#his thoughts on paul and his place in the community and his place in the 126 and his place with his relationships are sooo important & Good

[reyesstrand]

anyone else crying rn

#love reading anything and everything he says #his thoughts on paul and his place in the community and his place in the 126 and his place with his relationships are sooo important & Good #brian michael smith #paul strickland #911ls #lone star spoilers

[firelilyfox]

Taking Advantage

Dune: Paul Atreides x female reader

Warnings: fluff / angst / hurt reader / teasing

Words: 1.3k

you came home from battle injured & Paul wants to make sure you are alright

_____________________________

„That was awesome!“ 

The Fremen men and women were cheering in agreement as your group coming back to Sietch Tabr with the sunrise early in the morning. Every step you take, sends little painful impulses through your muscles. The whole night you were fighting against a Spice harvesting ship that belonged to the Harkonnen and although you made a bunch of them pay for their brutal regiment, you came back badly bruised. But you are doing your best to hide the pain your in in front of your friends. It would be even more embarrassing to see their faces covered in pity over you, when the mood is as good as it is right now. The Fremen had another win and kicked some Harkonnen asses. That’s all that counts right now. 

„I’m a little drained. Go on and have a drink for me, while I’ll be having a good rest“, you said to your best friend Chani, who is giving you a suspicious look but then nodded. 

„You did good today, y/n. And I know for a fact, that Muad’Dib is thinking the same“, she wiggled with her eyebrows, mocking you again. Your eyes darted to the back of the tent, where Paul was sitting with Stilgar. He was already looking at you, not breaking the eye contact once yours met his. Paul was frowning a little, wich made his worried expression even more noticeable. Maybe Stilgar was telling him some bad news or something. You didn’t really care, because all you could think about was the pain that was feeling like needles beneath your skin. 

„I don’t care what he thinks. He fought well. And everything else is not important“, you murmured shrugging your hurting shoulders. Big mistake. Your almost flinched because of the pain that was send trough your body again. 

You quickly waved Chani goodbye and make your way outside the big community room, back to your private stone cabin, that was placed further away. When you finally reached it, a sigh of relief escaped your throat. Carefully you sit down on the bed out of soft fabric and you close your eyes for a second to calm your thoughts. Today was hard and nothing sounds more tempting than getting this suit off and washing the dirt off of your irritated skin. But the thought that you have to move yourself to make that happen, was like your personal nightmare. 

The sound of someone clearing his throat hollowed back from the stonewalls of your room. You quickly turn your head around to catch Paul standing in the doorframe, holding the curtain open. He looks even more worried now than back downstairs. 

„Can I come in?“, he asked. 

You let out a annoyed sigh. „Sure. What is it, Paul?“ 

He makes his way up to you, stopping not even two feet away from the bed you were still sitting on. „Are you alright?“ 

„Obviously. Today was a big win.“ 

He frowned again. „That’s not what I meant.“ 

„Then what are you talking about? Speak up.“ Your tone was annoyed, because the last thing you wanted right now was him seeing you in this pathetic state. 

„You fought like a demon out there. I have never seen someone so … so passionately killing the bad guys. But … I saw you falling down that cliff. For a second I thought you were dead“, he swallowed hard. „I saw you getting hurt. You must be in enormous pain right now.“ 

The fact that he had an eye on you while being on the battlefield, surrounded by enemies, made your chest tightened up. He was really looking out for me? 

You tried to sound unimpressed. „Well, thank you for your concern but I’m perfectly fine as you can see.“ You stood up and wanted to make him leave your room, but the sharp pain came back like a lighting bolt and you tripped over your own feet. Paul had quick reflexes and catching you before you could hit the ground. „I’m fine“, your voice cracks and burning shame blushed your cheeks. 

„No you are not fine, y/n. You need help“, Paul whispered. His arms still wrapped around your waist to hold you up. His eyes right in front of you. So blue you could probably drown in them … although there were little brown spots you never noticed before. 

You swallowed. „I don’t need …“ 

„Oh for fucks sake! Shut up and let me help you“, he demanded. You were so surprised about his little outburst, that you could only nod to give him the permission. 

Paul smiled slightly. „Good. You are so stubborn.“ 

You rolled your eyes on him, not saying anything. He was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. 

With his help, you turned your back to him. He begins to get rid of the many closures of the suit and with every unbuttoning your face feels even warmer. His direct presence was making you nervous and you were not sure how you feel about that effect he has on you. 

„You need to relax. Otherwise I could hurt you even more“, his voice was low and for a second you thought you heard a light crack in it. Is it possible that you have the same effect on him? 

„It is kinda hard to relax in this … situation“, the words slipped out before you could think about the meaning of them. You bite your tongue as he chuckled softly. 

„And why is that?“, you could feel his warm breath on your neck. It sends goosebumps over your drained body. Before you could give him a sassy answer, his fingertips touched the bare skin on your shoulders, gently pulling down the suit. You could feel his hands on your back while Paul was making sure that you didn’t need to move a muscle to get rid of the Fremen desert suit. Underneath you are wearing an thin layer of fabric, cut in the form of a dress that barely covers your butt. 

„Are you taking advantage of an helpless and wounded woman, Paul Atreides?“, you say with a strangled voice. Still facing the wall. But Paul was so close, that you could feel his chest touching your back. 

Paul gently strokes your hair over one shoulder. His lips almost touching your ear, while he speaks with a breathy voice. „I would never take advantage of you. I know for a fact, that you could kick my ass and slit my throat in no time, even wounded and blinded. But you haven’t done such thing.“ 

He places a soft kiss on the sensitive skin right beneath your ear and your breathing stops. Your whole body reacting to him like a firework. Just because of a litte stupid kiss. What is happening? 

„Did I hurt you?“, he asked as he noticed your reaction. „If you want me to stop, you just have to say one word and I’m …“ 

„You didn’t hurt me“, you interrupted. 

Paul chuckles softly. And you almost hoped, that he would keep on doing where he stopped, but instead you feel how his warm body disappeared from your back. As you peak over your shoulder, he looks at you with deep satisfaction. 

„I’ll see if I can get you something to eat and drink. And then I will send you a healer to make sure you’ll get better in no time.“ 

Your mouth snapped open in disbelief. This jerk just teased you like a champion and now he was looking at you like a little boy, who is more than proud to make fun of you. 

„You’re an asshole, Paul Atreides“, you said smiling. 

He raises his hands defensively. „I’m just making sure not to take advantage of you.“ 

#dune movie #dune part one #dune part two #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides #paul atreides x you #comforting #dune fluff #fluff #paul atreides fluff #paul atreides imagine #paul atreides kissing #paul atreides fanfic #light angst #dune angst #paul muad'dib #timothée chalamet #Paul atreides angst #teasing

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.1

Cynthia and John are worse and crazier for admitting what they admitted in the bio. But Jane and Paul are not exempt.

Will forever love this pic of Paul and Julian. He does not look like the fun uncle. He looks tired and dependable. Just stepped out of the womb as a father, didn't he? The sperm that fertilized his egg probably passed some fatherly advice and hair tussles to the other sperm as it passed them. 

They should've bought the fucking island.

They never look more like a couple than when the women they're actually dating are right next to them. 

The India footage actually looks so beautiful. Obviously it's a beautiful place, but they all genuinely look so free and at peace there. It really could've been so good for them. Getting enlightened, getting soberish, growing closer as a band, taking a much-needed rest. It should've been good. 

The music choices in this documentary! The drastic shift from, “all you need is love” and “the dream I had was true” and “I don't need much to set me free.” to Paul leaving to “yes I'm lonely. Wanna die.” “I'm going insane.” “Look at me. Who am I supposed to be?” 8d8 psychic damage. And the thing is it's real. John really did flip a switch, just like that.

Smashing my head into a wall. It's the same as Yoko's quote about how ‘nobody hurt John more than Paul.’ Really Pete? Worse than after his mum died? Really Yoko? More than that drunk cop? Paul, what the fuck did you do to him in India, seriously, because at this point in the doc I can't accept the theory that it was just some lack of communication, I just can't. 

It's also telling to me that when John's losing it, everyone's solution is some time alone with Paul. Nobody panic. Paul can fix him. Little do they know Paul's the one that broke him. Or maybe they do know and that's only another reason they know Paul's the only man for the job?

Old-fashioned ad voice: You liked Protective Jesus Scandal Paul? You'll love Protective LSD Scandal John! Really. Before the question is even out, he's making fun of it. I think he cuts off the interviewer at least three times with jokes before he can get the sentence out, and by the time he is, Paul's giggling too hard to feel bad about his little PR fuck-up.

Then he lets Paul talk a bit before jumping back in, this time with his Hard Man suit on. It's just so good. A testament to their unconditional love, really. Because, clearly, Paul's just hurt John pretty bad. And yet, here John is. Using every trick he's got to defend his friend. 

But actually, though John is supposedly the one everyone's worried about, Paul's doing a pretty shit job of being the “stable” one. This entire press tour he's either fucking blazed and laughing at everything or disassociated and not contributing.

(((except during that political discussion – again! Paul secretly has actual thoughts on actual things?!)))

But for the most part, John's absolutely holding down the fort. I wonder if this is another case of everyone – all their friends and business associates, just like we as a fandom still do now – assuming John is the problem child, and Paul's the strong one, but actually they're both both. 

Back to the political interview. They're just so in sync. Finishing each other's sentences when you're talking about the weather or your shared work is one thing. Finishing each other's sentences on complex topics like why poor whites often vote bigots in or the cause of rampant misinformation is quite another. 

“Letting his dad cut his hair at sixteen, seventeen.” You all know that John hates Jim quote. 

John: so there's war, and vegetables. There's relativity and absolute.  Paul (absolutely smitten): that's great Johnny. Int: that's rather hard for people to interpret. John: well if they can't interpret it now, maybe they will later..... 1. John really was extremely intelligent. 2. That last statement sums up Beatles historiography.

Paul really just Won't be alone with John, will he? Well, two can play at that game, Paul, and John's going to win, let me tell you. 

But he's going to do one last panic grab for attention first.

I really do think if John had done something like that *before* Paul would've given him that attention. Told him he's being insane and taken him home to splash some cold water on him or something and then given him whatever softness Paul was capable of. But not anymore. 

I wonder if Paul could go back to 1966 if he just wouldn't have taken John to that Indica show where he met Yoko. If he would've just said “okay John, sure, let's just stay home and trip on the couch tonight.” I don't know.

Anyway, Yoko gets an A+ for persistence. Imagine being Paul, George, or Ringo, though, and John is suddenly madly in love with this woman whose been begging you all (and then him specifically) for a platform for over a year? It would be weird to say the least. 

John: don't you hate me? I'm crazy, you know. Paul: no I don't hate you. John: aren't you pissed at me now, Paul? Even a little bit? Paul: I'm very proud of you. It's the unstoppable force (“Don't ‘nore me, Mimi!”) vs the immovable object (“I learned to put a shell around me”.) Someone get them some professional help before they nuke the whole world. 

“There is, however, a desire to get power in order to use it for good.” One of those quotes that just really lets you see a person, you know? Benevolent dictator Paul. 

Yoko, why are you talking about how bad your boy doesn't want to fuck you right in front of all his closest friends and on record for posterity? If you have to be talking about your sex life, shouldn't you be lying about how insanely horny he is for you? Oh, right, she will think of that, just not yet. 

And then she waxes poetic about how turned on John is when he's working on music with Paul. Cool. Smart. Thanks for that, though, genuinely.

And Then (gosh, Yoko is such an asset to Beatles history when she's not actively spreading misinformation. Everyone give her a hand) she goes on about how Paul goes out of his way to make her feel respected and even valued. Compare that to John and Linda, anyone? And I want to be clear, I'm not saying this means John cares too much and Paul doesn't care at all, which might be the surface read. I just think John's reaction was to scream in everyone's face that he was in pain and Paul's was to insist ad nauseam that he was fine. You know?

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #yoko ono #linda eastman #ulm #understanding lennon mccartney

[sethsclearwater]

just read the ask about knotting with the twilight wolves, and I would love to read something like that with Paul. Could you write us something?

totally! i've never written anything like this before so definitely let me know your thoughts and if there's anything i got wrong or misunderstood about this!

...

"paul-" you whimpered, sitting up as you were pulled out of your post-orgasmic haze a little sooner than you would've liked due to the stretching sensation inside you.

paul already knew what was up with you, just quietly shushing you, "relax princess," he murmured, sliding his hands onto your hips and gently pulling you back down to his chest, "take some deep breaths for me," he encouraged, taking in a deep inhale with you and held it for a moment before releasing.

"'s uncomfy-" you whimpered, moving to tug your hips up from his but paul was quick to hold you in place before you could cause any pain for either of you.

"i know princess," paul murmured, "jus' gotta give it some time so you can get used to it, okay? gotta sit still for a little bit," he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you let out a disgruntled huff but settled in his arms nonetheless.

"such a good girl for me," paul praised, pressing a few more soft kisses to your hair as you closed your eyes, doing your best to relax in his arms, "you wanna tell me what felt good tonight?" he asked softly, hoping that by talking about your rendezvous that got you into this situation in the first place, it would help you take your mind off the stretching.

you hummed, thinking about it for a moment before responding, "i like it best when you're on top," you murmured, peeking up at him and giggling when he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"do you want more help from me while you're on top then? i know you don't like doing that much work," he teased, though his question was genuine.

you rolled your eyes, huffing, "yes paul," you grumbled, "it'd be nice if you could guide me a little more," you added, voice much less irritated as you explained what you wanted more of from him.

despite your playful relationship with paul, both of you had gotten quite good at communicating with each other, especially after a session like tonight where he had accidentally knotted you while finishing in you.

"i think i can do that," he smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips, "'m sorry about this," he murmured after a moment and you offered him a small smile.

paul would never admit it to anyone, but he had gotten much better with having some humility when it came to you. he was always quick to apologize when he was in the wrong and it had become something that made you realize just how much you loved him.

"'s not really your fault," you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, "not like you're trying to knock me up," you added teasingly, giggling when paul let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

"do we have any plan b in the bathroom?" he asked, suddenly a bit more concerned at the possibility of getting you pregnant.

you giggled and nodded, "i'll take one after you get us out of this situation," you teased and he rolled his eyes but you saw the corner of his lips pull into a smile, revealing that he wasn't actually annoyed with your teasing.

"jus' lay down for a bit, yea? should go down soon enough," he encouraged, pressing a soft kiss to your hair and wrapping his arms around you to hold you close to him.

you nodded, letting out a soft sigh as you got settled in his arms, both of you happy to be in each other's arms despite the situation paul had gotten both of you into.

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote blurb #paul lahote fluff #paul lahote smut #paul lahote angst #twilight #tts #the twilight saga #twilight imagine #twilight blurb #twilight wolves #twilight wolfpack #twilight wolves imagine #twilight wolfpack imagine #imagine #fluff #smut

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Hello! I love your writing style!! It's just so on spot, and I wanted to request some headcanons for the mercs with a gn! reader who doesn't really speak but they can communicate through sign language or paper for whatever reason, the thing is, the Merc and the reader find themselves in a really critical situation or just an incredibly intimate and comforting moment, blurting out for the first time something serious or stupid like "y'know when I first met you I thought you're really stupid...(affectionate)" IDK OF THIS MAKES SENSE OR IT'S WEIRD SORRY LMAOOA

(if you don't wanna do all of them you could do your faves & I hope there's a chance to add miss Pauling if possible😔) but anyway, too much to read,, sorry again!! Take care♡♡

Y/N with communication anxiety admits their feelings to the Mercs

Scout:

- He’s very chill and nonchalant about it. Although have fun hearing him talk his mouth off all the time and rant about random things. He takes a liking to you pretty quickly when you join his team and leans on the wall next to you tossing his ball from hand to hand and blowing bubbles with his bubblegum. “Heeey there slugger. What‘s your name? You look like a total nightmare today.” He says. When you don’t answer him and nervously gesture to your throat that you’d prefer staying quiet he pauses for a moment. “Not a talker, eh?”

- Literally will not shut the fuck up. Will talk to you for hours on end. Venting or just saying plain stupid shit to impress you. You find his personality rather charming and in exchange he seems to appreciate your content silence and preference to listen to him. Something that the other Mercs don’t really do.

- “Y’know, Y/N. I know this sounds fuckin’ weird but like— Thank you I guess? For listening to my nonstop ramblin. I mean.. Not many people stop to consider what I have to say.” He says this to you while you sit in Tuefort’s gazebo with him on a cold desert morning. “They just think i’m annoying I guess..”

- “Annoying yet charming and handsome nonetheless, Scout.” You finally work up the courage to mutter to him. Your voice is rasp and you smile.

- Scout pauses, then looks at you in complete disbelief. Did Y/N just speak? Atop of that it seemed to have been a flirtatious compliment. He takes a moment to process the situation and then sort of chortles. He runs his hand through his own hair and acts chill about it but on the inside he’s absolutely mad with feelings. “Wow.. That’s.. Yeah, OK.” he says, failing to find words. Face flushed with heat.

——————————————————————

Soldier:

- He was the first person to approach you in the base. Like ever. When he found out there was a new mercenary he needed to lay the ground rules to them as soon as possible. Instead of giving him a “Yes sir!” like he had hoped, you stared at him blankly. (I’d probably be rethinking this job offer.) Wondering why you hadn’t spoken up to him, he got close to your face and looked up and down you. “I’D LIKE TO HEAR A YES SIR PRIVATE!” Still nothing. You were too busy admiring his muscles. You’ve just met this man but you’d let him throw you off a bridge in an instant.

- When he still doesn’t get a response, he backs up and angrily fixes his helmet “Insubordination I see.. Heh. Okay.” He mutters and prepares to plan a punishment later. You are oddly charmed by his stupid greeting and you head to the nearest chalkboard and explain in writing why you can’t respond back. He lifts his helmet up to read it and then looks back at you. (The other Mercs are kind of stunned that Soldier even knows how to read in the first place.)

- “Ah, I see.. Strange tactical decision but not unheard of.” He responds, then straightens his posture apologetically. You two become close friends from then on. Medic has to explain to him later that you just have “mild” communication issues. For the first few months of your guys’ friendship the dumbass thought you were doing this to gain an upper hand.

- After a match one day you catch him smoking a cigar on a huge pile of bodies in the pouring rain. You step up the horrific mess of blood and guts to meet him. He doesn’t look too happy. Although Soldier never really opens up about anything to anyone. He’s way too deep in his little military fantasy. You sit next to him and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Whatever the hell he was upset about you knew it wasn’t good. After a bout of silence you whisper “You’re a wonderful strategist, Soldier.”

- You can’t see his expression underneath his helmet but you can certainly hear his heartbeat quicken because of how close you are. His mouth nearly twitches up into a grin. He doesn’t respond to your compliment but he’s relieved to hear one nonetheless after all this time.

————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- You find him making bombs in his quarters when you meet him for the first time. He doesn’t look too friendly but as you decide to walk by he immediately calls out to you. “Ayeee! New blood. Get ova’ here a second. Wee lil monster.” He beckons his hand aggressively.

- You walk over to him and he puts an arm around your shoulder. Patting you reassuringly. “Aye.. So It’s not gonna be easy livin’ here just so you know. We’re all a wee bit mad. Don’t take the others’ too seriously when dey bother ye.” He takes the responsibility upon himself to let you know as an older Merc it’ll be okay. He slaps you friendlily on the back after his conversation and sends you off. He doesn’t really question the fact you aren’t speaking.

- You immediately take a liking to him though. Mainly due to his explosive personality on the battlefield (pun intended.) He gets horribly drunk before doing any Mercenary work and acts goofy the entire time. His charisma pulls you in like a magnet. You want to speak to him but it’s so hard…

- After months of simping for this guy from afar, you slip a note under his doorframe professing your feelings to him. You hear him pick it up. The next thing you know, he barges into your quarters the next day after a match and grabs you by the shoulders. Asking you in complete disbelief if you actually meant everything you said.

- “Yes, I just think you’re really attractive!” you blurt out instinctively. Alarmed by his behavior. He lets you go; having heard your voice for the first time. The shock of the revelation and the sound of your voice, atop of the alcohol seemed to have done it for him. He immediately kissed you on the lips without warning. You’re the first person in years to say this to him.

- “I… Er.. “ He walks away after that. You have no fucking idea what the hell even happened.

——————————————————————-

Engineer:

- You hear the sweet melody of a guitar echoing off the intel room. Despite its clearly southern origins you are drawn to it. As if it was some sort of hypnosis. You’d recognize that melody anywhere. The year was 1967 and you were no stranger to your own childhood. That was clearly “El Paso.” You’ve heard that song on the radio a million times already. But somehow this was different. The soothing voice it came from was singing it as if it were his own lullaby to the multiple sentries around him. The ones of his own creation of course.

- Next thing you know, you’re sitting next to him on the intel desk, sleepy as all shit from the melody and the white noise from the patrolling sentries. You wake up an hour later to embarrassingly finding yourself on this stranger’s lap. You want to profusely apologize to your colleague but nothing comes out.

- He doesn’t even seem phased. For some reason he was stroking your hair as he gazed off into the distance.

- Ever since that day you became close to Engineer. He was completely unbothered by your communication issues and actually kind of appreciates the silent times he has with you. He rarely speaks to you while hanging out either, out of respect for your boundaries. Only the occasional conversation here and there. You are both existing together.

- “I love you, Dell.” You finally say, after a night of drinking in his workshop with him. You are perched up on his lap as always and he’s petting you. At first he misunderstands this as platonic. “Aww..” He cooes. “No, I mean it. I’ve always found you so —“ You bury your face into his chest. Muffling the last part of your sentence “Safe to be around.”

- He’s unbelievably boiling with hormones on the inside. He tips his hardhat forward to hide his flustered face. Holding his own chin. “Dammit..” He mutters in an incredibly positive way. You’ve successfully won this man over.

—————————————————————-

Heavy:

- He’s already met you before the job. Accidentally caught you in a coffee shop in Tuefort being yelled at by an ableist Karen and he took it upon himself to nearly strangle her for you. Heavy doesn’t tolerate behavior like that. You need to insult people with style or nothing at all. Don’t pick on their disabilities. Aim for the most stereotypical high school bully route possible. Come on, you gotta be an asshole skillfully.

- He could tell you were different the moment you joined the team. But that’s fine. He was quite misunderstood too. Heavy wasn’t a dumb himbo. He was a GIANT man with a lust for blood. Although he enjoyed chaos as much as any Merc, Heavy also valued silence. Something that you provided him with your presence. You catch him deliberately body shielding you on the battlefield because he knows this communication issue didn’t come out of nowhere. You’re distressed. This was his subtle attempt to let you know he cared.

- He catches you unable to sleep one night. He opens your door and notes the fact your light was still visible through the cracks. You’re sitting on the bed in an uncomfortable fetal position.

- “Little thing will not sleep?” He asks you. Although he has his typical hardened expression the question suggested he cared. “Hm. Stay here. Heavy will grab bedtime story.”

- He reads you an old Russian classic. Although depending on who you are you might not understand it. Regardless the soft sounds are alluring sleep. It’s clear he’s read people stories many times before because his whispers hit all the right places.

- You mumble to him a thank you. Which makes him pause mid sentence. He doesn’t know how the ever living fuck to process what he’s feeling right now. It’s a mixture of affection and the pang of what is typically the start of romantic attraction. Ew gross he’s feeling soft and fuzzy emotions.

- You pull him under the covers with you eagerly. He grumpily obeys but he doesn’t know why. He nearly destroys your bed with his weight and has to put you on his chest to cuddle. You can hear the sound of the ubercharged baboon heart inside him. Still pumping away and working to keep him going. You slip into slumber easily.

————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Talking is overrated anyway. Nobody really understands Pyro when they speak under the mask. Trying to say something simple like “There’s a spy behind you.” is often met with a confused expression. When Pyro meets you, it’s when he’s allured by your skills on the battlefield. In their point of view you are a glorious unicorn prancing around a field of pollen. (More like debris from the enemy soldiers’ rockets but that’s besides the point.)

- There are rare moments where Pyro is completely lucid and self aware of the fact they’re a mercenary for hire though. They compliment you on your abilities after a match and it takes you a while to understand but you nod.

- They won’t. stop. complimenting. you. You are dragged to his tea parties and childish shenanigans and you find over time it’s surprisingly pleasant to escape from the bloodshed once and a while. Cuddling sessions ensue as time goes on.

- You catch their face without their suit while they’re getting changed. That is vulnerability that Pyro wasn’t ready for yet. They break down sobbing and self depreciating and you feel heartbroken. Who the hell taught them to hate themselves so fucking much? You’re having a bit of empathy overload right now as they squeal and choke up. Finding no other alternative but to speak blissful things about their appearance and personality. Hearing you speak for the first time makes them cry more. (In an incredibly positive way luckily.)

———————————————————————

Sniper:

- Oh shit. Another person whose super quiet for some reason?! Except your situation is different. You’d like to socialize but it’s difficult. Sniper doesn’t want to socialize and he hates basically everybody. But he has that “grumpy older brother who teases you” energy. He’s well aware you’re younger than the other Mercs and therefore a tad easier on you.

- He’s scoping out a crack in the window when he feels your presence behind him. His shoulders stiffen and that’s how you know he senses you. “Blimey. You’d make a terrible Spy.” he mutters. Bringing his gun away from the hole to put it down and face you. His hypersensitivity to noise is no doubt from being stabbed a million times.

- You wonder how he’s able to tell it’s even you in the first place. He’s possibly grown accustomed to how each Mercenary sounds when they approach his nest. You can smell the scent of strong cologne mixed in with bond fire lingering off him. Couple that with the fact that he’s so unbelievably hot? You came to bring him some morning coffee but you end up setting it down to spontaneously hug him.

- “Wh— fuck.” He growls. Both caught off guard and swaying a bit. Trying to adjust to extra weight. He hesitantly hugs you back. Wondering if you were sick or something and needed soothing. He doesn’t understand why anybody would want this from him. It takes him a minute to put his arms around you and pat you.

- “What’s wrong mate?” he says, in your ear. This man might be giving you a voice kink if you don’t already have one. Holy shit. You don’t want to be humiliated by your own voice in front of him and your lips quiver. Incapable of finding the words you’re thinking of. “You’re cute.” you finally say. In a last ditch effort when no other words came to mind. To say you desperately wanted this man was an understatement.

- You hear him take a sharp breath in. He stifles a groan from the amount of energy you just shot into his godamn stomach. Not only was it a pleasure to hear your voice for the first time but it felt intimate. He was very sensitive to things like this. You swore you could hear this man purring in your ear like a cat. He was evidentially as touch starved as you were.

—————————————————————

Medic:

- No speaking?! Oh! this man has to study you like right fucking now. What a curiosity. He’s never met somebody who had issues speaking like this before. He hates to admit —and won’t admit for that matter — that he might be doing this out of emotion as well. Believe it or not Medic can be an incredibly emotion driven person. Not just for the pleasures of harming people but the unwanted sympathy that comes with being human. He hates the idea he might care for you. Why does he even feel that way? It’s not like you’re different from any other Merc..

- Except you are. You’re you. That’s the problem. You’re lovable in every way and no amount of rumination will ever explain why.

- His first instinct upon discovering this about you is to ask you questions about how bad it is. Obviously quickly realizing how stupid that is — he hands you his clipboard and a fresh piece of paper to communicate. “Do you speak if at all?” “Do you experience this in the presence of certain stressors?” “Did you have traumatic experiences that led to this?” “Is this perhaps a case of selective mutism?”

- You scramble to write down incredibly passive aggressive and sarcastic answers but they are answers nonetheless. He seems pleased with the results. Under normal circumstances you’d hate being treated like a guinea pig but his excited smile was charming. The fact that somebody wanted to understand your situation so badly was a bit riveting. He was hungry for information about the human existence. “Danke!”

- You catch something you’d never suspect in a mad scientist such as himself. While he’s drawing mathematical equations on his chalkboard one night he periodically looks over his shoulder to frown at you while he thinks you’re not paying attention.

- He’s doing a terrible job at hiding his human nature. There was a bout of emotion in his eyes about your health. As much as the doctor tried to remove this from his work, it kept rearing its ugly head in certain situations. “I love you, Doctor.” You tell him.

- SNAP. His fingers break the chalk in half. Just like his crumbling facade. You could see his eye twitch as he accesses ten thousand possible answers he could give you in his mind. “Aheh, could you give me a moment, bitte?” He tells you. Waltzing into the other room. You could hear muffled screaming coming from his bedroom. He regrets taking this job and wished he died in police custody.

———————————————————————-

Spy:

- YES! FINALLY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T MAKE HIM WANT TO PULL HIS HAIR OUT AND BACKFLIP OFF A CLIFF

- Spy elegantly invites you to his quarters one night after weeks of avoiding you the first time you come here. He pours you some wine and hands you a glass. (adjusting your hand in the process because you’re holding the glass wrong.)

- “Do you know why I brought you here?” He asks. Pacing around the room and lighting himself a cigarette from his disguise kit. In all honesty you have no idea why but the sight of such a handsome older man doing this for you was distracting. “It is your performance as of late. You are throughly calculated I must say.” You couldn’t agree with this, but you wondered if he had some sort of thing for competent people. (Your assumptions are correct.)

- …. “Not to mention quieter than me when I scope out prey.” He mentions. Waving the cigarette between two fingers. He was a Spy and you had no doubt he was trying to read you like a book but having difficulties. He was especially accustomed to having small talk with the other Mercs to better fake their counterparts when disguised as them. You couldn’t help but feel a little flattered over the fact that not even a Spy could properly look through you.

- He looked at you rather frustratingly once he realizes you’re still not speaking. “Not even the slightest bit of speaking. Do you realize how much harder you make my job?” He complains sarcastically. You can’t help but crack a humored grin at this. He isn’t being ableist in this situation, rather he’s angry he can’t psychoanalyze somebody. You knew it was within’ a Spy’s nature to instinctively do this.

- He responded positively to your grin. Moving away and dragging his cigarette. Trying to hide a bit of his own amusement. “Yes, yes. You find my suffering to be equivalent to the entire circus.” He says. “But in in all honesty your silence is preferred.” Spy moves in and lifts your chin up with his pointer finger.

- “Tu es agréable à côtoyer..” He hisses. His voice sounding like a hungry cat as he draws closer to you. Spy has a very distinct look in his eye. One that basically screams thoughtful and mysterious. You nearly passed out at the unintentionally romantic gesture.

- “Please throw me off a fucking building.” You say.

- “What?”

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader #I FORGOT TO DO MISS PAULING IM SORRY

[flanaganfilm]

Hi there! I recall hearing at some point that in Midnight Mass, there was a deleted scene where Erin speaks in the confession booth about knowing Bev killed Pike, but doing nothing about it (or something to that effect? Apologies if I'm misremembering). I thought that was an interesting bit of characterization, could you elaborate on what that scene was like and why it was ultimately cut?

Yes, that's correct! It was a great scene, too. Very well acted by Kate and Hamish. The general gist of it was that Erin confesses to Father Paul that she was pretty sure Beverly Keane was the one who poisoned the dog, but that she knew she wouldn't do anything about it, given her standing in the community and her feeling that nothing would happen to Bev. And she knew that Father Paul was obliged to keep it secret because of the nature of the sacrament of confession - he couldn't tell anyone. She also talked about how her mother, who was abusive, was celebrated by the community even when they knew what she did, and how that made her feel like she would always be viewed as the problem child. No one would listen to her, she figured.

It was meant to show Erin being too afraid to do something in this case, even though she knew it was the right thing to do, and then we'd see her make a different decision at the end of the series when the stakes were at their highest. It was also meant to help demonstrate one of our central themes about the spread of fanaticism - that early in that process, good people often see what's happening and choose to believe it'll get better on its own, or that it isn't their place to intercede. And finally, it was interesting to me because it gave Father Paul an early glimpse into what Bev was capable of. He tries to persuade Erin that she might be wrong, that maybe there was another explanation - something else I quite liked thematically. He tries to rationalize it and reframe it right away, which is an important character trait of Father Paul's when we later learn how he responded to the Angel. I really loved this scene. It was cut because Netflix wanted the episode to be shorter, and had targeted that scene specifically as one that they felt "dragged". They also were confused as to why there wasn't a consequence to Bev, "why doesn't Father Paul do anything with this information" and weren't moved by my argument that 1) that isn't how confession works, and 2) his denial of what he learns is an important character trait. First we tried a shorter version of it, but it was one of those situations (frequent on that show) where a truncated version made the scene less impactful - shorter wasn't better. Ultimately they pushed for its removal and we conceded, opting to save our powder for a different creative battle. I regret cutting it. The show was better with the scene intact.

[popironrye]

Michael is a Great character and Star Deserves more than she gets.

While the 4 main vamp bois in 1987 'The Lost Boys' get plenty of pretty equal love from the fandom (and many also love Michael) but I don't see the same love extended to Star and many people criticize the both of them. So I just want to set the record straight. I don't trust people who hate on Michael and Star. There I said it!

Let's start with Star since she's the easier one to talk about.

o The biggest criticism I see for Star is people say she's forgettable, one note, and reduced to Michael's love interest. (This is especially bad in shipping spaces for people who ship Michael with the male members of the lost boys) While it's true Star doesn't get a lot to do in the film, she has about as much if not more screentime and speaking roles as the other lost boys like Marko, Paul, and especially Dwayne. Her biggest crime is being in a story that isn't solely about her, but that's ok! She works in the role she has, which is the main reason why Michael goes through everything he does in the movie. Would it have been better if she had a bigger impact in the climax? Sure but with Michael, Sam, and the Frog brothers having that many characters fighting back against the vampires would get pretty cluttered. Also, having Star not vamp out is criminal. I wanted to see Star with the vamp eyes and fangs.

Speaking of playing a role aside Michael! o Michael gets a lot of flack for making stupid decisions and never asking questions or communicating. God forbid characters have flaws and a movie have conflict to get the plot moving. I love Michael's character. It's something I relate to honestly. People seem to forget that Michael is only 18. Moving several hours away from his home state, leaving behind any friends, coworkers, and family behind to live in a new place with his recently divorced mother. A broken family on top of having to adjust to a new place to live. Yes, he's horny for Star the minute he sees her but it goes beyond her when David and the boys show up. Michael is desperate to be a part of a group. He has no friends and the only family he's hanging out with is his significantly younger brother. I personally don't see Michael going through everything he did just for a chance to hook up with Star. Hell, after he (admittedly stupidly) decks David in the face and gets invited back to the hotel, Star is standing in the distance while Michael is being persuaded by David. If this was truly about competing with David for Star's affection, why is Michael chilling with them. Eating dinner with them, and then accepting the bottle. David drives the point home to the audience and to Michael. "Be one of us." We of course know he's referring to being a vampire but to Michael he's being offered a spot in the gang. He's being peer pressured into being apart of their group, and he doesn't say no because he wants that. Speaking of, people also point the blood drinking scene as Michael not listening to Star and making a stupid decision. He doesn't even ask what's in the bottle before he swigs it. I've already said that characters having flaws is not an issue but really think about it. Yeah, the group is weird but say you were in Michael's shoes. Someone hands you a bottle to drink and another person says it's blood. Would you believe them? Michael knows at this point that David is messing with him. What with the maggots instead of rice and worms instead of noodles, proven to be something Michael saw but then seeing what he saw wasn't real. So you got an 18 year old with no friends surrounded by a group chanting his name, of course he drinks the blood. He had no reason to believe David gave him actual blood to drink.

And I think that about covers it. You can say I'm biased, but idc. Let me know your thoughts!

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #star tlb #star the lost boys #michael tlb #michael the lost boys #discourse #discuss #film discourse #share your thoughts #character analysis

[irregularincidents]

Twelve days into the Korean War, on 7th July 1950, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover approached President Harry S. Truman with a list of 12,000 names.

These names (97% of which were American citizens) were of people that Hoover felt should be indefinitely arrested and placed in concentration internment camps due to his claims that the people named were necessary to “protect the country against treason, espionage and sabotage" in the event that America were to go to war against the Soviet Union.

The letter wherein he proposed these arrests stated that eventually the interned people would be allowed to have a hearing. The hearing board would have been a panel made up of one judge and two citizens. But the hearings “will not be bound by the rules of evidence,” his letter noted.

Who would have been these people that Hoover wished to detain? His usual suspects. People with socialist or communist beliefs or sympathies (real or manufactured), pacifists, early members of the civil rights movement such as the African-American singer and actor Paul Robeson...

Truman, to his credit, didn't agree with Hoover's suggestion and chose to veto it, although Congress reportedly would later vote to overturn his veto.

This was one of several documents declassified in the mid-2000s that underlined for as terrible as J. Edgar Hoover was, there were still even worse things he wanted to do that even Truman (who was brought on as FDR's vice president because the Democrats thought he'd make them look tougher on communism than Roosevelt's former VP, the socially progressive Henry Agard Wallace*) was against it.

*Wallace wanted to do things like ending segregation, bringing about gender and racial equality, and establishing a national health service (like the UK eventually adopted several years later), so OBVIOUSLY he had to go.

#irregular incidents #the cold war #j edgar hoover #history #american history

[compacflt]

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

#major character death #death #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #asks #sorry to start out my prompt fills with maybe the most soulcrushing thing ive ever written #ngl writing this yesterday fucked me up hard #sorry to sneak more pro-brandon propaganda in here but the parallel was too good to pass up #rip beau biden i guess #forgot to tag: #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #hangster #soundtrack for this one is Judy collins’ send in the clowns

[chicgeekgirl89]

Rating: T Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Judd Ryder, Mateo Chavez, Nancy Gillian, Paul Strickland, Marjan Marwan Read on AO3

“Hey.”

It’s only one word, but T.K. knows that kind of “hey” all too well. He stifles a smile, the one he knows is charming and flirty and will get him whatever he wants, as he turns around to look at the man standing next to him at the bar. 

He’s got dark hair, a sharp, angular chin, and he’s wearing a look that says he’s interested. Very interested.

“Hey,” T.K. says back, immediately looking away and trying to signal the bartender again. 

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, moving a step closer under the pretense of leaning up against the bar.

“T.K.,” he says, still going for nonchalant. 

“T.K.” The man tests it out on his tongue and nods, apparently finding it palatable. “Does that stand for something?”

T.K. bites his bottom lip, still trying to smother how much joy this interaction is bringing him. “Yeah. It does.”

The other guy nods, a flirty smile breaking out on his own face. He likes that T.K. is playing hard to get. “I’m Alejandro.”

“Nice to meet you,” T.K. says, settling down onto the barstool when it becomes clear the bartender is busy and won’t be taking his order for a while.

“You come here a lot?” Alejandro asks, completely locked onto T.K. despite the noise of the room and the other people jostling into them as they vie for drinks and snacks.

“Once in a while,” T.K. says. He nods his head toward a table across the room. “I’m here with some friends.”

“Cool,” Alejandro replies. “Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s very forward and T.K. loves it. Now he lets his smile out full force, dazzling the other man. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to,” Alejandro says, taking another half step closer. “Come on. It’s a free drink.”

“What if I told you I’m with someone?”

“Is he here?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say what’s the harm in making a new friend?”

T.K. practically chokes on the laugh he’s holding in. “That’s bold.”

Alejandro’s eyes rake over the floral pattern on T.K.’s button up. “Something tells me you like bold.”

“I do,” T.K. tells him as he finally gets the bartender’s attention.

“So? A drink then? Just one?”

T.K. places an order for himself and Marjan then looks back at him. “You’re very sweet. But I have to get back to my friends.”

Alejandro shrugs, looking bummed but understanding. “Next time maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe,” T.K. says, sending him a wink as he collects the 126’s drinks and heads back to the table.

“You having fun over there?” Paul asks as T.K. hands Marjan her drink.

“More like leaving a trail of broken hearts behind,” Marjan says with a laugh.

“I can’t help it if people like to look,” T.K. says, fully aware that he’s got a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“That guy’s lucky Carlos isn’t here,” Judd says from where he’s nursing his second beer of the evening. “Not sure how he’d feel about somebody making a pass at his new husband.”

“Well I didn’t see any of you coming over to try and help,” T.K. tells them pointedly, turning his glass of seltzer around in his hand, the condensation making his fingers slick. 

“You know, they say as soon as a guy gets married it immediately makes him more attractive,” Mateo says around a mouthful of pretzels.

Nancy furrows her brow. “Who says that babe?”

“You know, studies. Or people or something.”

The entire table looks at him incredulously. “What?” Mateo asks. “I’m telling you, I’ve heard people say that!”

“Somebody’s been spending too much time on TikTok,” Paul says, giving him the side eye.

“Where is Carlos tonight anyway?” Marjan asks. “I thought he was coming.”

“His shift ran over and he has a headache,” T.K. says, checking his phone again to make sure he hasn’t missed any communications from his husband.

Carlos had called while they were on their way to the bar to let T.K. know he was wiped from his shift and not up to going out. But he’d assured T.K. he was fine and told him in no uncertain terms to go and have fun with their friends. 

“He said next time for sure,” T.K. tells them.

“Wow, you chose us over your brand new husband?” Marjan says. “I’m flattered.”

“You know some people might take that as a sign the honeymoon period is over,” Judd says.

“Oh it’s definitely not.” T.K. grins as he chomps on the straw of his drink.

“Yeah I caught them making out in the bunk room last week,” Paul says with a roll of his eyes. 

“It was our one month anniversary,” T.K. says with a shrug.

“That is not a reason to be half naked in a communal area,” Paul shoots back.

T.K. scoffs. “We weren’t half naked.”

“Well you were when I went to the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night,” Judd says.

“And when we got to your place early for our hang on Tuesday,” Nancy chimes in.

“Maybe you should have knocked,” T.K. says.

“Maybe you should have put a sock on the door,” Mateo says.

“Or you know, locked it. Like normal people,” Marjan adds.

“I can’t help it that Carlos and I have a thriving, healthy marriage and the rest of y’all are jealous,” T.K. tells them.

Internally he’s glowing. Carlos would be mortified if heard this conversation, but T.K. is thrilled to have their love fully on display. It’s not his fault that his husband is so dead sexy that T.K. wants to jump his bones anytime they’re in the same room.

The group rags on him a little longer and he takes it all in stride before begging off early to get home to said husband, which earns him more teasing. The word “whipped” gets coughed out by several people and he throws a wadded up napkin at Mateo’s head as revenge before he heads out the door. 

The living room light is still on when he walks in and he smiles softly. Carlos always makes sure their home looks warm and inviting for him, even if he’s already gone to bed.

T.K. puts away his work things and quietly creeps into the kitchen to grab a water to take to bed, wincing when he accidentally rattles a couple of pyrex containers full of leftovers in the fridge. He tiptoes softly across the living room, carefully sliding open the door to their bedroom as quietly as possible. “Oh, you’re awake,” he says in surprise.

Carlos is sitting up in bed, shirt off, glasses on, a book in his hand. It’s another smutty romance novel; this one has a yellow cover with a couple kissing on the front. Only his nightstand light is on, emitting a soft glow that blends in with the light of the living room, which is why T.K. didn’t notice he was still awake.

“I am,” Carlos says, setting his book down. “How was your night out?”

“Fun,” T.K. says, slipping out of his shoes and looking pointedly at his husband as he puts them away in their appropriate spot. “How’s your headache?”

“Better,” Carlos says. “I took some ibuprofen and it helped.”

“Okay good,” T.K. says again as he searches through his side of the wardrobe for a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. “Did you get dinner?”

“I had the leftover chicken adobo.” His eyes follow T.K.’s path around the room. “Anything interesting happen?”

“At the bar?” T.K. shrugs bringing his pajamas along with him as he settles on the edge of the bed. “Not really. Mateo almost knocked over all the drinks. Paul got tipsy and waxed poetic about Asha. Marj was overly competitive at darts. The usual.”

“That’s all?”

It’s an odd response and something in Carlos’ tone makes T.K.’s insides do that fluttery thing they only do for his husband. He cocks his head to the side and looks at him curiously. “I think so. Something on your mind?”

Carlos reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his phone, thumbing open a text and passing it to T.K. It’s a message from Paul with a picture of T.K. at the bar, Alejandro looking appreciatively at him while T.K. smiles back. The text reads, “You better come get your man before somebody else tries to snap him up.”

T.K. is extremely unsuccessful at hiding his smile. He’d intended to share the finer details of the evening with Carlos himself, but hopefully Paul beating him to the punch won’t ruin the fun he’d been planning on from the moment Alejandro had sidled up next to him. “Oh that.”

“Yes that,” Carlos says, taking his phone back. He’s oddly calm, like the stillness that settles into the Austin air right before a storm. It masquerades as peaceful, but there’s an undercurrent of electricity buzzing through the room. T.K.’s heart begins to beat a little faster in anticipation. 

“Care to share what was going on there?” Carlos asks.

“Just some guy in a bar,” T.K. tells him, deeply enjoying where this is about to go. “He was just being friendly.”

“Friendly,” Carlos says. “With my husband.”

T.K. shrugs. “People like me.”

Something flashes in Carlos’ eyes and it sends hot, delicious shivers down T.K.’s spine. “Where was your ring?”

T.K. reaches into his shirt. “Right here.”

He pulls out the chain that holds his 252 medallion, his ring dangling next to it. Always close to his heart, even when he can’t wear it on his finger.

“You didn’t put it back on after work?”

“I must have forgotten,” T.K. tells him, trying for coy and innocent.

Carlos leans forward a little bit, hooking his finger into the chain and using it to draw T.K. toward him. “I think you’re lying to me Tyler.”

“Lying? To my husband? I would never,” T.K. tells him, nearly bursting into laughter and messing up this entire charade.

“I think,” Carlos says, his voice low and dangerous, “that you flirted with that guy in the bar on purpose.”

“Now why,” T.K. says, thrilled that he has Carlos exactly where he wants him, “would I do that?”

“Because,” Carlos says, giving the chain a gentle tug, “you know how it makes me feel. And you like it because you’re a fucking minx.”

“Are you feeling a little jealous husband?” T.K. asks in amusement.

Carlos wraps his entire hand around the chain and pulls T.K. in, lips finding his in a kiss that’s full of teeth and tongue. “I’ll take that as a yes,” T.K. says breathlessly when they come apart.

“You’re damn right I’m jealous.” Carlos practically growls it. “Stop flirting with other men in bars T.K.”

T.K. smiles at him. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Carlos snorts and rolls his eyes. “One night. I stay home for one night and this is how you behave. What am I going to do with you?”

“You could take my clothes off,” T.K. says, aware of the eagerness in his tone. “That would be a good start. Show Alejandro what he has to be jealous of.”

“Oh Alejandro huh?” Carlos asks, already sitting up on his knees and reaching for T.K.’s waist.

“Mhmm, Alejandro.” T.K.’s eyes drop to Carlos’ mouth for a fraction of a second before they come together again, hot and hard and everything T.K. loves.

Carlos rolls him down into the mattress, kissing and kissing and kissing until neither of them can breathe or think clearly. “You’re mine,” Carlos whispers to him, a promise, a certainty. “Not Alejandro’s or anyone else’s.”

“I’m yours,” T.K. promises back. “Only, always yours.”

#Tarlos #I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you #Jealous Carlos #TK Strand #Carlos Reyes #911 Lone Star #911lsfic

[nevesmose]

Nostraman Nature Sucks: An Attempted Lore Post

Ave dominus nox Night Lords fans. I thought I'd take some time to go through the various NL stories I have to hand and see what I could find out about the animals that lived on Nostramo. Might come in useful for something, who knows?

Sharks and Whales

As a child, on several coastal journeys with his father, he had witnessed the eyeless barrasal sharks that would group together to hunt the great whales of the open ocean. (Night Lords Trilogy)

His voice filters into something savage and predatory, as hungry as the eyeless white sharks of Nostramo’s blackest depths. (The Long Night)

Not a big surprise since they talk about them fairly often and have the Space Sharks as a successor chapter but Nostramo does have sharks. Pretty gnarly-sounding sharks if I'm honest.

I didn't know what "barrasal" meant, so I looked it up and only found one thread on r/40klore that had the same quote in it as above. Hmm.

Assuming it's not a typo or a more straightforward reference to something I'm just not getting, I'd venture a guess that barrasal, understood here to mean of or relating to "barras" like with "abyssal" could be connected to the French Revolutionary leader Paul Barras who is mostly remembered for supporting Napoleon's rise to power before being overthrown by him.

So maybe the older barrasal sharks will make use of younger ones as temporary hunting partners only to be inevitably betrayed and consumed by them. Sounds about right I think.

As for the whales, where do I even begin? I would imagine they're "whales" in name only like in Dishonored:

This does imply the possible existence of a whaling industry at some stage in Nostramo's history, though.

Crows

Jago reached into his pockets, offering a handful of breadcrumbs. Come, he said to the crows. Food for tonight. Flesh, flesh, flesh, they called back. He laughed as several of the black birds landed on his shoulders and outstretched arm. (Prince Of Crows)

‘Yes. I’ve seen them in books. Is a crow a type of bird?’ ‘Black of feather and dark of eye. It feeds on the bodies of the dead, and sings in a raw, croaking caw.’ (TLN)

Breaking news - legion that keeps referring to crows in shocking has crows on its homeworld scandal. "This is outrageous," said local Nostraman cutpurse and skin disease enthusiast Verxaglryn Quickstabber, "here we are trying to make a good name for Nostramo as a respectable hellhole, a place you'd be proud to exile your worst enemy to, and yet we're surrounded by some of the most intelligent and curious birds in existence. I was shanking someone in a back alley the other night and suddenly I saw a crow learning how to use rudimentary tools! Not on my watch, I said to the rapidly cooling body, and I threw my shiv at it. But it just flew away." At this point Mr Quickstabber was obliged to end the interview due to having been eviscerated by the Night Haunter.

I know their communication with Sevatar is happening in a dream but I really like the idea of the crows adapting to Nostramo by developing some kind of psychic hive mind that's also able to be understood by human psykers.

Crag Cougars

A beast of my home world. When next you see one of the Atramentar, look to their shoulder guards. The roaring lions on their pauldrons are what we called crag cougars on Nostramo. It was considered a mark of wealth for gang bosses to be able to leave the cities and hunt such creatures. (NLT)

Every single one of them is Scar from the Lion King, isn't it? An interesting hint about Nostramo's geography though, of which more later.

Rats

Groundcars whisked by, headlights brighter than deep-hive rats’ eyes, the occupants snug and safe behind armoured glass. (Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter)

No surprises here either. Where there's people there's rats after all.

Something with tusks?

The older Astartes grinned, wolf-like and keen, as the Atramentar either side of the Exalted’s throne growled through their tusked helms. (NLT)

This isn't that conclusive because a lot of Chaos Terminators have tusks no matter what legion they are, but Nostramo being Nostramo they probably belonged to a species of giant carnivorous mammoth that ate babies and sprayed acid from its trunk.

Cows? On My Sunless World?

‘They are still of standard human stock, and not to be mourned. What does it matter if the cattle fear the herdsman?’ hissed Krukesh the Pale. (KC:TNH)

This one's a real reach on my part as it's very likely just a turn of phrase, but I noticed it because wouldn't it be slightly more typical to use a sheep metaphor here? Plus it supports the existence of Nostraman cowboys/ranchers/vaqueros which is fun.

No bats?

His helmet bore a new, spread batwing crest in blatant imitation of Sevatar’s own. (A Safe and Shadowed Place)

A sole space was neat: a circle around an iron lectern fashioned in the form of a bat’s outflung wings, which carried a heavy book bound in human skin. (KC:TNH)

Although they appear a lot in the VIII legion's iconography and artwork, oddly enough I wasn't actually able to find a direct reference to Nostramo itself having bats. Let's cover my ass by saying this aspect might therefore have been brought in by the legion's Terran component instead.

Some Nostraman geography

The Hill Folk lived away from the cities, eking out an existence in the mountains. (NLT)

What's worse than living in a Nostraman city? Living on a Nostraman hill, apparently. This seems to just be an idea of ADB's that doesn't come up again but I've always found it quite interesting. Were the Hill Folk as scummy as the City Folk, just with more of a down-home Dukes of Hazzard vibe? Seems likely.

This also supports the idea of Nostramo not being completely urbanised like some Hive Worlds are. In my view its continents might have had a geographical layout a bit like Italy or Scotland where the cities are mainly on the flatter coasts with a more sparsely populated hilly/mountainous interior.

What else? (This part is just me making stuff up so feel free to ignore it. I'm not ADB, I'm not even ADB's hat.)

If the rest of Nostramo's marine life is anything like the sharks and whales then it's fucking terrifying. I would imagine, because it's funny, that a lot of Nostraman food features disgusting industrially-processed fish in some way or another. Like the food in Dishonored but even worse.

Is something wrong, dearest offworld husband? You haven't touched your stale bread, whalemeat and jellied eels.

Since all life on Nostramo seems to be comically carnivorous and aggressive, it would make sense in a 40K kind of way for there to be giant predatory penguins living at one or both of its poles. A bit like the monstrous blind albino penguins HP Lovecraft wrote about.

Last known infrared pict-capture of an early Nostraman settler attempting communication with a juvenile specimen of the native penguin species. There were no survivors.

#ended up mentioning Dishonored a lot #fine by me I love Dishonored #shall we gather for whisky and cigars tonight? #warhammer lore #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #night lords #nostramo #neves loreposts

[lifeontoast]

Super Freak

 

Aged up!Dwayne Hoover x reader (gender neutral reader – no pronouns used)

 

SUMMARY: Dwayne finally lets loose at Olive’s pageant, and admits something he never thought he would. Dwayne is aged up.

 

Word count: 1.6k

 

A/N: thank you lovely anon for this request! Hope you like it :) Feel free to drop me any other Paul Dano requests if you have them.

 

Trigger warnings: character death (canon)

 

…

You were friends with the Hoovers.

 

That was the understatement of the century. You were practically their third child, the amount of time you spent at their place.

 

At first, it started as babysitting Olive when her parents were busy. You lived nearby, and were known to be extremely trustworthy and so were an obvious choice. Olive took such a shine to you that she began to look for excuses for her parents to go out just so you could come around; Sheryl was happy to oblige with this, as she knew she could trust you and was happy to have some time with her husband when they were normally both so busy.

 

Sheryl had invited you for dinner one day, the day that Olive got the call about the Little Miss Sunshine pageant. Of course, you were super happy for her, and gave her a big hug and a smile. Of course, she was going to go, and win it to boot. But then came the logistics. Sheryl didn’t feel comfortable leaving Dwayne alone with Frank, so she begged him to come.

 

Now little did you know, but Dwayne had also taken a shine to you when you came to babysit. He saw how you were willing to do anything, play any game with Olive and he loved it. He secretly loved his little sister with all his heart, and was happy to see her happy. Though he never said a word, the two of you communicated occasionally through small smiles and nods. Dwayne hoped that one day he would pluck up the courage to actually “talk” to the gorgeous babysitter. Not that it would matter if he did or not, of course; there was no way you liked him back. Right?

 

One day, when you were over babysitting, he was just sitting on his bed reading Nietzsche, he heard music coming from the living room. He quietly made his way to the source of the sound, purely out of curiosity. Here’s what he saw: you and Olive dancing around the living room without a care in the world. You were happy and laughing together, and Dwayne thought it was one of the most wonderful things he’d ever witnessed. You caught his eyes and smiled a big, beautiful smile. Just for him. It was then that he knew he was in love with you.

 

Anyway, Sheryl was uncomfortable leaving Dwayne alone with Frank, so she begged him to come with them to the pageant. He shook his head strongly, looking disgusted. Just because he loved his sister didn’t mean that he was willing to go and watch a bunch of 7 year olds flaunt themselves on stage in front of a crowd of adults, being judged on their every move. He found it appalling. Wrong, even. She kept pleading, and Dwayne could only think of one thing that would make him not hate every second. He took out his pad and pen, looked his mother in the eye, and wrote one sentence on the pad:

 

Only if Y/N can come.

 

Her eyes widened a little when she saw what was written, but she knew there was no other way. She thought the request was for Olive’s sake, as she adored you - Sheryl didn’t even think Dwayne liked you. She didn’t really mind; you were very pleasant company. Little did she know, the request was purely for Dwayne’s own sake. She looked at you, with a slight blush dusting your cheeks as you had caught a glimpse of the notepad.

‘Y/N, honey, would you like to come to the pageant with us?’ She smiled.

‘Yeah, I’d love to, if you’re sure that’s okay?’ You replied.

‘Of course it is!’ Sheryl laughed.

She held out a hand for Dwayne to shake. He took it. You risked a quick glance over at Dwayne - he had the ghost of a grin on his face.

 

So, that was how, a little while later, you found yourself in the backseat of a bright yellow VW van, driving to California in the scorching heat.

 

The trip had been filled with drama. Grandpa passed on, Frank bumped into a ghost from his past, Richard lost the book deal of a lifetime, and Dwayne started talking. Ever since he found out he was colour-blind, he had given up on his goal of flight school.

 

When he had his breakdown, you were the first to go and comfort him, due to your kind and compassionate nature. As he heard your running footsteps coming towards him, a ghost of a smile made its way onto his face despite how distraught he felt; when you hugged him tight, he couldn’t help but hug you back. It was like you were made to be in his arms. Him in yours. You just belonged there. It felt so natural, but so strange nonetheless. The girl who he had been harbouring a secret crush on for months was finally hugging him. Just like he had been dreaming of.

 

Eventually, Olive came over and gave her brother a hug too. When he was ready, he made his way back to the van, each of you on one side of him. As you walked, you both felt your hands accidentally brush together. You both blushed and looked away. Olive, unusually observant for a 7-year-old, noticed. She smiled to herself, knowing of your mutual infatuations. She would have to play matchmaker to get you two to realise feelings for each other.

 

Before long, you were at the pageant. After the drama with the late registration, Olive was backstage getting ready. You sat in the lobby with Frank and Dwayne, conversing about one thing or another. Eventually, you found yourselves outside, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair in a very angelic fashion (thought Dwayne). His own black hair was blowing gently too, and even under the long, raven strands you could see the grin evident on his face. Frank stood back and allowed you two to discreetly gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, still fully unaware of the other’s attractions. You leaned on the railing of the promenade and thought to yourself how it would be a perfect spot for a date with Dwayne. If only he liked you back. Frank saw you looking dreamy and wistful, and he smiled to himself; young love.

‘Hey, Y/N? Dwayne? Should we go back inside?’ he said softly. He hated himself for killing the moment, but the show was about to start.

You nodded in unison and began to wander back to the hotel. Once again, your hands brushed accidentally, and you blushed and grinned shamefully, hardly daring to look at Dwayne for fear that he’d find out your secret.

 

Back in the hotel, the pageant was a disaster. Dwayne had made clear his disdain for the event, and now he sat, stony-faced, in the audience. Next to you. You felt your heart flutter as he sat so close; the smallness of the room meant that all the chairs had to be crammed together to fit them all in. You’d never been so near to him. You felt the gentle heat from his skinny but definitely muscular arms, and, glancing up at his face, you felt your heart burst. Your love had reached its climax; this was it, you were going to say something. But you didn’t. Because the boy you loved definitely didn’t love you back.

 

The opening bars to ‘Super Freak’ began, and Olive began her dance. You thought it was brilliant, but the judges clearly did not. It was even better than when she had practiced with you. The judges and emcee were trying desperately to get her off the stage, but Olive wasn’t having any of it. The Richard got up on the stage, and one by one, the whole family ran up to the stage to join Olive in support.

 

Finally, it was just you and Dwayne left sitting in the audience. A sudden jolt of adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you grabbed the boy’s hand and ran towards the stage with him. He just looked at you in shock. Once up on the stage, he had no clue what to do, but you led him along. Gradually, he found his feet and surprisingly, he was actually enjoying himself. On a stage, in front of a hundred strangers, dancing with his sister’s babysitter. That was not something he thought he’d be doing when he woke up this morning! He looked over at you, and you were smiling at him. Again. He felt a flutter in his stomach, and suddenly Dwayne couldn’t deny his feelings for you any longer. He took you in his arms and spun you around. You just blushed; your heart beating madly. He pulled you close to him, and looked deep into your eyes; every person in the room except you two vanished. He placed a gentle kiss on your blushing cheek, and smiled. You couldn’t believe your luck – Dwayne Hoover was kissing you! He seemed to gain courage, and, leaning into your ear, he whispered three little words:

‘I love you.’

 

The song finished, and the family turned to look at the two of you, blushing and grinning in each other’s arms. Frank just laughed. He knew it had to happen eventually.

 

…

 

A/N: as usual, thanks so much for reading! You guys rock! Once again, feel free to drop me any other Paul requests if you have them.

#lifeontoast #paul dano #danonation #danocel #danonator #dwayne hoover #dwayne hoover x reader #little miss sunshine

[harrisonarchive]

In Florida, November 1970. Photos via Meet The Beatles For Real.

“We were really determined to find him. From various sources, we had learned that George Harrison was somewhere in the Deerfield area. We cordoned off a five-block area and patiently began our search. Claudette Cyr, Beatle fan Club president for Florida, went over to the area to investigate personally while I was on the phone. She got several leads, many bad answers and enough suspicion for us to know the rumor was true. We drove to the place later at night and went about looking at all the places she had selected as likely spots. No luck in any of them. Disappointed, we decided on one more sweep by the beach. Standing on the beach we saw four long-haired figures and I figured they must have been looking for Harrison too. We asked them and got negative responses and strangely, no interest. Once in the car, I told Claudette I thought one of those people was indeed George. She thought I was crazy. Back we went and this time we saw them walking through a parking lot. I aimed the car lights on them. George and Patti[e] Harrison and two aides. I jumped out of the car and told him, ‘George Harrison, nice thing to do. We have been searching for you for almost two days and you are dodge us.’ He smiled and our conversation began. We asked him about the breakup of the Beatles and about Paul McCartney’s departure. He replied in a non-committal sort of way. He compared the Beatles after so many years to four guys in jail, trapped in an image and trying to break out. The new album was also a topic. He expects it to be released within the next few days. Included in the album are 25 songs.[…] About the fans (us included) he was grateful but worried the place where he was staying might be discovered. ‘I am not famous anymore. I am not Beatle George anymore. If I wanted to hear screaming I would play Shea Stadium. But I don’t. I am George Harrison, a musician. That’s all.’ George was in Florida to rest and relax. He plans to come back. His wife, Patti[e], was with him. She remained silent all throughout our conversation. She wore no makeup at all. Patti[e] used to be a top model before marrying Harrison, and her face has a way of lighting up when George says something. She smiles a lot. I have talked to pop people before in my position as entertainment editor for The Phoenix Broward Community College’s newspaper. Harrison’s honesty struck me as being out of this world. Here we were, intruding in his private life, and he took the time to talk to us, sign his autograph, and make some memories we will never forget.” - "BCC Editor 'Traps' A Beatle - George Harrison Stops To Chat," by Ruben Betancourt, Fort Lauderdale News, November 21, 1970

“[George] told [Adria, Tom Petty’s daughter] something that he had never mentioned to me, which is that he had a cousin from Florida who reminded him of me. Before George was really settled at Friar Park, he and this Florida cousin would sleep in every room in this, well, this castle, trying to figure out which one had the best vibe and ought to be the bedroom.” - Tom Petty, Runnin’ Down A Dream (2007) (x)

More about these photos, via the comments section of the Meet The Beatles For Real post:

"A friend of the family pulled up in a station wagon with the mountain lion that day. I was living at the apt. complex owned by George'd uncle (Gregg Apts.). We all had a fun picnic that day." - anonymous [x]

#George Harrison #Pattie Boyd #quote #quotes about George #quotes by George #George and Pattie #All Things Must Pass #The Beatles #George and fame #fan recollections #fan recollections: 1970s #Tom Petty #et al. #The Traveling Wilburys #George and Tom Petty #fits queue like a glove

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Four

"Lennon's late again" says Paul, as he walks in late. And sweet Ringo just gently, "between ten and eleven is the time" Which means: "Chill babe. He'll be here."

One thing that always gob smacks me is how bored George and Ringo are watching Paul pull Get Back out of the ether. They literally see him do this shit all the time which is insane to me.

His voice is so so so pretty!!! And he's just so completely in his own world. The hunched shoulders. The twitching. The gibberish. The tapping. The twisting.

Obviously this is a song with the original central feeling being let's go back to before everything went wrong but he wants to make it into a meaningless song with both story bits and almost walrus-esque bits. But why is the first lyric he comes up with about gender? Thinking of @scurators posts on Paul and gender.

Ringo's customary quiet really does add significance to his voice, so him singing along with this so quickly says something I think about his support for the song and for Paul in general.

When John walks in he's greeted with a little cocky nod and smile like "look what I've just done while you were late." And then Paul sings "get back to where you once belonged" directly at him before breaking the eye contact. It's one of those heartbreaking Lennon/McCartney miscommunications because Paul is doing this to get John back, but actually it's scaring him away, you know? Paul thinks he has to prove to John how good he is, but John's exhausted with how good Paul is.

STFU Michael Lindsay Hogg

Paul really does love the idea of being forced out of parliament by cops and honestly so do I. Would've been iconic and might've kept them together.

John's so quiet today and also Yoko is not here. Correlation or causation I wonder.

"They say don't they say charity begins at home?" I love you forever, George. His humor is always so well-placed and so dry (even though he's clearly cracking himself up here). And it steers the conversation away from a direction he was not happy with without poking any bears. In fact, everyone's laughing. Clever boy.

"I've decided that the whole point of it is communication. And to be on TV is communication and we've got a chance to smile at people like all you need is love or something so that's me incentive for doing it." Wise, egalitarian John making a lovely appearance.

And then there's Paul. "I'm here cause I wanna do a show." Lol I love them.

Why do they say "Mr Epstein?" Is it because they're on camera and they want people to know who they're talking about? Does it have something to do with the maharishi telling them certain ways to talk about Brian? Does anyone have any thoughts about that?

Okay so you know how I just said last time how emotionally mature George was? I still think it's generally more true of him than the others, but this right here? This is not it. "I don't want to do any of my songs in the show because they'll all just turn out shitty." Man has issues.

I think it's important to recognize that George and Paul have both said the literal word "divorce" and it's NBD. But when John does it, Paul takes it as "the groups really over and I have to go into hiding and not get out of bed and maybe od who knows." Why? There's another puzzle piece here that we're missing.

"Should we leave you for a while?" "YES!"

On the one hand I'm like "working on Maxwell is the last thing you guys should be doing with this time alone." But on the other thing maybe it's the only thing they can do at this point.

"Mal? You should get a hammer. And an anvil." As he's walking away. Main character in a contrived mad genius biopic. Except it's real.

"Joan" sounding suspiciously like "John" ... And then he goes "fool, Maxwell fool." Aka one of their ~special words~ New theory. John hates Maxwell because he dies in it. And Paul's the killer.

"Take it away Johnny." Even though it was George and John whistling before wasn't it? Did George get cut from the whistle chorus? Another straw on the camel's back.

I LOVE that John just does not know any of his own songs. Across the Universe my beloved!

On the glyn/Paul moment featured below, I have three thoughts. 1. Whore. 2. John Lennon villain origin story. 3. The fact that glyn didn't just tell John is striking.

"I wish it fucking would". "Cause I'm down." This lyric going from a self-soothing reassurance that his people aren't going to leave him that he'll always have this beautiful dream he's created with them. To this? I hate it here.

So there is a big emotional and energy difference between their Beatlemania selves singing "Rock and Roll Music" and their current selves. And part of it is due to the fact that they're just not as happy as they were then. But I think most of it is really just that they thrive when they're performing for an audience.

#Sorry for the scarcity of shitty pics to break up the block of text in this one. #Hopefully the next one will be better #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #Get back

[jesncin]

I know you said at some point that you had zero idea on how to put your own stamp on the Bat Rouges, and that does sound super difficult I feel like I have a few suggestions for the big 4 (Joker, Riddler, Selina, and Penguin) at least.

Joker - Follow B:TAS, bits of the 1989 film. In addition to actually being funny yet scary (especially B:TAS) those takes on the man were ex-mafiosi. Do what you will with the concept of Joker once being in the mob.

Riddler - He's an actual genius, but he's also an attention seeking narcissist, and the Arkham games the man has a case of megalomania, so maybe have him at some point move some operations to metropolis. Basically make the man an honorary Superman villain. He HAS worked alongside Lex in the silver age and in SOME comics, so like a Riddler-Lex team up could be in the air.

Catwoman/Selina - This is a free box so long as she remains a thief within the grey area of morality.

Penguin - Another free box honestly because Oswald has been redone a LOT, though I recommend going back to some earlier comics and some modern stuff to distill his essence.

While I appreciate the suggestions, I feel like I'm not clear enough with communicating why I struggle doing a reimagining of the bat rogues. So to put it plainly, when I do a re-mix: I need a thesis (a story to tell). I usually form a thesis if I find a narrative opportunity or I'm dissatisfied with how the character is handled in canon. That thesis will then fuel the story and design interpretation of that character.

Lately I've been reimagining Conner Kent/Superboy because I feel in canon after his initial debut in Reign of Supermen, Conner struggles being overshadowed by Jon Kent Superboy or Superman's legacy. DC doesn't know where to place him or what to do with him after his Lex Luthor-Superman-clone origin as a solo. Much of the later additions to Superfam don't feel as politically motivated as Clark would later be interpreted as (with the exception of Kong). So I wanted to create an origin that helps Conner stand on his own, be a uniquely different experience to Clark, and place him somewhere new after his origin is revealed- that adds longevity to his narrative. That's how my Paul Westfield/Conner Luthor version is created, from that thesis.

And that's my approach with all the characters I've done so far too. I wanted to tackle Martian Manhunter's ableist lore, or I wanted to reinforce the immigrant allegory in the Clois dynamic, or revitalize Superman rogues because they're underappreciated (Livewire), or I wanted the evil robot to be more gender (Brainiac). When I get suggestions to just follow what works, that's not creatively fulfilling for me.

Stuff that gets the gears in my brain turning are when I see fans passionately talking about but also being critical of characters they love. Like this Scarecrow video! It opened my eyes to how underutilized and undeveloped a character Scarecrow is (who I previously thought was popular). That's the kind of thing that gets me excited to pitch an interpretation on a character!

And lastly! I really don't want to crossover Batrogues into other hero's worlds where I can. I've done it sometimes sure, but only when there's a story to tell. Rogues are created to tackle a specific superhero's abilities and themes. A superhero crossing over rogues too often (especially with the Bat rogues, I get it they're the best rogues gallery in the business) feels like the creator lacks confidence in that hero's own rogues gallery. I'd rather revitalize a hero's rogues gallery than have My Adventures With Other People's Rogues Gallery. Amirite, MAWS.

#askjesncin #me regurgitating canon/popular takes would not be fun for yall but most importantly it wouldn't be fun for me lol #i saw one fan post critical of modern johnstantine and the gears in my head are turning already #popular/good takes help me understand a character but it doesn't always inspire me to remix them.

[iheartjohnlennon]

'Any time at all, any time at all'

NYC, '65

Summary: The two times Paul simply can't control himself.

Word count: 2,631

Tags: Smut, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex

Paul simply couldn't resist his insatiable nature, not even in such a hushed and professional setting. He sort of thrived in settings like this she thought, places where there was a risk, a clamp on him. In fact, there might've well been a clamp on him, he would've been better off that way.

His desire for her was overwhelming, that was undeniable. 

The backstage room was greatly engaged with the group and their entourage, all sorts was going on. It made her head spin. The business centred around the group would've seemed nonsensical to the average person, it was nonsensical to the average person. All this bustle for one small interview? Who'd ever heard of such a thing?

She could feel his yearning for her growing stronger with each passing moment. 

Though she often reminded him of a need for discretion, he was essentially uncontrollable, unable to control himself when he needed it badly. 

With a deviant gesture, he beckoned for her to join him on the single sofa he was seated on. He communicated it with his eyes and his hands, it was a sly little gesture, one he'd done many times. 

She tried to ignore it at first, as she knew exactly his intentions, she couldn't facilitate them, not in such a time and place. But he'd find a way somehow, he always did. A way to ruin any decorum she dreamed of holding onto just for the sake of himself. 

She still followed his silent summons, as she would. 

She found herself seated on his lap comfortably, his arms were wrapped around her moderately tightly. It had an effect, an effect that seemed to make the atmosphere fade away like he and his touch was the only thing in the world. 

His lips began to graze her neck with tender, wet kisses, they merely teased her; tickled her. He left a soft trail of them along her neck, they lingered and left a delightful sensation in their wake. She couldn't help but giggle girlishly at the feeling, he knew he had gotten into her head when she squirmed in his arms. 

"Oh, you like tha'? Hm?" 

As the warmth of his breath caressed her neck further, a sense of anxiety found its way to her. 

His mild touch predictably became more fervent, his kisses grew bolder and expanded from the crease of her neck to her jaw. Paul was tasting her with every fibre of his being, his tongue moved with integrity against her neck. 

"Mmm...!"

He made the most comical noises too, like it was some sort of game, maybe it was. 

His lips moved rougher when he captured sensitive places. He incorporated his teeth into it, nipping and pinching. She made involuntary noises. He hugged her chest and giggled into her, moving her around. The way she tried to inch away amused him to no end. 

"Paul...stop..."

"Hm?"

He was sucking her neck now, harder than before. It made vulgar noises, it was an unreal sensation though. But one she'd rather have in private. 

"Stop..."

"Hm?"

"We're in public..." She reasoned ever so sweetly. 

"I know."

A gasp escaped her lips as he got feral, clearly wanting to leave some sort of mark. That was annoying. 

The sounds she let out betrayed her. It was only a gasp, although it didn't go unnoticed. In that lapse of judgement, she caught George's gaze, he wasn't too far away, and his eyes ever so slightly lingered on the scene. He seemed to look away abashedly. 

"Paul."

A strong embarrassment flushed over her. The reminder that she was still somewhere public sent a tinge of discomfort through her senses.

She hastily made an effort to avoid everyone in the room's eyes, trying to snap out of whatever trance Paul had put her under. 

He, on the other hand, found more amusement in the situation, he couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. He saw her embarrassment as a challenge, a chance to delve even deeper. To him, the reaction was all a part of the thrill. He found her ear again, "Don't you worry about him, love." 

She became more self-aware as he grew more desperate, she found the strength to move his head away. But his hands weren't any different to his lips, his hands also seemed to be doing too much. He gave her squeezes that were borderline pornographic, one hand loitered just below her arse. 

"Jus' a little bit.." 

She shifted his roaming hands away from any erogenous areas. His hands found their rightful place on her waist. 

He moved his mouth to her ear, his voice laden with amour, "I jus' carn't get enough of ya, please, 'm on the brink of madness." It was a warm murmur but one which uttered sheer ridiculousness. Actions clearly spoke louder than words as he pulled her closer into his lap, grinding against her bottom, satiating his stiffness. He couldn't bear to have any space between her and his crotch. 

She turned to face him, "It's too early for this, don't you think?" She spoke softly, her voice had a certain concern. Ignoring her protest, he just smiled, determined to have her even closer. 

"Why can ya never jus' enjoy the moment Y/N, hm?" His question dared her to resist. The feeling of his clothed hardness only heightened the moment, every effort she made to shift away only satisfied him further. 

The interview loomed closer as staff started to come up to him. It was inevitable that he would have to go soon. 

He reluctantly pulled away from her, a pout on his face. 

Paul gave a discreet nod and a final smirk as he was led away.

He had managed to compose himself perfectly, reverting to his role. 

He looked back before he walked out of the door. An unspoken agreement was made and it said, he would see her later.

*

After the interview concluded she avoided the small crowds as best as she could. The room was abuzz, of course it was, but her attention was focused solely on finding him. She wondered where he would've disappeared off to, considering he had even more trivial press-related things to do. 

The hallway was fairly barren, it was narrow too, adorned with doors on either side, maybe Paul was in one of them. 

She bumped into John once or twice and tried to ask him where Paul could've gone, he gave a funny look. 

She retreated to the main room and found herself amid the bustling room, a subtle unease settling over her. 

"Hey, are ye okay?" George questioned. His gaze seemed to momentarily avoid hers, hinting at the awkwardness.

She mustered a coy smile, thinking highly of his concern as she replied, "I'm fine, just needed a moment to gather my thoughts I suppose."

That was a lie, she seemed to be doing the contrary as she stood there flustered. 

George nodded, understanding the need for a breather, "I know s'all a bit hectic, suppose it's the price we have to pay, aye?"

She nodded in agreement. 

There was a stark distinction between George and Paul. Paul seemed abrasive now she chatted with George. There was a serene sense of confidence about him, it was a refreshing respite from Paul's intensity. 

"Paul's left ye all alone?" He teased. 

A chuckle escaped her lips, and that comment caught her off guard. She glanced around, seeing Paul was still nowhere to be seen. "Seems like it," she replied. 

"Suppose yer all mine for now." 

She couldn't help but laugh at his cheekiness, it eased any lingering tension.

"Suppose I can't complain."

She was surprised no one had swept him away from her at this point. 

George decided to mention something, his eyes met hers briefly before returning to the surroundings again. "Are ye plannin' to attend the party tonight?" he asked. 

"Not sure." She replied, her eyes flitting away from his. 

George simply nodded, understanding the hesitation, kind of. 

"Aye, I know it can be...too much, all these events and gatherings." He remarked with a wistful smile. 

The thought of attending the party with Paul stuck in your mind, knowing he would probably extend the invitation. 

Paul materialised into her periphery vision, an inscrutable look on his face.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind, wondering if what she saw was a hint of jealousy or whatever other emotion was akin to it. 

She convened a warm smile and greeted him, "Paul! How was the interview?" 

Paul's response was nothing more than a brief nod, his eyes fixed on her. There was a touch of suspense in his expression, a silent disapproval that she couldn't quite decipher. 

Uncertain about Paul's reaction, she couldn't help but feel a weird sort of guilt. Was she crossing some invisible line Paul had drawn?

She desperately searched for an explanation, but all she could gather was that Paul's presence had disrupted the easy rapport she had shared with George.

She broke the unwarranted silence, "Is everything alright?" 

"Jus' wonderin' where you've been all this time is all."

"You mean where have you been hiding all this time?" She countered. 

Paul didn't react with any laughter, he just reached a hand out to her, his expression bland and unreadable.

"C'mon," he said. 

She barely even got a chance to glance back at the younger boy, but when she did he had a bashful look on his face. 

"Goodbye, George!" 

Without wasting a moment, he led her away. She made an effort to trail him as discreetly as possible, she didn't want to be seen entering any enclosed space with him. 

His excitement became palpable, he didn't even greet her properly. Disarray and reluctance filled her mind as she realised where this was going.

She knew all too well that Paul was up to no good. But against her better judgment, she still followed. 

"What on earth has gotten into you, Paul?"

He turned to her, then turned back just as quickly. 

"You want this. Trust me."

The first part of that sentence wasn't even a question, though it very well should've been. 

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his audacious remark, "What makes you so sure?" She retorted that but she knew she couldn't fool him. 

Paul's grip on her wrist tightened, and his height made her feel even more submissive than before. 

He began in a low husk, "I know ya want me to fuck you, y'know 'm more than happy to oblige."

He was so awfully forward and she didn't know why. 

Paul couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. While he knew deep down that their connection was primarily physical, a part of him couldn't deny the odd pull he felt towards her. In his mind, he pondered their dynamic, recognizing the stark contrast between them. While he held no expectations of anything serious, he couldn't deny that being around her stirred something within him. She seemed unaware of the effect she had on him, unaware of the way he felt when he was near her. It was a strange thing they shared, where physical attraction took precedence, and emotional entanglements were deliberately avoided and only stumbled upon by vulnerability.

For Paul, it was a delicate balance. He enjoyed the moments, she was definitely a great shag but he couldn't allow himself to become too invested. He reminded himself that she was not someone he could take seriously, not for as long as she was here. 

He shoved her into a secluded closet, it was fairly big, and the air felt compact. It was like he knew exactly which one to choose like there was a pre-planned intent behind it, she wouldn't be surprised. 

Despite the space, he insisted on being toe-to-toe with her, leaving her no room to even move against him. 

He shut the door behind him. 

"I jus' couldn't resist ya, could I?" He asked dreamily. 

The heat of his body was flush against hers, it was deliciously unbearable. It made her feel as if the walls themselves were closing in on her. 

On a whim, she tried to convince him this wasn't the right place, hoping he would give into reason. But Paul had other ideas, he seemed determined, even in such a cramped space. 

She finally met his eyes, it was initiated by him lifting her chin.

He got close. 

"Why go anywhere else?" Paul muttered. "No one will see us lovely.." He had a sing-songy tone in his second sentence like he was taunting her but he had been already as it were. 

He moved a hand to palm her arse, and as he did so her skirt came up.

With a specific glint in his eyes, his voice lowered to a seductive whisper. He got down on one knee and looked up with faux innocence. "Lemme undress you love." His hands moved to the waistband of her tights. He slowly peeled the tights off of her legs, uncovering her bare skin. 

Once the tights were discarded, Paul's attention was shifted to the next barrier. His hands trailed up her thighs, his touch was possessive. With a gentle tug, he slid her panties down, the lace brushed against her. She still had her skirt on yet felt completely exposed. 

With an intensity that couldn't be denied, Paul stood up to unbuckle his trousers, he shifted them down to his ankles. He didn't waste any time getting his underwear down either, his hardened cock was in his grip, and he stroked himself off gently.

With the necessary articles of clothing discarded, he instructed her to lie back on the floor.

Paul positioned himself between her parted legs, whatever was around her faded into bleak insignificance. He unbuttoned her blouse halfway.

He teased her hole with his tip, they ached against each other. With each brush and gentle press, she endured a comforting torture. 

He leaned down and rumoured, "Imagine, imagine if someone catches us like this. Imagine wha' they'd think of you."

Paul began with purposeful and sluggish movements. He rested on his forearms as he slid in and out of her heat. She whimpered tenderly whenever he got a bit faster. Her legs wrapped him closer, drawing him deeper, the sense that the damp friction of their heats made caused her to quiver.  

He lifted himself, digging his fingers into her delicate hip flesh. 

With a substantial clasp on her waist, he lifted her pelvis off the floor, adding a new dimension to it all. 

Her legs found their balance, her toes curled as she vividly received his strokes. The motion of push and pull made her walls engulf him tighter and tighter. 

She couldn't contain herself, and a throaty moan fled her mouth, a few of them actually. 

Her back arched sensually, the elevated angle felt made-up. Paul only intensified his movements, focusing on that remote sweet zone that drove her wild. 

"Righ' there?"

Her natural warmth and constriction created a viscous slickness with each thrust. The sound of them meeting in the middle was provocative.

Paul was attuned to everything and took delight in it. 

"Yer so wet for me, Y/N." 

As it continued, Paul's pace became increasingly more relentless, each thrust more forceful than the last. The back of her head shifted against the floor, her hair was going to look like a bird's nest by the time this was done. She instinctively placed her hands firmly against his abdomen, seeking an anchor.

Paul let go of her as he felt himself on the brink of ending.

She squirmed, amid her orgasm. 

He pulled out of her heat promptly yet reluctantly and wanked himself off before releasing his load across her waistline. 

#paul mccartney x reader #the beatles #60s rock #the beatles imagine #the beatles smuts #the beatles x reader #john lennon #vintage #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #Spotify