#nearly naked Paul McCartney

[beatlepaul4ever]

That’s more like it. A nearly naked Paul McCartney. How he should be. Always.

[beatleshalloween]

Bait!

Yes I used nearly naked Paul McCartney as bait, to get your attention!

The Beatles Valentine's Day Challenge!

I intentionally left an extra day the 14th open for those who cannot post their stories until that day. I'm aware there are other challenges out there that do not allow you to post prior to that date and I of course want to accommodate you all.

I also would like to let you know that you are allowed to use older work and work you've used for other challenges. I only ask that you not use the same work the following years.

Now with that resume to your regular schedule gawking of men, who could have fathered most of you three times over. No judgement! Enjoy loves!

2x for me, but I'm old. 😉

[uomminecraftsociety]

She’s Leaving Home - The Beatles

One of the main competition to the Kinks were the Beatles. The Beatles were a popular pop band and the emotion of sadness doesn’t necessarily lend itself well to sadness, happiness sells better than sadness.

As a consequence, one would not expect a significant collection of sad songs from the Beatles however their collection is surprisingly large. I feel that the go to track to anyone less familiar with the Beatles would almost certainly be Eleanor Rigby, a track about loneliness or Yesterday, a song about a breakup.

I would argue that while these are sad, these are probably too heavy for the list and if there is any band I can most comfortably introduce people to the saddest songs to, it most certainly is the Beatles.

In My Life is another classic song, remembering the moments which you’ve spent with someone dear to you, of which “some have gone and some remain”. I’d say the remorseful nature of the song doesn’t hold the same heaviness of Eleanor Rigby or Yesterday. However the first time I ever heard the song was at a wedding and while it does acknowledge that some have gone, it does work in the context of a wedding and can, if you look at it the right angle be a track of hope for your wonderful future.

Nowhere Man is about the sense of inadequacy which John Lennon felt and while it certainly is high up on the list and nearly made it to the top spot, I would argue it holds a slightly more deprecating view.

For No One is a song about Paul’s break up with Jane Asher and the original title of Why Did It Die? reflects the attitudes which Paul would have felt at the time. That being said, the title does not reflect the tone of the song as while it is upset, it is not quite so down. The breakup presented is so cold, however the composition is so perfect you can not help but enjoy the track for how it is played.

Only a Northern Song is a weird track and ultimately doesn’t sound that sad but considering that this was George Harrison writing about his disputes with Lennon-McCartney and their publishing company Northern Songs LTD and how Harrison ultimately felt kept out and not respected for their songwriting abilities, one can empathise with George’s position.

The chronology of the Beatles gets a bit weird with the Beatles on Let It Be and Abbey Road but while Abbey Road was released first, it was actually recorded after the sessions for Let It Be. This means that when you listen to The End, it really was a farewell track, being one of the last tracks they ever recorded, potentially the last track depending on your view on what your view of a last track is. There are not many lyrics behind the track, but rather a solo for each of the Beatles as a final send off, with a line at the end “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make”, a musical goodbye.

The Long and Winding Road is a song written about the breaking up of the Beatles and the tensions that were forming. Paul at that point was desperately trying to hold the band together but ultimately couldn’t get what he wanted in that. This probably hurt McCartney further as it was clear that they were unsatisfied with the final product of the song, with Phil Spector applying his wall of sound among other issues and would be the most altered track on the album when Let It Be (album) was remastered in Let It Be Naked.

I put She’s Leaving Home as the sad Beatles song pick for this as it discusses the character of a girl escaping from her home, based on a person in the newspaper. The girl ultimately gets the freedom that she wanted but the chorus, seemingly written from the perspective of the parents distraught from losing their girl. This was one of the very few Beatles tracks not to feature any of the Beatles playing, instead getting an orchestra to play the track. The string instrument composition lends itself well to the mood created but also doesn’t hold as heavy of a tone as some of the other tracks does, allowing it to not get to the point of depressing.

[cellarfulofnose]

There's A Place

The biggest band in the world is stuck rehearsing in the smallest closet. And the dustiest.

"And the venue, it was so small, there was nowhere for us to rehearse except for a hall closet. The place was poorly insulated, you know, so they'd be able to hear us if we were anywhere else. Terrible place. I don't know why on earth we ever agreed to play there. But it was a job, you know, and we were young. We didn't ask any questions, just, 'Get in the car now,' 'Oh, okay,' 'All right, we're here,' and we'd play, wherever it was. We hardly knew half the time. We were in a hall closet-- I'm sure it was more than that, it was like a little storage room, full of boxes and stacks of papers. You'd have been hard pressed to fit a bed in there, width wise. But we piled in there, the four of us, Ringo against the far wall, me and John facing each other, and George over by the door. He almost had to stand sideways to fit his guitar; I mean, it was really small. And of course it hadn't been touched in probably twenty years, so there was all this dust and mildew in the air and over everything. Just disgusting. You couldn't breathe. And Ringo's hitting the boxes, you know, keeping time, and we're like 'You'd better stop that!' He was raising so much dust, and we've got the door closed, we're thinking, 'It's an hour to showtime, we're gonna die in here!' So we got out of there. Sod the rehearsal, we thought. We tried to tough it out, but at some point, you know, you can't get a breath to sing because you're sneezing so much. So we just gave up. I don't think it affected our playing too much. We were still sneezing by the time we got up on stage, but they were screaming too loud to hear us anyway." --Paul McCartney for Rolling Stone, 1985

It's not ideal, of course, Brian had said, but I'm afraid it's all we could come up with for right now. Paul had grumbled, along with the rest, but without any heart in it. It wasn't Brian's fault. And they had done more with less, in the past.

It wasn't until they actually shuffled inside that they saw the state of the place. Or, rather, smelled it. Their room at the Kaiserkeller had smelled like the devil's wastebasket, sex and sweat and a puddle of sick with its own ecosystem. That was ripe; this was stale. Musty, dry, and dead. It wasn't nearly as bad as in Hamburg, but the decrepit papery smell made Paul's nose wrinkle as soon as it hit him. He felt his throat tighten, trying to save him from breathing in too much. He hoped it wouldn't weaken his voice. Some tea would loosen him up.

"This place has seen better days," Richie said, and coughed. His mouth was pulling down at the corners, his nostrils lifting, an accidental grimace in lieu of scrunching up his whole face. His body, like Paul's, trying in vain to keep the dusty air out.

John, on the other hand, wasn't even trying not to scowl. His nose crinkled in naked disgust as he looked around. "Bloody hell." He swiped a hand across the nearest box's top. His fingers came away feathered with snowy gray powder. "Cozy, innit?" he said, and blew a tight puff of air to clean them. Or else to make a birthday wish.

Paul choked. He was right in the line of fire. With dust-stung eyes, he blindly swatted an arm back and forth to clear the air. "Watch it," he sputtered.

George shut the door behind them. For a moment, the room was plunged into blackness, until he pulled the switch to light the single bare bulb mounted on the ceiling. Flurries of dust motes danced, wind-borne, past the lemon light. He lifted a hand from his guitar to shield a cough with his upper sleeve.

It was cramped. There was barely room for George to stand facing them with the wingspan of his guitar. John and Paul were knee to knee, sitting on boxes against parallel walls, while Richie stacked a few empty ones for a drum kit.

The last place they sat to play like this was Forthlin Road, Paul realized; cross-legged on his bed, hitting the wall and each other with nearly every bounce. And they'd done all right there. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

George and John coughed at the same time, rattling Paul back to the present, and he took a deep breath. "Should we--" he began, cut short when the breath snagged in his chest, dry, barbed, tangling into a cough. "Should we do Rock and Roll Music?" he quickly amended, blinking away the tears that suddenly burned his eyes. He didn't care for how his voice went all thin and brittle from it, but luckily, this was John's song. His voice had a moment to rest.

John's hands moved into place on the strings. Paul copied him and glanced at Richie, preparing to nod and count them in.

"--'chhhw!"

Three pairs of eyes turned to George. He looked up, bleary with the whippish, pistol-silencer sneeze that'd just thrown his head forward.

"Ready?" George sniffed, looking eager to move on, if a bit hazy.

"Are you ready?" Paul said. He was trying to be considerate, but it came out derisive, and George bristled. Richie threw him a Bless y', which seemed to settle him enough for Paul to count them in.

"Just let me hear some of that rock and roll music," John crowed, "Any old way you choose it..." He coughed in the vague direction of his shoulder on the rest section, but it didn't clear the rasp from his voice. It was a real rock 'n' roll scratch, like Paul hadn't heard since he recorded Twist and Shout with laryngitis. He swelled with pride and affection as he played along. Trust John to turn the dust of neglect into violin rosin, something to sweeten the strings, even if it seemed to pull the water right out of their lungs and fill their heads with sand.

...God, but it was really dusty, Paul had to admit. Some of the uppermost boxes had splotches of mould dotting the sides, and a few were lined in cobwebs. They had to have been the first people to set foot in here in, what, twenty years? Fifty? The puff of dust that John had blown in his face was still stinging, making his eyes and the inside of his nose feel hot and dry. When he swallowed, his tonsils felt scratched and his throat swollen. It burned to inhale.

John was clearly feeling the same or worse. He looked distracted, and when he reached the end of the verse, he coughed right through the turnaround, harsh and impatient, into his shoulder. Richie coughed too, as if in sympathy, then George and Paul caught it like a bug, and now they were only sort of playing. God's sake. They hadn't coughed this much when they'd smoked with Dylan.

"Whew," Richie said softly, his eyebrows raised in surprise, but his eyelids heavy.

John couldn't even get his eyes open. "Hang on," he croaked, throwing an elbow across his face for a particularly bad cough.

Something in Paul's stomach clenched. "Good?" he said.

Eyes still closed, John cleared his throat. It sounded angry. "C'n we do one of yours?" he asked with a dragging sniff.

"Yeah," Paul said automatically, moving his fingers into position for Long Tall Sally. He didn't see John like this often, conceding right away, and wasn't sure he liked it. Usually John was full of fight in disagreeable circumstances, or at least he had something to say about it.

Paul's eyes darted to George, as if for reassurance, but George wasn't even looking. He was cringing, eyes shut, mouth open, panting slightly. Maybe it was his throat, or maybe there was another sneeze toying with him, the poor kid.

"Ready, Long Tall Sally?" Paul ventured.

George gave his hair a good, hard shake and seemed to come out the other side of it. Half-lidded but still standing. "Go on," he said, but there was a flatness to it. A nasal sound blunted where it should be round.

"Right." He cast a last look at John. "One, two, three--

"I'm gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John He claims he has the misery but he's havin' a lot of fun, oh baby..."

They couldn't keep from grinning, Paul noticed. The sight of him shouting like Little Richard in a space criminally too small for four people and three acoustic guitars got to them. As they played, the energy crackled high as ever. It almost seemed to smooth the dust out of the air and out of their lungs for the moment.

"Yeah, baby... woo! Baby..."

Paul's throat cracked when he reached for the high note, so he blushingly opted down and pressed on. Richie's timekeeping didn't falter for a second. Paul watched him beat the living hell out of his boxes, stacked in place of drums.

Every slap of his jeweled hands knocked a little burst of dust loose, like a carpet beater.

The second he saw it, Paul's breath failed. "Havin' me s-some fun-- khh-hh'kh! Ah, god." He could hardly get a proper drink of air. It was like his body refused to let him inhale, tightening in defense. His throat even stuck when he swallowed.

"D'you want to stop?" George asked. It was thoughtful, Paul wanted to believe, not just George's way of getting him back for questioning him earlier.

"No." Paul shook his head and cleared his throat. Who needed to breathe? He'd scream it out, scratch out every last particle of dust with a nice wailing screech. "Keep going." He clenched his jaw.

"Well, I saw Uncle John with bald-head Sally He saw Aunt Mary comin' and he ducked back in the alley, oh baby..."

John's expression suddenly dropped. With his eyes shut tight, he reared his head back, then pitched forward, his strumming hand clamped around his nose.

"... -hdt--!"

His shoulders jerked with the recoil of a forcefully repressed sneeze. He'd almost hit Paul's knees, bending over his guitar like that. Paul's stomach swooped, unsure whether to acknowledge it. He kept playing.

"...aHdt--!!"

John rocked forward with a second sneeze, just as tightly contained. Miserable, wrenching-- Paul could see how his face twisted into a pained snarl-- but next to silent. He rose back to his full height and groaned softly, a short, fluey "ugh." His pointed nose was an unhealthy pink, and his cheeks matched.

Paul couldn't keep playing. "Bless you."

"Bit dusty in here, you think?" said Richie, falsely innocent, and that set them all to laughing.

"hht-chshhw!"

For some reason, laughter provoked George to sneeze again, which Paul thought was a bit silly. He was literally the furthest from Richie's flying percussive dust.

Of course John was sympathetic. "All right there, son?" Snrff.

"Oh, sure," Richie said flatly. "We'll be lucky not to come out of here with black lung."

"Well, look how much you're kicking up," Paul said, suddenly defensive-- of who or what, he wasn't sure. "Look, hit that box."

Richie thumped his palm against the middle box, and all four of them groaned when it bloomed a gray billow of dust into the air.

"Ah, bloody hell."

"Jesus."

"How come you're not sneezing?" George asked; accused, more like. "You're sat at..." He waved at Richie's setup. "...bloody Ground Zero." Unspoken was the tacit understanding that with a nose like that, he ought to blow the door off its hinges.

Richie raised his chin, playing haughty. "Takes more than a bit of grime to disturb Old Faithful," he said, tapping the side of his nose. Then he coughed loudly, probably only half on purpose.

Paul hoped they wouldn't ask him the same question. There was a needling prickle in his sinuses now, creeping its way back with every breath, but it seemed to wax and wane. It'd burn and fade, spike and settle. It wasn't enough to bother him too bad. Not yet. If they could get off the subject and back to music, he'd be fine. To get a head start in that direction, he lifted his bass and held it at the ready, hoping John and George might follow suit.

No such luck. "What about you, Paulie?" John prodded.

"Yeah, what's your excuse?" Richie added, and Paul felt betrayed. With friends like these...

Paul shrugged, filling the silence with the first riff he could think of. He knew he had to answer, too, so he put on a narrow frown. "I don't believe in indulging the pleasures of the flesh," he said in his best 'taking the piss out of posh Londoners' voice, hoping that would be enough to get them to drop it. And maybe-- just to throw a thought out there-- rehearse.

George and Richie snickered, but John shook his head and breathed out a faint scoff of a laugh. "Ah, we'll make a believer of you," he said as a smile spread across his face. His eyes were falling shut, his head beginning to tilt back, a slight breathlessness thinning his voice. When his nostrils started to widen, narrow and widen, Paul realized what was coming.

"Pretty soon," John panted, getting ready to sneeze, "you'll be... you'llbe... yh-h! h'Dt--!!" He pinched it off, cruel as before, and just the sound of it made Paul's eyes water. There was no way it could feel good.

"hah'dt...!"

And again. Tossing John's hair, throwing a shudder through his frame. Paul's nose twinged painfully at the sight. He couldn't bring himself to offer John so much as a Bless you, in case raising his voice sent a vibration through his sinuses.

"How do you do that, John?" George said, something like awe in his voice.

"Do what?" John said thickly. He pulled at his nose, pinched and wiped, giving an awful snorting snuffle.

"Hold it in like that. I feel like my head's going to explode."

"Hold your nose." John demonstrated. "Hold your breath. Try it."

"I don't want to. It looks painful."

Paul did his best to tune them out. He ran through the fingering of Long Tall Sally beginning to end, refusing to think about what it must feel like to John. To feel relief so close, to feel the wave crest and then stop it from crashing on the rocks. To fight a reflex. Paul forced himself to think about something else. Anything.

"Better than spraying snot all over," John retorted.

"I didn't spray anything," George said, ruffled.

Paul thought about dust. Fine, particulate clouds drifting on a breath of air, hanging in a fog before his eyes. Years and decades' worth of it flooding his head and chest any time he breathed in. Tickling his small nose.

Oh, God. He scrubbed at it with his knuckles, quick back and forth.

"Oi," whispered Richie, making Paul turn around. He nodded down, frowning curiously, and flashed an OK sign: You all right?

Paul dropped his hand. "Yeah." That was a lie. He was hardly breathing at this point. His face grew hot at the idea of Richie wondering if there was something wrong with him-- was he that obvious? But the fact that he cared to ask softened it a bit. He broke eye contact and rubbed his nose again. The itch eased but didn't go away.

"Here." John gathered another handful of dust. "Try it, go on." He pointed his open palm at George and inhaled, preparing to blow it on him.

"I'll maim you." George threw out a hand in defense and took a step back. "Don't. I swear."

Paul let his guard down to laugh, and that was the end of him. A fresh, buzzing tickle attacked his nose. It was worse than before. He gasped without meaning to, a soft little hiccup, and he felt his lungs start to fill.

That, of course, was when Richie finally tossed his hat in the ring.

"hhrRUH'SHhiuhh!"

Paul's breath stuttered. As though Richie had scared it away, the urgent promise of a sneeze retreated, leaving him with a pounding, stuffy head. And a maddening itch.

John and George cheered, earning a spell of coughing for their efforts. Richie bowed with a flourish of his hand and tended to his nose with a pocket handkerchief.

"There's a good lad," said John.

"C'mon, Paul, what you waiting for?" George chided. "G'on and sneeze, it feels a little better, really," he added, more seriously.

"What, on command?" Paul said, and wanted to cringe at how stuffed-up he sounded. Odh comba'd?

"No, I'll help. Here y'are." John pointed his handful of dust straight at Paul's face.

Paul's chest seized in fear. The thought of John blowing dust into his face again, at point-blank range this time, caused the itch to rear with a violent vengeance. He winced and pressed a finger to the underside of his nose, just to stem the pain, but there was no stopping it. It tore out of him, even as he tried to dampen it.

"kngxt-chh!"

"God bless ye, lad," John squawked, affecting an Irish brogue, just as George scoffed and said, "Ooh, batten down the hatches."

"Fuck off." Besides being a tosser, Paul decided, George was a liar as well. It didn't feel better to sneeze; not even a little bit. All it did was fill his head with sawdusty pressure and the blinding urge to do it again and again, as many times as it took to purge every single speck of dust right out of him. But while the desire was there, the reflex wasn't. Relief remained a distant dream. He sniffled, and that made everything worse. Fucking Christ, how long was it to showtime? They hadn't even gotten through one song.

John, seeming to read his thoughts, kicked Paul's foot. "Long Tall Sally?" He held his guitar ready.

Before Paul could respond, George said, "Wait." He blinked hard, his lip curling to bare his dagger eyeteeth. He was fighting, or maybe trying to bring on, a building sneeze. One hand hovered awkwardly, as if he couldn't decide whether to cover his face or warn the rest of them away. He looked so stupidly itchy it made Paul sniffle again. Couldn't he get on with it?

"Keep it in," John said, conspiratorial. "Try it." He pinched his nose, as if to say, Like this.

George copied the motion just in time to catch a sharp, rushing "hp'tsschhssew!"

Despite John's instructions, he certainly hadn't succeeded in holding it back. In fact, it sounded like he'd made a bit of a mess. Good, Paul thought. Now they could pile on George and leave him alone.

On cue, Richie tsked. John aimed for a more subtle, "The fuck was that?" which he paid for with a short bout of coughing.

"I think what they're trying to say is Bless you, George," Paul said virtuously. He could have batted his eyelashes. Only George would know it was a dig.

Sure enough, George's eyes flashed at him, lethal, from under his thick black brows. "Let's just get on with it," he said wetly.

"I think I'll sit this one out," Richie said, lifting his hands away from the drum-boxes.

Paul pressed his fist under his nose. The feeling that he might sneeze had begun creeping, feathering its way back into the passages of his sinuses. Every breath teased it a little more, but coyly. Just flirting. Delivering nothing. Apart from gallons of dust and probably enough mould to make him sick. They had to get through this. It was the only way out.

He realized the others were laughing at what Richie had said. "Good," he managed. "Fine." He wasn't going to sneeze, he resolved as he picked up his guitar. And if, if he did, he could stifle it down to nothing. Almost nothing. Better than George, anyway. Hell. Better than John. It wasn't that hard.

John caught his eye, looking for the count-in, but his eyes suddenly flew open in alarm, focusing just over Paul's shoulder. "Fuckin'ell," he spat, a spasm of terror.

Paul whipped around and immediately yelped. On the wall behind him sat the biggest spider he'd ever seen, splayed angrily inches from his face. The architect of the cobwebs, most likely, come to see the source of all the racket. Paul leapt into the air and staggered backward with his guitar still on. He tripped over John, who had also sprung to his feet, and the two of them crashed into a stack of boxes. Somewhere among the cacophony of guitars, boxes, and bodies falling was the booming THUD of Richie's shoe hitting the wall to rain swift death upon the spider.

A rockslide of toppled boxes separated George from where John and Paul lay on the ground amidst the clutter. Richie stood over them, panting, holding his shoe.

The quantity of dust that now floated through the air, dislodged by the fall, was unspeakable. Obscene. It quickly filled the small space like the aftermath of an explosion. Most of it right up their noses.

Paul threw off his guitar and clapped both hands over his mouth and nose. He didn't even have time to swear before a fit of sneezes took him over. They emptied his lungs, but he couldn't stop them coming out in short, tight bursts. "ah-nkxtschhu! --eh'khtsch! -kttch!" Finally, he managed to gulp in a huge, wheezing breath that promised many, many more.

In the moment's pause, he felt John convulse under him as he, too, sneezed over and over. At first, he valiantly held them in, but they soon got away from him. It was just too much.

We're going to die in here, Paul thought. And he sneezed.

"huH'TSCHew!"

"j'Ehshh!" John echoed him.

We're going to bloody suffocate under a blanket of dust. And miss our show.

"George--" someone gasped in between sneezes, probably Richie, "th' door..."

Paul heard the sound of a door handle rattling, and light hit his eyelids. In a half-blind haze, they all scrambled out of the closet and into the hallway, an eight-legged coughing, sneezing mess.

A woman's voice yelped in surprise. Her high heels clop-clopped down the corridor away from them. God, the fucking state of them. Paul was on all fours on the floor, feeling tears spill over his eyelashes. But he really couldn't stop.

"hH'TCHOO! huH'Tchhoo!"

Someone pulled him off his hands and knees, helped him to his feet, led him a few steps away. Without looking, he knew it was John. Paul yanked his collar up over his nose-- it was starting to drip. John didn't need to see that.

When Paul opened his eyes, they were in the lav. George and Richie leaned against the wall, blowing their noses on wads of loo paper.

"Here," said John.

Paul muffled a rather productive sneeze into his collar and opened his eyes. John was holding a fistful of crumpled paper to his nose, and offering another pile to Paul.

He snatched it with a barely audible Thanks and spun around to clear out his head into it. With the first heavy exhale, the pressure thinned and then lifted, leaving him dizzy with relief. He groaned indulgently and blew again, hard, pressing his left and right nostril by turns. It made him so lightheaded he thought he was going to fall over. He didn't care. It was over.

Well, not quite over. They were all still twitching with the occasional soft sneeze, but compared to earlier, this was nothing.

When Paul turned back to face the others, swiping gingerly at his nose, John turned on the cold tap and nodded him over. "Wash some of it off," he said.

John was a right sight, Paul thought. Weepy eyes, bright red nose, dusty streaks across his black suit where he'd knocked against the boxes. Paul would take the mick out of him later. He cupped his hands to fill them with cool water and splashed his face. The shock made him gasp and shiver, but he kept rinsing until his face no longer felt hot and swollen. It was a sweet balm. So help him God, he was never going to offer to dust Jane's flat again as long as he lived. He patted his face dry with a paper towel.

"Better?" Richie asked.

Paul's eyes darted down. "Yeah." He gave a small smile, but it was more uncomfortable than happy. He didn't see the need to raise such a fuss. He wasn't anyone's kid brother. Still, he tried to ignore the fact that it'd seemed to hit him the hardest of the group.

"What the devil do you think you're playing at?"

They all turned to the door. It was Brian, slightly out of breath with sweat gathering at his hairline and a few curls out of place, like he'd gotten there in a hurry.

He didn't look happy.

"Your rehearsal space was shit," said John. His voice was a little stuffy, but the meaning came through quite clearly.

Brian stormed in to stand directly in front of John. "I had complaints from three different departments. Do you think this venue was easy to secure? I leave you alone for..." His gaze shifted over to Paul, and his head swiveled in an almost comical double take. "What happened to you?" he asked, his tone suddenly fraught with worry.

"'M fine," Paul quickly said. He wasn't remotely prepared for Brian to prod shaking fingers along his throat, as though feeling his pulse.

Paul's heart began to race. "What-- what are you doing?" Brian looked like he'd seen a corpse.

"He's all broken-out," George said matter-of-factly, gesturing at Paul's neck. They had gathered around him in a half-circle next to Brian.

Paul's heart jumped into his throat. "Where?" he demanded, but Brian merely asked, "Does your throat feel tight? Or can you breathe all right?"

"Um..." Paul swallowed and drew a breath in, let it out. Combined with nerves, it made his head spin. "No, it's, 's fine, um, what's going on?"

Brian turned him by the shoulders to face the mirror.

Paul's stomach turned over. He looked terrible. His puffy eyes and tender-red nose were bad enough, but more alarming still were the bright pink splotches that colored his neck, from his collar to his jaw.

"You have a bit of a rash," said Brian.

Paul stared at his reflection in disbelief and confused fear, brushing his fingertips over his neck. It felt smooth, even though it looked like welts; angry and mottled, febrile. As he did so, he realized there were patches on his hands, too. What was happening to him?

John squinted at the mirror. "Is it bad?"

Just then, Paul felt a stray sneeze trying to work its way to the surface. Painfully aware that everyone was examining his reflection, he pushed a knuckle against the side of his nose, hoping to at least slow it down. It didn't work.

"I don't think so," Brian said, "as long as it doesn't hurt, Paul, and you can breathe."

In answer, Paul gave an unsatisfying "hh'TsCHew!" against his curled fist. It was clean, at least, thank fuck. But now they were all staring at him with twice as much mixed pity and disgust.

"Is it an allergic reaction?" Brian asked, giving Paul's neck a final, probing touch.

"I don't think--" Paul began. "I mean, I've never..."

"That's probably what it is, you know," Richie said sensibly, taking a step back. "All the dust." Blessedly, the others melted away from Paul's side, as if on Richie's signal.

"Yeah, that little closet was dead grotty," said George, sounding personally wronged. "We're lucky to have got out with our lives."

Brian sighed and rubbed his brow. "Well. I'm very sorry about that. Truly. It was the best I could do."

John wasn't impressed. "How much is the insurance policy he's got out on us, d'you think?"

Brian ignored him and turned to leave. "I'm going to find you an antihistamine," he told Paul. "Is it possible for you all to just..." He made a futile gesture with his splayed hand. "...stay put for a moment?"

As soon as Brian shut the door, John gave Paul a shove and hissed, "Fucker."

"Ow!" On pure muscle memory, Paul shoved him back. "The fuck was that for?"

"You knocked over the boxes."

"Because I tripped over you!"

"No, it was your fault," George said lazily, making them both turn. He was addressing Richie. "Knocking all the dust out of those boxes."

Richie pointed out that George had shut them up inside in the first place, and Paul and John took sides. They were still bickering when Brian returned with a little white pill for Paul, which John pretended was an upper and tried to steal. By the time Paul swallowed it, it was nearly showtime.

It almost went off without a hitch.

Transcript: PAUL: Um...the next song...the next song we'd like to do, is one...which was, originally recorded by...a person who's a very good favorite of ours, Little Richard...This-- (sneezes) This song's called Long Tall Sally.

[miraliron]

Slacker images

#SLACKER IMAGES MAC#

Therefore, symbolizing the man in such a way created a completelyĭifferent picture. Way these boys got impacted their performances at school. The masculine gender was portrayed as restrictive in nature. The ultimate problem was influence of the media Superhero or a slacker for sure if not the other. According to Lamb, boys were made to be believe that they could be a Pick up Salad Days any time after April 1st via Captured Tracks.The Picture of Men: Superhero or Slacker In your own words, explain the problem with the superhero and slacker male image images in the media.Ĭhanging media images and encouraging broad-ranging relationships are both important in As someone who promises to get “fucked up” at every show touring the new album, we listeners will have to take him at face value: as a non-serious jester with very serious songwriting abilities. While Salad Days epitomizes DeMarco as the class clown who secretly longs to be taken seriously, it’s unlikely you’ll see him wearing a suit and tie anytime soon. Likewise, on Salad Days, “Let My Baby Stay,” “Let Her Go,” and “Treat Her Better” are examples of straightforward, sincere love songs that sound like he’s channeling classic Beatles, much like Paul McCartney’s “Michelle” of Rubber Soul. Some of the best songs on 2, like “My Kind of Woman” and “Still Together” were written about his girlfriend. Other tracks paint DeMarco as a desperate, cross-eyed romantic. He sings: “Blue Boy, older than the world knows,” and “Oh dear, act your age and try another year.” DeMarco delivers these lines with an air of sarcasm as if he considers maturity, to borrow words from Kurt Vonnegut, “To be an utter disappointment for which no cure exists.” Particularly, the songs “Blue Boy” and “Salad Days” expose a self-conscious 23-year-old worried about the immaturity people ascribe to him. Moreover, his desire to gaze inward provides new lyrical depth absent on his past two albums. Meanwhile, every line is delivered with overtly cool punctuation, like the way the Fonz slams the jukebox while entering a room. These pristine notes on “Go Easy” and “Brother” shimmer as he glides up the fretboard. His introductory guitar riffs, while incredibly simple, are contagiously upbeat. The most striking aspect of Salad Days is DeMarco’s intuitive songwriting ability. “Passing Out Pieces” and “Chamber of Reflection” depict DeMarco in the midst of a self-defeating realization, as if two hours earlier he was the life of the party, and now he finds himself sprawled on the curbside, drinking alone. This movement is best summarized on “Passing Out Pieces,” where he sings over a catchy keyboard accompaniment, “Can’t claim to care, never been reluctant to share / Passing out pieces of me, don’t you know nothing comes free?” Conceding to his destructive tendencies, he whines over a fluttering layer of guitar: “What mom don’t know is taking its toll on me.” Perhaps exhausted from his flamboyant antics and constant jestering, Salad Days presents DeMarco in his most reclusive and introspective form, in an attempt to shed his reputation as a class clown. (If you need evidence, check out this YouTube clip of DeMarco drunkenly screaming U2’s “Beautiful Day.” Naked, of course). Up until now, his gap-toothed grin and cigarette-in-mouth, beer-in-hand charm seemed to eclipse any discussion about the quality of his music. It’s nearly impossible to separate DeMarco’s impeccably chill personality from his music: he’s beloved by fans as a slacker caricature that effortlessly churns out sunny sounding anthems about his favorite brand of cigarettes.

#SLACKER IMAGES MAC#

While the immediate catchiness of Mac DeMarco’s first two albums gained him a well-deserved following, the 23-year-old tries to escape his shadow and earn a slightly more serious reputation as a songwriter on his most recent album, Salad Days.

[topguncortez]

[ STEAM ] and [ SERENADE ] for our angel goose? ❤️

in this house. . . goose never died.

Steam & Serenade pairing: Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw x female!reader ➣warnings: mentions of infertility, arguments, false positive pregnancy ➣prompts: ➣[steam] sender joins receiver in the shower, [Serenade] sender sings along to a song they associate with receiver ➣song: Silly Love Songs by Paul McCartney

Goose let out a sigh as he let his heavy duffle back hit the floor. He kicked off his brown dress shoes, and undid the buttons of his khaki dress shirt. It was yet another day trying to stay out of trouble with Maverick. He had thought after the first day and getting nearly kicked out for an unsolicited flyby would’ve woken Maverick up, but it clearly didn’t. Cause yet again, Goose was standing outside of Viper’s office waiting to get another punishment. This time, it was 500 push-ups on the flight deck in the hot California sun. Goose could not wait until they could go back to Virginia. 

“Sweetheart?” Goose called out for you. The house was quiet, which was unusual. You two weren’t quiet people. The house was usually filled with music, or the tv, or the sound of dinner being made, but right now, it was silent, and Goose was concerned, “Y/N!?” 

His sock covered feet moved through the small house that he was allotted during his time at TOPGUN. It wasn’t anything special, but it was better than the first house the two of you lived in when you were first married. You had grown up in the military, your father being an Admiral, so you knew how these things went. You didn’t expect a fancy house with a white picket fence, and you knew how to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Goose had loved how you just knew what it was like for him. He hated having to be away from you, or to have to pack up from one location and leave, but it made it easier having a partner who understood. 

“Babe!” His voice came out lighter as he walked into the bedroom, and noticed the bathroom door was shut. He could hear the soft sounds of a record being played, and sighed in relief. You were okay, though he hadn’t found you yet, you were still somewhat okay. He walked over to the bathroom door, knocking twice before entering. He could see the outline of your naked body through the steam clouds in the bathroom. You must’ve had a bad day too. 

“Sweets?” Goose called out to you again, causing you to jump out of the blank stare you were in. You turned your head and smiled at the sight of your husband, slightly disheveled, his khaki shirt completely unbuttoned showing the white tank top he wore underneath and his dog tags. Usually the sight of him like this, turned you on to no extent, but right now, all you wanted was to be in his arms. That one look you gave him was enough to have Goose take the rest of his uniform off, and walk over to the shower door. 

“It’s hot, just an FYI,” You said, taking a step forward to let him in. 

“What is it with you women having the shower blazing hot?” Goose quipped, as he got in. He tensed slightly at the hot water touching his back, but then settled into it. It was right what he needed too. He could feel the tension of the day slowly start to roll off his body. Even though he showered after his flight and his pushups, He wouldn’t turn down a moment to come and be in the shower with you. 

“How was your day?” You asked, and you felt him wrap his arms around you. He turned you around so you could face him, and pulled you flush against him. You could feel the beating of his heart, and placed a hand on his chest. Goose had noticed you did that a lot, placing a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. It was a way to help ground you, to make you feel less anxious. It had come from a traumatic event in your childhood, and Goose had woken up several times at night to the feeling of your hand on his heart. 

“Same ol’, same o’,” Goose said, dropping his head to that place between your neck and shoulder, pressing small kisses into your skin, “Mav is being Mav, still trying to have a dick measuring contest with Ice. I told him, maybe just kiss him and get it over with. End all of our suffering.” 

You chuckled and shook your head, “You know how Maverick is. He’ll do everything BUT the rational thing.” 

“I know,” Goose said, and lifted his head, “How was your day?” 

You took a deep breath before answering, “Good.” 

“Liar, you took a breath before answering,” Goose said pointing out your tell right away, “I’ve known you for over a decade, sweets. I can tell when you lie to me. So. . . out with it.” 

“I went to the doctor today,” You said, and looked at the water droplets falling down his chest. Goose tensed for a moment, and then pushed back your hair that had fallen in front of your face, “Still no answers on why I can’t get pregnant. Just the same ‘it’s not your time’ bullshit we’ve been hearing for the past year.” 

From the moment Goose met you, he knew you were going to be the mother of his children. After marrying him five years ago, you two had been determined to start a family quickly, before he had to be sent off around the world again. At first, you two were okay with the fact that it was taking a bit more to get pregnant. Goose and Maverick were young pilots, and took every mission that came their way. But things had started to grow tense after trying and trying, and no results. Arguments had sprung between the two of you like wildfire. Sex felt more like a chore than it should’ve been. Maverick even had to intervene one time, telling you two to go to opposite sides of the house like you were children.

Goose had suggested that the two of you just get away from everything, and you did. He took you up to the mountains of Colorado for a week, to decompress from the stress (poor Maverick was like a lost puppy that week without his ‘parents’). It was like you and Goose had reconnected in that week, reminding each other why they fell in love in the first place. The days were filled with exploring and skiing, and the nights were filled with intense love making. 

It was four weeks later, you realized your period was late. You could remember Goose nearly breaking down the bathroom door as you let out a shriek in delight at the sight of the positive pregnancy test. He thought you had seen another spider in the bathroom and came in with a rolled up newspaper. But when you told him you were pregnant, his face turned into pure excitement. That excitement didn’t last long, as two weeks after that, you sat in the doctor’s office being told that it was a false positive, and you weren’t pregnant. 

After that moment, Goose had seen a shift in you. You pulled away from Goose, once again opening the door from arguments. You had buried yourself into trying to find an answer, something that would satisfy you better than what your OB had given you. You were tired of the same old answer: ‘you’re healthy, Goose is healthy, it’s just not your time’. Goose had told you the same thing the doctors had, and tried to get you to rest, but you refused. You hated fighting with him, and he hated it too. You two managed to reconcile as Goose went on his deployment with Maverick, and you promised him that you would just take a break, instead of scouring books, magazines, and doctors for answers. The day you got that call that he was coming home and going to TOPGUN, you were elated and already starting to pack his bags for him (if you didn’t, the man, bless his heart, was sure to forget something vital). 

Now that you are here, you decided to take up your sister’s advice and visit a doctor out here in California that she recommended. You had hoped that the new doctor might be able to help you, give you a better answer, but it was the same thing as you had heard before. Goose sighed, and ran his fingers down your back, in a soothing motion. 

“I know it sucks, and you’ll probably punch me for this, but they are right, sweets. We’ll get our chance, I know we will. I never thought I’d get to TOPGUN, but here I am. Our time is coming, I feel it,” Goose said, and smiled, “Come on, don’t frown. I don’t like seeing that.” 

You broke out a small smile. How could you not smile in the presence of Nicholas Bradshaw? He was the definition of sunshine personified. Him walking into a room could light up the gloom. He smiled, and placed a kiss on your lips. 

“Let me wash your hair,” Goose said, and you nodded, turning around so your back was facing him. He hummed as he grabbed your shampoo from the shower caddy, putting some in his hands, before lathering it into his hair, “You’d think that people would have had enough of silly love songs. . .” He mumbled under his breath as he scrubbed at your scalp. You smiled, it was the song that was your first dance at your wedding. 

“But I look around and see it isn’t so,” He continued to sing as he pulled you back into the water, and rinsed your hair. Goose had fallen in love with washing your hair. When you broke your leg when you two were dating, he had discovered that showering could mean more than sex. He remembered vividly the first time you asked him to help you shower, and he was terrified he was going to drop you, but you trusted him, and that meant so much to him. Ever since then, any chance he got to help you wash your hair, he was jumping at the chance. 

“How can I tell you about my loved one?” Goose gently combed his fingers through your hair, spreading the lavender conditioner you used. He never thought he could love the smell of soap so much. “And now. . . we let it sit in your hair because ‘the curls need it to hydrate’” He said in a mock feminine voice. You giggled and turned around. 

“Surprised after all this time, you remembered my hair care routine.” 

“Of course, sweets, how could I forget? Wash day is every three days, deep conditioner is a must, and to never dry brush your hair it breaks the curls,” Goose repeated pretty much everything you had ever told him about your hair. 

“This is why I love you.”

[kalypsichor]

the way you look [ paul mccartney x reader ]

summary: Your plan to seduce Paul goes awry when all four of the Beatles find you naked on the couch one night. The sight of you gets Paul awfully possessive, and he’s determined to show the others just who you belong to.

prompt: ok but how about an imagine of y/n waiting paul to get home literally naked on the couch to have a good night if u know what i mean but he ends up coming home with the boys after that he gets kinda protective and excuse himself while he fucks you in your room lol lord help me through this crisis warnings: fingering, john being a horny shit

masterlist

me? writing smut at one am? it’s more likely than you think

Well. This isn’t exactly what you planned on happening.

But how were you supposed to know Paul was bringing everyone home?

It’s not like they haven’t all seen you in various states of undress—the Beatles are at each others’ flats more than than they are at their own. And you’re confident enough in your body not to scramble for cover. Still, John’s appreciative leer and the way George’s eyes travel a bit too low for comfort brings a rosy blush to your cheeks. One that Paul immediately notices.

“Fancy seeing you all here,” you say slowly, looking anywhere but Paul’s burning gaze. Even Ringo, who’s staring resolutely at the floor, sneaks a glance up at your naked form on the couch.

“I could say the same to you.” John lets out a low whistle. “Paul, mate, how d’you get out of bed?”

You chuckle—it’s more of an embarrassed exhale, really— and look around the living room. There’s nothing you can cover up with, so you just cross your arms and make the motion to stand. 

“I’ll just let you boys do your thing,” you say, but before you can even get to your feet Paul strides over and picks you up bridal style. You squeal at the sudden action, hands scrabbling for his shoulders. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Paul says, and before you know it the bedroom door is slamming shut behind the two of you. He throws you onto the bed, and though it’s not harsh you still bounce a little on the mattress.

“I’m so sorry, Paul, I wanted to surprise you and—“

“That was one hell of a sight to come home too.”

His back is to you but you can see the line of tension across his shoulders. When he turns, you nearly whimper. Paul’s pupils are blown wide, jaw strung tight. It’s a look you’ve seen before and one that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. His long fingers are deftly undoing his tie, and your gaze dips lower, past his Adam’s apple and to the smooth collarbones being revealed with each tug of his wrist.

“I saw how John was looking at you. George too.” He kicks off his shoes. “You know what they were thinking?”

You shake your head. Paul huffs and crawls up the bed. The predatory look in his eyes has you falling back on your elbows as he leans down to your ear.

“They were all wondering if you feel as good as you look. But only I get to know, don’t I?” He kneads your breast roughly with one hand. The touch is gone as soon as you feel it. Before you can even moan, Paul thrusts two fingers into your cunt and the air rushes out of your lungs entirely. You’re already so wet and you can’t help but clench around his digits.

“Fuck, fuck—“

“Only I get to know how tight you are. You’re mine, got it?”

“Yes, yes—oh, please!” You’re babbling now, tears in your eyes as Paul adds another finger and curls them upwards, hitting something electric inside that makes you arch off the bed. 

“Gotta hear you say it, love.” Paul mouths at your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down to the dip of your breasts. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours, Paul, just yours. Paul, Paul—“

Paul pulls away and you almost sob at the loss of his touch. Your hand instinctively goes to your clit to feel something, anything, but Paul grabs it and pins it to the mattress. He finishes unbuckling his pants and flashes a grin at you from between your legs. 

“Keep saying my name, sweetheart. By the time I’m done with you, the boys will know just who gets to fuck your sweet cunt.”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hide Your Love Away (Paul McCartney x fem! Royal! reader Oneshot)

From an anon request:  can you write Paul x reader oneshot or something where she’s going to have an arranged marriage the following day, which is forced by her family. but she doesn’t want it since she’s secretly dating Paul. So they go on their last date, pretending it’s their honeymoon just for one day since they know they have to be separated after that🥺(sry I’m a sucker for sad/angst fic with lil fluff)

Word Count: Less than 2K

Warnings: swearing, angst with fluff, mentions of weddings and sex. Lack of editing,

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! In order for the premise to work, I decided to make you a member of the noble class who has to marry into royalty  (I got inspired some by The Crown on Netflix, whoops) when you really love Paul. Much love to my angels @joeneslee​ @bens-jawline​ and @rhapsodyrecs​ for helping me when writers block stuck for this one!

 “I just met him, how can I marry him?” you asked with tears blinking in your eyes.

Sighing, you could tell the diadem on your mothers head was beginning to droop. Your father began cutting his meat with more fury. It made the metals on his suit follow in a clink, clink, clink.

“Because this marriage is important to us- to your whole family!” he said.

“But he…I…how do you know it will work?” you question. The diamonds on your necklace feel like an icy grip.

“That doesn’t matter, you will make it work. You always have. It’s the price you pay for your title. It’s going to secure everything. The Prince of Cardonia already agreed to it,” your mother said.

“I…”

“Y/N, you’re a duchess. You do understand the consequences if you don’t do this…money will fall, we’ll lose protection…our house, everything.”

Squeezing your hands together, you began to blink away tears.

“And think of how the alliance will help us, politically. Do you want our people to suffer?” your father pointed out.

You agreed to the match. In a way, you could be a good leader still. Carry out orders. Make changes. Protect people. But it was useless now.

In your room, you began dialing madly for his number. Pacing, the ring on the phone seemed to last forever. Who knew a chance encounter at a party for music led to you both. Then all these phone calls. The meetings. Then meetings led to more talk. And soon your mouths stopped talking and started kissing.

“Y/N…I’m speechless…and you…you can’t say no…” Paul wonders. Your throat feels dry.

“I don’t have a choice! I…I didn’t choose this, they just…announced it,” you mourned.

Those calls are made in plenty the following weeks. You get fitted for the wedding gown a month later. It’s a wide gown decked in lace covering your neck and shoulders with a long train that leaves lace down like a cape. Everyone says you look beautiful, but you don’t feel like it. You are constantly asked for details about the wedding. You gave boring answers. You don’t want to make it too fussy, but at least pretty. But it’s soulless, you feel like.

The day comes sooner, so Paul suggests something…a trip.

You don’t know how, but you managed to get away. You had a few trusted friends who covered for you

The prince of Cordonia isn’t like Paul at all. He is stiff and dull. Not abusive, you don’t think, but that could change.

Paul is super ambitious and works to get the secret trip right.

Right as you get on the plane, making sure it is private and paying guards and the pilot extra, you look at Paul.

“We could…pretend…”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend we’re married. That we’re going to be at our honeymoon…I don’t know if we’ll get a chance to later…”

Smiling, you begin to drum your fingers on the tan plush arm of your seat.

“How in god’s name did a damn Beatle escape from the press?” you asked. The plane whirred as it soared over the air.

Paul sighs, taking a sip of water from a plastic cup. 

“A lot of help, that’s what. Didn’t you get your friends in? Well, I got friends too,” he answered with a wink that always flipped your stomach.

“Where are you even going?”

He smiled.

“Ibiza, Spain!”

“Spain! I’ve never been to Spain!” you cried. Running up, you give him a girlish hug and kiss his cheek.

The jet plane landed and you both made your way to a hotel. Paul donned fake facial hair and as soon as you were led to your suite, he ripped it off. Though it looked red and tears stung his eyes.

“Oo-owww!”

You began to laugh hard at his reaction before tossing yourself on the feathery bed. That first night you both indulged in a large dinner while watching the sun go down and after much evening walking, settled into your bed for the first sleep after traveling.

When you both woke up, you saw his face first. Then your eyes flitted open. The sunshine of the Spanish morning poured in from over his head. He looked even more angelic.

“Hello husband!”

“Hello Wifey!” he said, kissing your forehead. 

Both of you cuddle up against the cold air from the AC before ordering a breakfast and spending time in your pajamas…as well as out of them. Smiling and taking in each other. Chatting about the habits of his other band members and laughing at them like normal.

They explored old towns. Spanish architecture, orange and tall, surrounded them. You bought lunch at little local restaurants, usually saving room for cold gelato served in cones dusted with cinnamon. It was touristy. It was cliche. It was perfect.

Both of you go through markets all afternoon when it’s too hot to do anything else. Thanking the heavens for shade and cheering at the sight of a working fan. One market had a tendency to be overpriced. Not that neither of you couldn’t afford it. 

Glancing over there was a young woman eyeing a necklace. Maybe a local. Her eyes were bright as she admired how the gems shone in the light and how they flattered her skin. But when she glanced at the price tag, she frowned.

Nudging, you murmur “I’ll be over there…”

You walk up to the young woman and smile.

“Hello, do you like that necklace?” you greet.

She blinks in confusion and sighs.

“Yes, I do” she says in a voice as sweet as honey. “It’s just…expensive, is all. I’ll look for another one.”

From the pocket of your pants you pull out several dollar bills and hand them to her. She is frozen looking at the numbers. It’s enough to buy at least five necklaces here.

“Not anymore…”

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.

“Let’s say…I have more than enough. Least I can do.” You answer.

Walking back, you see Paul’s eyes grow wide and then he smiles. He wraps a hand around yours as you walk out. Glancing back, you can see the girl is slack jawed. Then she went and bought the becklace with a smile as big as her face.

As soon as he got home, with only a few packages of things, Paul flung himself on the bed.

“Ooof! I’m bloody exhausted!”

You lean over, smiling. His face has gotten a little red from the sun. Your hands creep over to his shoulders.

“Let me massage you sweetheart…I don’t want my… my husband to be in pain,” you insisted.

Paul grinned larger at the use of the word.

For the rest of the night, you went over piles of photographs Paul managed to take. His love of the camera made him keep it as close as if it was his baby. You both managed to find local places and take pictures. The cheesiest pictures one could manage. Smiling faces, wide arms, and mountains and beaches and buildings too beautiful to be real.

“I’d like to keep a few…” you say.

Paul looks up at you.

“Is that…is that possible, Y/N? They look through your things, y’know…” he warned.

You shrugged, looking at one picture you took of Paul smiling, squinting into the sunlight with a castle from long ago far behind him, poking out of the green hill. Then another one where you managed to travel out and visit another real palace with elaborate floors outside and pigeons flying by.

“I can manage. I have…have places in my home only I can enter. Royalty, y’know…”

Looking back, only your closest friends were in on this. Friends you knew would not tattle. Friends who could influence any nosy servants.

He leaned over on the bed, in a white shirt and long pajama pants. Placing a hand, he traced a strand of hair.

“You might be their duchess, but you’re me girl. Always.”

The next morning, both of you were napping, naked, and smiling in post-coital bliss. Unaware that it was already noon. And there was a newspaper with your brunch.

As you groaned, opening your eyes, you heard Paul nearly spit out his tea from the tray.

“Oof, too hot for you?” you teased.

He looked at you and turned the page.

There was a small, minor article. It shouldn’t have caused much attention. But it was about your parents. It mentioned them addressing rumors that you were running away with another man and may have been spotted in Spain- or someone who looked like you. They couldn’t tell who the man was, but it was not your betrothed.

“Oh shit.”

You toss the paper onto the sheets, looking at Paul with his face, white as the sheets.

“We’ll…we’ll just have to be careful…” you suggest. Leaning forward, you cup his face and he nods.

You both had to be too careful. You went to beach. The sun was bright and you tasted the salt in the wind, but you had to look around you. Everytime there was a stranger, you felt their eyes on you. Both of you picked a time when there would be less people, but it felt there were now invisible cameras somewhere.

Both of you waded in the water and laid around in a towel underneath an umbrella for shade. But even in the most relaxing moments, you couldn’t help but worry if eyes were staring. Paul opened a picnic basket and handed you a bowl of strawberries, but you wondered if even a nice snack would somehow make it’s way to tabloids.

The next few days, you were more careful. Going to less crowded places. On your penultimate day, you ignored the paper. Paul was still asleep. You glanced for any news. Once you saw a photo of your parents worried faces. “We are concerned for our daughter…”

You tossed it into the trash bin. You would deal with it later. You wanted to enjoy each minute while you had it.

You kept trying to sneak into sites with less people, odder hours. If not, you were at each other like rabbits in your hotel room. Savoring intimacy and feeling one while you still could, or lazing about in your pajamas-ordering food and watching the sea. Talking about everything and nothing.

Paul opened his eyes, lashes fluttering. You couldn’t’ help but smile at him. His lashes were long, curved naturally without any mascara. How could one man be so beautiful?

“What…what is it?”

“Nothing hubby…” you said quietly, kissing his forehead. “Let’s just…let’s just enjoy the day.”

Spain had the loveliest sunsets. You watched from your hotel and then walked at night. The stars were out and the ocean was calming. Both of you felt a breeze. Paul handed you his jacket. Even in the dark, you could make out quiet sniffling. Clutching his hand, you turned to the ocean to look up at it’s infinity underneath a night sky. You never let his hand go the rest of that night. You wanted this pretense to last long as it could until you could no more, when the plane landed and you were back home at the palace with photos of Spain snuck into the bottom of your suitcases. 

 Besides, there was a wedding next week. 

Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​

[cathal-mathers98]

IXD303 - Project Stages/Reflection

For my IXD303 digital project prototype, I decided to create a VR app for elderly people in care homes. At the beginning, I was thinking about creating an COVID app for teenagers and adults, that they could get an idea as to how long we have been in lockdown and a final countdown until the end of isolation, to give the person a goal to strive for and a moment in time to look forward to. And within this app, they could record their daily habits and routines, to keep them busy during lockdown. 

However, I had to scrap this idea because, when I was in groups with my peers, we all agreed to study elderly people in cares homes as our intended audience. This gave me the opportunity to use VR. The reason for this was because, I myself are a fan of VR and I’m really interested in how it works and is created. Furthermore, nobody else seemed to be going down this route, which would add to the uniqueness of the project. 

Research and Sketching

Research

The first thing I began doing once I decided to do VR, was to begin researching VR as a whole and for elderly people in particular, with and without disabilities. (I talked about my findings in a different blog post.) In the end, I decided my target audience wasn’t limited to one small group of elderly people, like the examples I researched, which was VR and dementia. This idea to design just for people with dementia was already taken. So, I decided to make mine for all elderly people, of course people who are unable to see (blind) or have any other limitations that they can’t use a headset, would be ruled out of this. 

Nevertheless, I wanted to create a meditative app with the sole purpose of targeting elderly peoples mental health and helping them to feel stress-free from all the horrors and fears of the affects of COVID19, especially in care homes that was hit badly than nearly any other institution. I couldn’t imagine the fear, stress and death elderly people in these care homes were experiencing. So to take their minds off this, I wanted to create this app. Once, I knew what was required of me, I began looking at possible VR apps to take influence from.

I found apps such as “relax VR”, which is a meditative app that people can use to do yoga or simply relax. This really helped with the foundation of my app. It had some great features to take influence from. I even watched a full 15min review on YouTube of the app, just to see what it was like to navigate it. Immediately after this, I started thinking of names to call my project. With situations like these, I find it quite difficult to think of a name there and then. In my experience, I have to go about my daily business and think about a name then, in my spare time. I did exactly this and I came up with a few names.

I was mindful not to spend too much time on this task, as a name can always be changed later on if not suited. You can see from the names above that they are quite similar in one way, being that they are other words for a paradise or a happy place. e.g. oasis and tropic. They are used to describe a beautiful paradise almost. Anyway, in the end I settled for Nova, named after a supernova which when researched it is described that a supernova (if were seen with the naked eye) is one or if not the most beautiful and extraordinary thing you will ever witness. Which is quite related to my app, as it involves looking at 360 degree images of the beautiful views this world has to offer. Hence why I named it Nova.

Sketching the Logo

With regards to the logo, I again took influence from relax VR’s logo. I really liked the simplicity of it and the fact it was all low case as well, made it appealing and relaxing to look at. So I then began brainstorming a few ideas on paper.

I liked having the idea of the app logo relate to outer space, after its name, as you can see in the sketches. But then I realised that the app isn’t about outer space, its about relaxing and mediating. So I scrapped the idea of using this design. Still, it was good to have done. In the end, I received feedback from my tutor stating that with this digital product, there is no need to create a logo or a fancy looking visual marque. Just to have it in a sans-serif font. So taking onboard this feedback, I did just that. And I concluded with this design:

Early Designs for Name and Logo

But nevertheless, here is a few designs I made for possible visual marques and a logo before I was told to keep it simple. These were my previous ideas: 

With regards to the slogan, I seen examples on Google that stated “Turning your dreams into reality”. I thought this was a very nice slogan and very relevant to my project. So I decided to change this around a bit and settle for, “Where Dreams Become Reality”. This would give the app a bit more professionality.   

Sketching the App

Not long after this, I started sketching out some possible layouts for the application. Keeping in mind that I am designing for elderly people, I was aware to keep the navigation buttons large and the amount of content minimal. So began sketching. Below you can see my first drawing:

Main Page and Music Page

Location Page

Settings Page

As you can see I kept the buttons pretty large and easy to read. I wanted to include a music page were the elderly person, with the assist of a carer, is able to change the background song for when they are navigating through the app. I took influence from an app called Jaunt VR which is also a full immersive app, that allows you see different settings, whether it be up on stage with Paul McCartney or base jumping off a cliff. I copied the layout and the design of the boxes and settings, as seen below.

Sketch 2

I then created a second sketch to see if I can make the design more straightforward and easier to understand. I thought the settings and music page were quite alright, so not much changes were needed to that.

These sketches depicted how the app was going to be navigated. There is a button for the city, one for beach and one for forests. This was the design I wanted to follow. I had to be sure to get the dimensions right also. In order for the person to access the link/next page, they simply have to move the cursor which is lined with and built into the headset, to the particular button they want to access for 3 seconds. This will then lead the user to that page.

Buttons

With regards to the buttons, I originally took influence from relax VR again. Within that app the navigating buttons are rounded and appear to be like a large translucent bubbles.

I thought this was a really cool design and I loved how the buttons looked like balls of water that animated too. And as water is a great mediator and gives off a calming feel, this was a good move. So the next stage, before I began making the app, was to create the buttons on Illustrator. I created three drafts of buttons in total.

These were my first designs for the buttons:

This is only a small snippet of the buttons I created. At the beginning, I liked this design for the buttons. I wanted to include the colours, blue, green and white, as they were found to be relaxing colours and most associated with mediation. The font however, came to be less appealing when added to an image. So, I turned for help from my tutor and again I received great feedback on what I should do instead, which was to leave it as a san-serif also. 

I once again took onboard this feedback and changed the buttons immediately. I research fonts to use and I came across the font that is used in Spotify. I am a user of Spotify and I really like their font. It really suits being in an app. So I decided to use this. Which resulted in me creating this:

This immediately looked better. The font really stuck out more professionally. But that wasn’t the last time I edited my buttons. As the time went past, I noticed that the buttons needed something else to help draw out the background. And this was when I came up with the idea of creating vector icons on Illustrator to add to the buttons. Of course, that meant that I had to make them square, but this however suited better for my Glitch work (see glitch blog post). I simply found small vector images and traced over them in Illustrator and pasted them in my buttons. These were the final design for my project.

 An example of what they looked like:

The background colour appears darker in the actual project. In Tumblr it is showing it as a very light blue. Anyway, these buttons I loved. It is mad how a bit of icons and shapes can give an image a bit of life. To see the rest of the buttons, access the link to my work which can be found on my other blog post.

In conclusion, I am quite happy with the work I completed in XD for my digital product. I decided to cut the length of the app down a bit as it was totalling to 65 pages, which was quite a lot and overwhelming. To do this, I only created pages for: Forests, Beaches, Cities and Night Sky. My original design included hotels and piers. In the end, I thought this was a good move. Nevertheless, I did the best I could to minimalize the app and make it as straightforward as I possibly could. I have learnt that creating a VR app is quite time consuming and involves a lot of planning and research. An example would be, collecting a variety of 360 degree images on the internet. This was very time consuming as there is very little amounts of free 360 images. Many of them are repetitive and share the same location, which I don’t want. 

If I had more time to learn about VR and was able to redo the project again, I would probably attempt to create the app as an actual VR project on the likes of A-frame or Unity 3D. I think the ability to create a full-blown VR website from scratch would be an unbelievable achievement. Which leads me to the question, what do I wish I learnt before doing this project? And again it would be, that I wish I learnt in depth what it takes to create a real VR app. However, this is always something I could learn for for the next time I decide to create a VR app or website. 

[waveofahand]

Chapter 8:"I brought this on myself..."

CHAPTER 8: "It was me...I brought this on myself..." For Paul, it becomes clear that his nightmare is only beginning. Everyone is really having a hard time this chapter, although Detective Dawson's surprising tenderness helps, and John actually manages to make his partner smile before he completely falls apart. 

***

“I think you’re being a bit hard on John, Paul,” Brian had spoken up then, having observed the naked distress on John’s face, and in his body language.

The icy look Paul shot to Brian left the manager reeling. He’d worked with this lad for nearly four years and knew the strength of his intellect, and the surprising steeliness of his resolve, both qualities valuable to a band led by so mercurial a genius as Lennon. But it was the first time he’d seen absolute fury in McCartney, and it literally caused him to take a step back. “We’re a matched set,” John had once told Brian in casual conversation. “We’re both the smartest boys in the room. We’re both able to put it on for the crowds. We’re both witty and charming when we want to be, and we’re both angry as hell most of the time. My anger is just nearer the surface, you know. I run at a constant simmer. Paul’s is deeper, and frankly cold, cold, cold if you get near it. He’s a good lad, all-in-all, but in some ways, if he weren’t so pretty, he’d be terrifying.”

Brian had thought John was simply riffing as usual, but now, having seen the well-hidden fury that lay at the core of James Paul McCartney, he hoped never to glimpse it again.

“No,” John had answered Brian quickly. “He’s right to ask. I was all about myself.” He turned toward Paul, still avoiding his eyes. “I am so sorry I failed you, Macca. I did.”

Paul was still staring at Brian, leaning back in his chair like a boss, his head propped up with two fingertips. His tone, when he finally spoke, was controlled but cool. Chilling, to Brian’s mind.

***

Read it all at AO3

[paulvibe]

Just Friends - Part 7 (Paul McCartney x Reader)

Words: 3.2K

Warnings: Minor Sexual Themes

Summary: Paul, finally, shows you the farm

A/N:  Thank y’all so much for reading! I’m planning to write 2 more chapters, one being the final and then an epilogue. I sincerely hope that you all loved this story. It’s been fun to write, not only fueling my Paul love, but yours also. <3

A MONTH LATER

Fall had now fully come into effect. It had been a wonderful summer, so many events came and happened. Mostly happy, some sad. It was nice though, for the weather to start simmering down. You loved the summer, but there was always something so special about Autumn. The air was more crisp, and every step you took was followed by the sound of a crunching leaf. You also started to incorporate fall pastries into your bakery, so, more business was filtering in due to pumpkin pies and warm apple cider.

Over the past month, since your father's funeral, you threw yourself back into work. You worked overtime at the bakery, making up for the lost sales. You had also been working more to keep up your promise to your mother- to send money back to home to help with your siblings. Mom had also told you that Cindy started working at a diner to help with the bills, and David tended to the neighbors gardens. Each family member was pitching in and doing their part to help. It was sad that it took your father's passing to finally bring all of you together, but it is what it is.

Paul had also gotten swept back into work. He worked long hours at the studio, recording and writing for his new album. It was hard, to not see Paul, but you two talked on the phone the days he couldn’t make it to visit. Ever since the two of you showered together, the feelings you tried to deny were too strong to fight. It was a long time coming, I mean, there was moments before you were naked together that you had realized those feelings. But now, you finally acknowledged them. You were inevitably, undeniably, in love with him.

The thought of him brought butterflies to your stomach, it would cause you to smile and bite your lip. You would find yourself drifting off thinking, no- dreaming about what life would be like if you were together. You dreamt of the family home, the domestic lifestyle. Making breakfast for him in the mornings, dinner in the evenings. You get the drift. Sometimes you would get so caught up in these fantasies you would forget about the customer, waiting to be served.

The cool morning light peeled it’s way through your curtains, casting across the room. It was a Sunday, which meant the bakery was closed. You sighed, and threw the covers off yourself, getting up to stretch. It’d been a week since you last saw Paul. He was busy recording, which was unfortunate. However, you were also busy at the bakery. You looked at your alarm clock, reading 9:23 A.M. You made your way to the kitchen and set on a pot of coffee, and put a bagel into the toaster. You then opened your apartment door, grabbing the newspaper. You scanned the sections before one headline caught your attention.

PAUL’S NEW LOVER?

What? You read the sentence over and over again. It echoed throughout your brain as you frantically flipped to the page containing the article. A picture of Paul and Linda covered nearly a full page.

“...McCartney was seen last Wednesday with Linda Eastman wrapped around his arm. Will the former lovers rekindle that spark?...”

You tossed the paper onto the counter top, feeling a lump in your throat form. You were an idiot, of course Paul wasn’t in love with you. You two were just friends, and were to remain that way forever. You felt stupid, angry, betrayed. It’s not like you two were dating, nobody had made that clear. Your conscience stepped in, trying to calm you down. He had even talked to you about how their relationship just didn’t work out, they were always fighting about this and that. There had to have been a reason that he was with Linda, I mean, her father was his manager for god sakes.

You still couldn’t push past the picture. She was smiling up at him, while he smiled into the cameras. Her arms were wrapped around one of his, and they seemed to be walking together outside the studio. That should’ve been me. You thought, feeling a deep cavern form in your chest. You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to force the tears back into your eyes. It was stupid, it was like seeing all those pictures of him and Jane. You felt like a teenager again.

As if on cue your telephone rang, you knew it was Paul. You sighed, wiped your eyes and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey Love.” You loved how his voice sounded over the phone, so soft and always eager. It made you want to jump into his arms, but your heart was reminded of the picture with Linda wrapped around him.

“Hey, Paul.” You said softly, mixing creamer into your coffee. You could fake it, right? That you weren’t hurt? It’s a tabloid, you kept reminding yourself.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking. Would you like to come over?” Paul hadn’t invited you to his house since, ever. This would be the first time. You always thought it was strange, the fact he hadn’t invited you over.

“Um, Paul, I’m feeling a little under the weather.” You said, cringing with each word that came out. You were letting that stupid article get to you. Internally you knew that you were doing that self-sabotage thing you do. As soon as something wonderful happens to you, you ruin it for yourself.

“Come feel under the weather with me.” He spoke so smoothly. Maybe that how he charmed Linda back into his arms.

“That’s very sweet of you, but-”

“I’m sending the car over. I expect to see you soon.” Okay. So, there was no getting around this.You huffed, slamming the creamer back onto the counter a little hard.

“Fine.” You gave in, though you were finding it hard to be excited. Stupid article. You needed to find out the truth from Paul.

“Lovely, I’ll see you soon, Kitty.”  With that, the dial tone signaled. That nickname always sent you over the edge. You wished he’d whisper it in your ear with a string of sweet-nothings. You groaned, wiping your face with your hands and then grudgingly getting dressed.

The driver showed up an half an hour after Paul called, and so started the adventure to Paul’s house. You didn’t even know he’d settled in Scotland until you pulled up to the home. Once past the gate, a gorgeous stone house came into view. Vines had grown up the sides of the home, and the stone work was covered with moss spots. A small garden patch was planted in front of the home, and you could see various vegetables growing. A few barns stood past the home out in a field and a handful of horses grazed the grass. You were awestruck; Paul lived in a medieval fairy tale home. Something you’d always dreamed of, in fact you talked about it with him when you were children. He always boasted about having a mansion with seven maids when he grew old.

The driver parked, and you thanked him whilst climbing out. Immediately sinking your foot into a puddle of mud. You groaned and pulled your shoe out with a shluck! sound.

“Oh, I should’ve told you it’d be muddy.” You heard Paul say. You looked up, your eyes drinking in the sight of him. He stood with his hands in his pockets and an amused smile on his face. He was wearing a basic long sleeve polo shirt with jeans and tall rubber boots spackled with mud. You sighed dreamily, he looked so good.

“That would’ve been nice.” You said dryly, snapping out of your dream state and stepping away from the mud.

“Welcome to the McCartney Estate.” He boasted, arms wide with a wide smile on his face. “I’ve been wanting to bring you here for a while.” He greeted you, and let you wrap an arm around his so you wouldn’t step or slip in any more mud. “Tour? Followed by breakfast?”

“Sure.” You said, checking your wrist watch. It was 10:37 in the morning, and you hadn’t had coffee yet; even though you did make some. You might as well get through the tour, though you’d be thinking about breakfast the whole time.

He lead you into the home, and took off his boots setting them aside. He also asked you to take off your mud soaked shoes as well. You looked around the home, absolutely astonished at how beautiful it was inside. A large kitchen was straight across from the living room, equipped with a fireplace and television. The bathroom stood down the hall, along with the backdoor of the house. A staircase in the living room led up to the bedrooms; 4 of them. He showed you around each room all of which were clean and tidied. He then took you to the basement and showed you the basic recording setup he had.

“Paul, this home is beautiful. You waited over three months to show me?!” You exclaimed, lightly punching his arm. He mocked hurt and rubbed his arm.

“Well, I was remodeling.” He defended as you two made your way back to the kitchen and living room. Breakfast had already been made, by someone who probably wasn’t Paul, and sat neatly across the counter-top. There were pancakes, fresh fruit, sausages and bacon, as well as syrup and whipped cream. Paul, being a gentleman, fixed you a plate with a little bit of everything and sat you down at the table.

“Paul, what’s all this for?” You asked, feeling slightly suspicious as to why he was making such a big deal over this.

“Can’t I just make you breakfast?” He had a slight hesitation before he replied. He fixed himself a plate and then he sat down in a seat across from yours. You assumed that was the best answer you were to get out of him, and just enjoyed your breakfast. He’d even gotten you a cup of coffee. Paul watched as you ate, feeling happy. This is how it should be, you in his home, eating breakfast slightly grumpy. He smiled warmly at the thought of you two waking up together, making breakfast, you complaining about this and that. Spending your days tending to the farm, feeding the chickens, riding the horses.

After breakfast, he gave you a pair of too big rubber boots and he showed you the farm. He owned three horses, all named something obscure. He also owned two pigs, five chickens, and even two goats. Each had their own pen, and small shelter. There was a large barn that held a small tractor, and a few bales of hay. It also harbored the other animals feed.

“I always remembered how you wanted to live on a farm.” Paul spoke softly, watching you spread the chicken feed. He thought you looked adorable in his spare pair of boots, that were indeed much to big for your feet. His heart warmed at the thought of this becoming a regular thing, tending to the animals together. Of course, you’d have your own size rubber boots by that time.

“I told you that when we were so young.” You spoke, setting the pan of seed down onto a nearby fence post. You looked up at him now. He had a look of adoration, leaning up against the chicken coop. Had Paul bought this home and farm for you? That’s just a ridiculous thought.

“(Y/N), I have something to confess.” He said after a few moments of consideration. You watched his face carefully, trying to assess what he was about to say. Did it have to do with Linda? “I- I’ve been feeling this way for a while.”

Oh god. Here it comes. He loves Linda. They’re back together, and she’s pregnant. You know it. Your chest tightened with each moment he didn’t speak. He was fiddling with one of the gate latches.

“I saw the article Paul.” You interrupted to him, not waiting to hear what he was going to say. You kicked some mud off your too big boots, and then looked up to see his reaction.

“Article?” He looked at you puzzled, now standing up straight.

“With you and Linda. I know. I know that you were with her.” You blurted. “I saw it in the newspaper this morning. You two, wrapped around each other looking happy go lucky. The picture was dated from three days ago.” Paul still looked at you puzzled. He shook his head, and ran his hand through his hair. You looked back down at the ground, feeling that gaping hole in your chest only grow in size. Him not answering only confirmed your fears. Well, you had a lovely run. As friends.

“I get it, we’re just friends. Paul, I- I-” You started, but Paul was quick to interrupt.

“No, you Idiot.” Your eyes raced to meet up with his, giving you a slight crick in your neck. “I’m in love with you.”

You gasped as the cavern in your chest immediately filled. Warmth filled your body, bringing feeling back into your fingers and toes. If you were holding something, you probably would’ve dropped it.

Paul’s body quickly wrapped around yours, as he rested both of his hands on the sides of your face, pulling you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, just a fiercely as he did to you. You grabbed his shirt by the sides and pulled him flush against you. It was like a typical, cheesy romantic movie. The kiss felt like twenty fireworks had been set off at once. Love was in the air; the cool, Autumn air.

“I love you too.” You managed to stumble out once you both broke for air. Happy tears stung your eyes. “I’ve loved you since I was 14.”

His hands slid down your back, now holding you tightly. He rested his forehead against yours, smiling softly. It was beautiful, with the chill Autumn air and sunshine billowing down onto you. The ambiance of the farm added to the romance.

“I knew the second I met you.” He spoke.

“You were eight years old.” You chuckled, kissing him again.

“I know a good bird when I meet one.” He winked. You shook your head with a giggle. You didn’t want to kill the moment, but you still had to ask what Paul was doing with Linda the other day. It was eating you up. If he loved you, then why would he be spending time with his Ex-Girlfriend.

“Paul, can I ask,” You paused, biting your lip, “What were you doing with Linda the other day?” You spoke softly, stepping out of his embrace.

“She was taking promotional pictures for the new album.” He replied. It didn’t even occur to you that Linda was a photographer, and her father was Paul’s manager. Of course. You’re an idiot, jumping to the worst conclusions.

“...Right.” You finally said, which a short laugh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” You kicked a few rocks, looking at your giant booted feet. Pauls hand gently grabbed your chin as he directed your attention up to him. He then kissed your forehead, and wrapped one arm around your waist.

“You know believing those stupid tabloids is rookie mistake number one.” Paul joked, finishing off with a quick peck to your lips. You savored the moment, being here with Paul. You knew at some point your Romantic-Comedy movie moment had to end. You wished it could be like this forever, but of course tomorrow you’d have to return to the bakery, and Paul would return to the studio.

“What will your fans think? Of us? I mean, You’re the last bachelor of the Beatles. I’m sure a lot of girls are going to be very disappointed.” You spoke up, while you and Paul walked back to the house. His hand held yours and it made you feel giddy. Sure, you’d been holding hands before but now there was meaning behind it and it was different.

“They’ll have to deal. I love you. Period.” He said, you could hear the happiness in his voice. It gave you butterflies. It’s crazy how three simple words could change your whole life. You two winding up together was such a fairy-tale moment.

You looked around at his vast property before entering the home. The chill air was starting to get to you, and you shivered slightly before the warmth of the fireplace brought you back to life. You poured yourself another cup of coffee, took off those ridiculous boots, and sat on the couch that was near the fire. Paul joined you a moment later, wrapping his arm behind you. You sighed, resting your head onto his shoulder. This is how life should have always been. You two should’ve been together years ago. However, if you did get together years ago he’d probably be working a dead end job, and you’d be a simple housewife.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Paul asked, after you two had been warmed back up by the fire. You adjusted your sitting position to look at him better.

“Yes, you know I love gossip.” You smiled wide. He laughed at your comment.

“I used to live in London, when we first reconnected. I-” He paused, a smiling interrupting his speech, “I bought this home and farm shortly after our first dinner. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my days with you. I never forgot all those rantings of you dreaming about owning a small farm, growing vegetables, raising animals.”

“Do you want me to cry?” You spoke, a happy tear running down your cheek. You laughed shortly and kissed him hard, straddling his lap. He rested his hands on your hips, occasionally grabbing your bum as you kissed. No, you two hadn’t had sex before. Though as teenagers there were a few close calls. Mostly being drunk from going to parties, especially after Paul joined The Quarrymen.

You two kept kissing, each one getting more hot and heavy. Paul was now firmly holding onto your bum, while your fingers were tangled in his hair. You could feel him progressively getting turned on, his hips occasionally coming up to meet yours. You would break the kisses with soft moans, which only fueled Paul to continue. He grabbed you tightly and flipped the two of you so he was now on top of you on the couch. He quickly helped you get rid of your sweater, leaving you in jeans and a bra.

“God, I’ve forgotten how gorgeous your chest is.” He muttered, littering your chest and the tops of your breasts with kisses, occasionally leaving a love bite. You continuously ran your fingers through his hair, moaning at the sensations of him. Paul sat up straight and took his long-sleeve off, revealing his torso. You bit your lip, running your hands all across his chest. You’d always been sexually attracted to Paul, who wasn’t?

“Do y’want to go up to the bedroom, Kitty?” He whispered in your ear. His accent getting heavy. You feverishly nodded, and the two of you stood up, practically running up the stairs and to the master bedroom.

-------------------------------------------

Taglist: @starlight-and-moonshine @tarantinoandmetal @brifilm @yllwtaxi I love you all <3

[t0m0kii]

1-99

you think this is a game anon? you send in 1-99 i’m gonna do 1-99 so HERE WE H*CKING GO

“1) Sexuality?”

bi! even tho i’m not attracted to many boys (and i actually only seriously like one) i still consider myself to be a groovy bisexual

“2) If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?”

any of the monkees! but also paul mccartney!

“3) Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.”

here’s an excerpt from the nearest book, ‘‘the everything reading music book’‘: “The terms measure and bar can be used in place of one another - they mean the same thing.” very educational!

“4) What do you think about most?”

it’s probably pathetic but i probably think about story concepts the most! either that or monkees stuff but sometimes they can be the same thing

“5) What does your latest text message from someone else say?”

my latest text is from my dude sean a.k.a joj-n-ringo who said that he sent me loads of asks about nwa but somehow i didn’t get any of them 

“6) Do you sleep with or without clothes on?”

always with! sleeping naked is weird and plus i hate my body and don’t wanna look at it SKJALKJAKLHDKSJLKN

“7) What’s your strangest talent?”

i dunno! i don’t really have any weird talents!

“8) Girls…. (finish the sentence); Boys…. (finish the sentence)”

girls…are neat! boys…are also neat!

“9) Ever had a poem or song written about you?”

no one’s ever written me a song but i’ve had friends write me poems before! it’s nice and i love it

“10) When is the last time you played the air guitar?”

hm……when’s the last time i listened to joe walsh’s life’s been good……………probably then!

“11) Do you have any strange phobias?”

i don’t know if it counts as a phobia but i get really bothered when i see shirtless pics of people and their ribs are visible like idk what it is but eeeee i don’t like it

“12) Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?”

not that i can remember, lmao

“13) What’s your religion?”

i’m not like a diehard religion fanatic but i was raised christian and still sorta stand by it yknow

“14) If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?”

looking at the area around me, even if i’ve seen the place a thousand times, i’m always just lookin around lmao

“15) Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?”

it depends! mostly i like being in front tho jdhbkjfhdjfls

“16) Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?”

the monkees! those four idiots have my whole heart

“17) What was the last lie you told?”

my mom asked me if i did my homework yesterday and i lied and said i did it at school BUT I DID DO MOST OF IT THERE SO WHEN I BROUGHT IT HOME I DIDN’T HAVE A LOT TO DO

“18) Do you believe in karma?”

i guess so! what goes around comes around i’d suppose

“19) What does your URL mean?”

it’s named somewhat after my favorite anime character tomoko kuroki bc i love her and she’s a big mood

“20) What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?”

i think my greatest weakness would be that i jump to conclusions without any reason yknow but i think my biggest strength would be either my writing abilities or my ability to sorta see through people and see exactly what type of person they are

“21) Who is your celebrity crush?”

davy jones !!!!!! i love him so much !!!!!!!!!!

“22) Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

hELL NO i would never i’m way too modest for that sjsklaskjdkbfnj

“23) How do you vent your anger?”

usually i talk to someone about it who’d understand but sometimes when i don’t want to bug anyone i just scribble it all down

“24) Do you have a collection of anything?”i have a record collection! and a cd and tape collection, i mostly just collect music stuff kshsjlbsjk

“25) Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?”

i don’t really like either but i prefer talking on the phone!

“26) Are you happy with the person you’ve become?”

not entirely

“27) What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?”

i hate the sound of babies screaming like i don’t hate children but uGH it kills my ears and a sound i love is the sound of tambourines! i love those lil things they do a good noise

“28) What’s your biggest “what if”?”

what if it’s all for nothing (this could apply to several things)

“29) Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?”

i dunno about aliens but i think there are ghosts! i’d love to be friends with a ghost like. imagine

“30) Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.”

with my right i touch my phone first! and with my left i touch my 3ds 

“31) Smell the air. What do you smell?”

it smells like……………………………..air

“32) What’s the worst place you have ever been to?”

i dunno i’ve never really been anywhere super terrible 

“33) Choose East Coast or West Coast?”

uhhh east?

“34) Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?”

DAVY JONES OF COURSEEEEE

“35) To you, what is the meaning of life?”

to give it meaning

“36) Define Art.”

art is whatever you make it tbh, something that inspires

“37) Do you believe in luck?”

i guess! even tho i have the worst luck ever

“38) What’s the weather like right now?”

cold and windy it SUCKS

“39) What time is it?”

at the time of writing this answer it’s 8:37 pm!

“40) Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?”

i’m too young to drive so i’ve never done it bsjhklskjdvbfjdsk

“41) What was the last book you read?”

i admit i write more than i read but i believe the last time i read a book was yesterday when i was reading one of my how-to-read-sheet-music books from the library

“42) Do you like the smell of gasoline?”

i can tolerate it but i wouldn’t want to sit and smell it for hours

“43) Do you have any nicknames?”

not really! if you gave me one that’d be neat

“44) What was the last movie you saw?”

last time i watched a movie was when i rewatched the beatles movie ‘‘help!’‘ it’s a rlly good movie i love it

“45) What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?”

uh once i broke my arm in kindergarten but i think that’d be it

“46) Have you ever caught a butterfly?”

like in a net? no but i’d really like tooooo i think it’d be neat

“47) Do you have any obsessions right now?”

MONKEESSSSSS I’VE BEEN HYPERFIXING ON THE MONKEES FOR NEARLY A YEAR NOW I JUST LOVE THOSE FOUR DUMBASSES ESPECIALLY THE SHORT ONE THAT TALKS FUNNY

“48) What’s your sexual orientation?”

i’m a girl! born a girl and i have stayed a girl since. wild

“49) Ever had a rumor spread about you?”

not that i know of sjhskdksl is that a good thing??

“50) Do you believe in magic?”

perhaps it’s out there and someone’s just keeping it to themselves WHICH WOULD SUCK BC GIVE ME SOME MAGIC YOU FUCK

“51) Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?”

i forgive but never forget

“52) What is your astrological sign?”

since i was born on november 8th i’d be a scorpio!

“53) Do you save money or spend it?”

i’m terrible at saving money but i’m a wiz at spending it

“54) What’s the last thing you purchased?”

my monkees shirt! i love that thing even tho it was 90 dollars on etsy but lemme tell ya it’s 90 dollars well spent

“55) Love or lust?”

love !!!!!!!!!!

“56) In a relationship?”

in my daydream universe i’m the lovely intelligent wife of davy jones but in reality i’m a lonely bitch skjfhdsjflsj;fdkk

“57) How many relationships have you had?”

i had a boyfriend for a week in kindergarten but only because he recognized me from sunday school and i’ve never had a relationship since

“58) Can you touch your nose with your tongue?”

no and i can’t believe people can do that but some people can’t like HUH

“59) Where were you yesterday?”

i wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene officer i swear

“60) Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?”

on my desk next to my coaster is my pink rubber bracelet with a peter tork quote on it! and that’s not very far away so it counts!

“61) Are you wearing socks right now?”

the only time i’m not wearing socks is when i’m in the shower so yes

“62) What’s your favorite animal?”

the red panda !!!! i love those funky little dudes !!!!!!!

“63) What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?”

i really would not know my dude i mean just being myself i guess?? bold of you to assume people like me

“64) Where is your best friend?”

probably at their house being the greatest best friend ever

“65) Spit or swallow?(;”

i think when you’re brushing your teeth you literally have to spit you can’t just swallow that shit what the fuck if i find someone who does that i’ll ascend

“66) What is your heritage?”

i don’t really know! i mean i’m about as white as a piece of paper so

“67) What were you doing last night at 12 AM?”

i told you before officer i wasn’t out doing illegal actions ((nah but seriously i was watching youtube i think))

“68) What do you think is Satan’s last name?”

bofa

“69) Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?”

honestly i never remember where my bus stop is i always just look out the window and see my house and i’m like oh shit time to skidaddle so i mostly rely on the bus driver for that. thanks bus driver

((yeah))

“70) Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?”

i think being friends with me would be alright maybe!

“71) You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?”

man fuck that guy i’m saving that fuckin dog then i’ll just show up with the dog and everyone will think it’s so cute that i won’t get fired. problem solved!

“72) You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?”

i guess everyone would already know but i’d finish everything i’d need to like writing projects and stuff, i’d make sure i’d do everything i need to before i had to die 

“73) You can only have one of these things; trust or love.”

where there’s trust there’s love so trust!

“74) What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?”

looking for the good times by the monkees never fails to make me smile! i just love davy a lot

“75) What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?”

7644! 

“76) In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?”

a good relationship starts with a good friendship yknow. you have to be able to love and appreciate the person you’re with and accept them the way they are and not try to change them too much. and it also sorta all relies on trust. if you can trust who you’re with, you’re good to go. and if you feel like you’re unable to call them out when they do wrong or if they do/say something really bad and you just let it slide then that’s not good in a relationship i’d say

“77) How can I win your heart?”

be nice

“78) Can insanity bring on more creativity?”

maybe just a small, small amount but not a lot

“79) What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?”

deciding to listen to the monkees tbh bc !!! i love em !!!! have i mentioned this !!!!

“80) What size shoes do you wear?”

like size 11 or somethin like that

“81) What would you want to be written on your tombstone?”

“bury me shallow because i’ll be back”

“82) What is your favorite word?”

my favorite word would probably be “lovely” bc it’s so fuckin !! good !!!!!!!

“83) Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.”

i always hear the word in davy’s voice and the way he says it LKDSLSKS he goes “h a h t” it’s cute

“84) What is a saying you say a lot?”

“it be like that sometimes”

“85) What’s the last song you listened to?”

everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fears! listening to it as i answer this actually

“86) Basic question; what’s your favorite color/colors?”

blue! really any shade of blue but especially light blue!

“87) What is your current desktop picture?”

i’ve said monkees too many times in this post but. them

“88) If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?”

the president bc he sucks

“89) What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?”

if someone outside of the internet asked if i were gay i think i’d be a little scared to answer bc yknow my whole family is homophobic and all that and sometimes you never can tell who is and who isn’t

“90) One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?”

introduce myself bc even if i’m scared i’m not about to be impolite

“91) You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?”

time travel !!!! they call me TIME TRAVELING PRODUCE AISLE 

“92) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?”

maybe a half hour of my first concert! it was a blast

“93) You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?”

developing depression

“94) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?”

DAVY FUCKIN JONES but would we still see eachother afterwards is the question

“95) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?”

manchester, england !!!!!!! i really want to go and i actually kinda wanna move there someday

“96) Do you have any relatives in jail?”

not that i know of i sure hope not lmao

“97) Have you ever thrown up in the car?”

once a long time ago

“98) Ever been on a plane?”

never bc my mom is super scared of heights and scared of planes and tbh i kinda don’t really like planes i prefer boats

“99) If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?”

i’d say listen to papa gene’s blues by the monkees and listen to mike nesmith go “yeeeeeehawwwww !!!!!!”

this took me an hour thanks anon

[geezeralert]

A Beatles fan gets back to where he once belonged

(Some albums from my collection)

(First of three parts)

As a really big fan of the Beatles, I have always been somewhat in awe of those who are really HUGE fans of the famed singing group.

They just seemed to enjoy the music on a whole different level, with thorough knowledge and appreciation for what was produced by this unique musical foursome in their eight-plus years together.  

So, over the last four months, as a retired-geezer-bucket-list endeavor, I took a huge leap towards earning my “huge fan” badge.

I re-listened to, re-enjoyed and studied — consulting at least five books — each of the some 300 Beatles’ recordings, as contained on their 13 official albums/CDs along with many of their various related versions (on the three two-CD anthologies, various collections like “One” and the BBC live sessions).

I am blogging about it because, honestly, I’d just like to share my experience and put my basic impressions down in writing.  It was riveting and sinfully fun, spending too much money and too much time — including many breaks to just sit back, travel down memory lane and simply be entertained by these pop songs/albums that took me through the 1960s, from my pre-teen to college years — on what’s really a rather personal, trivial pursuit.  

But I’m also holding out hope that my findings could be interesting for other Beatles fans, of whatever level.

Quick bottom line: I am more impressed now than I was before with the output of this pop group and the incredible blending of the four multi-talented musicians Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr.  I’ll write about why and list the highlights of what I learned in the second part.

First off, though, I should define “really big fans,” my current state and that of many millions of my contemporaries worldwide from the sixties.

This group is familiar with all the Beatles recordings (able to identify them when hearing just the opening notes), their background as a group and individuals (back to teenage years), their basic timeline as recording artists (who authored what compositions and when), their alternate recordings, their post-Beatles recordings, their relations (girlfriends, wives), and their basic life stories.

In other words, we just just paid attention all these years, watching the relevant movies and videos, buying their records and reading at least the most reliable major books about them — first by Hunter Davies and then by Bob Spitz — while also picking up more than a few of the annual money-grabbing “new” ones.

I’ve read two books by “first wives” Patti Boyd (“Wonderful Tonight”) and Cynthia Lennon (“John”) and Lennon’s sister, “My Brother.”

I also bought one of the first song-by-song compilation books, “Beatlesongs” (1989) by William J. Dowling. For decades, it was my go-to source for day-to-day inquires like “who played that great bass part on ‘Hey Bulldog’”?  

By being a big fan, my Christmas and birthday presents from family and friends often have been Beatles stuff (when they tired of stuff feeding my other passion, baseball) including three coffee table books, a box of “The BBC Archives” TV and radio broadcast material, and three other books going into each of the group’s songs.

From all that, I am left wondering if the Beatles ever had a private, unphotographed, unrecorded (in writing or audio) stretch long than five minutes.

It was the final gift last Christmas,  “Revolution in the Head” by Ian MacDonald, that propelled me to finally take on this long-planned intensive study of the Beatles’ music.

MacDonald’s definitive work, updated three times since published in 1994, is classified as a textbook by the Los Angeles Public Library. It goes into great detail on the musical and sociological aspects of each song so it was sometimes beyond my sphere of interest. But it was most useful to me by going song-by-song in chronological order, referencing all the alternative versions of the songs and telling where to find them.  

Along the way, I also found the fascinating (although partially disputed) book “Here, There and Everywhere” by Geoff Emerick, a teenage recording studio prodigy who helped engineer (record, mix) just about every Beatles song, either as an assistant in his teens or the primary engineer in his early 20s.

His first-person observations helped flesh out the more technical aspects or third-party accounts of the Beatles songs.

(Other books used for the song-by-song marathon: “The Beatles: A Hard Day’s Write. The Stories Behind Every Song” by Steve Turner and “All the Songs. The Story Behind Every Beatles Release,” a massive, picture-filled coffee table book by Jean-Michel Guesdon and Phillippe Margotin.)  

Meanwhile, there are a ton of other written works out there awaiting my attention once this project is done – exhaustive books by Mark Lewisohn; memoirs by the group’s producer (and Fifth Beatle early on) George Martin and original drummer Pete Best; “Shout: The Beatles in their Generation” by Philip Norman; and “Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now,” by Barry Miles — to name a few . . . in my price range (more on that in part three). There’s a seemingly never-ending flow of written material and reworked music.

And it’s fair to assume “really huge fans” have read them all. (I’ll delve more into what constitutes that fan level in parts two and three.)  

The original idea for trying this project came after advanced technology, resolved legal issues and a favorable marketplace brought about the production of the entire Beatles catalogue on CDs nine years ago.

I had tried keeping up with the Beatles’ output over the years on vinyl, eight-track tapes and cassettes but, for one reason or another, had some holes.

Nearly my entire Beatles collection of vinyl albums was stolen from my college dorm room in the early 1970s. I then rebought some of the biggest ones at that time but then sat back and waited for releases in the latest medium (eight-track, cassettes, CDs, digital) and lost track of what I had.

So, when the complete collection on CD (remastered to sound even better!) became available, I perked up. But the price tag ($150-200) gave me pause.

Then came an offer to buy the whole shebang at half price. I was ready to pounce.

But there remained another major issue.

The Beatles’ studio personnel, I learned, recorded each of their songs in both monaural (“mono”) and stereo. Each version had/has its strong backers, especially as the original tapes were revisited and reproduced with improved quality (both in stereo and mono) for the latest CD versions.

For the “true experience” of listing to the Beatles songs, did one really have to possess and listen to both stereo and mono versions? The inner Beatles fanatic and picky perfectionist told me “yes.” My practical and realistic self, though, said that’s crazy, unnecessary and an expense only the crazy wealthy fan would want to pay.

Luckily, many music critics recognized the dilemma this posed for the average fan. From reading a few of their comparisons and conclusions, I came up with a fairly consistent recommendation for which albums are best in mono and which are best in stereo:

Mono sounds best for “Please Please Me,” “With the Beatles,” “Hard Days Night,” “Beatles For Sale” and “Help.” Stereo is recommended for “Rubber Soul,” “Revolver,” “Magical Mystery Tour” “The Beatles (The White Album)” “Yellow Submarine” “Let It Be” and “Abbey Road.” (The latter two were only mixed in stereo anyway.)

Mono and stereo versions of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” both offer great listening experiences, and the 50th anniversary remix in 2017 added yet another aural mix.

The mono box set includes all the songs released as singles (45 rpm) and not on any of the basic albums (though some, those that rose to no. 1 on Billboard lists, are included in the “Beatles — 1” album/CD).  

Emerick actually recommended the mono mixes of  “Revolver” and “Sgt. Pepper,” which he engineered. He said much more care was given to the mono versions than the stereo ones, which were rushed at the conclusion of the project.

He wrote:

“True Beatles fans would do well to avail themselves of the mono versions of Sgt. Pepper and Revolver because far more time and effort went into those mixes than the stereo mixes. The stereo versions of those albums have an unnecessary surfeit of panning and effects like ADT (Automatic Double Tracking) and flanging. (Fellow engineer) Richard and I would sometimes get carried away with them because of their novelty value . . . especially if George Martin wasn’t there to rebuke us. Needless to say, it was John who especially loved that kind of overkill — we’d sometimes whack something on too severely just to see how it sounded, only to find him winking at us, saying, ‘More!’”

It should be noted that Emerick wrote his book in 2007, before all the remastering of the Beatles albums took place. So, perhaps the new stereo mixes enhance those versions to the point that they now are preferable.  

And then there’s the whole “Let It Be” controversy, when the original recordings were turned over to “wall of sound” maestro Phil Specter, reportedly by John Lennon, much to the chagrin of McCartney.

So, a stripped down version of those songs “Let It Be-Naked,” was produced.

For my listening project, I listened to that naked CD as well as a number of mono vs. stereo renditions of Beatles’ songs.  

Basically, I agreed with experts (they are so grateful, I’m sure!) that the early albums are best in mono.

This was a time when few people had quality stereo systems, if any stereo at all (I had a small portable one in my room), and thus much more time and care was given to the mono versions (says my books). Those tunes in stereo sound pretty tinny and awkward to listen to (says my ears), especially with headphones (e.g. the drums and base in one ear, the voices in another).  

Of course, musical preferences, like all reactions to art, are wholly subjective. When I posted a list of my personal choices for “five worst Beatles songs” (yes, they did produce some songs I cannot stand: “Rain,” “Paperback Writer,” “Baby You’re a Rich Man,” “I’m Down,” “Helter Skelter”) on a Facebook site, several respondents said the tunes were actually among their favorites. Some fans treat all of the group’s output as wonderful and any criticism as sacrilege.

In the books I consulted, Beatles tunes certified as “classic” by one author sometimes were depicted as “a disaster” by another. Even the Beatles disparaged as “garbage” some songs I (and others) enjoy.

Typical of most listeners, my reactions when sampling the stereo and mono recordings are probably based on how I first heard the songs. And for nearly all of them, that would be mono. Anything different sounds off kilter.

Some examples: The stereo “Taxman,” the lead song on side one of “Revolver,” has the bass and rhythm section on the left side while the lead guitar and percussion are on the right, with vocals in both. It sounds wrong to my ears, which first heard all the music coming out of both speakers (mono). Likewise, on the same album, “She Said She Said” (a favorite of mine) splits the instruments into separate channels and doesn’t sound quite right to me.

Still, the later works, as remastered, do have much greater depth and clarity in the stereo versions. Songs like “Martha, My Dear,” “Savoy Truffle” and “Glass Onion” sound terrific (I played them over and over). Likewise, most of Sgt. Pepper, which was remastered a second time for the 50th anniversary CD, is fine in stereo.

In several cases, like “Martha My Dear,” I enjoyed a song in the latest version far more than I did originally.

Which brings us to my general observations on what I heard and read. That would be part two, coming tomorrow.  

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: The Beatles - The Beatles Super Deluxe

After circulating among collectors for decades in varying levels of quality and completeness, the Beatles' famed Esher Demos have finally been commercially released - 27 acoustic numbers laid down in advance of formal sessions for the Fabs' self-titled 1968 LP known to everyone, everywhere as "The White Album."

Filling one of the six CDs that make up The Beatles new super-deluxe, 50th-anniversary redux, these practice sessions contain many of the songs that would wind up on the finished two-album set, plus never-released goofs such as "What's the New Mary Jane," a novelty along the lines of "You Know My Name (Look up the Number);" songs that would appear on later Beatles albums, such as "Mean Mr. Mustard" and "Polythene Pam;" and songs held for post-Fab solo records, such as Paul McCartney's "Junk," John Lennon's "Child of Nature," which is a fully formed version of "Jealous Guy" with different lyrics, and George Harrison's "Not Guilty," in which he rails against his inability to get more than one song per album side.

I won't upset the Apple cart, I only want what I can get/I'm really sorry that you've been misled, but like you heard me said/not guilty, he sings as Lennon and McCartney - Ringo Starr is a rare presence, mostly relegated to tambourine, on these specimens - accompany him.

It is here we learn the flight that landed McCartney "Back in the U.S.S.R." was awful before it was dreadful and Harrison's "Piggies" ate pork chops before switching to bacon. Even for people who've had these renditions on bootleg tapes for years, the complete set, with improved sound quality, is a revelation and worth the price of admission almost on its own.

As he did on 2017's re-release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Giles Martin - son of producer extraordinaire George - remixed the original LP. And while there wasn't as much to uncover on the stripped-down "White Album," the younger Martin still brought some new sounds to the fore, including peppier percussion throughout, particularly on "I Will" and "Why Don't We Do it in the Road?," and previously unheard acoustic guitar licks on "Mother Nature's Son."

For its part, "Wild Honey Pie," twangier with more layers of vocals, sounds like a completely different take - the only song on which this is the case. But for folks who have a snappy, crackly, poppy version of The Beatles on vinyl, this remixed edition is the one to replace it with as those who know the album well will hear new nuances throughout that'll be lost on most casual fans.

This thing runs nearly six hours and half of it - 50 tracks on three discs - is made up of full-band sessions that disprove the long-held assumption that The Beatles was essentially four guys recording solo tracks. The Beatles are playing as a unit here, and show that even when they were just practicing rough takes, they were better than most groups trying their hardest.

It's here we hear a slow and embryonic, 12-minute version of "Helter Skelter," where “Rocky Raccoon”’s doctor is "sminking" of gin and causing laughter in the studio, where Yoko Ono says "you become naked" (from "Revolution 9") during an early take of "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill" and where we learn Harrison's "one more time" at the end of "Piggies" was actually grafted in from the beginning of an early version. Also eye-popping are the alternative lyrics - heard in the Esher Demos as well - to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."

A primordial "Hey Jude" is so different from the officially released version as to make the played-out song fun to listen to again and one where the first pass makes the listener wonder whether there will be a wordless coda. "I'm So Tired" once had backing vocals. "Let it Be" was originally a blues. And “Good Night” could’ve wound up with four-party harmony and traditional instrumentation.

Oftentimes, demos, early takes and rehearsals are worth hearing once and then go on the shelf only to come out when fellow fanatics of this or that band come over for a listening session. These early takes and studio jams like "Los Paranoias" and "(You're So Square) Baby I Don't Care" are so much more than that and serve to create another version of the “White Album” to enjoy for years to come.

"Mark it fab," McCartney says after one early version of "Helter Skelter."

Do the same to the entire super-deluxe edition of The Beatles.

Grade card: The Beatles - The Beatles Super Deluxe - A+

11/19/18

[kalypsichor]

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part seven

summary: You’re not jealous of the fact that girls on Tinder love George, you’re not. John may or may not be sexually attracted to metaphors. Paul may or may not have a professor kink. Ringo is just vibin’ like always. Gigi Hadid terrorizes your dreams. Oh, and y’all finally get the McLennon sandwhich you asked for.

warnings: 2k words of the usual bullshit, some english major bashing, actually it’s just john bashing ( sorry @spaceyantique​ ), i love english majors, and miscommunication babey!

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four | five | six

i’m writing this draft at 3 am. it’s a new low for me. oh, and the poem mentioned in geo’s tinder is lyrics from ‘for you blue’

“Well, it is a flattering picture.”

You have to agree with Ringo. The two of you are perched on the couch, peeking over George’s shoulder at the Tinder profile. John and Paul are sharing the armchair, snickering at something. Probably another scheme. Bastards…

The photo is the one John had snapped a few days ago of George in the kitchen. He’s got this brilliant smile on his face, just having taken his first warm shower in weeks, and he’s gloriously naked from the belly button up. It’s a little blurry, but it captures George’s happiness—though you privately think that no picture could ever really do the boy justice. Take that, stupid Tinder girls.

“‘George.’” Ringo reads the bio out loud. “‘Twenty-one. Majoring in horticultural science, looking for a girl to put the ‘ho’ into it.’ This is terrible,” he says rather gleefully. George turns around and gives his friend a betrayed look.

“You missed the best bit. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You looked at me, that’s all you had to do.’ What’s that?”

George goes stock still. Slowly, his head turns to John and you swear you can hear it creak like a door hinge.

“You.” The word shakes from his throat with a quiet rage. “You looked through mY DIARY???”

“YOU HAVE A DIARY?” Ringo screeches. Paul has the common sense to look a little frightened, but his boyfriend, who borrows a brain cell from Paul from time to time, does not.

“You write beautiful poetry, George,” John croons, and you have to physically hold George down to keep him from tackling the dumbass. Paul, getting flashbacks to the Shower Debacle, shudders.

You, on the other hand, are trying to wrap your head around the bio. Poetry? About who? That didn’t sound like it was about just anybody. Lucky girl, your mind hisses. Or boy. You immediately try recalling every single time George has brought up a classmate. Your brain sputters a bit and spits out an answer to one of the questions you’d skipped on your first midterm yesterday. Except now it’s fucking useless, isn’t it????

Ringo speaks, bringing you out of your downward spiral into insanity. “Hey, the app says you’ve got a match.”

Frowning, George taps on the notification. “But I haven’t even looked at anyone’s profile.”

“I did you a favor and swiped right a couple o’ times,” John says. George groans—no, the sound does not turn you on a little—and hangs his head forward. By ‘a couple,’ John must’ve meant a couple hundred, because George’s phone is blowing up. The only thing keeping George from hurtling the phone right into John’s smarmy little meerkat grin so hard that he shits pieces of it out for weeks is your hand on him. The warmth of it is radiating out from his shoulder to his chest and sweeping down to his toes. When you take your hand away a few seconds later, thinking it had overstayed its welcome, George has to try very hard not to sigh.

“This one is cute,” Ringo comments. The notification had read ‘Maureen Super Likes You!’ and the phone screen is now showing a pretty brunette, around your age, smiling up at George.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.”

He didn’t say she wasn’t cute.

“Wait, wait!” John scrambles out of his armchair, nearly pushing Paul off in the process. George’s thumb pauses where it’s hovering over the ‘delete’ button for the app. “Come on, Geo. You haven’t gone out in years. Like, since high school. Since… since…”

“Pattie,” Ringo says. You and Ringo hadn’t known the other three in high school, but, as always, he was good with names.

Pattie? George has never mentioned a Pattie...

“Yeah, Pattie!” John lights up. You wish people would stop saying her name. “Pattie Boyd. Man, she was a catch… I still remember her blonde hair. And those long legs. She looked like, uh… who’s that model?”

“Bridget Bardot.” Ringo, again.

Paul is mirroring the sour look on your face, though he obviously has a better reason for it.

“No, who the fuck is that? I meant Gigi Hadid. Isn’t that why you dated her?”

“She did not/” George protests. “And no, John, unlike some people, I care about more than just looks.”

At this point, Paul looks as though he’s about to cry. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m more than looks, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean you, obviously.” But George’s words are lost under John, who leaps back into the armchair and coos at his boyfriend.

“Macca, you know I love you for more than your looks. You’ve got that big old brain, and you’re the best artist in this whole school… it’s just a bonus you’re so pretty too.”

Paul seems satisfied by this. Stupid fucking English major. John could get anything his way with just a few words.

“John’s right, y’know.” You and Ringo mouth ‘y’know’ at each other and erupt into giggles. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more. You’re in your third year of uni and you haven’t even dated a single person. There’s only one more year before you’re out in the real world! And the sea will be much, much bigger then.”

George scowls, unimpressed by Paul’s little speech. “People aren’t fish, Paul. And I’m vegetarian, so I don’t condone catching them.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Paul cries, throwing his hands in the air. John nods and makes eyes at him as if metaphors were the sexiest thing in the world. He’s probably into that. English majors.

“You tell ‘em, babe.”

The doorbell rings, banishing any homicidal thoughts from your mind.

“That’ll be the takeout,” you say. George flies so quickly to the door, desperate to get out of the situation, that you feel a little gust of wind. You hear him say something to the delivery person and then he’s coming back into the living room, take out boxes in tow and a big smile on his face. Nothing makes the boy happier than food. And maybe leggy blondes that look like Gigi Hadid, your brain suggests, and you sigh.

For a good ten minutes, the conversation is put on hold. You’re all broke college students, after all, and getting Chinese is like a luxury.

“What’d you get?” you ask through a mouthful of food, looking over George’s shoulder. He’s sat back down on the floor in front of the couch again and he lifts the box up so you can see it.

“Veggies with fried noodles. You?”

“Same.”

“Twinsies,” George says solemnly, and you high five over it.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, John and Paul share an eyeroll.

“I got shrimp fried rice if anyone cares,” Ringo pipes up from next to you. You bump your shoulder into his.

“Of course I care, Ritchie. Wanna trade a shrimp for my broccoli?”

He nods and you both chopstick over the terms of the trade. George’s grin drops a little. John and Paul roll their eyes even harder.

After a while, having devoured their food like it’s the Last Supper, you’ e all pulled out your phones. You scroll through Instagram and send a funny post to the flat’s group chat, and everyone laughs simultaneously. Everyone except George, who… has opened Tinder again. Christ, how does he have so many matches?

Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s cute… and funny… and gives the best advice when you’re down…

And you’ll be sharing all that with some other girl if you don’t do something about it.

“Why do these girls keep asking about my teeth?”

You scoff, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. George’s sexy vampire teeth are yours and yours alone to appreciate, thankyouverymuch. “Probably have oral fixations, the lot of them.”

John does a whole body shudder and you all turn to stare at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Freud. That Psych course tore my GPA into shreds.”

“Right, like you care about your grades so much.” You lean back against the couch. “What was so bad about that class, anyway? I enjoyed it.”

“Professor Pang fucked me.”

“WHAT—”

“Fucked me over! Jesus, I dunno why my mouth just had a seizure there.” John cradles Paul’s face in his hands, trying to smooth away the frown on his face. “Paul, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s a Freudian slip, that is,” you comment, sticking your tongue out when John turns to glare at you. Ringo starts humming Hot For Teacher under his breath. John leans over and smacks him.

“The only teacher I’ve got the hots for is you,” John says, turning back to Paul, and you and George make gagging noises. “Professor McCartney…”

“Professor?” Paul’s Pout (yes, with a capital P) turns into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“I think I’ve been bad… shall I serve detention for you?”

“Okay, just go!” You point towards their bedroom. “Please leave the immediate vicinity right fucking now.”

“I’m gonna hurl,” George says. The two horny bastards giggle and scurry off in the direction of your finger, door slamming behind them.

You go to bed that night with a belly full of noodles and a brain full of thoughts that keep you turning and tossing in bed. And when you finally do fall asleep, you dream about Gigi Hadid, cackling as she chases you around with George’s stupid little towel.

***

Your second exam the next day goes miserably.

Okay, maybe you’re being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad—you’d done a fair bit of studying that weekend, invigorated to overcome the Coffee Incident. Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about George the whole time, and him swiping through Tinder, and whoever the hell that Pattie girl is.

Okay, stop it. You can’t hate her for dating the boy you like. Us women have to support each other, the rational part of your brain tells you.

You grumble all the way back to the flat, fighting with the reasonable part of you. Eventually, you give in. Rational You is right. Hating on a chick you don’t know is what makes up eighty percent of Hollywood’s bullshit romcoms. Yes, you are going to be a good person and take the high route.

That all goes away when you open the door.

John and Paul are standing in the kitchen, whispering furiously to each other. You only catch the tail end of what they’re saying—

“-didn’t think he was actually going to do it!”

—before John sees you in the doorway and smacks Paul on the shoulder.

“Heyyy there,” John says. You immediately know something is wrong. You walk shut the door behind you and eye Paul’s smile warily.

“What are you two doing?”

“Erm, we were making a sandwich for you.” Paul gestures exaggeratedly at the plate on the counter, which John holds up at shoves in your direction.

“Yeah, we knew you’d need a little pick me up after the test.”

You look around the flat carefully. It’s awfully quiet. Ringo’s at his twelve o’clock lecture, but you should be able to hear…

“Where’s George?”

This slaps the smile right off of their faces and neither of the boys can put it back on quickly enough for you to not notice.

“He’s doing yoga,” Paul says at the same time John blurts out,

“He went to visit his mum!”

Paul glares at John and you feel something twist in your gut. “Yes, you see...” Paul looks frantically to the ceiling. God won’t help you out of this one. “George went to pick up his mum… and they’re at yoga together!”

You walk into the kitchen, crossing your arms. “Louise lives in Liverpool,” you say slowly.

“Yup,” John says.

“And the yoga studio is ten minutes away from our flat.”

“Yuuup.”

You can’t believe he’s still keeping this up. “And the drive from here to Liverpool is four hours. And George doesn’t have a car.”

“Yuuuuuuuuu—”

“Oh, I can’t take it anymore,” Paul cries, ignoring John’s frantic shushing. “George went on a date with that Maureen girl from Tinder. He’s at the coffee shop now.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

You must’ve said this out loud, because Paul gives you a sympathetic look. After a long moment of silence, John once again offers you the plate.

“Sandwich?” he asks, trying for a smile that comes across more as a grimace.

You take the sandwich and throw it right into the trash, plate and all.

[zee-cupcakes-personal-blog]

Present Mic x Reader: Major Key 2

Backlash 1 / Repeat 2 / Refrain 3 / Skip Back 4 / Pause 5 / Caesura 6 /Intermission /

(Reach Out) Major Key 1 / (Major Key 2)/ Encore (Coming Soon)

(Stay Away) Minor Key 1/ Minor Key 1 (Coming Soon)/ Aftershow (Coming Soon)

    You shot Hizashi a text when you got home. It was nearly four-thirty and you had to be at work at five for Saturday rush hour. Probably the best shift as far as wages went- but a shift that was in no way pain-less… Hm. You’d have to call your job and let them know you could be a few minutes late… But you couldn’t put your phone down from texting Hizashi.

      From: Hizashi

“Babe.”

“Sweety.”

“Honey.”

“Darling.”

“Apple of my eye.”

“Forget about going home tonight, just come straight over.”

“I’m making up for last night!”

       You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t curious—but that meant you had to pack things- clothing. Your toothbrush, any facial cosmetics you could carry… Your mind wandered, pushing away things you’d need to pick up discreetly as you ambled up the stairs to your apartment.

      How late was the drug store open on a Saturday? You couldn’t remember, but maybe it would be wise to-

      You paused at your door.

      It was open.

     Or, rather, it was unlocked. You could tell by the way the keyhole was turned. Could it have been possible you had… Just forgotten? No. You remember very distinctly locking the door before you left… And the only other people who had extra keys were your mother and Hizashi himself.

      To: Hizashi

“Hey, you wouldn’t have happened to have stopped by my place would you?”

      From: Hizashi

“What? No… Y?”

 Ooooh this was bad.

      Without thinking, or responding you ran through the open door and looked around.

      “Oh hey!” a voice chirped from your counter- he had long black hair and a slightly babyish face. “I was wonderin’ when you’d show up!”

    Your years of vigilante experience have taught you that the typical questions a normal person would have asked in that moment were useless. You spent no time at all before you carefully accessed the situation and threw a heavy phone-book from beside your door at the stranger.

      The stranger’s entire body- clothing and all- shifted and bent around the book in a goldish rush. “Okay, actions speak louder than words! I like that!”

      “Get out of my apartment!” you demanded the person in your room. Who was he? Another vigilante? A villain? A hero? No he couldn’t have been a hero… And what’s worse is that his Japanese was… Not bad, per se, but it was definitely not his first language.

    “Then let’s take this outside.”

      You felt the force of your legs slip out from underneath you as a rush of heavy liquid pushed you off your feet and back out onto the apartment walkway; all the way back against the rails where the amorphous blob pinned you before a decidedly human face formed from it.

      “Hi. You are coming with me and we’re going to have a niiiice little chat and-“

      You punched it. You punched the liquid man right in the face.

      “SON OF A—“

      You grabbed what little bit of his nose you could and jerked his head to the side- watching as his face moved seamlessly across the expanse of his body(?). You tried to make sense of the strange quirk this man had. It appeared he could make his body turn into this pliable metallic alloy at will.

      As his face shifted away back into the rest of his mass a part of him reached out for your face.

    And then he was human again. Human and incredibly naked.

      “You just walked into an open apartment?” came a slightly condescending voice as a flash of gray pulled you back and away from the rail.

      The sight of Eraserhead standing there both horrified and relieved you.

      “God fucking dam-“ the naked man grumbled, covering himself for some sense of modesty. “Seriously?”

      “It’s over, Alloy. Present Mic, and Endeavor are both on their way.”

      “Oh,you must not know then,” ‘Alloy’ mocked back as you recalled, vaguely, hearing about a relatively unknown American villain slipping through the international waters and making headway in Japan. Apparently he was known for forming himself around victims and controlling them.

      That could have been you.

      If Shota hadn’t shown up…

      “You know you’re helping a-“

      “THE CALVARY HAS ARRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVEEEDDDDD!” came the next voice overpowering voice from a story below from the parking lot which sent you, Eraser, and Alloy flying- Alloy even seemed to vibrate on the surface like water reacting to a rock dropping into it.

      He was weak to high frequency noises… And from the very specific hero choice he was weak to heat as well.

      Gold. Alloy’s quirk was gold.

      When you watched the villain stand from where he sat, slumped on the wall his clothing from earlier formed around him. Erasure must have worn off somehow. “God damn… Hey, Paul McCartney WANNA BE; watch where you’re aiming that thing!”

      “Go,” Eraserhead said quietly from beside you. “Get away from him; he’s after you.”

      It wasn’t something you were willing to debate; and in the end you probably guessed he knew that if you helped and Endeavor showed up—you’d be put up for your crimes of vigilantism for sure. Without thinking twice you followed up on Eraserhead’s command and ran down the walkway to the stairs- you weren’t about to use Backlash to jump to the lower level- not when you could still need it.

      “Hey! Come back here!” you heard Alloy holler after you- reaching out with an extended golden arm. His quirk must have worked like pliabody as well!

      Surely, though, you thought Eraserhead would be able to stop him- but he didn’t. Not with Erasure at least… But no; Shota steps between you and the man made from gold and you can’t help but stop and look on in morbid, complacent horror.

      The rest of Alloy caught up to his arm and he slowly morphed around Eraserhead- tightening and forming around his clothing- leaving the majority of your new friend covered in a liquid yellow sheen… And then he ran at you.

      “C’mon, come on!” came a voice from beside you as you were jerked down the stairs- Hizashi had apparently run up the stairs himself and hopped the rail on the last few as you descended with him into the parking lot.

      Alloy, however, now coupled with Aizawa- jumped from the second story of your apartment and landed in a little ripple of gold. Eraser’s mouth was exposed, but that was the only extent of Eraser’s body you could see that wasn’t covered in some golden veneer.

      “This is annoying… Seriously? You knew two pro heroes?” Alloy uttered- standing completely still around Eraserhead’s body. “… Eh… You’re not worth the trouble,” he finally said, making Eraserhead take a few steps back.

      “Oh, don’t you DARE,” Hizashi said as he put a hand to his directional speaker.

      “Really?” Alloy questioned mouthlessly. “You think you’re in a position to bargain?” he asked twisting Eraserhead’s neck. “Unless you want to see your friend’s neck break; you’ll take off that speaker.”

      Hizashi stood there, biting his lip before he gave you a furtive glance, then he let out a defiant huff and pushed the speaker over his head, setting it down on the ground.

      “Good little pawn…” His words were satisfied, condescending. “Now… I know you know I can’t fight three pros at once. So I’m afraid I really must dash. Pass along a little message to my darling princess would you?”

      Clearly, you had been out of the loop for months. You had been out of vigilantism for months and- suddenly- you were useless.

      “Ask her if her choice makes her happy.”

 And just like that tendrils of gold slid off and pooled around Eraser’s feet- sinking into the storm drain beneath the pair of them. Eraser, dazed and looking… Rather invaded as police sirens blared.

       For the first time since you first opened your door you got a chance to look around. Hizashi wasn’t just… Hizashi he was present Mic. Directional speaker aside- but he was dressed just as he was that one time you were meeting after the fire. And Eraserhead—Shota, was looking livid as he pushed his goggles up revealing a trickle of blood dripping down into one of his eyes.

     And then… He showed up.

      The De-facto  number one Pro Hero, Endeavor, ran into the parking lot- demanding to know what happened as your world began to twist away- adrenaline finally wearing off as your limbs felt heavy. You acknowledged you probably would have been more composed if it was for the fact you were out of practice… But between that and the sheer amount of Heroes all you could do was just numbly let your body shut-down as you fell into Present Mic’s arms.

        You awoke in white. White everything- white ceiling, white sheets, white hospital gown… Your heartbeat monitor blipped obediently in the distance as you scanned the room. Indeed- you were in a hospital…

      The heroes must have put you here after that fight—oh. Yeah. You had collapsed right after Endeavor barged in.

      And alloy had gotten away.

      You let out a sigh and went to bring your hand to your temples- but found you could not when your wrist was met with a jingling resistance.

 ... Handcuffs…

      You couldn’t tell if it was because they had given you medicine to stop your panicking or because you were too tired and too numb at this point to feel anything more than remorse… But you weren’t freaking out nearly as much as you thought you should be.

    Your heartbeat monitor reflected that and not long afterwards a man in a white coat came running in. “… Ah.” He said plainly. “You’re awake.” Seemingly unperturbed by your tears of grief the man came to your bedside and immediately began passing a finger in front of your hand to make sure you’re responsive.

      “You were involved in a very bad villain attack,” he said. “No physical injuries as far as we can tell, though. Can you tell me your name? Where you live?”

      You blinked, sniffing. You gave him your name, and the address of your apartment complex and seemed satisfied.

      “… Where am I?” you asked. “And… Why do I have…” you moved your wrist against the handcuffs.

      “Fair enough. You’re at a hospital not far from where you live… And you’ve been restrained since you came to the resting room for…” he sighs. “You’re a suspect for vigilantism.”

      Damn it.

      Your free hand came up to hide your eyes as you came to terms with what the heck had just happened. After all this progress you were making- you’d be put away because a villain attacked you. The cosmos had a funny way of making you pay back for what you had taken… But maybe you were just working on borrowed time anyway.

      “Now before you get upset—there’s someone who wants to talk to you. Hopefully this will cheer you up… I can bring him in in a few moments.”

      You poked your head to see the doctor smiling at you. “It’s Yamada. He has a high opinion of you… He was also talking about getting a few other people to talk with you in regards to this mess… Will you see him?”

      How could you possibly say no?

      Hizashi had come in wearing civilian clothing, hair down and tied back as he let out the most satisfied smile to see you awake and well.

      But he was quiet as he pulled up a chair and placed a hand on your arm. “Hey, lover… You okay?” he asked.

      You wouldn’t lie. “… I feel like I could be in a better situation…” you admitted. “But I’m not panicking so…” you shrug. “That’s a plus, I think…” You look at him, he’s nothing but kindness in his expression. “… How long have I been out?”

      “Weeeeeell,” he said with a cringe. “It’s ten thirty now… So… A few hours. The doc says he wants to keep you over-night for observation,” he says. “And… Maybe it’s best if you stay a few hours after that. Just to keep you out of… Holding.”

      Right. That.

      You blinked at him. “… So… How’d that happen?” you asked.

      You watched his expression sour. “The police went into your apartment to gather evidence on Alloy. When they saw your computer and a few of the other things you had in your room they cuffed you.”

      When you wiggled to a sitting position you gave him a look. “… So… Uh… I guess… I guess that’s something I got to figure out, right?” you ask. “They already question you?”

      “They did,” he said. “And I said that if you had been a vigilante- you weren’t a vigilante while we were going out.”

      It wasn’t a total lie, you admitted. Still, the fact Hizashi would lie like that made you wonder if he was lying less for his sake and more for your own

      “So… I guess we’re not going out anymore, are we?” you asked, feeling ashamed.

      “Huh? No. What gave you that impression?” The mood of the room twisted in a matter of moments. Suddenly everything seemed brighter. “The police are reviewing the evidence and then they’re going to pin you for any crimes and fees you have.” Hizashi smiled. “I… Uh. I wasn’t allowed in the room while you were asleep so I did some digging with a friend! A few actually! We think we can get you off the hook for a lot of this.”

      How could he be so happy in a time like this?

      Why were you so happy in a time like this?

      Hizashi reached forward and grabbed your cuffed hand. “We can get through this!” he jeered right before there came a few sturdy knocks on the door.

      “Oh, that must be her,” Hizashi said as he stood from the chair for a moment to answer the door. “Annnnd I was right! Come in come in!” he said, standing out of the way for a young woman in a skirt suit to walk in.

      “Good evening,” she said. Clearly she was stressed but she was trying to be cordial with you. She looked rather foreign- but she spoke Japanese clearly- as if it was something she had spoken for all her life. “My name is Kiyoko. I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but I’m with the American Embassy and I need to ask you a few questions in regard to the attack… Is that alright?”

      You looked at Hizashi from behind her. He gave you a thumbs up. “… Can he stay?”

      “Of course,” Kiyoko said with a sympathetic grin. “Whatever makes you feel more comfortable!” Hizashi let out a satisfied snort as he sat on the foot of the bed nest to you.

      “Alright, let’s hear it then.”

      The woman’s smiling face suddenly fell again. “… I’m here to gather and compile information on Alloy. He’s an American leader of an incredibly powerful gang based out of the United States…” She crossed her legs. “… So let’s start by asking; what… Do you know why Alloy targeted you?”