomorrow, and you should really sleep-"

Honey was rambling, picking the skin around her fingernails, she was nervous. It shattered his heart in his chest, he could never remember a time when she was nervous around him.

"No, no, you're fine, Honey. C'mere."

He opened the door wide for her to come in. She nodded in thanks, hovering awkwardly in the space between his bed and his desk. Any other time she'd plop herself down on his plaid comforter, all but curling into the sheets and falling asleep. Now, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and he was different now. He wasn't just Jake, her Jake, he was Jake Seresin, up and coming star of their hometown football team, someone that a person like her should avoid in the hallway, someone that shouldn't even be talking to her.

He pushed the chair of his desk out for her, figuring she'd feel more comfortable there. She laid her textbook and notebook out flat, opening the book to the dozens of equations she couldn't make out. Honey was incredibly smart, but as her math classes advanced, she found herself staring at her own notes in utter confusion.

"Um, so, this is on polynomials," she started. "But I couldn't even tell you what a fuckin' polynomial is and I'm starting to lose my mind."

Jake quickly noted the physical manifestation of her worry-her hair messy with the way she had been running her hands through it, the chipped nail polish on her nails, and her chewing on her bottom lip. His heart ached, how had he not noticed her struggling? They were in the same class, she sat two chairs in front of him.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

She didn't even spare him a look.

"It's not your fault I'm stupid, Jake."

Jake took her arm in a light hold, turning her to look at him.

"I'm not talkin' about algebra, and you're not stupid, first of all. You're one of the smartest people I know. I'm talkin' about the way I've been actin'. It's not fair to you, I've been an ass. I've been ignoring you at school, treatin' you as if you aren't even there. You've come to all my games and I didn't even know. Thanks for that, by the way, but, I mean it, Honey. I'm sorry."

Honey shrugs, her face sprouting a faint pink blush.

"'S fine, people grow up, move on. You don't have to apologize for leaving me for people more like-minded. I get it, I don't necessarily fit the mold of your new friend group. It's okay. They seem to really like you though, and you seem happy. Plus Sam is...she's pretty. I get why you wouldn't want me hanging around."

"Sam?" Jake's voice was confused. Sam was a cheerleader, and she was friends with the girlfriends of his teammates. They had a passing conversation from time to time, but they weren't dating. "What're you talkin' about?"

Honey's brow furrowed, tapping her pencil's eraser against her book.

"Sam Vance told me like the third or fourth week of school that you were together, around the same time we stopped talking. I just assumed that was why you didn't want to talk anymore. It's sort of the reason I've kept my distance."

Jake's blood boiled, he was not dating Sam Vance. She was heinously mean, even to her own 'friends.'

"Honey," Jake started, his eyes full of sympathy, his flash of anger flickering. "I'm not dating her, not by a long shot. I don't know why she lied to you, I've never said more than a few sentences to one another, she's...mean. She's vicious, I'm sorry."

Honey's head only shook in a nonchalant manner. She was good at this, pushing people away, Jake had noticed it over the years. After years of practically raising herself, those she loved either abandoning her or leaving her in death, she expected everyone to leave. Honey herself knew that someday Jake would leave her, just like everyone else, so when he pulled away, she didn't bother trying to stop it, no matter how it hurt.

"Stop that. I know what I did was shitty, and it seemed like I didn't want you there, but this isn't me dumping you off, Honey. I swear. And I know something's wrong, you're not crying because of a homework assignment. If it's because of what happened between us, I'll do anythin' to make it up to you-"

Honey's bottom lip trembles, her eyes lining with tears as she shakes her head. She looks up at Jake, pain clouding her usually kind eyes.

"You don't have to worry about me, Jake."

"No I don't," he stated honestly. "I want to, Honey. You're my best friend, and you're hurtin'. You may not need me, but I want to help you. I know I haven't been a good friend, the worst actually, but talk to me, please."

Honey looks at her lap, bringing her knees to her chest in an action of protection Jake was familiar with-every time she has to get vulnerable, it's her defensive action, as if curling up in a ball would save her from hurt.

"For what it's worth," Honey started, her voice small and quiet. "I really don't understand polynomials, like, at all. But you're right, it's more than that." She pauses and takes a deep breath, Jake's heart shattering. Her inability to speak freely, the bags under her eyes, her nervous habit at the forefront-he'd never seen her so tired, so heavy.

"About a week ago, I came home and all of my mom's stuff was gone. I mean, all of it, her bedroom was completely empty. She left a note on the kitchen table." Her eyes focus on the Cowboys poster on the back of Jake's door, her eyes dulling. "She decided to move in with her boyfriend, and he-he doesn't even know she has a child, so she left the house for me. Which is fine, we never got along anyway, it's just been...lonely. She pays the bills and leaves money, so it's not like I'm fending for myself, but, it just really sucks she doesn't really care about me. I guess it shouldn't, but-" She pauses, eyes dazed out, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Sorry for the soapbox, I just, it all is piling up, and now I'm crying over polynomials." She laughs dryly. "Just, God I've missed you, Jake. I sort of pushed myself away from you because I thought you'd found people you'd rather spend your time with. I'm nothing like you interest wise, and-"

"Stop putting yourself down, I won't stand for it." Jake looks at her as she laughs in a quiet manner, hands wiping away her silent tears. Jake moves directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I mean it. You're ten times cooler than any of them. Most of the guys on the team, pretty laid back, cool, but all they ever want to talk about is football and how hot so-and-so is, and their girlfriends? Worse, by a thousand, at least most of them. I'd like to think I'm not that shallow, right?"

Jake Seresin was a lot of things, but shallow was not one of them.

"Please hang out with me tomorrow? I'll have Granny pick you up for school. You and I are going to talk until the bell rings, you've got to catch me up on that Scarlett girl in that book you were reading last time we talked. I'm sitting with you at lunch because Granny made me promise to bring you lunch, and you gotta catch me up on last week's Dawson's Creek episode. Then I'll see you at the game, and we can swing by The Burger Basket, you, me, burgers, fries, a strawberry shake for you and a chocolate one for me."

Honey laughed, nodding her head, her heart warming as she heard Jake ask for the things she thought he found annoying-her ranting about the books she was reading, or the TV shows she was watching. She wiped her tears, standing and hugging the blonde boy who knew her better than herself sometimes. Her chest felt lighter, it felt good to be known so incredibly well. He squeezed her tight before she let go. (Jake never, ever, let go first.) She sits back in the desk chair, sliding in next to Jake, her head falling on his shoulder.

"So," she spoke after a moment of silence. "Polynomials?"

Jake chuckles.

"Let's make a deal, Hon. I explain to you how to solve these equations, and you explain to me what the hell Shakespeare is talking about in those English assignments for Mrs. Elmer's class?"

Honey laughs, she and Jake were both good students, but in two very different subjects.

"You've got yourself a deal, J."

Jake smirks, taking the pencil that sat in the crevice of the book, his scratchy handwriting across her paper as he attempted to explain. In a matter of minutes, Honey began to understand, a smile forming as she grasped the concepts. Jake's green eyes met hers in the light of his desk lamp, glimmering, and the breath in his chest catches, his heart hammering. His palms sweat around the pencil and he can't look away from her.

"You alright, Seresin?" Honey's voice is laced with humor, and it snaps him out of his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

Jake had lied, he had just realized, for the first time since Jake had known Honey, he was beginning to see her as something more than just his best friend. When he looked at Honey, he noticed something he'd never noticed before, she was beautiful.

#jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #requests

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todaysdocument · 25 days ago

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New York Times Advertisement

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United StatesSeries: Civil Case FilesFile Unit: Ralph D. Abernathy, J. E. Lowery, S. S. Seay, Sr., and Fred L. Shuttlesworth v. John Patterson, Earl James, L. B. Sullivan, Frank Parks, et al.

This advertisement is an exhibit from the court case Abernathy v Patterson involving Martin Luther King, Jr. The advertisement calls for support of the civil rights movement and is signed by 100 prominent citizens.

The New York Times.

New York, Tuesday, March 29, 1960.

"The growing movement of peaceful mass demonstrations by Negroes is something new in the South, something understandable ... Let Congress heed their rising voices, for they will be heard." -- New York Times editorial, Saturday, March 19, 1960

Heed Their Rising Voices

As the whole world knows by now, thousands of Southern Negro students are engaged in widespread non-violent demonstrations in positive affirmation of the right to live in human dignity as guaranteed by the U. S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights. In their efforts to uphold these guarantees, they are being met by an unprecedented wave of terror by those who would deny and negate that document which the whole world looks upon as setting the pattern for modern freedom ....

In Orangeburg, South Carolina, when 400 students peacefully sought to buy doughnuts and coffee at lunch counters in the business district, they were forcibly ejected tear-gassed, soaked to the skin in freezing weather with fire hoses, arrested en masse and herded into an open barbed-wire stockade to stand for hours in the bitter cold.

In Montgomery, Alabama, after students sang "My Country, Tis of Thee" on the State Capitol steps, their leaders were expelled from school, and truckloads of police armed with shotguns and tear-gas ringed the Alabama State College Campus. When the entire student body protested to state authorities by refusing to re-register, their dining hall was padlocked in an attempt to starve them into submission.

In Tallahassee, Atlanta, Nashville, Savannah, Greensboro, Memphis, Richmond, Charlotte, and a host of other cities in the South, young American teenagers, in face of the entire weight of official state apparatus and police power, have boldly stepped forth as protagonists of democracy. their courage and amazing restraint have inspired millions and given a new dignity to the cause of freedom.

Small wonder that the Southern violators of the Constitution fear this new, non-violent brand of freedom fighter . . . even as they fear the upswelling right-to-vote movement. Small wonder that they are determined to destroy the one man who, more than any other, symbolizes the new spirit now sweeping the South - the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., world-famous leader of the Montgomery Bus Protest. For it is his doctrine of non-violence which has inspired and guided the students in their widening wave of sit-ins; and it is the same Dr. King who founded and is president of the Southern Christian Leadership conference -- the organization which is spearheading the surging right-to-vote movement. Under Dr. King's direction the Leadership Conference conducts Student Workshops and Seminars in the philosophy and technique of non-violent resistance.

Again and again the Southern violators have answered Dr. King's peaceful protests with intimidation and violence. They have bombed his home almost killing his wife and child. They have assaulted his person. They have arrested him seven times -- for "speeding", "loitering" and similar "offenses." And now they have charged him with "perjury" -- a felony under which they could imprison him for ten years. Obviously, their real purpose is to remove him physically as the leader to whom the students and millions of others -- look for guidance and support, and thereby to intimidate all leaders who may rise in the South. Their strategy is to behead this affirmative movement, and thus to demoralize Negro Americans and weaken their will to struggle. The defense of Martin Luther King, spiritual leader of the student sit-in movement, clearly, therefore, is an integral part of the total struggle for freedom in the South.

Decent-minded Americans cannot help but applaud the creative daring of the students and the quiet heroism of Dr. King. But this is one of those moments in the stormy history of Freedom when men and women of good will must do more than applaud the rising-to-glory of others. The America whose good name hangs in the balance before a watchful world, the America whose heritage of Liberty these Southern Upholders of the Constitution are defending, is our America as well as theirs ...

We must heed their rising voices -- yes -- but we must add our own.

We must extend ourselves above and beyond moral support and render the material help so urgently needed by those who are taking the risks, facing jail, and even death in a glorious re-affirmation of our Constitution and its Bill of Rights.

We urge you to join hands with our fellow Americans in the South by supporting, with your dollars, this Combined Appeal for all three needs -- the defense of Martin Luther King -- the support of the embattled students -- and the struggle for the right-to-vote.

Your Help is Urgently Needed ... NOW!!!

Stella Adler, Raymond Pace Alexander, Shelly Appleton, Harry Van Arsdale, Harry Belafonte, Julie Belafonte, Dr. Algernon Black, March Blitztein, William Bowe, William Branch, Marlon Brando, Mrs. Ralph Bunche, Diahann Carroll, Dr. Alan Knight Chalmers, Joseph Cohen, Richard Coe, Nat King Cole, Cheryl Crawford, Dorothy Dandridge, Ossie Davis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Ruby Dee, Harry Duffy, Scotty Eckford, Dr. Philip Elliott, Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick, Anthony Franciosa, Mathew Guinan, Lorraine Hansbury, Rev. Donald Harrington, Nat Hentoff, James Hicks, Mary Hinkson, Van Heflin, Langston Hughes, Morris Lushewitz, Mahalia Jackson, Paul Jennings, Mordecai Johnson, John Killens, Eartha Kitt, Rabbi Edward Klein, Hope Lange, John Lewis, Viveca Lindfors, David Livingston, William Michaelson, Carl Murphy, Don Murray, John Murray, A. J. Muste, Freerick O'Neal, Peter Ottley, L. Joseph Overton, Albert P. Palmer, Clarence Pickett, Shad Polier, Sidney Poitier, Michael Potoker, A. Philip Randolph, John Raitt, Elmer Rice, Cleveland Robinson, Jackie Robinson, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, Bayard Rustin, Robert Ryan, Maureen Stapleton, Frank Silvera, Louis Siman, Hope Stevens, David Sullivan, Julius Sum, George Tabori, Rev. Gardner C. Taylor, Norman Thomas, Kenneth Tynan, Charles White, Shelley Winters, Max Youngstein

We in the south who are struggling daily for dignity and freedom warmly endorse this appeal. Rev. Ralph D. Abernathy (Montgomery, Ala.); Rev. Fred L. Shuttlesworth (Birmingham, Ala.); Rev. Kelley Miller Smith (Nashville, Tenn.); Rev. W. A. Dennis (Chattanooga, Tenn.); Rev. C. K. Steele (Tallahassee, Fla.); Rev. Matthew D. McCollom (Orangeburg, S. C.); Rev. William Holmes Borders (Atlanta, Ga.); Rev. Douglas Moore (Durham, N.C.); Rev. Watt Tee Walker (Petersburg, Va.); Rev. Walter L. Hamilton (Norfolk, Va.); I. S. Levy (Columbia, S. C.); Rev. Martin Luther King, Sr. (Atlanta, Ga.); Rev. Henry C. Bunton (Memphis, Tenn.); Rev. S. S. Seay, Sr. (Montgomery, Ala.); Rev. Samuel W. Williams (Atlanta, Ga.); Rev. A. L. Davis (New Orleans, La.); Mrs. Katie E. Whickham (New Orleans, La.); Rev. W. H. Hall (Hattiesburg, Miss.); Rev. J. E. Lowery (Mobile, Ala.); Rev. T. J. Jamison (Baton Rouge, La.)

COMMITTEE TO DEFEND MARTIN LUTHER KIND AND THE STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM IN THE SOUTH , 312 west 125h Street, New York 27, N. Y. UNiversity 6-1700

Chairmen: A. Philip Randolph, Dr. Gardner C. Taylor; Chairmen of Cultural Division: Harry Belafonte, Sidney Poitier; Treasurer: Nat King Cole; Executive Director: Bayard Rustin; Chairmen of Church Division: Father George B. Ford, Rev. Harry Emerson Fosdick, Rev. Thomas Kilgore, Jr., Rabbi Edward E. Klein; Chairmen of Labor Division; Morris Iushewitz, Cleveland Robinson.

Please mail this coupon TODAY!

Committee to Defend Martin Luther King and The Struggle for Freedom in the South, 312 West 12th Street, New York 27, N. Y., UNiversity 6-1700

I am enclosing my contribution of $ [blank] for the work of the Committee. Name [blank] (Please Print); Address [blank]; City [blank]; Zone [blank]; State [blank].[check box: I want to help] [check box: Please send further information. Please make checks payable to: Committee to Defend Martin Luther King.

#archivesgov #march 29 #1960 #1960s #civil rights #martin luther king jr

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redsamuraiii · 5 months ago

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A magnitude-6.4 earthquake struck off the coast of central Japan on Nov 26, 2024.

Seems the aftershocks of not more than magnitude-5.0 continued on Nov 27 and 28. Some friends in Osaka and Kyoto say their hotels swayed for a while. Although the epicenter is far away, the tremors are felt in Kansai.

What to do in Earthquakes when you are traveling in Japan :

Before Earthquake

Download an earthquake early warning app, Safety Tips app provided by the Japan National Tourism Organization (JNTO).

Locate the staircase or emergency exit of your hotel.

Put essentials in your backpack, flashlight, batteries, phone charger, power bank, water bottle, cash, medicine (if any).

During Earthquake

Drop down low for stability and reduce risk of falling; Cover your head from falling items; and Hold onto something.

If you are inside, do not go outside as there may be falling debris.

If you are outside, stay clear from buildings, trees, and utility wires.

Never use elevators during or after an earthquake.

If you’re in public transportation, follow the locals and authorities.

When near the coast, immediately find higher ground and remain there until you have been notified that there is no tsunami risk.

After Earthquake

Wear shoes to protect your feet from broken glasses / mirrors.

Avoid turning on electrical switches.

Approach the hotel staffs and follow their instructions.

If you require aid, call the number 119.

Avoid using a car and evacuate on foot if possible.

Do not use elevators. Evacuate via the stairs if possible.

Free Public Wi-Fi '00000JAPAN' Available During Disasters

Based on the lessons learned from the Great East Japan Earthquake in 2011, Japan has promoted activities to make public wireless LANs available free of charge in the event of a disaster.

But, don't worry! These steps are usually for MAJOR quakes!

Most earthquakes in Japan are quite minor and can even happen without you noticing. Japan has plenty of experience with this, so most modern buildings there have been designed to be resistant to earthquakes and their early-warning systems are state-of-the-art.

The JNTO has an online tool that provides tourists with advice based on their circumstances depending on what kind of emergency you’re experiencing, including earthquakes. It also features some useful Japanese phrases to help with communication in an emergency.

Sources : Asia News, Earthquake Tracker, JR Pass, Live Japan, Good Luck Trip

#japan #earthquake #japan earthquake #japan travel #travel tip

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mariacallous · 5 days ago

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Anti-vaccine activists with close ties to US health secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. are falsely claiming that the measles public health crisis in Texas is caused by a “bioweapon” targeting the Mennonite community. These activists are now trying to sell their followers a range of pseudoscientific cures—some purportedly powered by artificial intelligence—that supposedly prevent customers from contracting measles.

The claims were made in a webinar posted online last week and hosted by Mikki Willis, an infamous conspiracy filmmaker best known for his Plandemic series of pseudo-documentaries. These helped supercharge Covid-19 disinformation online and were, Kennedy has said, funded in part by Children’s Health Defense (CHD), an anti-vaccine group Kennedy founded. Willis also created a video for Kennedy marking the announcement of his independent run for the presidency.

“I’m not going to be careful by calling it a virus,” Willis said in the measles webinar. “I’m going to call it what it is, and that is a bioweapon, and my belief after interviewing these families is that this has been manipulated and targeted towards a community that is a threat because of their natural way of living.” (Measles is not a bioweapon. It is a viral infection that can be easily prevented by getting a vaccine.)

The webinar was hosted by Rebel Lion, the supplement company that Willis cofounded. On the website, and prominently featured under the webinar, Willis sells and recommends a “measles treatment and prevention protocol” full of supplements and tools on the site. On the webinar, Willis claimed the protocol will help parents “get prepped for, if God forbid this does get out, and their children get sick.” Together, purchasing the full protocol costs hundreds of dollars.

“This is the standard radical anti-vaccine extremist playbook,” Imran Ahmed, CEO of the Center for Countering Digital Hate, tells WIRED. “You can see RFK Jr. has translated his anti-vaccine lies into political power. You can see others have converted it into economic power. And there’s some that just do it because it makes them feel good to be listened to, to be important, to be the center of a community. There’s always an ulterior motive.”

The community Willis refers to in the webinar is the Mennonite community in Seminole, a small city in west Texas, which has been the epicenter of the measles outbreak. Over 560 measles cases have been reported in Texas alone. To date, the deaths of two children have been linked to the measles outbreak, and another death is under investigation.

Willis’ bogus claim about a bioweapon is part of a larger effort by the anti-vaccine community to undermine the threat posed by the infection. Many, instead, have claimed that the measles deaths were caused by other diseases or, in some cases, the measles-mumps-rubella (MMR) vaccine itself. These claims are not true and “there have been no deaths shown to be related to the MMR vaccine in healthy people,” according to the Infectious Diseases Society of America.

The claims have been facilitated, in part, by Kennedy, whose response to the outbreak has been widely criticized by public health officials. Kennedy has seemingly attempted a balancing act in his response to this crisis, accurately saying the MMR vaccine is “the most effective way to prevent the spread of measles” before undermining this statement days later by claiming, without evidence, that the effectiveness of the vaccine wanes by 5 percent every year.

Kennedy last month, in an interview on Fox News, also praised doctors who have been using alternative and unproven treatments within the Mennonite community. Among those doctors is Richard Bartlett, who also appeared on Willis’ webinar last week and is credited on the Rebel Lion site with sharing the measles “protocol” package for purchase.

“Not only are we going to talk to Dr. Bartlett about what’s happening and what he’s seen there on the front lines, but he’s also going to share what he’s been using and the protocols that he’s been using to treat his patients,” Willis said in the webinar.

On the webinar, Bartlett pushed unproven measles treatments like the steroid budesonide and the antibiotic clarithromycin. He also urged viewers to buy a range of pseudoscientific treatments. Along with mouthwash, supplemental oxygen, and a few other items, the measles protocol includes Rebel Lion’s own Fierce Immunity capsules, which cost $50 for a single bottle and contain a blend of five supplements available off the shelf that the company claims have been formulated with a supposed AI technology known as Swarm Intelligence. Swarm Intelligence was created by Anton Fliri, who says he has worked as a cancer researcher at Pfizer in the past. Fliri told Willis in a webinar last August that unlike regular AI, his technology “is the natural form of intelligence, that’s the way our brain works, that’s the way our body works and it doesn’t hallucinate because everything we are doing is based on reality, based on the real evidence.”

Willis, Bartlett, Rebel Lion, and Fliri, who also appeared on last week’s webinar, did not respond to requests for comment.

Willis’ attempt to cash in on an ongoing public health crisis is reminiscent of a strategy that has been playing out for decades in the anti-vaccine community and was seen most recently during the Covid-19 pandemic. Anti-vaccine influencers and groups like America’s Frontline Doctors pushed the baseless claim that ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine were viable treatments for Covid-19, encouraging followers to spend millions of dollars on these products.

From the very beginning of the measles outbreak in Texas, the anti-vaccine community has sought to undermine the threat posed by the disease, presenting false narratives about what caused the deaths and the dangers of the MMR vaccine.

Central to this push has been Children’s Health Defense. Within hours of the first child’s death reported in Lubbock, Texas, on February 25, the Defender, CHD’s news publication, published an article citing several unsubstantiated text messages from medical professionals suggesting that the child had not died of measles.

CHD has also pushed the debunked claim that vitamin C offers protections against contracting measles. The group’s website is currently promoting an ebook titled The Measles Book: Thirty-Five Secrets the Government and the Media Aren’t Telling You about Measles and the Measles Vaccine. The foreword of the book is written by Kennedy, who is now the secretary of Health and Human Services (HHS).

CHD, Kennedy, and the HHS did not respond to requests for comment.

On X, anti-vaccine influencers claimed without evidence that hospital employees had mistreated the first patient, leading to their death. One of those pushing this narrative was Syed Haider, a doctor who was part of the notorious Front Line Covid-19 Critical Care Alliance (FLCCC), which formed during the pandemic and pushes dubious and ineffective treatments. Haider has almost 170,000 followers. Henry Ealy, a naturopathic doctor based in Oregon with 50,000 X followers, also pushed this claim. Ealy’s 2022 report falsely claiming that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had altered records to boost deaths linked to Covid-19 has been cited in the past by CHD.

Marissa Brooke Alesi, an influencer known as Red Pill Patriot, posted a video on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook claiming the child was hospitalized for pneumonia and RSV. “They then proceeded to give that child the MMR vaccination,” Alesi says, suggesting that the use of the MMR vaccine contributed to the child’s death. The video has been viewed over 3 million times on Instagram alone.

Haider, Ealy, and Alesi did not respond to requests for comment.

Pierre Kory, a doctor best known for his role as the founder of FLCC and a central figure promoting ivermectin as a treatment for Covid-19, has also been pushing the narrative that measles was not the cause of the deaths of two children in Texas. In recent weeks, he has claimed without evidence that the measles crisis was, in fact, a targeted attack on the Mennonite community.

In August of last year, the American Board of Internal Medicine revoked Kory’s certifications; just a month earlier, Kennedy described Kory as a “brave dissident doctor.”

“Do you want to know the real story on this case?” Kory told a physician and activist last month. “Several of us believe that they weaponized this measles virus—on purpose. She got sicker from this measles probably because they monkeyed with the virus.”

Kory did not respond to a request for comment.

Kory has called Willis a “friend,” and the pair have collaborated multiple times in the past on webinars and podcasts. In 2023, Willis turned Kory’s War on Ivermectin book into a documentary.

Willis also claimed in the webinar that he has been given exclusive access to the Mennonite community in Texas after Bartlett convinced community members to speak only to him and people from CHD, and to avoid speaking to members of the mainstream media, who Willis described as “vultures.” Willis said he has interviewed at least 20 people for a short documentary that will be released in the coming days.

“This is a very contemporary example of very old tropes, which is that an extremist who's seeking to radicalize someone else, separates them from people that might persuade them otherwise, whether that’s doctors, family, community, journalists who might be asking them questions to expose what's happening,” Ahmed says. “You need to separate them out so you can indoctrinate them without impediment.”

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possiblyunhinged · 6 days ago

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I’ll level with you—my brain feels like a flaming wheelie bin, and people keep taking turns chucking Glenn’s Vodka on top. I’m an autistic woman who grew up in poverty, developed agoraphobia at six, and spends most of my life inside. I only leave the house for dog walks. And lately, it feels like everywhere I turn, the world is screaming at me that my life is worth nothing.

It’s not subtle. It’s in Labour’s war on welfare, in the normalisation of assisted dying without a safety net for those of us already suicidal, and in RFK Jr’s speech about how autism ‘destroys our greatest resource—our children.’ That’s not policy—it’s a death sentence dressed up as concern.

And no, it’s not just about me. It’s immigrants, it’s trans people, it’s poor people, disabled people, anyone who’s ever needed help and been met with disgust. Cruelty has become casual. Efficient, even. A whole generation of ‘leaders’ seem to thrive on punishing those already on the floor. And the worst part? It’s working. People are so burnt out, so numb, that they’re starting to accept it.

What I won’t accept is the idea that this is some kind of debate. That our right to exist, to live without shame or fear, is up for discussion. I think those who stare at reality and still choose hatred are beneath contempt. I think RFK Jr and the rest of them are what happens when a person has nothing inside except the desire to control others. A toilet bowl has more dignity.

Being autistic in this world isn’t just hard. It’s scary. It’s humiliating. You get passed over for jobs, for friendships, for empathy. You get told you’re too much and not enough in the same breath. You learn to mask so well that you forget who you even were before. You dissociate through conversations, panic in supermarkets, get treated like a burden by the very people meant to support you.

You hear words like “independence” and “resilience” tossed around like buzzwords on a CV, while you’re stood there gripping the doorframe, trying not to pass out because someone rang the bell. When I finally got my diagnosis—after years of confusion, shame, and feeling like some broken version of a person—it didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like mourning. Like suddenly seeing the whole map of where things went wrong and realising how long I’d been underwater.

The only thing that’s ever given me any peace is this: I can’t pretend. I don’t have the wiring for it. And weirdly, that honesty draws people in. They open up. They tell me things they’ve never told anyone else. And I used to wonder why—why they’d spill their guts to someone they barely knew. But now I think it’s because no one else has asked. No one else has made it safe to just… exist.

I'm not trying to romanticise neurodivergence or paint over the cracks—it’s hard. Brutally hard. But 99.9% of that pain comes from how deeply ableism is embedded in everything, and how little real support exists for people like us. I haven’t ‘overcome’ anything. I’m still fighting every day just to exist. But I’d still rather be someone who feels too much and says the wrong thing than some hollow coward clinging to hate because they’ve got nothing else going on inside.

And if people like RFK Jr never feel real love or acceptance because they never dared to know themselves? Then maybe that’s the only justice we’ll ever get.

#actually autistic #autism #rfk jr #ableism #uk politics #us politics #fucking losing my minds lads tbh xoxo

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kisses-from-crows · 2 years ago

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Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch. 6

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: Y/N and Campbell agree to meet and discuss a plan to put the pesky dating rumors to rest. Campbell is just hoping to get to the bottom of this mysterious interview.

Genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4,199

Warnings: Swearing, Yelling, Mental Illness, References to Alcohol

Chapter 6: Cocoa and Conversations

Beginning | Previous | Next

TMZ: Breaking News! A source close to Rodger Del Ray Jr. states that he and F/N L/N have amicably called it quits. The couple has ended their three-year engagement over issues with the prenup. Click here to read more about the split!

Posted: 1 year ago

“My place is swarmed with paps right now. Can we meet at yours?” Y/N messaged.

Campbell’s heart dropped to his stomach. Y/N at his apartment? Images of dirty dishes and piles of laundry flashed through his mind. His fingers twitched over the screen as he wracked his brain for excuses. For any single reason to keep her out of his space. Dread filled his whole body at the thought of it.

They had to meet somewhere else, anywhere else. What would they even do at his house? He barely kept any food that wasn’t frozen or microwaveable. What kind of snacks did she eat? What if she didn’t like any of the drinks he had? What if she thought his decorations were dumb? It had to be somewhere else.

Memories of getting swarmed in the restaurant flooded his consciousness. Phantom sensations of running through the streets, gasping for air, and the weight of her hand in his. Campbell flexed his hand unconsciously at the thought. A repeat of that incident would just make everything worse. His apartment was the only option.

“What time?”

Around 7:15 Campbell was scrambling around his apartment in a feeble attempt to make it presentable. Shoving clothes into closets and frantically washing dishes that had begun to develop their own ecosystem. He may work well under pressure, but it didn’t ease the overwhelming panic that sat on his chest. Once his closets were thoroughly stuffed and his dishes mostly done, Campbell decided the space was as good as it was going to get.

He plopped himself down on his threadbare old couch and waited. And waited. And waited. Feet tapped the floor impatiently as hours ticked by. Unable to stand the rising pressure, he checked his phone. It had only been two minutes.

Nervous energy took hold of his being. Campbell sprung to his feet and began rearranging the furniture in his living room. He took to manic interior decorating like a fish to track and field. In a matter of minutes, the armchair was in front of the window, and he was struggling to push the couch across the room. With an effortful grunt, he pushed against the couch with all his might before collapsing into a heap on the ground. As he began to catch his breath, the buzzer to his apartment rang out. He scrambled to the intercom.

“It’s unlocked.” He rasped out. And fell dramatically to the ground once more. Moments later there was a knock on the door. He miserably crawled over and fumbled with the door handle from the floor. It opened to reveal a pair of fine brown leather boots.

“Hi- why are you on the ground?” Y/N asked puzzled, she crouched low and gave him a once-over.

“Dinnae worry bout’ it,” Campbell said breathlessly. Were the impromptu workouts going to be a more frequent thing? Because that was going to be an issue. Upon discovering he had no immediate injuries requiring medical attention, Y/N stepped over his prone figure and into the apartment.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” she said politely, the pleasant tone a contrast to the rather presumptuous way she had entered the apartment. Campbell pulled himself to his feet, nearly stumbling into an unsuspecting Y/N, but righted himself moments before collision. He let out a breath of relief. The idea of touching her made his skin feel tight and tingly.

“Aye, I’m rather fond of it. Something wonderful about having yer own space.” He followed behind her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not much but it’s home.” She must be used to her penthouse on the Upper East Side. A lush life surrounded by doormen in well-pressed uniforms and influencers awash in petty status symbols. The heels on her tall boots clicked across the wooden floor. The sound paused as she stopped to examine a picture frame on the wall.

In it, a younger Eddie gave a crooked smile as a younger Campbell slung an arm around his shoulder with a smile so wide it took up his entire face, eyes disappearing behind his rosy cheeks. It had been taken in the old studio back at St. Jude’s. He had only been 19 at the time. There was something so innocent and unsullied in those scrunched-up eyes. Something tugged at his heart as he realized just how young he looked. He remembered feeling so much older.

Behind them stood a merry Rosalie, a coy-looking Francine, and… Fergus. His throat felt tight. Fergus was making some ridiculous face, with his brows scrunched together and his teeth protruding over his bottom lip. The corners of Campbell’s mouth tugged upwards despite the way the well-worn cracks in his heart had once again sprung a leak.

She smiled and traced a finger along the image of him before remembering herself and withdrawing her hand. Her eyes flashed quickly to the side to see if he noticed. He did.

“Is that you?” She said with a warmth in her voice that he wasn’t quite familiar with.

“Aye,” Campbell said a bit shyly as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt rather vulnerable as she absorbed a crumb of that part of his life.

“Who’s this with you?” She asked, squinting her eyes eagerly and leaning closer to the photo. That was a loaded question. Campbell settled on the safe option.

“That’s Eddie McKenna, he’s the reason I’m even a DJ today. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without him. Though if yae ask him, he’d insist I had enough stubborn will to do it on my own. But I like to think I wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much” Fondness laced through his words as he recalled the influence the older man had on his life. Eddie was the closest Campbell ever got to a supportive father figure. Eddie believed in Campbell like no one ever had, defended him in his absence, and looked after him to his own detriment. He really needed to call him.

“He seems like a great guy. You think rather highly of him, huh?” Y/N turned to look at him, with a glimmer in her eyes that Campbell knew better than to call longing. And yet. “Must be quite the endeavor to get into your good favor.” The honeyed warmth in her voice soured with a tinge of bitterness. Campbell couldn’t quite wrap his head around where it came from.

Turning on her heel, Y/N took a few steps forward into the kitchen. Awkwardness sat on her tense shoulders like a yoke as she looked around the small space, unsure of what to do with herself. Campbell studied her stiff movements as she navigated the unfamiliar environment. She eyed the chairs to the kitchen table warily, as though picking the wrong one would cause a trap door in the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Based on the grim expression on her face, it seemed she might prefer the trapdoor option. Clearly, he was going to need to take the lead on this.

“Aye, there’s no reason to look so glum. Let me remind yae, yae came here willingly. Just take a seat.” Campbell flashed her his signature disarming grin. “Do yae want anything to drink before we get down to the nitty-gritty?”

Upon hearing a lack of response, he turned to look over his shoulder at Y/N. Meeting her gaze briefly, her eyes betrayed just how uncomfortable she was. Not quite to the same level it was at the restaurant, but that deer-in-the-headlights look was making a strong appearance. Okay, a slow approach would be best then.

“Do yae like cocoa? I make a damn good cup of cocoa.” His gaze didn’t leave hers as she gave a small nod with a rather pathetic attempt at a smile. He grinned in return and gathered the ingredients for the drinks. Campbell bounced happily, remembering that he had snagged more mini marshmallows on the way home. He turned on the stove, electric only of course, and began heating the kettle full of milk.

“I can’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.” Y/N mused; amusement floated through her voice with a note of something more Campbell couldn’t place.

“Seems yer long overdue then, if yae ask me.”

“I guess so.” Y/N played with rings on her fingers. Twisting the silver bands, pulling them off one by one, and setting them on the table. Before putting the rings back on and repeating the process over in a sort of nervous ritual.

As the milk came to a boil Campbell pulled it from the burner and poured it into the two mugs. He tore open three packets of cocoa mix, stirring one and a half packets into each until he was satisfied with the consistency. Just as he went to pick up the mugs and bring them to the table, a tiny voice shouted out in his mind. Without a second thought, he pulled out a small espresso mug and poured a splash of his cocoa into it for Fergus. It was their ritual, and he wasn’t going to stop it now.

He carried the mugs to the table, shoving down the complicated feelings fighting their way to the surface. The mugs clicked against the table as he set them down haphazardly, a bit of steaming hot cocoa spilling over the side and onto his fingers. He quickly shoved the afflicted knuckle into his mouth to soothe the burn. Y/N sucked in a breath, air hissing between her teeth. Eyes flitting between his knuckles and his furrowed brow, assessing the damage.

“Are you all right?” There was an unusual tenderness in Y/N's voice. Campbell gave a non-committal shrug and removed his fingers from his mouth, shaking them.

“S’alright.” He gave a cheeky smile. “Would take more than that to take me down.”

He sat down and pushed the fuller mug across the table to the not-so-empty seat opposite him. She gave him a grateful smile and picked up the mug. The sight of that second cup of cocoa doing anything other than growing cold and remaining miserably untouched was a little jarring to Campbell. She blew on the liquid to cool it off before bringing it to her lips. Her eyes lit up with delight as she began to down the chocolate beverage. Moments later she yanked the cup from her mouth and let out an undignified wail.

“Oh god, I burnt my tongue!” Y/N whined, panting dramatically in an attempt to cool off her mouth.

“What didya do that for? Yae just watched me burn myself not three seconds ago!” Campbell laughed at her theatrics and took a sip from his own mug.

“God, that is it good.” Y/N practically groaned. Ignoring Campbell’s teasing she went back in for another ill-advised swig of cocoa.

“Oi, I almost forgot!” Campbell exclaimed, leaping from his chair suddenly, nearly knocking it over in the process. Y/N jumped slightly at his sudden movement but kept her composure, staring after him curiously. He bounded across the kitchen to snatch his prize from the cupboard. Treasure in hand, he plopped himself back down into his seat.

He tore a messy hole in the bag of marshmallows and stuffed his fingers in to grab a handful. Campbell plopped them messily into his mug with a proud smile, picking off the rogue mallow stuck to his finger with his teeth. Without asking, he reached in to grab another heaping handful, dropping them into Y/N’s mug with even less ceremony than the first. The sheer number of mallows could not be contained by the measly mug. They toppled over the sides and onto the table.

Y/N let out a loud sudden laugh that staggered out of her like it caught her by surprise. She picked up her mug gingerly to preserve the marshmallow mountain, but to no avail. A few more precious morsels fell into her lap. A lopsided smile slowly took over most of her face, tongue poking out slightly from between her teeth. It was goofy, and adorable, and perfect.

Campbell felt his heart stutter in his chest for just a moment. It was a foreign sight, such a raw genuine smile gracing Y/N’s face. When had he ever seen her smile like that? With the way the emotion shifted in its place like it was unused to being there, he wondered if anyone had ever seen it. He liked it.

“I have to admit, you make a pretty good cup of hot chocolate. This is amazing! Really-” Y/N rattled off praises that made the tips of Campbell’s ears turn pink. A thin hot chocolate mustache lined her top lip. He smirked as he took in the sight. She didn’t have a clue as she continued to take deep gulps of the now cooler cocoa. Her lips probably tasted just like chocolate right now.

Well, that was new. Campbell’s eyes widened at his traitorous thoughts. He scrambled to remember why they were here, drinking together and laughing.

Enemies. They were enemies. Who were using each other to get out of a sticky situation, that’s all. They hated each other. It was nothing more than that.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, desperately trying to urge his mind off its current topic of interest. Y/N bounced slightly in her seat, happily downing the rest of her drink, blissfully unaware of the war happening behind Campbell’s eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything.

“So apparently yae and I are dating.” Brilliant Campbell, just brilliant. Evasive maneuver of the century. Y/N choked on the last of her cocoa. She attempted to compose herself through poorly hidden coughs.

“Are we now? Well, you could’ve at least told me.” She smirked as if she had any dignity left after that coughing fit.

“Well, I’m just as surprised as yae are.” Campbell smiled, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head. A perfect picture of feigned indifference. His heart, however, beat out a confusing rhythm in his chest. “Yae wanna stage a messy public breakup? Could be fun!” A conniving smile slid across his face as he hatched an overly elaborate scheme that was likely doomed to fail.

“Let’s not reinvent the wheel here, we just need to stick to the original plan. And the rest will work itself out. No reason to give the vultures the false satisfaction of being right.” Y/N said, unable to meet his eyes as she smoothed out invisible wrinkles on her wool sweater. Gone was the carefree Y/N who had been laughing moments before. In her place was the media-trained figurehead he knew and loathed. ‘False’… something about that wording made Campbell’s chest ache a little.

“Aww come on, wouldnae be fun! We could come up with a whole buncha shite about each other. I would say I couldnae handle yer fifteen-step skincare routine and the way yae slept with all the lights on like some sort of serial killer. And yae could say how it would never work because I’m far too handsome and too good of a lover. That the pressure of knowing yae couldnae find better just got to yer head” Campbell teased, wiggling his eyebrows. He longed to get a rise out of her, leaning across the table to see even a glimmer of irritation in Y/N’s eyes. She rolled her eyes, but no wrinkle appeared. Damn, he was losing his touch. He leaned back in his seat and pouted slightly.

Silence stretched out between them as Y/N pretended to sip from a mug that Campbell knew damn well was empty. She was stalling. No more beating around the bush. He had very little to start with, but this game of cat and mouse was wearing on his patience.

“Why did yae choose me for the interview?” Campbell verbally laid his cards out on the table. “Back in the bistro yae said yae didn’t leave by choice. That yae needed MY help. Mine specifically. I wanna know why.”

“Right into it then? Alright.” Y/N said wearily, eyes trained on the table. She rubbed a hand over her face with a sigh, unsure where to start.

“Here’s the truth… a lot happened. I wish I could say it all started with the paps in the park.” Y/N slowly eased into the story as if she were wadding into uncomfortably cold water. Campbell remembers the incident well. Videos of Y/N surrounded by photographers in Central Park, screaming and yelling at them. The clip of her throwing a $12,000 camera to the ground had been inescapable for weeks.

“That thing,” Campbell wasn’t quite sure what the thing she referred to was. “had been building for months… hell years.” Her eyes flicked back and forth as though she was replaying a scene in her mind.

“It’s so exhausting, you know? Living that life. It all seems so exciting at first, all the fancy cars and the famous people and the endless glamour.” She picked at a loose thread on her sweater. “But it wears on you. You begin to realize these people; they all surround themselves with disgusting amounts of wealth to distract from how empty they feel inside.” Y/N’s voice was tinged with a trace of bitterness as she spoke. Her fist tightened around the handle of her empty mug. Campbell wondered if it might crack under her grip.

“Your life just isn’t your own. It becomes its own consumable product. Everything you do is calculated and controlled by people on your own damn payroll.” Should he have started recording before this conversation started? “Where you go, what you do, who you meet, what you eat. All of it, planned down to the last detail. And god forbid you deviate from that plan.” Y/N hissed out the last bit, brows scrunched together, jaw clenched.

At that moment, Campbell felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Not Y/N the popstar, not Y/N the brand, but Y/N the person. She was complicated and messy and bitter. She was utterly human.

Her eyes glazed over as she became aware of just how much she had revealed, just how vulnerable she had been. But that was the point of it all. So why did it bother her so much? Was it that difficult of a story to tell?

“I fell into a really dark place. I felt so out of control, I just lost it. And after everything happened in the park, it just all went to shit. A couple of months later is when…” She paused, eyes tinged with guilt flicking up to meet his. “That was when I started researching you.”

Campbell sucked in a breath. Researching him? What the hell did that mean? Even worse, what did she find?

“What?” He said, unsure of where this was going.

“I don’t know, I was mad at the world. I needed something to latch on to. I was jealous of you. The way you seem to do whatever the hell you like, and everybody loves you!” She spat out the words like they disgusted her. Campbell blinked owlishly at her outburst.

“Well… not everyone.” Campbell attempted to cut the tension, uncomfortable with how deeply serious the conversation had gotten. “There’s always Rodger.”

Y/N leveled a glare at him over the mention of her ex-fiancé. Alright, so maybe there was such a thing as a bad time for humor.

“I don’t know why I thought this was going to work, this was a stupid idea.” Y/N shook her head and started to stand. Surprising them both, Campbell sprung up and grabbed her hand, gripping it tight.

“Dinnae go. It’s not stupid, just sit back down. I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He pleaded with her gently, sinking slowly back into his chair with his hand still wrapped around hers. A silent bid to stay.

Y/N sat back down cautiously. Their hands lingered a beat too long before she pulled hers back into her lap. Campbell’s hand stayed right where it was.

“I thought maybe if I knew more about you, I could figure out… how to be more like you.” Her voice trailed off at the end like she was ashamed of it. Campbell fought the smirk that threatened to take over his features, letting the snide remark die in his throat. He promised to be quiet, and he very much intended to keep that promise.

“There was this article… from a smaller publication in Glasgow. It was from ages ago. But there you were, wearing the goofiest button-up I’d ever seen. You had been DJ-ing at some hospital fair.” Y/N words hung in the air as Campbell’s blood ran cold.

Hardly anyone knew about his past medical history. That part of his life stayed back in Glasgow. His time in St. Jude’s wasn’t something he was ashamed of. Regardless of the potential ramifications it could have on his career. Yet Campbell could never forget the effect that knowledge had on Fergus. What it cost him. What it drove him to do.

“I know about St. Jude’s.” She said finally. Campbell felt his cold blood start to boil. He carried the weight of everything associated with St. Jude’s every day of his life. It was an experience he wasn’t very willing to relive outside of his little family that he found there. The ones that got it.

“So what? Yae found out my deep dark secret and decided what? That yae’d throw me a bone because you pitied me?” Campbell broke his oath of silence.

“Campbell, no-“ Y/N interjected.

“Well, I dinnae need yer stupid pity. I’ll have yae know I am doing quite well by myself.” Campbell felt the anger rise in him with each word that he spoke. “So yae can take yer pity and shove it right up yer arse because I AM NOT ILL.” His voice rose as he stood up.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Y/N pleaded with him, crossing the floor into his space. He huffed as he took a step back.

“I know exactly what yae meant, yae spoiled princess.” Campbell spat. “I’m no charity case.”

“I never said that! You’re not listening to me! Please.” She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back as though he’d been burned. “What can I say to make you believe me?”

“Yae cannae say a thing because it’s none of yer business.” He waved his arms indignantly, forcing distance between them. “Yae dinnae know what yer talking about so just shut it.” Anxiety took over him. His head pounding as unpleasant memories came flooding back.

“I know more than you think… I know what happened, Campbell.” Y/N’s voice got notably softer as she spoke. “I know what happened to Fergus.”

That was the final straw.

“GET OUT” Campbell lost the last shred of his composure. “YAE DINNAE GET TO TALK ABOUT HIM”

Y/N stepped back in shock; eyes wide. Without another word, Campbell grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him toward the door. His touch was far gentler than his tone.

“Yae need to leave, yer no longer welcome here.” His nostrils flared as he flung open the front door, ushering her to leave.

“Wait Campbell, please, I wasn’t finished” Y/N pushed against the door as he attempted to close it on her.

“Nae, I think yer quite finished all right.” Campbell attempted to close the door again, she was stronger than she looked.

“Campbell listen!” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes tight like the words pained her. “I got hospitalized.”

He paused, limbs going slack as he processed the words.

“After that day in the park, they had me forcibly hospitalized.” She gathered all the courage she had left to look him in the eyes. Hopefully, he could see the truth in them. Maybe they could communicate something that she wasn’t quite ready to put into words. But the look in his eyes froze her to the spot. The anger had melted away to reveal something much softer. Something akin to understanding. A feeling so unfamiliar to her, that it made her weak at the knees. ‘I was hoping you could understand.’ The words died on her tongue before she could speak them.

Time slowed as they stared at each other. Both feel far more exposed than they were comfortable with. Campbell blinked like he was breaking out of a trance. He cleared his throat and turned his back to the door, walking slowly back to the kitchen. He took a deep breath in and out just like Eddie had shown him all those years ago. The voices in his head got quieter but didn’t fully leave.

“Where are you going?” Y/N called after him, voice thick. Campbell rummaged through the cupboard above his fridge and pulled out a bottle of whisky.

“I figured we were gonna need something stronger than cocoa.”

_________________________________________________

A/N: Have you guys ever heard that saying that if your brain tells you take a break and you ignore it, your body will force you to. that essentially happened to me this week. i had the worst cold but i’m on the up and up now! thank you so much for reading this story and i appreciate all your kindness on my other post about needing a break. love you guys!!! have a good week, you deserve it!! <3 -Ducky

#campbell bain #david tennant #fanfic #fanfic writing #taking over the asylum #campbell bain x reader #kisses-from-crows #modern au #campbell bain fanfic #enjoy!#multi part #enemies to lovers #WIP

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