#thanks paul x

[mctartney]

Okay I feel like so much of it was a blur but let me try and write what I remember and share some of my highlights!

- Before the show we heard screaming and everyone rushing the other side of the arena and were like who the FUCK has turned up??? Well now we know lol

- He is such a genius starting the show with AHDN because that first chord??? Instant Beatlemania 

- Let Me Roll It ok ok ok listen. Not usually an old Paul fucker. Him taking his jacket off before and everyone cheering was funny. BUT then him slowly rolling up his sleeves and undoing his top button during the verses?? oooOOH let me at him 🥴

- He didn't tell the "Jimi asked me to tune his guitar" story like usual, was just like "he was a lovely guy, very humble" 🥺

- I don't know why but I found My Valentine so emotional?? I don't know, it's just Paul has lost so many people but I'm so glad that throughout his life he has always found people to love and who love him

- I've Just Seen A Face in front of the Cavern backdrop made me UNWELL

- Paul get everyone to do the little "oh-oh-oh-oh"s in In Spite Of All The Danger and then the crowd kept doing it when the the song was over and he looked so happy and it made him laugh so he did the last verse again AW

- Blackbird -  I've heard him tell the story about seeing the kids going to school in Little Rock before, but he told a story about how he got a text from a lady in Jacksonville who saw The Beatles there when they refused to play a segregated show and she said it was the first time she had ever stood next to a white person. Glad he makes a point to tell these stories because it makes it very clear - this was not long ago in the slightest.

- Here Today, okay I've never seen him have an emotional wobble in person, he's got through it okay. Every time I've seen him have a wobble in a video it's been on the "I love you" line. But this time he kind of had a moment on the "I really loved you and was glad you came along" and oh man. It's just so sad, isn't it? It's so sad.

- Now and Then, he had a little moment to admire the heart cards the crowd held up and it was very cute!!

- He started telling the story of the lost bass and then brought it out to play it and it was SO surreal to be in the same room in that guitar. He was like "I'm going to play it for the first time in 50 years" and then twanged the strings and was like "Well, it sounds like a bass!" djskf

- Get Back with the lost bass and Ronnie Wood was just so fun and they all looked like they were having so much fun!

- Let It Be was really beautiful, everyone lit up the arena with their phone torches. It was so special. Afterwards, he looked out to the audience and says, completely serious, like your dad giving his best advice "Let it be. There will be an answer. Let it be." I love him so much.

- Live And Let Die, one of the loud fireworks accidentally went off in the middle of a verse and scared the LIFE out of me. I jumped a mile and then looked back over to Paul who was just laughing djkdg. Him covering his ears for the last explosion at the end is so cuuute too he's the funny uncle at the party it's true.

- I've Got A Feeling. Ohhh. Sweet boy. Seeing him sing with John. Hearing John's voice ring through the arena so clearly. It's a lot.

- Paul: "We've got another special guest for you" Me: 🧐🙏 The Crew: *start dragging a drumkit on* Me: 😨 Paul: "Ringo Starr!" Me: 🥴😵

- IT WAS UNREAL!! THEYRE SO CUTE. Ringo truly is so little aww and they had a cuddle and Paul kissed him on the forehead. Honestly the affection between them was palpable, I dunno how to describe it. Just really fond.

- Lowkey Sgt Peppers and Helter Skelter were a blur bc my brain was just going PAUL AND RINGO SAME ROOM 50% BEATLES

- Then Abbey Road Medley went way too quickly and was all over so soon sighh

- He kissed the camera on the way out 😘😘 Love him to bits forever & always

[splatbastards]

do u guys think Murch is kinda...🏳️‍🌈🤨

[chetbakr]

"paul is darrel's best receiver"

RUN THAT BACK.

[ribcagebonemeal]

rip john lennon you would've hated my bad flash animation 💔

[frantic-babbling]

me watching the live thinking the closest thing we'll get to darry paul lore today is dan putting grease on his face

then at the last minute dan notices a comment and aksdhfkahsdf

and he basically says there's nothing to elaborate on his kissing statement because they do in fact kiss (and joke: if we see the show we will see him kissing whoever plays darry)

then he says how he loves how this is now a thing when it's been a thing for them for a while

[sondheim-girly]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN A DRESSER ON THE OUTSIDERS HAS READ PARRY FANFIC WHAT DO YOU MEAN????????????????

[httpiastri]

❣️ I just read your confession post for oscar and others! Can you do it for other drivers like Paul, Ollie, and Kimi? Love your writing! You inspired me to start my own Formula blog :D

❣️ – send me a prompt and one/a few drivers and i'll tell you how i think they would react!!

paul aron

paul is no stranger to short-lived flings and summer romances, but he's not as familiar with the feeling of his heart fluttering the way it does whenever he thinks about you. he isn't used to the way that he thinks about telling you whenever something good happens to him, nor the way that he wants to ask for your help when he's going through something. he doesn't understand why you're the first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing on his mind before he falls asleep. it takes him so long to figure out these new feelings, and when he eventually realizes that he's falling for you, he just gets scared.

he has no experience with these feelings, and everything he's heard about real relationships – commitment, trust, loyalty – sounds terrifying. but it doesn't take long for him to realize that it's worth it if it's with you.

i think the confession itself would be quite impromptu and unplanned. i'm imagining a movie night at his place, with you cuddled up to his side, when he just can't hold back anymore. when he asks if he can tell you something, he sounds just as playful as he usually does, so you never could've guessed the words that fall from his lips after that. "you're so... special. in a good way, a great way. and i... i think i'm falling for you."

ollie bearman

i see ollie as... kind of shy in this way? he isn't embarrassed or cowardly, but something in him makes that first real step a little too hard to take. i think ollie would much rather find a romantic, subtle way to do it.

one day, you're surprised to hear your doorbell ringing – you aren't expecting anyone, right? and you didn't order anything, did you? when you open your door, you find only a big bouquet of flowers standing outside it. you smile to yourself as you pick it up, your mind instantly wandering off to the tall, handsome brit you've been spending a lot of time with recently, who has had a bit of a habit of giving you flowers. this bouquet is especially big, though, and you try to search through your mind for any possible major occasion the bouquet could be for as you bring it inside.

but when you set it atop your dinner table, a note falls out from in between the flowers. and on the note, in ollie's messy handwriting, comes that confession you've been waiting so long for.

i like you. i really like you, and i would love to see what we could be. only if you feel the same way, of course. (please forget about all of this if you don't)

i'm sorry for not having the courage to say this to your face, but i would love to see you tonight if you're free. please call me.

sincerely, your bear ☺︎♡

kimi antonelli

kimi would be very spontaneous about it. he would not be planning it; it would come as just as much of a surprise to him as to you. i see it coming when you're sitting next to each other in class/the truck/etc, and you've been playing around with him and bothering him for quite a while. when you notice that your attempts to disturb his focus haven't worked, you turn to tickle him in hopes that it will work better – and it definitely does.

kimi folds over instantly, gasping loudly as his own hands come down to wrap around your wrists. "you're so annoying!" he exclaims, switching to hold both of your wrists in just one of his hands, as his other hand gives you a playful slap across the face. "you're lucky i like you so much, otherwise..."

you both come to a halt at his words, neither of you having expected them. instead of addressing it, though, he settles for moving his hands to tickle you instead, hoping to distract you from what just happened. you definitely won't forget, though, but the change is only for the better.

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Ok. Ok. I honestly have no idea how Chani and Paul's relationship will be handled in the 3rd movie, and honestly? I don't care. I'm confident that however it's handled (so long as it's not some extremely OOC plot with her forgiving him and going back to him willingly, but I'm pretty confident it won't be that) it will change my brain chemistry.

But hold on. hOld on. Because as much as I love the thought of there being a lot of heat and tension and Feelings Feelings (99.9% of which are NOT positive) between the two of them, and it's likely that's the direction the film will go, I'm also somewhat intrigued by the alternative. That there's...nothing. Maybe not at first. But after twelve years, if Denis intends to keep the time jump as written, things fade. No hate, but no love either. As if they'd never known each other at all.

Because it's been twelve years. Nobody knows exactly how old the two of them are supposed to be in the films, but my personal headcanon is like 18/19. Meaning if Messiah keeps that time jump, it would put them in their early thirties. That's...a lot of time. That's a big difference in psychology, in emotional processing, in just...ways of life and ways of living. It's strange to me to assume that both of them would be exactly the same people - on their own or in regards to each other - after all that time.

And of course, that's not to say they'd forget each other entirely. Scars don't fade that easily. Everything Paul went through leaves a mark. Watching your lover succumb to the clutches of power and essentially becoming somebody entirely new, becoming your people's oppressor after swearing to fight alongside you in your rebellion as an equal (and for all you know, that was his plan all along) definitely leaves a mark. But twelve years is still a long time, longer still for people dealing with the level of shit these people deal with in day to day life. Whatever both of them could be up to for all that time leaves marks too, and adds to the pile of shit.

Especially, I think, for Chani. Because her anger and defiance against her oppressors began long before she met Paul. That is her purpose. Paul changed and grew along with her and because of her presence. He is forever touched by her and her memory, and won't, I don't think, ever be able to let go of that. And while Chani's rage and despair and pain at what he did is very real and very much not something I can see just fading away, I could also see her almost using what happened as an excuse to go back to whatever "normal" was before Paul for her. Almost as a coping mechanism. Because Paul did, in her eyes, essentially become a different being after the Water of Life. He's not the man she fell in love with. And maybe it would be easier for her to, rather than engage with that anger directly at him, just...let him fade into the background. He's not him anymore. He's just another evil to defeat.

I've just...realized I kind of have mixed feelings about the thought of her spending twelve years nursing her rage at Paul specifically. Of course it was a betrayal - probably the biggest betrayal she's ever known - and that kind of thing doesn't just go away. But she hated the empire before he was emperor. There's a depressing kind of power in going "ok, I guess it's no different than before, I'll just keep on going the same way I was before any of this happened." As if the months she spent with him were nothing, weren't even real. Just...the thought of Chani as an adult going on day to day with whatever she's doing to fight for her people's freedom, trying desperately to forget that the man who now holds that freedom in a yoke was once one she loved and trusted. And it getting slightly easier every day. Her dreams of her people's political victory mattered long before Paul came into the picture and will matter long after he left. It's not about him, it's still about the emperor. Whos is not the man she loved.

idk I *love* Chani's Feelings after part 2 and all that could come with that, I love it but part of me is also like...if they really do spend 12 years apart does she really have nothing better to do with her time (ESPECIALLY if it turns out she has a child) than plan her revenge against him specifically? Like. as the Emperor Of The Known Universe, yes, because he is at the top of the food chain of oppression she's spend her life trying to bring down. But not as Paul. Not as the man who betrayed her. Because all of that is wrapped up in personal, vulnerable feelings that I feel like to her would seem like a waste of time. She will not give water to the dead, and Paul is dead to her.

And all this would be more tragic because I'm sure, I'm sure that with Paul it's the complete opposite. He cannot forget her. He cannot have a life where he doesn't think of her. And a part of him would be still trying to protect her from his position probably, maybe even hoping in some distant part of his mind that she'll one day come back. Twelve years of grief and guilt cutting a hole in his chest versus twelve years of practicing how to forget.

And then. Again, I doubt this is the route they'll go because it's not as dramatically interesting, at least I'd love to see it in a fic (maybe I'll do it), but it would be so unusual to me to see them meet again, and their story not end in revenge or reconciliation. There's no forgiveness, there's also no surprise killing or coup or anything. Maybe Paul thinks it'll go one of those ways, but instead it's like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, for lack of a better comparison. His relief at her being alive, the indescribable regret, love that is still there, all of that met with...nothing. Because Paul, kid, it's been twelve years. She's moved on. She's fighting her fight, and you are her political enemy and that is all you are. She can't even hate you, because *you* aren't the one betrayed her. For there to have been betrayal, that would mean she had to have loved and trusted you, and she never did. She loved and trusted Usul, and you're Emperor Muad'dib. The two do no equate. She will never love you again. But she can't hate you, because she doesn't even see you as a person - let alone one she used to love.

@fuckyeahisawthat idk if you have a counterpoint or thoughts or whatever i just wanted to tag u

[rosainta]

Team Fortress 2: 12 Flash Fiction Excerpts

('ms pauling' by makani on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/makani/art/ms-pauling-208768568)

(Author's Notes (A/N) at the end. For now, enjoy these slices of TF2 writing cake, baked with the batter of my mind!) * * *

1 "The Runner's a Fool."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Scout’s heart was bursting as he ran through the underbrush.

He didn’t look back; he couldn’t. Not after what he saw. If he had known sooner, he might not have spent so much energy trying to woo her...

Maybe he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself.

2 "Player of The Heart."

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Fine, one more time”, he grumbled.

Pauling gleamed as she turned to the tape player. Changing the song to something more romantic, she hummed along and placed herself into his arms. They began to sway with the music.

Sniper felt his heart racing, but his thoughts raced quicker.

He wondered: would the one he really loved be into this too?

3 "Long Overdue."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Spy knew what he had to do.

He sat down next to the crying boy, gently putting a hand on his back. “Screw off!” the younger yelled, pushing him away.

Seeing him like this broke him; it did every time. But he took a deep breath and said what he should have all those years ago:

“I am sorry, Scout.”

4 "What Happens if You Feed the Machine? (Or In This Case, Water It?)"

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Yer no fun, lad!”

“Come on now, you know how I’ve been goin’ dry...”

“What’s one bottle a’ scrumpy goin’ to do to you?”

“Well, let’s see here. How many eyeballs o’ yours do my teleporters teleport per use?”

“Er, one.”

“Well, expect that to be one less the next time ‘round, pardner.”

He chuckled, and in an instant, he gulped it all down.

5 "Soldier's Solace."

[Written 11-3-2024]

Soldier stared at the grand moon from the roof of the base.

After the day’s fighting and bread teleporting, the other mercenaries were off to bed. But Soldier remained, smiling contentedly from under his helmet without another care in the world.

Somehow, he knew that right then and for as long as he dreamed, everything would be alright.

6 "Буквы говорят о любви."

[Written 12-3-2024]

If Heavy learned one thing in all his years of studying Russian literature, it was that writing wasn’t something you did; it was something you became.

So, picking up the ink pen, he let his hand go and embodied with all he had what meant most to him.

“It is time I tell you, Doktor.”

7 "Like The Warmth of a Fireplace."

[Written 13-3-2024]

Pyro looked at Engineer as a child does a Mall Santa, clapping. “Huddah, huddah!”

“Okay, one more, just for you.”

The technician took a deep breath and began to strum on the old guitar, his low voice singing a song of pink skies. Pyro swayed to the beat in bliss.

And, with every hum, the two grew closer.

8 "A Smile Means A Million Words, That Is Until You Speak."

[Written 14-3-2024]

Scout liked sketching.

While words weren’t his forte, art allowed him to express what he felt but could never say. He licked his lips, furrowed his eyebrows, and furiously scratched at the page with a pencil. Every detail, every form-- they had to be perfect.

When he was done, he proudly smiled at his creation.

And it smiled back.

BONUS!

As he admired his creation, he didn’t notice Sniper approaching him.

“And just what are you scribblin' off today, mate?”

Scout snapped around, flustered. He wasn't expecting company, and especially not from him.

“A-ah, hey, Snipes!", he blurted out. "It's nothing, really. Just another drawing of Spy screwin’ those... stupid French bread swords, whatever ya' call 'em.”

As he stammered an excuse, his face slowly turning red, he didn’t realize that his creation's rough, sketched face-- a picture of the marksman himself!-- was peaking through the corner of the sketchbook in the crook of his arm. Sniper paused for a moment as he stared at the work in awe, its own happily gazing back at him. Then, snapping out of his trance, he wordlessly turned back to smile at the younger man.

“You’ve got some talent, kid," he said, softly. "Please, don’t waste it.”

Then, quick as he came, he ambled away.

Scout was left standing, bewildered, and admittedly a bit confused, and he slowly turned back to look back at his drawing.

He traced the rough face of the man, looking wistfully with a tinge of giddiness in his eyes.

“If only you knew...", he whispered to himself without thinking. "Maybe then I could draw you like one of my French girls.”

Then, upon realizing the stupidity of his own remark (and of its disgusting, Spy-related... Frenchness), he immediately gagged.

“Ew, crap, no!”

Somewhere in the distance, Spy instinctively rolled his eyes.

9 "I Feel Olive!"

[Written 15-3-2024]

Medic pinched his nose, a low groan rumbling from him.

"What is wrong, Doktor? You seem stressed", Heavy asked, concernedly lifting his nose from his book.

Medic turned to him, tired eyes smiling weakly. "Ah, it iz nothing. Just... ze dull, useless legal documents. You know, as per usual."

"Well, if it makes Medic feel any better, Heavy ran out of olive for sandvich, so eating it was practically useless! I could not even digest it without big frown", he said, frowning in turn.

He grumbled, continuing, "What Heavy means to say is... you are not alone in your troubles."

Medic paused for a bit, before laughing and grinning back at the giant. He was grateful for this goofy big old man.

"Oh, you alvays know what to say, Heavy. Come on, let us escape this prison of an office and find you that olive. I am getting quite hungry and ze papers can wait, after all!"

10 "Off-Target."

[Written 29-3-2024]

Scout's mind just. couldn't. think.

His head was jumbled, a puzzle with the pieces too lost in the messy maze of his brain ever to solve. He wished he could crack open his skull like he did the BLUs on the field; maybe that would knock some sense into him.

He really needed to focus. Sniper always did.

So, why couldn't he?

11 "Our Paths Shall Cross Again."

[Written 4-4-2024]

It pained him to see her like this.

So, for the first time in his life, he put his pride aside and took one last glance at the sleeping lady before leaving the room.

Scout wished he could stay all night and marvel at her familiar, sheer beauty, even as she slept so frail. But he knew what she needed most was not him, but help.

Who knew what she went through those 2 years?

He resigned himself to the couch, closing his eyes. His affections for Miss Pauling would have to wait, as they always did, but he was fine with that.

She was safe, and that’s what mattered most to him.

12 "Guess Who's Up For Surgery?"

[Written 6-4-2024]

Medic was practically laughing with joy! Or, in his peculiar case, cackling maniacally.

Ah, it was of no matter— the doctor was filled to the brim with inspiration! So many projects to start and bodies to stitch; oh, what a wonderful feeling!

Heavy smiled as he watched the doctor go about his merry way.

Sure, when he was in this mood, that likely meant imminent danger for all those around him (they’d be his newest experiment, no doubt), but seeing him happy always made Heavy’s heart feel a little lighter.

So, as the doctor bounced up to him with his newest rambling, he didn’t protest!

* * *

Author's Notes: Over the past weeks, I've been working on being more spontaneous in my writing—no planning, just writing with the flow! And what better way to do that than to write flash fiction about my favourite fandom? (Plus, I have been practically absent here (post-wise) for, what, months? So why not use this as an excuse to share them with you? Ehehe... Okay, let's forget I said anything; moving on!) Flash fiction, with its creative liberties and curt nature, is an excellent medium (not forgetting to mention the fact it's a disgracefully UNDERRATED form of media!) that inspires me to write because it sort of... brutally invalidates any excuse of author's block I have... since it is literally spilling the words from your conscience into text WITHOUT the worry of length (ah! My greatest enemies...). Plus, it is... sort of, maybe, kinda addicting because it's just so freakishly simple, and the more you do it, the more productive you'll be and feel! Isn't that wonderful? (It could even be a drug! Er, well, a good one... wait, is there even a thing as a good drug? Ah- nevermind.) Anyway, if you're struggling with author's block, I'd heavily recommend trying it. Of course, it may not work for everyone (and I am not here to legally endorse this like a paid sponsor!) but it's still worth a shot if you haven't yet already. And hey, if it doesn't, you can feel free to blame me for the waste of time! Don't worry, I won't mind. Before we go on, I have to take this moment now to thank the one sweet old woman (whom I've unfortunately forgotten the name of) who first taught me about it a few years back during a summer writing course. She taught me much about what I know and love today, so I owe this and much of my writing happiness and technique to her! Thank you, lady. May you continue to write on!! Anyhow, to give you more context, these are all excerpts taken from a private account (but not a secret one! It's out there... somewhere...) of mine, edited for quality purposes and also because a few of the original excerpts bugged me due to their... well, innate cringiness. Hopefully, there's less of it now, but I wouldn't count on my eradicating it as it seems that cringe is just a part of my habitual writing style (I am sorry to disappoint, unnamed woman from the course... I have failed you). I hope that at least is is bearable enough for you to read. However, if not, I offer you my greatest condolences. If you'd like some bleach for your eyes, I have that too. You can also tell by the number of Speeding Bullet and Red Oktoberfest excerpts that I was... in quite the shipping mood for some of them. So, if that doesn't bug you, feel free to indulge yourselves in these characters as I obsessively have over the course of writing these!! It would be my pleasure to offer that liberty to you (and perhaps, shamelessly to myself as well, ahaha..), so please, go ahead. Anyway, that's all of the random blurbs I have to ramble on about today. Thank you for reading- or skimming, at the very least- and please have a marvellous day, pally~!

~ Rosain Quivan

[bubblegumbarbie33]

Another The Lost Boys Incorrect Quotes Post

David: They hate me for being a slut tbh and maybe the killings too but that's unlikely.

@pathologising

-

Star: Woman? No, you misheard, I'm an omen. I don't identify as male or female, I identify as a warning.

@generalgrievousdatingsim

-

David: The sexual tension between me and disappearing with an explanation.

@bvbbydoll

-

Michael, sitting in the lap of his hot vampire boyfriend: I've wanted to be a trophy wife since I was a little boy.

@a-seiji

-

Paul: When you high and the world feels 3D.

Star: It is.

Paul: On God?

@sonypraystation

-

David: Attempted murder is a form of intimacy by the way. Don't listen to anyone who tells you different.

@godsfavspike

-

Sam: I'm going to defeat you with the power of friendship and this gun I found.

@the-quasar-hero

-

David: Stop calling me a bad person just because I'm orchestrating your downfall.

-

Edgar Frog: Sure! Blame the guy who's a huge idiot and causes a lot of problems, again.

@reallyreallyreallytrying

-

Michael: How is 'pretty boy' supposed to be an insult I'm the prettiest goddamn boy in town.

@elfiot

-

Marko: Teehee lol. *lunges at your throat*

-

David: I'm such a man who leans in doorways. Relaxes against the counter. Drapes across the couch. Sprawls over an armchair. My spine isn't straight and neither am I.

@bagginshield

-

Star, glaring at Marko: You are a fool. When you walk, clown music plays.

@garfieldtaxidermy

-

Sam, wandering around the vamp hotel: Just because I broke into your house doesn't mean imma take something, maybe i just wanna look around damn.

@halodite

-

Star, referring to herself: Any guy can be a babygirl but it takes a man to be a single mother.

-

Allan Frog: Bite the vampire first to establish dominance.

@tainbocuailnge

-

Paul, picking on Star: You used to be shy, now you're a whore.

Star: Character development.

@xcurrerbellx

-

David: Sorry I called you a fucking idiot I was trying to flirt.

@dont-give-a-fuck-club

-

David and Star, sharing the same braincell: I couldn't fix him, but I could fuck him.

@slasherdean

-

Dwayne: "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." I would. Pussy

Paul: "I'm not gonna sink to their level." I will. Coward

Marko: "I'm the bigger person." I'm 5'7". Give me the gun bitch

@the-stray-liger

-

Star, staring at David: There is something deeply, fundamentally wrong with you.

Michael, also staring at David: Can we kiss.

@authcenter

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

OMG 😳 that scene with Athena being handcuffed to the bed and Hen coming to help but as soon as she walks into the room she busts out laughing 🤣 It was the most funniest thing and I kinda wish for Tarlos to be in that predicament and I just know Nancy or even Paul would be laughing too 🤣

Omgoooosh yes and they sit there for an extended period of time where TK is like, “babe, we gotta call someone. It’ll be more embarrassing to die like this.” And Carlos is just like 😖😩

And finally he agrees but he says it has to be Paul. So they call Paul who shows up like ready to help with an EMERGENCY

And he walks into the bedroom and he’s just

And then

😂😂😂

DO I NEED TO WRITE THIS???

Gif by @guardian-angle22 why are there no Paul laughing gifs????

[mistress-of-vos]

Hi Mistress can I pls humbly request some more JeanTim? This time with the “It scares me to see how far I’m willing to go for you.” prompt from the list (if you’re still taking requests for it!), bc I crave more of that blond man being Totally Normal™️ about his Robin >:)

// Omg, hi again, JeanTim lover! 😍 It's so nice to see there's other people crying over these two fools like me, so I hope you like it! ❤️ //

.

.

Jean-Paul did many things he didn't like just for Tim. It was something that had occured naturally, as Jean couldn't help to adore Tim, hence, putting Tim over his own comfort.

Usually it meant small things, such as enduring Sunday lunch at Wayne manor, chewing on his food while trying to ignore Bruce burning holes on him, an unspoken offense of "how dare you fuck my son under my nose and roof?" It wasn't the worst torture, as Jean-Paul admitted his relationship with Tim wasn't exactly a fairy tale (not a politically correct fairy tale of the 21st century anyway), yet it was one of the many things in his relationship with Tim that gave him no joy.

There was Tim's suspiciously familiar tendency to adopt cats as well. Jean-Paul hadn't minded when the kittens were just two adorable siblings, but now they had nine kittens living in the penthouse... The penthouse that Tim owned, because Jean-Paul Valley wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't going to waste the chance of having his sexy twink boyfriend spoil him via Wayne's money.

Still, most things Jean-Paul could live with. Even find some amusement on them.

This, however, isn't one of them.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice all Azrael's as he looks at the corpses surrounding them. Azrael is form as a tree, voice deep and sword already put aside. Inside, Jean-Paul shakes in disgust and anger.

It's not Tim's fault. The mission has gone horribly wrong, and Azrael had to act before it was too late. These men were horrible creatures beyond redemption, and Azrael's heart feels no regret on burning them to ashes.

Tim, with his undercover clothes ruined and face pale, nods as he gets up, shaking slightly - perhaps due to the cold, perhaps because of the fear of what could have been, perhaps provoked by the hellish view Azrael has ensured - . "I'm not injured," Tim assures him, walking with his bare feet until he can reach Azrael's armor and support his weight on the bigger man.

It must be a bit disgusting, with the blood and -

"Are you okay?" is what Tim asks, letting Azrael pick him up and cover his indecent clothing with a warm holy red cape, "I know you were trying not to... Well..."

Jean-Paul tried to not kill. Mostly, because Batman was a pain in the ass about it (hypocrisy at its purest, as he didn't hold such high standards for his second son), but also because every life his sword took haunted Jean-Paul without mercy.

"I'm willing to endure your father's sermon," Jean-Paul says, now more himself and less Azrael, leaving the crime scene and jumping between roofs with Tim tightly held by his arms, "It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry," Tim replies, "I didn't think the mission could go wrong, had I imagined this..."

"Stop that," Jean growls, stopping over a hospital's ceiling and putting Tim down. Soon, Azrael's helmet is gone, and ice blue eyes meet electric blue eyes.

(They have this joke between them, about how they could pretend to be half brothers if Jean-Paul weren't so damn blonde and European).

"You need to stop blaming yourself for every single thing that happens or that doesn't happen."

Tim huffs, hugging himself over the cape. He's an arrogant person, and Jean-Paul knows Tim doesn't like to be told he's wrong, even when it's about feeling guilty.

"I just hate it when you have to save me," Tim admits, then shrugs, "And I know you don't like killing. If I hadn't been in danger, you wouldn't have to deal with the consequences."

Jean-Paul sighs, sitting next to Tim to embrace him better, both of them with their backs supported by a wall and looking briefly at the red lights of the ambulances that come and go.

"You're half right," Jean murmurs, taking off a gauntlet to take Tim's hand on his, "It scares me how far I'm willing to go for you"

Tim turns around, looking at him with curiosity.

"Does it?"

"Of course it does. You're my Robin, Tim," he confesses, lips kissing the bruised knuckles, "I have already crossed lines I thought I wouldn't only for you. I cannot conceive anything I wouldn't do if it meant saving you."

"But surely... Surely you wouldn't - "

Jean-Paul hushes him with a look, closing the distance between them until their breaths are mixing, noses softly crushing into each other.

"I would do anything, Tim," Jean-Paul swears, his hand almost squeezing Tim's, "Even if you hated me afterwards, I'd still do it. And it scares me, because no other person holds this power over me."

Tim's eye water, lips trembling, "Jean-Paul..."

"I didn't let the order have this power over me," Jean continues, his blonde hair falling over Tim's face, "Nor Batman, nor anyone else. But you have such power over me and you don't even realize it, don't you? I'd die for you, Timothy."

"Please, don't," Tim half whimpers and half laughs, tears already escaping from his eyes, "I don't know what to tell you. I didn't know this scared you."

They kiss for a moment, chaste and short, sweet. It tastes like blood, tears and cigarettes.

"What scares me the most," Jean-Paul murmurs in Tim's ear, his hand letting go of Tim's to hold him by the hips and pull him even closer, "It's what I'd do were you to left me, Tim."

"Oh?" Tim inquires, an unreadable tone on his voice.

Jean-Paul allows himself to be lost a little, Azrael emerging from the surface and speaking once again.

"You're my Robin," he says, not on his usual voice, but one that had been silent for year. A voice born from past times where he wore a different suit, a time when their bond would have genuinely scandalized everyone around them. Why Tim always goes docile and obedient at that voice rather than afraid is something Jean doesn't understand.

"Yours," Tim replies, leaning into the touch and barely gasping when certain hand gets under his thin clothing, "Just yours."

"Good Robin," Jean praises, lips going down and kissing Tim's exposed neck with hunger.

Days later, Jean-Paul will have to deal with a couple of angry bats yelling at him, plus an Alfred who might inquire why Tim has such particular bruises on his neck. It will be annoying, low-key torture, but then again, there's nothing in the world that Jean-Paul wouldn't do as long as his little bird stays next to him.

(Azraels didn't love, and certainly they didn't devoted themselves to sin, but this one does. This one Azrael will burn everything if his Robin asks him to... And if Robin doesn't ask, too).

[gophergal]

I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE SHIP MISS PAULING OR BRONISLAVA BUT YOU ARE SO RIGHT. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE THE MOST CORRECT PERSON ON THIS ENTIRE APP

i may draw them…

Listen, sometimes you read 1 (one) unfinished fic for a ship that has basically no other fans and it takes over your whole brain. I luv themb so much...

[frantic-babbling]

EVERYONE THIS IS NOT A DRILL THEY ASKED BRENT ABOUT PAUL AND DARRY

AND WE ALSO GOT SKY'S INPUT

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: drug use, dubcon, attempted sa, violence, blood, nsfw

a/n: it seems unfair on such a beautiful day as this when i have witnessed joh in the flesh to bring you such an angsty chapter, but...here we are. the story, the fluff as we have known it, is about to take a turn. yet another two parter. please be careful with this one.

pt. xxii.i, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“'Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…' He laughed. 'She’s dead.'"

“The veins in your eyes. They look like…lightning.”

I pursed my lips.

“Did you know that?” he asked eagerly.

This wasn’t going well. “Lift your arms, John.”

The sheer curiosity in his expression turned into a smirk that would have been playful in a different moment, but for now made my stomach lunge to expel itself through my mouth. “Are you trying to get into my trousers?”

“I’m trying…to get you ready for bed. You need to rest,” I said as calmly as I could though my blood had been absolutely roiling for the past half hour.

John lifted a hand, unsteady like he was under anesthesia. He gripped the collar of my dressing gown and tried to pull me down toward him, but his strength was buffeted by whatever was in his system and his hand plummeted to the mattress. “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I should explain from the beginning, shouldn’t I?

It started with one of John’s nightly phone calls, the ones I’d been surviving off of once again after he returned to Headley Grange after my birthday. Weeks had passed and the girls and me were…surviving would be the best way to put it.

This night’s phone call, this bloody fucking night’s phone call, was out of the ordinary because it was made from a telephone booth.

“I don’t have long,” John said, no, slurred into the receiver.

“You’re drunk,” I remarked with a giggle. Not the first time I’d dealt with him intoxicated or under the influence of some substance on a phone call. Speaking with him in such a state didn’t sit well in my gut, but clouded by the haze of what I thought to be love, I was willing to overlook it.

“Not drunk. Tipsy,” he replied with an obvious smile on his lips.

I had been awaiting his call on the sofa, nodding off several times before the phone finally rang. I was admittedly grateful the call would be short. “And I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, darling,” he cooed. “Of course you are. You should sleep.”

“I was waiting for your call.”

“Did I keep you awake?”

I let out a laugh, shaking low in my chest. “Yes, you dolt. Now say sweet things to make up for it.”

“Ah…let’s see…”

The seconds ticked by.

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “Have you forgotten all the things you like about me?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m trying to decide how to say what I want to say.”

I stared across the room without seeing, heart pounding at the back of my tongue.

“You’ll say I’m being…I don’t know.”

“Say it, John, just say it.”

There was a thunk on the line. John leaning up against the wall of the phone booth or accidentally knocking the phone against the holder. I wondered if he was really so drunk he was swaying back and forth.

“We should tell them, shouldn’t we? They should know.”

I furrowed my brow. “Your bandmates? What on Earth do they have to do with anything?”

“No, no, no, MmmJulia.”

I sat all the way up, my adrenaline pumping, completely erasing my previous desire for sleep.

“When I get home, I’m going to tell the girls. ‘Bout you and me.”

I sucked in my cheeks to hold in a squeal of delight. I wasn’t sure it was warranted. Had to remain coolheaded. Reasonable. “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what –” He hiccupped. “I know what I’m saying.”

“Mhm. Well, call me in the morning and tell me if you remember, alright?”

“Julia.”

I shut my eyes and pursed my lips. Damn him for the way he said my name like that with such need it made me forget myself.

John breathed harshly into the phone. “I’ll remember.”

I swallowed. “Just because you’ll remember doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t want me to tell them?” His question was equally taunting and disappointed.

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t know if they’re…” The girls would never be ready. It would never be the right time. Regardless of their affection for me, I was explicitly in their eyes that I was Julia. The nanny. I would not fill the role of “mum”. But stepping into the spot next to John would change that. To tell them that we’ve been pulling the wool over their eyes, doing the things their mother did with their father, hiding behind a moniker.

Children are always smarter than we give them credit for.

I could already imagine the betrayal they’d feel.

“They’re ready,” John said firmly. “They’re – I’m ready.”

But I wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Running out of time, got to go.”

“Be careful.”

“Am. Always. Sleep.”

He hung up without another word. And though my heart throbbed excitedly at the idea that maybe our transformative relationship would transform even further, I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt looking at the phone in my hand.

Being with John, really with him, would mean taking on all parts of his life. He’d have to take on mine too, but not in the same way. Not when mine was so small in comparison. Not when I had packed away my life to fit into his because it was my job. My duty.

As his employee.

As a woman.

I let my mind rove the place I had never let it go before.

To be with John. That would mean an eventual marriage, wouldn’t it? And an eventual marriage would mean a commitment to caring for his children. Having more, should he be agreeable to it. I would go from nanny to mother.

Ostensibly, nothing should change.

But it would.

Because I had not yet seen the hard parts of a musician’s life. Over those few weeks, John was only a phone call away. If something was wrong, he could make the drive back whatever time of day.

How would I survive with him across the ocean?

How would I survive knowing the kind of man he became when the woman he loved was out of reach?

I spiraled so fast for so long that exhaustion returned quickly. I buried myself in bed, trying to push away all of my questions. I could save those for the light of day. For a sober John.

At least that’s what I thought. What I hoped.

Instead, I woke up to a crunching sound outside. Brittle and hard against my eardrums. I leapt out of bed and hurried to the windows overlooking the driveway, peering through the curtains.

There was a dark blue car I’d never seen parked askew in the driveway, illuminated by the yellow lamplight. In its wake, one of the stone planters was left shattered across the ground, dirt in the tire tracks, flowers smashed up.

I held my breath and watched as the driver got out of the car. Feral haired and bearded.

Richard Cole.

An arm shot out from the passenger window and a bellowing voice cried out, “Ya thick fuckin’ wanker!”

A voice I'd recognize anywhere. The voice of Peter Grant.

Richard growled something in return before slamming his car door and tripping toward the front door.

I leapt into action, afraid that in whatever state he was in it would wake the girls, grabbing my robe and sprinting down the backstairs, past the studio, and into the foyer.

The banging began just seconds before I reached the door. Bang, bang –

“One moment!” I hissed as loud as I could, pulling my robe on to at least be somewhat decent. I threw open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say, tying a defiant knot in my robe sash.

Richard, whose first impression had not been terribly pleasant back in Montreux, had a marked look of fear in his eyes. Rather than being tense at the corners, they were loose and…wide. “John, he’s –he made us come here.”

A jab of unease in my chest. “John.”

“Yes, yes, he’s –”

I pushed past Richard and descended the front steps, paying no mind to my bare feet, set on the backdoor of the car.

Peter emerged just in time to intercept me. “Julia, wait, I need to warn you –”

There was an inconsolable sob from the back of the car, one I had not heard since that night on the kitchen floor when John broke the glass and the world shifted on its axis. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, trying to get past him as my insides did everything to lurch me into the car to get to John as fast as possible.

Peter grabbed my bicep. “Listen to me. It’s all just a bad reaction.”

“Please, please, please –” John begged.

His pain was my pain. All of my nerves trembled, desperation rippling through my muscles. I pulled against Peter. Need to get to him. Need to –

John went on and on. “I need to see her, I need –”

“Let me go,” I snapped at Peter.

John shrieked. I’d never heard a sound like that from a grown man.

But it wasn’t wordless.

It was –

“Maureen!”

My entire body went rigid. I stopped fighting Peter’s strength.

“Julia…” Peter said in a soft tone.

I finally looked up at the giant. I was surprised Peter was capable of such gentleness.

“He does not know what he says,” Peter went on, words clipped and precise.

“He misses her,” I said in a vacant tone.

Peter shook his head. “No, no. He thinks she’s here.”

The crying continued. The begging for her. “What did you do to him?” I asked, trying to buy myself time before I had to face the wailing mess.

“No one did anything –” Richard began to argue.

“Cole, fuck off,” Peter pulled out his Mr. Hyde impression before shifting back to Dr. Jekyll. “You know what it’s like? The drinking and then the pills and –”

I ripped my arm from his touch. “I do not know what it’s like.” Not even my torrid past could have prepared me for this.

Peter huffed, holding his last thread of patience for me. “It’s a bad trip. That’s all. He’s confused.”

“If it’s just a bad trip why did you –”

He grimaced. “He’s been going on like this for hours now. We can’t get him to stop. And we thought seeing you would bring him back. Remind him of the…the reality.”

I looked between Peter and Richard. Their expressions told me everything. They knew. Not only in a Montreux, “Let’s get John laid,” way.

They knew everything. 

Gathering my courage, I pulled away from Peter and Richard, grabbed the car door handle, and pulled it open.

John was splayed out in the seat, head resting in the lap of a man I’d never seen before whose exhaustion with the situation was split with a smile of relief at the sight of me. However, John didn't seem to notice me as he convulsed with full body sobs.

“John?” I said, interrupting the weeping.

It took considerable effort for John to lift himself and look at me. His face was streaked with tears, hair a wreck, and his eyes black as night with the kind of high that takes you low. “Oh. Julia.”

Is that disappointment?

A smile crossed his face. “Juuuulia." He slapped his palm to his forehead, a bubbly guffaw tripping out of his mouth. “It’s Julia, of course it is.”

“We told you we’d take you home,” the man says meekly, voice tinged with an Irish accent.

“Yes, but I didn’t – I forgot –” John wiped his hand down his face and collapsed back into the arms of the small Irishman. His expression looked like it was melting. “Not Maureen. Julia.”

My stomach twisted. I leaned down onto the seat and held out my hand. “John, why don’t we head inside?”

John reached out for my hand, fingers stumbling to interlock with mine.

I pulled while the man pushed until John was sat on the edge of the seat, the soles of his shoes landing against the gravel as if for the first time. He curled forward, his head making him top heavy. I braced his shoulders. “John –”

While his body lacked strength everywhere else, his arms looped around me, right under my backside, his face buried into my belly. He inhaled deeply and then, on the exhale, said again, “Julia.”

If we weren’t being watched, I would have reciprocated the intimacy. Instead, I tucked my hands under his arms and started to lift. “Can you –” I grunted. “Stand?”

“Of course, I can stand,” he mumbled, rising to his feet, dragging his face up the length of my body until I forced him away.

“There you go,” I said with an attempted smile, my hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go upstairs and get you ready for bed, hm?”

He nodded hardily. “Oh yes. Yes, yes –“ He spun on his heel and took a step forward. Immediately, his legs gave out, crumpling beneath him like paper.

“Easy, there,” Peter said, catching John by the upper arm before he fell to the ground.

In Peter’s grip, John looked like a toddler being dragged out of a store for throwing a tantrum. I couldn’t help my revulsion. “Let’s get him inside," Peter ordered, almost nonplussed.

Richard grabbed John from the other side and began to drag him into the house.

I padded behind them, trying to get their attention. “You have to be quiet, the girls are –‘”

“Uh huh.”

“Take him up the backstairs. To my room,” I said, no longer afraid of my lack of propriety.

John’s head bobbed backward.

“Jesus Christ, for a little guy he’s dense, isn’t he?” Richard strained as they dragged John to the door.

“For fuck’s sake.” Peter ripped John from Richard’s grip, a doll rather than a person, and threw him over his shoulder. “Lead me, Cole.”

“Please, just not the main bedroom,” I squeaked, trying to snake past them to lead them where I wanted them to go.

John turned his head against Peter’s back toward me, eyes gleaming. “Juuuuulia.”

I stopped in my tracks and contemplated running in the other direction. That was not John. Not the John I knew. This was his doppelganger. It must have been. Otherwise, this was an alternate personality, one I wasn’t supposed to see.

A part of him I had been blissfully ignorant to.

I watched them go inside, remaining planted in one spot, wishing I could go home.

But home was here.

“Mandrax.”

I turned to find the little Irishman at my elbow. He was rearranging his black locks, palming it flat on his head.

“At least some of it was Mandrax,” he said, dropping his hands at his sides and smiling sympathetically. “Pills. Mix them with alcohol and lord knows what else…”

We both stared through the open door, watching Peter and Richard struggling up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine in the morning,” he offered.

“Yes, but will I?” I said, attempting a joke.

His eyebrows lifted. “That is a question, isn’t it?”

I exhaled through my nose, something like a laugh, but pathetic.

“I’m BP. The boys call me Beep.”

I tried to smile. In better circumstances, I would ask for the rest of his story. But tonight I wasn’t allotted that privilege. “I’m Julia.”

“Mm. Yes, well aware.”

I wondered how aware. Was he aware in passing? By accident? Had John tripped into another realm of consciousness and waxed poetic about me? “Sorry you got roped into this.”

He shrugged. “Happens with them.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cole!” Peter boomed from inside.

My body lurched back into action, into the house and up the main staircase. “You need to be quiet!” I scolded in the loudest whisper I could muster.

Peter turned, halfway in the door of the master, causing John’s head to knock into the doorframe. John whimpered.

“Oh, fucking hell," Richard hissed.

I followed Peter and Richard into the master bedroom and monitored John as he was laid out across the bed. I didn’t even care at that point they hadn’t followed instructions. I just wanted them gone.

“There you go, mate. You’re home now, alright? Nothing to cry over. Julia's right 'ere. She'll take care of you, alright?" Peter said, dusting his hands together. “Julia, hope you don’t mind if we bunk up.”

“Here?!” This was sheer lunacy.

Richard snorted, “No, in the stables. Where else?”

“We can’t make that drive again, not after all this. We’ll be out of your hair in the morning and we’ll take ‘im with us,” Peter explained, jerking his thumb at John.

I glanced at John who seemed nearly catatonic with his eyes trained on the ceiling and his hands bunched up on his chest. He’d be fine for a few moments, I reasoned. “Fine. Follow me.”

I led Richard, Peter, and BP, who lingered in the doorway like a phantom, down the hall to the guest rooms, the doors directly across from the girls’. “I swear to god, if you make any noise at all, I’ll have you drawn and quartered tonight.”

"I'd believe her," Beep muttered.

“Promise, all we need is a place to lay our heads, love,” Peter said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Just don’t wake the girls and we won’t have a problem.”

I started back down the hallway, leaving them to squabble and figure out who would share a room since there were only two to speak of. Before I slipped into the master, I glared over my shoulder and hushed them once more with narrowed, deathly eyes.

In an instant, the three men disappeared into the guest rooms.

With that settled, I could deal with John.

The room was silent except for his breathing.

It was the first time I got a good look at the room. Everything was spotlessly clean, not a hair out of place. Just a thin coating of dust across the room. And a glass on one of the night stands with a dried up ring of dust in the bottom. The water had completely evaporated.

A chill went through me, imagining who might have put the glass there with the intention to return to it at a later date.

Whether it was Maureen or John didn’t change the tragedy of the object.

John began to hum and swing his legs. He flung one hand through the air. It landed on his belt buckle. “Get these off,” he muttered in discomfort. His hand flopped like a dying fish, unable to grip and twist the leather the way he needed to be able to free himself.

“I’ll help.”

And that’s how we got into the conversation of the veins in my eyes being lightning bolts and the attempt at me getting his shirt up over his head and the flirtations and the…

 “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I ignored him though I strained not to cry. I removed his belt, but didn’t dare touch the closure on his trousers. His arms were slack enough that I was able to pull his jumper up his neck, then work it over his head. When he reemerged, he puffed hair away from his mouth, giggling. “Randy,” he said, unable to form a sentence around it.

“I’m not randy, John,” I say with firmness.

“You’re removing my clothes, M –”

“Julia,” I interrupted. “I’m Julia. Not Maureen.”

John’s lazy eyes crimped open, clarity forming somewhere in the back of his mind. “Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…” He laughed. “She’s dead.”

I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but I couldn’t just leave him half dressed in the master. In hindsight, I should have. I tried to tune out his repetition of the word, “Dead,” as if it was a beat to a song rather than a horrible truth as I pulled his undershirt up halfway, revealing his pale navel.

John’s hand slid around my wrist. “Jewwwwwwwwwel.”

I suppressed a smile for the nickname. Auntie Gin’s nickname. “Take it off the rest of the way if you can,” I muttered, then went to root through the dresser for a nightshirt or something to cover him up.

Measured breaths. Clenched muscles. Only a few more moments. He’ll be out soon.

John made sounds of struggle behind me. I didn’t turn despite wanting to help. There was the soft sound of fabric falling to the ground followed by a grunt of relief. “I feel funny.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you need to get some sleep,” I say, grabbing a very wrinkled nightshirt from the drawer.

John was no longer squirming; he looked tossed across the bed like a ragdoll. Breath thick and deep. The only thing that made it clear he was still alive.

I returned to him with the shirt. One more step to victory. John seemed unaffected, staring off at something. A hallucination or a waking sleep. I took this as my opportunity to remove his pants. It took a bit of effort to wiggle them out from beneath his body without his help but not much. My heart plummeted to see his bare legs, the slight of skin where his briefs shrouded his crotch. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want him. The feeling of desire…all drained out of me.

Of course, it’s more than natural not to want someone at all times.

But since Montreux, before then even, all I had done was want. And I had had.

What emptiness would arise if desire was not there to fill it?

I didn’t want to think about it.

“Just the shirt and then you can rest, John, alright?” I said softly.

He cooperated as much as he could. Sitting up took all his might, but once upright, I was able to shimmy the shirt over his head, down his torso. It was long enough to hit midthigh, swallowing up his small frame. And his smallness made me even sadder.

“There you are,” I said. “Ready for bed.”

John started to lean forward. If I dared step away, he would teeter off the edge of the bed and come crashing to the floor. I remained before him, let his forehead clunk against my clavicle.

“You didn’t just pass out, did you?” I asked. My pulse quickened. I grabbed his arms to shake him. “John, you’re awake still aren’t you?”

“Yesssss,” he slurred into my chest. “I’m…” he sighed. “Awake.”

His lips traced my skin with each word, like a baby drooling against my breast and…it endeared me to him. I wish it hadn’t.

I tentatively scraped my fingers through his hair to the back of his scalp and dropped a kiss to the crown of his head. He didn't need my ire. Not right now. In the morning, I'd want him to remember the way I cared for him? Not the anger or disdain.

“Mmm…”

“Julia,” I said firmly. “I’m Julia.”

“MmmmJuuuuuuulia…” John self-corrected.

“Yes, that’s right.”

John’s mouth opened wider, a messy kiss against my skin, spit trailing over my clavicle.

“John…” I admonished. But I did not draw away.

A mistake.

I let him kiss the spot over and over. Juvenile. Inexperienced. Like a barrister’s son in a closet.

Something about it…so nostalgic.

I could have a brief moment of longing. Of realizing how good it was to hold him when I expected another week before he'd be home. Of remembering what he said to me earlier that night on the phone. If I was going to be his and vice versa in not only our eyes but those of the girls…I could do this. I was sure I could do this.

Only a brief moment, though.

Because in one singular moment in time, that delight was eclipsed by pain. Sharp pain, potentially skin splitting.

He bit me.

Teeth sunk into skin, viscous and full of claim.

John fucking bit me.

I yelped out, tried to jerk away, not caring if he tore the flesh off my body. Would be better to lose skin than be cannibalized by a lover.

John wrapped his around me, splayed his hands against my back, overcome by a sudden strength, and pulled me toward him.

“John, let go of me,” I cried out, pushing on his shoulders.

His mouth finally released the patch of skin he’d suckled. He growled. Something. Words I didn’t know, could not hear, did not care about.

I just wanted him to let go.

Something was coursing through him that reversed all the lethargy, something that propelled his strength to a level I’d never known and didn’t know he was capable of. Before I could squirm out of his grasp, John pulled me off my feet and rolled himself over me so we were clumsily pressed together on the bed.

He dragged his mouth across my chest to another open plot of skin.

With an open palm, I pressed his forehead away from me.

He laughed, muttered a garble of my name.

My whole body was hotter than hell as I tried to wriggle myself out from under him, inching further and further onto the bed. But somehow, John’s body had transformed into a lead curtain over me, pinning me to the bed, one of my hands unceremoniously scrunched behind my back.

I could not move. 

And he had all the control.

“John, don’t,” I said through a tense whisper. I could scream. I could shout. But I wondered who would come running first. The men. Or the girls.

I couldn’t risk it being the latter. 

John’s hands slid down my thighs, moving up the fabric until he cupped my bottom and squeezed. Hard. Until it pinched.

I again tried to squirm away. “You’re hurting me!”

“Randy…” he drawled, lifting his head and smiling stupidly.

John launched himself forward, toward my mouth, his hardened erection grinding into my belly, painful from the poor angle.

His teeth gnashed into my lips. I tasted metal in my mouth, blood drawn from a split lip.

I had only a moment to think.

One of us would be the villain in the morning. And I couldn’t bear for it to be John.

I forced my hand onto his chin, cupping it as hard as I could, then pressed him back away from me, enough that he couldn’t snag another kiss.

Our eyes met for a split second and I nearly lost my bravado.

I couldn’t live with myself if I did, though. That’s what I decided in that moment.

I released his chin, wound my open palm back, and slapped him hard in the side of his face, my palm connecting with his cheek and part of his upper lip, and my fingers clipping his nose.

He howled in pain, retreating back onto his knees.

I was released from the vise of his body and yet I felt as though I was moving through molasses as I dragged myself back across the bed to the opposite edge.

John’s hand covered his face, the wince still settled over his eyes.

I waited. A moment. Another. Praying he would find reality again.

Finally, he withdrew his hand to reveal a streak of cherry red blood pouring from his nose and down his chin. Quite literally dripping. Already a few dots blotted the fabric of the bedspread.

I didn’t know I had that kind of strength in me.

John was at a loss for words. Nonplussed, of course, by the mess. But his eyes were filled with that same distress he met me with when he was laid up in the back of the car, jerking back and forth, full of new tears. “I…” he started.

“I told you to stop,” I said icily. “I told you not to.”

He looked down at the bedspread spattered in his blood. It was a lot of blood, enough to give me cause to worry. Except I couldn’t.

Not with terror gripping my body.

What do you do when the man you know shows you the monster you didn’t think existed in him?

John folded his lips together, blood smearing through the creases. “Mm. Mmm.”

I would not, could not sit here and be called his wife’s name. Not after he nearly had the gall to take from me.

I tore up from the bed without another word. The floor traveled beneath my feet, something in control of my body I had never known before, until I had my hand on the cool door knob. It settled my temperature just enough to come back to reality.

“No, no, no,” John was moaning. Movement. Footsteps. “Don’t go. Don’t go.”

I threw open the door and turned to slam it behind me, getting one last glimpse of John to my horror.

His blue eyes were alert to the point I thought they might fall right out of his head. His hair mussed. His face…bloodied. And the fresh nightshirt looked like a smock he’d worn to butcher a pig.

And he was coming toward me.

I did not wait.

I shut it with all my might and held tight to the knob. It jerked and jittered in my hand, scraping my skin. But I didn’t care. The animal was to stay inside the cage. That was my only goal.

John put up a good fight, clawing at the door, desperate to pull it open. On more than one occasion, he managed to pull hard enough to get an inch or two of space for his fingers to slip through. If he could just wrench the door open, he could pull me back inside.

I leaned back, all my weight going into keeping the door shut, and tucked my head between my biceps, praying he’d give up.

Over my heart pounding in my ears came his sounds. “Please, please, please let me out. Please don’t leave me alone.”

A despondent cry shuddered through the door, so loud it vibrated the door knob. A thud against the wood. No doubt the weight of his body giving up. Giving in. The inching slide of his form to the floor. The repetition of the word “please” until it was shrouded by tearful sobs.

I fell to my knees in front of the door, my hand still on the door knob in case I needed to tame the beast again.

John was only an inch away. Weeping.

Not for me.

Not even because of me.

It was all for her.

All the same, I leant my head against the door and listened to him weep, held vigil. I didn’t have vespers for the mass, but I remained there all the same though I could still feel his fingers dimpling my thighs though I’d said “don’t”.

“What did I do wrong? What did I do? Why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated over and over to every question until eventually not a single question was left.

All that remained was soft, hollow breathing on the other side of the door.

"Go to bed, John," I said hoarsely, trying to smile so my voice sounded soothing. "It will all be better in the morning. Alright?"

There was no answer.

"John?"

Nothing. I thanked the lord he was probably asleep.

I dropped my hand from the door knob. My muscles and bones ached from keeping the position for so long.

“Julia.”

I jumped at the sound of the small voice. I turned to find Tamara in the hallway outside her door, her ruddy hair all askew.

“What’s wrong? Why are you up?”

She rolled her hands in the front of her nightgown. “What’s going on?”

I forced a smile. “Nothi—”

Something thumped against the door to the bedroom. Someone. A final rallying cry.

I grabbed the door knob again just to be sure.

“Who’s in there?” Tamara asked, her eyes widening with fear.

“No one,” I said without thinking. “Don’t…worry, alright?”

Children know more than you give them credit for. They are also children. And sometimes, though it hurts, the children must be lied to.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

Though the hallway was dim, I could see her eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flicked from me to the door and back again. Then, she nodded and did as she was told, disappearing into the other room in an instant.

I sat with my back to the door and closed my eyes. It had started with a drunken promise. One that might break my heart, yes, but a break so minor compared to this.

Lifting a hand to my chest, I carefully slid my fingers along the inflamed bite mark.

The depressions made by his teeth remained.

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[httpiastri]

ok but popstar! reader being seem wearing a bracelet with Paul's name while people are spreading rumors about them 👀👀

AAAAA!!!!!! omg?? stop thats so????????!!!! and i imagine fans in the paddock seeing her there and going "oh hi! would you like a paul bracelet??" and her accepting it all sweetly bcs she's seen them all over social media and always wanted a bracelet!! and then she doesn't take it off like ever.... 😭