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justblades · 2 months ago

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hypothesis — anaxa x fem! reader

IN WHICH, your research study piques anaxa’s interest, inducing him to trap you into a collaboration to achieve the end you both desire

TAGS, MDNI. dub con, university setting, drugged sex, mind fuck, not proofread.

Applause rises from the crowd in front, the expressions painted on the majority’s faces are one of shared joy - it was a moment of delight and fulfillment, as marvelous minds clashed and melded with one another to craft such a significant research. Your group stands proud while the research panel awards you the trophy and certificate, hereby marking a significant milestone; the batch shall continue to tread the endless pursuit of wisdom and knowledge after the graduation.

The previous proud grins of some gradually curl upside down, catching your attention as you whip your head to your members’ direction. You pick up from the beads of tears streaming down their cheeks, the other attempting to bite down his threatening sobs, it was when it finally dawned on you: you truly have made it. The sleepless nights of stress and pressure indeed bore fruition.

After what felt like an eternity of suspense and excitement, the emcee then reads her closing spiel, formally announcing the end of the event. The big day comes to an end, loud cheers of the batch naturally follow, resounding all throughout the grove.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans, as it unties the already woven threads of triumph, letting it all loose as the scrutiny of the meticulous professor lands upon you. Seeds of doubt and confusion were sowed in the depths of your heart as you receive a bizarre call, “Professor Anaxa has queries about your research.”

Standing before you now is the infamous blasphemer of a teacher, whose mind is unbridled of moral restraints for the sake of knowledge. Expectedly, as a scholar, that trait of his was highly condemned and yet you find a part of you justifying his actions whenever you come across such wild rumors.

His fingertips slowly glide past the corners of the hardbound pages, skimming through the context of the rigorous part of your thesis: the methodology. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, this time, twice more as Anaxa slides in his pen to mark the part he was focusing on. Subsequently, he hums and looks at you with anticipation.

Slightest hint of disapproval emanates from his stare, to which the professor tries to coat as confusion to test your resolve. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the assigned leader of your thesis, no?” His voice stern as ever, you immediately respond. “Yes, sir.”

Dating back, you never happened to have a class taught by Anaxa. It was just a one time occurrence when you were able to witness how the cogs of his bright mind function when he stood as an adjudicator for a debate event held by the academy, to which he successfully cracks down the fallacies made by the opposing team with just mere questions, with the purpose of catching them by their own words, akin to a fish biting the bait and digging its own grave.

If anything, you knew him more through rumors and gossip, as the last you heard about was him expressing an opinion that scholars who are hellbent on gaining newfound knowledge shall be willing to bend the arrows of their moral compass to achieve such an end. Naturally, his school of thought anchoring on this expression was heavily criticized for the main reasons of ethics and confidentiality in the field of academics.

“Entitled ‘Efficacy of Specialized Alchemy through the Lens of Genetic Modification’ . . . Interesting. But the theoretical framework and methodology do not align.” He states, slate hue fixating on you. “If you were to study the efficacy of a particular object, you’d normally employ a design that encompasses both the quantitative and qualitative nature of the data to be derived, yet you stuck with one that adheres more to the latter. Care to explain how you came up with this process?”

Your brows furrow, bewilderment sits on your facial expression. The rationale of the methodology is already stated in the same paragraph for that question - why was he asking things that are obvious?

“Professor Anaxa—“

“Please refer to me as Anaxagoras.”

“Sir, as expressed in the introductory text, to determine efficacy, qualitative data shall provide an in-depth understanding of the subject, to name the factors that cannot be determined by merely recognizing patterns and trends. It tends to have a nuanced nature as it doesn’t just describe the leverages of the topic, its drawbacks shall also be determined in order to establish possible interventions for its improvement and to ensure your hypothesis is approved.”

“—Additionally, our thesis hinges on the concept of genetic modification with the main focus of improving our five senses, to be able to heighten them at our own volition as we see fit to be utilized according to the circumstance we are in.”

Anaxa pays close attention to your gestures as your hands tend to move on their own, a habit you happened to develop as you hone your dissertation all throughout these years. “However, our paper just touches upon the efficacy, not the practical application of specialized alchemy.”

“And? What are the results?”

Your jaw widens out of disbelief, as if the answers he was looking for cannot be found in the book. The longer this supposed questioning drags on, the more toll it took on you. Regardless, respect shall be shown, so you backtrack the results of your study. “The majority of the respondents strayed from describing the concept as something that can be done right, but rather, for them, it’s an insult to the human life. The quantitative data geared more to it being an impractical method to improve one’s capabilities, which was further supported by the verbatim cited in the presentation part of the chapter.” You recite, breaking off eye contact with Anaxa, head hung low facing the ground. Your fists balled, a bittersweet mood washes over you, recalling the summary of the data you gathered from the respondents.

“And let me guess, you were disappointed with the results.” With one sentence, you look back up at him, this time, more puzzled than before. A question arises, how did he know?

He slightly tilts his head and waves his hand in the air, “It is truly a shame to realize that these people, supposedly seeking wisdom, are the same ones who will never get to quench this thirst as they are held back by their morals. If we do not change up our methods, do you think it will yield different results each time?” His words had weight on them, not seemingly just blank questions one would typically ask in a thesis defense. The whole exchange becomes all the more confusing.

“I suppose you already have an idea where I’m getting at.” The teal haired drops his finality, and like a last puzzle piece falling into its right place by pure coincidence, you were able to see the bigger picture Anaxa prepared for you.

Alignment stems from shared vision, branching into different methodologies cultivated through revisions to obtain an answer from your assumptions. As Anaxa skimmed through your thesis, it was undoubted that he was able to relate your justification with his school of thought. The two of you were willing to tiptoe on the boundary lines of ethics in research - because if not, how will we be able to procure knowledge if sacrifices were not to be made?

“I understand, sir.” It was when you approved of his invitation that the green curls of smoke in the laboratory started to become more visible, carrying minuscule pigments of shimmer as rays of light spill in the littlest crooks of the room. “Wh—“

You were cut off as Anaxa takes steps towards you while you stepped further away from him. A loud thud echoes in the vicinity as you find yourself trapped between Anaxa’s looming aura and his master desk. The sage’s tattooed hand then brushes softly on your supple skin. Starting from your collarbone, making his way up to your neck, “I employed modifications on my genes to test my assumption - but I couldn’t activate those out of my own volition. To determine the efficacy of something, its participant should be willing. Am I right?”

As if you were at a standstill in time, your breathing hitches the longer his skin is in contact with yours. His fingers were rough, some had dry patches, as expected of a practical researcher. Yet the warmth he exudes from his touch feels foreign, a driving force that makes your stomach churn with a whirlpool of mixed emotions.

“Let’s start off with sense of sight. Close your eyes.” Your chest rises and falls, heartbeat pacing faster in each minute. “Sir—“ Unexpectedly, you follow suit to his command, shutting your eyes. Your brows knit even further, wanting to protest against this method but the words you intend to verbalize die down on your tongue in an instant.

How did he manage to make you follow suit to his command? What else did he incorporate to the component?

Darkness graces your eyes, another chilling sensation rides on your skin. It felt hot, but the second it trails away into another direction, it leaves an icy feeling, lingering.

Thousands of thoughts surface in your mind and none of them were of composure. You were astonished, confused, wanting to beg for more time to adjust but here you are being immediately toyed in Anaxa’s palms. As if acting out of desperation to break free from this predicament, a new pseudo dimension forms, to which faint lines of everything around you could be discerned, each having its distinct color.

The surroundings were pitch black, yet every object in the space had its own different hue, the lines materializing as you try to get used to this awakening. Trying to make out of whatever was happening in front of you, with enough focus, you could envision the sage leaving ephemeral licks on your skin, particularly on the back of your hand. Your jaw falls agape to which Anaxa quickly notices, the corners of his lips then tug into a boastful smirk.

It’s as if he had already put two and two together that he realized your sense of sight indeed improved, incomparable to that of a mere human’s.

“Second. Sense of hearing.” As soon as he announces his next step, he prods into your mouth with the same tattooed hand, inserting his index and middle fingers to explore your cavern of warmth. Your stomach turns as Anaxa toys with your tongue, not leaving enough space for you to breathe nor have sufficient time to process everything.

As this act unfolds, you suddenly begin to hear your saliva being mushed with his fingertips, your mouth making slick noises inside, to which you could do nothing but leave mumbles of puzzlement. “A . . . Naxa.” Every splash of the liquids inside reverberate inside your head, which further affirms Anaxa’s assumptions.

After what felt like eternity, you could finally peel your eyes open and see the view unravel before you, Anaxa being a mere hair’s breadth from your face, goosebumps rake your spine. Up close, his brows are knitted in expectation, eyes somewhat heavy-lidded in which excitement gleams from his slate monochromatic iris. With one swift movement, he stops fiddling with your tongue, taking his digits out, leaving a small trail of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips.

“My patience is wearing thin.” He expresses, wiping away the smeared saliva from the margins of your lips with his gloved hand. Dumbfounded, you could do nothing but just lie in wait to what he’s supposed to do next. “Let’s amp up our methodology. We’ll be testing the remaining three senses simultaneously. I hope you can bear with it.”

Suddenly, your clothes dissipate into thin air, the fibers curling into little burnt cinders until they’re void of anything. “Anaxa—“ he proceeds to fervently crash his lips into yours, a surprising tang of sweetness cracks on your tastebuds. Your stature wobbles and threatens to fall, but the male had already anticipated that as he supports your weight with an arm slithered on your waist. He aids in maintaining your balance, but it was only a mere second that you were able to think straight when his free hand toys with your inner region.

With little effort, your arousal coats his fingers, muddling his skin’s red markings with a cloud white color, your scent inevitably wafts inside the laboratory. Anaxa inhales deeply, taking in everything all at once that is unfolding. Nonetheless, he proceeds, inserting his fingers into your pussy.

Caught off guard, he thrusts in and out, your walls taking the shape of his long, slender fingers. At the same time, your tongue twirls in rhythm with his, the sweet taste gradually enveloping the cranny of your mouth.

It all felt messy, as if Anaxa’s actions override one another, making everything far more overwhelming than it is prima facie. Your mind was lost, yet your body basks in the foreign sensation, pleasure emerging as you feel you were nearing your satisfaction. The male’s gloved fingers wrap around your neck after and breaks the deep kiss, “Are you ready?” He queries, taking a quick glance at your seeping cunt and trail back up to your eyes with a surprising longing gaze in them.

A second passes by, he undoes the buckles of his belt, letting everything loose as he strokes his own erection, wrapping his coated fingers around himself. You eagerly watch at every movement he does, a tantalizing view to etch in the deepest part of your memory. As he deems himself fit, he rubs his tip on your entrance, the position possibly adding up to the struggle.

His breath drops, feeling a short wave of satisfaction once he gets a taste of your slicked pussy. “Time to prove my hypothesis was right.” Anaxa rams inside you, your walls enveloping around his girth as he struggles to keep himself still. “Anaxa . . !” His tangled thoughts were abruptly cut off as he hears your plea, spiraling into an abyss of pleasure as an intense gaze locks his eye with yours.

“Spit.” He orders, a vague one in which you cannot crack immediately. A breathy moan bubbles from his throat subsequently, a rare occurrence of Anaxa showing vulnerability. Regardless, he expounds. “Gather an appropriate amount of your saliva.” As if obedience was coded into your personality, you purse your lips together. “Let it trickle down your chest.”

You follow suit to his command, slightly parting your mouth open, leaving just enough space for it to stream down your dewed skin, leaving such a sticky feeling. The professor wastes no time as his hands glide up to your tits, fingers fidgeting with your perked nipples, lubricating them with your own spit. He traps the buds within his calloused fingertips as you grant him the most lewd noises you’ve ever made in the entirety of your life.

Anaxa wasn’t the type of person to hunger for indulgences like this. But upon witnessing a remarkable sight right in front of him, impulse rush in as he digs into your mounds as well, the tip of his tongue caressing your nipples.

“It’s too warm . . sweet . . and hot.” Mindless musings come undone the margins of your lips, making the sage’s libido hike even more. Additionally, these testaments of yours reinforce the data he supplied in his test drive journal for this study, another victorious feat for him it appears. “Very good.”

He simpers, starting the momentum of his thrusts to your body, nice and slow in the beginning yet with such intensity and impact in each push. Naughty noises echo inside, along the gibberish you’ve been rambling for a while which were descriptions of the changes occurring in your body. Anaxa encourages it, playing along as if he was able to comprehend your barely coherent sentences.

“Sir, I . . . feel like I’m being suffocated.” You yelp, first time among your endless prattles he was able to understand something, your hips grinding along Anaxa’s dick as he fills you to the brim. You look down and see how easy it was for him to prod into your folds, the very entrance curling around the base of his cock with such longing and excitement. “You’re doing great.” He manages to say in between thrusts and hefty breaths, “What else?”

Anaxa’s praises reverberate in your head, like a badge of excellence as he sees you worthy to be his research partner and that in itself is a privilege. Gradually, the male’s pent up sexual frustration reaches its end as strings of cum sprawl out, Anaxa withdraws just in time. A searing heat of temptation pools inside your body, thoughts clouded with nothing but pure carnal desire instilled by the sage.

“If . . If you’re willing to . . as well, I’d be honored to do more of these with you.”

#hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #honkai star rail anaxa #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa x reader #anaxa x reader smut #hsr x reader smut #amphoreus x reader #amphoreus #hsr amphoreus #x reader

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call-me-strega · 2 years ago

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Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

#dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dc universe #danny phantom #danny fenton #red hood #jason todd #dead on main #danny x jason #dp x dc #mythology #classical literature #getting together #dp x dc prompt #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

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Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

#pluralistic #leveraged buyouts #lbos #divi recaps #mortgages #weaponized shelter #debt #finance #private equity #pe #mego #bust outs #plunder #looting

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rraaaannnn · 9 days ago

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Summary: All Minji did was stop some books from killing a nerd.

It's clear that I put effort into the picture😝

— fem reader🧍🏽‍♀️

It was too early for public humiliation.

YN muttered a quiet curse under her breath as she adjusted her crooked glasses for the third time. She stood in the far corner of the university library, struggling with a stubborn book lodged high on the shelf. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, her expression pinched in frustration. She knew she could’ve asked for help—but she didn’t do help. She did solitude, sarcasm, and a healthy dose of avoiding all human interaction.

With a determined huff, she stepped up on the very bottom edge of the shelf, fingers stretching toward the book she absolutely needed for class.

Bad. Idea.

With a terrifying creak and a swift betrayal by gravity, three other thick volumes gave up on life and came crashing down toward her head. Her eyes widened, body frozen, mouth opened in a silent scream—

—and then, arms.

A warm, solid arm curved around her shoulders just as the books slammed into the air where her skull should’ve been. Her back was pressed against something—or someone—tall, strong, and inexplicably citrus-scented.

“What—” YN gasped, blinking up into—

No. Freaking. Way.

Kim Minji.

The girl who had a fan club without even trying. Who looked good doing nothing. The cool, tall, “of course she plays basketball and gets straight A’s” type. Universally loved. Universally not in YN’s life. Until now.

Minji raised an eyebrow as she looked down at YN, a crooked half-smile forming. “You okay? You looked like you were about to become one with the Dewey Decimal System.”

YN pushed her glasses up in a flustered panic and immediately scowled, stepping away as fast as she could manage. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did.” Minji crouched to pick up the fallen books. “These just volunteered to attack for no reason.”

YN grabbed one of the books and clutched it to her chest. “I didn’t ask for help.”

Minji handed her another book, unbothered. “You also didn’t die. You’re welcome.”

YN turned, ready to disappear into a hole—or at least the nearest exit—but Minji followed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve seen you around, right? You’re in that, uh... abstract painting class that smells like turpentine and sadness?”

YN narrowed her eyes. “How would you know what sadness smells like?”

Minji grinned, undeterred. “It’s a talent. I’m Minji.”

“I know who you are,” YN muttered, already walking away.

Minji kept pace beside her. “Cool. So, who are you?”

YN sighed. “Someone who’s trying to study alone.”

“Noted.” Minji gave a mock salute but didn’t leave.

YN stopped in her tracks. “Why are you still following me?”

Minji tilted her head, like she was trying to figure something out. “Because, I don’t know… You look like the kind of person who forgets to eat while studying. And fall off ladders. You might need supervision.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “I’m not a hazard.”

Minji just shrugged, lips twitching like she was holding back laughter. “Could’ve fooled me.”

YN groaned loudly. “Unbelievable.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Minji said brightly, and for some reason—annoyingly—YN’s heart skipped a beat.

YN absolutely hated mornings. She hated mandatory events even more. But what she hated the most… was walking into a crowded auditorium where the only thing louder than the echo of her footsteps was the collective energy of people who actually wanted to be there.

A university-wide “Vision Conference.” Whatever that meant. Probably just another excuse for the administration to hand out tote bags and pretend they cared about student input. She dragged her feet inside the hall, hoodie half-zipped, earbuds dangling but not even playing anything. It was her last line of defense—if people thought she was busy, maybe they’d leave her alone.

She scanned the room. Packed. Great.

Some overenthusiastic emcee at the front was already shouting into the mic about student potential and growth and future excellence. YN tuned them out instantly.

Her eyes locked on the one safe space: the very last row, right by the wall. Perfect. Shadowed. No chatty people. Minimal eye contact.

She made her way toward it, clutching her water bottle and notebook like a shield. But as she weaved between knees and backpacks, her boot caught the strap of someone’s oversized designer tote.

Of course she stumbled.

Her arms flailed like a windmill in crisis, and she mentally braced for impact—

Again.

Except... again, it never came.

Because of course.

Because standing there—like some guardian angel with a basketball scholarship and a smug smile—was Kim Minji.

Again.

“Do you fall a lot, or do I just have amazing timing?” Minji asked, holding YN upright by the elbow like she didn’t just appear out of thin air like a protagonist.

YN blinked up at her, stunned. “Are you stalking me?”

Minji tilted her head, smirking. “Please. If I were stalking you, I’d know not to sneak up while you’re about to faceplant.”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” YN snapped, yanking her arm free and immediately regretting it because she nearly lost her balance again.

Minji caught her again, with one arm, like it was nothing. “Yeah. Super stable.”

“Stop catching me!” YN hissed, cheeks burning.

“I’d love to,” Minji said cheerfully. “But you keep launching yourself into the floor.”

Several students in nearby seats turned to look, curious about the chaos in the back. YN shrunk into herself, mortified.

“Just—go sit with your fan club,” she muttered, finally making it to the empty chair and throwing herself into it like a sack of bricks.

To her horror, Minji didn’t move.

In fact, she sat down right next to her.

“What are you doing?” YN whispered, horrified.

Minji leaned back in the chair, arms crossed behind her head like she owned the place. “Keeping an eye on you. Safety hazard, remember?”

“I am not a safety hazard.”

“Tell that to the bookshelves. And the tote bag. And gravity.”

YN groaned and buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Then why is it kind of fun?” Minji said, glancing sideways at her with that maddening sparkle in her eyes.

“Stop smiling at me,” YN muttered.

“Can’t. It’s a reflex when I see you trip over your own feet.”

YN looked away, jaw clenched, but her ears were glowing red. She didn’t respond—and Minji didn’t push.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence as the presentation continued, filled with overly enthusiastic buzzwords and PowerPoint animations no one asked for.

Then Minji leaned over and whispered, “Bet you ten bucks the next speaker says ‘innovation’ at least seven times.”

YN blinked, then... almost smiled—before catching herself. She elbowed Minji lightly instead.

“Shut up.”Minji grinned, victorious

The laundry room smelled like lavender detergent and bad choices.

YN pushed open the heavy basement door with her elbow, her laundry basket balanced on her hip like a baby she didn’t ask for. Her hoodie sleeves were rolled up, hair tied in a messy bun, and oversized glasses sliding down her nose. It was already a bad day, and the last thing she needed was other people.

She let out a long sigh when she saw it: only one washing machine free.

She marched toward it like a soldier in battle, muttering to herself. “Just ten minutes. In, out, peace.”

But when she got there—

Click.

The door to the machine shut just as her fingers touched the handle.

YN blinked.

A beep. A cheerful whirr.

No.

She slowly turned her head, and there she was.

Sitting casually on the folding table, legs crossed, back leaning against the wall like a scene from a youth drama, was Kim. Freaking. Minji.

She had her AirPods in, a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and a book in the other. She looked cozy. Calm. Incredibly annoying.

YN stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious.”

Minji looked up, startled, and paused her music. “Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” YN gestured dramatically at the machine. “I was literally reaching for that.”

Minji tilted her head, blinking innocently. “I didn’t see you. You move real quiet for someone who walks like she hates the ground.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Minji just grinned. “You want me to cancel the wash and give it to you?”

“Yes,” YN said, without hesitation.

“Too bad,” Minji replied, hopping off the table and walking over to the dryer. “Laundry rule #2: First come, first wash.”

“There are rules?” YN groaned, setting her basket down with unnecessary aggression.

“Yeah,” Minji said, opening the dryer and pulling out a hoodie. “Rule #1: Don't bleach your roommate’s black shirt unless you’re ready to move out.”

YN sighed dramatically and sat on the edge of the empty counter next to the vending machine. “I hope your machine explodes.”

Minji glanced back, folding a sweatshirt neatly. “It’s not the machine’s fault you’re late.”

“I wasn't late. I was precisely on time. The universe just hates me.”

Minji chuckled, stuffing clothes into a laundry bag. “Maybe it’s trying to throw us together.”

YN looked at her, deadpan. “Is that a pickup line or a threat?”

“Would you prefer a threat?” Minji’s voice was light, teasing.

YN didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling aimlessly, pretending not to notice the way Minji leaned casually against the washing machine now, looking at her instead of her book.

Minutes passed like that—soft humming of machines, awkward silence, and that quiet tension hanging in the air like steam.

Then Minji casually said, “So… Do you always sort your laundry by color like a perfectionist, or is that just a nerd thing?”

YN raised a brow. “I am a nerd.”

“Yeah,” Minji said, smiling. “It’s cute.”

YN choked on her own breath. “Excuse me?”

“I said it’s cute,” Minji repeated with absolutely no shame. “Your whole glasses-wrinkled-shirt-angry-girl-who-knows-how-to-fold-socks vibe.”

“I’m not angry,” YN protested, clutching her water bottle defensively.

“You literally just wished death on my washing machine.”

“You deserved it!”

Minji let out a real laugh then—low, genuine, relaxed. The kind that filled the echoey room and made YN’s face go hot. She hated how nice it sounded. She hated how warm she felt.

“I’ll be done in like…” Minji checked her watch. “Seven minutes. You can have the next machine.”

“Wow,” YN muttered. “So generous.”

Minji leaned closer, elbow resting on the machine. “Or… we could share.”

YN looked at her, appalled. “I’m not mixing my laundry with a stranger.”

Minji shrugged. “I’ve seen you trip three times. We’re not strangers anymore. We’re a recurring event.”

YN tried to hold back the smile tugging at her lips. “You are so annoying.”

“Yet here you are,” Minji said with a wink. “Again.”

The campus bookstore was unusually crowded that day. A new shipment of specialty notebooks had arrived—something about recycled paper, limited cover art, and QR codes that linked to calming lo-fi playlists. In other words: Gen Z bait.

YN didn’t care about the trend.

She just needed one decent notebook to replace the one that got coffee-bombed earlier that week. (Still a sore subject.)

She ducked inside the shop, sleeves tugged over her hands, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. Her glasses fogged up instantly, and she muttered under her breath while trying to wipe them clean on the edge of her hoodie.

“Ugh. This is fine. Totally fine. I love communal humidity.”

Navigating between displays, she headed to the back wall where the last stack of the limited edition sketch notebooks sat on a shelf—glorious, untouched, perfectly organized.

She reached for the top one—

“Whoa, déjà vu.”

The voice made her freeze.

She knew that voice.

She despised how familiar it was becoming.

She turned slowly to find Minji—again—standing across the display, holding the same exact notebook, her smile far too pleased.

“Are you following me?” YN accused immediately.

Minji raised an eyebrow. “This is a public bookstore. You’re not the main character, Nerdy.”

YN blinked. “Did you just call me—”

“Nerdy? Yeah,” Minji said, flipping the notebook cover open and inspecting the pages. “You’ve got the glasses, the emotional damage, and the tendency to argue with shelves. It fits.”

“I do not argue with shelves,” YN snapped.

Minji didn’t even look up. “The laundry room shelf still hasn’t recovered from what you said to it.”

YN looked skyward, as if asking the ceiling to take her. “Why do you keep showing up everywhere I go?”

“I think you’re underestimating how much you go where I go,” Minji replied easily.

“I’m not stalking you!”

“Never said you were,” Minji said with a grin. “But you’re definitely consistent.”

YN groaned and turned to leave with the notebook clutched in her hands—but not before Minji noticed which one she picked.

“Of course you went with the one with the tiny constellations,” Minji teased, falling into step beside her. “Very on brand.”

“Why are you walking with me?”

“Because I’m bored,” Minji replied. “And maybe I like watching you pretend you’re not flustered every time we run into each other.”

YN stopped in her tracks. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure, Nerdy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Minji tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm�� Nah.”

YN glared at her. “Do you just collect nicknames for people you annoy?”

“No,” Minji said, taking her notebook to the counter. “Just for the ones I like.”

YN blinked. Hard.

Like actually froze-in-place kind of blink.

Minji was already halfway through paying when she turned back around and saw YN still standing in the same spot, eyes wide.

She smirked.

“Relax. It was a joke,” she said with a shrug. “Unless you want it not to be?”

YN didn’t answer—mostly because she couldn’t remember how to use words at that moment.

Instead, she quietly walked up beside her, placed her notebook on the counter, and muttered under her breath, “You’re so annoying.”

Minji bumped her shoulder lightly. “You keep saying that. Yet here we are.”

It was already a mistake.

YN knew it the second she stepped into the tiny, overly warm on-campus café. The lights were dimmed to “emotional damage” levels, and fairy lights were strung across the ceiling like someone tried too hard. A sign near the door read: "Open Mic: Pour Your Soul or Go Home."

She absolutely should have gone home.

But her roommate had begged her to come. “Come on, YN, it'll be good for your soul or whatever. You’ve been staring at that same brushstroke for five hours.” And like an idiot, she caved.

Now she stood awkwardly near the espresso machine, clutching a cup of lukewarm tea and trying to pretend she didn’t want to disappear.

A girl onstage was reciting a poem about being left on read. Someone in the crowd actually snapped their fingers in response.

YN grimaced. “I hate this timeline.”

“Wow. That’s the most dramatic reaction I’ve heard and you’re not even on stage yet.”

YN froze.

No way.

Not again.

She turned slowly—and of course.

Minji.

In jeans, a black bomber jacket, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and that same cocky smile like she was here for entertainment—and YN was the show.

Minji wasn’t alone this time. Behind her was a whole squad of chaos:

Yunjin, who wore headphones around her neck and smirked like she knew everything about everyone.

Hanni, who was already waving excitedly at someone across the room and half-spilling popcorn.

Jiwon, the fashion major who looked like she’d stepped off a runway and was judging the fairy lights.

“Please tell me this is a simulation,” YN muttered, sipping her tea like it had answers.

Minji just laughed, nudging her shoulder. “What, you don’t like poetry?”

“I don’t like people.”

“Fair,” Minji said, then motioned toward her group. “Come on. You already look miserable alone. Might as well suffer near us.”

Before YN could protest, Minji had already grabbed her by the wrist—lightly, casually, like it was no big deal—and was pulling her toward a corner booth where her friends were camped out.

“Guys,” Minji announced as they sat down. “This is Nerdy.”

YN nearly choked. “Don’t call me that in front of people!”

But it was too late.

Yunjin grinned. “Nerdy? I love her already.”

Hanni scooted over excitedly. “Hi! You’re so pretty! Do you write poems? Can you write one about bread?”

Jiwon just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but curious. “So this is the girl Minji keeps talking about.”

Minji’s face didn’t even twitch. She just sipped her iced Americano.

YN turned to her sharply. “You talk about me?”

“Only when it’s relevant,” Minji said. “Like gravity. Or fate. Or sudden disasters.”

YN buried her face in her hands.

But despite the embarrassment, she didn’t leave.

She stayed.

Because the energy around the table was stupid and chaotic and oddly warm. Yunjin made dry jokes under her breath, Jiwon kept critiquing every poem with fashion metaphors (“This piece has strong 2019 Pinterest vibes”), and Hanni kept offering everyone snacks from her oversized tote bag.

Minji, meanwhile, kept leaning closer to YN every time someone read a dramatic poem, whispering sarcastic commentary:

“Oh my god, he said ‘I am the moon, and she was the tide.’ That’s, like, peak Tumblr 2014.”

“Ten bucks the next one mentions ‘rain’ as a metaphor for depression.”

“Okay wait… that one was actually kind of good.”

At one point, the host called out, “Anyone else want to sign up for the mic?”

And Hanni—traitor—shot her hand up and pointed at Minji. “SHE DOES!”

The crowd clapped automatically.

Minji looked stunned. “What the hell, Hanni?!”

YN burst into real laughter for the first time that night.

Minji narrowed her eyes. “You're enjoying this, Nerdy.”

“Absolutely,” YN grinned.

Minji stood up with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

She walked up to the mic, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and with no prep, said:

“This poem is called: ‘I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, but then I saw someone trip on a bookshelf and now I can’t stop showing up.’”

The crowd laughed.

YN blinked, caught off guard.

Minji smiled—not at the crowd. At her.

It was raining. Again.

Not the dramatic storm kind, but the annoying drizzle that clung to your clothes and made everything feel damp and inconvenient. YN tugged her hoodie tighter, adjusting the sleeves over her hands as she jogged toward the small ramen shop tucked between two convenience stores near campus.

It was one of those hidden places that didn’t even have a sign—just a flickering neon bowl in the window and the smell of broth that could bring tears to your eyes. It was comfort food for tired students and broke souls. Exactly what she needed.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth. The bell above the door gave a soft chime.

The place was full. Great.

There were barely any seats left, and the one corner booth that she usually claimed was already occupied by a group of students who looked like they were planning a group project—or maybe a coup.

She glanced around quickly, hopeful.

Then saw it.

One empty seat. At a two-person table. Already taken on one side by— Oh, come on.

Minji.

Sitting casually, long legs crossed under the table, chopsticks in hand, already halfway through a steaming bowl of ramen. Her hair was slightly damp, strands curling at the edges. She wore a grey hoodie under her jacket and looked like she’d just wandered out of a music video.

YN considered walking out.

Truly. She turned toward the door.

“Don’t even think about it,” Minji said without looking up.

YN froze.

Minji raised her eyes, one brow lifted. “There’s nowhere else to sit. Come on, I don’t bite.”

YN narrowed her eyes. “You absolutely bite.”

Minji shrugged. “Only people who deserve it.”

“Perfect. I’ll eat standing.”

Minji slurped some noodles, completely unbothered. “Suit yourself. But the owner does get passive-aggressive if people loiter.”

And as if on cue, the ahjumma behind the counter shouted,

“You eat, or you leave!”

YN groaned and shuffled over to the table, dropping her bag and sitting across from Minji with all the grace of someone being punished by fate.

“Thanks,” she muttered dryly. “I love being stalked by you across campus.”

“Right,” Minji said, chewing slowly. “Because you totally invented this ramen place, and I just followed your scent like a wolf.”

YN gave her the most exhausted glare she could muster. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Minji said, pointing to her with her chopsticks, “you’re still sitting here. Across from me. Again.”

YN huffed and waved at the owner for a menu, refusing to meet Minji’s eyes.

“You always eat ramen alone?” Minji asked after a moment.

YN didn’t look up. “You always talk this much?”

Minji leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. “Only when I’m bored. Or entertained.”

The menu arrived. YN ordered the extra spicy bowl, mostly out of spite. Minji raised an eyebrow.

“Spicy?” she asked. “Didn’t take you for a masochist.”

“I didn’t ask you to take me for anything.”

Minji smirked. “I’m just gathering data. Nerdy’s got layers.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Never.”

Silence fell for a while as they waited for YN’s food. The rain pattered gently against the windows. The warm yellow lights made everything feel slower, softer.

And for a moment... it wasn’t so bad.

Minji tapped her chopsticks against the bowl. “You know, I don’t usually like sharing meals with people.”

YN looked up in surprise. “Why not? You’re everyone’s favorite.”

Minji shrugged. “Too much talking. Too many expectations. I don’t like pretending to care about shallow stuff.”

YN blinked. “That’s surprisingly honest of you.”

“You bring it out of me,” Minji said without missing a beat.

YN stared at her, suspicious. “That... sounds like a pickup line.”

Minji just grinned. “Wouldn’t work anyway. You’re immune.”

YN’s ramen finally arrived—red, steaming, dangerous.

Minji leaned in slightly. “You sure you can handle that?”

YN broke apart her chopsticks with the confidence of someone lying to herself. “Watch me.”

One bite later, she regretted everything.

Her eyes watered instantly, face turning red.

Minji burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You’re dying.”

“I’m fine,” YN coughed, grabbing her water.

“You’re not fine. You’re actively ascending.”

YN glared at her between gulps. “Shut up.”

Minji handed her a napkin, still laughing. “You’re cute when you suffer.”

YN nearly spit out her water. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Minji said, smiling. “You’re just really fun to mess with.”

And as the rain continued outside, they sat together—two stubborn souls, sharing warm food, sarcastic banter, and something neither of them would admit just yet.

By the time they left the ramen shop, the rain had gotten heavier. Not storm-heavy, just that steady kind that soaked through your sleeves and made the world smell like wet asphalt and fresh beginnings.

YN tugged her hood over her head, but it was too late—her hair was already damp. She groaned quietly, pulling her sleeves over her hands as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Beside her, Minji was unfazed. Hands in her pockets, face tilted slightly up to the sky like the rain didn’t bother her at all. She looked annoyingly cinematic, like she belonged in a slow indie film with Korean subtitles and lo-fi music playing in the background.

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound being their footsteps on the wet pavement and the cars whooshing by on the road.

Then Minji broke the quiet, as usual.

“So,” she said, kicking at a puddle. “That wasn’t horrible.”

YN glanced at her. “The ramen or your company?”

“Both.”

YN smirked. “Well… you’re tolerable in small doses.”

Minji grinned. “Wow. The highest praise I’ve ever received.”

They turned a corner toward the main road where a few taxis idled under the shelter of a bus stop. YN spotted one with its light on and picked up her pace a little.

“Hey,” Minji said behind her. “Before you go—what’s your actual name, anyway?”

YN slowed just a little. “It’s YN.”

“That’s it? No middle name? No tragic backstory attached?”

YN rolled her eyes. “Just YN.”

Minji stepped closer, smirking. “Still gonna call you Nerdy.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late. It’s branded now. You even respond to it.”

“I do not respond to it.”

Minji leaned in just a fraction. “You literally turned your head in the ramen shop when I said it.”

YN stopped in front of the taxi, hand on the door. “I was trying to figure out if I should throw miso in your face.”

“And yet,” Minji said, stepping beside her with a slight shrug, “you didn’t.”

YN shook her head and opened the door, then paused.

Minji tilted her head. “What?”

Without a word, YN reached behind her, shrugged off the black hoodie Minji had tossed over her shoulders when they left the shop earlier, and handed it back—folded clumsily but warm from her body heat.

Minji blinked. “You could’ve kept it. It looks better on you.”

“I don’t borrow things from people who call me Nerdy.”

“Ouch.”

YN smiled faintly, already half inside the car. “Well... Thanks for the meal. Or the seat. Or whatever.”

“Anytime,” Minji replied, taking the hoodie with a slight grin.

YN closed the door, rolled the window down halfway, and leaned out slightly as the taxi started to move.

She gave a casual wave, as if they hadn’t just spent the weirdest, warmest evening together. As if she hadn’t just memorized Minji’s stupid smile.

“Bye, Minji,” she said, emphasizing her name teasingly.

Minji stood on the curb, hoodie in hand, rain still falling softly around her. She didn’t say anything—just lifted one hand in a lazy, smug wave.

But as the car pulled away, she watched it go with something restless in her chest.

A hum.

A flicker.

Something that felt like… “See you soon, Nerdy.”

Even if she didn’t say it out loud.

YN had made a very clear decision when she entered college: no sports. ever.

She hated noise. Hated uniforms. Hated the very concept of teamwork. (Also? She once got hit in the face with a volleyball in middle school PE and never emotionally recovered.)

So how, exactly, did she end up standing at the edge of the university’s indoor basketball court, clutching a bottle of water like it was a weapon?

It started when she got dragged by her roommate to “watch the legendary Kim Minji at practice, just for fun.” Apparently, it was a thing—Minji’s practices often attracted a crowd. There was even an unofficial fan club:

Front row girls with matching headbands

A dude with a DSLR zoom lens the size of his arm

And one girl actually holding a handmade sign that said:

“Minji, step on me (respectfully) 💘”

YN had rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

She had every intention of hiding in the back row of the bleachers and sketching quietly on her iPad. Until the coach’s voice boomed across the gym:

“We’re short a player for the scrimmage—anyone want to volunteer?”

And before YN could process what was happening—

“She’ll do it!” Minji’s voice. Loud. Clear. Pointing straight at her.

YN nearly dropped her water bottle. “WHAT—?”

Too late. The coach waved her in. Minji was already jogging toward her with that damn smirk on her face.

“Come on, Nerdy. Let’s see if you’re useful outside of sarcasm.”

YN whispered harshly, “I don’t do sports!”

“You’ll be fine. Just run around and pretend you care.”

YN found herself somehow in gym shorts (borrowed, too big), standing awkwardly on the court, surrounded by tall, intimidating athletes and... Minji, who looked completely at home, spinning the ball on one finger like a showoff.

The scrimmage started.

YN didn’t run so much as she panicked while moving forward.

She got in people’s way, ducked instinctively every time someone passed the ball, and screamed once when someone just looked like they were about to throw it at her.

The team was wheezing with laughter.

“MINJI! YOUR GIRL’S GOT DEFENSIVE MOVES LIKE A CRAB!” “CAN WE GET A HELMET FOR HER?” “YO, FAN CLUB, CHEER FOR HER TOO!”

Even the fan club started chanting:

“NE-RDY! NE-RDY!”

YN wanted to dissolve into the floor.

Minji, of course, was thriving. Effortless dribbling, perfect form, tossing the ball in with a casual flick that made people in the bleachers scream.

Every time Minji passed near her, she’d throw in a smug:

“Having fun yet?”

YN’s answer was always a death glare.

But then... it happened.

Someone threw a clumsy pass from behind. YN—too shocked to react—just stood there.

The ball flew past her ear.

Minji shouted, “Watch out!” and ran to intercept—only it was too fast, too close, and—

CRASH.

They collided.

Hard.

The ball bounced somewhere off-court. People gasped.

Minji instinctively grabbed YN’s arms to keep her from falling completely—but the momentum pulled them both down to the floor in a heap.

And just like that…

Silence.

The gym faded. The laughter stopped. Even the fan club paused.

Because suddenly, Minji was on top of YN, both breathless, tangled limbs and pounding hearts.

Their faces—

Centimeters apart.

Minji’s hands were braced on either side of YN’s shoulders, her breath hot and fast. YN’s glasses were askew. Their eyes locked.

And stayed locked.

Too long.

YN’s voice came out barely a whisper:

“…ow.”

Minji blinked. Her voice was weirdly soft.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Neither moved.

Not yet.

Minji’s eyes flickered—YN’s flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her breath hitched. Just a little.

It was the closest they’d ever been.

Closer than teasing. Closer than sarcasm. Real.

And that was what made it terrifying.

The spell broke with a loud whistle.

“YOU TWO GONNA MAKE OUT OR GET UP?” someone from the team yelled.

The gym exploded in laughter.

Minji’s ears turned red. She scrambled up quickly, brushing her hair back.

YN just lay there for another second, staring at the ceiling, silently begging the universe to end her.

Later, outside the gym, Minji caught up with her near the vending machine.

“Hey.”

YN didn’t look at her. “Don’t.”

Minji grinned. “You didn’t completely die.”

“I literally got tackled by a basketball and you.”

“You’re welcome,” Minji said, handing her a sports drink. “For the hydration and the trauma.”

YN took it silently, cheeks still pink.

Then, softer: “Thanks... for catching me. Again.”

Minji glanced sideways at her, smirked.

“It’s becoming a habit. Guess I just like falling into you.”

YN choked. “Minji—!”

Minji only laughed, turning away, her voice echoing in the hallway.

“Nice fall, Nerdy.”

The moment YN woke up, her brain kindly played the memory of Minji’s face hovering inches from hers on repeat. Again. And again. And again.

The way her hair had fallen into her eyes. The way her voice softened when she asked, “You okay?” The way their noses almost touched—

“NOPE.” YN flung a pillow at the ceiling and rolled out of bed like it had betrayed her.

This was fine. She would go to campus. Avoid Minji. Pretend the incident was a dream. Maybe she hallucinated it from sodium overload.

9:22 AM — Art Building Courtyard

YN ducked behind a stone pillar, clutching her iced coffee like a weapon.

Minji was standing across the courtyard with some friends, her bomber jacket slung over one shoulder, laughing at something Jiwon said. She looked carefree, magnetic… exactly how she always did.

YN didn’t even mean to stop and stare. It just… happened. For like, three seconds.

Five.

Maybe eight.

Until Minji turned, as if she felt the stare— and locked eyes with her.

YN’s soul left her body.

She ducked back behind the pillar so fast she hit her own elbow.

“Nope. Nope. Just a ghost. She didn’t see me. That wasn’t real.”

She spent the next ten minutes taking the long way around campus to avoid passing within five meters of Minji.

11:03 AM — Library

YN tiptoed into her favorite section and crouched behind the philosophy shelf, clutching a book she didn’t intend to read.

Safe.

Alone.

Until—

“Are you hiding from me, or do you just like creeping next to Nietzsche?”

YN’s blood ran cold.

She turned slowly.

Minji was leaning on the opposite shelf, one hand in her pocket, smirking like she’d just discovered YN’s search history.

YN cleared her throat. “I’m not hiding.”

“Oh really? Because you ducked behind a literal pillar earlier. I thought you were reenacting a spy movie.”

“I was just… admiring the architecture.”

“In the opposite direction?”

“Yes.”

Minji stepped closer. “Is this because I tackled you?”

YN stepped back, hitting the shelf. “You fell on me.”

Minji shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Silence.

Too much eye contact again.

YN stared at the floor. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Minji tilted her head. “Was it… the emotional damage? Or the physical proximity?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Minji grinned. “You’re blushing, Nerdy.”

“I’m literally not—”

“You are.”

YN pushed past her, muttering. “God, you’re so annoying.”

Minji followed her, slow and smug. “You keep saying that, but you never leave.”

“Because you keep showing up!”

“Maybe I like watching you panic.”

YN spun to face her. “Why?!”

Minji’s smirk flickered, just for a second. Something real passed behind her eyes.

She leaned in. Not close, but… closer than necessary.

“Maybe it makes me feel something.”

YN blinked. “What?”

Minji leaned back with a shrug, already turning away.

“Anyway. I’ll see you in class, Nerdy.”

YN stood frozen in place, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum solo.

She whispered to herself, “What the hell is she doing to me…”

Later That Day — Cafeteria

YN finally sat with her roommate, trying to zone out and eat in peace.

Then, out of nowhere, a tray slid next to hers.

She didn’t have to look.

Minji sat beside her, biting into an apple like she belonged there. Then casually, softly:

“You still taste like blushing.”

YN almost choked on her rice.

Minji reached out and handed her a napkin without a word. When their fingers touched—just briefly—

It was worse than yesterday’s fall.

Because now, she was aware. Every breath. Every graze. Every heartbeat. Louder. Closer. Realer.

“Remind me again why I’m awake before sunrise and holding a hiking backpack?” YN muttered, adjusting the strap on her shoulder with the enthusiasm of a hostage.

Besideها, her roommate—Sohee—beamed like she was going on a honeymoon.

“Because you never go out, you live like a vampire, and I’m worried for your social development.”

“I’m perfectly developed. Socially deficient, by choice.”

They reached the university bus parking lot, where students were already milling around, chatting and loading their bags. A large chartered bus waited with the engine running, its front plastered with a big printed sign:

“Faculty Cross-Department Nature Retreat: Art x Media x Sports”

YN groaned. “I can already feel my soul dying.”

Sohee shoved a paper into her hands. “Group B. Sit wherever. It’s a two-hour ride, so make friends or at least don’t bite them.”

“Zero promises.”

Inside the bus, it was already buzzing with energy. Someone was playing K-pop quietly from a speaker in the back. A couple of athletes were throwing snacks across seats. Fan club girls had already claimed the row behind the driver and were whispering excitedly while scanning the aisle.

YN climbed aboard and scanned for the least chaotic spot. Spotting a window seat halfway back beside a quiet-looking student from media studies, she slid in without a word and immediately put in one earbud.

Safe.

She slouched, pulled her hoodie up, and stared out the window. If she ignored everyone long enough, they might forget she existed.

But of course, peace doesn’t last when Minji’s fan club is within a 20-foot radius.

The bus erupted in noise as soon as Minji boarded.

Cheers, claps, and someone actually gasped. Minji walked down the aisle, unbothered as ever, wearing a black baseball cap low over her eyes, hoodie sleeves pushed up, and a duffle bag slung casually over one shoulder.

“Why is she dressed like a main character…” YN muttered under her breath.

Fan club girl #1:

“Minji-unnie! Sit with us!”

Minji gave them a small wave, barely smiling. “I’ll find a spot.”

She passed YN’s row. Didn’t glance. Didn’t stop.

Good.

Forty minutes in.

The bus had settled into soft chatter and occasional snoring. YN had almost managed to doze off, forehead resting lightly against the window.

Until—

“We’re stopping for a break! 15 minutes!” The bus driver’s voice echoed through the speaker.

The bus jolted slightly as it turned into a rest station.

YN blinked awake, grumbling, and followed the crowd off the bus to stretch her legs.

Sohee appeared out of nowhere with a coffee and handed it to her.

“Drink. You look like you fought sleep and lost.”

“I did.”

As she wandered toward a vending machine, Minji passed her in a soft jog, earbuds in, doing small stretches like she wasn’t made of bones and fatigue.

YN tried not to look. She really did.

But the way Minji flicked her ponytail, took a long sip from her water bottle, then leaned against a railing with her head tilted back— It was criminal.

YN huffed and looked away.

Back on the bus.

The seat beside YN… was taken.

Great. Someone had filled it while she was out.

She turned, looking for an open spot. Everything toward the back was now filled. A group of three girls had merged into two seats. Someone had their feet stretched out.

Then—

“There’s a spot here,” a voice said behind her.

She turned and froze.

Minji. Sitting alone. Patting the empty seat beside her.

YN opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Why?”

Minji tilted her head. “Why not?”

“The fan club will start a petition to assassinate me.”

Minji leaned back casually. “Let them try.”

YN stood awkwardly, debating. Her old seat was gone. Everyone else was paired.

Minji gave her a slow smile.

“Come on, Nerdy. I won’t even talk if you don’t want.”

YN groaned and slid in beside her. “Only because I have nowhere else to go.”

Minji shrugged. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

Ten minutes later, they were back on the road.

The bus vibrated gently under them, mountains rolling by through the window.

They sat in silence at first.

Minji was looking out the window, one earbud in, foot tapping lightly.

YN stole a glance at her.

Minji’s profile was… calm. Unbothered. Like nothing could shake her. Like falling nose-to-nose yesterday didn’t faze her at all.

YN turned her gaze back forward and sipped her coffee.

“You really didn’t want to sit next to me, huh?” Minji said suddenly, voice soft.

YN tensed. “I didn’t say that.”

Minji looked at her, eyes narrowed playfully. “You said everything but that.”

YN hesitated. “You’re… distracting.”

Minji raised a brow. “That’s a compliment, right?”

YN flushed. “No. It’s a warning.”

Minji chuckled, low and warm.

“Well, Nerdy… we’re stuck on this ride for another hour. Might as well get used to being distracted.”

The bus finally rolled to a stop at the retreat site — a cozy mountain camp nestled between pine trees and misty hills. The crisp air bit gently at everyone’s cheeks as they stepped out one by one, stretching, yawning, groaning.

YN rubbed her eyes and looked up at the cloudy sky. “Great. Nature. Dirt. Cold. Love this.”

Sohee bounced beside her, camera out already. “Don’t be grumpy! Look how peaceful this place is.”

“Peaceful until the mosquitoes find me.”

In front of them, a staff member was setting up a whiteboard. She banged a metal triangle loudly for attention, like this was summer camp for overworked adults.

“Alright everyone! We’re assigning tents now. Two people per tent. Grouped randomly from the sign-up list. No swaps!”

YN whispered, “Please not Minji. Please not Minji. Please not Minji—”

“Group 4,” the staff called. “Kim Minji and... YN.”

Complete silence.

YN stared blankly at the board. Minji, standing a few feet away, looked over her shoulder with the most smug face YN had ever seen.

“The universe is getting bold.”

One of the fan club girls gasped dramatically. “WHAT?!”

Another muttered under her breath, “There must be a mistake. Minji-unnie wouldn’t voluntarily—”

Minji ignored them completely and strode toward YN with her duffel bag, stopping just a foot away.

“Guess we’re roommates now. Try not to kill me in my sleep.”

YN looked up at the sky. “Take me, Lord.”

Their tent was small, beige, and way too intimate. It had just enough space for two sleeping bags side by side. Maybe six inches apart.

Minji tossed her bag down on the left side, flopped back like this was her private studio apartment.

YN stood at the entrance, still clutching her backpack like a shield.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Minji asked, head tilted.

“This is a nightmare.”

Minji smiled. “You say that, but you still came on the trip. Must be fate.”

“I was blackmailed by my roommate.”

“Fate with extra steps, then.”

YN finally threw her bag down on the right side and sat, arms crossed.

Outside, they could hear the others setting up nearby. Laughter, gossip, zippers opening and closing, someone struggling with a lantern.

From just beyond their tent, a whisper:

“I heard Minji was smiling when she read the tent list.”

“Do you think she likes her??”

Minji and YN froze at the same time.

YN whispered, “Do they not know we have ears?”

Minji grinned. “Let them wonder.”

“You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Minji turned her head slowly toward her. “What, sharing a tent with you? The best sleepover I never asked for.”

YN glared. “I hope you snore.”

“I hope you talk in your sleep. I’m curious what secrets are locked up in that head.”

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

Then—

“CAMPFIRE IN TEN!” someone shouted outside.

Minji stood up, stretching. “Let’s go, Nerdy. I’ll save you from the mosquitoes.”

YN sighed. “Can you save me from yourself?”

Minji smirked. “Unlikely.”

By the time the sun dipped behind the trees, the campfire was already crackling, painting everyone’s faces in warm orange light.

Students gathered in a messy circle, legs crossed, marshmallows in hand, mugs steaming with cheap cocoa.

Minji flopped onto one of the camp chairs like she owned the mountain. YN stood at the edge of the group, clearly evaluating if this was worth her social energy.

Sohee tugged her arm.

“Come on, just sit! Stop hovering like a socially anxious bat.”

“I am a socially anxious bat.”

“Then come hang upside-down next to Minji, Batgirl.”

Before YN could object, Sohee shoved her into the only empty spot. Right beside Minji.

Again.

Minji looked over, casually raising an eyebrow.

“Look who’s back. Can’t stay away from me, huh?”

“I was forced. This is a crime.”

Minji offered her a marshmallow on a stick without a word.

YN narrowed her eyes… then took it.

The first activity started: “Pass the Question” — someone spins a bottle, and whoever it points to has to answer a random prompt.

The bottle spun wildly.

Landed on Minji.

Jiwon grinned. “Alright, superstar. The question is… Describe your type.”

Minji didn’t flinch. She sipped her cocoa.

“Someone who doesn’t annoy me.”

The entire circle booed dramatically.

“That’s too vague!” “Cliché!” “Be specific!”

Minji smirked. “Fine. Someone smart. A little weird. Quiet but secretly deadly.”

Someone laughed. “You mean like… a cat?”

YN, trying not to react, sipped her cocoa like her life depended on it.

Minji glanced sideways at her. “Yeah. Like a cat.”

A few rounds later, the bottle spun again— and landed on YN.

“YEAHHH let’s gooo!” someone shouted.

Question:

“What’s your most embarrassing school memory?”

YN blinked. “...There’s a list.”

“Pick one!”

She hesitated. “...In 10th grade, I accidentally entered the boys' bathroom, panicked, ran into a urinal, knocked it off the wall, and then slipped.”

The circle exploded in laughter.

Sohee was wheezing. “You told me it was a faucet!”

Minji leaned in closer.

“You broke a urinal?”

YN groaned. “Please bury me in this fire.”

Minji grinned, voice low:

“That’s iconic, Nerdy.”

Later that night, everyone broke off into mini-groups.

Some were roasting marshmallows. Others doing riddles. A group was playing “Guess Who” — where they stuck post-its on each other’s foreheads with a name, and had to guess who they were.

“Sit here!” someone from media waved at Minji.

“No—sit here!” her fan club chirped, patting the log beside them.

Minji ignored them, walking straight to where YN sat cross-legged on the ground, doodling idly in a small notebook.

Without asking, she sat beside her.

“Busy drawing how much you hate this trip?” Minji asked.

YN didn’t look up. “No. Drawing ways I could disappear.”

Minji peeked over. “That’s… actually kinda cool.”

Just then, someone tripped over a rock near them and fell forward— accidentally bumping into Minji—

Who fell sideways—

Straight into YN’s shoulder.

Both froze.

Minji didn’t immediately move. Neither did YN.

Their heads were practically touching.

Silence.

“...You’re warm,” Minji murmured.

YN, heart hammering: “That’s because you landed on me.”

Minji didn’t apologize. Just leaned back slowly, that unreadable smile on her lips.

From across the fire, someone whispered, “Are they flirting? Or about to fight

The next morning started with a megaphone and far too much energy.

“WAKE UP CAMPERS! Stretch, hydrate, and meet at the flagpole in fifteen!”

YN sat up in the tent with a groan. Her hair was a mess, her back ached from the thin sleeping bag, and Minji… Minji was already up, stretching outside like a human anime protagonist.

Sohee passed by with a protein bar. “Minji’s already awake? Of course she is. Did she even sleep?”

YN stepped out, blinking at the sunlight— only for Minji to toss her a water bottle without turning around.

“Drink before you pass out, Nerdy.”

YN caught it, scowling. “Thanks, I guess.”

The first activity was a group hiking challenge.

Teams of five had to follow a marked trail, collect puzzle pieces hidden at waypoints, and return in under an hour.

YN tried very hard to be placed on any team but Minji’s.

It didn’t work.

The coach called out:

“Team Three: Minji, YN, Sohee, Jiwon, and Lina.”

YN stared at the trees like they were the gates of doom.

Minji shouldered her backpack with a grin.

“Don’t worry. I’ll carry your body down if you pass out.”

Sohee whispered, “Why does she say stuff like that like it’s sweet?”

Thirty minutes into the hike,

YN was sweating, breathing harder than she wanted to admit, and absolutely regretting all life decisions.

“Why. Are. There. So. Many. Hills.”

Jiwon looked back. “You okay back there?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped—just as she tripped on a root.

Before she could hit the ground, Minji caught her by the wrist, pulling her upright with one quick movement.

Their faces were close again. Too close. Familiar close.

Minji tilted her head. “That’s twice now.”

YN muttered, “Stop catching me like I’m fragile.”

Minji replied without thinking, “You are fragile.”

Silence.

YN looked away quickly. “I’m not made of glass.”

Minji, softer this time:

“No. But you walk like you're allergic to the ground.”

Later, at the clearing,

The teams had a short break. Everyone spread out on blankets, eating snacks and chatting.

One of Minji’s admirers approached YN with a sugary voice:

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be here? This is more for, like, active people.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t realize gatekeeping fitness was trendy now.”

The girl pouted. “Just saying. Wouldn’t want you to slow anyone down.”

Before YN could snap back, Minji walked up behind her—slow, calm, dangerous.

She stepped right beside YN and said simply:

“She didn’t slow anyone down. I was watching.”

The girl blinked. “Oh—I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” Minji’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

The girl shrank away with a nervous laugh and scurried off.

YN blinked up at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Minji sat beside her on the blanket. “Sure I did. That was my job.”

YN narrowed her eyes. “Since when is it your job?”

Minji looked at her like the answer was obvious.

“Since you keep needing saving.”

Final activity: Sketch & share.

All students were told to find a view, sketch something they felt described the trip, and present it to the group.

YN sat on a rock, pencil in hand, drawing the surrounding forest—but her focus kept slipping.

Minji walked up, tossing a snack into her lap.

“Eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

Minji sat behind her this time, back against a tree, arms crossed.

YN tried to draw. But her mind kept returning to the way Minji caught her earlier. The way she stood up for her. The quiet comfort of her presence now—even saying nothing.

“Minji.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you always near me?”

Pause.

Minji opened her eyes, voice low, teasing.

“Maybe I just like your gravitational pull.”

YN snorted. “That’s not how gravity works.”

“It is when it’s you.”

The late afternoon sun began to dim behind the trees as the last activity of the day commenced: "Solo Exploration." Pairs were given small paper maps and told to collect colored tokens placed along a short forest loop trail. "Short" being a very generous word.

Minji and YN were—of course—paired again.

“It’s only a fifteen-minute loop,” the staff reassured. “You’ll be back before sunset!”

Spoiler: they were wrong.

Ten minutes into the trail, the path had become narrower, rockier, and completely unmarked.

YN held the map upside down. “This is either a hiking route or a prank.”

Minji leaned in to glance. “You're holding it backwards, Nerdy.”

“I’m not used to manual orientation! My GPS is emotional support.”

Minji took the map gently from her hand. Their fingers brushed. YN didn’t comment, but her heart did a little skip.

“We’ll figure it out,” Minji said, folding the map and tucking it in her pocket. “Just stay close.”

And for once—YN didn’t argue.

They walked in silence for a while. The forest around them grew quieter… thicker.

The path forked, and Minji took the left instinctively. YN followed, careful not to step on anything slippery.

But then the wind shifted, the trees creaked— and the trail ended.

Like, fully. Gone. No signs. No markers. Just ferns and shadows.

YN stopped, chest tightening slightly. “Wait… this isn’t right.”

Minji scanned the area. “We didn’t turn wrong…”

YN spun. The way they came now looked… unfamiliar. The light had changed. The air felt colder.

“Okay. Slightly terrifying.”

Minji pulled out her phone.

No signal.

“Cool,” Minji muttered. “Nature’s so welcoming.”

YN folded her arms, trying to stay calm. “Okay, it’s fine. We’re probably not lost-lost.”

Minji raised a brow. “Define ‘lost-lost.’”

Just then— A loud crack echoed nearby. Like a branch snapping hard.

Both of them froze.

YN instinctively moved closer, almost pressed against Minji’s side.

“…That was probably a squirrel,” she whispered.

Minji smirked, voice low. “A demon squirrel?”

“Shut up.”

They kept walking—slowly, now.

Minji lit her phone’s flashlight and held it out.

YN shivered slightly as the air grew chillier, evening creeping in fast.

“…Here.” Without warning, Minji shrugged off her hoodie and draped it over YN’s shoulders.

YN blinked. “What are you—”

“You’re cold. Your shoulders were tense. I noticed.”

YN clutched the hoodie tighter. It smelled like detergent, pine trees… and Minji.

Her voice softened. “Thanks.”

Eventually, they reached a mossy log and sat for a moment to rest. Everything was quiet now, almost too quiet.

YN leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I always hated being lost.”

Minji watched her. “You panic?”

YN shook her head. “No. I just hate not knowing where I stand.”

She wasn’t just talking about the trail.

Minji picked up a small twig, twirled it between her fingers.

“You always try to control things, huh?”

“Only because I’ve seen how messy people are when they don’t.”

Minji gave her a look. “You're not one of those ‘people are disasters’ people, are you?”

“I am the disaster. I just try to limit the damage.”

Silence. Then:

“I like your damage,” Minji said quietly.

YN turned to her slowly.

Their eyes met. Neither looked away.

A cool gust of wind passed, and YN shivered again without meaning to. Minji noticed.

She leaned slightly closer, shoulder brushing against YN’s.

“You okay?”

YN nodded, but her voice came out small. “Yeah.”

Minji didn’t move away.

They sat like that a moment too long. Close. Warm. Uncertain.

And then—

YN quietly reached out and held Minji’s hand.

It was small. Almost nothing.

But Minji didn’t pull away.

Her thumb gently brushed against YN’s knuckles.

Neither of them spoke.

Because words… would’ve broken whatever this was.

Eventually, voices in the far distance echoed—staff calling names.

They stood, still hand-in-hand for a beat longer, then let go as if nothing had happened.

But something had.

By the time Minji and YN made it back to the campsite, the sky had gone deep blue and the stars had started to blink through.

They emerged from the treeline quietly—calm, walking close, a little dirt on their knees, leaves tangled in their hair.

The fire was already lit again. The others turned at the sound of footsteps.

Then—

“They're ALIVE!” Sohee practically shouted, clutching her chest dramatically. “I thought we’d have to call mountain rescue!”

Jiwon grinned. “Where the hell were you two? It's been, like, an hour and a half.”

YN opened her mouth, but Minji answered first.

“We took a wrong turn. It was... scenic.”

Lina raised a brow. “You mean romantic?”

Minji didn’t respond. She just walked past them all, brushing leaves off her shoulders. YN followed, flustered, head slightly lowered.

But the fan club girls?

Laser-focused.

One of them whispered, way too loudly:

“They came back together?” “They weren’t even talking last week!”

Another one crossed her arms. “Minji’s probably just being nice. Like always.”

As if on cue, Minji turned, looked directly at them—then right back at YN.

And smiled.

It wasn’t a wide smile. Not smug. Not sarcastic.

Just... soft.

Like she was seeing something no one else did.

YN froze in place.

Her heart: not beating. Her brain: rebooting. Her body: floating.

And everyone noticed.

Later that night, the campsite quieted. The stars stretched across the sky like scattered wishes. Inside tent 4, everything was dim. Soft. Breathing slow.

YN lay on her back in her sleeping bag, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent.

Minji lay a few inches away, hands behind her head, staring at nothing.

Silence.

But it wasn’t awkward.

It was loud in its own way. Like every breath was saying what mouths couldn't.

Finally, Minji spoke, voice hushed.

“Are you mad I dragged you off trail?”

YN turned her head slightly. “You didn’t drag me. I followed.”

Minji looked over. “You didn’t have to.”

YN’s voice was quiet. “I know.”

Pause.

The moonlight barely lit Minji’s face. But even in shadow, her eyes were visible—watching.

“Back there,” Minji said. “You held my hand.”

YN swallowed. “…Yeah.”

Minji didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at her like she was trying to figure something out.

Then:

“I didn’t mind.”

YN’s throat tightened.

She rolled to her side to face her. They were so close now. Only the thinnest air between them.

YN whispered, “You always act so calm. Like nothing fazes you.”

Minji gave a tiny smile.

“You faze me.”

The words dropped like a match in dry grass.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

Then—Minji’s hand reached out slowly, like she wasn’t even thinking, just drawn—

She brushed a strand of hair from YN’s face.

And her fingers lingered. Just for a second.

“Goodnight, Nerdy.”

YN whispered, “…Goodnight, Minji.”

But neither of them slept.

Not for a while.

The final morning of the retreat arrived with sleepy yawns and messy hair. Students packed up their tents, laughed over spilled toothpaste, and posed for last-minute selfies with the mountain in the background.

The vibe? Lighthearted. The emotions? Chaotic.

YN zipped her bag with a yawn, ready to disappear into the bus and sleep for three hours straight. Sohee, however, had other plans.

“There’s still one last group activity, sleepyhead! Don’t you want to say goodbye to nature properly?”

“I want to sue it.”

Sohee dragged her anyway.

At the camp center, the instructors had set up a fun final activity: “Compliment Circle.”

Each person had to give a quick compliment to someone they appreciated during the trip.

“Let’s end on a positive note,” the coach said, clapping. “Spread good vibes!”

YN immediately tensed. “This is a trap.”

Minji leaned behind her, whispering:

“You’re gonna compliment me, right?”

YN turned, deadpan. “I was thinking the squirrel that didn’t attack us.”

Minji smirked, hand brushing her shoulder.

“Rude. I literally gave you my jacket and my hand.”

“Yeah, and now your fan club wants to curse me.”

When it was Sohee’s turn, she stood with sparkly eyes and announced:

“I want to compliment my roommate YN—who actually came on this trip—and was super brave even when we thought she got eaten by a bear.”

Everyone laughed.Then Sohee added, smiling playfully:

“Also… Mr. Jaehwan from the media department for helping us find the trail again.”

YN blinked.

“Who?”

From the side, a tall guy in glasses raised his hand with a polite smile. “That’d be me.”He walked up to give Sohee a high-five—then turned to YN.

“Glad you made it back safely. You were… walking with Minji, right?”

YN nodded. “Yeah.”

“You looked cool. Very survival-movie aesthetic.”

And then—

He winked.

YN: (processing error)

Across the circle, Minji stared.Expression: neutral. Body: stiff. Aura: “Who is this tall discount actor and why is he looking at Nerdy like that.”Sohee whispered to YN, “Oh no. She saw the wink.”

YN looked at Minji—And yep. The glare. The micro-pout. The crossed arms.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it.Later, during the goodbye group photo, Jaehwan walked past Minji and casually said:

“You’re lucky to be her tentmate.”

Minji tilted her head. Smiled.

“Oh, I’m not just that.”

He blinked. “Oh?”Minji leaned slightly closer.

“I’m the reason she made it through this trip alive. So, yeah. Luck is a funny thing.”

YN, watching this from a few feet away, muttered to herself:

“What is she doing? Marking territory?”

Sohee whispered, “Are you jealous now?”YN: “No. I’m annoyed. Very different

Back at campus, the world felt louder. Traffic. Cafeterias. Lecture halls.YN walked across the quad with her sketchbook, headphones in. Trying very hard to pretend her heart wasn’t still on a mountain trail holding Minji’s hand.

From a distance, she spotted Minji across the lawn.Surrounded by her usual group. Laughing. Hair down. Head tilted back. That easy charm.

And yet— Her eyes scanned the crowd.Until they landed on YN.Just for a second.They didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.Just… held the gaze. Too long. Too much.And then looked away. Like nothing happened.YN exhaled and walked faster. “This is getting stupid.”Later that week, Minji passed by YN outside the art building.Their eyes met.Minji slowed.

YN didn’t.Minji called out, casual:“Still ignoring me, Nerdy?”YN turned just enough to reply:“You seemed busy. With your fanbase.”Minji blinked, amused. “Are you mad?”YN didn’t answer.

Minji leaned in slightly.“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”YN stopped. Turned. Eyes blazing.“I’m not jealous.”Minji grinned.“Sure, Nerdy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”YN’s heart was racing.But she said nothing.She just walked away.Minji watched her go.Still smiling.But now— A little softer.Like she already knew:This war? Far from over. The party was loud. Of course it was.It took over the campus quad like a swarm—fairy lights hanging overhead, music pounding through portable speakers, half-spilled drinks sloshing in red cups, and students everywhere. Dancing. Laughing. Falling over.

YN stood on the edge, hoodie on, expression blank.Sohee nudged her. “You promised to stay at least an hour.”“I didn’t promise. You threatened.”

“Same thing.”Sohee twirled away toward a circle of students, leaving YN alone under a swaying light.As usual.

YN took a seat near the fence, where the music felt more like distant thunder than a personal attack. She pulled out her sketchbook, only half-seriously.

Just as her pencil touched paper—

“Is that your version of dancing?”

YN didn’t look up. “Is bothering me your version of flirting?”

Minji’s voice curved with amusement. “You admit I’m flirting?”

YN finally raised her head.

And immediately regretted it.

Minji was… Wow.

Hair tied up loosely, skin glowing under the golden lights, leather jacket slung casually over a fitted shirt. She looked like a scene from a movie. Unreachable. Unapologetic.

And the worst part?

She was smiling at her.

YN looked away. “Didn’t think this kind of party was your style either.”

Minji shrugged. “I go where the chaos is.”

“Then you’re in the right place.”

“And apparently…” Minji stepped a little closer.

“So are you.”

Soon enough, other students spotted them.

“Look who came out of hiding!” “YN, you clean up nicely!” “Minji, is she your bodyguard or your girlfriend?”

The teasing escalated. Minji shot back with sarcasm, YN rolled her eyes.

Then—

A guy stepped into their space. Tall, energetic, clearly tipsy.

“Hey—you're Minji, right? I’ve seen you at the gym.”

Minji nodded politely. “Yeah.”

The guy turned to YN. “And you’re... the artist? I’ve seen your stuff in the atrium.”

YN gave a stiff nod.

“You two together?” he asked, not really caring about the answer.

YN opened her mouth to say something biting— but Minji beat her to it, jokingly:

“She wishes.”

Everyone laughed.Even the guy.Everyone… except YN.

Ten minutes later, YN sat back down, face unreadable.

Sohee came over, cautious. “You okay?”

“I’m going back to the dorms.”

“What? It’s still early—”

“I’m tired.”

Sohee didn’t argue. But she watched her walk away with quiet worry.She wasn’t the only one watching.

From across the party, Minji saw it too— the way YN left without a word, shoulders tense.

Something in her chest twistedIt took Minji a few minutes to shake off the voices around her, the noise, the drink in her hand. She followed the direction YN had gone.Away from the lights. Past the quad. Into the garden path behind the library building.

There she was. Sitting on a bench under a lamppost, hoodie up, arms crossed.Alone. Again.

Minji didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up and stood in front of her.YN didn’t look up.

“…Why are you here?” she asked quietly.Minji's voice was low. “Why did you leave like that?”

YN scoffed. “Why does it matter?”

“It does.”

YN finally raised her eyes. There was fire there. But underneath it? Something brittle.

“You act like you care,” she said. “But then you joke. In front of everyone. About how I wish we were together.”

Minji stiffened.

“That was—”

“A joke?” YN stood up suddenly. “Right. That’s what you do. You flirt, then pretend it was nothing. You’re always half in, half out. You always act like you’re in control, and I’m just—what? Entertainment?”

Minji’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”“Neither is this!” YN said, her voice cracking for the first time. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t want to feel anything. You just kept showing up. Every time I tried to keep space, you closed it. Every time I hated you, you saved me. You made me need you and now—”

Minji stepped closer.One step. Then another.

Their faces were inches apart now. Breathing heavy. Words gone.“Say something,” YN whispered, voice trembling.And Minji said nothing.

She just kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft.

It was need.

Fingers tangled in the hoodie’s collar, pulling her in. Lips pressed like they’d been waiting for this exact moment to stop pretending. All the teasing, the fights, the denial—it melted, burned, collapsed into this single kiss.

YN didn’t freeze. She melted into it.Hands finding Minji’s shoulders, then her hair. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces. Like a crash and a landing at the same time.Minji pulled back just slightly, eyes half-lidded, lips flushed.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she whispered.

YN, breathless, shook her head.

“Then show me.”

Minji kissed her again.Slower this time.But deeper. More desperate. Like she wanted to memorize every second.

It was hot. Messy. Real.And when they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, the silence returned.But this time, it wasn’t empty.It was full of everything they couldn’t say.

The kiss had ended. But they hadn’t moved.

Minji’s forehead still rested against YN’s. Their hands were still tangled in each other’s sleeves. Their breaths? Still fast. Still shared.

YN blinked slowly. Her voice came out low.

“So… that’s what all the teasing meant?”

Minji pulled back a little—just enough to look into her eyes. Her gaze was raw. Stripped.

“No.”

YN blinked. “No?”

Minji’s voice was quiet. Shaky. Real.

“It meant less than this.”

Then she leaned in again— and pressed a kiss to YN’s cheek.

Then the corner of her lips.

Then her jaw.

Tiny, desperate kisses like her body was acting faster than her brain.

“I didn’t mean to…” A kiss near the ear. “Fall this hard.” A kiss against the neck. “But I did.” A pause. Their eyes met.

Minji swallowed. Her voice broke just a little.

“And now I don’t know how to stop.”

YN didn’t move.Her heart was pounding, but her body felt frozen. Not with fear. With the terrifying softness of being truly seen.Minji looked at her like she was standing on a cliff— And falling.

“I kept telling myself it was nothing. That I was just being stupid. That the reason I noticed when you were cold, or mad, or quiet was because… I liked annoying you.”

She smiled, weakly.

“But I wasn’t teasing you. I was… looking for reasons to be near you.”

YN felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Minji touched her face again, this time slower, her fingers brushing her cheek.

“And then tonight—when you walked away—I panicked. I thought, ‘She’s leaving. And I’ll never get to tell her what she does to me.’”

A pause.

Her thumb traced YN’s lower lip, eyes flickering.

“How every time you look at me like I’m a problem… I want to be solved by you.”

Then— Another kiss.This one softer. Lingering. Barely there. Like her mouth was writing an apology against YN’s lips.

Minji tried to pull back. Her voice cracked.

“I should stop.”

But she didn’t.She kissed her again.Once. Then again.

Each kiss shorter. Hungrier. Like she was trying to hold back but failing.

“I told myself just once would be enough.”

A kiss.

“But I lied.”

A longer kiss. Slower.

“I don’t want to stop.”

YN whispered, breath catching—

“Then don’t.”

And just like that—

Minji sank into her.A tangle of fingers in hair, jackets slipping from shoulders, lips pressed with desperation.But in all that heat, there was something achingly gentle in the way Minji held her.Like even as she consumed her— She was trying to protect her.When they finally broke apart—again, breathless, quiet— Minji leaned her forehead against YN’s and whispered, almost like a secret:

“I don’t know what we’re doing.”

YN nodded slowly.

“Neither do I.”

Minji’s hand closed around hers.“But I don’t want to pretend anymore

It was almost 1:00 AM.

The campus laundry room was dimly lit, humming quietly with the low mechanical growl of washing machines and the occasional clink of zippers tumbling in metal drums.

YN shoved a basket of clothes through the door, hoodie halfway off her shoulder, hair tied in a lazy knot, eyes half-closed from lack of sleep—and mood fully grumpy.

She muttered under her breath as the door squeaked behind her.

“Why are college students incapable of doing laundry at reasonable hours?”

She made her way down the row of machines—only to find them all either full… or blinking “OUT OF ORDER.”All except one.The last one.YN narrowed her eyes.And then—

“Oh. You again.”Minji.

Leaning against the last washing machine like it was hers by divine right, sleeves rolled up, hair down in soft waves, wearing a T-shirt way too big to be anything but stolen from YN’s drawer.

She was smiling, of course. That soft, slow, smug sunshine smile.

“Fancy seeing you here, nerdy.”

YN sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t actually use the last one.”

Minji shrugged. “I was here first.”

“How much is in there?”

Minji peered through the door.

“Well… about half of my stuff. And half of yours.”

YN blinked. “Wait—what?”

Minji looked over her shoulder, feigning innocence.

“You left your laundry basket outside our room. Again. I just figured… joint life, joint wash.”

YN stared.

Minji took a step closer, arms crossed.

“Or should I separate your socks out next time?”

“You washed our clothes together without asking?”

Minji tilted her head. “I mean, we already sleep together. It felt symbolic.”

YN blinked twice. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet.” Minji grinned wider. “You’re here.”

They stood like that for a beat.

Two people who still clashed like fire and ice— but now, the warmth in the middle belonged to both of them.

Minji leaned back against the machine, arms open in mock surrender.

“Go ahead. Glare at me. Grump about it. I’ll still kiss you.”

YN stepped closer, expression unreadable.

And then—

She did glare. But only for a second.Then she leaned forward and kissed her.A slow, drawn-out kiss.Soft at first—just the press of lips. Familiar now. Easy. But then… longer. Warmer.Minji smiled against her mouth. YN sighed through her nose and deepened the kiss.Their bodies leaned closer, comfortably tangled. Fingers slipped into hair. A hand brushed down a waist. A soft, muffled hum filled the space between them.Outside, the night kept moving. But in here? It was just them.

The washing machine beeped.They didn’t flinch.Minji pulled away just enough to whisper:

“Cycle’s done.”YN tucked her face into Minji’s neck.“Let’s stay a little longer.”Minji smiled. “We can dry them later.”Eventually, they opened the machine. Pulled out a pile of warm, tangled fabric.Minji held up a hoodie. “Yours.”YN held up a black t-shirt. “Yours.”They looked down.The rest? A mix of shirts, jeans, socks. No difference. All blended.Just like them.

“You realize,” Minji murmured, “we really are that couple now.”YN smirked, brushing her shoulder against Minji’s.“Gross.”

Minji kissed her cheek.“You love it.”

YN didn’t answer.She just smiled—soft, hidden, shy.The kind of smile only Minji could bring out of her

End

#ran ★#newjeans x reader #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #newjeans smau #newjeans imagines #fem reader x minji

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gardenschedule · 1 year ago

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Quotes about John Lennon’s sexuality

Link to masterpost of quote compilations

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

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

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

Cynthia Lennon, John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alternatively, he could be openly supportive:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alistair Taylor, With The Beatles, 2003

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

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

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

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

May Pang’s Loving John (1983).

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Lennon said no to Epstein?

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

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

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

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

On the other hand, he supposedly hated the rumours:

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

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

Cynthia Lennon, John, 2005

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

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

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

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

John's comments about his sexuality:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Lennon, Rolling Stone, 1980

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

John Lennon interview

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

John Lennon: The Life

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

John Lennon, December 5th, 1980

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

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

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

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

Yoko's comments about his sexuality:

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

Did Lennon have sex with other men?

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

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

So did Lennon ever have sex with men?

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

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

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

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

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

Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968

Friends & acquaintances comments on his sexuality:

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

Who I Am: A Memoir, Pete Townshend 2012

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

December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Royston Ellis

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

Fab, An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney

Journalist & author comments on his sexuality:

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

Philip Norman interview

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

Philip Norman, Shout!, 1981

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

Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.

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

Peter Brown, The Love You Make, 1983

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

Phillip Normans book, John Lennon: The Life.

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

Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon

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

...

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

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

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

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Marriage, Divorce & replacing Paul with Yoko:

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

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

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

September, 1980

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

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

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

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

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

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

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

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

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

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

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

Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer

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

John (Source: Playboy, 1980)

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

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

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

Paul McCartney

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

Playboy, 1980

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

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

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

The Beatles, Anthology, 1995

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

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

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

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

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow on Lennon and McCartney

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

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

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

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life

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

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

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

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

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

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

1970 (audio snippet approx 2:06)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul, Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

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

Peggy Lipton, Breathing Out, 2005

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

Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life

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

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

Random cute things: flirting etc

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

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

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

Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography by Victor Spinetti

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

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

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

Christopher Sandford, Paul McCartney, 2005

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

Harry Nilsson speaking about John Lennon

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

February 17th, 1984: Harry Nilsson

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

Get Back sessions

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

Get Back sessions

#mclennon #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #philip norman's quotes are my favourite #that man deserves an olympic medal in mental gymnastics

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