#hes rs 20 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The Tumblr app for Google Glass was released on May 16, 2013.

motherofagony · 7 months

Text

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 1

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 5.6k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: life goes on after raiders infiltrate a routine patrol. you're a shut-in, and jackson residents tiptoe around your trauma. joel found you after the accident, but you don't know what to make of it. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, mentions of trauma (no s/a, i promise), blood, bodily injuries, death, shitty men, dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension if you close one eye, the softest enemies to lovers you've ever seen vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: longtime listener, first time caller. yes, there will be smut — in due time. probably a slower burn than you're used to on tumblr dot com, but there will be porn galore, i promise. heavy on the hurt + comfort trope in this one. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

“Get the fuck up!”

The boot connects with your side again, the rounded toe slamming into ribs you’re sure are already broken. You’re trying to play dead, but it doesn’t exactly work when yelps are being kicked out of you. Old Yeller, of all fucking things, comes to mind.

But you’re not sick, not infected. Just wrong time, wrong place.

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete.

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time.

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive.

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score.

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all.

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have.

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm.

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there.

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself.

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle.

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this.

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up.

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing.

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not.

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together.

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee.

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours.

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same.

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest.

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl.

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear.

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business.

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t.

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek.

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came.

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have.

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen.

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender.

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye.

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again.

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral.

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there.

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow.

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense.

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret.

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools.

—

You don’t see Joel for days.

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic.

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest.

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before.

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward.

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front.

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe.

Your head cracking against the pavement.

Two gunshots firing.

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders.

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting.

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say.

Tommy nods, but you’re already running.

#my writing #a heart for eating #ahfe #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #motherofagony

498 notes · View notes

ahgasegotarmy116 · 2 months

Text

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Teaser

Summary: A turn of events has the people you thought you trusted stabbing you in the back and leaving you broken hearted and betrayed. Who knew though that sometimes things just happen for a reason Pairing: f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 390 Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of cheating and getting pregnant. That's pretty much it since this is a short teaser lol a/n: I took an excerpt from the fic to kind of show the drama that's gonna go down so it's a spoiler for what's about to come hehe Requested by @kkusadmirer

"We have to tell her" I hear her say and stop short, my heartbeat immediately raising and hold my breath waiting for the response. "You told me you were on the pill though. How did this happen?" and at that my heart breaks.

"I don't know I guess I forgot to take a couple of them and-" "And so what? You decided that screwing me without protection would work out just fine? Fuck Jina" Jared cuts her off and I hold my hand over my mouth to stop the sobs that I know are sure to come.

"You were the one that said you wanted to stop using them" she defends. "Oh and so now it's my fault. Jina we both agreed to that and you know it" he says and at that the room falls silent for a moment before he speaks up again.

"What are we gonna do?" he says, leaving the choice in her hands. "We need to tell her because I'm not getting rid of this baby. I don't care if you're going to be in our kid's life or not but either way we're telling her" she says, standing firm on what she thinks is right. 'She should've thought about that before she started fucking my boyfriend' I think to myself and wait for the conversation to continue.

"She deserves to know" she says in a hushed tone and they both agree moments later that they'll tell me after the party to avoid both of our families catching wind of it and at that I walk away as quietly as I can, heading to the bathroom across the house to collect myself before I even try to face anyone.

'How the fuck could they do this to me? How could they do this to us? Did everything the three of us did together really not matter? All of this love that I gave Jared and he gave me made me feel like we were gonna last forever but I guess my wants and needs weren't enough for him. He wanted what he wanted and found that in my best fucking friend.

I chuckle dryly at that thought and how ironic it sounds at the moment. The want to avoid the drama of the rest of the family knowing? Well they don't have that kind of luxury anymore.

prev / next Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @bangtans-momma @coralmusicblaze @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @marvelbun @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi @forevrglow @jesssssmaybankk @teugiie @chaconnelatte @whoa-jo @snehal @xumyboo @mindurbuzznezz @diorh0seokie

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

#jungkook fanfic #fanfiction #jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #fanfic #bts #kpop #kpop fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x original character #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook and reader #jungkook and you #jungkook angst

218 notes · View notes

illuminoia · 4 months

Text

SUNLIGHT'S WARMTH | JING YUAN X F!READER

—· » uh oh, i'm falling in love.

• ceo!jing yuan x actress/singer!reader

sypnosis: it's bad enough when your long awaited breakup with your (toxic) ex gets leaked to the entirety of the world, but you think it's even worse when you start falling for none other than the most eligible bachelor of the generation and most the gentle of all men—jing yuan.

tags: social media au, modern au, celebrity au, strangers to lovers, ooc characters, fluff, crack, angst, semi-slow burn, it has a reason i promise.

status: (author is on hiatus because of COPD)! |

NO taglists.

HERS: private | public

HIS: private | public

SUNSET

1. fina-fucking-lly

2. is he hot?

3. get me his autograph

4. his gaze 🔆

5. accompany me

NIGHTTIME

6. you smell like the sun 🔆

7. cookies ya like em?

8. most eligible bachelors | 8.5 extras

9. dropped like his rs

10. didn't see that coming

SUNRISE

11. wildest dreams

12. crowded room

13. yours to keep

14. secrets on live television

15. uh oh, i'm falling in love

16. it's truth, wholly

17. thank you, next

18. keeping tabs

19. lovelorn and nobody knows

20. take a chance with me

DAYTIME

21. it's like a reward

more tba!

#jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smau #hsr x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x female reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #genshin x reader #jing yuan x reader social media au #jing yuan smau

313 notes · View notes

nasa · 1 year

Text

What is Artemis I?

On November 14, NASA is set to launch the uncrewed Artemis I flight test to the Moon and back. Artemis I is the first integrated flight test of the Space Launch System (SLS) rocket, the Orion spacecraft, and Exploration Ground Systems at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. These are the same systems that will bring future Artemis astronauts to the Moon.

Standing 322 feet (98 meters) tall, the SLS rocket comprises of a core stage, an upper stage, two solid boosters, and four RS-25 engines. The SLS rocket is the most powerful rocket in the world, able to carry 59,500 pounds (27 metric tons) of payloads to deep space — more than any other vehicle. With its unprecedented power, SLS is the only rocket that can send the Orion spacecraft, astronauts, and cargo directly to the Moon on a single mission.

Before launch, Artemis I has some big help: the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB) at KSC is the largest single-story building in the world. The VAB was constructed for the assembly of the Apollo/Saturn V Moon rocket, and this is where the SLS rocket is assembled, maintained, and integrated with the Orion spacecraft. 

The mobile launcher is used to assemble, process, and launch the SLS rocket and Orion spacecraft. The massive structure consists of a two-story base and a tower equipped with a number of connection lines to provide the rocket and spacecraft with power, communications, coolant, and fuel prior to launch.

Capable of carrying 18 million pounds (8.2 million kg) and the size of a baseball infield, crawler-transporter 2 will transport SLS and Orion the 4.2 miles (6.8 km) to Launch Pad 39B. This historic launch pad was where the Apollo 10 mission lifted off from on May 18, 1969, to rehearse the first Moon landing.

During the launch, SLS will generate around 8.8 million pounds (~4.0 million kg) of thrust, propelling the Orion spacecraft into Earth’s orbit. Then, Orion will perform a Trans Lunar Injection to begin the path to the Moon. The spacecraft will orbit the Moon, traveling 40,000 miles beyond the far side of the Moon — farther than any human-rated spacecraft has ever flown.

The Orion spacecraft is designed to carry astronauts on deep space missions farther than ever before. Orion contains the habitable volume of about two minivans, enough living space for four people for up to 21 days. Future astronauts will be able to prepare food, exercise, and yes, have a bathroom. Orion also has a launch abort system to keep astronauts safe if an emergency happens during launch, and a European-built service module that fuels and propels the spacecraft.

While the Artemis I flight test is uncrewed, the Orion spacecraft will not be empty: there will be three manikins aboard the vehicle. Commander Moonikin Campos will be sitting in the commander’s seat, collecting data on the vibrations and accelerations future astronauts will experience on the journey to the Moon. He is joined with two phantom torsos, Helga and Zohar, in a partnership with the German Aerospace Center and Israeli Space Agency to test a radiation protection vest.

A host of shoebox-sized satellites called CubeSats help enable science and technology experiments that could enhance our understanding of deep space travel and the Moon while providing critical information for future Artemis missions.

At the end of the four-week mission, the Orion spacecraft will return to Earth. Orion will travel at 25,000 mph (40,000 km per hour) before slowing down to 300 mph (480 km per hour) once it enters the Earth’s atmosphere. After the parachutes deploy, the spacecraft will glide in at approximately 20 mph (32 km per hour) before splashdown about 60 miles (100 km) off the coast of California. NASA’s recovery team and the U.S. Navy will retrieve the Orion spacecraft from the Pacific Ocean.

With the ultimate goal of establishing a long-term presence on the Moon, Artemis I is a critical step as NASA prepares to send humans to Mars and beyond.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#tech #technology #NASA #Artemis #Space Launch System #Moon #Orion #spaceblr #space #space exploration

2K notes · View notes

laurolive · 7 months

Text

Paul and Linda, a collection of PDAs: Part 1 - Kisses

In our walk down the memory lane of Paul and Linda’s love story, which still captivates the romantics and the expressive artists out there, we start with an excerpt of an interview.

Rolling Stone cover June 17, 1976: “Yesterday, Today, and Paul.” In this interview, Paul says something interesting:

I mean, I kissed Linda onstage the other night, and for me, that’s kind of, ‘Wow, I must be getting real relaxed,’ ’cause I can’t do that in public, normally. I’m a bit kinda shy.

Paul McCartney shy about showing affection? Well, artists are certainly a different breed. He can sing a heartfelt love song in a venue full of people, but has to work up the courage to give his wife a little kiss? As photos will tell, he soon got over that quirk.

And even before this RS interview, he could certainly be demonstrative when a photographer or videographer was around, whereas the average person would be more guarded knowing that their tender moment would soon be out there as a picture in a magazine or a video clip on TV (we’re talking pre-internet days here).

RS Interview from The Paul McCartney Project

The 1970s: Not Exactly in Public, but There Must Be Someone Holding The Camera

1970 or 1971. Aww, so sweet.

June 1971 The video for the song “Heart of The Country” was made in Scotland. Is that a kiss? We might have to examine the still pic below.

June 1971 A still image from the “Heart of The Country” video. I’ll count this as a kiss.

1974 In the garden of their house with baby Stella between them. It’s a published pic, so I’m counting it as a public kiss. (An “almost-kiss” but close enough.)

1974 Photoshoot for the Apr. 7, 1974, issue of New York News magazine. The cover story was "Just an Old Fashioned Beatle: An Exclusive Visit with Linda and Paul McCartney." Aww, lips softly touching the cheek is something I’m going to classify as a kiss.

Magazine article: @johnflyons.beatles on instagram

Post-1970s: Now We’re Really in Public

Sept. 21, 1982, at Linda's first photography exhibition in London. Photo © Robert Rosen. Rosen talks about the snap in this excerpt from an interview with I-D magazine:

What's one photo you're really proud of? Robert Rosen: I love the shot of Paul and Linda McCartney kissing. As soon as I had it developed I just thought, wow, I did that. I sent them a print but didn't hear anything more until a few months later, when, Paul and Linda turned up to a gallery event I happened to be at. At one point, Linda tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Are you ignoring us?' She gave me a big hug and told me they loved the photo. That obviously meant a great deal to me.

From The Guardian archive, 21 September 1982: First London exhibition for Linda McCartney

I-D Interview with Robert Rosen Sept. 20, 2017

November 26, 1982, in Paris, France during photography month. An exhibition of Linda’s photographs was part of the event. Okay, his lips are just grazing her hair, so I’m going to call this a “hair kiss.”

Feb. 8, 1983 The 1983 British Record Industry Awards. Paul gets a congratulatory kiss from Linda after winning the 1982 British Male Solo Artist award and the Sony Trophy Award For Technical Excellence. The Beatles won the Outstanding Contribution to Music award.

More pics: The Paul McCartney Project

The same 1983 British Record Industry Awards. Two kisses in one night! Paul can’t hide his surprise.

Nov. 28, 1984 Another congratulatory kiss from Linda as Paul is presented with the Roll of Honorary Freedom of the City of Liverpool.

October 16, 1986 British Video Awards at Grosvenor House Hotel, London.

Rupert and The Frog Song awarded the Best Selling Video of 1985

April 4, 1989 Ivor Novello Awards at The Grosvenor House Hotel. Paul wins, Linda gets a kiss (so they both win 😊).

July 29, 1990 Backstage during the Paul McCartney World Tour 89/90 at Soldier Field Chicago. Linda is bidding farewell to Paul as she heads for the dressing room and he to the press tent.

From I Saw Him Standing There, Jorie B. Gracen, 2000. @thebeatlesofoz2 on Instagram

April 27, 1994 Press Conference for Linda's Home Style Cooking at Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills, California. Paul comes out to endorse Linda’s book, and greets her with a kiss.

Video clip of Paul’s entrance from CelebrityFootage.com

1997 from the video for the song “The World Tonight”

1997 A kiss in the studio, from the documentary In The World Tonight.

Let’s see the whole sequence of that kiss, right from the beginning:

Bonus: Wedding Kisses March 12, 1969

You go Linda! Give your groom a kiss like the cameras aren’t around.

Everyone’s relationship dream: Get someone to look at you the way Linda looks at Paul here.

#Youtube #paul mccartney #linda mccartney #linda and paul #paul and linda romantic #paul and linda mccartney #paul and linda forever #linda louise mccartney #linda mccartney and wings #linda eastman mccartney #paul and linda #lovely linda

68 notes · View notes

geniousbh · 7 hours

Note

laurinha meu anjo, vi ermana falando sobre uma ideia de headcanon e ia amar se tu fizesse🥺:

o Enzo (ou tlvz o Kuku) e a leitora se dando super bem, beijinhos e conversas, até ele perguntar algo pra ela e ela revelar q tem tipo 20 anos de idade, e ele fica tipo "MEU DEUS EU TO GOSTANDO DE ALGUÉM Q NASCEU DEPOIS DOS ANOS 2000?!"

nossa senhora esse hc é tão sexy

o enzo é do tipo predador🐅 - me desculpem mas as fotos dele no méxico observando a movimentação por trás do copo?? - vai te ver no bar do hotel, num vestido que não é tão curto, mas que marca nos lugares certos, e vai se apresentar, de fato você não reconhece a primeira vez - eles promoveram quase nada no brasil então você nas suas viagens não poderia saber muito tbm -, mas logo se encanta porque ele é muito bom no que faz. te leva pra um canto mais reservado, te deixa confortável pra conversar e você é cheia de se desculpar pelo seu sotaque ou por errar alguma coisa e ele vai dizer "no hay problema, linda, me encanta tu acento" e ele tem uma energia tão máscula e forte que você automaticamente fica sem jeito, corada com febre. quando a bebida tiver feito efeito vai chamar ele pra dançar, vai envolver os ombros e segurar na nuca do vogrincic que não deixa nenhum trejeito seu escapar, escorrendo as mãos pelos teus braços arrepiados e rindo de canto porque ele tem plena consciência de que você tá louca pra ele te chamar pro quarto. o choque vem quando vocês já estão na cama, enzo te chupando a buceta e levando um dedo pra massagear sua entradinha ensopada, mas nossa... você é tão apertada... (sim na cabeça de homem dele, e pelas experiências, uma mulher mais velha pode ser apertada, mas TANTO assim? sem chance), ele vai conduzir a situação feito ninguém, sem querer estragar o clima vai subir a boquinha melada até seu ouvido de novo "quantos anos você tem mesmo, nena?" - ele nao tinha te feito essa pergunta antes - e você afetadinha diz qualquer idade entre 24 - 20 e ele vai sorrir largo porque primeiro ele se sente um idiota de não saber antes e segundo porque no fundo é muito sexyzinho and he kinda likes it (vai se sentir seu superior)🥵🤤 vai continuar te fodendo e dando o tratamento que você nunca teve, mas assim.. no dia seguinte? é bom que você não tenha se apaixonado porque se ele te ver no hotel vai te tratar como se fosse uma garotinha/criança mesmo, o encontro de vocês não vai se repetir, mas vai ficar na memória pra sempre rs.

o esteban é um querido, e na viagem pro peru ele vai ter sido sim forçado a sair pelo elenco e principalmente pelo fernando!!! ele vai num bar e vai beber qualquer bebida local forte e acabar ficando meio altinho e corajoso, o que faz ele engajar numa conversa com você que tá fazendo um bico de garçonete - ele vai ser zoado pela escolha já que tinham muitas outras mulheres no bar, mas ele sempre se interessa pelos amores impossíveis (ele tem uma vibe mt shakespariana sla meu nao me culpem😖). e ai quando te pergunta sua idade e você diz a carinha dele vira o mapa da coitadolândia😧, ele se sente horrível de ter flertado meio descaradamente e vai no banheiro jogar uma água no rosto antes de voltar pra te pedir desculpa, mas você nega, ficando na ponta dos pés pra dar um beijinho no canto da boca dele "eu gosto de homens mais velhos". e aiii aiii aiiii ele fica entre a cruz e a espada, desiste da ideia ou espera acabar teu expediente? a resposta vem quando você sai do trabalho, pronta pra caminhar até o hostel que vc tá "morando" e vê ele encostado na parede de fora, esperando. mas, não se deixem enganar amigas esses homens tímidos e narigudos são os piores entre quatro paredes, iria te foder a noite toda, fosse na sacadinha julieta do teu quarto - e ele segurando você pelo pescocinho enquando as bolas dele estalam com as investidas na sua bunda, a adrenalina de serem vistos a mil e ele te perguntando se você gosta da ideia - ou no chão em cima de um tapete velho, apertando seu corpinho e chupando sua clavícula enquanto diz o quanto você é boa. iria super acordar no outro dia com você bem acomodada no peitoral dele e fazer um o\ facepalm🥴 com um risinho porque lembrou que é mais de dez anos mais velho que ti

#.｡.:*✧#lsdln headcanons #geniousbh thoughts #e que culpa nós temos de gostar tanto?#we are just girly girls

22 notes · View notes

ramcharantitties · 2 months

Text

Yes, Officer

Part-1

S/n: I'm sorry for this week old fic but here's the first part. I didn't know if this was good enough to post but I didn't want to go ia, so. Hope you like it <3

Angel stared out the window, the falling autumn leaves setting hopelessness in her heart. Nothing would help these days, the growing anxiety taking over everything in her mind. She was too young to be this stressed, only in her 20's, yet the weight crushing her shoulders was leaving her crying at odd hours.

"My daughter must be the next to reign the empire of Delhi", her father's words never left her mind, engraved like hot iron on a child's skin. Delhi, the bustling city felt more developed in the last decade than ever. Angel wondered if Delhi was teasing her too, telling her she wasn't apt enough to rule a city. With the oncoming opportunities, came oncoming threats- both to Delhi and her throne.

No matter what she said, this decision was strictly taken by her parent's old advisor- who often acted like your guardian. Dada didn't pester, the stubborn man in his 60's, ready to stab everyone in sight ever since the incident. There were oppositions who believed you were not the correct choice for the throne- but your father knew better. To burden young shoulders for the people than to wait for a messiah, if he comes. She laid back on the chair, sighing. They must be here anytime.

When Angel's dinner was poisoned two days back, her first thought was what her parents must think when she finally died. Would they be proud, or still love her as their daughter, or they wouldn't care, that she was a disappointment? Eventually a servant was passing by, at such ungodly hour, that saved Angel. She was rewarded with a prize money worth 500 Rs. Ever since, Dada made a decision that a trained police officer, from the Indian Imperial Army must serve as your personal bodyguard for the next three months, until the next ruler of Delhi is decided. Angel made protests, proposed questions, and shared information against the decision but everything was futile. She finally slumped down, agreeing.

A whole human, trained, with potential- just to protect you? It seemed insensible. That man could probably save crowds of innocent people, or punish troops of criminal but he would just stand here, making sure if she had enough water or not. Angel held her head in her hands. She was happy in the back of her mind.

Ever since the parental figures disappeared, Angel only faced manipulation and mistrust in her life. It felt like a sin to make friends, to drink freely or enter crowds. And now that the election days are coming closer, she felt trapped in herself. Every single movement was noticed, and most likely followed. A bodyguard didn't sound half bad.

Angel could hear the frequent words of Dada down the hall, followed by another pair of steps. She stood up, quickly, smoothing out her dress. A firm knock on her door echoed. "Angel?" Dada called out, impatiently waiting. She opened the door of the room, moving away to let the guest enter. A man in his brown uniform entered, almost three inches taller than her when she was in heels. He smelt good. Angel stood behind them as Dada explained everything to him. From the back of his head, he looked strong and firm. Angel cocked an eyebrow. After all, why would a trained police officer agree to a job like this?

"Angel?" Dada called out again, his hand reaching where she stood. Angel pranced forward, to face them. If this was her bodyguard, she was in a trouble. His chest buffed out, his eyesight peeking over her. Handlebar moustache and long eyelashes. His upper lip was hidden by the hair, his beard clean shaved. Angel gulped, leaning on the table. She did not expect him to have such an effect on her. Angel, busy staring at the man, missed most of the details Dada dictated to him. She leant closer to him. "A. Ramaraju" she muttered to herself, before going back in her position so they wouldn't notice. Well, nothing misses from his eyes. Her eyes, finally turned to the elder guardian.

"This gentleman is your bodyguard. He's a strict police officer and he will be checking everything, from what you eat and drink, where you go, everything. Once the elections are over, you will have a team of bodyguards anyways. But he should be enough for now". Soon, Dada left, and the police officer made himself comfortable in front of her table.

"I don't expect you to be so formal with me" Angel looked at him up and down. "I am solely here for my job, ma'am" Ramaraju's voice had a dusky yet chocolaty tone. It was heavy, but not harsh. "Please introduce yourself" Angel sat her hip on the edge of the table. "Alluri Ramaraju, police officer in India-" "I know that" Angel interrupted the man. His gaze still hasn't lowered down to her, but he could see the diary in her hands. "You have, single handedly, caught a wanted person in a riot with almost the population of a town. And you injured many others. And this is the only most recent news of you, I can skip through various others" Angel peered up at him. "Are you going to tell me why you are really here?" "It has nothing to do with this job" Ramaraju's posture didn't budge. The stoic man, still as a statue.

Angel sighed, getting up. "I don't need a bodyguard" she stepped forward, taking a closer look at him. He smelt really, good. "You must talk to the-" "I don't need to talk to anyone" Angel said, trying to match his eye level. He wouldn't. "You're going to submit a report tomorrow that says how you don't want this duty and want to be back in the field. Is that clear?" Ram didn't answer, neither move. He stared straight ahead, unbothered. Angel took that as an acceptance, might as well be a surprise. "You may leave now" Angel went back to her work, sitting on the table, as Ram turned around and marched out of the room. That was the last of him she saw that day.

____________________________

Tagging: @ramayantika @yehsahihai @vijayasena @raat-baaki @nerdreader @panikk-attackkk @jkdaddy01

#ghungru #ram charan #rrr #rrr movie #desi tag #fanfic #ram x reader #ram x wife!reader #rambheem #rrr tarak charan #yes officer

29 notes · View notes

gardenschedule · 2 months

Text

A collection of Beatles quotes about the breakup

I know I'm preaching to the choir on tumblr.com because people here examine the breakup with empathy, nuance and critical thought. BUT these quotes are convenient if you ever get caught up in frustrating arguments online with male boomer beatle fans who think John and George hated the band and couldn't wait to escape while Paul was desperate to get back together. Sorted by band member and chronological order.

Quotes from/about Ringo:

1969:

People really have tried to typecast us. They think we are still little moptops, and we are not. I don’t want to play in public again. I don’t miss being a Beatle anymore. You can’t get those days back. It’s no good living in the past.

Ringo Starr, 24 March 1969 while filming The Magic Christian in New York

1970:

Ringo? He was the peacemaker for John, George and himself to Paul and was shaken to find Paul intransigent to the point of saying some pretty blunt things. But none of the Beatles is vindictive, and pettiness is their natural enemy, and when Paul released his album, Ringo sent a telegram congratulation him on “Maybe I’m Amazed” (one of the tracks) and meant it. Ringo has a lot of heart and more soul than most and since he knows he will be a Beatles to the grave, he will cooperate should it all come together again.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

1971:

The Beatles might yet stay together as a group. Paul is the greatest bass player in the world. He is also determined. He goes on and on to see if he can get his own way. While that may be a virtue, it did mean that musical disagreements inevitably rose from time to time. But such disagreements contributed to really great products. […] I was shocked and dismayed, after Mr. McCartney’s promises about a meeting of all four Beatles in London in January, that a writ should have been issued on December 31. I trust Paul and I know he would not lightly disregard his promise. Something serious, about which I have no knowledge, must have happened between Paul’s meeting with George in New York at the end of December. […] My own view is that all four of us together could even yet work out everything satisfactorily.

Ringo Starr’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

No one doubted that Starkey would go along with the majority.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

Later/unknown year:

RS: But that’s only Imagine. You know what I’m saying? Paul with his Band on the Run. We all started on a bus and small clubs and things like that, but Paul is that type of person. Paul wanted to do it all over again, and he did. And he went through hell. He went through hell. I mean, now he’s not talking to me and that’s too bad, but he started again from the bottom to do the Paul McCartney show. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I did it once.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Quotes from/about George:

1969:

“Yeah, quite definitely, but I’d like to do it with the Beatles but not on the old scale, that’s the only drag. With the Ono Band and me playing with Delaney and Bonnie there’s no expectations because it’s really quite anonymous, you just go and do whatever you can do. Once the Beatles are advertised and all the crowds come along they expect too much. I’d like to do the Beatles thing, but more like Delaney and Bonnie with us augmented with a few more singers, and a few trumpets, saxes, organs, and all that"

Interview conducted by Roy Carr, NME, 20 December 1969

1970:

George was greatly disappointed that Paul should come off like he was injured by Klein (business manager) whom George believes to have greatly eased the effects of the present and insured the safety of the future. George view is “Did you have to be so nasty. You can go so far but you can never get back, and you can say things which get in the way forever. For me, I would be glad to play with all of us again.”

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Q: “You think the Beatles will get together again, then?”

George: “Well, I don’t… I couldn’t tell, you know, if they do or not. I’ll certainly try my best to do something with them again, you know. I mean, it’s only a matter of accepting that the situation is a compromise. In a way it’s a compromise, and it’s a sacrifice, you know, because we all have to sacrifice a little in order to gain something really big. And there is a big gain by recording together – I think musically, and financially, and also spiritually. And for the rest of the world, you know, I think that Beatle music is such a big sort of scene – that I think it’s the least we could do is to sacrifice three months of the year at least, you know, just to do an album or two. I think it’s very selfish if the Beatles don’t record together.”

WABC-FM, May 1, 1970

The Harrison quote that went around the world that spring was purely optimistic: 'Everyone is trying to do his own album, and I am too. But after that I'm ready to go back with the others.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1971:

The only serious row was between Paul and me. In 1968 I went to the United States and had a very easy co-operation with many leading musicians. This contrasted with the superior attitude which, for years past, Paul has shown towards me musically. In January 1969, we were making a film in a studio at Twickenham, which was dismal and cold, and we were all getting a bit fed up with our surroundings. In front of the cameras, as we were actually being filmed, Paul started to ‘get at’ me about the way I was playing. I decided I had had enough and told the others I was leaving. This was because I was musically dissatisfied. After a few days, the others asked me to return and since I did not wish to leave them in the lurch in the middle of filming and recording, and since Paul agreed that he would not try to interfere or teach me how to play, I went back. Since the row, Paul has treated me more as a musical equal. I think this whole episode shows how a disagreement could be worked out so that we all benefited. I just could not believe it when, just before Christmas, I received a letter from Paul’s lawyers. I still cannot understand why Paul acted as he did.

George Harrison’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

“In a “Come back Paul, all is forgiven” mood, George Harrison said this week: “I wish we could all be friends again. It’s a drag that things are as they are, because Apple is now becoming much more what we originally wanted it to be. “Personally I’d like to see Paul back at Apple and let him do what he wants to do. After all the new studio is his studio, too, and I’d like to see it all happening for us all.”

October 1971 Record Mirror

When John finally hinted that he would be willing to play with George when he appeared at Madison Square Garden. “Well, maybe I can come and help ya,” he said. “That’d be nice.” George glowered at John. Then George’s anger really burst forth. “Where were you when I needed you!” he snapped. It was the first of a series of explosions, each of them followed by moments of tense silence. “I did everything you said. But you weren’t there,” he repeated. “You always knew how to reach me,” John would reply evenly to each of these outbursts. There was no doubt in my mind, watching those two, that George’s anger with John had been accumulating for years. It was exactly the kind of situation that John usually ran from. But I could see in that moment that he loved George enough to remain calm and still as George drilled away at him. George said that repeatedly in the past he had sung what John wanted him to sing, said what John wanted him to say. Because John wanted it, George had gone along with the decision to go with Allen Klein. In the nearly four years since, John had virtually ignored him, a fact that pained George deeply. George’s voice grew even more harsh as he blasted John for his sudden appearance, as if out of nowhere, to offer an evening’s worth of help. Yet again George said furiously, I did everything you said, but you weren’t there.”

May Pang, Loving John

1973:

"George came into the office and said, 'I wanted you to know before anyone else. We're leaving Allen.' I said, 'Why?' And he said, 'We'll never get together again with Allen managing us.' And that was it. They left. George always had that distant hope."

Allan Stecker, Mojo interview 2023 (on Monday April 2 1973)

"[Allen Klein] made [John, George and Ringo] feel financially and artistically secure,” Steckler reckoned. So why did they decide that Klein had to go? Steckler believed he knew the answer. “George called me and said, ‘We’re not re-signing with Klein,’” he recalled. “I asked him why, and he said, 'The only way The Beatles can get together again is if Allen isn’t there. I’m ready to do it, so is Ringo, and I think we can persuade John to go along with it. But if we’re going to work with Paul, we need to get rid of Klein.’"

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money

1978:

Personally, I’m not opposed to the idea, if it’s done through mutual agreement. But the pressure seems to be bigger than any of us, and when they talk of sums like $50 or $60 million, it’s almost a farce. I know Paul’s booked for the next few years, and John may have lost interest in the idea. Ringo and I are closest on it; we both feel it’s not impossible, but it’s highly unlikely, if only because of the legal and business maze that would have to be resolved before the four of us set foot on stage together.

M. George Haddad interview with George Harrison for Men Only magazine (Nov. 1978 issue)

Quotes from/about Paul:

1970:

On the eve of the release of the Beatles new movie and album “Let it Be,” Paul McCartney said, “I quit,” or “I think I quit,” which is roughly the same thing. As a publicity stunt, it’s as good or bad as any stunt they ever appeared to pull. But like every stunt they never did pull, this isn’t one either. McCartney’s declaration of independence was entirely impromptu, spontaneous and personal and so far had the group’s lines of communication become crossed that none of the Beatles really knew when the album would be out, or whether, nor did they greatly care.

...

I guess the way it stacks up now and the way it was around the time when Paul dropped the big on is that he wants right out of it all and they don’t.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

"John's reply was that I was daft!" He then said he wanted to leave the Beatles and wanted an immediate divorce. None of us really knew what to do about the situation, but we decided to wait until our film 'Let it Be' came out in April. I got bored and made 'McCartney' instead!"

Paul McCartney, in his first magazine interview since the split, tells FLIP's Keith Altham... "THE BEATLES ARE FINISHED!"

When we had to go to the studios, Linda would make the booking and we’d take some sandwiches and a bottle of grape juice and put the baby on the floor and it was all like a a holiday. So as a natural turn of events from looking for something to do, I found that I was enjoying working alone as much as I’d enjoyed the early days of the Beatles. I haven’t really enjoyed the Beatles for the last two years.

Paul, Interview for Evening Standard • Tuesday, April 21-22, 1970

Klein tells George he will get him more money and he tells Ringo the same. He tells them all that there are four first-class Beatles, not two and John doesn’t mind being told this. Paul doesn’t like any of it, none of it. He has a father-in-law who is also from New York and his name is Lee Eastman. Lee Eastman is also a toughie, but his manners are more formal than Klein’s and some people like him. Paul would like Eastman to be the Mr Big Apple needs. John wants Mr Klein to be Mr Big. A year passes. It is 1970. Paul still doesn’t like Klein but John digs him more than ever and George digs him more than that and Ringo doesn’t mind him. Paul? He is so uptight about Klein he only leaves the Beatles, that’s all.

As Time Goes By - Derek Taylor

1971:

Klein: “If Paul McCartney doesn’t get his way, he bitches. He may have a choirboy image in the press and with fans, but I’m here to tell you its bullshit. If anybody broke up the Beatles, it was him.”

Allen Klein, Playboy: A candid conversation with the embattled manager of the Beatles. (November, 1971) (note: obviously we should not trust a word Klein says, but at this point why isn't he repeating John's party line that he wanted a divorce?)

I think John thought I was using this press release for publicity-as I suppose, in a way, it was. So it all looked very weird, and it ruffled a few feathers. The good thing about it was that we all had to finally own up to the fact that we'd broken up three or four months before. We'd been ringing each other quite constantly, sort of saying, 'Let's get it back together.' And I think me, George and Ringo did want to save things. But I think John was, at that point, too heavily into his new life-which you can't blame him.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1972:

“We planned a big festival for one afternoon in Central Park, and ‘Imagine’ was the theme. Each retarded person from an institution would be paired with one able-bodied volunteer – twenty-five thousand people in the park. The issue arose whether the retarded should come to the matinee concert at Madison Square Garden. Obviously it would be a huge revenue loss. So Allen Klein and John just bought $50,000 worth of tickets and gave them to the retarded kids and volunteers.” Suddenly John got cold feet, after the concert had been sold out for weeks. “John said he didn’t want to do it,” Rivera recalled. “He said he hadn’t played in public for years, he hadn’t rehearsed with a band, he was just too nervous. …When they had that rush of insecurity, Yoko told me that she and John called Paul and Linda. They said, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet and appear together at the concert.’ Why Paul said ‘No’ I’ll never know.” Rivera and others managed to calm John’s fears and get him to start rehearsing with Elephant’s Memory.

Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon in His Time. (1984)

“A few months ago, John asked us to do a concert with him at Madison Square Garden (note: same concert as the above quote) and it’s a pity now that we didn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it at the time but we will do things, I’m sure. I don’t see any reason why all four Beatles shouldn’t be on stage at some time all playing together and having a good time. I don’t think you’ll ever get the Beatles reforming, because that’s all gone. The Beatles were a special thing in a special era and I really couldn’t see it all coming together again. But I think it’s daft to assume that just because we had a couple of business upsets we won’t ever see each other again, or that if John has a concert some time we won’t go up and play on it.”

Paul McCartney, interview with Ray Connolly in The Evening Standard, December 2, 1972 (source: The Ray Connolly Beatles Archive)

“Don’t ever call me ex-Beatle McCartney again. That was one band I was with. Now I’m not with them. I’ve got another band. We won’t do things the same way any more. We’re not so bothered in trying to please other people all the time even though we obviously don’t try to displease them. All we want, in Wings, is to please ourselves with our music, That’s all.

“If people start fan clubs for us, do that kind of thing from the past, well, fine. But we won’t start one. I just get irritated by people constantly harping on the past, about the days when I was with that other band, the Beatles.

“The other Beatles get together and that is fine, but I’m almost always in another part of the world. The Beatles was my old job. We’re not like friends – we just know each other. But we don’t work together. so there’s no point keeping up old relationships.”

“All I know for sure is that I’ll never be conned again. I’m 30 now and, after what I’ve been through. I should know my way around. I get angry with fans, who interrupt my life, even now. I get fed up with the feeling that I was losing my identity, becoming some kind of legend, not a person. And I’m downright angry with the people who keep trying to get me back with the others again.

1976:

“The truth is very ordinary. The truth is just that since we split up, we’ve not seen much of each other. We visit occasionally, we’re still friends, but we don’t feel like getting up and playing again. You can’t tell that to people. You say that and they say, ‘How about this money, then?’ ‘Or how about this?’ And you end up having to think of reasons why you don’t feel like it. And, of course, any one of them taken on its own isn’t really true, but I was just stuck for an answer, so I said I wouldn’t do it just for the money anyway. And I saw John last time, he says, ‘I agreed with that.’ But there’s a million other points in there. A whole million angles. “I tell you, before this tour, I was tempted to ring everyone up and say, ‘Look, is it true we’re not going to get back together, ‘cause we all pretty much feel like we’re not. And as long as I could get everyone to say, ‘No, we’re definitely not,’ then I could say ‘It’s a definite no-no.’ But I know my feeling, and I think the others’ feeling, in a way, is we don’t want to close the door to anything in the future. We might like it someday.

Paul McCartney, Rolling Stone: Yesterday, Today, and Paul. (June 17th, 1976)

Later/unknown year:

“John phoned me once to try and get the Beatles back together again, after we’d broken up. And I wasn’t for it, because I thought that we’d come too far and I was too deeply hurt by it all. I thought, “Nah, what’ll happen is that we’ll get together for another three days and all hell will break loose again. Maybe we just should leave it alone.”

Paul, November 1995 Club Sandwich interview

“ELLEN: So was there ever a time when both you and John Lennon wanted to reform the Beatles? PAUL: There was a time… let’s put it this way: there was never a time when all four of us wanted to do it. And each time it was always someone different who didn’t fancy it And I’m actually glad of that now. Because the Beatles’ work is a body of work. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there. In the end we decided we should leave well enough alone. The potential disappointment of coming on and not being as good as the Beatles had been… that was a risk we shouldn’t take

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Mark Ellen for Radio Times. (October 20th-26th, 2007)

Quotes from/about John:

1969:

JOHN: The point is, if George leaves, do we want to carry on The Beatles? I do. [inaudible; drowned out by mic feedback] And I’d just get another member of the group and carry on. But if The Beatles split, well, I’ll get another group. [to Paul and Yoko?] I’m a singer not a dancer, baby! Woo-hoo!

January 10th, 1969 (Twickenham Film Studios, London)

MICHAEL: But funny enough, the other day, when we were talking, he said that he really did not want not to be a Beatle. He said he really looked forward – not, you know. Meaning he didn’t want that screwed up.

[T]he Beatles are always discussing, “Should we go on or shouldn’t we? Why are we together for now?” And what it gets down to is I like playing rock n’ roll and I like making rock n’ roll records. Now, I’ve got either the choice— if I want the whole LP to myself — is to get a few musicians together. Now, I know that— I’ve played with other musicians — just very rarely, but occasionally I’ve played with them — and it needs some work together to get anything going. I don’t like session men, so I try not to use them. I don’t like violinists or anything these days. I try not to use anybody but the Beatles. And if I wanted to make a record I’d chose the Beatles! I can say, “Give me a ‘Be Bop A Lula’”. So therefore, we’ve got that going. And even from a commercial point, when we discuss it, “What’s the biggest selling name? Beatles or John Lennon and The Fabs? Or George Harrison and The Fabs?” Which— Where’s our biggest market? It’s Beatles! Who are our closest friends? Beatles! Who do we have the most arguments with? Beatles. So Beatles is it!

John Lennon and Yoko Ono give a series of interviews at the Apple Corps building at 3 Savile Row, London (Friday, 12 September 1969).

JOHN: See they’re growing up too, you know. And uh, we all want Beatles still cause it’s, it’s a big power and it’s good power, you know. And we’ve no intention of splitting it, you know. Any of us. I can’t be specific about it, you know. But obviously, I’m deeply involved with Yoko, it has some…you know, maybe less reliant on the others but so it goes for the others too, you know. That as we’re all sort of branching out. Which we were occasionally all the time, you know. Like I did How I Won The War, I wrote In His Own Write and Paul wrote the music for Family Way, etc. and George went off to India with sitars and that. So it’s only, you know. We nip off and come back and do some work then nip off again, you know.

John and Yoko gave several interviews on September 12, 1969

[Will] The Beatles split up? It just depends how much we all want to record together. I don’t know if I want to record together again. I go off and on it. I really do.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME. (December 13th, 1969)

JOHN: I was really losing interest in just doing the Beatles’ bit – and I think we all were – but Paul did a good job in holding us together for a few years while we were sort of undecided about what to do, you know. And I found out what to do, and it didn’t really have to be with the Beatles. It could have been, if they wanted… But uh, it got that I couldn’t wait for them to make up their minds about peace or whatever. About committing themselves. It’s the same as the songs. So I’ve gone ahead – and I’d have liked them to have come along.

YORKE: Did you ever try to get them into the peace scene?

JOHN: I did a little at first, but I think it was too much like Yoko and me and what we’re doing and trying to get them to come along; and I think they reacted. I hassled them too much, so I’m really leaving them alone. Maybe they’ll come along, wagging their tails behind them, and if not, good luck to them.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ritchie Yorke. (December 23rd, 1969)

“This is why I’ve started with the Plastic Ono and working with Yoko . . . to have more outlet. There isn’t enough outlet for me in the Beatles. The Ono Band is my escape valve. And how important that gets, as compared to the Beatles for me, I’ll have to wait and see.

NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS DECEMBER 13, 1969

1970:

Why do you think he [Paul] has lost interest in Apple?

That’s what I want to ask him! We had a heavy scene last year as far as business was concerned and Paul got a bit fed-up with all the effort of business. I think that’s all it is. I hope so.

John Lennon interviewed by Roy Shipston for Disc and Music Echo (February 28, 1970)

John’s view is: “Okay. If this is it, this is it. We’ve all left the Beatles anyway.” If Paul were to approach him and say, “Let’s do it together again,” he probably would; with no more words, he probably would do it.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Now even Lennon was prepared to hint at a positive outcome: 'I've no idea if the Beatles will work together again, or not. I never really have. It was always open. If somebody didn't feel like it, that's it! It could be a rebirth or a death. We'll see what it is. It'll probably be a rebirth.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

'Eventually,' McCartney recalled, 'I went and said, "I want to leave. You can all get on with Klein and everything, just let me out." Having not spoken to Lennon for several weeks, he sent him a letter that summer, pleading that the former partners 'let each other out of the trap'. As McCartney testified, Lennon 'replied with a photograph of himself and Yoko, with a balloon coming out of his mouth in which was written, "How and Why?" I replied by letter saying, "How by signing a paper which says we hereby dissolve our partnership. Why because there is no partnership." John replied on a card which said, "Get well soon. Get the other signatures and I will think about it.” Communication was at an end. Yet the press continued to believe, fired by hope more than evidence, that it was only a matter of days before the four men healed their wounds. The stories taunted McCartney, who fired off a letter to the prime offender, Melody Maker: 'Dear Mailbag, In order to put out of its misery the limping dog of a news story which has been dragging itself across your pages for the past year, my answer to the question, "Will the Beatles get together again?"...is no.' He had finally pronounced the verdict that was missing from his self-interview in April: the Beatles were no more.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett (note: John is stalling)

For McCartney, and maybe Harrison and Starkey as well, this signified hope. ‘For about three or four months,' he recalled years later, 'George, Ringo and I rang each other to ask, "Well, is this it, then?" It wasn't that the record company had dumped us. It was just a case of: we might get back together again. Nobody quite knew if it was one of John's little flings, and that maybe he was going to feel the pinch in a week's time and say, “I was only kidding.” I think John did kind of leave the door open. He'd said, “I'm pretty much leaving the group, but...” McCartney testified in 1971, ‘I think all of us (except possibly John) expected we would come together again one day.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

John: George was on the session for Instant Karma, Ringo’s away and Paul’s – I dunno what he’s doing at the moment, I haven’t a clue.

Interviewer: When did you last see him?

John: Uh, before Toronto. I’ll see him this week actually. If you’re listening, I’m coming round. (Note: as AKOM point out, Toronto was before the divorce meeting. Why is he pretending it never happened?)

Feb 6th 1970 (audio snippet approx 1:14:00)

Interviewer: What about the Beatles all together as a group?

John: As soon as they’re ready, you know, we had half the Beatles on again at the Lyceum Ballroom. Uh it was George and me but we also had Delaney and Bonney and 17 piece band we had on, it was a great experience. Uh it should be like that you know, if we were doing that and all the Beatles wanted to come it would be great, and it would be no great thing about ‘oh the Beatles are coming back on stage’ like they expect, sorta of, Buddha and Mohammad to come on and play. I keep saying that, but that’s the fear the Beatles have, including me as a Beatle, about performing. It’s such a great – so much expected of us, you know, but you see George has been on tour with Bonnie and Delaney playing and I’ve been drifting around playing, it’s just playing isn’t the hang up. It’s going on as the Beatles that’s the problem for us.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:23:00)

Interviewer: Do you care about making another Beatles album?

John: I think Beatles is a good communication media you know, and I wouldn’t destroy it out of hand or dissolve it out of hand. So that’s what I think about Beatles.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

Interviewer: Why do you think rumours like this start?

John: Because there was a lot of tension around the Allen Klein coming in days and the ATV thing going on, and the Beatles were under a lot of pressure and we had to be together all the time, fighting and arguing and listening to all the different business things. And so we’re taking a break from each other like we always did after a tour end. The business thing is like a heavy tour, in it we may get back in abbey road and a couple of singles and under a great strain you know, doing that business. And so now we’re just taking a break from each other.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

You can’t pin me down because I haven’t got- there’s no- it’s completely open, whether we do it or not. Life is like that, whether I make another Plastic Ono album or Lennon album or anything is open you know, I don’t like to prejudge it. And I have no idea if the Beatles are working together again or not, I never did have, it was always open. If someone didn’t feel like it, that’s it. And maybe if one of us starts it off, the others will all come round and make an album you know.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:43:00)

In 1964 I produced a book, they were asking me that then, and why should I not write a book? The Beatles wanted me to do it, they wanted me to do these LPs, you know, they have nothing against it – I want George to produce and record any records he wants to. It doesn’t interfere with Beatle time, I use my own time to do other things and so do they. The Beatles will remain, there’s no doubt about that. And we’ve been saying it since She Loves You, we’re together and that’s it.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:45:00)

I just uh I wanted to do it [announce the breakup] you know, should’ve done it. I think damn, shit, what a fool I was. But there were many pressures at that time, I think Northern Songs and all that was going on, it would’ve upset the whole thing. (Note: again as AKOM point out, the Northern Songs fight ended the day before the divorce meeting. Why would the pressure of Northern Songs impact John's decision not to announce the breakup?)

Lennon Remembers

1971:

INT: I asked Lee Eastman for his view of the split, and what it was that prompted Paul to file suit to dissolve the Beatles' partnership, and he said it was because John asked for a divorce.

JOHN: Because I asked for a divorce? That's a childish reason for going into court, isn't it?

John Lennon interviewed by Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld at the St. Regis Hotel, September 5, 1971

Well, there was this Japanese monk, and it happened in the last 20 years. He was in love with this big golden temple, y’know, he really dug it, like—and you know he was so in love with it, he burnt it down so that it would never deteriorate. That’s what I did with the Beatles.

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME: At home with the Lennons. (August 7th, 1971)

MCCABE: Let’s talk a bit about Paul’s aversion to Klein. From what we’ve read it seemed as if this wasn’t there in the beginning, even though Paul wanted the Eastmans to run things. But it came on later as things progressed. And yet despite this, we gather that Klein was still hoping that Paul would return to the group.

JOHN: Oh, he’d love it if Paul would come back. I think he was hoping he would for years and years. He thought that if he did something, to show Paul that he could do it, Paul would come around. But no chance. I mean, I want him to come out of it, too, you know. He will one day. I give him five years, I’ve said that. In five years he’ll wake up.

MCCABE: But Klein is still hoping?

JOHN: He said to me, “Would you do it, if we got your immigration thing fixed? Or if we could get rid of the drug conviction?”

YOKO: And people don’t understand, you know. There’s so many groups that constantly announce they’re going to split, they’re going to split, and they can announce it every year, and it doesn’t mean they’re going to split. But people don’t understand what an extraordinary position the Beatles are in, you know. In every way. They’re in such an extraordinary position that they’re more insecure than other people. And so Klein thinks he’ll give Paul two years Linda-wise, you know. And John said, “No, Paul treasures things like children, things like that. It will be longer.” And of course, John was right.

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

It was true, that when the group was touring, their work and social relationships were close, but there had been a lot of arguing, mainly about musical and artistic matters. I suppose Paul and George were the main offenders in this respect, but from time to time we all gave displays of temperament and threatened to ‘walk out’. Of necessity, we developed a pattern for sorting out our differences, by doing what any three of us decided. It sometimes took a long time and sometimes there was deadlock and nothing was done, but generally that was the rule we followed and, until recent events, it worked quite well. Even when we stopped touring, we frequently visited each other’s houses in or near London and personally we were on terms as close as we had ever been. If anything, Paul was the most sociable of us. From our earliest days in Liverpool, George and I, on the one hand, and Paul, on the other, had different musical tastes. Paul preferred ‘pop-type’ music and we preferred what is now called ‘underground’. This may have led to arguments, particularly between Paul and George, but the contrast in our tastes, I am sure, did more good than harm, musically speaking, and contributed to our success.

If Paul is trying to break us up because of anything that happened before the Klein–Eastman power struggle, his reasoning does not make sense to me.

John Lennon’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

JOHN: Yeah, Gilbert and Sullivan. I always remember watching the film with Robert Morley and thinking, “We’ll never get to that.” [pause] And we did, which really upset me. But I never really thought we’d be so stupid. But we did.

WIGG: What, like splitting like they did?

JOHN: Like splitting and arguing, you know, and then they come back, and one’s in a wheelchair twenty years later—

YOKO: [laughs] Yes, yes.

JOHN: —and all that. [laughs; bleak] I never thought we’d come to that, because I didn’t think we were that stupid. But we were naive enough to let people come between us. And I think that’s what happened. [pause] But it was happening anyway. I don’t mean Yoko, I mean businessmen, you know. All of them.

October, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

Q: "Did Klein hope to get Paul back into the group?"

JOHN: (laughs) "He came up with this plan. He said, "Just ring Paul and say, 'We're recording next Friday, are you coming?' So it nearly happened. Then Paul would have forfeited his right to split by joining us again. But Paul would never, never do it, for anything, and now I would never do it."

St Regis Hotel Interview, September 5th, 1971.

John would say things like, ‘It was rubbish. The Beatles were crap.’ Also, ‘I don’t believe in The Beatles, I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t believe in God.’ Those were quite hurtful barbs to be flinging around, and I was the person they were being flung at, and it hurt. So, I’m having to read all this stuff, and on the one hand I’m thinking, ‘Oh fuck off, you fucking idiot,’ but on the other hand I’m thinking, ‘Why would you say that? Are you annoyed at me or are you jealous or what?’ And thinking back fifty years later, I still wonder how he must have felt. He’d gone through a lot. His dad disappeared, and then he lost his Uncle George, who was a father figure; his mother; Stuart Sutcliffe; Brian Epstein, another father figure; and now his band. But John had all of those emotions wrapped up in a ball of Lennon. That’s who he was. That was the fascination.

I tried. I was sort of answering him here, asking, ‘Does it need to be this hurtful?’ I think this is a good line: ‘Are you afraid, or is it true?’ – meaning, ‘Why is this argument going on? Is it because you’re afraid of something? Are you afraid of the split-up? Are you afraid of my doing something without you? Are you afraid of the consequences of your actions?’ And the little rhyme, ‘Or is it true?’ Are all these hurtful allegations true? This song came out in that kind of mood. It could have been called ‘What the Fuck, Man?’ but I’m not sure we could have gotten away with that then.

Paul McCartney, on “Dear Friend”. In The Lyrics (2021).

Q: “If you got, I don’t know what the right phrase is… ‘back together’ now, what would be the nature of it?” JOHN: “Well, it’s like saying, if you were back in your mother’s womb… I don’t fucking know. What can I answer? It will never happen, so there’s no use contemplating it. Even if I became friends with Paul again, I’d never write with him again. There’s no point. I write with Yoko because she’s in the same room with me.” YOKO: “And we’re living together.” JOHN: “So it’s natural. I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It’s whoever you’re living with. He writes with Linda. He’s living with her. It’s just natural.””

St. Regis Hotel Interview, September 5, 1971

1973:

My last question was inevitable… Any chance of us seeing the four Beatles on a stage or record together again? “There’s always a chance,” grinned John. “As far as I can gather from talking to them all, nobody would mind doing some work together again. There’s no law that says we’re not going to do something together, and no law that says we are. If we did do something I’m sure it wouldn’t be permanent. We’d do it just for that moment. I think we’re closer now than we have been for a long time. I call the split the divorce period and none of us ever thought there’d be a divorce like that. “That’s the way things turned out. We know each other well enough to talk about it.””

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker. (November 3rd, 1973)

MINTZ: Would you want to initiate that happening?

JOHN: Uh… Well, I couldn’t say. [long pause]

MINTZ: If you could, I mean is it something you would like to see yourself doing?

JOHN: If I could… I don’t know, Elliot, because you know me, I go on instinct. And if the idea hit me tomorrow, you know, I might call them and say, “Come on, let’s do something.” And so I couldn’t really tell you. If it happens, it’ll happen.

MINTZ: So it’s not something that you would totally rule out as never taking place again?

JOHN: No, no. My memories are now all fond and the wounds are healed. And if we do it, we do it, if we record, we record. I don’t know. As long as we make music.

November 1st/10th, 1973 (Malibu, Los Angeles): For Eyewitness News on KABC TV Los Angeles, Elliot Mintz

1974:

“No, no, no,” he answered and he meant it. “I’m going to be an ex-Beatle for the rest of my life so I might as well enjoy it, and I’m just getting around to being able to stand back and see what happened. A couple of years ago I might have given everybody the impression I hate it all, but that was then. I was talking when I was straight out of therapy and I’d been mentally stripped bare and I just wanted to shoot my mouth off to clear it all away. Now it’s different.

“When I slagged off the Beatle thing in the papers, it was like divorce pangs, and me being me it was blast this and fuck that, and it was just like the old days in the Melody Maker, you know, ‘Lennon Blasts Hollies’ on the back page. You know, I’ve always had a bit of a mouth and I’ve got to live up to it. Daily Mirror: ‘Lennon beats up local DJ at Paul’s 21st birthday party’. Then we had that fight Paul and me had through the Melody Maker, but it was a period I had to go through.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ray Coleman for Melody Maker: Lennon – a night in the life. (September 14th, 1974)

John seemed to be in a very strange state of mind about the dissolution. From the hints he had dropped since we had been together, I had learned that John’s departure from the Beatles had essentially been Yoko’s idea. Without Yoko to drive him forward, he felt strangely ambivalent about officially ending the Beatles at that moment. By nature, also, he felt inclined to take a position opposite from that of Paul McCartney. Paul desperately wanted that agreement signed. Whether or not it was the best thing for him to do, John, on principle, was inclined not to want to sign it.

May Pang, Loving John. (1983)

I’ll tell you exactly why I said that. We had a business meeting to break up The Beatles, one of the famous ones that we’d been having — we’re still having them 17 years later, actually. We all flew in to New York specially. George came off his disastrous tour, Ring of flew in and we were at the Plaza for the big final settlement meeting. John was half a mile away at the Dakota and he sent a balloon over with a note that said ‘Listen to this balloon.’ I mean, you’ve got to be pretty cool to handle that kind of stuff.

George blew his cool and rang him up: ’You fucking maniac!! You take your fucking dark glasses off and come and look at us, man!!’ and gave him a whole load of that shit. Around the same time at another meeting we had it all settled, and John asked for an extra million pounds at the last minute. So of course that meeting blew up in disarray. Later, when we got a bit friendlier — and from time to time there would be these little stepping-stones of friendship in the Apple sea — I asked him why he’d actually wanted that million and he said, I just wanted cards to play with. It’s absolutely standard business practice. He wanted a couple of jacks to up your pair of nines. He was one great guy, but part of his greatness was that he wasn’t a saint.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986) (note: John is STILL stalling)

At that moment, John was at his most unpredictable. Suddenly his fears that his money was going to be taken away from him, that he was going to be cheated, that he had to have as much money as possible, had all come into play. This was also John’s way of resisting the reality that the Beatles were officially about to come to end, and that Paul was about to prevail.

Loving John, MAY PANG (1983)

1975:

“At the time I was thinking that I didn’t want to do all that Beatles—but now I feel differently. I’ve lost all that negativity about the past and I’d be happy as Larry to do ‘Help’. I’ve just changed completely in two years. I’d do ‘Hey Jude’ and the whole damn show, and I think George will eventually see that. If he doesn’t, that’s cool. That’s the way he wants to be.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker: Rock on! (March 8th, 1975)

1976:

“I’ve always felt that splitting up was a mistake in many ways” John Lennon has said, and he believes a Beatles revival “would undoubtedly produce some great music.”

Australian Woman’s Weekly, 1976

1980:

“I and the other three former Beatles have plans to stage a reunion concert…” (Part of a statement in the legal disposition brought by Apple Corps against the ‘Beatlemania’ stage musical for trademark infringement. John was referring to an event that was to be filmed for a documentary being put together by Neil Aspinall. It was abandoned/shelved after John’s death, but ultimately became the Anthology project)

John Lennon, 1980

“Just days before his brutal death, John was making plans to go to England for a triumphant Beatles reunion. His greatest dream was to recreate the musical magic of the early years with Paul, George and Ringo … (he) felt that they had traveled different paths for long enough. He felt they had grown up and were mature enough to try writing and recording new songs.”

Yoko Ono, quoted in The Beatles: The Dream Is Over - Off The Record 2 by Keith Badman

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #there are absolutely quotes that contradict these (ie paul not wanting the breakup and the others wanting it) but we see those constantly #mclennon #almost forgot to tag them but lbr it's all about them

30 notes · View notes

chaifootsteps · 7 months

Note

Is it me or is it REALLY hard to tell people's ages in Viv's shows?

No one has any features that would make them seem above the age of 20 in their character designs, and everyone's written like and by a manchild, so everyone seems way younger than they actually are, sometimes you'll hear a character say stuff like "Fuck off shitbucket! I'm gonna go have some sex in hell!" and the character in question is a dude in his thirties who pays hell taxes and has a grown-ass daughter, and not some angsty kid who's parents are at work while he spams the voicechat.

Husk, Crimson, and Striker are the only ones who seem like actual adults, and even then, the latter two are a couple of bright red Rs on their outfits away from looking like satam cartoon villains.

Oh god, that's true, Husk is supposed to be an old man, isn't he? Even though he doesn't look, sound, or even really act like one.

Also, this is one of the reasons I've always had such a hateboner for Stolas's new voice. It all worked when he was an old guy who sounded like an old guy, when he sounded like someone who had a teenage daughter. It was funny to hear this dude who sounded like he was in his 40-50s behaving this way.

#Anonymous #vivziepop critical #actual blog post

34 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 1 year

Note

It really grosses me out that the whole scene where Hades and Persephone met took place years before the comic. (Aka when she was underage as if her current age/characterization isn't bad enough.) The entire encounter was framed as very "romantic" and she was literally on top of a thousands of years old man naked and she was like 15 or 16 according to the timeline. It's grosses me out. (Not to mention what happened between her and Ares all happened when she was underage as well.)

I mean shit, not just Hades and Persephone, don't forget Persephone and Ares as well. It's left kinda ambiguous as to when exactly Ares met her and shortly after tricked her into thinking he was illiterate so they could spend time together/make out/etc, but it was definitely before she left for college which was when she was 19, almost 20. So unless that happened shortly before she left for Olympus (which it very well could have) she could have been just barely over the age of 18.

There's also Rachel's "canon" information that Persephone and Hermes used to make out behind Demeter's back which went even FURTHER back than Ares and Persephone meeting. Like, jfc. I've heard somewhere that it was confirmed she would have been like 15 when that happened, but I'm taking that as rumor for now because I don't have the source on it. Still, we know for a fact RS did state she and Hermes used to make out and it was before Ares and Hades showed up. So she was definitely youuungggerrrr.

Sigh. I hate it. I really genuinely hate it.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus #ama #ask me anything #anon ask me anything #anon ama

80 notes · View notes

introvertedlass · 11 months

Note

You are really reasonable so I’m going to throw something out here.

I don’t think lonesome are untrustworthy or lying or paid by any agency. I think they believe they have legit info and they’re sticking to it.

But they also got legit info with the photo of AB and another guy last summer and that had them pretty sure she wasn’t with CE bc of the info provided to them.

Now, they’re pretty sure the relationship is real and etc bc of the info that’s now been presented to them.

I’m saying, that narratives and things can change. But I’m also wondering if the info they were given isn’t necessarily a confirmation of marriage or whatever, but of something else that proves to “them” that it’s legit and serious.

Additionally, look at the other facts here. CE and AB have been official for like half a year now and supposedly together for over 1.5 years.

To this day, there is still no organic sighting of them out in the wild unless you count that 20 second interaction behind the car at the ghosted premiere. Now look further and realize that the original footage showed his car arriving at the premiere and then about 20 seconds later, he and his publicist circling out from behind. If that tiktoker hadn’t gone around to “catch them”, no one would have seen them “together,” as the rest of the night, they weren’t seen together. She didn’t even pose the red carpet with him, and there were no candids of them. His best friend apparently posted pics from the premiere and did not include her or him. His bodyguard posted stories hanging out with his best friend and co, but no pics with AB.

Even Justin and Joana have never posted photos of them together. It’s been over a year.

Now they’re getting “married” or secretly already are married. Yet still the only thing AB could post of her “love” is a far away pic of his dog? She won’t even tag him? She showed up to his premiere and didn’t post a pic with him, just herself and didn’t tag him or acknowledge his film? Nobody in the cast seemed to interact with her either? His whole family was mysteriously missing from his premiere as well?

Something is off. I’m sorry if team real has insider info otherwise. But something is off. These two ppl aren’t comfortable posting or being seen with each other organically. Their families and friends aren’t comfortable posting them organically either.

Family and friends aren’t comfortable to post these two candidly Yet DM and a random wedding planner are all up in their business and dropping hints about a secret wedding. DM is doing podcasts outing their plans, how he proposed, and random trash tabloids were posting about guest lists and ceremonies.

Something smells. But it’s not roses.

This. None of this makes sense to me in terms of a real rs. I'm not delusional nor am I in denial. It's just comes across as calculated and manufactured. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong but something just feels off to me.

42 notes · View notes

foxes-that-run · 6 months

Text

Fools gold

As well as posting about it this week, Harry referenced Case of You in Fools Gold for One Direction in 2014. California on Joni Mitchell's Blue also influenced Canyon Moon.

Similar to Case of You, it is about knowing he loves someone who doesn’t prioritize their love and continuing on. Neither 1D or Harry have played it live, though Niaill has. He's doesn't even look comfortable introducing it in this promo holding a banana??

youtube

While they are all credited for the song to MTV Jamie Scott indicated he wrote it with only Harry. He posted this photo with Harry wearing the Haylor ring on 14 September 14, they were in LA that day, while Taylor was slaying in this photo shoot in NYC.

Rolling Stone Interview

2 weeks before that photo Taylor's 1989 Rolling Stone interview came out. Which is a bit humble-braggy and possibly from her own hurt and wanting to protect the private she minimised their relationship. She said it's pointless to date if you're not in love and watching her dating has become a national past time. RS said she sounded jaded when she said her life is not conducive to bringing other people into it. She doesn't say much about Harry, but ends that section with saying Style should have been called "I’m Not Even Sorry."

To a hopeless romantic like Harry who wore he heart on his sleeve I can see why he could write a song like Fools Gold. He was much kinder to their relationship in his RS interview for example.

Four

Its on Four which also included Stockholm Syndrome. It released in 17 November 2014, 3 weeks after 1989. Harry has talked about making the album (21 mins) under mattresses in hotel rooms. There is footage that set up at 34 mins into the TV special. In that context, a 20 year old rockstar slipping in an older reference to a guitar ballard about heartbreak is a lovely glimpse of the artist he would become.

youtube

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Niall] I'm like a crow on a wire You're the shinin' distraction that makes me fly home I'm like a boat on the water You're the raise on the waves that calm my mind, oh, every time

A crow on a wire is a lonely dark figure sitting above everything, drawn to fly to the shiny Taylor. Taylor calls Harry shiny later in DBATC. Several of Harry's tattoos and songs are about coming home, Taylor was with him when he got the ship tattoo. Here, the rise of the waves is the current that brings him there, what draws him in. This Love makes the same analogy of a high tide bringing Harry back. This is a theme in later songs like Sweet Creature.

[Pre-Chorus: Harry] But I know in my heart You're not a constant star

The pre-chorus references Case of You's opening line: "Just before our love got lost you said / "I am as constant as a northern star" / And I said, "Constantly in the darkness / Where's that at? / If you want me I'll be in the bar"

The northern star is not constant, it moves. In the opening of Case of You, the muse saying "I won't be a constant for you" which leads Joni to drink. Here Harry is saying his muse is fickle.

[Chorus: Harry, All] And, yeah, I've let you use me from the day that we first met But I'm not done yet Falling for your fool's gold And I knew that you turned it on for everyone you met But I don't regret Falling for your fool's gold

Harry goes on to say he is feeling used by the muse, possibly because he doesn't see that his feelings of longing and wanting a great love are reciprocated. But he's not done, and is being constant in loving her. He sees that she is a Mirrorball, and feeling like he was played. With hindsight we know they both felt a little this way, and maybe that sentiment is why he never played this song.

[Verse 2: Liam] I'm the first to admit that I'm reckless I get lost in your beauty and I can't see two feet in front of me [Bridge: Zayn] Yeah, I know your love's not real That's not the way it feels That's not the way you feel

In the bridge Harry again says he sees it is reckless to fall for his muse, but is anyway. He is telling himself the muse doesn't feel the same way but it feels like they do. I think in hindsight, knowing they both continued in this way for another decade that it would have been confusing to have a different private and public lives. The launch of 1989 would have been the first time Taylor talked about their love in a real way, and it was minimised in most of the promos with refrains of 'the overriding feeling was anxiety'.

#haylor #one direction #one direction haylor

19 notes · View notes

whorekneecentral · 8 months

Note

professed! Zlatan??? after a long day, she’d go to him for comfort after all the stress she’s been through and he helps her relax 🤭 (secret rs! Between the both of them, I just realized this may be out of your comfort zone so feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable writing it!)

-jenson anon ❤️

girl this is not out of my comfort zone at all, feel free to send more like this anytime -- reader is over 20 :)

You found him in his office. The office hours he held ended hours ago and yet the little lamp he had by his desk was still on. You knock on the door, hearing him call come in before you walk in.

He smiles when he sees you, you drop your bag on the couch and walk over to him. "What are you doing here? I thought you didn't have class tonight?"

"I didn't, I had a project. I was in the library." You sighed, sitting yourself on his lap. His arms wrapped around you, "why are you here so late?"

he nods towards the papers on the desk, "had the grade the mid terms." You lean into him, twirling the ends of his hair. He rubs your side softly, glancing at the door to make sure it was locked. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and rest his chin on it.

"Is there anything I can do to help you with the project?" He asked and you shrugged, sighing. " I mean, not really."

"You're sure?"

"Well," you looked at him, the idea popping into your head. "There is one thing."

"Yeah?" he nods towards you, "what is it?"

You shift from his lap to his desk, shoving the papers aside to sit on it. Your legs rest on his lap, "it's been soooo stressful," you tell him, his hand wandering up and down your leg, "you poor thing." He says, moving closer to you.

“We can’t,” you whisper to him, knowing that even if the door is shut, it’s unlocked and anyone could walk in at any given moment.

“No one is coming, baby.” He tells you, his hand snaking further up your thighs. His fingers brushed against the lace under your skirt. “Let me take this off you, hm? Want to see how pretty you look.” He says, helping you off his lap.

The papers shoved to the side and your shorts in a pile on the floor as you sat on the desk in front of him, legs spread and his face buried between your legs. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue lapped over your clit, his hands pushing your closing thighs apart.

It was taking all of him not to bend you over the desk and fuck you until you scream his name but you know, decorum is needed; this was still a workplace.

Your hips buck, tugging on his hair as you’re about to cum. He feels you clench around him, your hips stuttering and he knows you’re close. His fingers rubbing circles over your clit and your head falls, lips pressed together to muffle the sounds slipping past your lips.

He rubs along your thigh as you come down from your high, kissing your shoulder softly. “Feel better?”

“Mhm, so much better.” You mumble against his shoulder before sitting up again. Your arms over his shoulders as your eyes meet his.

#jenson anon :)#zlatan ibrahimovic #zlatan ibrahimovic x reader #zlatan ibrahimovic smut

35 notes · View notes

dw-flagler · 2 months

Note

If you don’t mind talking about it, what do you hate about Where Are You Going? (Apologies if I misunderstood and you were talking about a different short story)

I don't mind talking about it. It probably would be helpful to try and articulate it anyway.

So Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been is the story of this fifteen year old girl named Connie, right? At its most basic she gets visited by this guy named Arnold Friend, and and he's really fucking weird and she gets scared but then by the end of it she ends up going with him in her car because he says if she doesn't he'll hurt her family.

So, once you step past this most basic plot summary, Arnold Friend is a serial killer. He's weird because he wants to get her in his car so he can rape and murder her. A cursory google search will tell you he's based off this serial killer named Charles Schmid, otherwise known as the Pied Piper of Tuscon. So, a quick rundown of Schmid is that he was this guy who peaked in high school, but then after that had nothing, so he just kept hanging around with and dating high schoolers, even as he got into his 20s and it kept getting creepier. Eventually, he just decided to start killing teenagers. That's Arnold Friend, basically.

Oates does a frankly phenomenal job of creating an eminently believable character in Connie. She really feels like an insecure fifteen year old girl. But the story keeps wanting you to hate her. Like, it tells you character flaws, ones that would be perfectly reasonable to see from a fifteen year old girl, and acts like these are some sort of moral failing. Like she's some sort of gross cretin. Some sort of hussy. (and pay attention to that.)

Very early on in the story, it's noted that Connie often goes out with friends late at night, as a sort of teenaged rebellion. She drinks coke and eats burgers and talks shit. Kid stuff. This is, in the text, the reason that Arnold Friend targets her. I believe it's stated that he sees her riding in some other guy's car and he gets jealous. A little later on, her family goes to a barbeque at an Aunt's house, and Connie decides to stay home instead. This is why she's alone at home when Friend comes calling.

There's more stuff like this, but you get the picture. Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been is a story that says implicitly that Connie is to blame for her own murder. It acts as if Connie's murder was, rather than a horrible tragedy, some sort of parable. Like, if Connie were more morally upstanding, she would have survived. If she weren't out cruising the town like a hussy friend would never have targeted her. If she had simply stayed with her family he would never have had the opportunity to hurt her.

Are you fucking kidding me?

And that's not to get into the line that makes my blood boil.

"One Sunday Connie got up at eleven—none of them bothered with church"

Where Are You Going has undeniable christian imagery. (Oates says its unintentional but I don't believe her) It's just in there. When you remove the Rs from Arnold Friend you get An Old Fiend. He wears cowboy boots and stands oddly. Schmid put paper in his boots to appear taller, but it can be read as if Friend has goat legs. He exhibits what could be read as supernatural powers of observation and persuasion. He's the devil. He's an allegory for the devil. By that token, the barbeque represents heaven, and her family goes to heaven when they died because they were all morally upstanding, while the devil drags Connie down to hell for being a little whore who had premarital sex and thought about boys and disobeyed her mother.

Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been is a Parable: a simple story used to illustrate a moral or spiritual lesson. The lesson of Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been is that murder or rape victims deserved what they got because they were inciting it. Connie went out on the town, she dressed skimpily (for the time), she disobeyed her mother, she got bad grades in school. Because of that, she is murdered by a serial killer, or maybe the devil.

The fact that the story has the gall to say something like that about a murder victim—one that was based on the real life victims of the actual serial rapist and killer Charles Schmid—that she somehow deserved to be murdered because she didn't go to church or didn't listen to her mother? Are you fucking kidding me?

#not worm #ask #anon ask #tw rape #tw rape victim blaming #tw i say the word “whore”#tdlr: victim-blaming

7 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

valentin-talbot

The Pasternoster Lift

englishmansdcc

An Englishman In San Diego

tunestree

TunesTree

danieljricciardo

@danieljricciardo

baboy-19

baboy_19