#john paul feels sorry for him by the end yet this is a man who has committed a brutal crime. its.. complicated. shades of les mis in the | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violetwritesthings · 3 years

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hey, are you writing for midnight mass? If so, could I get a full one-shot with Father Paul

(I'm having pruitt brainrot)

Maybe just him adoring and praising the reader like a G-d? Perhaps she's accepted his 'divine gift' and became a vampire too? I'm not sure, anything works please, I just need some adoration and fluff <3

(No worries if not <//3)

okay, so, hi!

i'm so incredibly sorry for taking so long to answer this request (and i don't even think i did it right- the outcome is so not what you asked for, i have no idea where i went with this, i'm so sorry-), so i genuinely hope you like it!

word count: 5.2k~

warnings: bev being a bitch, cannibalism, plenty of midnight mass spoilers, and angel-vampires.

tag list: @vor3lla (if you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

-+-

the first thing you see is blood.

actually, no, that’s not quite right, you don’t wake to the sight of blood—but you might as well, with the way you’re craving it. you feel this stirring hunger at the pit of your stomach, a gnawing emptiness that’s begging to be filled.

you feel your neck throbbing in pain. you don’t have a heartbeat, not anymore, but you can practically hear the pulsing in your head. you try to turn your neck, but to no avail—the bones are too broken for you to move it even half an inch.

someone calls out to you. someone panicked, someone distressed. they’re calling your name, but it sounds like the voice is getting further and further away. like an echo down a long tunnel.

someone enters your field of vision, hovering over you. your eyes are too blurry to focus properly, but you see dark hair, then a face. your brain scrambles trying to place that face to a name, but your body is too busy adjusting.

your ears ring and buzz and the lights seem so incredibly bright, but that face is hovering in front of you, and you still can’t figure out quite who it is. that starving hunger in your stomach won’t go away, and you find yourself wishing you could go to sleep and dream a dream.

just a silly little dream. that’s all.

“y/n!”

hm. that voice sounds familiar. the person starts to shake your shoulders frantically. you want to tell them to stop, to just let you sleep, but your mouth refuses to comply.

“y/n, wake up! just—just wake up!”

oh, you realize. now you know who that voice belongs to. that face, too.

john.

why is he so upset? everything’s okay. sure, you have this horrible hunger that’s driving you mad, and yes, you realize something’s clearly wrong with your neck, and—oh, right, that puddle of blood underneath you might not be all that normal. but it’s nothing to panic about.

you start to slip under the comfortable blanket of sleep. john’s still calling out for you, but you just can’t bring yourself to care. the warm, bright lights start to dim as your eyes flutter shut and everything turns to black.

-+-

john had been acting strange.

he passed out during mass, which was something that personally scared the crap out of you. you were to first one to get to him, the first one to make sure he made his way home safely. you didn’t care about what the others in the parish would think, not when something was clearly wrong.

(besides, you played it off as simply being a concerned parishioner. none of them needed to know that you’d been in a secret relationship with the man for months, now.)

yet, that wasn’t the strangest part.

the strangest part was when john didn’t show up to mass at all the next day, or the day after that. instead, you got to hear bev keane make up some excuse about how he hadn’t been feeling well and how he would be on bed rest. you wouldn’t believe anything bev said, even in the best of times, but something felt especially off that morning.

you made up your mind. you’d go see him—even if just to make sure that he was alright.

you sat through mass, fidgeting with your hands and bouncing your knees anxiously as you awaited the end of the session. finally, when mass ended, you jumped up and headed outside. instead of going home, as you usually would do, you went the opposite direction—towards the back of the church, where john lived in a small house.

you made your way to the door and knocked lightly. “john? it’s me.”

you didn’t hear anything at first. there was just dead, quiet silence coming from inside. you raised your fist to knock for the second time, but a small voice rang out before you did. shaky. unsteady. “come in.”

you opened the door hesitantly and quickly stepped inside, to make sure nobody saw you walk in. “hey, i’m sorry for barging in on you like this, i was just worried—”

you had turned around while speaking, and immediately went silent. john was sitting in the corner, bloodied and shaking, and a body was lying dead on the ground—joe collie, you realized after a moment. john was covered in blood, joe was covered in blood, and all you could see was blood, blood, blood.

“oh my god,” you muttered.

your hands flew to your mouth. your visible shock seemed to take john out of his stupor. he finally tilted his head in your direction, meeting your gaze. “i – i'm not – i didn’t, uh, he...he hit his head,” john stammered. “and then, i—”

he couldn’t seem to finish his sentence. you finally regained your sense of movement and briskly walked past joe’s body and knelt in front of john. “jesus christ, john, what happened? how did--i mean,” you gestured wildly. you were at a loss for words.

“joe—he came in to tell me about,” john swallowed thickly. “about his struggles w-with his sobriety, and he fell, and he hit his head, and i was just so hungry.”

you felt your heartbeat quicken. the fight or flight response within you was screaming flight, and you couldn’t help the wave of fear that overwhelmed you. this was something altogether. this was something monstrous.

and yet, under all of the layers of horror and shakiness, you saw sitting in front of you the man you loved—and he was scared. you’d known him for long enough to know that he had no clue what was happening, not really. whatever happened here was horrible, but you would stand by him. you would help him in any way you could.

he wouldn’t leave you in your time of need, so you wouldn’t leave him in his.

“okay,” you nodded. “okay, we can fix this.”

he looked up at you, shocked at your sudden acquiescence. “what?”

“we can fix this,” you repeated. “who else knows?”

john closed his eyes. “uhm, bev. she walked in, after...”

you nodded, your gaze distant as you formulated a plan. “okay, so, bev knows. anyone else?” he shook his head. “okay. okay, good. we should keep this under wraps as much as possible, then.”

“y/n?”

you didn’t have to turn around to recognize the shrill, plain voice of beverly keane. speak of the devil.

you glanced at john for a moment, rolling your eyes, before rising from the ground and facing bev. “hello, beverly.”

“you aren’t supposed to be here,” bev said, casually folding her hands together in front of her lap. “so, i believe you should leave now.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” you retorted. if your tone was a little too sharp, well, you figured you could be forgiven for it in this case. “i know what happened, and i want to help.”

bev sighed and scanned you up and down condescendingly. you already knew she was revving up for a long one. “now, now, y/n. i know all too well that you’ve been sneaking around with the monsignor like a little schoolgirl. now, i've let it pass for the sake of the monsignor’s happiness, but please, don’t mistake that fact as an excuse to act as though you may do whatever you please.”

“you’re talking to me about—”

“stop,” john mumbled. you both quieted down when you heard his voice. he cleared his throat. “you won’t speak to y/n that way, bev. understand that now, or get out.”

you felt the smallest hint of smug satisfaction watching bev’s face morph into a hidden kind of rage. she held her tight grin that was plastered on her face and looked down at john.

“right, well, i simply came in to see how you were doing. i'll go make sure everyone gets home safely and come back when we’re ready to dispose of the evidence.” it sickened you how easily bev referred to joe collie’s dead corpse as ‘evidence,’ but you wouldn’t voice it aloud. you just wanted her to leave. “will you need help cleaning up, monsignor?”

“i’ve got it,” you interrupted.

she looked at you, internally fuming, but finally turned to leave. she sauntered past the dead body as if it were an everyday occurrence and left through the front door.

you sighed. “she’s a joy.” you returned to your previous spot, crouching in front of john. “alright, come on. we really should get you cleaned up. can you stand?”

john blinked, looking around as though he’d just remembered something. “i would, but—the sun.”

you tilted your head in confusion. “the sun?”

he moved his hand forward towards a slip of light that peeked through the window. you jumped back when, inexplicably, his hand started to burn. it was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. he solemnly removed his hand from the sunlight, and you watched as his hand slowly started to heal.

“yeah,” john grumbled. “the sun.”

you widened your eyes. “right, okay,” you stammered. “so, no sun. cool. we can work with that.”

you quickly got up and closed the curtains so that no light would shine through. you realized, then, that john had probably been stuck in the corner since the morning. your gaze caught on joe collie’s body, but you forced yourself to tear your eyes away. you’d help john fix this, even if you didn’t have the full story.

“come on,” you prompted as you held out your hand. john sluggishly took it and rose from the ground. he lost his balance for a moment, but you successfully caught him in an embrace before he could fall. “hey, hey, i've got you,” you muttered soothingly. “you’re okay.”

it was as though he was drunk with the way he swayed in your arms. he held onto you tightly, as if you were a lifeboat in the open ocean. you blew a strand of hair out of your face and looked around you, wondering how the hell you were going to fix all of this.

you’re okay, you thought to yourself. everything’s gonna be fine.

-+-

one day and one night passed.

you helped john clean up, washing the blood and grime out of his hair and skin. he was nonverbal for the majority of it, but he was lucid. he moved when you asked him to, nodded or shook his head with yes or no questions.

by the time you managed to get him dressed and settled, bev had returned with a small group—sturge, the mayor. you weren’t shocked when you realized that they were the ones tasked with removing joe’s body from the house.

the mayor, wade scarborough, appeared the most unsettled. the moment that he expressed no desire to have any part in any of this, bev chewed him out, screaming at him about ‘cherry-picking the bible,’ referencing his daughter leeza’s miraculous recovery.

bev had an incredible ability to make anyone feel badly about themselves, you noted with a scoff.

as bev continued on her rant, you wandered back into john’s room. he had been sitting on the edge of the bed when you left him, but he had apparently moved to stand in front of the window, his back turned to you.

cautiously, you walked towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “hey,” you greeted softly.

“hey,” he replied, not tearing his gaze away from the window.

he seemed so broken. you wished you could come up with something reassuring to say, but your mind came up blank. “things are being dealt with out there, so don’t worry, okay?”

he hummed in acknowledgement, but you had no real way of knowing if he actually heard you. you stayed there a moment, sensing that he probably wanted to be left alone, then started to leave.

“why did you help me?”

you froze. “what?”

“you didn’t have to. you could’ve run away screaming, called me a monster. swore to never see me again. i mean, i wouldn’t have blamed you. but you stayed, and you helped me. why?”

“you’d do the same for me. you and i are a team, remember?” you stepped closer to john and hooked your arms around his torso, leaning your head on his back. “now, if you want to tell me what happened, i’m here to listen. if not, that’s okay too.” he sighed, gripping onto your embrace. “it’s a really long story.”

“hey,” you chuckled. “if i could wrap my head around you being made forty-some years younger by a rogue angel, i could follow along with anything you’ll throw at me.” he laughed at that, then. you hugged him just a bit tighter.

“okay,” he nodded. “okay, yeah. here goes.”

-+-

as it turned out, it was pretty hard to follow.

john told one crazy story, and you didn’t even know how to begin processing it. according to him, he had died—actually died—due to an overdose of the angel’s blood, he suspected. then, he was resurrected just moments later. bev, sturge, and the mayor and his wife had all witnessed it, which is why they had all been involved.

when he had come back to life, it had been nearly insane—he couldn’t be in the sun without burning his limbs to a crisp, he was under constant delirium and confusion, and he had this starving hunger in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn’t shake.

and that’s when joe collie had walked in.

the way that john described the encounter certainly scared you. he made it sound as though he had no control over his own body whatsoever. john had clutched onto joe in a partial embrace, causing him to fall over. when joe hit his head against a table, he’d started bleeding. immensely.

that’s when john couldn’t help himself.

his voice shook as he told the story, and he couldn’t once seem to meet your eyes. he had no guilt for what he had done, he explained, but he did feel guilty for the effect it would have on the others. more importantly, he thought you would certainly see him as nothing but a monster.

you didn’t.

once he’d finished speaking, you stared down at your lap, fiddling with your hands awkwardly. you didn’t quite know what to say. you didn’t know how to react to any of this.

“i know you must think the worst of me,” john eventually said, filling the silence.

“i don’t.” you turned to him, grabbing his hand. “john, i don’t.”

he finally looked up at you. you had his attention.

“to be honest with you, this is taking me a bit to process, but that doesn’t mean i think you’re a monster, or a bad person.” you tightened your grip on his hand to emphasize your point. “i told you, it’s you and me. we’re a team. that means i don’t turn my back on you, you don’t turn your back on me. non-negotiable.”

he just stared at you, this look of adoration and awe in his eyes. “i don’t know how i'll ever be worthy of you.”

you smiled softly. “you already are.”

to prove it, you gently caressed his cheek and leaned in, meeting his lips in a kiss. it was soft, simple, nothing more than an ‘i’m here. i'm with you.’

at least, that’s what you hoped the kiss conveyed until someone cleared their throat loudly.

you and john separated begrudgingly. bev had been standing at the front door, a neutral expression on her face. “my apologies for the intrusion.”

“what is it, bev?” you could hear the pure annoyance in john’s voice; you wondered if bev could hear it too.

“i came to let you know that the body’s been disposed of.”

you wondered how they managed to get rid of joe’s body in such a short time—but, you supposed, when the literal mayor was involved, there were more liberties they could take.

“thank you,” john muttered.

she nodded firmly. “will you be needing anything else?” she subtly turned towards you. “time to rest, perhaps?”

you couldn’t help yourself.

“you know what, bev? that’s actually a great idea,” you replied politely with a smile. “i’d imagine he does need time to rest, so you should probably get going now.”

when john didn’t show any sign of protest, bev silently left through the front door with a huff. you heard the door to the house slam with her departure.

then, sitting in the silence, john started chuckling.

“what?” you asked, actually grinning this time.

he shook his head affectionately. “you are...something else, y/n.”

“oh, come on,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “you know you love me.”

he met your eyes, a genuine smile gracing his face, and he sighed. “that, i do.”

-+-

life with your newly sunshine-allergic, blood-diet priest boyfriend was certainly...

well, weird.

he’d begun conducting mass after the sun had gone down, which the town got quickly adjusted to. he spoke with the same charisma and power as he always did, so it wasn’t as though the town suspected anything.

days had passed and easter had finally come, and the town was alight with excitement. most of the people on crockett island, even those who wouldn’t regularly come to mass, were ready to celebrate the holiday.

the majority of the day was spent getting the church ready. you’d noticed that bev was overly joyous and talkative, which wasn’t exactly normal. she even wished the sheriff a ‘happy easter,’ when she would normally ignore his existence altogether.

something was off.

you two had ended up in the same room together as you set up an array of candles surrounding the church’s interior. she actually started humming, which unnerved you to no end.

eventually, you couldn’t stand it anymore. you exhaled sharply. “okay, what is this?”

she glared at you. “excuse me?”

“you’ve been acting really weird all day.”

“well, that’s because this evening,” she looked around, then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “the world is going to change.”

you raised an eyebrow skeptically. “oh, really? change, how?”

“oh, y/n, the monsignor and i have the most wonderful plan.” she rushed towards you and held both of your hands tightly in hers. “death won’t need to be a part of life, not anymore. we’re past all of that, now.”

you felt way too uncomfortable with bev’s level of enthusiasm. “what—what are you talking about?”

“we can share the monsignor’s gift —god’s gift—with the entire parish.”

your heart thudded to a stop. you forcefully removed your hands from her grip. “wait. you’re saying you want to kill everyone in the church? put them through what john went through?”

she scoffed lightly. “what the monsignor ‘went through’ was a miracle. he was resurrected, just like our lord, jesus christ, and brought back to revel in the gift he was given, to spread the gospel. this is exactly that.”

“and what happens to everyone else? the people that don’t go to mass. what happens to them? they just die?”

“those who don’t want to be saved...” she trailed off, exhaling deeply. “well, i suppose they’ve already made their choices, now, haven’t they?”

you were speechless. you knew one thing for sure—you needed to go talk to john and stop this insanity before it began. you set down the candles you had left and made your way to the front door. before leaving, you held your hand over the doorknob and decided you’d say one last thing to bev.

“those innocent people that you’re leaving to die?” you turned to face her. “that’s not them and their choices. that’s you, bev, acting like you have a say in who lives and who dies.”

for once in her life, bev had nothing to say.

with that, you walked out.

-+-

“explain. now.”

john looked up at you guiltily from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. “you weren’t supposed to know.”

“you were planning on poisoning the entire island, john?! no, wait, i stand corrected—you were planning on changing everyone in the parish, then leaving the rest of the island to die.”

“that wasn’t—”

“do you not remember what happened to joe collie? all he did was walk in and you turned it into an all-you-could-eat buffet.” you put your hands on your hips, exasperated. “i'm not saying this to make you feel worse or to throw it in your face, but what do you think’s gonna happen with an entire town full of bloodhungry people?”

john shook his head. “the point, the whole point of this, was to share this miracle. to restore everyone as jesus was restored.”

“jesus wasn’t ‘restored’ by some magical angel hiding off in a dark cave somewhere. and joe wasn’t changed, remember?” you scoffed. “he just died. is that really what you want for everyone?”

he shook his head solemnly, closing his eyes. "no. no, it's not."

you sighed, then sat down on the edge of the bed next to john. the mattress dipped with your weight. “look, i know you have only the best intentions, but this isn’t the way to go about saving them.”

he stayed silent, staring at the wall. you could practically hear the gears in his mind churning, and you hoped that he was hearing what you were saying.

“can i tell you something?” he eventually asked, muttering into the quiet space.

you nodded.

“i did—i do want to save them. i really do. but the truth, the real truth, is that i wanted to save you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “what?”

“i’ve already grown old, y/n. i know what it feels like to have your mind slip away from you, to start forgetting things to the point where you barely remember your own name. it’s torture. and the worst part is, you don’t even realize it’s happening.” he looked at you, a barely restrained hopelessness hidden in his eyes. “i couldn’t watch you go through it.”

“john...” you trailed off.

“yeah,” he nodded. “yeah, i know. but can you imagine it? i mean, a life without death. painful death, slow death, all of it, just gone.”

you shook your head firmly. “we can’t do that to those people. you have to know that.”

he sighed, leaning his head on your shoulder.

you had a feeling he was listening.

-+-

you and john walked into the church, hand-in-hand. the sun had long since gone down, and bev was getting prepared to meet the scarboroughs’ in front of their house to lead the parishioners back to the church for easter mass.

“ah! monsignor, good evening,” bev hummed as soon as she’d seen you both walk in. “and y/n. good evening to you as well. everything’s almost ready, i just need to—”

“bev, we need to talk,” john interrupted.

she blinked, frozen in her tracks. “i’m sorry?”

“the plan’s off.” he cleared his throat. “we can’t, uh, we can’t do what we said we’d do.”

you tightened your grip on his hand, a subtle encouragement. a way to remind him that you were still with him.

it seemed as though the words weren’t registering in bev’s mind. you could almost see the loading screen stuck in her expression. “monsignor, i--i'm afraid i don’t understand the sudden change of heart. i thought we’d agreed, this is what’s best for—”

“no. this isn’t what’s best. this isn’t right, this—this isn’t god’s will at work. this was human; this was my own selfishness. god hasn’t been moving through me. i've realized that now.”

“monsignor, no,” bev denied vehemently.

“bev, we’ve been going about this all wrong.” he stepped forward, standing eye-to-eye with bev.

suddenly, something flickered in the corner of your eye, past bev, past john. it was sitting in the corner of the church—had it been there all along? it was something large, grey, evil.

it loomed ominously. something moved once, twice—wings. one large pair of wings attached to a long, lanky body were staring right at you. that’s when it clicked.

this must have been the angel that changed john the first time, then made him into what he was now. but from the looks of it, this angel didn’t look like an angel at all. in fact, only one word popped into your head as you stared at the creature standing in the corner.

demon.

it flapped its wings again; once, twice. you realized with a gasp that the creature was getting ready to fly. its eyes, its dark, dark eyes were practically boring holes into john’s head. it was planning to attack him for the third time, wasn’t it?

john and bev were too delved into their heated conversation to notice the large thing in the corner of the room, but you watched it, frozen in fear.

that’s when it took flight.

you barely had half a second to react. you pushed john out of the way, knocking him to the side, taking the brunt of the creature’s force. it brought you to the ground and hissed—it sounded like a high-pitched squeal directed into your eardrums.

it threw its head back, then sunk its teeth into your neck.

you screamed—it was the only thing you could think to do, considering you couldn’t think at all due to the overwhelming pain in your neck. you couldn’t hear anyone else, couldn’t see anyone else, with the way that the creature’s wings covered your field of vision.

you screamed, and screamed, until your vocal cords felt raw. still, the creature drank from you with no remorse.

eventually, the worst of the pain started to fade, which you were grateful for. that was, at least, until you realized that it was because you were fading yourself. your thoughts weren’t coherent anymore and you found yourself dizzy and disoriented. the creature still drank.

you were dying, weren’t you?

minutes passed, or maybe hours. you couldn’t have known how much time had really gone by. the creature slowed its feast, then stopped altogether. it licked its lips, flapped its wings once more, and flew off somewhere. you heard the church’s doors swing on their hinges with its departure.

you vaguely saw the silhouetted figure of someone rushing over to you. then, you saw nothing at all.

-+-

when you next woke, the first thing you saw was blood.

well, that’s not quite right, you didn’t wake to the sight of blood, but you might as well have, with the way you craved it.

you thought you saw john’s face come into view, but you couldn’t really tell. you were coming in and out of consciousness, unable to focus for more than a few moments at a time. you thought that maybe you saw him crying, but you couldn’t be sure.

it felt like you weren’t sure of anything anymore.

finally, your eyes fluttered open.

“y/n, oh, thank god. thank god,” john muttered, moving the hair out of your face.

you were still disoriented, trying to gauge your surroundings. your neck felt like it had split into six different pieces. more than anything else, though, you were hungry.

“what—” you groaned. the lights from the candles you’d set up earlier were blinding you. “what happened?”

“the angel, it attacked you.” he shook his head. “well, it was coming for me, but you—you saved me.”

oh right, you thought. the creature.

you tried sitting up from where you were laying on the floor, but a sharp crack of pain in your head stopped you in your tracks.

“no, no,” john shushed. “stay still. your neck still needs time to heal.”

“it killed me, didn’t it?” you whispered. “i’m--i'm like you, now?”

a tear slid down his face as he nodded. “yes, my dearest. you’re like me now.”

your own eyes started to water as the rest of your memories trickled in. you realized that you were dead—really dead—and you’d never get to see the sunlight again, and that desperate, gnawing hunger in your gut would never go away.

how would you possibly keep going?

before you could answer that question, you realized just how exhausted you were. you slowly fell back into a numb state of unconsciousness, floating in an empty sea within your mind. you weren’t asleep, but you weren’t exactly awake, either. you were stuck in that fragile in-between state. you didn’t know how long you were stuck in limbo.

the next time you woke up, the church’s curtains had been drawn back, blocking the small rays of sunlight from coming in.

it was daytime, you presumed. the church had to have been empty, considering you heard no footsteps, no movement—unless...?

finally able to move your neck, seeing as though it had healed during your restless sleep, you turned your head to the side. you saw john sitting in the corner, his arms locked around his knees. he had his head down and his breathing was heavy—you quickly realized that he had fallen asleep. had he been there all night?

you sat up slowly, hissing at the dull pain that wracked throughout your body. you paused, took a deep breath, then continued.

when you made your way across the church, you slid on the floor next to john. the movement finally roused him from his sleep. he looked up at you, then to where you’d been lying on the floor, then back to you, as if he were trying to figure out how you’d gotten there.

“y/n. you’re awake.”

you nodded. “yeah. i'm awake.”

“i’m so, so sorry. for all of this.” he shook his head. “if i hadn’t--”

“hey. don’t do that,” you interrupted, raising your hand. “don’t blame this all on yourself.”

he fell silent. you both stared straight ahead at the closed curtains that blocked the sunlight from coming in. it was a strange, fearful thought that the slightest movement of these curtains could cause your body to literally start burning.

in the silence, a thought occurred to you. “the parish. what happened last night?”

“i, um—mass was canceled, last night. we didn’t go through with the plan.”

“good.” you sighed, glancing at the empty pews. “i’m sure the whole town was thrown off by that.”

“there were more important matters to deal with last night,” he said, turning to look at you with those soft eyes of his.

you felt a smile tugging at your lips, but you quickly sobered. “this plan. it’s off for good, right?”

he nodded. “that creature? the one that presented itself to me as an angel? after what it did to you, i wouldn’t--i couldn’t--” he sighed, aggravated, before shaking his head. “so, what do we do now?”

“now, we...figure out a new way to survive.” you thought for a moment, then amended your previous statement. “i'm not eating from people, not if i can help it.”

he nodded. “okay. we’ll find a different way.”

“and that creature, that thing, we’ll need to figure out what to do with it.”

“we’ll deal with it as it comes.”

“and we’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else,” you added. you felt a surprising sense of relief, now that you had a solid plan. you scooted closer to john, then let your head rest on his shoulder. “can i tell you something?”

he hummed, a form of acknowledgement.

“if there was anyone to be stuck as a dead person with, i'm glad that it’s you.”

he chuckled, then grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “likewise, my love. likewise.”

#midnight mass #midnight mass spoilers #father paul #father paul x reader #john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #john pruitt x reader #father paul hill #guys i sincerely hope you all like this #cause the amount of days i've spent on this #my eyeballs are tired #anyway i'm gonna go pass out

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teawaffles · 3 years

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The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 1

Setting off from Piccadilly Circus, Laura walked through Trafalgar Square, then headed down the Strand and Fleet Street. Without looking left nor right, she kept moving eastward across London.

Laura seemed to have been deeply affected by something; as they tailed her from behind, Sherlock let out a small laugh.

“Ha, she is really is a kid after all. Heading straight to her destination like a fool after sensing the slightest bit of danger. And not even considering the risk of being followed like this.”

John, who was walking beside him, spoke up.

“The way you’re talking, it sounds like you know where she’s going.”

“Of course. The address Wiggins said earlier — something’s hidden there. The stray dog sneaking into the building was just an outright lie, yet she turned pale upon hearing it.”

Though John understood what had happened earlier, Sherlock’s words completely eluded his grasp.

“What on earth do you mean, Sherlock?”

At his partner's baffled expression, the detective cracked an exuberant grin. Then, while keeping up the pace, he began to explain in a low voice.

“Well then, let’s start pulling back the curtain. In order to smoke out this shadowy ring of thieves, I used Wiggins and his friends to lay a trap.”

“The Irregulars?”

“Yeah. I asked them to search the slums; but at the same time, I also instructed them to spread a certain piece of information — that the stolen goods from the arrested thieves were being kept at our apartment. As such, there was a chance the other thieves would pay us a visit to retrieve the items.”

John thought back to the jewellery sitting on the sideboard. That had looked pointless at first, but in fact, there’d been a good reason why they were there.

“To be honest, it was a gamble — even I thought there was only a fifty-fifty chance it’d work, but it was a resounding success.”

Sherlock looked at the figure of the girl up ahead, and John was incredulous. At that moment, the pair had just walked past the facade of St Paul’s Cathedral.

“You’re talking about Laura? You mean, that child is one of those thieves from the slums?”

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a child. However, judging from how nervous she’s been, I’d say she isn’t one of the thieves exactly; I get the feeling that she’s been forced to follow their orders.”

Hearing that, John thought back to the scene at the cafe.

When he asked Laura if she’d been hiding anything, she had frantically denied it. Placing that reaction in the perspective that she had actually been trying to hide how she was abetting the thieves, it did make sense.

However, John was starting to get confused by all the unexpected revelations, and he fired back doubts of his own.

“Sherlock: to start with, how did you know Laura’s from the underclass? From her appearance, one would think she’s from the middle class.”

“Oi oi, isn’t that obvious? Her fingers were strangely brownish, weren't they? That trait’s often seen in merchants who shell walnuts and sell them on the street.”

“……I see.”

Hearing the detective’s precise analysis, John nodded in admiration. He had first noticed that peculiarity of Laura’s at the cafe, but Sherlock had spotted it right at their first meeting, and seen through her guise straight away.

“Let’s say you’re right. But then, why did Laura disguise herself like that?”

“It’s simple: the thieves knew that I was fairly certain they hailed from the slums, so they wanted her to hide her status just in case. It’s not clear whether she bought those clothes herself, or the thieves stole them — but anyway, that disguise didn’t fool me,” he quipped. “And you should also know that the details — her cuffs, thumbs, nails, and shoelaces — were extremely important and provided a wealth of clues.”

“But even if she is from the underclass, isn’t it at least true that she came by to ask us to search for her dog?”

“That’s a natural question, but I’ll tell you later why that was a lie.”

Putting aside the truth behind her request for the time being, Sherlock continued to explain his reasoning.

“Getting back to the topic: right when I dangled the bait, that kid showed up. But at that point in time, she hadn’t come to take the stolen items by force. Together with Miss Hudson, we were three adults against a child — the difference in physical strength was obvious. As such, our opponents definitely had another plan up their sleeve.”

“A plan…… Do you mean the search for the dog?”

“Precisely. In all likelihood, it carried three meanings.”

Sherlock raised three fingers.

“First: a simple reconnaissance.”

Hearing that, John agreed right away.

“They had to confirm if it was really you looking after the stolen items, rather than the Yard; so Laura visited us on the pretext of making a request.”

“Correct. It looks like you’re starting to get it. Then, reason two: under the guise of having us search for her dog, she wanted to make us both leave the flat.”

“……Ah.”

John finally understood what Sherlock had meant earlier — and he shuddered.

“If we’d left the apartment with her, then only Miss Hudson — a lady — would’ve remained behind……”

“The thieves were probably banking on that opportunity to break into the flat. Although we’d still only be three people even if we stayed behind, it’d be smoother if there were only one woman in the house. Hence, their ruse to have us ‘search for her dog’ was genius. It’s a reasonable request, coming from a child; moreover, it’s not something on a level where you’d go to the police, so it only feels natural for her to approach a detective about it.”

“These thieves sure have a horrible way of thinking, huh……. But as I said before, these are all premised on the assumption that Laura’s request was a lie: they’re still just hypotheses.”

“And as I said, I have definite proof that it’s a lie,” Sherlock replied. “But I’ll tell you about it later……. In the end, the thieves weren’t able to achieve the two goals I mentioned. And that’s because I anticipated their motives, and turned down the request. As insurance in the event of this scenario, Laura’s visit also carried a third meaning…… Sorry to break it off halfway, but we’re almost there.”

Just as Sherlock was about to reveal the final answer, it seemed Laura was nearing her destination.

She had arrived at a set of disused, run-down warehouses along the bank of the Thames, near the Tower of London. [1] The girl looked all around her carefully, then headed deep into the silent industrial district.

Then, she stopped before an abandoned warehouse, and stood there in a daze. Apparently, some kind of excessive shock had made her mind go blank. And upon seeing it, John — who had yet to know the full picture — was also shaken.

Before the girl’s eyes, in the open space before the warehouse—— stood dozens of people, their dirty clothes lending them the appearances of vagrants. Among the group were several hooded figures, whose faces couldn’t be clearly distinguished.

Upon seeing Laura, the vagrants all moved toward her in unison. Sensing the gaze of the crowd on her, she shrank and took a step back.

“……U-Um, why is everyone here? I thought we weren’t supposed to gather here in large numbers, since the bobbies would get suspicious……”

John was presently concealed somewhere behind the girl. From the way she had spoken, it was apparent that the crowd of people was familiar to her. Furthermore, at the very least, she had done something that would draw the attention of the Yard.

At Laura’s question, a middle-aged man stepped forward from the group. And upon seeing his eyes, John felt a glimmer of recognition.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. What the hell was that?”

The man’s tone was one of formidable menace, and Laura shrank further and further away.

“W-What’re you talking about……?”

At that vague reply, the man tutted in frustration.

“……Then I’ll explain it to you. In the evening, I came all the way here to hide the cash we recovered from that softhearted chap.”

The man stared at the warehouse behind him, as if glaring at it, then returned his gaze to Laura.

“Then when I went into town, I heard some brats saying that there were stray dogs making mischief near these warehouses. I got curious and came back. But for some reason, the others also gathered here one after another. And when I asked them, they all gave me the same story about dogs or burglars or something showing up nearby.”

“Stray dogs……”

With a start, Laura spun around. Then Sherlock stepped out of the shadows with a dignified air, and revealed himself before the crowd. John still didn’t fully understand what was going on; but for now, he placed his belongings on the ground, and went to stand beside Sherlock.

“Dr Watson, and Mr Holmes? ……Did you both follow me here?”

Her own mistake finally dawned upon her, and she paled. But in contrast, Sherlock smiled like a child whose mischief had succeeded.

“It’s about time you realised. It seems your horizons are rather narrow: you should pay more attention to what’s behind you next time.”

At his suggestion, all Laura could do was to groan inaudibly. Then, the man who’d been speaking to her spat out a curse.

“This brat, getting completely tricked like that — what useless scum.”

Sherlock’s tone became derisive.

“Oi oi, a good adult shouldn’t talk like that to a kid, y’know. Still, you got the gist of my trick, right? I got the Irregulars to follow some of the vagrants in the parks, and that’s how I identified this place. As for the remaining people I’d investigated, who seemed to be your accomplices — one by one, I made them overhear rumours that all established the idea that this place was under threat. Then, as planned: everyone got antsy and gathered here in one friendly bunch.”

Trembling, Laura asked him a question.

“That boy Wiggins from earlier: was that your doing, Mr Holmes……?”

“Exactly. But as for the rest of these guys, I didn’t think it’d succeed this brilliantly. You all got way too panicked at the smallest sense of danger. But I’ll give you credit for hiding the loot in such an old warehouse; it’s no wonder we couldn’t find them, even after searching the slums down to its corners.”

Sherlock gazed at the warehouse in admiration. Speechless, Laura just stood there, rooted to the spot, and the man gnashed his teeth in frustration.

Standing beside Sherlock, John listened to their conversation while watching the man with the sharp gaze closely. A doubt arose in his mind, and he observed the rest of the crowd standing petrified before the warehouse — when he gasped in surprise.

Among the group, was the old walnut-seller from Regent’s Park.

The other people he’d bought items from, and given money to in order to obtain more information about Laura’s dog — John also recognised their faces in the crowd.

As he stood dazed, Sherlock patted him on the shoulder and revealed the truth.

“Now you know the third meaning from before. In other words, it was as though they were trying to recover their stolen goods — they used sightings of the dog as bait, and worked together to cheat you of your money. It’s a sly trick; and considering the odds of success, just getting it to work the first two or three times would already be a big achievement. But since you’re more of a softy than they anticipated, it seems you gave them nearly every penny you had.”

“…………”

As he recalled, every time he had decided on their next destination, Laura had confirmed it in an excessively loud voice. He himself hadn’t noticed; but in all likelihood, Laura’s accomplices had been in the vicinity, and that’d been a way of communicating their next location so the group could get there ahead of time. The cash the man mentioned at the start probably referred to the large sum that had disappeared from John’s wallet.

At long last, John understood the whole picture. But more than indignation at having been tricked, to have completely fallen for that: he felt ashamed at his own idiocy.

The man before them was now cornered. Even so, he regained his composure and spoke.

“Hold on, Mr Detective. It seems you think we’ve committed theft, but that’s all a misunderstanding.”

Opposite Laura, who was standing with her head drooped, the man launched into an eloquent speech.

“It’s true that we’re all working together. But as for our relation to this place, it’s just a meeting spot in the event of an emergency. Even if you were to search that warehouse and find stolen goods inside, that would just be a coincidence. It’s all just a series of misfortunes: in the end, you have no proof that we’re the thieves.”

He emphasised that it was all a fluke, though his assertion was a little forced in terms of logic. In itself, there was no issue with the group assembling before this abandoned warehouse. Of course, the amount they’d cheated from John had all been freely given by his own hand — as long as he didn’t ask for his money back, it wasn’t as if a crime had been committed.

However, just as Sherlock had declared right before they’d arrived here, he had the ammunition to shoot down that clumsy argument. Languidly, he approached the girl; and without hesitation, he reached into her pocket.

“——Then, what’s this?”

Footnotes:

[1] This seems to be the St Katharine Docks, which are located right beside the Tower of London. They had their heyday in the early 19th century, and so were probably in decline by this point. (A London history blog)

Translator’s notes

Laura’s path across London

Here’s a rough map of her nearly six-kilometre journey:

A: Piccadilly Circus

B: Trafalgar Square

C: The Strand (a street)

D: Fleet Street

E: St Paul’s Cathedral

F: Tower of London

G: St Katharine Docks

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

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Idk if you are still taking prompts, but you know the vine two dudes chilling in a hot tub 5 feet apart cause they're not gay, and a girl quoting it in a park about two girls in the distance and one of them hearing and going "Actually I am gay" Like that scenario, only involving them fixing the boat? Maybe Sarah quoting it to give Sam shit when she thinks Bucky cant hear and Bucky goes "Wait, no I'm gay" or something, or just the general gist of that. Sorry if this us too specific, I've never sent anyone a prompt before :P

Hello Friend! Thank you so much for sending anything in at all! I know the vine you're talking about, but I couldn't find it on Youtube. (I did find a two day rabbit hole of old compilations though) This was also my first foray into writing Sarah as a fully fleshed character! I was excited to get the practice 'cause I had an idea bouncing around in my head about her and Bucky talking after he wakes up in the Wilson house. I kept her a little more like she had been in my other fics pre-show here. I so wish we got a little more of her!

Feel free, anyone, to send me Sambucky prompts!

The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation

Sarah Wilson loved her brother deeply. The kind of soul crushing love that could only be formed through family, loss, and approximately four thousand brawls around the living room throughout their life. She looked up to her brother more than she could ever imagine looking up to anyone. Even when they were fighting or picking on each other, she couldn’t help but feel a swell in her chest when he came into her line of sight.

That didn’t mean she understood him. In fact, from the age of eight, watching her brother interact with the world had become her go-to pastime. Why did he have to roll every pea around the plate individually before eating them? Why did he and his friends spend seven years socking each other in the arm to prove friendship? Why did he talk to himself in the mirror, even when he knew Sarah or someone else was standing in the doorway?

Sam Wilson was just deeply weird. She had no idea how he had tricked the Avengers, a plethora of bad guys, and half of the media world into thinking he was remotely cool. She saw a news story once that had King T’Challa standing on a platform with Sam and the newscasters talked about how impressive Sam’s suit was. It was unnatural, the effect he had on people.

And in all her years, she never thought she’d see anyone weirder than Sam. But then James Barnes had showed up. It was like a complete reversal of Sam. Sarah was taken in for approximately three hours by his charm and face before she realized he too was deeply, deeply weird.

She justified sitting on the edge of the Paul and Darlene, watching her brother and James Barnes spar off about some dumb trivia fact, by deciding it was an anthropological expedition. The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation. She watched Sam watch Barnes take a long pull off his beer. She watched Barnes kick his feet up near Sam’s legs and then draw them back quickly when a current jolted the boat. She watched Barnes’ fingers tap-tap-tap against the edge of the boat, inching closer to Sam’s shoulder before he chickened out and brought his hand back to his own lap. She watched Sam suggest Bucky take his jacket off, ‘unless you plan on sun blinding me with the robocop arm.’ She watched Sam look away when Barnes did shrug his jacket off.

When she was seventeen and Sam was fifteen, she had found Sam crying in his room, pillow pressed to his face to muffle the noise. They were at the age where going into each other’s rooms uninvited started international conflicts, but Sarah, who watched her brother intently, felt like she knew what was going on. So she let herself in through their Jack-and-Jill bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Sam didn’t stop crying, not even to yell at her to get out, so she sat on the end of his bed and rolled a baseball under her foot for a while. Finally, she’d said, “You don’t have to tell Mom and Dad, y’know.”

Sam had just about wailed and bit the corner of his pillow to stop himself.

“That’s gross, stop it,” Sarah ordered and pushed Sam’s shoulder back enough to yank his pillow free and then reached over to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I should make you do the laundry this week so I know I’m not touching your snot germs,” she teased softly.

“How did you know?” Sam hiccuped out. Tears were still brimming at his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m your older sister. I made you. Like a doll. You think there’s something about you that I don’t know?” she joked. And when the tears did spill over his long lashes, she sighed and pulled him closer to her side. “I just know the way you interact with that boy from the basketball team ain’t just friendly.”

“Jesus, do you think he can tell?” Sam asked and she could hear the mortification in his voice.

“Sam, he’s a freshman in high school. The only thing he knows is that he’s scared of everything too. No one’s paying that much attention to you.”

“Screw you,” Sam muttered.

“What’re all these tears for you if you didn’t make a move and get shot down?”

“God, Sarah, can you not say things like that?”

“Watch your mouth,” Sarah warned with no heat in her voice. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“I just…” Sam sat up and worked his jaw for a while. His chin dimpled and his eyes watered but he managed to control himself. “I’m scared, Sarah. I’m scared of never being in love. Of having to leave if I am. I’m scared to say something and I’m scared not to say something. I’m so scared of...losing any of it.”

“Sam,” Sarah sighed and pulled Sam into another hug. “You’re fifteen. You’re not supposed to be in love yet. You don’t have to think about any of that. You just have to focus on passing Geometry, alright? Mom’ll whoop your ass more for failing than anything else.”

“I have a B+, that’s not failing!” Sam snapped. He kept his face against her shoulder for a second long before he sat up and wiped his tears away. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I gonna tell? I told you, my friends don’t like you as much as you think they do.”

“Your friends like me more than they like you,” Sam shot back and he almost sounded normal.

Sarah smiled softly and patted Sam’s cheek. “I won’t tell Mom or Dad. Of course not. That’s for you to do. But--”

“I’m always going to tell them when you sneak out the window.”

“No! Sam! You can’t! You owe me now!”

“Going to field parties is not the same thing!” Sam said in a shriek as Sarah leaned over to pinch his sides. They grappled for a second before Sam managed to push Sarah off the bed.

“You owe me,” she reminded him as she walked back to the bathroom.

Sam wiped his eyes again and nodded. “Sure, Sarah. I do.”

Sam almost had the same look on his face now. Like there was something he wanted to reach for that he thought was too impossible to hold. The Older Sister Instinct to Antagonize into a Solution kicked in.

“Two bros, chilling on a boat, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay,” she sing-songed. Sam looked mortified again but masked his face into something more irritated with a roll of his eyes when Barnes looked over at him.

“Ignore her. It’s this old video--” Sam started.

But Bucky interrupted to say, “Actually I am gay,” as he looked back over at Sarah. “Sorry if I got your hopes up,” he added with a grin that really did get the hopes up.

“What?” Sam asked and Sarah, ever watchful, could see the beer bottle shaking in his hand.

“What?” Bucky repeated innocently.

“He said he’s gay,” Sarah clarified.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Sam ground out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky snorted. “When would I have said anything? ‘Sorry for ripping your wings off and kicking you off of a hellicarrier, by the way I’m gay.’?”

“You did what?” Sarah asked.

“‘Sorry for claiming I didn’t bomb the UN only to be reverted back to the assassin who would have done that and then fighting you again. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Thanks for saving my life. Sorry about the giant undersea prison. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘There’s an imminent battle with weird ass space dogs that want to eat our faces. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Sorry about Tony Stark, whose life I kind of ruined. Lovely funeral. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘I’m in the middle of being pissed at you about the Shield. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Maybe don’t take me rolling through a field of flowers. It does things to me ‘cause I’m gay.’ ‘John Walker’s fucking insane. I’m gay, but definitely not for this bullshit.’ I mean, come on, Sam.”

“Flowers?” Sarah asked.

“Besides, why would you care? I don’t make it a habit of telling straight guys I’m into guys.”

“You don’t seem to make a habit of telling many people that,” Sarah pointed out. “I googled you. Nothing suggesting that came up.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m a guy from the 30s. It was trained out of me.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sarah said quickly. “Back up away from that because we’re not gonna try to Oppression Olympics our way through our histories. Did you just say Sam was straight?”

“Sarah!” Sam hissed.

“Sure. I mean, I saw him with Romanov. Hill. He has Tinder on his phone.”

“Samuel Thomas, you better not,” Sarah warned lightly. “You’re better than that.”

“He’s a lady-killer.”

Sarah snorted and had to bring her hand up to her face. “He definitely is not. There has been no lady-killing on his end for a long time.”

“Sarah!” Sam tried again.

“You explain it to him then. Mr. 30s is gonna need the long way round explanation.”

Sam sighed and dragged his hand over his face. “Dammit. Fine. I’m not straight either, alright? I’m...bi, or something. It’s been a while since I’ve had to think about it.”

“What?” Bucky asked, not unlike Sam had.

“He said he’s bisexual. Interested in both parties. Swings either way. Hit a homerun and then hasn’t really swung since.”

“Sarah, Jesus Christ,” Sam groaned.

“What?” Bucky asked again.

“I was engaged. To a man,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the irony.

“Oh, it was inconvenient for you but I had plenty of opportunities, huh?” Sam asked. “Ms. Tell-It-All over there wasn’t joking. I haven’t swung any direction in a while. Not since before I met Steve. My fiance died. And then it never came up.”

Bucky blinked at Sam. He kept bringing the bottle halfway up his body and then setting it back on his leg without ever taking a drink. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, which was not what Sarah was expecting and it clearly wasn’t what Sam was expecting because Sam finally moved closer to Bucky on the bench.

“What for? You didn’t do anything. This time.”

“Yeah, but if I’d known you were into me too, I woulda kissed you in Germany.”

“Oh, I am so not into you,” Sam denied. “And I wouldn’t have our first kiss ruined by immediately running into the government’s roving show monkey.”

“That’s the worst,” Bucky agreed and also finally moved over on the bench until they were pressed thigh to thigh. “Tell me how much you don’t like me again,” he challenged.

“I can’t stand you,” Sam answered and brought his hand up to Bucky’s jaw.

Sarah couldn’t fight down the grin that came to her face and turned to prop her feet on the pier, back to Sam and Bucky. Just this once, she didn’t need to watch her brother to understand him.

Read on AO3 here!

#anonymous #prompts #sambucky #writing #fanfiction #i answer things #sarah wilson #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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blackberry-gingham · 3 years

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Idk how you may feel about this au! But time travelingreader! is my fab. Could you do one in the teddy boy era. (I just imagine the resder predict or say some anachronism and the guys being ?. Socially speaking its so interesting. ) thnks :)

Lol, this IS an interesting trope! Also, a very difficult one to write, from my understanding haha. All in good fun I suppose, but still I want to try and make something worthwhile, so I hope this turns out alright for you all!

Sorry for the hiatus, but I think I'm coming back finally :D I hope you enjoy this snippet

---

A cool, fresh breeze washes over you, tickling your face. You sniff and rustle peacefully, as you sleep. Another one comes, this time stiff and cold.

You roll over, swatting at nothing as a small patch of grass blades stab your nose. Wait, grass?

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up to attention, taking in your surroundings. It looks like you're in some type of park, but the foliage is far greener and push then anywhere you know of. As you look around, a thought comes to you.

You've only a foggy idea where you were before and no idea how you got here. In fact, where even is here?

Panic over takes you, and you whip out your phone for answers, only.... Huh, no signal. That can't be, you're in the middle of a town!

You shake your head out and decide to go talk to some people instead.

And that's when things really go down hill.

The street is filled with cars that look like they belong in a museum or auto show. Not only that, but they're all driving on the opposite side of the street, a-and those save streets are lined with little telephone booths, and-

This must be a dream, you tell yourself as you run up to a newspaper stand, yet another thing you've never seen before. In your frantic haste, you grab one and search for the date, only now realizing you've never actually read a newspaper before. You're hardly able to read "The Daily Mail" and June 13, 196-something, before...

"Oi, this ain't a lib'ry love! Pay up, or keep walking!"

You're so taken aback my the man's accent and mild threat, that all you can do is stutter and back away. Paper in hand, that is.

The man gets up off his stool menacingly, "Are you deaf? Do you want me to get the coppers on ye'? I'll-!"

"Oi, fuck off!", another male voice comes from behind and you go stiff as a rod as you back into a strong, leather clad chest. " 'ere's a quid for the paper ya bastard, keep the change"

You whip around to see a boy about your age. He's tall, with a long, sharp nose and bright, auburn hair as he looks down leads you away from the paper stand by the arm.

All you can do is let it happen. You're so bewildered by each new development that you can hardly keep up. Last you knew, you were in America 2021, now you're lost in England, around 60 years in the past.

"You must really love that old rag to be trying to pinch it, eh?", the boy gives a mirthless chuckle and turns around briefly to catch a glimpse of you. And for a split second, it hits you.

You know that profile anywhere.

"John?", you stop dead in your tracks, disbelief written all over your face. John whips around, aa your voice changes from shock, to imesuarble relief, "John Lennon?"

"Yeah.... How do yo-?"

You cut him off, doing everything within your power to keep from shedding tears as you bump into him with a hug, "You're alive!"

John freezes up and makes a face that, to anyone who knew him, would say that he was about to shove you off to start. And he would've too, except... "Alive? The fuck are you on about, 'course I am!", John chooses mercy and merely shakes himself free as you reel.

Now that some space is between you, he catches a good look at your shirt. "The Beatles", it says, in bold white lettering with a picture of Abbey Road on it.

"Ey!", John points, and then squints to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks. When he's sure they aren't, he looks at you suspiciously, "What all this? That's my band's name!"

Uh oh.

It suddenly occurs to you that perhaps interacting with your idol's past self was not a good idea. "W-well yeah, I know! O-or wait, actually-!"

But John clearly isn't listening, instead it would appear he's thinking up a new name. Perhaps The Quarry Men isn't so bad?

Suddenly, the text on your shirt starts to flicker, and "The Beatles" starts to morph into something else... It only takes you a second to realize what's happening, and you snap into action.

"No no no!", You wave your hands in front him, "Don't do that! Look, it is your band! See, this is you, and Paul, and George, and-"

John squints again and leans in very close. In any other circumstance, you'd be quite excited indeed. It's hard to see anything on the beat up tee however, but... He'd recognize Paul's profile and Ringo's big old hooter anywhere.

He gaze shoots back up to you, and now it's his turn to be wordless and in disbelief, "How?", is about all he can manage.

Well... The truth can't hurt, right? "I-I don't know, alright? And you wouldn't believe me anyway..."

Suddenly, John seems extremely interested, "Well hey now, don't be like that! Are you um, are you a fortune teller?", he creeps a little closer, lowering his voice, "D-do you know if me and the lads make it in the end?"

You freeze a moment, "Make it...?"

"Well yeah, you know... Do we hit it big? We must if shite like that's going around!", he points excitedly to your shirt

You release the breath you'd been holding. Thankfully, it seems he's forgotten the little matter of you thinking he'd been dead. Well, only because... He is. And George....

Hopefully you won't have to touch that topic. Besides, right now you need to figure out how to get back to your time. Although...

Surely it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time with your idol

"Do you? Do you ever!", You light up, unable to mask your excitement, "You guys become the biggest band in the world!"

John's eyes go wide as saucers, and whether it's because he feels you have some credit, or because simply wants to believe, he seems to take you at your word. Suddenly, he grabs onto your wrist, "Come on then! We need to tell the lads!"

And with that, the two of you race on.

#the beatles #john lennon #time travel au

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phoneybeatlemania · 2 years

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5, 15, 20? :)

Apologies im only just answering these guys! I ended up just chatting to people at the train station at 1am lol, and then I just went to bed.

Re: Controversial Beatles Asks

5. What is the most overrated Beatles song by Tumblr users specifically?

I want you (she’s so heavy). I do *not* get the hype guys. Ive heard the guitar solo, and its not that sexy tbh :/

15. Did Brian do a good job with the band?

OKAY my answers probably gonna be pretty boring here tbh, because I really don’t know or care enough about the Actual Business Stuff to give a real take on it, but here goes:

It’s corny, but I do think that ultimately Brians heart was in the right place when it came to the band. Its not that money wasn’t a motivation for him, or that he was exempt from greed because….he’s a business man, ofc money was a priority for him. But all-in-all, I don’t believe he was ever trying to cheat the band out of money, and I think he actually cared about them, but there were just a lot of missteps on his behalf.

Idk, when you look at him in opposition to Basically Every Other Business Man, he clearly had a lot more integrity and honesty than most of them—albeit, probably as a byproduct of these traits, he was also fairly naive (which is what I would attribute most of his missteps too); I get the sense even that Brian was susceptible to being taken advantage of in a rather similar way to John.

However, again, I wouldn’t say he was this precious-angel who only ever did Bad Things out of naivety. Like theres things here and there which are Not Okay, which obviously cant be attributed to just ‘naivety’ [i.e trying to bribe Art Unger and implying he would have him banned from the industry]. But tbh, I cant think of anything that he’s done in business which I think was appalling—like he did things that were not okay, but overall, not shocking when you look at the dealings of every other manager in the music industry. Having said this though, I think the way he treated his workers could be pretty bad, but at the same time, Im by no means without any sense of sympathy for Brian there, because it seems pretty clear to me that he was dealing with some serious mental illness, which went untreated; id say I basically feel the same way about this, that I do about a lot of Johns controversies: ultimately recognising that certain behaviours are bad, but also aiming to understand why a person would behave in that way [untreated mental illness], and so hopefully ending up with a cross between accountability, sympathy and understanding.

I won’t comment on Barcelona just yet btw since Ive got other asks on *that*, so stay tuned folks.

20. What’s your take on Stuart v. Paul?

I actually talked about this in some depth here, and re-reading it I still basically agree with everything I’ve said (although, I still haven’t gotten round to deep-diving on Stu Sutcliffe, so once again: it could change, we’ll see).

In short though: while I do think theres the whole Math Of Love Triangles aspect to the relationship, and that jealousy was a massive drive within their discourse—I also think theres a facet to the Stu v. Paul dynamic in which Stu brought out an envy and an insecurity in Paul, which wasn’t inherent to either persons relationship with John. Like I said in my original post, maybe in Stuart he saw the person he could be, but never would be; someone alike himself, but better—and that made him feel belittled and insecure. Im not sure how much agency Stu had in making Paul feel that way (again, haven’t deep dived, sorry! :/), but it’s a big component towards Pauls jealousy imo, whether it was rational or not.

#asks #opinion #man my whole Brian section I feel like is just super boring but idk. im not an expert on Brian so like #im just going off of vibes yknow?#[vibes and some sources]#a day in (my) life #anon

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lennonmccartneystuff · 3 years

Text

I Was There For You in Your Darkest Times

Summary: Cool and confident 16 year old John Lennon meets a shy and broken Paul McCartney, 15, still reeling from his mother's death. When John loses his mother a year later Paul helps him through it.

Pairing: John x Paul (platonic)

Warnings: like one curse word

Author's note: I'm so excited this is my first fanfiction! Overarching note for all of my works...I don't own the Beatles haha

John Lennon rushed down the hallway on his way to class at Quarry Bank High School. He bumped into a boy slowly crossing the corner. He knew he recognized the kid, it was Paul McCartney. Something about Paul always confused him; he got a vibe from him like something was wrong but he couldn't figure out what. People made fun of him a lot and John didn't really engage with them because something about Paul made him feel like he didn't need more problems.

They collided and Paul fumbled to pick up his books trying to spit out an apology but just sounding muffled and anxious.

"I- sorry I didn't um, I didn't mean to"

"No worries man, my fault." John said while handing him his books and looking at Paul for a moment, trying to read him.

The boys went their separate ways heading to their own classes but John couldn't get Paul out of his mind for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

"Had Paul always been so nervous and quiet?" He thought to himself on the way home. Granted, he didn't know Paul personally but he had seen him around the last few years and something had definitely changed about him as of late.

John sat at home fiddling with his guitar and writing the first few verses to a song about a mystery boy (obviously influenced by his curiosity about Paul's story). He always turned to music when he couldn't get something off his mind. Sure, it wasn't necessarily a quick fix but it helped.

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For the next couple of days John just kept watching Paul. Not to be like a stalker or anything but he wanted to kinda know if he was ok. Problem is you don't just approach someone you've spoken to like twice to ask if they're going through something so he was at a loss.

Anyway, John had a free period so he headed down to the auditorium following a brief stop at his locker to get his guitar. He always went there there to practice in peace since it was empty during fifth period.

When he turned the corner he could swear he heard a voice but couldn't figure out who it was. He peered into the room and saw Paul McCartney huddled on the floor clearly trying not to cry.

"Hey man, are you ok?"

*sniff* "I'm fine, just leave me alone."

"I'm not going to tell anyone about this so if you want to tell me what's wrong, you can."

"I- um... today's a year since my mom passed away."

"Paul. I-I'm so sorry."

"Breast cancer"

"I had no idea"

"Is that a guitar?" Paul looked over to John's hand.

"Yeah! Do you play?"

"Yes! And bass too, that's my favorite."

"no way that's sick. We should play some time. Come by after school?"

"Yeah! I'm down, that sounds fun."

The bell rang and the boys went their separate ways; John with a new understanding of what Paul was going through and Paul happy that someone wanted to talk to him about something other than how he had been coping for the last year.

At the end of the day John and Paul made eye contact and headed to their own houses aknowledging that they were going to get together later.

Later they hung out at John's house playing around different musical snippets. John, with a little hesitation at the thought of bringing of bringing up mothers, answered Paul's question saying that it was his mom that got him into music and bought him his first guitar

"That's awesome! Does your dad play?"

"Well I uh, don't know my dad so I couldn't tell you." John chuckled nervously.

"Oh I'm sorry."

"Nah it's no big deal, he's a piece of shit anyway. My mom's the great one, I wish I saw her more often."

"Why don't you? If you don't mind me asking."

"She's actually not that far. It's just that she's with this guy and my Aunt Mimi wouldn't let me live with them cause it was too cramped or whatever, so here I am. We still talk often though"

"that's good" Paul said wistfully.

"Oh sorry, we can change the subject"

Paul nodded.

The rest of the night went on and Paul left a couple of hours later to go home.

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For the next few weeks John and Paul hung out at each other's houses almost every day after school just to play guitar and do homework and stuff. John noticed a change in Paul's disposition, he was still really hurt over his mom and that wasn't going to go away, but he seemed even close to happy for the first time since he lost her. Apparently Jim McCartney noticed it too because one night he pulled John aside before the two boys went up to practice and thanked him for being there for Paul. Of course John wasn't doing it for thanks, he really like hanging out with Paul, but he was glad it was doing something good.

One night at John's house Paul quietly brought up that he had been working on writing some original music.

"I um, wrote some lyrics this past week. I don't know if you want to hear them. Maybe you can help me come up with the riff for transition from verse to chorus."

"Yeah of course, let me here 'em"

"Well, I woke up late this morning my head was in a whirl only then I realized I lost my little girl oh, oh, oh, oh. Well, her clothes were not expensive her hair didn't always curl I don't know why I love her but I love my little girl oh, oh, oh, oh."

"And then I think the chorus is going to be: Well, gather 'round people let me tell you the story the very first song I wrote. But I don't know if that sounds stupid or where to go from there and I need help with that transition."

"Wow- the uh, the lyrics are beautiful, Paul."

"Thanks. Any advice for those parts?"

"C to Am?"

"let's give that a shot."

John and Paul were constantly with each other at school, always hanging out at home too and never far from a guitar. They quickly grew to be very good friends and Paul hung out with John's other friends in the group.

The school year was winding down. John and Paul lived pretty close to each other so they planned on basically spending the whole summer playing music together with the rest of the guys. On the last day of school they said goodbye but of course they weren't apart for long. For the entire month of June Paul was either with John and his other friends or with George.

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The middle of July rolled around and suddenly Paul didn't really hear from John and he couldn't figure out what was up. They didn't have a fight and it seemed that none of the other guys had talked to him either.

After a few days of not wanting to smother John during whatever was going on Paul had to check on him so he went to his house to at least see if Mimi could tell him anything.

"Hey is John around?"

Mimi stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, it looked like she had been crying for days

"Is everything ok?"

"Let me see if he'll come talk to you."

"John? Paul's downstairs. You should really talk to him if you're ready, he's worried."

"I'm coming. I'm going to tell him."

John walks down the stairs into the living room where Paul is waiting near the doorway.

"Hey John. Are you ok?"

"Let's take a walk, I need to talk to you."

"Is everything alright?"

They walked for a moment and John readied himself to say what he was about to say. Paul was the first person he told and he was trying to prepare himself even though no amount of waiting would make this any easier.

"My uh, my mom was killed a couple of days ago, died in a car crash." John said, barely above a whisper.

Paul froze. He didn't have specific proof that they were in this part of their friendship yet but he had to go with his gut. He leaned in and gave John a hug and they just stood there for a moment.

When they pulled away Paul took a look at John while he wiped his eyes. He had never seen him like this before. John was strong and nothing ever really got to him but he had never looked so broken. Paul remembered that feeling unfortunately and while his mom passed away under different circumstances he still knew all too well the pain of losing someone so important so young.

John was never one for showing his emotions, even to his best friend. Though if he had to cry in front of someone it wouldn't have been anyone else.

Paul tried his hardest to keep John out of the really dark place he found himself in last year before they met. The trauma that comes from losing a parent so young will never be erased and there was nothing anyone could do to make that better but Paul's priority was keeping his best friend from being consumed by this. He knew what it was like to lose yourself and he wasn't going to let that happen to John.

Eventually John told the rest of his friends what had happened, with Paul by his side for moral support, but he didn't really hang out much the rest of the summer. The only person he ever really saw was Paul because he wouldn't leave him alone for too long. John wasn't the best with words so he didn't know how to say it, but he didn't know what he would've done without Paul that summer.

"Are you ready?" Paul asked as he turned to John before looking at the big doors to Quarry Bank High School.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The two made their way into school with a new closeness between them, an understanding of what it's like to experience living hell and survive it.

That shared experience was part of what brought John to immediately include Paul in the lineup for The Quarrymen, a group initially consisting of John, Pete, Eric, Colin, Rod, and Len. The group evolved a year later when, at Paul's request, George was added.

This gave John and Paul something to distract themselves with and direct their attention to instead of how much they missed their moms. The Quarrymen performed at dances, school events, etc. When they moved in the direction of rock and roll, only John, Paul, and George remained.

If it wasn't for John and Paul meeting and helping each other through the hard times it would've been so much harder to get to the good ones.

#beatles fanfiction #lennon mccartney #the beatles #fanfiction #mclennon #beatles oneshot #platonic fanfic #the quarrymen #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

eunoia - chapter 1

Summary: Quinn is back in Delacroix, Louisiana

Sam Wilson x Quinn (Asian ofc)

Warnings: Some spoilers for Civil War, Inifinity War, Endgame and TFATWS

Wordcount: 3.2k

Masterlist // eunoia masterlist // Previous chapter

I watched AJ and Cass grow up into the boys they are now. It might be obvious to some, but I came to the realization that every step of their development is crucial. Teaching them boundaries, new skills and their abilities when it comes to social interaction.

Noticing that importance, made me wonder even more about the things that had happened in my past. What significant events happened for me to become who I am today. I don’t feel like anyone, like I have no personality, no history.

Fragments of memories are the only things I have left of my past. I remember laughing with people, though they remain faceless till this day. I remember warm weather, cold weather, but the hugs are the same. They are loving, caring. But there is also a lot of pain and exhaustion. There is confusion when I saw Bucky for the first time being contained in a small cell.

But those fragments are not equal to an entire memory.

Everything I started to experience is from the moment Zemo let me out of that cell back in Munich. Fighting alongside the Avengers, though never actually being one of them, meeting people during my solo trips through the country and sleeping in abandoned buildings by myself, since I had no money.

Delacroix, Louisiana, however, is the only place I dare to call home. I know there is a place somewhere that used to be home, but since I haven’t found that yet, I’ll rely on the place that feels most secure.

Of course I was aware that going here could mean bumping into Sam. It’s a risk I’m willing to take, because I missed spending time with the Wilson’s, especially AJ and Cass. I wonder though, what Sam might think. Me spending time with his family in the years he couldn’t.

I grew so close to the three of them, whilst we only had one thing in common.

Knowing Sam.

Since Tony’s funeral and Steve handing the shield to Sam, I have been wandering around the different states, even making slight detours to Canada, hoping to find something. I have been so desperately wanting to know something for so long. Anything that could be something that should be a treasured memory of mine.

Much to my dismay, I am still left in the dark. I have no idea who I am, where my roots started and who is out there missing me.

Are there even people missing me?

After I scolded the boys for growing, I hold up my hand to the older guy who has been appreciating my arrival from the moment I got here a little over five years ago. ‘Hi Carlos,’ I say to him.

‘Miss Quinn!’ he exclaims, rushing over to me in the fastest pace he can and hugs me tightly when I’m within arms reach. ‘Oh, do I love it when you join us.’

‘I love to be back.’

‘You’re gonna help me out, right?’ Carlos asks. ‘Things go much slower without you here. No one has come even close to your strength.’

‘I figured,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’ll help you out, okay?’

He blows me a kiss, before AJ, Cass and I walk towards Sarah and Sam. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am. While Sam was contemplating whether or not to take the shield from Steve, I sneaked out. Ran off hating Steve. Hating the fact that he got older. Being able to go back in time, to not only place back the Stones and what not, but also to grow older with Peggy.

The love of his life.

He got to live his happily ever after with someone from his past, something that I would probably never experience. It took me months to realize that I wasn’t mad at him.

I was simply jealous.

Sarah opens her arms for me and I don’t waste a single second before letting myself being engulfed in her warm embrace. How I longed to feel a hug from her. ‘I missed you,’ she says to me.

‘I missed you too,’ I admit softly.

‘Don’t you dare leave me alone for too long.’ She holds onto my upper arms and glares at me. ‘The kids missed you too much.’

‘We did,’ they confirm in unison

I can’t help but laugh. ‘I missed them and you too much as well, hence the reason I came back.’

‘Oh, so you didn’t came back for my brother?’ She cocks an eyebrow. ‘He too just arrived.’

Sam scoffs and I pretend to roll my eyes, but I cannot miss the tone in her voice. She always pestered me about her brother, saying that if he were still here, we’d probably be all over each other.

Yeah right…

I remember first arriving here and staying in the guest room, one where Sam used to sleep if he crashed here in Delacroix. She caught me looking at pictures of Sam and slightly bullied me because of it. Maybe it seemed like I liked him, but the truth is: I realized how much I missed him.

Back when I helped out the Avengers, he was the only one I truly trusted. Because I cared so much about him, I went out of my way to go to his DC apartment in the midst of all chaos, to grab some personal belongings of his and make my way to his family.

Sam promised me he would always have my back and I don’t blame him for not keeping his promise. It’s just that now that he is back and I’m about the face him, it hits me how much his five year absence killed me deep down.

I’m too afraid to meet his eyes, but I know I have to eventually. ‘Solely for the kids,’ I say to Sarah, because that is the main reason I came back. The kids and Sarah.

Sarah squeezes my upper arms, almost as some encouragement and I look up to Sam. ‘Hi Quinn,’ he says to me, his voice warm, welcoming and trusting.

I missed him. I missed him looking at me. All of his attention directed to the person he’s talking to. It’s good to be on the receiving end of it.

‘Hi Sam.’

‘How are you?’

I have no idea actually. ‘I’m okay,’ I answer. ‘You look good.’

He seems a bit surprised, but a slightly cocky smirk appears on his lips. ‘As do you.’

Sarah frowns, as she looks from me to Sam back to me again. ‘How about you two catch up?’ She opens a cool box and grabs two beers. ‘I’ve got your favorite, Quinn. You must be tired from your trip. You deserve it.’

‘You’re the best, Sarah, thank you.’

Both AJ and Cass stand next to me and give me a tight hug. ‘You’re already taking her away, uncle Sam?’ AJ asks. ‘That’s so unfair. We want to know how the battle against Thanos went.’

‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ I say to them, slightly touched because they don’t want me to go.

‘Is this Superhero talk?’ AJ asks, looking at his uncle.

‘Boys, I told you,’ I say, ‘I’m no superhero.’

‘But you’re really strong,’ Cass says. ‘I think you are a superhero.’

‘She totally is,’ Sam says. ‘You should’ve seen her in the battlefield.’

I don’t do blushing, but I do this other thing: my ears turn in this fiery red color. It’s horrible, I hate it and of course today of all days I’m wearing my hair up in a ponytail, for everyone to see how the tips of my ears turn red.

‘Uncle Sam, to be fair, we like her more than we like you.’

Sam cocks an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’ he asks. ‘That means I need to work extra hard to be number one again.’

‘If you get me one of those flying suits, you two are even.’

‘AJ,’ Sarah says, ‘we spoke about this. I’m not gonna let you fly around. Sorry Sam, you’re in third place.’

‘Third place?’ Sam asks, pretending to be offended. ‘Why third?’

‘Because mom is number one, auntie Quinn is number two and you are number three,’ Cass says. ‘Duh.’

Sam and I sit on the dock, both staring at the old boat. Paul & Darlene. A nearly nostalgic smile appears on my lips. ‘Sarah and I tried to fix it up,’ I say, flicking the cap off the beer bottle, doing the same for Sam. ‘Emphasis on tried. We didn’t have a lot of money, we had tons of other stuff to do and I have no idea on how to fix up a boat.’

Sam nods, grabbing the beer from me as I hand it to him. ‘Figured, think the two of you broke something in the process,’ he chuckles.

‘That would’ve been me, I’m sorry.’ I take a sip of the beer and think about the next thing I’m gonna say. ‘So,’ I start, ‘you gave up the shield.’

‘Not in the way you might think,’ he says, almost in a bit of a defensive tone. ‘I didn’t give it up. I gave it to the museum where it belongs. It’s a piece of history, not mine to use.’

I frown, as I fear that he might not know what I know. ‘You think it’s gonna stay in a museum?’ I ask.

Now he looks up. ‘Of course, what do you think?’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘it’s not gonna be part of the exhibition. There is… Someone who will receive the shield soon.’

It pains me to see his expression. The hurt, the betrayal. Poor Sam, he obviously wasn’t told about that. ‘I had no idea.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.

‘How do you know?’

I shrug. ‘I went to one of my hackers,’ I say, ‘to see if he could help me with carefully running my picture through any database. We stumbled upon some governmental documents and it read that once they had the shield, they would give it to some guy who is training for it. I believe his name was John Walker.’

‘That could be anyone,’ Sam notes with a scoff.

‘Exactly,’ I agree, ‘but it shouldn’t be anyone. Steve gave that shield to you, not this John Walker guy. I’m not saying that giving the shield for an exhibition was wrong, but… I do know this is not what both you or Steve had in mind when you gave the shield to the Smithsonian.’

Sam shakes his head and from the looks of it, he is beating himself up over this. ‘They should’ve told me.’

‘Had they told you, would you kept the shield?’

He nods. ‘It’s Steve shield, not mine, not this John guy.’

I have no idea what I should say to him. I want to say about myself that I know how to comfort someone, but that someone is not a grown man. The only ones I can remotely comfort, are AJ and Cass and when necessary, I can sort of calm Sarah down (though I have gone wrong there maybe once or twice).

‘Is this John Walker gonna go public any time soon?’ Sam asks.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why do you think Steve gave me that shield?’

I was not expecting that question at all, but it’s an easy one to answer. ‘You’re the only one worthy of the shield, of that legacy. You are more than Captain America’s friend, Sam. You are the only one that can live up to the expectation.’

‘I don’t know, Quinn.’

‘Listen, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have hesitations. It only shows that you are humble and I think that is exactly the type of man Steve wanted for the shield.’

From the looks of it, Sam grows more and more uncomfortable. To redirect the conversation, he clears his throat and says: ‘Bucky isn’t gonna like this.’

Oh boy, I hadn’t even thought of that. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nah, he ignores my texts.’

I can’t stop my smile. ‘Mine too.’

‘Oh, you’ve been texting him?’ Sam asks. eyebrow cocked.

‘Sometimes,’ I say, ‘it’s just that I figured we had something in common. He just went totally AWOL after his pardoning and I have no idea what he is doing. I bet he doesn’t even wanna be found. If there is something going on, he’ll show up.’

‘Well, good thing Bucky doesn’t even know where I live,’ he says, ‘think you and I are safe for a while.’

I chuckle, looking at my beer bottle. ‘Yeah, bet you’re right.

That night, I walk into the room I always sleep in when I stay over at the Wilson’s, only to discover a shirtless Sam, in nothing else but boxers near the bed. That looks abnormally good, I think to myself, before I realize that it’s considered rude to just walk into a room like that. ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I’m so sorry.’ I pull down the sleeping shirt, hoping it covers up my legs more.

‘No, I am,’ he says. ‘I could’ve known you would sleep here. Let me grab some blankets and I’ll take the couch.’

‘You’re taking the couch?’ I ask.

‘Yeah.’

I’ve slept on that thing and if it was uncomfortable for me, who is the size of a kid, it must be even worse for him.‘The bed is large enough,’ I say. ‘Pick a side.’

‘I don’t want to cross any line, Quinn.’

‘You won’t,’ I say. ‘Believe me, I shared sleeping spaces with people, most of which were… different than you, in the negative sense.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘I want the right side, closer to the door.’ I watch Sam stepping in that part of the bed and slide underneath the covers and I walk around the bed, stepping in as well. We stare at the ceiling and the only thing we can hear is the breathing of one another.

I missed being in the Wilson’s residence. I missed the talks we would have, the food we would eat and the way the boys would talk. They’ve gone a long way and I sound like an old grandma, but I am so proud of them. Growing up during the blip, watching their mom work hard, that must’ve been tough, but they pulled through.

They grew up to be fine young men, who are strong, who are kind and mostly, who still know how to be kids.

But what’s different now is the presence of Sam and it’s not an unpleasant one. He obviously loves his sister and nephews and even after coming back from a rough mission, he gives them his time and attention.

Everything he has to offer.

Even if that means annoying his sister about the family boat. Sarah told me all about that dragon of a money sucker. It costs a lot and she doesn’t have time nor the money to renovate.

‘Where have you been?’ he asks.

‘When?’

‘Those five years and those months after the shield.’

I let out a sigh. ‘I have been wandering around the country after the blip, hoping to find out more about me. To no luck, I came in empty handed. After the shield, I continued wandering. Just realized I needed family. I needed Sarah.’

‘Thanks for helping her out.’

‘Oh, she didn’t need helping out,’ I say. ‘Besides, I wasn’t much of a help.’

‘I bet you were,’ Sam says with a smile. ‘You’re tired, go have some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

That night, I yet again have a dreamless dream. I never dream. Maybe I did, but I don’t remember. I barely remember everything. There are three major things in life that are the foundation of my life.

I hate cold weather, the person who has been playing a major role in my life is Bucky, who I haven’t spoken to for months and I have enhanced powers, but I have no idea where they are coming from.

Things in my life never made sense.

I remember when Zemo freed me, only for me to roam through the city of Münich and be caught by the team of Everett Ross. How Bucky has been a part of my life, has always been a mystery, because Bucky can only tell me he would see me back in his cell, before Hydra wiped him.

But what have I got to do with Hydra?

The next morning my eyes flutter open. I take a deep breath and lift up my head, only to realize I was resting it on Sam’s strong chest. ‘Morning,’ he says, his voice deep and it almost sounds like liquid gold.

Shit, I’m too close. ‘Good morning,’ I say, pushing myself up. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘Sure? You feared you were overstepping, but now I am the one. How long have I been… resting like this.’

‘The second you drifted off to sleep. You’re a wild one. Think I’ve got at least a few bruises and broken ribs with that super strength of yours.’

‘Sorry,’ I chuckle. ‘I hope you’re okay.’

‘I’ll live.’ He sits up straighter and rubs his eyes.

‘How did you sleep?’ I ask.

‘Alright,’ he says. ‘It always takes a bit of getting used to when I get back here.’

‘I see.’

The door barges open, only to see Sarah. ‘There you two are,’ she says, tying up her robe she wears over her pajamas. ‘You should see the news. They are announcing the new Captain America.’

My heart stops beating for a moment and I look over my shoulder to see Sam. He gets up, puts on some clothes, while I grab some sweats. We all walk into the living room, only to see the boys already sitting in front of the screen.

‘Every day Americans feel it,’ the man on the television says. ‘While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend Earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. We need a real person who embodies America’s greatest values.’

I watch Sam staring at the screen, as he talks place on the couch. I carefully sit next to him, hoping he is not spooked by my presence.

He isn’t.

‘We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero.’

I don’t know whether Sam is disappointed in himself for believing the shield was gonna be exhibited in the Smithsonian or in the government who betrayed him.

Either way, watching this must be awful.

‘Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.’

The new Captain America. It’s like a punch in the gut. The cheering, the waving of the generic John Walker holding a shield that isn’t his.

I place my hand on his knee and for a split second I fear he is going to swat it away.

But then I feel the warmth of his palm on my hand and he looks to the side. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes say enough.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

He nods. ‘Yeah, me too, Quinn. Me too.’

#sam wilson #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson x quinn #sam wilson x woc ofc #sam wilson x asian ofc #sam wilson x ofc #sam wilson x oc #sam wilson fanfiction #quinn #asian ofc #woc of #anthony mackie x woc ofc #anthony mackie x asian ofc #anthony mackie x oc #anthony mackie x ofc #anthony mackie fandom #anthony mackie fanfiction #anthony mackie #eunoia

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johns-prince · 3 years

Note

TW for eating disorders, etc.

John OP here. Thanks for the beautifully written answer. I appreciate the honesty and in fact, you make very good points. I doubt I'd be the best influence on someone like John when it came to body image because we seem too alike in that department. I was a teenager in the size zero hysteria of the early 00s and this probably shaped my sense of aesthetics. I'm more relaxed about that now but my eye still responds to a certain look on people. I can't help it. I had my own "Fat Beatle" episode and I could tell how it all changed when I shed the weight. It didn't really matter how or whether I was miserable, I just looked the "right" way and people would let me know. It's possible I projected it all on poor John. But I know he'd relate to that in many levels.

I'm not a fan of the "rat man" thing either. I know people mean well and I try to look at it with humor but it does bother me. Mostly because the stans of the other boys are very positive about them and I'd like that for John too. His looks were a major part of his struggle so I know he'd be crushed watching everyone praising his mates (especially Paul) while he gets to be the fucking rat, you know? As I have mentioned before, you can feel it even on fanfiction. Even the writers who seem more John inclined will go on for pages about how pretty Paul (which he is, of course) and how lucky John was to be with him. Like it was a favor or something. That when the stories don't keep pushing that tired trope about Crazy John crushing on pretty but Immovable Sexuality Paul. That's not really my cup of tea tbh.

In the end I'm just happy to start this discussion

with intelligent people who will bring their opinions to the table respectfully. I hope my previous comment didn't trigger anyone or came across as worse than I hoped. If that was the case, I'd like to apologize, it really wasn't my intention.

Darling, don't fret. You've really nothing to be sorry about. One reason why I relate to John is because I have issues with bulimia to this day, and can experience hardcore body dysmorphia at the worst of times dues to my insecure and self hatred towards my body. I get it.

I remember that, vaguely at least, the whole size zero thing. I do, that was such a strange phenomenon, because it takes a certain body type to fit it naturally, or... Y'know, starving yourself.

Anyway, I think we all sort of project on our favorite boy, and we all sort of see ourselves in them too. You wouldn't be the first, and certainly won't be the last.

Yeah, I completely understand how you feel. Maybe I'm just overreacting, maybe I don't have a sense of humor, but I'm inclined to feel protective over John, and I feel like if you know about John's insecurities and struggles with himself in regards to his physical appearance, why... Would you yourself find it a silly and relatively harmless thing to apparently joke about calling him things like that, idk like I said I don't see anyone else really making such snide comments and quips when it comes to the other three. So at what time did the bandom just agree it was an acceptable thing to do towards John?

Whatever, people can do and say what they like y'know free country an' all, but I don't have to approve of it or like it.

Real talk, I low-key I am guilty of writing in that way but I primarily do it as if John feels that way, or thinks it, or feels it. Due to his insecurity and self doubt, the fear that he'll always be abandoned by those he holds dear and loves, the fear that it's all just too good to be true for him-- that's why I ever write a scene when it comes to Paul, that it's just John's way of thinking, not seeing his own worth, and ends up sort of idolizing those individuals (listen John once compared Paul to a religion that he knew/had so I feel like he idolized and saw Paul in this 'oh God he's too perfect oh no' sort of light, which both terrified and fed into the 'paul's going to leave me one day he'll figure it out that he doesn't need me I'm not enough' sort of mindset too) he just had a bit of a habit doing that to those he held intimately dear, until... They let him down or proved his insecurities and doubts right, that in the end they all leave him and don't actually love him. It's a cruel self fulfilling prophecy in a sense, since John, either consciously or subconsciously, put relationships and people through tests to see if they could withstand him and his antics, if they'd stay loyal, if they'd still love him. Sometimes he'd just push people away, and then feel like they just up and abandoned him...

I'm rambling. Anyway the point, your point, still stands! Their relationship shouldn't be written as one doing the other a favor for liking them and being with them! Maybe in reality people did think Paul was doing not only John a favor for being his partner but also a favor to everyone else, because John had Paul and Paul could be seen as the one handling John's lead. It's kind of like how some peer at John's art school thought Cynthia had done them all a favor for taking John.

I don't like that. John isn't some problem to be passed onto someone who must then bear the burden of him. That's just... Wrong. And I think both Cynthia and Paul would think so too. John could be challenging but geez, it shouldn't be made out like anyone who loved John and wanted to be around him and be with him was just some sort of favor to the world or to him.

If anything John and Paul were both extremely lucky to have found each other-- it's not exactly common for soulmates to find each other, especially at such a young age? Please. Most of us will never, which is common.

Like the crushing went both ways lol if anything it's Paul who crushed first-- while John never mentioned it, Paul had brought up how he'd noticed John long before meeting him at the Fete. They had even briefly talked at a newspaper shop which Paul had been working at. He'd see John on the streets, he'd notice him riding on the top deck of buses, or in line at the fish and chips-- he'd try and steal glances at John when he'd notice him on the same bus! Paul was instantly drawn to this tough looking teddy with big sideboards and greased hair and the drainies and a roguish air about him. He was like a schoolgirl with a crush, and he didn't even know this boy. Yet.

If anything it's Paul who noticed John first, and started crushing on John first. Then they finally were introduced at the local Fete, and that was it for both of them.

And let's be real John might've been a bit crazy, but Paul loved him, loved his touch of crazy. And Paul might be immoveable heterosexuality, but that goes straight out the window when it comes to John, and only John it appears.

So yeah, I get where you're coming from, and your grievances and perspective.

I'm glad you decided to share it with me! Sorry about my rambling (• ▽ •;)

#questionsquestionsquestions #beatles discussion/discourse #mclennon #i love conversations like this it's been awhile lol #also who intelligent people cause i ain't one of them #im just glad to be here y'all lol

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ihaveafandom-problem554 · 3 years

Text

Hamiltots

"Mama! I-I wanna stay w- with you" Alex whined to his mother. "I'm sorry Alexander but mama's busy. You'll stay with Mr. Washington, he's a nice man."

Alex looks up at Mr. Washington, then quickly diggs his face into his mother's chest. "Ooh! Alexander! I'm so sorry, he's just really shy- OW Alexander Hamilton! What have I said about biting!" Alex only yells into his mother's chest in response.

" It's ok madam, I understand." Washington leans in closer to Alex. " Hey Alexander, Mom needs to go-" Alex yelled even louder then the first time in his mother's chest. "Hey, look I know you're gonna miss mommy, but you can make lots of friends here!" He tries to reassure Alex. "Come on, mom will be back before you know it!" Washington says leaning over to grab Alex from his mother's grasp. "Come on, say bye to mama"

"B-Bye-bye" Alex waved, tears threatening come out from his eyes. "Now, I just know you will make plenty of friends Son." Washington says opening the door for Alexander.

Alex glares at Washington before walking in.

The second Alex walks in, he sees a series of activities and multiple at each one. The crafting table has 4 boys and 1 girl. At the book section there 2 boys and a girl who seems to admire the kid in a pink shirt with puffy hair. One of the girls aren't even doing anything, she's just staring out the window. To take a guess she might be talking to the birds.

Alexander's examination of his surroundings was interrupted by a girl in a yellow shirt and a boy with a missing tooth, he looked scary but his smile was sweet, both kids came from the crafting table.

"Well aren't you two eager to meet our new friend?" Washington charmed patting both the kids' heads.

"Children!" He says getting everyone's attention " We have a new friend! Introduced yourselves, like we practiced yesterday." One by one the kids start to introduce themselves.

"Hi I'm Maria!"

"I'm Charles Lee"

"Samuel Seabury!"

"King George The III" A disappointed was heard from Mr. Washington

"James Reynolds"

" *small cough* James Madison"

He glares before telling Alex his name " ..... Thomas Jefferson"

"John Laurens!"

"Hercules Mulligan!"

"Aaron burr"

"Angelica"

"Eliza!"

"And PEGGY!"

Hercules and Peggy were the two infront of Alexander almost jumping, "What's your name!" Peggy burst out. "A-Alex- Alexander Hamil-ton"

"Wow that's a mouth full!" Peggy says with a wide smile. "Yeah, but not as much as Laf's name"

"Well that's because Lafayett- wait if Jefferson is here...Then where is.." All three kids look up at Mr. Washington, who was looking around the classroom. "Hey Hercules, where's Lafayette?"

"Oh he went with Mrs. Martha, he looked sad."

"Oh ok, Alexander you can go ahead and have fun with Hercules and Peggy" Washington says, then walking off to the back room. "Come on lets go the crafting table!" Hercules grabs Alex's arm then rushing off to the crafting table with Peggy following right behind.

At the crafting table...

"And that's how I will get all turtles to rule the world an I will become a turtle Princess!" John says standing on the table showing a drawn picture with Laurens on a throne and turtles fighting off the humans to Aaron. "You won't be a 'Princess', you're a boy. You'll be a prince or a King." Aaron says grabbing his poorly drawn picture and pointing at Laurens on the throne.

"Sudd up A-a-ron, I'll be a princess when I wanna" Laurens whined while snatching his beautifully drawn picture.

"My name isn't 'A-a-ron' It's Aaron!"

"Nuh-uh It's spelled A-a-ron"

"NO IT'S NOT-" ( calm down Jamal-)

"Guys look Alex- oh wait do you mind me calling you Alex?" Herc asks, his bounce slowly leaving his body. " Yeah you can"

" *Excited gasp* Guys! Alex Seems really cool can he stay with us?" Hercules' bounce comes back. "Sure! he can be my partner in the war of turtles" Laurens says, throwing his hands up in the air. Alexander giggles in response. He sits down with the rest of them and they plan out on how to help turtles take over the world.

Randomly, Alexander feels uneasy, like if he was being hunted. He turns around to see 2 things. Peggy literally jumping of excitement, and a pair of eyes staring at him from the reading center. Like if they stared any longer laser beams would come out and kill him.

Alex gave them the same look back but more intense, the person is taken back, not expecting Alex to glare back. The kid comes out of his hiding spot to reveal itself as Jefferson, his glare get scarier but Alex stood his ground, knowing he can't glare any harder he keeps his glare and continues to stare at Jefferson.

30 seconds past and their still glaring at each other. Like if it was some intense staring contest.

"Alexander, was it?" A woman spoke, causing Alex to turn around. "O-oh yeah.."

The kind women smiles then points to herself "I'm Mrs. Martha... And this shy one is- Oh Laurens we spoke about standing on the table!" She quickly grabs Laurens off the table and onto a seat. "Sorry Mrs. Martha.." Laurens pouts.

"It's ok Laurens. Anyway Like I was saying, Lafayette honey, come on and introduce yourself"

A kid- who looks a lot like the Jefferson kid, emerges from behind Mrs. Martha's legs. Alex smiles "Hi! I'm Alexander! you can call me Alex!" Alex jumps, hoping it would cure his shyness. The boy mutters something under his breath while fiddling with the ends off his shirt. "You can do it Laf!" Herc cheers.

"He's Italian, so he can't speak english that good... He gets really shy about it" Peggy tells Alex. "Peggy it's not Italian it's french!" Mrs. Martha corrects.

"Ohh yeah sorry!"

"My..na-me?..."

"Go ahead honey" Mrs. Martha trying to encourage him.

He takes a deep breath. "Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette, but Toi can appelle-moi Lafayette" he says in a very THICK accent.

"Ce est tellement cool! Je n'ai jamais parlé de quelqu'un qui parle français (This is so cool! I never spoke of someone who speaks French).." Alex beams.

Lafayette lights up "Tu me comprends!? C'est tellement incroyable! (You understand me!? It is so amazing!)" he leans in to hug Alex. They both share a laugh while Hercules pouts and Mrs. Martha takes in the moment. "YAY!" Laurens Cheers "You can tell us what Laf is saying! This is going to be the best!" All the boys and Peggy, cheer expect Burr. "Well, I'll leave you guys be." Mrs. Martha turns around going off to the back room. "Don't be rough now"

"Guys I'll be right back" Burr says getting up. "Nah-uh, You stay here, Alex just got here and you're gonna go and talk to Jefferpoo" Laurens grabs Burr and sits him back down. "Hey! his name isn't Jefferpoo it's Jefferson!"

"Nuh-uh, He hurt Laf a lot he'a a real meanie" Herc protested.

"Yeah! he also took my yellow crayon and broke it this morning!" Peggy whined. Laurens and Herc went over to confort Peggy.

"He just think you guys are babish that's why" Burr stated, causing Hercules and Laurens to argue with him.

...

" Taffy can I test your english again!?" Peggy bursts. "Ooo can I help?" Alex bounces for the first time today. "Oui" Lafayette smiles. "Ooo Lets get a book!" Alex beams, then turning around to go over to the reading center. "W-wait you need-" Peggy panics but Alex was too busy running over the reading center to listen. Once he gets there, he sees 3 people.

James Madison and Angelica were on one side sitting on a bean bag. James looks like he was reading a book but later gave up and was listening to Angelica who was rambling about something. On the other side was Jefferson he was also on a bean bag reading a book bigger than his head.

Alex looked over in the different genres of books, deciding which one will be better for Lafayette. Grabbing and putting back the bins, sometimes grabbing a couple books in the process. In a split second, he turns around, reacting to the shifting sound of a bean bag. When he does, he sees Jefferson staring right at him.

They stare at each other for a bit, until Lafayette stepped in the gap between them. "Found book?" Lafayette gives him a nervous smile while trying to block his view of Thomas. "Oh not yet. I don't know which one to chose."

"Ooo ooo! Get the one about the black kitty!" Peggy doesn't get in the reading center, but she points at the book she was talking about. It was right next to Angelica. "Excuse me-" Alex says grabbing both, Angelica's and James' attention. "Could you please move... I need to grab a book."

Angelica stares at Alexander. It's not a threatening look, it's a surprised look. "Uh, are you gonna-"

"OH! yeah sorry!" she apologizes than moving out the way.

It a took while but he finally found the book Peggy was talking about. He picks up the cat book and a few other books he chose for Lafayette. " Come on, Laffy! It seems like a lot but I think you can do it!" The second Alex said 'Laffy' he noticed Jefferson look up at him with anger in his eyes.

As the two boys were about to walk out of the surprisingly big reading center. Lafayette fell face first onto his nose.

"Laffy! are you ok!?" Alexander puts down the books to check on Lafayette. "Ce n'était pas pour vous, arrêtez de vous embarrasser. Il n'est pas censé t'appeler comme ça.(It wasn't for you, stop embarrassing yourself. He's not supposed to call you that.)" Jefferson says digging his head back in the book.

Alex was confused. I thought Lafayette was the only one who spoke French... And if he speaks French and english, shouldn't he be around Laffy to translate?... but all those thoughts got put to the side after processing what Jefferson had said to Lafayette.

"Y-you were gonna trip me?" Alex says helping Lafayette up. Jefferson looks up at him, "Yeah, there's rules here. Starting off with one of them, don't call Lafayette Laffy, only I do that and I also don't like the fact you have a lot of confidence to walk in here like no else is here. Your lucky you're new here cause I wouldn't hesitate to drop kick that butt of yours..." Alex was almost speechless, at the same time impressed by how much sass he had.

"That's dumb. I bet all those rules just makes yourself feel better than anyone else-"

"There aren't dumb, they just keep everyone else out of my way, knowing most of you are.... what do you call it ... idiotic" Jefferson snickers. "Well at least I know the difference between girl and boy colors." Alex snaps back.

The room isn't silent but Lafayette and Peggy can feel the dense yet quiet tension between the two.

"Say it again." Jefferson stands up from the bean bag obviously threaten. Alex notices this and takes advantage of his anger.

"Hey Alexander, allons lire les livres que tu choisis? (will we read the books you choose?)" Lafayette says desperately trying to change the subject.

"Sorry I didn't know you poofy hair blocked your hearing, I said-"

"Kids! What's going on?" The 4 kids turn around to see Mr. Washington hold a stack of papers.

"Jefferson-"

"LAFAYETTE WHAT HAPPENED!" Mrs. Martha shouts grabbing nearly every kids' attention. Lafayette didn't know what she was talking about until he touch his nose.

blood..

"Jefferson-"

"Baby how long have you- Why didn't you- Hunny keep your head up- How- Oh it's ok tell- dear goodness that's a lot of- Imma need you to keep your head up-" Mrs. Martha continues unable to finish a sentence.

Alex walks over to Mr. Washington and pulls on his leg. "Yes son-"

"Don't call me that- Jefferson tripped him"

"W-what?-"

"Well he tried to trip me but LAFFY saved me" Alex emphasizing the name 'Laffy'

Jefferson growls at Alex before reluctantly looks at Mrs. Martha who had a very upset expression. "Jefferson we talked about this" She says sternly. "You aren't allowed to do stuff like this, It's rude and you'll get other kids hurt."

"Well sometimes they deserve it" Jefferson mutters. "What was that Thomas?!"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Washington... Sorry Laffy" Jefferson leans in going to give him a hug. " I didn't mean to hurt you"

"And? who else do you have to say sorry to?" Jefferson glares at Alexander "And I'm sorry.... Alexander." He tries not to gag at the name. "It was an accident.."

"No it wasn't-"

"Thank you, Now are you going to stop hugging Lafayette so you can hug-"

"No"

"Ok then.. Lafayette come with me so I can help you with your nose."

As Mrs. Martha leaves with Lafayette, Jefferson quickly grabs Alex by the collar. "Pull a dumb stunt like that again I will hurt you bad. Understand?" Alex doesn't answer he only glares for a while until he feels someone pull him away from Jefferson.

"Hey are you ok?" Laurens worries. "He didn't hurt you right?"

"Nuh-uh, He didn't get the chance." Laurens' eyes light up in admiration. "O-ok let's play pirates until Lafayette comes back."

Alex smiles, then takes one more look at Jefferson who went back to the bean bag. Daycare is going to be fun.

I just want to say Mrs. Martha and Mrs. Washington are the same person.

#alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamiltots #lafayatte #jefferson #james madsion #john laurens #hercules mulligan #aaron burr #other people i'm too lazy to write Requests open

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andie-cake · 3 years

Note

Hmm...

I think it would be interesting to flesh out Emma going to visit Jane (and see Tim, maybe for the first time if we’re staying in canon here) and learning that she’s gone. Maybe not terribly fluffy though, but fun dynamics with Tim and it could explain how she ended up staying with Tom and Tim for the borrowers AU?

In terms of fluff, sorry my brain doesn’t like fluff without some tinge of sadness, for HOHF, Emma and Paul fight [villain of your choice] and someone gets hurt and the aftermath of that. Alternatively, I’d love to know if Tim has the Nitro Gene and if so, if he joins his Aunt Emma and Uncle Paul in the field. That could be so cute! (Although, he could also join mission control or maybe make friends with another super if Hannah has powers as well? But that’s not Paulkins...) If you feel like picking up a family fluff piece, which is personally my favorite genre, lol, I’d love to see Paul and Emma as parents and if their child shows their powers early (since it’s not nitro gene specific from Paul, if it can be inherited, of course, and now I’m imaging Jack Jack from the incredible, lol) or for Harriet and Tex to come back and see their baby (oh that would be adorable because grandparent plants and you can imagine how proud they would be of Emma!) or to see how Slacky interacted with the baby. (I’m imagining a how a Golden Retriever interacts with babies now... 😂) Or, if you’d prefer to ignore children all together, Emma going back home and taking Paul to meet Harriet and Tex (meet the parents essentially). Well, I’m not sure if any of those ideas seem interesting, but if not, I hope they’re able to help get some fun ideas flowing. Have a lovely weekend! 😊

Okay, so... A lot of these are stuff that I want to explore in longer stories eventually, both the Borrowers AND the HoHF prompts. But you DID give me an idea for some HoHF family fluff between Emma and Tim!

"Here's that big project I was telling you about!"

Emma had been back in Hatchetfield for what, six, seven months now? And she'd long since made a name for herself as Wild Flower. She was respected, loved even, by the town that had once cast her aside. And what's more, she'd managed to connect with her nephew, who seemed to think she was cool despite her absence for most of his life! If it wasn't for the fact that Tim didn't know she was Wild Flower yet, she would've chalked it up to that.

After all, Tim loved superheroes. Understandable, considering his mother was one of the most revered supers in the country before she died. Being raised by someone like that was bound to give someone a deep respect for the career. And right now, Tim was showing Emma his most recent token of appreciation. A social studies project he'd done for school about superheroes around the world.

It was a large cardboard diagram, with a map of the world taped to it. Coming from a line pointing to each continent (barring Antarctica, because duh), was a photograph of a super that was native to said continent, accompanied by a short paragraph with information about them.

"Wooooow, you really know your supers, bud!" Emma mused as she scanned over the diagram, impressed.

Tim looked up at her with a bashful smile. "Thanks," he said, blushing. "Wanna hear more about each one?"

"Educate me!"

"Okay, so," Tim began excitedly, pointing to the super whose picture corresponded to Australia. A woman with long, blonde hair and a bright blue superhero getup. "That right there is Tidal Crash, she's an Australian super with the power to control water."

"Can she talk to sea creatures?" Emma asked, encouraging her nephew to continue.

"Yeah, telepathically," Tim replied. "She's like the cool version of Aquaman."

Emma snickered at Tim's snark. God, he was such a Perkins. He continued on, pointing to the picture next to Africa. A dark-skinned man with long dreadlocks and an award-winning smile, half his face covered by a deep purple mask.

"That's Radi ya Umeme," Tim continued to explain. "He's from Kenya, and his name is Swahili for 'Lightning Strike'. He can control the weather, but he's really good with lightning, hence the name. He's kinda like Madbolt in a way, only y'know, not evil."

Emma chuckled, remembering her most recent encounter with that old nutjob. Madbolt was a fascinating case, he'd been causing trouble for Hatchetfield since around the time Emma was born. Not even Jane had managed to land him behind bars. Tim continued, his finger landing on the South American picture. A man with dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes, clad in a black leather costume.

"That guy is Espalda con Púas, his name is Spanish for 'Spiked Back'," Tim said, talking as though he was still presenting the project to his teacher and classmates. "He's from Chile, and as his name would imply, he can grow spikes out of his back and sharpen his teeth and nails into fangs and claws!"

Emma nodded, urging him to continue. With an excited smile, Tim moved on to Asia, where a picture of a short-haired woman with a shining mask lay.

"That's Dá Quy, she's from South Vietnam," he continued. "Her name means 'Gemstone', and she can control different ores and minerals and stuff."

Tim moved on to Europe, where a picture of a woman with short brown hair and an elegant, but still practical costume lay.

"That's Lady Nighthawk, she's from England," he explained as Emma continued to listen intently. "She can talk to animals and harness their abilities to fight. She visits Hatchetfield once a year, too!"

"Right! I think I remember your mother telling me about meeting a 'Lady Nighthawk' before!" Emma exclaimed in recollection.

"Yeah, mom worked with a lot of supers," Tim mused fondly before moving on to the final picture, the one corresponding to North America. A grizzled man with long dirty-blonde hair and a decked-out suit. "And finally, there's Eagle Eye! He's an ex-military general who can shapeshift into a bald eagle! And he's got this awesome combat suit that he uses in human form! He's from Washington D.C., but just like Lady Nighthawk, he visits Hatchetfield sometimes!"

Emma smiled at the sight of the super who'd been acting as a mentor to her for the past week. During a rescue mission she'd nearly bungled, Eagle Eye- or John MacNamara as she'd learned his real name was, swooped in to lend a hand. He'd taken a shine to her, and offered to help coach her in the ways of being a superhero. Emma had been learning lots of valuable information off of John. But of course, there was no way Emma could tell Tim about-

"Speaking of, did you hear that he's been working with Wild Flower lately?"

Okay, nevermind! Emma froze, surprised by her nephew's casual mention of her alias. Was this a good time to tell him? Better test the waters to be sure...

"Oh yeah, Wild Flower!" she exclaimed, trying to play it cool. "I've, uh... been hearing lots about her lately!"

"Yeah, it's so weird!" Tim chuckled. "It's like she just came out of nowhere!"

Emma nervously drummed her fingers on the headboard of Tim's bed, where they'd been sitting for the past couple of minutes. Did he mean that in a good way or a bad way?

"She's awesome, though!" Tim continued, an excited sparkle in his eyes. Emma's heart began to race. "Her powers are so cool! I mean, she can summon that big flytrap thing! What was it's name again?"

"Slack-Jaw?" Emma replied, a barely-contained smile on her face.

"Right, Slack-Jaw!" Tim recalled. "And did you see her new costume? The green jacket with the cool logo on it?"

"Mhm!" Emma hummed in response, happily recalling the day she was presented that jacket at Town Hall. The mayor had recognized her feats of heroism, and had the jacket tailor-made for her to replace that ratty old, ill-fitting red leather jacket she'd bought from a Goodwill in a scrambled effort to make a good costume. It still needed some tweaks now, but the new jacket was an excellent start.

"And now that she's getting lessons from Eagle Eye, she's only gonna get better!" Tim gushed. "She's just so- Aunt Emma? What're you smiling so hard for?"

God, Emma couldn't keep this secret any longer. She had to tell him.

"I have a question for you, bud," she began, resisting the urge to just tell him outright. "Did your mom ever say anything about both her and me having the Nitro Gene?"

Tim's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah!" he exclaimed. "But she said that you didn't like talking about your powers, so she never told me what they were. I figured you still wouldn't wanna talk about them, so I never asked."

Emma's heart fluttered. What had she done to deserve such a considerate nephew? "You wanna take a guess?"

"O-okay, but why n-" Tim cut himself off, the gears clearly turning in his head. After a few moments, he turned to Emma with a look of awed realization on his face. "W-wait, Aunt Emma... Are you saying that you're...?"

"Wild Flower?" Emma finished, eyeing him cheekily. "You bet!"

A smile slowly blossomed onto Tim's face. "No way!" he exclaimed. "B-but mom always said you didn't wanna be a superhero!"

"Well, people change their minds sometimes!" Emma retorted. "And I decided to finally put my powers to good use once I came back home."

"Wow..." Tim gaped breathlessly.

"But I'm still your Aunt Emma, first and foremost!" Emma quickly clarified. "I'm still the same person, just y'know... with plant powers."

"O-of course!" Tim stammered, his mind looking certifiably blown. His face grew serious. "And don't worry, I won't tell anybody about your secret identity!"

Emma snickered, tousling her nephew's hair. "I appreciate it, bud," she said, pulling him into a hug. "...Want me to introduce you to Slack-Jaw?"

"...Maybe."

#hohf au #hohf drabbles

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lady-grace-pens · 3 years

Text

Wip Excerpt: HTKAG

In light of this wip hitting another 10k word goal recently (currently sitting pretty at a whopping 120k/150k 😅), another excerpt is due! This babe I wrote today, buut I actually loved it so much I knew I had to share it with y'all right away. That all being said, let's stop wasting time and get straight into it!

Our scene begins with Allister entering a restaurant to have dinner with Mikko, Fingal, and Perci, but Perci is late.

—

Upon telling the hostess Fingal’s name, she leads me away to the right half of the room. Off in a booth stowed away in the corner sit Mikko and Fingal jabbering away mid-conversation. Once they notice me, they stop and smile.

“Hey! There’s the man of the hour,” Mikko exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“Not late, am I?” I grin, taking a seat beside him.

“Nope. Right on time to get some drinks,” Mikko starts smouldering at our hostess.

“With what money?” Fingal retorts with a glare.

Mikko blinks, struggling to come up with a defense. It seems he mustn't have anticipated Fingal to interrupt his attempt at flirting…

“Wha - With our money, of course,” he laughs, trying his best to make a smooth recovery.

“Aye. Which is why we’re not using my money to buy alcohol while a minor is here.”

Mikko doesn’t reply. Then again I suppose he doesn't need to, his confusion is written all over his face.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about Perci. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Oh! Fuck, that’s right. Him. Well obviously he won’t be getting any. And come on! You know how fast I can down a beer Fin! It’ll just be a few. Just a few rounds! Don’t be an ass.”

“Watch yourself Mikko, it's not polite to use such language in the presence of a lady.” I chime in, giving the hostess a polite smile.

“Oh I’ll show you what’s not polite-” Mikko says before slapping my head.

I try to hit him back, but he catches my hand before I can. Before we know it, we’re caught in a ridiculous slapping fight, both laughing our asses off.

“Not in a restaurant, not in a restaurant!” I speak through gasps, trying to end things.

Mikko obliges, tossing his hands back in his lap.

“A waiter will be right with you,” the hostess makes a case to look at each one of us except for Mikko before finishing her sentence, “... gentleman.”

Much to my surprise, Mikko doesn’t seem to be affected by that backhanded insult. Instead he kicks his knees up against the table and rests his head back, totally listless.

“Mikko, I would’ve thought you’d be more offended by that.”

“Huh? Why would I be offended at something when it’s true?”

“I’ll say. You and Al couldn’t be any more opposite. If there’s anything larger than the truth, the fact that you’re not a gentleman is way beyond it.”

“Exactly. And Mikko, you are aware of the fact that she was just a hostess, right? It isn’t even her job to serve us drinks.”

“I... “ Mikko laughs before leaning over the table again. “Listen. You two just don’t get it, do you? No. You don’t. Allow me to be the one who graces your palettes here, eh? Let me tell you what I’m gonna do. Okay? I’m gonna give you a tip. A piece of advice that will change your lives forever. All for free! You don’t even have to pay me. All you gotta do is listen. Got it? You both ready?”

Fingal and I share a look. I can tell we’re thinking along a similar vein of confused intrigue. We should most likely stop Mikko here, as whatever will come out his mouth won’t be anything good. However, we’re both too stunned to stop him, so…

Mikko beckons us to lean closer to him. Fin and I oblige. We’re almost touching heads when at last our dear mentor speaks once again, in a hushed voice. “It’s not about what you say. It’s about how you say it.”

…

There are no words. For about a minute straight Fingal and I are just staring at each other wearing the same expression that exudes two questions. ‘What the fuck? You’ve heard that too, haven’t you?’

Soon after that’s established and our shock subsides, we burst back to life. Fingal starts us off with, “Dammit Mikko. What the fuck? Where did you learn that? Who taught you that?”

“Some guys from the bar! Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Which guys from the bar?”

“I don’t see how it-”

“Mikko. Which guys from the bar taught you this?” Fingal insists, a flash of anger showing in his eyes.

Mikko seems to notice this, and complies straight away. “Leo, John, Peter and Paul!”

Fingal buries his head in his hands. This sparks my curiosity. I haven’t heard these names before, but Fin clearly has.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with them, who might they be?”

“Bar friends-” Mikko starts, only for Fingal to finish for him.

“Jokesters. Jerks. Cheapskates always looking for a laugh. Assholes. Can’t wait to give them a piece of my mind.”

Mikko shrinks away from Fin. His head is turned away from me, but I don’t need to see it in order to know how stunned he is. It’s expressed flawlessly through the abnormal quietness of his voice. “Fin? What’s up, why’d you-”

“Because those dicks have been filling your head with shit like this every damn time I turned my back, Mikko! Dammit, this - this is why you always get rejected! Universe, I just wish you would’ve checked with me first about things like this. Not some strangers you barely even know, yet idolize them anyway.

You wanna know how you get a girl Mikko? Huh? You be nice. You be nice to them, you talk with them, and you listen. Compliments and flirting, all that helps, of course, but not forever! And you sure as hell can’t build a relationship strictly off of it. Okay? Standards and expectations vary from girl to girl, but with each and every single one there are a few things that you just have to do. Be nice, have respect, help them just for the sake of helping them! Don’t expect anything in return. Overall just - just be a decent fucking human being. That is how you get a girl.”

Mikko sits there, staring at his brother. I can’t help but do the same. In every respect, Fingal is right. Of course he is. It’s just… rare that we see him so worked up. I can hardly believe my eyes. I can hardly believe my ears, I… I can’t imagine how Mikko must be feeling.

Oh so gradually his head sinks down into his lap. He slumps over, and I swear I can see fractions of tears reflect the golden light radiating above us.

“Can’t believe I’m actually telling you this when you’re eighteen. Fucking eighteen,” Fingal scoffs, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not mad at you. This is my own fault, I blame myself.”

“Aw, come on man! That’s even worse,” pouts Mikko.

Fingal then turns to me with an abruptness that makes me jump. “Al, what’s up? You’ve been quiet for a while. You can back me up on this, can’t you?”

“I…” I force a chuckle to try and lighten the air some. “I don’t think that I’m currently in a position to give advice like this, to be honest with you.”

Fingal leans his elbows on the table, holding his head with one hand. “Why? Something happen with Maddie?”

“Oh, did it ever,” I shake my head.

—

Aand that's all you guys get for spoiler reasons! Lmao

(also because that's all I've written today but shhhh don't tell anyone)

Buut yeah. Legit I swear I didn't mean to go so hard on feminist Fingal 😂 I mean don't get me wrong here, he's absolutely right and I'm keeping it in. But still, the words just kept on coming and coming and we ended up with this

y'know

yeah

writing is super fun sometimes

Plus tbh, writing the part where Mikko is stroking his ego and whispers his ‘top secret trick to get women’, I was literally laughing out loud 😂 like he's just so wrong, and I love how horribly Mikko fails in life. It's just super funny to me, I enjoy it a lot.

Fingal, however, clearly does not enjoy it, lmao. Legit I had no clue he could be so protective until today! Especially over Mikko. I mean I always knew their dynamics, but today… it really hit home for me.

Go back and look at the line of dialogue Fingal says right after Mikko apologizes (a rare occurrence, actually).

It’s just one little piece of dialogue, barely a few sentences! Yet I feel like it hits you. You know? It reveals so much about his and Mikko’s vibes, their situation. A pair of brothers poor and orphaned by their birth parents and raised by their grandmother, who is only growing older and weaker each year. Fingal, the eldest, having to take responsibility often. He feels pressured to raise his little bro, and feels like he's failed when Mikko turns out to be the way he is. Ya know? It's just one little thing of dialogue but I feel like it makes you feel the pressure Fin has to bear in a situation like theirs. Even if it’s only for a moment.

And Mikko! While he does incite a lot of the comic relief in HTKAG, I wouldn’t call him a strict comic relief character because that's never what I had in mind while writing him. He and Fin actually play a vital role in the plot of the story! Much more than what I can currently reveal to y'all.

Buut anyways, I'll stop rambling now. I really hope you guys enjoyed this little excerpt just as much as I adored writing it :)

—

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @vampire-with-a-pen @writingonesdreams @justyouraveragewriter @kazenokaori @dahladahlabills

#creative writing #writing #my writing #my wip #my writing wip #wip #wip excerpt #writblr #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writeblr community #writing excerpt #writing community #wip: htkag

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themagicalmysticalboy · 3 years

Note

the " DIVORCE MEETING" mclennon plz

a/n: can you tell i like bob dylan? also this is kinda like a prequel to He Breaks Just Like A Little Boy. but you don’t have to read that first. or at all, if you prefer.

It was raining from the first/And I was dying there of thirst/ So I came in here/ And your long-time curse hurts/ But what's worse is this pain in here/ I can't stay in here

He Takes Just Like A Man

The room was full and everyone was talking. John, however, only scraped the edge of the mahogany table. They were talking about nothing he wanted to hear and being loud about it. All the while, a snake of dread wrapped his torso and threatened to break a rib as the clock ticked loudly in his ears. It was never that loud before, was it? Surely not.

Everything, really, was ten times too loud. Voices grated his ears and the sounds of coffee being sipped and the shuffle of papers made him cringe. Someone pushed back their chair too fast, the broken wheel squealing against the floor. He pulled in a deep breath, nails digging into his palm while the other set kept at scraping. The pace was picking up and he managed to chip away at the finish.

“John?” He didn’t bother to look up. “John, we need your input,” one of the executives was saying.

“Are you alright?”

It was Paul’s voice that sent him into a swirling string shrouded with wrath. He had been mithering on for ages about what everyone should do next. John had said no every time before dropping into silence. He was sure the mithering had continued, all the while Paul didn’t care to ask anything else of him. He was probably happy John had shut up. And now he cared to ask if he was okay?

If a reasonable thought had run through John’s mind it had tripped and was promptly laid out flat before it could do any good.

His muscles tensed and his brow furrowed. He couldn’t stay there, in fear he might snap from his still-present snake of pressure. He wanted everything to be over. This meeting couldn’t last a second longer. Whatever it took to end it was well worth the cost. The building could crumble to the bleeding ground, for all he cared.

With measure but no thought, he rose to his feet, fingertips planted on the table. “Would you really like my input?” Flashing eyes found the poor soul that had dared speak to him. The executive clearly regretted every decision leading up to this moment.

He looked out to everyone else, making sure to char them with the impression of his anger. The stuffy suited men were first but he quickly turned on his bandmates.

George stared back, unrelenting, his eyes squinting to figure out what was turning John’s cogs. Ringo didn’t dare to hold his gaze, uninterested in whatever was to unfurl. Paul, now, he was different. Much like George, he did not look away. But in contrast, he already knew what would happen. He called John’s move from a mile away and that fact only poured more poison into his nerves.

“Why don’t you just stop. Stop trying to hold this trainwreck together, alright? We can end it, here and now.” John leaned closer, "I want a divorce.”

Had he meant that? He didn’t care because damn had it felt good to say.

And with that he was gone, leaving the room in dead silence. Paul snapped his mouth shut and leaned back in his chair. His chest barely moved with shallow breaths that refused to fill his lungs. His heart was beyond pounding. It was shaking his sternum and rattling his brain, intruding on every muscle in his body. Any form of cohesion slipped from his fingers and circled down the drain.

“I think… That’s enough for today,” George Martin said with an unsteady voice.

Unknowingly, Paul was already getting up to leave. He moved like a strung-up corpse of a man but moved nonetheless. People were filing past him, some saying things to him. He responded in a dead tone. The recognition that he was walking didn’t even hit until he came to the doors of the lift and had to press a button.

There was a tug at his arm that caught his attention. The world swayed before jarringly stabilizing. Mal was beside him, pitying smile and all.

“Want a ride home?”

Paul nodded as the lift arrived. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

As they made their way to Mal’s car, Paul could not turn his mind from dreadful thoughts. There was so much meaning in John’s four words. All of it more painful than he could bear.

There had been excruciatingly clear signs of the cracks and chips wearing at them all. George and Ringo had even left the band. Though they came back, it was still proof of the dire straits they were heading for. Every new chink bore into The Beatles was a step closer to Paul being stabbed with the reality of it ending. Nothing could make him let it all go and yet it was already leaving. It stormed out the door on John’s coattails.

And what more, he had been looking at Paul when he said it. His attention did not waver to any of the others. Those words were meant for Paul. The knife that finally made contact. Their already rocky love life was officially shattered.

When the doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life Paul still managed to hold tight to his pride. He stiffened his entire body as the car rolled down the road. All too soon he began to ache all over, his lungs refusing air until he gave in.

His stubbornness held out until he was severely lightheaded. Only then did the tears finally spill. Not having bothered with a seatbelt, he hunkered down. With clumps of hair knotted in his fingers, he pulled until the strain on his scalp pricked harshly at his nerves. Sitting folded over felt abruptly too claustrophobic and he sat up with a gasp, hands still in his hair, with his elbows pressed together to shield his face.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter through his tear soaked throat. Embarrassment was shoving at his dissolving pride, trying to remind it to come along to stop all this nonsense.

Mal patted Paul’s knee. “It’s alright. I’m not here to judge.”

Biting his lips together, Paul let himself fully unfurl. Limp in the seat, he let silent tears fall, punctuated with sharp inhales. Mal, all the while, sent wary glances and wavering smiles until the car finally pulled into the drive.

His limbs still feeling limp and numb, he stumbled to his door and into his living room with Mal at his side. The flinty truth of the situation was settling with a bitterness. The battle between anxiety and exhaustion seethed along making it impossible to sit but unbearable to stand.

Paul briefly collected himself. “Can you…” He paused, seeing tears shining from Mal. “Give me a moment?”

Mal only nodded before going into the kitchen. Eventually, the sound of the sliding glass door closing made it to where Paul stood and he knew he truly had the house to himself. He peeked through the threshold, just to make sure. Yes. He was alone. A sob wracked through him and he held tight to the doorframe, forehead pressed into the wall.

Every moment of doubt and resentment John had shown in the last two years tore at Paul. They were doomed to fail, weren't they? Paul had been so childish and naive. You couldn’t have something this good and expect it to last forever. John was not meant for Paul to hold onto. A bright and volatile sun that was bound to sear who ventured too near.

Paul had been burnt too many times to count. He couldn’t stand another lick from the flames.

#read on ao3 #the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #the beatles fanfiction #fan fic requests #fic request #angst

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blackberry-gingham · 3 years

Note

I love your writing so much!💗 could you write something about how each of the boys would calm the reader down after a panic attack?

FJDJSNSN YOU BET I WILL !!!

I actually do have a bit of a history with panic attacks, so I'm going to write these imagines kinda based on the sort of care ik I'd want to receive at least, so I hope these are like, realistic but not too angsty for anyone sksksk

But uh yeah, enjoy!

Oh and PSA that isn't mentioned in any of my imagines, but on this blog John has been getting the therapy he needs and deserves for a while now, so that's what's going on with all the references to stuff picked up from his "therapy/therapist" in this post and my others. Just wanted to clear that up✌🏻😌

George

Honestly, George is a very calm and trustworthy guy, so if you could, I think you'd do your best to seek him out while you know you're having a panic attack

And if you can't bc it's really bad, then you definitely would after it's over!

You slowly walk into the living room, your blanket wrapped around your shoulders

George turns to greet you, but his smile vanishes when he sees the red rims of your puffy eyes

You don't need to say a word, George is already up from his seat and coming over to protect you

The two of you communicate easily so George knows about your tendencies with panic attacks and by now he can spot when you've had one, just like he's doing now

"There now love, let's have a seat yeah?"

He guides you over to the couch and helps you sit

George rubs a little warmth into your arms, but decides another blanket would do better

Quickly he drapes the large, fluffy throw over you and promises to be right back

He disappears for a few moments while you situate yourself in the blankets

When he returns, he's brought a modest armful of your favorite snacks and a box of tissues, just in case

George sets everything down on the coffee table, except for a little tin of biscuits, which he takes with him as he joins you under the throw

He leans in and gives your cheek a kiss, "Kettle's on, we can have cocoa if you like"

You smile, and nod to let him know you heard

"Would you like to talk?"

"In a moment", you respond quietly

"Of course love"

George pulls you against his chest for a cuddle, then balances the tin between your laps

"Would you like one?"

You eye the variety to see if your favorite is left and then nod

By now you don't even have to request which one you want, George already knows

He picks it up and holds it out to you

Unfortunately, you're not quite feeling it yet, so you open your mouth wide instead

George picks up on the cue and holds the biscuit closer so you can take a bite, gently feeding it to you

The two of you take turns nibbling on snacks for a bit until the kettle comes to a boil

George goes off to fix hot chocolate for the two of you and returns with a pair of steaming mugs

When you're both settled, George gives you some space and let's you open up on what's troubling you

He hears you out and promises to do whatever he can to help you

And he's a man of his word, as you know

Afterwards, the two of you spend as long as you need relaxing on the couch, snacking and cuddling until you feel back up to speed

Of course, George wouldn't mind if you stayed here all day :)

John

I kinda feel like John would have like a sixth sense when it comes to anxiety tbh

Like when you're experiencing your panic attack, even if he's not there to necissarily see it happen, he just knows

You're in the middle of one now, when John peaks the door to your room open

"Everything alright love? You've been quite for some time-"

John finds you shaking and unresponsive, curled up in a blanket on the bed

As someone who struggles with anxiety himself, he knows exactly what's happening, so thankfully he doesn't panic like the other lads might

However, that doesn't mean it breaks his heart any less

John approaches calmly and sits besides you

You drag yourself up and apologize, a few tears streaming down your cheeks

But John just shushes you and holds you close

"We can talk when you're ready love"

You lean into him and do what you have to as you ride out the attack, while John holds you in a comfortingly tight embrace

When everything is over, John holds up on his promise and gives you the floor to talk about what's troubling you

He can be a great listener when he wants to, a trait he's exemplifying now as he holds you in his lap

Once you've said your peace, John would totally know how to validate your feelings and all that

"I'm so sorry love, I can't imagine how hard that must be for you. What can I do to help?"

For now, you feel best just being close to him

You lay down and John cuddles onto you a bit, just how you like, the warm weight of his body grounding you

He gives you some feather light kisses and keeps his voice calm and low

"This alright?"

You take a deep breath and nod, stroking his hair

It's times like this that John just feels flat useless

He knows what to say and some tricks to use from his therapy sessions for his own issues, but he wishes he could do more for you

Be charismatic and uplifting, like Paul would

Or warm and comforting like Ringo

Instead he's just a stoic lump

John looks up at you as a stray tear falls from your eye

He wishes so badly that he could take all your pain away

If he could, he'd bear the weight of the world, just to see you safe and happy

But for now, he hopes this old body of his is enough to help you feel warm, loved, and grounded

He shifts his weight a little so he can nuzzle your cheek

It's a bit too cold and damp for his sensitive nose, but he puts his personal discomfort aside

Well, there is one more trick he has up his sleeve that he hopes will help

John chooses one of your favorite songs of his and hums it to you quietly

The sound and vibrations combined with the warmth and pressure wraps you in a whole cocoon of John

You know that he wishes he was better with words, but honestly what he's doing now is what he usually does to steady you after an attack

And honestly?

It does far, far more for you then any sympathetic speech ever could

You give John's back a little rub and hold on tightly, hoping it can begin to express your gratitude

John smiles into your neck and hums just a bit louder, snuggling closer to you

Paul

I think Paul would be one who usually comes to find you after a panic attack

It's not that you don't feel comfortable with him, it's just... It feels rather embarassing to have breakdowns like that sometimes

Paul's always so confident and cool, you hate how your anxiety and panic attacks make you feel weak, especially compared to the likes of him

He finds you laid out on the couch, burritoed up in a blanket

He playfully asks what you're doing, but the look on your face is distant, as though your mind is a thousand miles away

Your eyes are rimmed red and you appear to have some shivers going on

Slowly, you turn your gaze to look at your boyfriend

Paul is frozen

He wants to help but he's not quite sure what's wrong. All he knows is he's desperately worried

"Paul..."

Your voice is hoarse and shallow as you call to him

Instantly, Paul snaps to action with no time to lose

He vaults the couch, careful not to land on you in the process and send beside you

"What is it? Tell me, tell me...", His voice is fairly calm, despite the begging in his tone

You get to the point, neither of you interested in beating around the bush, and tell him you just had a panic attack

You've told him about these before, but never at a point in time where he was able to care for you after you'd had it

Paul almost breathes a sigh of relief. Seeing you like this... He'd feared something much worse was wrong

Of course, this is still a very serious matter, but the catch is he's come prepared

Ever since you mentioned your history with anxiety and panic attacks, he's done some digging and research on what can be done to help

He's even consulted John on the matter!

There's plenty of things he can do, but Paul knows you respond best to his words

"Do you think you can sit up?"

You consider it a moment and then agree

Paul pulls you close to him, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck as he starts by speaking some words of encouragement and making sure you know how proud he is of you

The amount of affection he's laying on you takes you by surprise

You apologize for having him fuss over you, and your eyes start to water

Paul pulls back and looks at you as though he can't believe what he's heard, but his face softens when he sees you

"Oh no no no love, none of that now"

He wipes away your tears and asks if he's done something wrong

You shake your head, "No, I-I just wish I could be as put together as you, I guess"

At that one, Paul laughs

"I can't imagine why you'd want that. Matter of fact, I wish I was as strong and brave as you"

You look up at him questioningly, but Paul only nods

"it's true! I think you're incredible, living day to day like you do. You're a real fighter, you know that?"

He kisses your nose

"I don't want you to feel like you're not as 'brave' as I am because it's simply just not true!"

Paul smiles and brushes some hair from your face to reveal the little smile you've been hiding

Feeling a bit better at last, you open up your arms to invite Paul in for a cuddle

He readily accepts, and stays with you as long as you like

Ringo

I think the first time Ringo sees you after a panic attack, he'd be really worried about you!

You see, Ringo is just such an upbeat guy, no time ever really feels like a good time to tell him about your anxiety or panic attacks really

So when he witnesses it first hand, he's completely unprepared!

Ringo finds you laying face down on the bed, with your arms covering your head

He immediately freezes

His voice is dripping with fear as he cautiously calls your name

You barely stir, still riding out the end of a panic attack

Ringo is in a full panic now, and without another word he leaps onto the bed kneeling on all fours beside you

He wants so badly to touch you and make sure you're alright, but at the same time, he doesn't know what's wrong and he doesn't want to hurt you!

Instead, he places his palm on your back and gives you as gentle a shake as he can manage

"H-hey...?"

His voice is quivering and hardly more then a whisper

After a few moments it dawns on him that he can feel you shaking under his touch

Ringo sits up on his knees and whips around to find something to keep you warm

He stretches across the bed and yanks over a thin throw

By the time he's turned back to you, you've rolled over onto your back

You wipe your eyes and try to put on a brave face

"It's alright Ritchie, I'm fine..."

Ringo looks white as a sheet, his face stricken with worry

"No you're not!", he insists

He drapes the blanket over you, but decides that it isn't nearly warm enough and, like a giant cat, lays himself across your chest as well

"There now, are you warm enough? What can I do to make you better?"

You let your head fall back and close your eyes

Honestly you do feel a bit bad for him, but you simply don't have the energy to console him right now

Ringo gets off you for a moment and slides a pillow under your head before resuming his position

"How's that?"

You sigh, "Fine thank you. I'm just... getting over a panic attack love"

"Ooooh, I understand"

You lift your head up at that, and give him a confused look

"Yeah, John's had 'em back stage a couple times before a show now and then. He tells us about 'em sometimes and what to do and all"

Somehow you find that that does make sense, and so you lay back down, glad you don't have to explain yourself

"I-Is there anything you'd like me to do for you? John likes us to bring him some water usually... Would you like that?"

Ringo snuggles a little closer, looking down at you with big, puppy dog eyes

You smile a little. You're not use to receiving so much support after an attack like this

"Maybe later, right now I just need you. I-If that's alright..."

Ringo smiles and kisses your cheek before laying his head on the pillow beside you

"Yeah, I can do that..."

You hold onto him tight, grounding yourself and allowing the comfort to wash over you

Ringo stays with you until you've stopped shaking, runs off to put on the kettle, and then hurries back beside you to stay as long as you'll have him

#tw panic attacks #the beatles #beatles x reader #beatles imagines #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney x reader #george harrison x reader #comfort

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