#Baby's Got Back

[waveofahand]

On Paul “going commando”

There are a number of photographs of Paul McCartney that prove not only did the boy like his inseams high and tight but that he also went without drawers quite a lot. Possibly, this is because he wore his pants so tight there was no room for them, but I’ve often thought, well, that’s not terribly sanitary or thoughtful to the wardrobe people. Still. It really does look to me like the only time he dependably wore underwear was when filming movies. Probably was forced to. 

I’m going to share several pics that bear out my thinking but this one first. Because it surprised me. This is 1965, as they were getting into their suits for the Shea Stadium concert. One of the Beatles must held up a camera -- knowing Paul’s proclivities -- and dared him to disrobe for it. Paul seems to dare them right back. “Go ahead, take the pic, I dare ya!” A game of chicken, so to speak.

At first glance, one thinks he’s unzipped and showing off his tighty whitey. But... on closer inspection, one sees that... oh... something has been WHITED OUT in that picture! You can confirm it because part of his middle fingertip is also under the white. 

Just look UNDER the white smears (which are NOT fabric, but drawn in). You can see the human flesh beneath. 

And there you have it. Whoever dared him, got the full frontal treatment. Paul McCartney clearly had no insecurities about his manhood. A few more “commando” shots where we see no indication of a brief line -- or that there was room for underpants: 

The jury is out o this one. There MIGHT be a faint pantyline... maybe.

Jury is also out on this one. I think he’s commando. Thoughts? 

FINALLY! A CLEAR PANTY LINE! And it looks like they needed to add a side panel to fit it! 

Ridiculous, beautiful, nasty commando boy. I know people call him “the most baby of all times” (and I think that’s probably right) but some others call him a “slut” and... well... I’m going to just say he’s a man comfortable in his own skin, probably promiscuous, who liked to get himself teased a little with his own frictions throughout the day.  One more for posterity. Or... posteriority! 

[bruciemilf]

Alfred honestly can’t say shit about Bruce bringing in strays, because what if the Waynes got him the same way?

I genuinely can’t recall HOW Alfred, British special forces extraordinaire, ended up working for Gotham’s (scary) sweethearts.

In my mind, he came to them bleeding.

There’s a tang of bitterness pooling in his gut. Soldiers don’t have friends. They have guns. And he’s all out.

Just when Alfred thought all is in peril, a tiny little hand gently covers a nasty bullet hole on his abdomen.

The first thing Alfred thinks about is: ‘Jesus, this kid has scary eyes.’

“Hi, Alfred.”

“…How do you—“

“Bruce! Jesus FUCKING Christ, I swear, I’m not paying for your ransom next time you run o—…What the fuck is that?”

If there’s one thing about Thomas that Alfred will never forget is his voice; The bass , so chasmic and powerful it could shake the whole world, and the burning care in his eyes despite his vulgarity.

Bruce, — who’s the tiniest bundle of a boy Alfred witnessed, is yanked up by his father’s strong hands, squeezed to his chest carefully. “Hurt,” he says. There’s a tiny, red handprint on Thomas’ shirt.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice,” Thomas mumbling, looking around.

Maybe local gangs? The bullet point is too precise, too calculated. “Who the hell are you?”

Alfred, with his raspy breath, says, “I’m the terribly rude bloke dying on your doorstep, I’m afraid. Alfred Pennyworth. At your service.”

For a guy who’s about to bleed his last, he sounds awfully sarcastic.

“Yeah, wise guy, no one’s dying on my kid’s birthday. Bruce, tell Dotty to prep up the basement. And tell your mama to get my Budlight out of the cooler. Jesus Christ.”

Alfred ends up hoisted on this man’s back. Thomas asks if he has anyone he wants to call? Anyone that’ll come pick him up? Anyone to bury him, if it comes to it.

Alfred whispers he does not.

Thomas sighs. “Well. Kid‘a been asking for a playmate.”

[eroshaven]

[bunnieswithknives]

As much as I love angst I think it would be funny if he just didnt give af

[starrodent]

some guy

[methoughtsphantom]

silly headcannon #2 that Bruce never got the reference that Jason always made of himself being short round (he always thought it was Jason saying he was short) until after he died and Tim, avid Indiana Jones fan made Bruce watch the movies with him, only the man breaks out crying., sobbing, full on breaking down over the two second scene that is Indy ruffling Short Round’s hair as he explains they first met when he caught the kid stealing from him, and then took him under his wing.

[blumineck]

What's the difference between a rogue and bard? Presentation!

If you like this sort of stuff, please go check out the full video on my YouTube! It took me forever to make and I nearly cried about 4 times during the editing/posting process!

And as always, huge thanks to my Patrons for making this stuff possible!

[mydairpercabeth]

Annabeths reaction to Percy being alive

im gasping

[fattylime]

House of Pavus 🥀

[alwaysthequietones]

You're the brave man? I am. But maybe you can call me dad.

[firstprinced]

henry & his big, beautiful, true smile

[hercarisntyours]

transformers go go is reviving me after transformers one tore my heart to shreds, taped it back together, put it in a kiln and threw it off a cliff where those pieces then get destroyed by corrosion and smashed into by a blind shark, WHY ARE THESE SO SOUL SUCKINGLY CUTE

[bunshun88]

[saltofmercury]

"a.m."

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Summary: Early morning scenes, small nightmare.

Author's note: HOLY CRAP it's been a while! I haven't written anything in almost a YEAR. I'm glad that I've finally got a lil kick of writing back in me :) This is something small I wrote back in May just to get the gears working again.

"a.m."

You can hear his breathing to your left. 

Morning is just peeking through– a soft gloom enveloping your room. You’re not sure what time he got in, or how he got in this time.

“Why do you even have a key?” you ask when he unlocks the balcony window.

“In case you’re not home to unlock it for me.” He smiles big and wide, stripping the weapons aside.

It’s become a running joke to you both on how he decides to enter your apartment.

Your eyes shoot open. There’s a mountain of pillows surrounding you, warm blankets on top of you. The room is dimly lit from streetlights. You're almost sure it hasn't been a full 8 hours and yet—- your body is telling you to wake up.

You turn towards him. You almost never get to see this side of him. His breathing, slow and rhythmic. He looks so much younger when he’s relaxed. He takes over most of the bed. Arms curled above him, he’s wrapped most of the top blanket around him.

The scar below his left eye is raised, his lips are puckered out. A soft moan escapes his lips, then his body twitches. You’re on high alert.

Nightmares aren’t new. The first couple of nights that he decided to stay over your apartment, you were woken up by whimpers and sudden movements. You would sometimes catch them before he woke up and carefully soothe him back to sleep– rubbing his cheek, placing kisses along his face. Whispering careful “i love you’s” and “you’re alright i’m here now”

By morning, it was like nothing happened at all.

For him, though he may never admit it, it was nice to experience vulnerability. The constant battle he has to get a full night's rest. A plague that encases him at night.

You move closer, placing your hand on his cheek, tracing the scar with your thumb. You place a kiss on his forehead between his brows, then over the scar on his cheek. 

“You’re alright, you’re okay” you murmur.

An exhale — 

his face contorts a bit, brows furrow, then an inhale through his nose.

A hand cups your elbow, rubbing side to side. He’s fighting sleep. His eyes try to peel open.

“What time is it?” His voice, low and groggy.

“It’s too early, almost 5 am” You kiss him, apologizing. 

He groans —not even an hour of sleep. 

“Were you having a nightmare?” 

“No, I got in around 4…” He adjusts himself, the bed springs, a yawn escapes. Deflecting the question.

Sleep carefully disintegrates from his eyes. He inhales, and his eyes blink open. He can make your face out in the darkness, the gloom behind you haloing.

His body, heavy with fatigue, he pushes it aside to get closer to you, wrapping himself around you.

Warmth, vanilla, home, love.

“I used the front door today…” he mentions. He's a little proud of himself.

You giggle, adjusting yourself under his chin. His hand pulls you closer, rubbing warmth to your back. His legs warm around you. 

“Wasn’t it so much easier?”

He scoffs, remembering how ridiculous it felt to walk in with his helmet. He had to disable the cameras in the entrance then double check for anyone in the hallway to not scare them off.

“Everyone was asleep… thankfully. I just couldn’t help but think someone would see me, then see me use a key to enter an apartment.”

You smile at how silly it sounds. The Red Hood having an apartment to come home to.

“It’s much better than entering through a balcony window.” you whisper.

He hums, “Entering through a balcony never gave me nightmares.”

Tracing circles on his back, you lull him back to sleep, waiting for his breathing to even out. You whisper more love into his ear, hoping it reaches his subconscious.

[barawrah]

i want us both to eat well

[911-incorrect-quotes-dispatch]

Eddie: Come on, I want to show you something.

*Eddie turns around and walks away*

Buck: Nice!

Eddie: That’s not it, but thank you.