#but i had never drawn paul before!

[weaponizedmoth]

Quick Paul for his birthday.

#paul mccartney #fanart #beatles #the beatles #beatles fanart #paul mccartney art #digital art #art #fan art #female artists #artists on tumblr #macca #happy birthday #I have never drawn a beatle before in my life #I had to draw a meme though ofc

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt. 2

a/n: re-uploaded cause tumblr wouldn't show it in the tags for some reason Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con, Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atriedes, Horny Violence, and some angsty family relations (lmao)

Summary: The courting becomes more and more complicated, as both you and the Na-Baron discover something about each other.

Part.1, Part 3. Part 4.(finale)

- He's a beast.

Lady Jessica stops in her tracks, her hands sliding gently across the fabric of your nightgown. It's your Mother, that puts it out on the table next to your bed. But the person, who turns back towards you with an unreadable expression, is most definitely not her. You're talking to a Bene Gesserit sister now. A freezing chill runs up your spine, and you start picking at the skin around your fingernails, a nervous habit you've picked up a long time ago.

- Have you forgotten all that I have taught you? - she asks, turning to face you fully, in the dimly lit space of your bedroom

Subconsciously you retreat into yourself, body leaning further away from her, as if that distance might save you from whatever unpleasant revelation will most likely fall upon you. Lady Jessica takes a deep breath, her lips pulling back into an easy, soothing smile. In the past, you would look for expressions such as this, fish them out for comfort. Now, as you look upon your Mother's face, it all seems to be a trap made specifically for you.

- Men like him, beastly men, are the weakest ones - she explains, taking slow steps towards your hunched form - They need the power and the blood to feel worthy of existing, which makes them easy to manipulate. Keep them pliant under your hands like fresh dough. 

She sits beside you, your mattress dipping under her weight, and your eyes are immediately drawn to your Mother's elegant hands, folded neatly in her lap. You wish you could put your head there. Have her pull your running thoughts out with gentle caresses. A hairbrush lays abandoned on the vanity in front of you, and silently you contemplate, whether you'll ever have the opportunity to have your hair brushed by her. 

- You must find his weakness, what drives him to do what he does. And then control it.

- I don't want to control my husband - the words spill out of your lips, before you have the chance to stop them - I want to love him, to support him. To give him children he'll love, children I'll love. 

Tears fall in heavy waterfalls down your cheeks. You haven't had the luxury of a good cry since your betrothed had arrived, and it feels divine. Letting your body shake and shiver, wrecked by uninhibited sobs, as your Mother looks down upon you, torn between the two roles she must fulfill. 

The more you've thought about your situation, the more hopeless you felt. The Harkonnens will never let you see your family again, you're sure of it. You'll have to deal with all the horrors of Giedi Prime entirely on your own, with no support from your husband, no friends, no family. And your children, as they are sure to come, will be taken away from you. Thrown into the black and white, until there's no love left in them. 

The Emperror is a cruel man, you think. An execution would've been a kinder end. 

- Why did you have to make me a Daughter? - the way your voice breaks in desperation fills you with shame - Why couldn't you give Father another Son?

You know you've overstepped, as soon as the accusatory tone registers in your brain. It is far too late by then, and the hands, which just moments before you've fantasized about running through your hair, grip you tightly. Your Mother's face, a constant image of beauty, twists into something darker, something you don't recognize, and you gasp, as her dull fingernails dig into the skin of your wrist.

- Your Father has Paul - her voice is barely above a whisper, blue eyes stabbing you with the intensity of her gaze - I gave him a son, because he asked for a son. Because I loved him enough to give him one. And he can have him. He can fill him with lessons of male leadership, of short-sighted plans. You. You are my Daughter. You are mine, and I've trained you well enough to conquer this task.

A hopeless pit settles itself in the void of your stomach.

You've always known your destiny would be to marry well, to further House Atreides' legacy. And yet, somehow, there was a sliver of hope, treacherously worming itself into your brain. Your Father had Paul, the perfect heir. Surely, he could send him off for the greater good and leave you to your own devices. Let you find someone to care for you, someone you'd do anything for. The thought sits in the pit of your stomach, turning your insides in shame. Still, you can't shake the sinking feeling, that if the universe was kind, you would've been born a Son. 

Your Mother, or more likely, the Bene Gesserit, stands up, a cold chill filling the space where her body used to sit. She regards you once, a stern, unwavering gaze.

- Wear black tomorrow.

Perhaps, you'll die in your sleep tonight. Perhaps the universe will bring you this small mercy.

*** Perhaps you did die. 

Through the haze of dreams, you can see him. Bare, as the day he was born, body gleaming white in the darkness of your room.

You can't move, can't see his face, and when he approaches, every single one of your muscles tense. You shift under the covers, cold tendrills of fear engulfing you entirely. He comes closer, moves like a wild cat, stands at the foot of your bed. 

The need to run is overwhelming, but your body refuses to listen, as slowly, torturously slowly, he climbs on top of you, defined muscles moving under his skin in a way that reminds you of some cursed demon, rather than a man. His scent fills your nostrils, a mixture of something heady and metalic, and, like a little child scared of the dark, you try to hide your face under the covers. 

This demon version of your betrothed sits down, sculpted thighs squeezing around your sides, and with rising panic you realize, he's slowly choking the life out of you. A fitting end, a welcomed one. Perhaps it would be better to die right now, before you discover what atrocities he plans to commit on your body and mind, after you're wedded. 

Then, his hand reaches behind his back, full lips pull upwards, exposing blackened out teeth. You barely register the glint of his sword, not until he holds it high up, above his hand. You're not allowed a moment to wallow in your confusion, as your future husband brings the weapon down, sinking it with brutal force into your beating heart.

You awake screaming.

***

In the morning, you pull a black tunic over your head, remnants of your dream clinging to you like an unwanted shadow. 

Every move of the silky fabric against your skin feels like a small defeat, and with your head hung low, you make your way towards the dining hall. Truly, you're not hungry, stomach turning and twisting, a steady presence of nerves keeping your body on edge. Your attendance is required however, such are customs, and it is entirely too eaarly for another lecture about your behaviour. 

As you enter the room, your mask of tired indifference slips just for a second, a mixture of fear and anger flickering in, and out of existence.

 There, opposite of your Father you can see him. Your future husband, the love of your miserable, ending life. Slow horror washes over you, as you suddenly realize that this demonic, otherwordly version of him, which visited you in your nightmares is just how he looks. He greets you with a polite inclination of his smooth head, and you consider not showing any outward sign of repulsion, a small victory on your part. Your Mother doesn't think so, but you dodge her sharp eyes in favor of greeting your brother.

It doesn't go unnoticed, the way Feyd Rautha's eyes drink in greedily the sight of you embracing Paul. His gaze lingers on your smile, and he raises his cup to his lips, scrunching his nose ever so slightly at the unfamiliar drink he's been offered. You want to ask, if they have coffee on Giedi Prime, but the question is forcefully swallowed down. You will not talk to this man. He will never know anything more than contempt from you. Curse your Mother's words, you'll fight this battle every day, on your own, if you have to. 

- My Daughter will show you around the training barracks after breakfast - Duke Leto announces, and you freeze with a cup of coffee half-way to your lips.

- Will I? - you ask, trying to control the edge in your voice. 

- Na-Baron has made inquires about a place to train - your Father explains, giving you a meaningful side eye - You'll accompany him. 

The coffee tastes like rot in your mouth, and you place your cup down with a note of finality. You won't look at him, you don't have to. That knowing smirk could be felt through the very particles flowing in the air, every single one laughing at your predicament. 

Despite your best efforts, the breakfast comes to an end, your family slowly rising to attend to their duties. Your Father, ever the cordial man, bids his farewells to the unwelcomed guest. Your Mother does the same, albeit sounding more honest. Paul lingers as long as Lady Jessica allows him, until he is forced to retreat by a slender hand tugging mercilessly on his elbow. A gesture both of you know intimately from your childhoods. 

Before you know it, you're left alone with the pale imitation of a man. He arises slowly from his seat, smoothly making his way towards you, each of his footsteps echoing in the dining room. 

- Shall we, my Lady? 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his offered hand, like a white spider living just outside of your vision. With a shudder, you slip out of your chair, trying very hard not to touch him, and failing immediately, when his broad chest nearly pushes you back into your seat. 

He smells nice, your brain betrays you, the scent bringing back images from your night terror, causing an involuntary shiver to run up your spine. With averted gaze, you turn to leave, ignoring his still extended hand. He follows you like a shadow, catching up to you in no time, as you slide through the corridors of the Palace. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, walking with him behind your back. His eyes bear into you, a prickly feeling at the base of your neck making you roll your shoulders.

It follows you, as he follows, right to the very destination. All in blessed silence, a small miracle to save this already dreadful morning.

The men, launging about at the training barracks freeze in their spots, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, when Duncan Idaho catches your eyes. His skin has a beautiful, warm tone, highlighted by the morning sun flowing into the room through the windows. You nod, he nods back, an unspoken understanding blooming between the two of you. There could be no suspicion of any closer bond, lest this engagement would be called off. A result, perhaps favorable to you personally, but your family would never live down the shame. And you would never jeopardize Paul's future, no matter how hollow yours looked.

- You have a warrior's body - your betrothed comments, as he inspects the blades laid out on a small table - Do you train here as well?

Small talk, you could do small talk. With a sigh, you tear your gaze away from Duncan, and turn to the Harkonnen, forcing something resembling a polite smile to bloom onto your features. 

- Yes, I do - you answer curtly, eyes falling onto elegant, white fingers, sliding over a shiny metal blade. 

- It is not a common practice here, is it? - he looks at you, eyes gliding over your stature - Women being trained to fight?

Suddenly very much aware of your body, you cross your arms on your chest, hugging yourself tightly. You don't miss the way his gaze seems to linger on the low neckline of your tunic, and with bitterness on your tongue you wonder, has this man ever felt ashamed. 

- Not common, but it does happen - your voice betrays your emotions, a sharp edge settling over your tone, causing the man to arch an eyebrow.

Finally, he settles onto a chosen blade, bringing it up to the light and with laser focus observing the way particles dance on the steel surface. Then, he looks back at you, catching you in the act of observing the prominent, lean muscles on his neck. You ignore the knowing smirk and will your blushing cheeks to suddenly become devoid of color.

They don't, of course, and you scurry to the side of the table, to fiddle with the rest of the weaponry. Your favorite training blade is there, and instinctually, your hand reaches for it. 

- Train with me.

The request catches you off guard, and you shoot him a questioning look, one he deflects with a nonchalant shrug. 

Your muscles flinch, as you drag your hand back from the blade. 

- It would hardly be appropriate - you counter, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.

To that, he tilts his head, light eyes studying you for a longer moment, until you truly feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny. 

- And suddenly you're worried about what the court says? - he cuts you off, before you have the chance to ask, just what exactly does he mean by that - Perhaps you're too soft to fight me.

- I know what you're doing - you point an accusatory finger at his chest, and the man smiles, blackened teeth peaking between his full lips.

- And what am I doing? - it's hard to ignore the teasing timbre in his voice, and you swallow thickly.

- You're trying to get under my skin.

Shivering under the expected cruel glint in his eye, as another, most likely filthy innuendo purses his lips, you turn to him fully, a serious expression on your features.

- I've seen you fight, Na-Baron - his jaw tightens at the sound of your voice curling around his title - I know you're a force to be reckoned with, I'm not scared to admit that.

He straightens, regards you with furrowed brows for a longer second, until, yet again you start to fidget under his gaze.

- Perhaps then, you're scared you'll hurt me - the mere idea is so preposterous, your head snaps in his direction - If I had known, you liked me that much...

- That is entirely not true, and you know it - you deflect again, although annoyance begins to paint your voice.

Then, his hand shoots out, gripping your arm and pulling you closer. Air seems to thicken around you, as you look up at him, with surprise quickly morphing into outrage. His breath mingles with yours, and you can't seem to look away from his eyes, pupils nearly drowned in the overwhelming blue of his irises.

- Stop hiding, my viper. Fight me.

The command, spoken in a harsh whisper just shy of your lips, turns your insides into molasses. 

His taller form leans down to tower over yours, an intense expression settling over his sharp features. Close to excitement, much too close to desire, even closer to a murderous curiosity. Your throat feels entirely too dry, and before you can stop yourself, you swallow thickly, tongue darting out to lick your lips. His eyes snap almost immediately downwards, and your heart stops beating. You can't see anymore blue in his irises, only black. Darkness covers his eyes reflecting his thoughts, and you feel like you have to flee right now, before something terrible happens to you. 

So you do just that. Ripping yourself away from his closeness, you return to the table, hand finding your chosen blade without really looking. 

Another flash of black teeth, as the Na-Baron realizes what you're doing, and the both of you enable the shields surrounding your bodies. 

The gathered soldiers watch on, as you march towards the center of the room, determination filling every step to the brim. Duncan gives you a look, which you choose to ignore. You can't think about him now, not when you have your honor to defend against this Harkonnen monster of a man. 

Feyd Rautha rolls his shoulders, discards the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and once again you are stricken with his almost god-like physique. The blade looks like an extension of his hand, as he weighs it and slashes the air in front of him. Then, he fixes you with a challenging expression, as if he expects you to do the same, to try and best him at some shameless display.

You decide to keep your clothes on, blade held high, ready to strike. 

He jumps from one leg to another, and immediately an orchestra of alarm bells rings out in your brain. Should a man really be this excited at the prospect of fighting his future wife? Should you be this excited? Questions without answers, and before any of you make a move, another one absent-midedly floats to the surface. Just how much can you hurt each other, before the wedding is concluded? How much you'll inevitably hurt each other after?

The darkness he has brought on the ship with him must be contagious, because despite your better judgement, you smile. A sharp smirk, that makes your eyes look less like a human and more like a wild animal. And he drinks it all in, as he begins to circle you.

You'd never show him your back, never again. He's a tried and true predator, the only instinct he has, is a killer one. A fact you quickly get aquatinted with, as he unleashes a series of lightning fast strikes your way. 

Immediately you realize, that small show of cruelty he organized at your grandfather's theatre was nothing, compared to what he could truly do. And still, you suspect he's holding back, as you barely dodge a nasty stab, right under your ribs. Another one is blocked against your sheild, and before you have a chance to collect yourself, third one sends you back a couple of steps. 

He doesn't let you get away, with confident steps pushing you further and further out of the center of the training floor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Duncan Idaho stand up from his place. Thinking back to your last training session, you shudder bitterly. "Never fight in anger" is easy to say, when you're not forced to marry, bed and sunsequently give children to the man you're fighting. 

Panting and sweating, you give Feyd Rautha your all, twirling in place, sliding on your feet. A different kind of choreography, which seems to work surprisingly well, with his almost animalistic force. Gurney taught you how to be powerful, how to land strikes which were as effective, as they were cunning. Duncan, on the other hand, taught you how to dance. So that's what you do.

Finally, you manage to grab at his free hand, locking your feet between his and bringing him closer to your blade. It stops just short of his artery, blocked by his dagger, the clash of metal reverberating through the halls. 

The smirk he gives you is beyond nasty, and forcefully, you push away from him, as if the very idea of skin to skin contact repulsed you. And it does, it truly does, especially now that adrenaline mixed with frustration boils in your head. 

- Again - you snarl his way, assuming your fighting stance.

- As my Lady commands - his voice has a natural growl to it, made even more prominent by the exertion of the fight, and he twists his body into a perversion of a curtsy.

This time you're the one to attack first, ignoring your menthor's words and relying on pure rage to guide your steps. A stab to his thigh, which he deflects with seemingly childish ease. Your tunic slips through his fingers, as you slide under his arm. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his blade, when he hides it into his belt. Confusion hits you suddenly. Was he giving up, why was he hiding his weapon? None of the questions get answered, as a foot curls itself around your ankle.

Your balance leaves you with a gasp of surprise, and soon, your back is on the floor, Feyd Rautha following closely behind. Your heated gaze meets his, as one hand wrenches the blade from your grasp and pins both your arms above your head. The other one supports his weight, as he hovers above you, light bleeding behind him in an unfitting image of a halo. 

Your chest heaves, sweat rolling down your collarbones, and the Harkonnen doesn't even try to hide the way his gaze follows a stray drop of salt, as it disappears between your breasts. 

- You fought well - he complements in a hushed tone, and you writhe desperately under his body.

The night terror rears its ugly head again, as you feel his tighs press onto your sides, almost as if he wants to shape your flesh into the imprint of his body.

- I think I prefer you like this - he whispers, face coming closer to the exposed column of your neck - You belong under me. 

That's what does it. Your face twists into an expression of equal parts disgust, and fury. You won't give him this victory, you'd rather die. Legs tangle themselves around his calves, and you use all your strength fueled by the burning need to fucking hurt him. 

The world spins, two bodies rolling on the floor, and suddenly you're on top of him, legs biting into his hip bones. While one hand supports your weight on his naked shoulder, the other finds the dagger hidden in his belt. The surprised gasp, which leaves his lips feels like music to your ears, and you don't even try to fight the awful smirk splitting your mouth.

The shield on his neck glows an angry red, as you press the tip of the blade down, right under his bobbing Adam's apple. He swallows, for just a second letting you see the mask of self confidence slip. He has quite long eyelashes, you notice, as his eyelids flutter, a low hum reverbating through his chest. Eyes that are neither blue nor completely black drink in the sight of you. The halo of your hair, the snarl on your lips, the curve of your waist, where one of his hands settle. 

Missing all of this, too enraptured by your own fury, you push the blade further down until it pricks his alabaster skin. He hisses through his blackened teeth and you want more, you want him to scream. A thin streak of red begins to flow down his neck, and God help you, it looks like art. 

His grip on your waist tightens, all five fingers digging into your flesh through the thin tunic. Feyd Rautha bares his teeth at you in a cruel smile, one that makes you question whether you're the one in control.

And then his hips roll upwards. 

A barely noticable movement, easily mistaken for a spasm of the muscles, but you know better. You can read it all from his expression, his pupils blown wide, the quickened breaths of air slipping past his lips. From the quickly hardening length pressing against your inner thigh. 

Your stomach flutters with a well known feeling, and that terrifies you more than any pain-motivated erection ever could. Because he sees it, he sees the beginning flames of desire taking root in your center, and the realization looks like ecstasy on his face. Humiliation washes through you, fills you completely. There is no awkward blush on your face, no. All you feel is white, freezing terror, as all your defences seem to crumble all at once.

Like a scared animal, you're off of him in a split-second, and he doesn't chase you, as you all but run from the training barracks. Doesn't have to, he already has everything he needs. 

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #they try to silence me again on tumblr dot com but i won't let them

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

hey bff! can u do percy x a daughter of psyche? who has the gift of empathy and can heal emotional pain, but it drains her so percy is really protective!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of psyche! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of psyche! reader hcs warning: none this one is too soft for any warnings author's note: okay okay i did my research on psyche for this one and just...awwwwwww wtf its so sweet her and eros like wtfffffff why can't i have a tragic greek love yall doom me with the narrative i beg

you have bewitched him, body and soul

drawn in instantly

im sorry but you would be too if you heard of a girl that could basically heal all of your trauma

very popular among the demigods for that reason

borderline harassed and forced into help ease the emotional pain that a lot of them suffer from

and you wanted to help, truly you did, but it was hard when it took so much out of you

but you just pushed through, wanting the others to feel peace even if it cost you your own

you did it out of your cabin, as you knew chiron would try and stop you, scheduling times for them to sneak in and out

you were on your eight demigod of the day, your vision fuzzy but your hands out stretched as you needed a point of contact to heal them

but then instead of grasping your hands, the fuzzy blob in front of you gripped your shoulders

you could just make out dark hair and what looked to be green eyes before your body gave out on you

after what felt like hours, your eyes fluttered open, and you could feel your ladybug pillowpet under your head, which you turned towards the door of your cabin

there percy stood, shooing away another camper

"but-"

"look at her. she'll kill herself to keep you all happy. let her rest. i won't ask again," percy hissed before closing the door, shaking his head as he approaching you, kneeling beside your bed

"welcome back to the land of the living."

"who was that? are they alright?! i'm sure i could-"

"and i'm sure you could, too. but i won't let ya. you're off for the rest of the week," percy argued and raised a brow at you as you opened your mouth to argue.

you swallowed your argument, nodding your head and offering him a soft smile, which he returned

that was the first time you met and from that point on, it was hard to find one without the other

it got worse once you two started dating

percy might as well have glued his hand into your back pocket of your jeans, as it seemed to never leave

and no matter how much you offer, percy refuses to let you use your powers on him

he thinks it would be an abuse of his position as boyfriend

what he doesn't know, is while he sleeps with his head in your lap and you comb your fingers through his dark hair, you do little spurts of it

nothing major or serious enough for him to notice, but just to give him a little peace of mind here and there

but, for her birthday, once everyone else had left, you offered your services up to sally

percy had told you enough about gabe to leave you, every the pacificist, raging and seething with anger

sally was hesitant but agreed, you two sitting criss cross apple sauce in her bedroom on some rug paul had insisted on

you took her hands into yours and talked through the process, which you typically didn't do with the demigods

you walked her through her own emotions, why she was feeling that, why she dealt with that the way she did, how she might do better next time

you were both crying not even half way through

she pulled you into the tightest hug after, thanking you so many times you lost count

then she sent you home with a boat load of cookies, which she made percy swear on his father not to steal

you were sweet enough to give him a third of your ration, but that's it!! (he ended up with a half, bc you love that boy far too much)

he finds it very amusing to be like 'she's an empath ' at inappropriate times

"she just killed two monsters"

"she's an empath"

"percy! you're girlfriend is crying bc mr. d won't give her another marshmallow!"

"what can i say, she's an empath."

"hey, is that your girlfriend?? she's currently hugging a tree and refuses to let go because she thinks it was a lover in a past life."

"she's an empath- wait, what?"

idk but you are very jane austen coded, you just are

soft and ancient loves are sooooo you!!

those kind of loves where their souls are clearly tied in a neat little bow

percy buys you all those fancy cover versions of the books, making sure they match your aesthetic and all the things

just a boy being protective over his soft babygirl idk what to tell you

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #hoo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader

[chelseasdagger]

Restoring Faith

Father Paul Hill x Reader

Summary: You pay Father Paul one of your midnight visits and he finds himself struggling with his sworn devotion

Warnings: religious themes, sacrilege, smut, oral over clothes (m!receiving)

Author’s Note: This is a late birthday present for @chellestrash​ , my true love of my life, and I hope I’ve done this little idea you love justice :’) I’m absolutely positive I didn’t make it sounds as pretty as some of the other fics, but I hope it will be alright :)

Word Count: 4k

The cold air sends a shiver down your spine as the gravel crunches beneath your feet. Wrapping your arms around yourself tighter, you keep your head down to protect your face from the wind. You follow the path that connects the great big church to the smaller house just behind it, the trail only visible due to the moonlight pouring down from above.

You’re no idiot, you’re aware anybody could see your somewhat frequent visits to see him. However, you convinced yourself that it was okay to go, so long as you waited past midnight to take the trip. Whether it was actually a valid excuse was a whole other subject. One you didn’t particularly want to think of and potentially use to talk yourself out of doing this.

Stepping up the old, creaky stairs of the small porch, you give one last glance over your shoulder to the abandoned street the church faces. There’s not a person in sight and you raise your hand to knock on the wooden door.

It opens after a moment and you smile at the sight of the priest in front of you. He’s dressed completely in black, excluding the stark white collar that frames his neck. You can’t help your eyes from giving him a quick once over, taking in the dark button up shirt tucked into the form fitting slacks that drape down his legs. His voice calling your name brings your gaze back to his face.

“How…,” he trails off, craning his neck higher and looking past you, “how can I help you?” His greeting is stiff, and you know he’s worried about curious eyes possibly seeing you here. You can’t fight the way your lips pull into a smirk at the idea of him already getting nervous.

“I just had a question, Father,” you begin to explain, and notice him looking at you with cautious eyes. “Is that not what you said? That we can come to you and seek guidance? Ask questions about our faith?” You can admit that it was slightly unfair using his own words against him, but it works all the same. He bows his head before nodding once, silently stepping aside and allowing you to walk inside.

It’s the same as it always was, with the couch being the only real centerpiece to the room. The curtains are drawn closed on each of the windows and it gives the sense of seclusion from the rest of the small island. The three lamps that line the right wall are all lit, painting everything in a warm glow. You’ll never get over how welcoming his home was, how it provided a safe space when you needed an escape. 

The sound of the door clicking shut makes you turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, slightly hesitant as he stays silent and waits for you to speak first.

“Nobody saw me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you flash him a cheeky smirk. Paul responds wordlessly with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He steps further into the room, his arm brushing yours as he walks to the small, open kitchen area. 

“I haven’t seen you at Mass,” he finally breaks his silence. You watch as he grabs an empty glass from the drying rack beside the sink before filling it with water from the tap. “Can I get you anything?” he offers with wide eyes, motioning towards the cup in his hand.

“I was sick,” you pick the first thing that comes to mind, “allergy stuff since the weather is changing.” The lie rolls right off your tongue. You watch as he drinks his water down, fixating on the way his Adam's apple moves with each swallow. Giving yourself a mental shake, you answer his earlier question.

“And I’m okay, thanks,” you decline his offer as you lean against the back of the couch. The priest says nothing but gives a solemn look your way.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he speaks gently into the quiet room. His dark, brown eyes look sincere, enforcing the truth behind his words. There’s a small pout on his lips and you’re not sure if it’s from your faux illness or if he can somehow sense that you’re not speaking the truth. Either way, he continues with the conversation.

“But I’m glad you’re feeling better. W-What can I do for you?” He sets his glass down on the small counter beside him. “You… um, mentioned seeking guidance? What about?” His eyes are focused onto yours and you find yourself only able to keep eye contact for a few seconds before his stare feels like too much. 

“Well,” you begin with a light laugh under your breath, “I just wanted to have you read to me again.” Your fingers toy with the thick seam of the couch cushion. “Is that okay? It just—it helps, is all.” You’re not certain the explanation makes a ton of sense, but there is truth behind it. His words help; it relaxes you to come and listen to him read, even if you don’t always find yourself secure in the faith you grew up with.

When you look up at him again, Paul is standing with a genuine smile on his face. It’s clear he likes hearing that he can help, and you feel a twinge of guilt shoot through your chest at how he genuinely enjoys what he does. It makes you being here that much worse, knowing how content and devout he is.

“Of course, I-I can do that,” he replies, his voice somehow even quieter than before. “Did you have a certain story you wanted me to read from?”

You think over his question for only a short moment. Deep down, you knew you could listen to him speak about even the most mundane things, including what he had eaten for breakfast. His voice was the thing to calm you, not the words he spoke.

“I don’t really care. Whatever you’d like, whatever we left off with,” you flash him a small smile. The priest nods only once before walking towards his bedroom, disappearing into the shadows of the small corridor leading to the door.

You let out a big breath of air you weren’t even aware you were holding in. Being alone with him felt good, it always did, but you couldn’t deny the guilt once again growing in your chest. Deep down, you knew this was wrong, but it always felt good when the guilt shaped to something else. Something stronger and impossibly difficult to ignore.

There’s only a small moment for self reflection before you hear his footsteps echoing out on the wood floor again. You glance towards the sound and find him returning back into the main room with the Bible wedged between his arm and his side. His fingers are busy, rolling the fabric of his long sleeve up to just above his elbow. As inch after inch of his skin is exposed, you find yourself unable to look away from the veins trailing up the inside of his arm.

He repeats his actions on the opposite side, gazing up at you from under the few strands of hair that have fallen out of place. Your lip finds its way between your teeth subconsciously, your own way of anchoring yourself and ignoring the need to tuck the loose curls back behind his ear.

“In moments where I truly begin to doubt my faith, I…” he trails off, fixing the last roll of his cuff over his forearm. He grabs the Bible and brushes his thumb over the raised letters as he continues, “I like to look back on the story of Job.”

You can’t even stop the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. He looks up at the sound, his head tilted slightly like a confused puppy.

“Job? Really, Father? I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of restoring faith,” you curl your fingers to create air quotes over the last two words. Paul gives a small smile, lowering his head. He’s dealt with your opinions regarding faith and why God allows things to happen as He does.

“Maybe… maybe to some but I-I find that it’s a reminder,” his voice is quiet and calm, already slipping into his usual pattern of speech when he’s behind the lectern. He steps deeper into the living room and passes by you, making his way to the empty couch.

“A reminder to trust in Him even when we’re not sure of-of the path,” he finishes. You’re thankful he’s behind your back so he doesn’t see the way your eyes roll at his canned response. He must’ve seen the tension in your body though, taking note of the way your arms are still crossed over your chest, because he tries once more to get you to listen.

“You do remember that he was rewarded? In the end?”

“Yeah, but he went through hell to get it… hardly seems fair,” you answer him.

“Well, the Lord, He—,”

“If you say ‘Works in mysterious ways’…” you cut him off with a warning glare as you finally turn to face him.

Paul lets out a breathy laugh, staring down at the thick book in his hands. “I was only going to say that He doesn’t always…” he pauses for a moment, searching for the right words, “reveal His plans to us in a way that makes sense at the time. That’s all,” he finishes with a tight-lipped smile.

There’s a brief moment of silence that hangs in the air as you wait for him to move past this conversation. His quick inhale fills the room as he clears his throat quietly, his arm gesturing towards the couch.

“Shall we?”

“Of course,” you respond softly, your words tucked under your breath. He walks around to the front of the couch, his eyes fixed on you as you follow his path. He sits down as his fingers curl around the blue, knitted blanket that’s sprawled out across the cushion beside him.

“Here, let me—,” he doesn’t finish his sentence before draping it across the back of the couch. There’s a spot for you now, close enough that you knew you’d be touching him if you sat beside him. As tempting as the offer is, you find yourself shaking your head gently.

“Is-is something wrong?” he asks, his big, dark eyes searching yours. They’re wide and innocent, truly worrying that he overstepped. Once again, you’re reminded of how pure the man before you is; you nearly reconsider your original idea that made you seek him out tonight in the first place.

You shake your head as you stand in front of him, silently kneeling down and sitting on the floor. The priest’s expression instantly grows apprehensive. You flash him an innocent smile but his unsure glare never falters.

“I’ll just listen from here,” you tell him, trying to ease his worries. He looks hesitant but eventually swallows before opening the Bible. His long fingers splay out across the thin pages, turning them one after the other before finally stopping on a page.

He opens his mouth to speak, the words flowing effortlessly off of his tongue. His voice falls into the deep, rumbly tone that you only ever hear when he’s reading to you. There’s no audience, no image he has to maintain, and the words are so quiet it seems almost as if he’s reading to himself. You’ve always preferred these moments, when he appeared the most authentic he could be.

The more he reads the more comfortable you feel. Your body begins to relax and an idea strikes up in your mind. As he turns the next page, bringing in a deep inhale to continue the sentence, you let your head rest against his knee.

He immediately stutters over his words, repeating the same sound over and over. He never breaks his concentration though, and eventually pushes through and finishes the sentence. Not before flashing you a warning look as you rest your cheek against his leg, though.

It isn’t entirely inappropriate and would even be seen as a normal, platonic gesture. But given his profession, you knew it was absolutely not appropriate. You don’t pull away however, just keep your body slumped against his leg.

He continues speaking the old words, his pronounced sentences dissipating into muttered whispers the longer he goes on. Admittedly, you felt special that this tone was reserved only for you; there was a faint flare of pride in your chest knowing that you were the only one to hear his words so rumbly it’s as if they never fully left his chest.

At some point though, you begin to grow bored of just sitting there and waiting for him to finish. Usually these late night reads brought your anxiety down enough just to fall asleep on the priest, leaving him in the most awkward position of not knowing how to convince himself any of this was okay. But right now, you’d rather have some fun.

Paul knew something was up the second he saw your hand reaching towards him out of the corner of his eye. The muscles in his leg immediately tense, you feel it from under your skin. But you don’t want to raise his suspicion so soon.

Stretching further towards the Bible in his lap, you spread your fingers and place both palms over each side. Once his view is completely shielded from the printed words, he immediately looks into your mischievous eyes.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks confusedly. His eyebrows are pulled together as he awaits your answer.

“Just wanted to see how much you knew,” you reply genuinely. You knew the man had poured over this book time and time again, searching for meanings deeper than the blatant lessons that were spelled out for the reader. It always sent a conflicting feeling coursing through you, the way he could recite word after word from memory as if he was the one who had conjured them up. Conflicting because you liked the reminder of how devout he was, and isn’t that just a multifaceted guilt trip.

Paul smiles at your youthful game, and mentally accepts the challenge. He parts his lips before the words fall from his tongue.

“And when the days of the feast had run their course, Job would send and sanctify them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all,” he begins, never looking away from your face as he repeats them with no hesitation.

“For Job said, ‘It may be that my sons have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.’” The priest can’t stop from chuckling at the end of his sentence, having looked at your own genuine, bright grin. “Thus Job did continually.”

Once he’s finished, he flashes you his own smile before glancing down at your hands covering the pages still. You slowly remove them, giggling under your breath at how he passed your unofficial test.

The priest licks his lips once before clearing his throat gently, continuing again with his reading. As the minutes pass, you find yourself not paying much attention to the actual weight of the words. You just focus on his muttering voice until you're reminded of how sweet his last stutter sounded. And because you just can’t help yourself, you’re determined to hear it again.

Snaking your hand up his thigh, you feel his body grow stiff all over again. That adorable stutter becomes prominent once more, his eyes quickly focusing on your fingers rubbing up the inside of his leg as he attempts to finish the paragraph. Trying to pace your plan, you curl your fingers around his thigh and give him a moment to get used to the feeling.

“What are you doing?” These words are the coldest he’s spoken all night, yet you stay silent and wait. It takes him longer this time to finally react, to give his consent in the smallest agreement possible. It’s so minuscule that anybody else wouldn’t have noticed, but you know him awfully more than you should.

Half a nod. That’s all it takes, and you let your fingers graze lightly over the black slacks. They're taught from how he’s sitting, and you can see the outline of his thigh through the stretched material. His voice shakes now, the tone less steady and sure, as he forces himself to keep reading.

You’ve got to admit he’s doing better than you thought. He doesn’t stop reading, you assume he’s just trying to focus on something else, anything but your hand moving between his thighs. You must’ve hit a sweet spot though, inching near the little alcove where his thigh meets his hip, because the next thing you hear is a shuddering exhale as he halts his reading. 

And there it is only a second later—the outline of his cock showing through the dark dress pants. It never took very long, although this time it seems even quicker than usual. He continues to grow there, until you can see the fabric straining to accommodate for his now swollen head. You’ve barely touched him and he’s already so responsive.

Now that you can physically see the effect you have on him, there’s truly nothing that can stop you. Sure the nagging guilt is still in the back of your mind, telling you that you shouldn’t do this, but you push it away as much as you can. He looks so tempting right now: the loose strands of hair falling into his face, his lip caught between his teeth as he suppresses his groans, the faint twitch his cock gives when he feels your finger lightly drag along the base of his length. You love seeing him this desperate for you.

Your one finger lightly tracing the length of him is truly all it takes for the first twitch to happen in his trousers. The sight makes your mouth nearly water and you finally curl your fingers around him properly. Your grip isn’t too tight considering it’s over two layers of clothes, but it doesn’t stop the choked grunt from finally escaping his lips.

Still you continue, leaning closer until your breath is fanning over the bulge. He feels it, you can tell from the way his fingers clutch the book that’s resting on his other leg. The veins in the back of his hand become more prominent the harder he grabs it. Every part of his body is conflicting itself; he wants it but he knows he shouldn’t.

Still you wait, staring up at him and silently asking again if this is okay. He doesn’t stall as much this time—his eyes squeeze shut tightly before nodding quickly again, forcing another inhale through his nose.

You don’t waste a second and quickly press your tongue flat against the outline of his tip. Slowly licking along the length, you watch his body reel from how hard his stomach clenches at the feeling. He begins to shut the Bible but you grab his wrist before it can close all the way. You shake your head slowly, attempting to convince him to keep it open.

“Y…You know I can’t.”

“I like hearing you, Father,” you mumble quietly in the room. He stares down at you with an expression you can’t quite describe. There’s no emotion on his face, but his eyes look pained, no doubt from the name you referred to him as. He hardly moves except for the shallow breaths that you can only notice because of how close you are to him.

Waiting for his reaction seems to drag on for hours before he finally sighs through his nose and opens the book. You notice the way his fingers shake as he smooths out the page before trying to remember where he left off. Your lips pull into a smile as you hear his strained voice fill the room.

Squeezing the base of his cock tighter, you drag your tongue across his tip again before wrapping your lips around it. The story is cut off with his deep grunt, and you hum around him at the pleasant noise. The priest has his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to regain his composure.

You knew this was an awful, sacrilegious act you two were doing, but it doesn’t stop the heat growing between your legs. Leaning closer into him, you work your mouth on him faster, sucking harder through the fabric. His hand closest to you grips the edge of the seat as he seethes through his teeth.

Paul finally looks down at you, staring into your eyes that have never once left his face. You hold his gaze before glancing wordlessly to the book still in his hand. The whimper that he barely slips out is your new favorite sound, replaying it in your head as you shut your eyes.

“A-As long as… m…my breath,” he’s cut off with a shaky inhale. He tries to read aloud, but his voice trembles the entire time.

“Keep going, Father,” you pull your mouth away from the outline in his black trousers to encourage him. There’s a long, dark stripe along the fabric from your tongue, but another wet patch where the head of his cock is straining against the material.

“As long as my-my breath is in me, and t-the spirit of God is in my nostrils—,” he’s finding each word more impossible to speak. You never allow him to give up though, rubbing your hand over his thigh to support him.

“My lips will not speak f…falsehood, and my tongue will not utter deceit.” He manages to finish the paragraph before taking deep breaths, swallowing thickly and trying his damndest to not look at the sinful scene in his lap. But his body betrays him once more, twitching into your mouth when you hum sweetly around him as a reward for finishing what you asked him to.

Pressing your tongue right in the ridge under his swollen head, you hear a new sound escape his pressed lips. It's a guttural, raw twist of your name and it’s unexpected.

“Oh… Oh—Wait,” he tries to warn you but it’s much too late. His release happens without him realizing, his body moving while his mind doesn’t have a chance to catch up. When you feel him pulsing in your mouth you glance up at him and oh, what a sight it is.

He’s completely disheveled, biting down into his hand to muffle the noise he’s ashamed for anyone to hear, and the veins in his neck are protruding just above the edge of his collar. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but you always make sure to memorize the sight down to those details. To always keep the picture in your mind.

What really catches your attention though, is the stream of white bubbling up through the taught fabric around his sensitive tip. You didn’t realize he would have finished quite this fast, but you definitely don’t mind it. Squeezing the middle of his length tightly, you slowly slide your hand up, determined to get all of it out of him.

Paul’s thighs are beginning to shake from the sensation and you can only imagine how good it must feel for him. You stick your tongue out as you lap up the mess he’s made, and his thighs jolt to close around your body. His sensitivity to your every touch leaves a desire that burns hotly in the bottom of your stomach. You love the feeling of having power over him, admittedly too much.

Once he’s clean, you finally let go of him altogether and sit back on your legs. He’s left panting in awe as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish you could see inside his head, try and understand what he’s thinking. But right now his dark eyes are glossed over and he looks as if he’s somewhere completely else.

“Thank you, Father.”

He scrunches his eyes shut tightly the second the words fill the air. It’s silent except for his panting as you rest your head on his knee once more. This time it is a platonic action, your way of showing him you’re there without words. And there you sit beside your priest in the small, old house behind the great big church, with the weight of everything that just happened.

#father paul x reader #father paul fanfic #paul hill x reader #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass fanfic #hamish linklater fanfiction #hierophilia #as someone who grew up christian i did feel a lil guilty writing this #HOWEVER #he cute. #chelsea writes #happy birthday pea!

[muzaktomyears]

In 1980 Peter Brown, a former assistant to Brian Epstein who later ran Apple Corps, managed the Beatles and was best man at John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s wedding, started work on the definitive account of the Beatles. With the American author Steven Gaines, he spoke to the three surviving band members alongside wives, girlfriends, managers, friends, hangers-on and everyone else in the Fabs’ universe. The book promised to be the last word in Beatles history. Then in 1983 The Love You Make was published, and all hell broke loose.

“They were furious,” recalls Gaines, 78, still sounding pained at the memory. “Paul and Linda tore the book apart and burned it in the fireplace, page by page. There was an omerta, a code of silence around the Beatles, and they didn’t think anyone would come forward to tell the truth. But Queenie, Brian Epstein’s mother, told us above all else to be honest.”

“Even she didn’t think we would be quite so honest,” adds Brown, 87, his upper-crust English tones still in place after five decades in New York.

Why did The Love You Make, retitled by Beatles fans as The Muck You Rake, incite such strong feelings? The suggestion of an affair between Lennon and Epstein on a holiday to Barcelona in April 1963, only three weeks after the birth of Lennon’s son Julian, had something to do with it, but more significantly it was taken as a betrayal by a trusted insider. Brown and Gaines locked the recordings in a bank vault and never looked at them again — until now.

“Very good question,” Brown says, when I ask why he and Gaines have decided to publish All You Need Is Love, an oral history made up of the interview transcripts from which The Love You Make was drawn. He is speaking from the Manhattan apartment on Central Park West where he has lived since 1971. “When [Peter Jackson’s documentary] Get Back came out, a journalist from The New York Times wanted me to talk. I told him I hadn’t talked about the Beatles since the book was published and suggested he go to someone else. He said, ‘There isn’t anyone else. Paul, Ringo and you are the only ones left.’ And I thought, do I have a responsibility to clear it all up, once and for all?”

After the death of Epstein in 1967, Brown assumed the day-to-day responsibilities of managing the Beatles and Apple Corps. He had on his desk a red telephone whose number was known only to the four Beatles. Unsurprisingly, given his insider status, the interviews make for fascinating reading. Paul McCartney, yet to be asked the same questions about the Beatles thousands of times over, is remarkably unguarded. Asked by Gaines if the other Beatles were anti-Linda, he replies: “I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko.” On the image the Fabs had for being good boys on tour, he says, “You are kidding,” before going on to reference a notorious incident involving members of Led Zeppelin, a groupie and a mud shark, concluding: “No, not in the least bit celibate. We just didn’t do it with fish.”

Ono, speaking in the spring of 1981, not long after Lennon was killed in December 1980, reveals that she didn’t sleep with Lennon for the first two years of their relationship — “John didn’t know how to make a move” — and claims that she was blamed by the Beatles camp, George Harrison in particular, for getting Lennon onto heroin in 1969. “Everything we did in those days, anything that was wrong, was my responsibility,” she tells Gaines. But everyone, from the Beatles’ notorious late-period manager Allen Klein to the Greek electronics wizard/hustler “Magic” Alex Mardas — “the Mordred of the Beatles’ Camelot” according to Brown — has their own version of events.

Going through the transcripts reminded Gaines of the long shadow cast by Lennon. “I didn’t realise how sensitive the other Beatles were to John’s opinion,” he says, speaking from his home in the Hamptons, Long Island. “Paul worried about what John would say [in the event Lennon died before being interviewed] and was still longing for his friendship. George said that John didn’t read his autobiography because it was called I, Me, Mine. Those interviews were done before John’s death and Paul’s heart was broken, even then. It wasn’t just the break-up of the Beatles. It was more personal than that.”

From around 1968, the transcripts reveal how the key Beatles duo started to come apart. McCartney’s enthusiasm was only getting stronger. But Lennon grew increasingly bored and disillusioned. “You have to remember that John wasn’t in love with his wife Cynthia,” Gaines says by way of explanation. “He wanted to get away from the life he was leading and that’s why he started to experiment with drugs, all the way up to heroin.”

Brown says Ono was, and probably still is, a distant, mysterious character, exactly the kind of person Lennon was looking for, having done the right thing and married the sensible, quiet Cynthia after she discovered she was pregnant with Julian in 1963. “John told me about meeting this woman, and how frustrated he was that he couldn’t get to know her better; he couldn’t take her to lunch because it would cause gossip. I gave him the key to my apartment so he and Yoko could be together in private and thought, naturally, they were going there to f***. When I went home that evening, the apartment was untouched. They did nothing more than sit on the sofa and talk. That’s what they wanted: to know each other.”

Regarding the long-held, unfair suggestion that Ono broke up the Beatles, Gaines says: “Yoko came along at the right moment to light the fuse, but the dynamite was already packed. They resented her, she was difficult to understand and had a deep effect on John, but they were getting more and more unhappy with each other and needed to have their own lives. As people in the interviews say again and again, [the split] was bound to happen.”

It was Brown who in May 1968 introduced McCartney to Linda Eastman, an ambitious young American photographer whom he knew from his business trips to New York, when she came to London on an assignment to shoot the Rolling Stones. “I was having dinner with Paul at the Bag O’ Nails [a club in Soho] when she turned up, so I introduced them and he was obviously taken with her,” Brown recalls. “The following Friday, May 19, we were holding a party for 12 top photographers at Brian Epstein’s house in London when she walked in. Paul says I didn’t introduce him to his wife … but I did.”

If the book has a villain it is Klein, the New York accountant who took over management of the Beatles and sacked everyone around them, much to McCartney’s horror. As Brown puts it: “He was a hideous person. He even looked like a crook: sloppy and fat, always wearing sneakers and sweatshirts. Everything he didn’t like was ‘for shit’.”

You wonder why Lennon fell for him. “The interviews suggest it is because Allen Klein offered Yoko a million dollars for her movie project,” Gaines says. “She was enticed and John would do anything Yoko said.”

“I asked Mick Jagger to come over and explain to the four Beatles who this Allen Klein was,” Brown remembers. “And John, in his wonderful way, had Klein turn up to the same meeting, which was deeply embarrassing. It made Mick very uncomfortable too.”

Epstein, the man who saw the Beatles’ potential in the first place, is a central figure in All You Need Is Love. It includes a transcript of a recording of him from 1966, not used for the original book. It was in the possession of Epstein’s attorney Nat Weiss, and seemingly made by Epstein to mark the end of the Beatles’ final tour. He claims not only that Lennon felt remorse for the infamous comment on the Beatles being bigger than Jesus — “What upset John more than anything else was that hundreds of people were hurt by that” — but that the Beatles would tour once more. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t appear in public again,” Epstein claims. They never did, unless you count that rooftop performance on January 30, 1969.

“Brian was driving them around the north of England in his car for a year,” Brown remembers of the early days. “This Jewish guy from Liverpool, who was gay, was with these guys who had been hanging around in Hamburg, so both had interesting backgrounds. They understood each other.”

For Gaines, a self-described “gay Jewish boy from Brooklyn”, Epstein is at the heart of the story. “Brian never felt the love of a real relationship. Then he found the Beatles. Everyone thought it would be just another of his phases, but he had tremendous feelings for John, both sexual and intellectual, and that’s what really pushed him. If there was one thing that started the whole thing off, it was Brian’s love for John Lennon.”

That love affair was the contentious issue of the original book. In his interview, McCartney says of Lennon going to Spain with Epstein: “What was John doing, manipulating this manager of ours? Sucking up to him, going on holiday, becoming his special friend.” It wasn’t the suggestion of a homosexual relationship that was troubling McCartney, but the balance of power tilting in Lennon’s direction.

“Paul wanted to be in charge, and he deserved to be because he was the motor, the driving force,” Gaines says. “Paul felt that John would steal away the power. He felt threatened by John’s relationship with Brian.”

“Paul always wanted to be active,” Brown adds. “After Brian’s death the world had to be carried on. Who was going to do that? It wasn’t going to be John, George or Ringo. Brian was my best friend and I was very upset [at his death]. I had to go to the court to convince the magistrate that it wasn’t a suicide, and the following day Paul set up a meeting so we could discuss what we would do next. I said we’d do it next week, and he said, ‘No, it has to be now.’ He was right.”

How did Brown and Gaines feel about the horrified reaction to the book, not just from fans but the Beatles themselves? “The world has changed,” Gaines says, by way of answer. “Now, after all these years, hopefully people can see it as a truthful, loving and gentle book.” It has been decades since Brown spoke to the surviving Beatles and he has not contacted them about this new publication.

What the interviews really capture in eye-opening detail is the story of four young men who became a phenomenon, then had to deal with the fallout as the dream ended. On December 31, 1970, the day McCartney sued the other three to dissolve the partnership, Brown handed in his resignation as the Beatles’ day-to-day manager and officer of Apple Corps. Ringo Starr said to him: “You didn’t want to be a nursemaid any more, and half the time the babies wouldn’t listen to you anyway.” Brown moved to New York and became chief executive officer of the Robert Stigwood Organisation. But the Beatles never fully left him, and in the wake of Get Back — and the news that Sam Mendes is to direct four biopics, one on each Beatle — he decided he had one last job.

“We have finished our responsibilities,” Brown says with quiet authority. “It is the end of the story.”

EXTRACTS

‘It’s like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!’

Paul McCartney on the Beatles signing Allen Klein as manager against his wishes

[John Lennon] said, “I’m going with [Allen] Klein, what do you want to do about it?” and I kind of said, “I don’t think I will, that’s my roll.” Then George and Ringo said, “Yeah, we’ll go with John.” Which was their roll. But that was pretty much how it always ended up, the three of them wanted to do stuff, and I was always the fly in the ointment, I was always the one dragging his heels. John used to accuse me of stalling. In fact, there was one classic little meeting when we were recording Abbey Road. It was a Friday evening session, and I was sitting there, and I’d heard a rumour from Neil [Aspinall, road manager] or someone that there was something funny going around. So we got to the session, and Klein came in. To me, he was like a sort of demon that would always haunt my dreams. He got to me. Really, it was like I’d been dreaming of him as a dentist. Anyway, so at this meeting, everyone said, “You’re going to stall for ever now, we know you, you don’t even want to do it on Monday.” And I said, “Well, so what? It’s not a big deal, it’s our prerogative and it could wait a few more days.” They said, “Oh no, typical of you, all that stalling and what. Got to do it now.” I said, “Well, I’m not going to. I demand at least the weekend. I’ll look at it, and on Monday. This is supposed to be a recording session, after all.” I dug me heels in, and they said, “Right, well, we’re going to vote it.” I said, “No, you’ll never get Ringo to.” I looked at Ringo, and he kind of gave me this sick look like, yeah, I’m going with them. Then I said, “Well, this is like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!”

‘You don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team’

Paul McCartney on Yoko Ono

Give Yoko a lot . . . that was basically what John and Yoko wanted, recognition for Yoko. We found her sitting on our amps, and like a football team, an all-male thing, you really don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team. It’s a disturbing thing, they think it throws them off the game or whatever it was, and these were the reasons that I thought, well, this is crazy, we’re gonna have Yoko in the group next. Looking at it now, I feel a bit sorry for her because, if only I had been able to understand what the situation was and think, wait a minute, here’s a girl who’s not had enough attention. I can now not make this into a major crisis and just sort of say, “Sure, what harm is she doing on the amps?” I know they would have really loved me. You know, we didn’t like Yoko at first, and people did call her ugly and stuff, and that must be hard for someone who loves someone and is so passionately in love with them, but I still can’t — I’m still trying to see his point of view. What was the point of all that? They’re very suspicious people [Lennon and Ono], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

How Cynthia Lennon was driven to drink — at an ashram

Alexis ‘Magic Alex’ Mardas on Ono’s love letters to Lennon

Alexis Mardas was also known as Magic Alex, a name John bestowed on him because he was so taken with Alex’s inventions. Alex was handsome, charming, and a charlatan. (He sued The [New York] Times in Britain for calling him a charlatan and settled out of court. He’s dead now.)

[The Maharishi] was fooling around with several American girls. The Maharishi was making all of us eat vegetarian food, very poorly cooked, but he was eating chicken. No alcohol was allowed in the camp. I had to smuggle alcohol in because Cynthia wanted to drink. Cynthia was very depressed. John was receiving letters from Yoko Ono. Yoko was planning to win John. She was writing very poetic and very romantic letters. I remember those letters because John was coming to me with the letters, and Yoko was saying to John that “I’m a cloud in the sky, and, when you read this letter, turn your head and look in the sky, and if you see a small cloud, this is Yoko. Away from you but watching you.” Poor Cynthia was prepared to do absolutely everything to win John. She was not even allowed to visit the house where John was staying. She was longing for a drink. Now, drinks, they were strictly prohibited in the ashram, but when it was discovered that Maharishi had a drink, I said, “Just a second, at least equal.”

‘He’s become so nasty’

George Harrison on reaching out to John Lennon

What’s wrong with John, he’s become so nasty. It sounds like he hasn’t moved an inch from where he was five or six years ago. I sent Ringo, John, and Paul all a copy of my book. I got a call from Paul. He called me up just to say how much he liked it. I shouldn’t have called it I Me Mine, because that title was a bit much. I sent a copy to John. I’m wondering if he’s actually received it, if he’s received it, he probably doesn’t like it or something offends him about it.

‘I told John that ... it was just a nice feeling’

Yoko Ono advising John Lennon how to take heroin

George said I put John on H, and it wasn’t true at all. I mean, John wouldn’t take anything unless he wanted to do it. When I went to Paris [before I met John], I just had a sniff of it and it was a beautiful feeling. Because the amount was small, I didn’t even get sick. It was just a nice feeling. So I told John that. When you take it properly — properly is not the right word — but when you really snort it, then you get sick right away if you’re not used to it. So I think maybe because I said it wasn’t a bad experience, maybe that had something to do with it, I don’t know. But I mean so, he kept saying, “Tell me how it was?” Why was he asking? That was sort of a preliminary because he wanted to take it, that’s why he was asking. And that’s how we did it. We never injected. Never.

‘It was time’

Ringo Starr on the end of the Beatles

Ringo Starr: Well, I’m pleased it happened because in so many ways, I’m glad it’s not going now. It was time. Things last only so long. Steven Gaines: The Rolling Stones are [still] going. Ringo Starr: Yeah, but they’re old men.

(source)

#the beatles #here we go

[igorvinyls]

Why I Believe John Lennon is Asuka Langley

Hello everyone! I originally created a thread about this over on Twitter, though I also want to post it here just because. I want to preface this by saying while this is mostly a joke, I still want to point out the similarities between the two. I find that both John and Asuka are very complex people/characters that happen to heavily relate to each other. Obvious spoilers for Neon Genesis Evangelion. TW FOR TOPICS SUCH AS SUICIDE AND DEATH.

CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Both John and Asuka lost their mothers from a young age, with Asuka losing her mother at 4 and John losing his mother just before his 18th birthday. It’s known that John’s mother wasn’t exactly mentally stable as Mimi, John’s aunt, was given custody of him. Similarly to John’s mother, Asuka’s mom, Kyoko, was also mentally unstable. Kyoko lost her mind after surviving a failed experiment with Evangelion Unit-02. This experiment would also end up taking the life of Yui Ikari, Shinji’s mother (this is important info for later.) Kyoko ultimately committed suicide after losing her mind and her husband in the process. Though it is ambiguous how Asuka’s father felt towards her, he did indeed drive his daughter away by cheating on Kyoko while hospitalized. It’s also known that John’s father wasn’t very involved with him up until the height of Beatlemania. Both John and Asuka were never very close with their parents due to many different factors.

(It can also be argued that John and Asuka were both adopted, but Asuka being adopted was only canon in the manga. For the sake of this post, I’ll only mention canon events from the anime going forward.)

I would also like to bring up this video.

RELATIONSHIPS WITH LOVERS

John and Yoko will probably be the most recognized celebrity couple in the world. It’s also recognized that John had an Oedipus complex which was sometimes discussed. The same can be said for Asuka, considering the fact that she romantically latched onto Kaji, a 30 year old special inspector for NERV. Asuka does this to fill the void of a perfect father figure in her life, as well as filling the role of a lover. John mentions doing this with Yoko numerous times. John and Yoko would even go as far as calling each other mommy and daddy. Moving onto other romantic relationships, I will now discuss Shinji, Asuka, John, and Paul. Shinji and Asuka have this strange dynamic throughout the story of Evangelion. Asuka is secretly in love with Shinji (you can already see which direction this is headed in), though Shinji has a hard time reciprocating his feelings due to his own personal struggles. Asuka’s rudeness and constant bullying also confuses Shinji, leaving him to wonder what Asuka truly feels for him. In this scenario, Paul would be in the same boat as Shinji. Shinji and Paul both lost their mothers at a young age. Paul and John bonded over the loss of their mothers. In a way, this also happens with Shinji and Asuka. It’s easy to tell that Shinji is more drawn towards Asuka after she tells him that her stepmom isn’t her actual mother. John and Paul go on to have a rivalry as they grow older, which also happens to Asuka and Shinji, though their rivalry was highlighted since day one. This rivalry between the two characters progresses all the way to the finale of the series. You can say that Asuka finally accepts Shinji when she lifts her hand up to his cheek while he is brutally strangling her. This act is seen as her accepting him into her heart after everything that they’ve been through. John and Paul also reconcile towards the end of John’s life. In Evangelion, the world is quite literally destroyed at the end of the series when the two finally reconcile. I’m not gonna be cheesy and say the same for John and Paul, but yeah. MOVING ON NOW.

OTHER FACTORS

John and Asuka have a habit of trying to appear more “mature” than they truly are. Asuka constantly boasts about being the best and most mature out of everyone. Same can be said for John. We also see this with his marriage to Cynthia Powell, John’s first wife. In my eyes, John’s first marriage was a rush to maturity considering the fact that he was only 21. I could say the same for John having a child with Cynthia at such a young age as well. John and Asuka, though trying to seem mature, are ultimately vulnerable people who tend to regress. Asuka acts like a young, lovestruck girl with Kaji. John acted in a similar fashion with Yoko. Asuka and John had massive egos. What else is there to say, really?

FINAL SUMMARY AND A FUN FACT

This is gonna be a quick one that basically ties together the points of my threads.

John and Asuka were seriously neglected as children which had a massive impact on their social development, as well as behavior.

Both had large egos, yet low self esteem.

The only fun fact about the two I have is that they both know German and Japanese.

THANKS FOR READING!

#the beatles #john lennon #neon genesis evangelion #nge #asuka langley soryu #asuka langley shikinami #asuka langely #paul mccartney #beatles #character analysis #idk why i made this #at first i thought it was silly but then i was like damn they rlly are similar #mclennon #i guess it’s kind of mclennon-y #neon genesis asuka #neon genesis shinji #shinji ikari #asushin #dont take this too seriously #all for funsies

[rosemary-writes]

Light my fire

David x gender neutral! Reader

A/N: hey babes, eat up. I got another David fic cooking

David had never felt this way before. Of course there were numerous times where he saw a person on the boardwalk and wanted them, but no one ever made him flustered the way you did.

It all started one night when the summer was starting to end. The boardwalk was extremely packed with people trying to live it up or bring their families on vacation before August rolled around. David and the boys were at their usual spot. Scoping the sea of faces around them had become second nature at this point with how often they did it when they didn’t have much to talk about.

Paul and Marko were idly chatting about the many different people who they wanted to “have fun” with. Dwayne had left with Laddie earlier to go play some games much to Davids chagrin.

He just didn’t feel content in the moment to sit and stare at the many gawkers that passed him by. So, he parked his bike and pulled out a cigarette.

“I’m going for a walk, keep an eye out will ya?” He said, motioning towards his bike. Marko and Paul replied quickly before going back to their conversation. In the blink of an eye, David had dived into the sea of people, completely submerging himself in it.

He wandered around for a bit, not really going in a specific direction. He looked at the crowd around him and noticed a few new pop up shops that hadn’t been there in the past few days. He waltzed over to what looked like a small jewlery store and just looked. The jewlery was silver macabre creations. Skeletons, knives, ruby for blood, and a necklace that mimicked a vampire bite. He smirked and let out a chuckle at the jewlery. It looked tacky to him.

Deciding he had seen enough, he turned and walked away from the odd trinkets. He paused for a moment, grabbing the cigarette that was behind his ear. He put it in his mouth and searched for his lighter. He checked his pants but it wasnt there. Odd, he never really misplaced it. After checking his coat pockets, he realized he didn’t have his lighter at all. Damn, he really wanted a smoke right now.

“Need a light cowboy?” a voice asked with the click of a lighter.

David turned and looked at the owner of the voice and was met with you. He was taken aback by your frame and kind face.

“Cowboy?” He asked quietly.

“Well, you’ve got spurs on your boots. I figured you must be a cowboy.” you responded, holding out your lighter to light his cigarette.

No one had ever lit Davids cigarettes before. Not even one of the boys.

David pause and when you took your lighter away, once you deemed the cigarette lit, he took a drag of it and stared at you.

You had a kind smile on your face and David could tell it was genuine. If he could blush, he would be doing so right now.

“Well, I’m not a cowboy anymore.” David said with a smirk, eyeing you up and down.

You must’ve taken notice that he was eyeing you because you blushed and David felt pride in making you blush.

“Whats your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the town before.” David asked, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around the two of you.

You gave him your name and he played with it in his head.

“Nice name.” He responded.

“Whats yours?” You asked, a glimmer of curiosity in your eyes.

“David.” He answered a little coldly.

You didn’t seem taken aback by his cold demeanor. In fact, it seemed to make you more drawn to him. Abruptly, a group of people walked out of the store that you two were standing next to.

“Hey! There you are, we were getting worried” a short woman said, coming up to you with a few bags draped on her arms.

He continued to smoke as you smiled and turned your attention towards the group of people. It irked him a little bit to no longer be what drew your attention.

David realized these people must’ve been your friend group and you didn’t go with them into the other shops. He observed you as you spoke with your friends and discussed what to do with them. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out as you turned back to him.

“Sorry about that David.” You said, offering an apologetic smile. David smiled in return.

“Don’t worry about it.” He replied, putting his hands in his coat pockets.

“We’re uh, we’re about to leave the boardwalk. Will I see you again?” You asked, hope lacing your voice.

David grinned down at your frame, “If you come back to the boardwalk then yeah, you will see me again.”

“Alright then. I'll see you later cowboy.” You said, turning away from him and walking away with your group of friends.

David stood there and watched you as you walked away, never taking his eyes off of you as you disappeared into the night.

He wanted to follow you and take your hand and show you the night time world. David had never felt so flustered over a human before. He just had to have you

#the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #rosemary writes #the lost boys 1987 #david the lost boys x reader #david x reader #david tlb

[luv4fandoms]

Think about the lost boys just coming right behind you and just sniffing you deeply into your neck and hair

Brain would just short circuit, like whaaaaa. I mean I'd take it as a compliment that a being with a super high sense of smell enjoys my scent but also, holy sh*t that seemed intimate lol.

Paul

Paul does this a lot anyways

By far the most touchy of the group

Like even before he and you become mates

The first time he did it (not long after meeting them) it flustered the hell out of you

404 error

He had just walked up behind you one night while you were standing there talking to Marko, wrapped his arms around your middle, pulled you in, and leaned down to bury his nose in your neck.

You just stood there like 😶, which caused the boys to start laughing.

"Paulie" you spoke after a moment

"Yeah Sugar?" He'd ask, and you could feel the smile against your skin.

"Whatcha doing?"

*Cue Paul moaning, making you even more flustered. Something he took note of*

"You just smell so good" he'd tell you, and yup, you were a goner

After finding out about them being vamps it became even more flustering.

Like knowing that a vampire enjoys your scent enough to not kill you is awesome

But when said vampire enjoys sniffing (which often leads to licking) you every time he can get his hands on you.

Flustering.as.hell

Trying to clean up the cave?

Paul appears out of nowhere to pull you towards him for a sniff.

Sitting on the couch?

Bam suddenly Paul.

Walking by the couch while he is sitting on it?

Pulls you into his lap.

Already in bed?

Cuddle fest right? Boy would fall asleep with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Like I said, Paul is touchy, he's loving, and he's a cuddle bug. Period.

Marko

The first time Marko did it was genuine

You had used your new peppermint shampoo that night and Marko had found himself instantly drawn to the scent.

He could smell it across the cave and it felt like the combination of it mixed with your own scent was just drawing him in.

*cue cartoon character floating along following the scent*

You were sitting on the couch, turned sideways to get a better look at the fountain, which was currently the subject of your sketch.

When he slowly sat behind you, careful not to make you make unneeded marks on the page.

And just...*buries face, and deep sniff against the hair that covered the back of your neck*

*cue you almost shooting up off of the couch if his arm hadn't quickly wrapped around your middle*

"Marko what the hell?!?" You asked but you were glad he couldn't see your extremely red face.

"Sorry Cutie, you just smell so good" he smiled.

Marko would also be a little teasing shit

Often sniffing your neck as he held you close

And when you'd squirm because of how flustered it made you, he'd just give you that shit eating grin and ask.

"What's wrong my little juice box?"

Dwayne

Your scent was one of the first things that attracted him to you that night on the boardwalk.

He could smell the mixture of florals and your own intoxicating scent from a mile away.

He would never say it out loud but your scent grounds and comforts him.

Just because he's the quiet one doesn't mean he doesn't have shit going on upstairs.

Sometimes he does get stressed, or just annoyed with the group.

But your scent just melts that all away and makes his brain quiet.

The first time it happened the group had been rowdier than normal

Fresh kills under their belt, even if it had been close calls of getting caught.

Marko and Paul were being especially loud, getting Laddie to join in on the fun.

David had this very tense aura about him, no doubt aware of the close call.

And Dwayne...Dwayne had retreated to the couch in the far corner, almost completely concealed in the shadows, but his aura was just...stressed.

You slowly made your way over to him and asked if he was ok, watching as he looked up at you for a long moment.

You knew he wasn't the talking type, so you figured that look was a simple "leave me alone".

Giving him a sad smile you just nodded and turned to leave.

Before you felt your body quickly move backwards.

Strong arms wrapped around your middle while your back pressed against his chest.

He quickly buried his nose in your hair and neck, breathing your scent in deeply and letting it calm him.

You on the other hand were beyond flustered and a blushing mess, heart racing.

"Stay for a bit?" He asked, if you would have said no he would let you go, as hard as it would be.

"Ok" you replied, feeling the smile against your neck before feeling him bury his entire face against your hair, arms tightening a bit.

David

David would never let on how much your scent affected him.

Like he acts like he couldn't be bothered

When in fact your scent makes his brain both short circuit and go into overdrive

Honestly he hates it

Hates that he has a hard time controlling himself around you, because he needs control.

But every time you come around...404 error.

He hides it well though, the boys don't know after all, nor do they or you need to know.

But sometimes it gets harder to control

Some days he thinks about just pulling you to him and never letting you go

And one day that intrusive thought won out.

You had been cleaning up the cave, a task he had told you didn't matter, but you insisted.

Saying that sure they might trip over something and it didn't matter, but you might and break a bone.

A fact that he didn't want to happen so he let you clean.

And watched as you picked up Laddie's toys that you had bought him, as well as things the boys had left lying around.

Speaking of, the boys had gone off to the boardwalk with Laddie and Star, leaving the two of you alone.

By now only your scent filled the cave due to your slight sweat from cleaning

And it was driving.him.mad

The snapping point was when you passed in front of him too close, your scent completely washing over him, and the next thing you knew you were sat in his lap on his throne.

His nose buried against the hair that covered the back of your neck

Breathing deeply and releasing the breath in a low growl.

The action completely flustered you

Like holy shit wtf? Also please don't stop.

Because David didn't give you this kind of attention

Even though deep down you had been begging the universe for him to.

"D-David?" You asked after a moment, voice unsure, and being met with a tighter grip against your middle.

"Yes?" He asked easily before burying his nose against just your bare neck after moving your hair aside.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Nothing" he told you with another low growl, causing your mouth to clamp shut.

"Ok"

You sat there, slowly relaxing in his hold as he buried his nose against your skin more, slowly rubbing circles against your stomach.

Honestly it felt really good to be held by him, you felt extremely protected.

Almost enough to lull you into a light sleep.

Until you heard the next word he whispered.

"Mine"

I hope you like these ☺️. I know I definitely wouldn't be complaining if any of these fine gentlemen did this to me lol

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #paul x reader #paul tlb #paul the lost boys #marko x reader #marko tlb #marko the lost boys #dwayne x reader #dwayne tlb #dwayne the lost boys #david x reader #david tlb #david the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #tlb #tlb 1987 #tlb x reader #asks and answers #the lost boys headcanons #tlb headcanons #marko headcanons #paul headcanons #dwayne headcanons #david headcanons #brooke mccarter #alex winter #billy wirth #kiefer sutherland

[forkshighschooler]

The Unwavering Bonds

Paul Lahote x reader

Paul Lahote had always been fiercely protective of his imprint, Y/N. Their love had weathered every storm, and they had built a life together in La Push. However, there was one part of Y/N's life that Paul found himself drawn to the most—their adopted child, Aaliyah.

It was a frost-kissed evening when Y/N and Paul found themselves wrapped in the warmth of their home, Aaliyah's giggles filling the air. As the fire crackled, Aaliyah curled up next to Paul, her eyes shining with innocence and love. Paul couldn't help but marvel at the bond Y/N had formed with Aaliyah, and how seamlessly he had embraced their little family.

"Is everything okay, Paul?" Y/N's voice brought him back to the present, her eyes reflecting concern.

Paul took Y/N's hand and drew her close, his touch grounding her. "I just can't help but be amazed by you and Aaliyah. The love you both share... it's truly something special."

Y/N's smile illuminated the room, her affectionate gaze embracing Paul. "We're so lucky to have you, Paul. Aaliyah adores you, you know."

The warmth of their exchange lingered long after Aaliyah had drifted to sleep. That same night, as they prepared for bed, Paul wrapped Y/N in a loving embrace, his heart brimming with emotions he found hard to express with words alone.

"Y/N, I love you and Aaliyah more than anything in this world. You give my life purpose, and seeing the way you care for her... it's like a reflection of the incredible person you are."

Y/N nestled into Paul's embrace, her touch a comforting balm to his soul. "We're a team, Paul. Our love is what shapes our family, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

In the days that followed, Paul found himself seeking every opportunity to bond with Aaliyah, witnessing her growth and relishing in her laughter. Whether it was teaching her to skip stones on the beach or telling her bedtime stories, Paul reveled in the unique connection he had forged with Aaliyah. Every moment spent with her deepened his love for Y/N and reinforced his commitment to their family.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Paul found himself engrossed in a game of hide-and-seek with Aaliyah. Her giggles filled the clearing as she dashed behind the trees, her infectious joy lighting up the twilight. It was during one of these carefree moments that Paul realized how deeply he had come to love Aaliyah, not as an adopted child, but as his own.

As the game drew to a close, Aaliyah bounded towards Paul, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I found you, Paul! You're the best at hiding!"

Paul scooped Aaliyah into his arms, spinning her in the air as her laughter danced around them. "You're the best seeker, Aaliyah! You've got a talent for finding happiness wherever you go."

Later that night, after Aaliyah had drifted off to sleep, Paul found Y/N gazing at the stars from their porch. He joined her, the serenity of the night enveloping them in a tranquil embrace.

"You seem lost in thought, Paul," Y/N remarked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

Paul took a moment before speaking, his eyes fixated on the constellations above. "I never imagined I could love someone as much as I love you and Aaliyah. The way she looks at the world with such wonder... it's like she's filled a void I never knew existed."

Y/N turned to face Paul, her eyes filled with tenderness. "Paul, you've given Aaliyah a love she had only dreamed of. She sees you as her father, cares for you as deeply as anyone possibly could."

In that moment, the weight of Paul's emotions lifted, replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the family they had created. Their unwavering bonds transcended bloodlines, weaving a tapestry of love and kinship that was unbreakable.

As the night surrendered to the dawn, Paul and Y/N knew that their love, enfolded within the embrace of Aaliyah's innocence, was the most powerful force in their lives—a force that would guide them through every joy and challenge, uniting them in the unyielding warmth of family.

#twilight fanfic #forkshighschooler #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #paul lahote x reader #twilight #paul lahote x yn #Wolfpack twilight

[pleasantlyinsincere]

Chris Hutchins - John's This Photo Kills postcard and Stuart

It was a warm June day in 1965 when the postcard landed on the desk of my office at the NME, deep in the heart of Covent Garden. The card was addressed to me but John, whose unmistakable handwriting marked him out as my correspondent, began 'Dear Mick', clearly alluding to Mick Jagger [...]. The message went on in typical Lennon vein: 'Woke up this mornin' - cornflakes - brown sugar - dig? Shoes - mac - raining down - still digging? ... Folk fingers - brass coffee - couldn't sleep - broke my line. Won't be back in time. DIG??? He signed it 'THE BIFOLKALS'.

I read it over and over again but never could work out half of what he was trying to say. Except, that is, for the 'brown sugar' bit. It was the term in those days - and this was Sixties, remember - for heroin [...].

But it was the picture on the other side that was most interesting - a photograph of himself, Paul, George and Ringo. Over each face he had inked-in dark glasses and on his one hand showing, a black glove. There was more: in the center of the group he had drawn a fifth person, a fifth Beatle and it was none other than the late Stuart Sutcliffe. Stuart had always worn dark glasses.

The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'

[John showing Hutchins around recently purchased Kenwood.]

There were John Lewis style paintings everywhere, but hung in one of the guest bedrooms were just two drawings and our host became clearly emotional when he explained they were there for 'sentimental reasons'. They were in fact works by his late dear friend, the man who helped him found the Beatles, Stuart Sutcliffe.

In that moment all John's feelings for the one man he had most liked and admired became apparent, he turned away but not before I saw his eyes welled up with tears. John never liked looking back when it exposed his feelings [...]. But even he could do nothing to hide the sadness brought on by such reminders of the past as hung before us.

We left the 'Sutcliffe room' and I noticed that he locked the door behind him. The room had become a shrine.

#random reading #john lennon #stuart sutcliffe

[hischierdevils]

Moth to a Flame | J.M.

note: inspired by this song

summary: you and john have always been drawn to each other but now it may be too late for him to do something about it

warnings: angst with a fluff-ish ending (it may or may not rip your heart out @rowdyhughesy)

wc: 2.5k

Like a moth to a flame

I'll pull you in, I'll pull you back to what you need initially

It's just one call away

And you'll leave him, you're loyal to me

But this time I let you be

John sits in his computer chair, picking at the arm rest as his mom goes on about something that’s happening in his hometown of North Easton. His brother Paul keeps asking his mother questions, keeping the conversation going so John doesn’t have to, something Paul has done since they were kids. 

The Marino family tries to have a video call at least once a week and it seems like their mom, Jen, feels the need to give the boys an update on every single person in their hometown. There’s only one person that John actually wants to hear about though, and he waits patiently for his mom to bring up their next door neighbors. 

He can still remember the day that you and your family moved in next door to him. It was the summer before third grade. He was outside in the driveway with Paul, shooting pucks at a trash can when a big uhaul pulled into the driveway next door. Their mom had told them that a family bought the house next door and they had a kid the same age as them. They were hoping for another boy to play with. 

They hadn’t expected you to climb out of that big truck and walk right over to them with your hand on your hip. They were both staring at you with mouths wide open as you flipped your hair over your shoulder and gazed at them both appraisingly. “Are you trying to play baseball with that thing?” 

John had looked down at the hockey stick in his hand, wondering how you could confuse it for a baseball bat. Paul, the outgoing twin, was already speaking up. “You’ve never seen a hockey stick before?” 

“Why would I ask if I knew what it was?” You were quick to sass Paul back and John found himself laughing at his twin's expression. No one had ever given it back to Paul like that. 

From that day forward, John was in awe of you. That first summer, more often than not, the three of you playing outside each day ended with you and Paul in some sort of argument. You’d leave to go back to your own yard in a huff but you always made sure to say goodbye to John. 

As the three of you grew up, you and John grew closer than you did with Paul. You confided in him about everything, he was your best friend. Both twins were protective of you as the three of you entered high school but anyone with eyes could see that there was something special between you and John. Both of your parents would even joke about your future wedding.

When John chose to join the USHL during senior year you cried and begged him to stay. You reminded him that he promised to take you to your senior prom. You knew it wasn’t fair, but you weren’t ready to let him go yet. He didn’t want to leave you or his brother, but he chose hockey. Paul ended up taking you to prom.

There wasn’t one big moment when John realized that he was in love with you. He just woke up one day and realized that he always had been. Watching you live your life through social media instead of being with you in person hurt him more than he thought possible. He often wondered who you were confiding in while he was gone. 

You texted each other every day, but he could feel you slipping away from him. You attended Boston College while he and Paul went to Harvard. With his hockey schedule, he couldn’t give you the attention he wanted to or that you deserved, so he never said anything about his feelings. 

“...and I was talking with Michelle the other day…” John snaps out of his thoughts and lifts his head up at the mention of your mom’s name. “She told me…oh I shouldn’t tell you.” Jen purses her lips in a laugh and John leans forward, knowing his mom is keeping something big a secret. 

“Now you have to tell us, Mom.” Paul laughs. “Can’t just leave us hanging like that.” John nods in agreement and their mother laughs. 

“Okay, but you can’t say anything to y/n!” John’s stomach does a little flip at the mention of your name. “Promise me!” Jen looks at her two boys through the computer screen expectantly. 

“I don’t even remember the last time I talked to y/n, ma. It’s been a couple weeks at least.” Paul says. 

John swallows a lump in his throat. “I promise.” He had talked to you just last night on the phone. If you had news why wouldn’t you tell him? Why did he have to hear it from his mom?

“Well, Michelle told me…” John realizes too late that he probably doesn’t want to hear whatever his mom is about to say. “Ethan stopped over the other day and talked with her and Greg. He asked for their permission to marry y/n!” 

John’s blood turns to ice. Ethan. The guy you started dating your senior year of college after John had gone to the NHL. John’s only met him a handful of times and he seems like an okay guy, but marriage? Were you actually going to marry this guy?

“Isn’t that exciting?” Jen prompts when neither boy speaks. 

“Uh, yeah. Great.” Paul is rarely at a loss for words. He glances at his younger brother nervously. John’s never mentioned his feelings for you to anyone but of course his twin knows. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“I uh, I have to go.” John says quickly before his mom can answer. He looks around his desk, trying to come up with an excuse and spots his empty container from dinner. “The boys and I are going to dinner.” Paul sees right through him but his mother wishes him well and says goodbye. 

'Cause he seems like he's good for you

And he makes you feel like you should

And all your friends say he's the one

His love for you is true

John can’t help himself and immediately pulls up your instagram, checking to make sure there is no engagement announcement. The last post on your page is a picture of you, him, and Paul at Christmas. The three of you are wearing matching Christmas pajamas and you’re standing between the twins holding up the elf dvd you insist on watching every year. Your caption reads ‘my favorite time of year with my favorite people’. 

The picture before that is a picture of you with your parents sitting at a Devil’s game. You’re wearing John’s jersey and holding a sign that says ‘#6 my favorite baseball player’. He has to scroll a little bit to find a picture you posted of you and Ethan. 

It’s a simple birthday post from last summer, you’re both on a boat. He has an arm around you, smiling at the camera. You’re pressed to his side but the smile on your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes. 

To further torture himself, John clicks on your tagged photos. While you barely post to your instagram account, Ethan and your friends use it regularly. All Ethan posts are pictures of the two of you, some of them are just pictures of you with long captions that read like a love letter to you. 

Your friends have also tagged you and Ethan in pictures. He finds one from Halloween. The two of you are dressed up in what is supposed to be a couple's costumes but he's dressed as Mario and you’re dressed as Princess Daisy. It makes John laugh, thinking of all the times you beat him in Mario Kart as Daisy. He always picked Luigi.  

He puts his phone away before he does something stupid like call you. The two of you talk every day in some form or another but since you ended your late night phone call last night, he hasn’t heard from you at all. Even his good morning text went unreplied this morning. 

Deep down he knew that Ethan had to be a good guy for you to stay with him for three years. He heard from his mom and friends from back home about how well he treated you and how in love with you he was. 

What’s funny is that no one in the last three years had ever mentioned to him how happy you were. If you were in love with Ethan or not. Any time you came to visit John or watch one of his games, you were always with your family or the Marino family. You never brought Ethan. 

Were you going to say yes?

But does he know you call me when he sleeps?

But does he know the pictures that you keep?

But does he know the reasons that you cry?

Or tell me, does he know where your heart lies?

John stayed up longer than he should’ve, hoping you’d call. He never went an entire day without talking to you, even if it was just a quick hello. It was getting close to eleven when he finally started making his way to his bedroom. He had practice in the morning and he could already tell that he was going to be tired. 

He brushed his teeth and then peeled his shirt off. He plugged his phone into the charger and was just about to take his pants off when there was a knock at the door. “Who the hell?” He muttered as he walked toward his apartment door. Mikey and Nate both lived nearby so he assumed it was one of them stopping in although the late hour made no sense. 

When he opened the door, all the breath was knocked out of him. The last person he expected to find standing in his doorway at eleven pm on a Thursday night was you. He could tell you had been crying. Your eyes were puffy and you had red splotches all over your face. The black dress you were wearing was fancy and your bare feet told him that you did at one point have heels on. If he didn’t know any better he’d say you were on the run. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” He asks once he finally finds his voice. 

You try to smile at him but end up sniffling. “Hey, Johnny. Can I uh, can I come in?”

“Of course.” He steps aside and lets you in, closing the door firmly behind you. 

You don’t walk very far into the living room, twirling a piece of hair around your finger nervously. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry I should’ve called.” You mumble as you take in his half-dressed appearance. 

“No, I was awake.” He can sense your nervousness. “Did you drive all the way here?” It’s about five hours from North Easton to Hoboken with traffic. 

“Yes, I, uh…” You try to laugh but it comes out as more of a sob. “I just got in the car. I didn’t know where I was going at first but then I just sort of ended up here…” You trail off as you look at him, gauging his reaction. 

John keeps some distance between the two of you, keeping his hands in fists at his sides so he doesn’t reach for you. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

Seeing him so full of concern for you gives you the confidence you need to get your next question out. “Are you and I always just going to be friends?” 

The question weighs heavily on John who opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on: “What?”

“Ethan proposed to me tonight.” Anger and jealousy hit John at once and your words feel like a physical blow as he realizes the girl of his dreams is going to marry someone else. “He took me to a fancy dinner and ordered a big bottle of wine for the table-”

“Y/n, I don’t want to hear this.” John admits as he backs away from you. Every word you speak is another knife getting stabbed into his heart. “I can’t.” He’s always been a shoulder for you to cry on, but this is too much.

“Johnny.” Your voice is soft and he jumps a little when you place your cold hand on his bare forearm. “He got down on one knee and gave me a long speech about how much he loved me and then asked me to marry him. Do you want to know what I said?” 

There’s tears in his eyes as he forces himself to look at you. Unshed tears are shining in your eyes as well. He’s hoping with everything in him that you said no. 

“I said your name.” You shake your head with a laugh. “This wonderful man got down on one knee for me and the only thing I could think of is the boy I've loved since I was eight years old.”

John stares at you in shock, unsure if he heard you correctly as you start to cry. “Do you want to know the worst part? He forgave me! He still wanted me after I said your name. And what did I do? I ran out of the restaurant. I got in my car and I drove to you.” 

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as you sob into his bare chest. Your words replay over and over in his head as he rubs your back. The only thing I could think of is the boy I've loved since I was eight years old. You’ve been holding on to the same feelings that he had all these years? He realizes that you had five hours in the car to yourself. You could’ve turned around at any point and gone back to Ethan. You chose to come to him instead. 

“Everything’s going to be alright.” His voice is quiet as he tries to calm you down but you still hear him. 

You take a deep breath and pull away from his chest so you can look at him. “There’s something here, isn’t there?” 

John brings his hand up to wipe a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “I think I've been in love with you since that first day when you talked back to Paul.” 

You laugh as you remember the first time you met the twins. “You were always so quiet. I didn’t think you liked me at first until I realized you were like that all the time.” John pulls you into him again, resting his chin on your head as you nuzzle into his chest. “I made a mess of things didn’t I?” You mumble.

“As long as we’re together, we can figure the rest out.” He assures you. 

Tag list: @cellythefloshie @nowandkeiei @hughesmedicine @huggy-hischier94 @diary-of-jj @cole-mcward48

#john marino fic #john marino imagine #john marino x reader #my writing

[toobz-drawz]

paul mccartney x reader where he flirts with her but she can’t tell if it’s genuine or he’s just being a typical 60s playboy? :)

And I Love Her

Paul McCartney x Reader

•Warnings: There are none.

•Summary: One knock on the window turns into one big surprise just waiting to unfold.

•Characters: 5,321

It was rather a lovely day in Liverpool, other than the fact that it was freezing cold outside. You were seated near the fireplace, all of your blinds were drawn up, light was pouring into every room, and which it gave you every opportunity to look outside and see the amazing view of the outside world while it lasted. The sound of water boiling in the background could be heard, as well as the fire crackling beside you. It felt peaceful, it felt so comfortable just in that moment of time. That was until you heard a knock at the window to your right, you looked up, and there was Paul. Waving at you from the other side, he wore a rather large coat to keep himself from having hypothermia or frostbite. You smiled at the sight of him, you had gotten up, made your way to the window, and popped it right open. Feeling how the cold air rushed into the comfort of your home. “Hello love, I couldn’t help but stop by and see your lovely face.” He ducked and popped his head through the now open window, leaning his figure against the windowsills frame. “Paul! Cant you use the door like a normal person?” You let out a small laugh. “Well, I for one am not normal and two I find talking out of a window to a bird like you much more romantic.” He poked your nose after talking. Paul has a history of flirting with you for god knows how long, but in all honesty you think he’s just messing with you to get a reaction out of you. Although he is pretty charming you never quite fall for his tricks seeing how all the other lovely birds fall to their knees as soon as he just speaks a single word. 

You placed your warm hands against his flushed cheeks, feeling how cold his skin really was. You’d lower yourself down to his level, before pushing him out of the window. “Now please go use the front door, before you catch a cold! You’re as cold as ice. I’ll fetch you some tea for you once you get situated inside.” You pulled the window down, shutting it before Paul could get another word out. Not long after unlocking the door for Paul the kettle would start to whistle. 

Paul stood there in the cold, staring at the window you just closed, scolding himself for not saying anything before you had gone away. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he huffed, feeling as if his feelings got pushed back once again, hadn’t he made it clear to you yet? How many obvious things does he have to say or do until you finally get the hint. Paul just wanted to grab you, and kiss your pretty lips but damn him for doing so. He could say about a thousand words of how much he’s loved you since the day he laid eyes on you, but alas he feels as if you don’t feel the same as he does. 

Paul opens the front door, walking in, closing the door behind him before anymore cold air gets in, and starts to take off his shoes and coat to hang up. “Would you like any biscuits with your tea?” You’d shout from the kitchen, “Yes please!” He made his way to the living room to sit next to the fire, his fingers felt like they were made of solid ice and looked as if they were too. 

“Sorry if there isn’t as many biscuits as you would’ve wanted but that’s all I really ha-“ You walked into the living room with a tray of cups, accompanied with a plate of biscuits. Your eyes laid onto Paul’s shivering body. “Dear, really, how long have you been outside?” You carefully sat down and placed the tray in between the two. “Not that long I promise, love.” His gaze was set on the fire beside him, you could tell he was lost in his thoughts, there was always something in that mind of his, things that got him to where he was now. “Your body is telling me a whole different story.” You ever so gently grabbed his hands, now holding them up to your face, before blowing warm air onto them. Once that first hit of warm air hit his hands, his head turned to face you. “Fine I’ll tell you why I’m really like this.” He took a deep breath, preparing for you to hate him after this is done. “I had been circling the whole block, trying to decide if I should tell you how I really feel, you know it doesn’t help that I keep dropping really obvious hints, and you’re not picking up on them. What— I’m trying to say is that I love you more than anything y/n, I feel like I’m crazy, but when I first laid eyes on you back in the late 50s god I thought you surely were the one for me. Y/n, you were such a fox I me—“ you placed your finger on Paul’s lips, silencing him from spilling his heart. “Paul, I’m so sorry. I thought you were just playboy, trying to take my heart for granted, but I was so wrong.” Paul’s eyes looked as droopy as a sad dogs, he surely thought this was going to the final nail in the coffin for sure. “You’re such a good man, a real loyal one too..I really should’ve opened my eyes more, but to answer all of your dying questions this is what I have to say..” you watched as he squeezed his eyes shut waiting for you to go off on him, but rather you showed him the complete opposite. You laid your lips against his. Giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I love you too.” That was all he needed to hear, before opening his eyes and jumping up. He started to celebrate, throwing his hands into the air as if he was a little boy again. You just couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Now come on here boyfriend, we still gotta bring you back to health.” 

#The Beatles #the beatles x reader #paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader

[where-theres-smoak-2]

So I just stumbled across something, that as a non-book reader, I thought was interesting about the crysknife in the Dune universe, purely by accident.

I was actually trying to find out why the fremen thump their chests before/during a fight. Like we see Jamis do it in Dune part one before he and Paul fight, he thumps his chest twice. We also see Paul himself do it, first right before his duel with Feyd Rautha in part two. It's the same motion he thumps his fist twice on his chest in response to a fremen soldier who does it first. We see Paul do this motion again in the middle of his duel with Feyd, this time he does it after Feyd has knocked him down and then called Chani Paul's pet. I was wondering whether this motion had some symbolic meaning, like was it to rev themselves up before a fight? Was it an intimidation, challenge or warning to their opponent? Or does it have some other deeper meaning? I did wonder if it had some connection to the sandworms. I know the fremen see Shai-Hulud as a god type figure and they do sometimes punch the sand to call the attention of sandworms, so I thought maybe there was some kind of connection there, percussion and rhythm being important in fremen culture perhaps? Anyway I never found an answer as to what the meaning of this double fist thump on the chest meant, so if anyone does know or has any ideas, feel free to leave a comment.

What I did find out though, through a reddit thread, was a whole lore around the crysknives that wasn't included in the movies, but this lore adds so much more meaning to the pre fight taunt 'may they knife chip and shatter.'

The first fact I learnt about the crysknife also makes the scene in Dune part one, where Stilgar and the other fremen cut themselves when he says that they will take Jessica and Paul to the Sietch, make more sense. I did wonder why they did that and figured it was some kind of blood oath not to harm them or something. But it actually turns out that once a crysknife has been drawn it isn't allowed to re-sheathed until it has 'tasted blood' even if the blood is your own. So in this instance they had all drawn their blades in anticipation of a fight, when Jessica then bests Stilgar and the decision is made to instead take them to the Sietch, Stilgar and the Fremen then cut themselves so that they can re-sheath their blades. Which was an interesting detail to learn and honestly clears that scene up a lot. It seems to be a lesson of be careful before you draw your blade because you will have to get it bloody as well as a promise to draw blood when they draw their blades.

Another thing that was mentioned in this thread was that the blood lubricates the blade and helps prevent it from shattering which can happen if the blade isn't properly cared for. However there did seem to some dispute over this in the thread and some were saying this wasn't in the books and others were saying it was, but if it is true it adds to the whole 'may thy knife chip and shatter' taunt because its basically saying I hope your blade doesn't taste my blood and therefore chips and shatters.

But something else that adds to this taunt is that another part of the lore is that crysknives disintegrate when their owner dies, they literally shatter. So 'may they knife chip and shatter' translates to you're the one who is going to die causing you blade to shatter. Which I actually find really interesting because when I first heard Jamis say it in part one I thought it was like him wishing bad luck onto Paul when actually it was more like Jamis saying bitch I hope you die. Which is actually a lot darker and more threatening then wishing the inconvenience of a broken blade onto someone.

But yeah it was interesting to learn more about the crysknives, I wish they had put some of this lore into the movies.

#dune #dune part one #dune part two #dune part two spoilers #dune part 2 spoilers #fremen #crysknife

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

minific anon jumpscare! ft. dadspy :3

----------<3

Scout's used to people insulting him for not having a dad growing up. In fact, he used to insult himself for not having a father. And he insulted his father for running away. And then he started to think that maybe his father hadn't run away. He had died. And Scout decided, a dead dad is better than a dad who ran away. He didn't realize how wrong he could be.

There's only one photo of his father that he knows of. It's in his mother's locket, and she only lets Scout see it on his father's birthday.

His father was about 23 in the picture, and he has black (or dark brown, maybe?), smoothed back hair. He has piercing blue eyes, and a slight, warm smile on his face, staring at the camera. Scout was barely a year old when that photo was taken, Ma had said. It's weird to think that Scout had known his father for a little while. He just can't remember his voice.

It doesn't matter to him, anyway. He learned to survive without a father, after all. And so far, he's done a damn good job at it. Until now, at least. The stupid BLU scout had gotten an advantage on him during a physical fight, grabbing their dropped scattergun and firing into Scout's torso, blasting him backwards and off a small ledge. He'd somehow survived getting shot, but the fall had broken his ankle and likely his nose, judging by the blood starting to drip down his face from it. He'd crawled under cover to hide from BLU team. He'd heard them cap the first point, which meant that most of RED team must've retreated so Medic could heal them so they can defend the next point.

And they'd forgotten about him. Or, assumed he was dead. Or figured he was busy fighting. Groaning, Scout sits upright and starts to try and treat his injuries, but his hands are too shaky to hold the medkit right.

"Scout!" Someone's voice whisper-yells from a bush, and he looks up to see the outline of Spy in the treeline nearby. "Come quickly, there's nobody nearby. Bring that medkit."

Scout nods, and drags himself towards the treeline, where Spy puts an invis watch around his non-injured wrist and turns him invisible as well, and drags him further into the trees for more cover.

"Do you want to tell me what happened or sulk in defeat?" Spy asks, somewhat mockingly.

"BLU scout." Scout mutters, wiping his nose. "We got in a fistfight an' they got their gun and shot me."

"A miracle you're still alive. Give me that." Spy grabs the medkit and starts to treat Scout's wounds with surprising precision.

Silence falls between the two for a few minutes. Spy finishes with treating Scout's wounds, and helps him stand, slinging his arm around his shoulders and starting to walk.

"Hey, uh, Spy."

"What, Scout?" Spy looks at him, annoyed.

"...Thanks." Scout mumbles. Surprise lights in Spy's eyes for a moment before he looks away with a huff.

"But of course." Spy narrows his eyes. "Your mother would not want her son returning home in a box."

"Yeah." Scout laughs slightly. "She'd kill me again. And Miss Pauling, too, probably."

"Hm." Spy stops for a second, checking for any signs of BLU before continuing.

"Hey, Spy, do you have any family?" Scout asks. "Like, back in France?"

Spy doesn't say anything. He just stops dead in his tracks.

"Uh... Spy? I get it if ya can't answer, but... why'd you stop?" Scout asks, slightly nervous.

"I don't have family in France." Spy answers flatly.

"Oh... um, did they move to America with you?"

"No. They died in the second world war." Spy narrows his eyes. "But I did have family here. But I... left them."

"Well, why'd ya do that?" Scout frowns. Spy doesn't answer, just continues walking. Scout lets the question hang in the air, instead decided to look at Spy's face. He rarely ever was this close to Spy, as the latter usually was annoyed by Scout and avoided him, and Scout never got to study Spy's face that well. He had drawn all of the other mercs except for Spy so far.

Spy has piercing blue eyes and fairly sharp cheekbones, and his chin sticks out a little bit. His nose is pointed downward slightly.

"I feel like I've seen you before somewhere, dude." Scout breaks the silence. "You remind me of someone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spy frowns, suddenly defensive. "We've never met until we took this job."

"I dunno. You just look familiar. Like, um, your facial features, I mean." Scout shrugs, and Spy just rolls his eyes, continuing back to the base.

RED ending up being able to defend the last point, thanks to Sniper's quick thinking and eliminating the enemy medic and making quick work of the rest of the team using his SMG.

Scout couldn't shake off the strange feeling of familiarity from Spy. He's seen that face somewhere before. But where? And why was it bothering him this much? Sighing, he rolls over on his bed and reaches for his Bonk!, only to knock something off the nightstand.

His ma's locket. She'd sent it in the mail a few months back, and he hadn't gotten it open yet. But it seems to have popped open since he dropped it on the floor accidentally. Scout grabs it and looks at the photo inside.

His blood runs cold.

There's only one way to be sure.

Running down the hall, Scout makes his way towards the room, pushing the door open as silently as possible and sneaking into the room. He reaches for it, only for Spy's hand to grab his wrist in an icy grip.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Spy snaps, pushing Scout backwards. "And how on earth did you get in without me noticing you opening the door?"

"Doesn't matter! I gotta know somethin'!" Scout holds the locket out. Spy raises his eyebrows.

"About jewerly? You'd be better off asking Miss Pauling---" Spy starts.

"The photo." Scout drops the locket in Spy's hand, and the Frenchman looks at it. And his face falls.

"Where... Where did you get this?" Spy demands.

"It's my Ma's. You look like him." Scout stares at Spy.

"Well... I suppose we do--" Spy hands the locket back. "But I can assure you that is not me."

"Prove it." Scout stares at Spy. "Take your mask off."

"What?"

"Take it off." Scout stares evenly at Spy. "Right. Now."

"I'd rather die." Spy scoffs, and motions for Scout to leave. Scout rolls his eyes before lunging at Spy, grabbing the mask and starts pulling at it. Spy lets out a shout of surprise before starting to fight back, but Scout pulls the mask off. But before he can look, Spy kicks him in the gut and stumbles away, putting a hand over his face to hide it, turning his back to Scout. Scout stands slowly, looking at the mask in his hand, and then at Spy.

"Look at me." Scout whispers. "Look at me, Spy."

"And if I don't?" Spy asks, his voice slightly muffled by his hand.

"I-- I'll burn the mask!" Scout says, surprised by his own words, but he holds true to his words, pulling the lighter Pyro had given him from his pocket, and flicks the lid off. The sound causes Spy to stiffen, and after another moment of hesitation, he lowers his hand and turns to face Scout.

He looks just like the photo, just older and a defeated look on his face.

"Are you happy now, Scout? Is this really what you wanted?" Spy asks, holding his hand out for the mask.

Scout's lower jaw trembles, and he stares in shock. Taking a step back.

"You... You fucking snake." Scout whispers. Spy blinks, surprised. "You're my father--- You fucking SNAKE!" Scout's sudden yelling surprises Spy. He doesn't say a word for a few seconds. Silence fills the void between then.

"You ain't even gonna defend yourself?" Scout scoffs. "I went.... 26 fuckin' years thinking that you were dead, but here you are... fucking alive and well, rich as ever. Was I just--- just not a good enough son for ya, is that what it is?" Scout walks closer to Spy, poking his chest. "Was Ma not good enough for ya?!"

"Your mother is a wonderful woman---" Spy starts.

"Then why'd you break her fucking heart?!" Scout yells. "Huh?! Was she not good enough for you?! Was she just another one of your stupid--- stupid little accessories that you got bored of and threw away?!"

"No--- Scout, let me explain---" Spy pushes Scout away. Scout doesn't want to listen to him. His vision goes red and he punches Spy. In the face. It's a strong enough punch that it knocks the Frenchman to the floor. Spy looks up at Scout, stunned.

"Jeremy..." Spy whispers. Scout doesn't listen. He lights the mask on fire and runs.

------------</3

part 2??? tomorrow Or today depending in my mood :)

Oooooooooh, angsty!!!! Welcome back, anon! I've also toyed around with the idea of Scout feeling not good enough.

#minificanon #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #spydad

[rorichuu]

Hiii! (Feel free to ignore this, btw)

Could I request a tf2 scout x male!reader, where spy (with the help of other mercs like demo) tries to get the reader drunk, so that they make some bad mistakes? Basically spy is trying to get scout to lose interest in reader, because of how he has treated his partners in the past, and doesn’t want that for the reader? But in the end, scout and reader still end up in a relationship? Sorry this might be a little confusing.

rebel ; scout x male!reader

pairing: scout x male!reader

authors note: heya! i had sososo much fun writing this, like oh my god?! thank you for sending this in!

disclaimer: cursing in the mercs' native tongue, descriptions of being drunk, and Engineer/Spy being parents towards the end.

SIDE NOTE: if you don't like the Engineer/Spy ship, that is 110% okay! i can totally scrap it if you don't like it... i just thought it might be a cute addition. happy reading, my friends!

"C'monnn Y/n, take another wee shot with me, now will ya!" Demo exclaimed over the loud music that boomed throughout the base. They had won victoriously and declared a party to celebrate their winnings... and expectantly, Demo had brought drinks.

"Don't tempt me, I've drunken... a, uh... a lot!" You slurred, lips tasting of liquor, grammar non-existent at this point. The Scotsman booed loudly, his hand now (as best he could) waved in front of you. The potent liquid hitting your nose, you let out a drawn groan, quick to grab the shot from his hands as you downed the shot with ease. Soon after, the burn caught up to you, leaving you in a coughing fit as Demo slapped your back.

"I knewww you could- hic ... handle it, lad!"

Originally, it was Spy's idea to get you drunk. Unusual to think about unless traced back to past events... the Frenchman got sick over the idea of you so casually flirting with the Scout. The boy was smooth with his advances; a hand on your shoulder here, a horrible flirtation there... he couldn't let be anymore.

The reason Spy was stepping in was merely the thought of you two ending up together. His heart twisted at the idea that he may mess and wear at your heart tirelessly; a flirt only to be a flirt. Spy focused deeply on Scout's (seemingly) exterior intentions, quick to frown and wince at the failures he put upon Miss Pauling. Spy wished only for you to not get hurt... and though this is seen as unfair, it was absolute to him to bring this to an end.

Spy's advances would never have gone unnoticed; Spy isn't a drunk, and he doesn't take down shots like a certain Scotsman does... so when this was approached, Engineer was the first to speak and pull aside Spy after the announced party.

"Are you sure about this, Spy?" The Texan asked, voice full of question as the others observed... Scout and you being, of course, absent.

"Plenty. I know Scout and the same goes for all of you," he began, hand swift to pull out a cigarette from his holder. "I simply cannot let Scout and Y/n become an..." The Frenchman sighed, lighting his cig with a click of his lighter. He inhaled its smoke and allowed it to settle deep into his lungs. "Item." People spoke outwardly about this. Though Demo could partially agree... and Sniper simply without care... everyone else was against the idea aside from Pyro, who was continuously drawing in the back, happy in their own world of drawn-out gore and rainbows.

"Y/n has own mind. He is smart man, do not underestimate." Heavy rumbled, eyes furrowed in disagreement. But Spy shook his head, his hand snapping his cigarette holder shut before placing it inside his dress coat.

"If you will, I will carry on. I do not need anyone's input to sway my decision. Good day, gentlemen." And with that, Spy had left.

. . .

Demo was mindlessly helping... unbelievably drunk, but aware of his goal. He had to get you drunk! That was the easy part! But you were making drunken decisions that would make anyone gasp... and impressions of the other mercs was certainly new.

"YOU ARE A MAGGOT HATCHED FROM A- hic ... MUTANT MAGGOT EGG!" With one hand raised confidently in the air, holding a mug half-full of beer, you were partially crouched pointing at Soldier with your mocking taunt. While Demoman and Scout doubled over in laughter, you and Soldier remained yelling at each other... with your trying impression and his angered, drunken response.

"I DO NOT SPEAK LIKE THAT, MAGGOT!" Soldier exclaimed. "DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME 20!" You barked with laughter, hand at stomach as you nearly fell off the table... Heavy was quick to catch you. And as his large hands balanced you, you greeted him with a quick hello and a turn of your foot, intention to walk away... but before you could escape, his hands were rested on your shoulders.

"Best if Y/n drank water. Heavy will give you bottle." The Russian man advised, Medic close beside him nodding with agreement with a clipboard in hand. You shook your head, your giggling dying down, only if just a little bit.

"T-The party just started!" You began. "Plus, this is only my... what, my f... fuhhh, fourth drink?!" You yelled back at Demo as if to ask, he simply gave you a thumbs up as he continued to converse with Soldier.

"Y/n, z'his is your 11th drink..." Medic informed you, keeping note of your alcohol intake. Your lips purse together as you let out a 'pfft'. The German shook his head and sighed. "Please be more careful with your drinking. Demoman is enough proof alone to prevent alcoholism." Medic scowled, his sights on Tavish who was currently singing a Scottish tune... ungodly slurred and incomprehensible on his drunken tongue... and an arm wrapped around the Soldier as they danced cheek-to-cheek.

Medic then shook his head, a noise leaving his throat out of annoyance. "His liver is... surely, dead." Medic left a few scribbles on his clipboard, a head lowered down with his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Just moments later, Heavy had nudged Medic's arm, the German cursing in his native tongue from his jerked writing. "Was ist das?" (What is it?) He hissed before Heavy gently grabbed Medic's chin in his hands, turning his head to catch Spy conversing with you. You had slipped away.

"Scheiße." (Fuck.)

. . .

With Medic and Heavy's failed attempt to help you, it was then left to Engineer. The Southern and Frenchman were neck-to-neck, evident with their disagreements, and the intensity in the atmosphere was thick... but as Spy spoke with his silver tongue, suggesting decisions that were just downright rude, he cut through that air like butter.

With a cocky smirk and a swish of his hands, he ushered you up to Scout after his chat. Engie fired daggers into Spy's eyes, the sound of the beer bottle clinking loudly with the table before advancing towards the two. And every other merc, aside from Demo and Soldier who were clearly passed out at the bar, had their eyes on Engie. Pyro clapped their hands together and mumbled supportingly of his father figure.

But before Engineer could approach you, Spy slid in front of Engineer, hand placed on the left side of his chest. "Ah, I'll have to stop you there, mon ami." (My friend.) Spy spoke, his accent more pronounced the more pompous he got. Engineer glowered.

"I ain't gonna be your friend by the end-a' this night if you keep this up, pardner," Spy was caught slightly off guard by Engineer's translation of his remark. "You best leave that poor boy alone, his life ain't yours, and you got no right controllin' it the way you are now." As the two bickered and quarreled, the sound of you and Scout laughing alerted the two. Spy was the first to turn, looking over his shoulder as he found the two of you huddled close together... the Frenchman began to open his mouth but closed it soon after. Spy was defeated.

As his shoulders slumped, his face was, without a doubt, beat. Engineer huffed a soft laugh, hand patting his back as Pryo hopped over to offer him a beer. "C'mon, now. Let's have'a drink and talk, why don't we?" Engie said, Spy raised an eyebrow at the beverage in hand... his lip twitched in disfavor.

"Wine would be preferred." He spoke low, holding the drink by just its cap. The other man took the beverage for himself, twisting it open with ease.

"Not a problem, pardner."

. . .

The night swirled to an end. The loud snores of Demoman were overheard by Soldiers accompanied snoring. Every other merc had left for sleep, rubbing their eyes, intoxicated and hushed. All the while, Scout and you were slumped on the couch, entangled with a blanket.

Engineer was cleaning up after everyone, beer bottles put away, and sweeping up scrapped plastic cups. Spy, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall... observing the two of you in silent thought. Engineer caught wind of this, huffing before resting the broom against the bar table. He walked over to him.

"Somethin' on your mind, sugar?" He hummed, crossing his arms as he stood beside the man. Spy looked away due to the pet name, shuffling. Engie found this humorous.

"Non..."

"Does it have somethin' to do with Y/n and Scout? Perhaps?"

"N..." He thought for a moment. He sighed. "Oui." Spy found no reason to lie anymore, having found loss hours ago. Engineer sighed, his shoulder now leaning against Spy's, but just enough to not squish him.

"He'll do jus' fine with the boy. Y/n balances him out pretty well, yeah?" Engineer shared Spy's glance of the two. "Scout's happy with him. And the other way 'round... don't think we should be the judge'a that. No matter how much we wanna protect 'm." Engineer tried to reason, moving his shoulder against Spy's to sway his judgment... he knew he already succeeded, with the way Spy covered his face with his gloved hand.

"I suppose... you're right..." Spy grumbled. Engineer raised an eyebrow.

"What was'sat?" He egged on. "You. Were. Right..." Spy hissed.

"Did I hear a, 'you were right,' behind all that grumble?" With a smirk and a voice that spoke knowingly, the Frenchman lunged him off as the Southern man laughed.

"Shut up, just... just clean up like you were!"

And with the soft laugh of Engineer, the hushed mutterings of Spy... came around you and Scout, holding each other in sleepful peace.

The night ended. Just right.

.

.

.

rorichuu!

#LEAPS WITH JOY #man this was longer than i thought #very proud of this one!!! #enjoy! #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 mercs #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 demoman #tf2 spy #tf2 x reader #scout x reader #tf2 scout x reader #heavymedic #engineer x spy #heavy x medic #practical espionage #napoleon complex #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout x male reader #scout x male reader #male reader #rorichuu!

[cantsayidont]

September 1980. Yet another change in direction for the Bronze Age Wonder Woman, and the addition of a new eight-page backup strip starring the Huntress, daughter of Earth-2's late Batman and Catwoman. The "new twist" for Wonder Woman was the second return of Steve Trevor. Steve had been killed off back in 1968 (in WONDER WOMAN #180); he returned briefly in 1974 as a "mentally-induced" illusion and was resurrected for real two years later (in WONDER WOMAN #223). He died again in WONDER WOMAN #248, leaving Diana bereft. In the issue before this one, Hippolyta prays for Aphrodite to cut Diana some slack, which the goddess does by using the Mists of Nepenthe to erase Diana's memories of Steve. Almost immediately after that, the Steve Trevor of a parallel Earth crash-lands near Paradise Island and is rescued by Diana as she did in her first meeting with the Earth-1 Steve. In this issue, Aphrodite says she can't send this Steve home, "for even I do not know from which of an infinity of worlds he came," so Hippolyta sends Diana to take him back to Man's World and resume her role as Wonder Woman, while Aphrodite uses the Mists of Nepenthe to "cause every man, woman, and child on Earth to forget that Steve Trevor ever died." The only one on Earth who remembers the truth is Hippolyta. (This blew up later: Diana eventually discovered that her memories had been altered and was not happy about it, although she and this Steve got married during the Crisis.) All very messy.

The new Huntress backup strip picked up from Helena Wayne's short-lived feature in THE BATMAN FAMILY, which had ended temporarily when that book was folded into DETECTIVE COMICS. Initially written by Paul Levitz and drawn by Joe Staton (inked in this first three-part story by Steve Mitchell), the eight-page strip quickly overshadowed the main feature in quality and coherency, and the conventional wisdom was that between 1980 and 1984, many readers were buying this book for Helena rather than Wonder Woman. The strip lost some steam in 1982 with the departure of Levitz, succeeded by Joey Cavalieri, and then the loss of Staton, leading to more than a year and a half of artistic musical chairs. The backup was finally dropped from WONDER WOMAN in 1984, but the final installment in issue #321 proclaimed, "Word has it that people want a full-length Huntress comic every month…so we're working on it--no fooling! Keep your eyes open for a mini-series, coming soon to a comic rack near you!" In the letters page, editor Alan Gold said there would soon be a four-issue miniseries by Cavalieri and Eduardo Barreto, but it never materialized, and the Huntress met a much crueler fate in CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS.

Without her, WONDER WOMAN was soon demoted from monthly to bimonthly status, managing only eight more issues before it was canceled in early 1986 in anticipation of its post-Crisis relaunch.

#comics #wonder woman #ross andru #dick giordano #gerry conway #jose delbo #dave hunt #paul levitz #joe staton #steve mitchell #queen hippolyta #steve trevor #joey cavalieri #eduardo barreto #i dimly recall seeing some article saying that #barreto had completed some (or perhaps most/all) of the pencils #when the miniseries was shelved #whether that's true and whether any art survives i don't know