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GOSH THEY’RE SO CUTE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
July 29th, 1964 (Stockholm, Sweden): Klas Burling interviews the Beatles for the Sveriges Radio (Swedish National Radio) show Pop ’63, before their performance at Johanneshovs Isstadion. The Fab Four are in high spirits and joke around.
KLAS: And what’s your name?
PAUL: [in Swedish] Thank you very much!
KLAS: That’s your name?
PAUL: [Swedish accent] No!
KLAS: What’s your name?
PAUL: [Swedish accent] What’s your name? Dave Clark!
KLAS: No, you don’t look like him.
PAUL: [Swedish accent] I don’t look like him, but I am him!
[Laughter]
KLAS: Come on, Paul!
PAUL: No. Paul McCartney, how do you go?
KLAS: Oh, fine.
PAUL: Yes, hello Klas!
JOHN: Hello Klas!
PAUL: Nice to see you again.
GEORGE: Hello Klas!
RINGO: Alright Klas, Ringo talking.
JOHN: [Scouse accent] Alright Klas, this is John Jagger! Hello!
[Laughter]
JOHN(?): Oh, no!
GEORGE: This is George Chakiris!
KLAS: Have you seen the people outside?
JOHN: Yes, they’re very manys! Manys.
KLAS: Yes.
PAUL: I love the people— I love the people outside. Don’t you, John?
RINGO: Yeah, it’s just the ones inside we don’t like.
[Laughther]
KLAS: Thank you.
RINGO: No, we’re only joking.
KLAS: Remember last time?
PAUL: Yes, of course!
RINGO: Yes, remember it well!
KLAS: A lot busier out here, though.
PAUL: Yeah, but you looked after us. Didn’t he, in Sweden?
JOHN: Oh, he did, yeah.
(?): Passport, please.
KLAS: Passport. You’ve got passport?
JOHN: I didn’t think you needed them here.
KLAS: No, just in case—
GEORGE: Since the Germans took over.
JOHN: Scrub it, scrub it. He’s all—
KLAS: John, what are you going to do out now, what is Paul doing?
[John(?) laughing]
KLAS: Hey, John’s passport… [in Swedish] This is John’s passport photo, it’s certainly a sight to behold!
(?): You’re gonna see now, see it!
PAUL: [laughing] This is great!
JOHN: That’s on the way— on the way to Germany, the first time.
KLAS: Oh!
JOHN: Just like me.
KLAS: When was that?
JOHN: Well, don’t know, think about four years ago.
KLAS: ‘61?
PAUL(?): [distant] ‘61.
JOHN: '60, probably.
KLAS: ‘61 it was (?)
(?): How’s Klaus(?)
GEORGE: [distant] That’s the other brother here.
KLAS: John!
JOHN: [distant] What?
KLAS: Tell me a thing, what are you going to do on stage this time?
JOHN: [distant] Sing!
KLAS: Sing what?
RINGO(?): Oh, I don’t know.
KLAS: The new ones?
RINGO(?): Yes.
(?): Mostly new ones.
KLAS: Mostly new ones?
JOHN: Well, we’ll sing some old ones and some new ones, you know. Oh, I have to go, goodbye.
KLAS: Thanks a lot, Beatles!
JOHN: [distant] Thank you.
-
Here’s a picture of John’s passport at the time, which, as he accurately recounts, he got the first time they went to Hamburg, in August 1960.
It is admittedly a very different look from their ‘63 apparel, which prompted laughs all around.
-
[This transcript was particularly hard to do because they often speak over each other and at various distances from the microphone. I attempted my best, but any mistakes are my own. My gratitude goes also to @thespiritofvexation for helping with the Swedish bits.]
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YEAH IS THEM...HERE THEY ARE!
The most cute and beautiful oc band in the freaking world!
I don't know why i love them so much, but i want so much to add more to they're lore, cuz there's more ocs and fanbands and artists and whatever!
Just...just apprecciate them...😍
#the beatles#the beatles au#john lennon#paul mccartney#george harrison#ringo starr#john paul george and ringo#TheGoldenScarabsAU#digital drawing#the beatles fanart#ocs#original character#oc band#oc universe
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May i present to you:
The Golden Scarabs
An AU that...well...they're the beatles grandsons and they want to continue their grandfather's legacy!
They're so....cute and hot and....nhaaaaaa
JUST LOOK AT THEM 🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍🥵🥵🥵😊😊😊
Here some specific information about them cuz...yeah cuz i want!
Jonathan Windsor Powell Lennon (1,76m, 75kg)
John Peter McCartney (1,75m, 73kg)
Rivan Sighn Harrison (1,84m, 78kg)
Harry (Harold) Morrigan Starkey (1,73m, 68kg)
I love them....
#the beatles#the beatles au#The Golden Scarabs Au#the beatles fanart#john lennon#paul mccartney#george harrison#ringo starr#john paul george and ringo#digital art#digital painting#the beatles cartoon
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I DID A NEW ACCOUNT ABOUT MY YELLOW SUBMARINE CARTOON PROJECT!!
Follow me there pleeease!!
#the beatles#the beatles au#yellow submarine au?#yellow submarine#The Yellow Submarine#sgt. pepper's lonely hearts club band#western animation#cartoon#digital painting#digital art
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GUYS...JUST IMAGINE WITH ME!
WHAT IF...
Yellow Submarine was a Disney Series just like TOH, Svtfoe, Amphibia and Gravity Falls??
Like...anm, how can i explain that...?
Imagine that they expand the psychedelic universe of the movie, making it complex and adding more and more to it? And what if they include powers??
And what about other psychedelic/hippie bands/musicians adding to the show??
Gosh my dream is to see Freddie Mercury and the Rolling Stones in Pepperland...
I guess i'm dreaming too much but...god dammit it would be amazing! Exploring a whole new world with magnificent creatures and surrealistic places, incredible powers and epic conflicts!
This would make a fantastic AU....aaaaaa
#the beatles au#the beatles#just a freaking crazy idea but damn i'm loving it#disney hire me!#okay no don't do it#yellow submarine#yellow submarine au?#the owl house#svtfoe#gravity falls#amphibia#western animation#crazy idea
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(OMG MY FIRST DRAWING POST I'M SO HAPPY)
I'm doing an Au called WITCHEROO and is basically an huge mix of stories and books and cartoons that have the theme of Magic, Strange Creatures and Witchcraft, like The Owl House, Svtfoe, Harry Potter, Little Witch Academia....i guess there is more but who cares? I'll see the other inspirations later lmao so...well...enjoy!
John and Paul being...John and Paul (oh yeah they have a HUGE LORE in this Au)
Me and my best friends as witchsonas having fun and being chaotically cute and a hot mess
I love this au so much...it hurts
Edit: and now i realized that it look more like an Owl House AU than a original AU.....well.....lol
#witchsona#the beatles#the beatles au#original character#the owl house#svtfoe#magic and pretty things#i am doing an au mixing stories thar envolve magic and witchcraft and whatever and i hope it'll be good so just enjoy#WitcherooAU#fanart#digital painting#personas#john lennon#paul mccartney
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Well this is fun lmaoo
Birthday Witchsona Generator
Your Birth Month: Your Familiar
January: A small, cute-looking Demon that demands to be feared, despite being very cuddly
February: A Minotaur with the head of a Highland Cow
March: A large Horned Beetle with a lantern hanging from its horn
April: Mothman, or another Cryptid/Monster of your choice
May: A talking Rabbit in a waistcoat
June: A talking Possum who plays the banjo
July: A Biblical Angel who takes the form of a giant wheel with many wings and eyes
August: A giant, moss-covered Tortoise
September: A Baku (Japanese dream yokai who eats bad dreams)
October: A Crow with the face of a Plague Doctor Mask
November: A Kistune
December: A Frog in a white shirt and suspenders, holding a gun
Your Birth Date: What Type of Witch you are?
1: Seamstress Witch
2: Literary/Scribe Witch
3: Warrior Witch
4: Hedge/Astral Witch
5: Crystal Witch
6: Environmental Witch (based on the biome you live in, mountain, forest, swamp, desert...)
7: Bird Witch
8: Sea/Water Witch
9: Divination Witch
10: Faerie Witch
11: Artist Witch (whatever art form you practice/are most interested in)
12: Fire Witch
13: Bard / Musical Witch
14: Metalsmith Witch
15: Cosmic/Astronomy Witch
16: Summer Witch
17: Astrology/Zodiac Witch (based on your personal zodiac sign)
18: Storm Witch
19: Deity Witch
20: Autumn Witch
21: Air Witch
22: Love/Sex Witch
23: Winter Witch
24: Oracle of the Gods
25: Kitchen Witch
26: Medic Witch
27: Lunar Witch
28: Death Witch / Necromancer
29: Dragon Witch
30: Solar Witch
31: Pop Culture Witch (based on your favorite series and media)
First Letter of your Name (or Username): How you learned your craft
A: Participated in a Bacchanalian Fae Orgy
B: Your mother
C: Your older sister
D: Having sex with a Monster
E: Found a Demonology book in a library and got a little too involved
F: A cult you managed to escape, but still left you scarred with powers
G: A family member who’s since betrayed you
H: Your monster spouse
I: Got lost in a cave or forest and came out a changed person
J: You had a prophetic dream one night, and now you’re magic
K: A suspicious neighbor
L: Your father
M: Your familiar, who randomly showed up on your door one day
N: You got really high one day, and now you’re magic
O: The spirit of a dead ancestor
P: A Vampire taught you
Q: You drank a magic potion and now you have powers
R: A cursed object
S: You died, met God, and now you’re alive again with new power
T: Apprentice to a Wizard
U: Your best friend
V: The Queen, who you’ve been having a devious affair with
W: A coven adopted you
X: You got very sick one day, and now you’re magic
Y: Books of forbidden lore that you got arrested for having
Z: You were promised to a sacred temple at birth
First Letter of your Nickname or Last Name: Physical Detail about you
A: A Cloak made of Moss
B: Flowers grow in your hair and bloom when you fall in love
C: Tarot Card motif
D: A pitch-black gradient on your hands and feet that fades and gets lighter as it goes up
E: A third eye
F: You can summon multiple arms when needed
G: Cat ears
H: A mushroom hat
I: You have no flesh on one of your arms; only your bone remains
J: A chain of skulls somewhere on your person
K: Mushrooms growing off of your person
L: Floppy, Cow-like ears
M: Horns
N: Multiple eyes
O: Wings
P: Plague doctor mask
Q: Furs somewhere on your person (fur cloak, fur collar, animal skins, etc.)
R: A cloak of crow/raven feathers that allows you to fly
S: Glowing eyes
T: Sigil tattoos
U: Flower crown
V: Mouth where there should not be a mouth
W: Antlers
X: Exposed bone on some part of your body
Y: You have lantern somewhere on your person
Z: Mask of some kind
Your Birth Order: A Detail about you
Oldest: Magnificently skilled in Combat, both with weaponry, hand-to-hand and magical
Middle: Hunting down the soul of a very specific person. Why you are seeking them is up to you.
Youngest: A travelling vagabond, always on the road and often entering new realms and dimensions by accident
Only: A prolific shapeshifter, often turns into an animal to travel or evade enemies
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Ha...wait...
Strawberry Fi-.....wait.....
wait WHAT???
YELLOW SUBMARINE 2??????
HOLY COW!!
So according to this site not only did Yellow Submarine take two years to finish, but there was a planned sequel called Strawberry Fields Forever?
I dunno if this is real or not but if it were I really hope footage of this gets uncovered. I wonder what it would even be about, Jeremy trying to find other Nowhere Men? Or maybe the Beatles meeting up with different bands as they journey back to Pepperland?
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SUPER SENTAI OPENING STARTS BLASTING
Mecha Submarine
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Godammit please keep going with that i love it!!
Drawing stuff from a dream I had awhile back about a “yellow submarine 2”. Ill explain more when I draw some more. The creepy dudes are “grey meanies”, they act as the new antagonists of pepperland.
Also heinz’s artstyle is hard to do fhfgdgaa
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This is INSANE
I feel like everyone should know about this animated yellow submarine-inspired best buy commercial from the 1990s (musty quality I know but it's all I can find)
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Guuuys this is important
YOKO ONO IS A WITCH! A DAMN ASSHOLE!!
She broke our John, she broke JOHN WINSTON FUCKING LENNON!!
People who don't see this or who pretend this is a lie don't have my respect
I'm here to defend John's real image, the real John Lennon we love so much
“You guys only hate Yoko because she’s not a white! Because she’s a woman!”
And yet I adore and feel sympathy, empathy for May Pang, who actually seemed to care for John and wanted him happy, wanted him and encouraged him to be around old friends and family, was warm to Julian, felt for Cynthia, wanted John to become more independent and sure of himself, and had a huge distaste for John’s substance abuse. She cried for him not being able to reunite with Paul, when he seemed so excited, because Yoko pulled her strings and he was back in her clutches (even though May told him not to go back, don’t go see her, and he simply told her he’d be fine– yeah right) and I’ll be bloody shallow– May was beautiful.
So no, majority of us don’t like her because she’s not white and because she’s a woman. Majority of us despise her, or simply cannot support her because of how manipulative she was/is, she stalked both Paul and John, she harassed John, she got him on heroin, she isolated him, she fed into his impulsive, irrational anger and cruelty towards Paul, she was controlling, cruel to Julian and Cynthia, entitled, brought out the worse in John, enabled John’s substance abuse even though she knew it made him violent and unstable because he could be easier to handle when out of it, picked the woman John was to have an affair with and forced them to keep tabs and played puppet master, plays widow even though she’d moved on months before John was unfortunately killed and there were plans to divorce, and then had that man move right in and wear John’s clothes, cremated John even though he vehemently opposed it, didn’t invite any close family or friends to the ceremony, acted like Paul never helped her even though HE DID, made Julian tell Sean John died, wouldn’t give Julian many things of his dad and so Paul had to help buy back a lot of his things to give to Julian, okay'ed putting John’s bloody clothes and glasses up to be gawked at, has never ONCE apologized for anything she’d done, she’s a proud and open sexist(men are subservient and all women of the world are ni**ers), and to this day still uses John and his name. And if I’ve missed anything I’m sorry there’s just so much vitriolic bullshit this woman has done and behaved like.
It’s all very convenient how just, all that she’s done is simply forgotten or whitewashed because you can’t fathom a woman, a woman from a minority, could be, can be a horrible person, and that’s simply why she isn’t liked or supported.
As a woman who is a minority, I think you’re willfully ignorant and stupidly stubborn.
She’s a vile, scummy human being and the fact the lot of you defend her and try to White Knight for her simply because she’s got a pussy, and isn’t white, is embarrassing. You’re near as embarrassing and pathetic as those who openly and proudly stan Amber Heard.
And you cannot change my mind.
#the beatles#beatles discussion/discourse#john lennon#yoko ono#and yeah i hate abusive scummy vile women just as much as i hate abusive scummy vile men#long post#ihatethisfreakingwoman#protectjohnlennonrealimage
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HOLY SHIT THIS IS AMAZING!!
The Beatles Adventure in Pepperland is a fantastic Yellow Submarine based Super Mario Bros 2 ROM hack by @NesDraug, where John, Paul, George & Ringo travel to Pepperland and battle the Blue Meanies!
Read More & Play The Beta, Free
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guys...like
WHY IT DIDN'T HAPPENED?!?!
Storyboard Footage from the canceled remake of "Yellow Submarine."
Unfortunately, they were ultimately planning to finish this with very creepy, "Polar Express" style CGI. But this found footage has none of that; just story boards, mixed with bits of the original movie where needed.
My favorite segment is Ringo's introduction, reimagined.
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Will you draw more mclennon? (Also, your art gives me life and you should be proud of your skills)
im doing way too much mclennon right now :’D
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March, 1964
Summary: John and Paul (but mostly John) find studying their lines for A Hard Day's Night a drag. John finds other (PG?) ways to pass the time.
The air was still inside the cozy dressing room. A faint scent of cigarette smoke clung to the thick atmosphere, but not enough to ring unpleasant. John gazed at the cigarette as it dangled loosely from his fingers, and deciding against taking another drag, put it out in the ashtray beside him. He tugged at the neck of his black sweater—despite the chill of the winter air persisting outside the window, the room was quite warm. Without much thought, John lazily traced a finger along the window sill, feeling chills spread up his arm at the temperature shock.
It really looked more like an upscale office than a dressing room. Sure, there were four distinct mirrors and hairdresser chairs, as well as a rod near the doorway with an array of suits, sweaters, and trousers for the boys to rotate in and out of. But the room itself was decorated quite elegantly. A soft glow from the floor lamp mingled with the diminishing brightness of outside to coat the room in a honey-like aura. Deep red curtains framed the enormous window, grazing the velvety paisley-patterned rug that covered most area of the room. The rest of the floor was a deep hardwood, without the slightest trace of dust—an unfamiliar concept, John mused. This was much nicer than what they were used to. Immediately upon entering, he had thrown himself onto a long, floral-patterned couch by the window. Paul knew he fancied observing nature while they studied.
Paul was seated a few feet away from him, his long legs draped over the armrest as he slouched sideways over the enormous armchair. His body was facing John’s, and he could see his eyebrows knitting together in concentration as he studied his script. His lips moved wordlessly, repeating his lines to himself without speaking at all. He reached up mindlessly and tousled his hair, and John watched as the dark locks fell directly back into place. They had been sitting like this for over an hour now, and John was beginning to feel restless. He had turned his gaze to his friend once he figured he could not possibly watch the nothing going on outside the window for a second longer. Going over his script one more time was always an option, but the thought simply did not interest him. Despite being constantly begged not to do so, John figured he could improvise some lines if they fell blank on his mind. He had a quick wit, and knew that some of his lines would come off better (read: more authentic) than the portrait that the writers had painted of him. He didn’t know how Paul could concentrate for so long, especially seeing as the man had relatively few lines in the upcoming scene.
Almost as if hearing his name appear in John’s thoughts, Paul’s eyes jumped up to meet John’s. He swung his legs over the arm of the chair until he was sitting in an upright (albeit, poorly postured) position and set his script down on the quaint table between them. John pulled the ashtray a bit closer to himself, fearing the disaster that would ensue if he and Paul accidentally burned down the dressing room. They had had their fair share of slightly arsonist run-ins in their youth, and John was too tired to deal with the legal ramifications of an incident like that again.
Paul sighed loudly, bringing John back to present. He hoped this was a sign of his friend’s boredom and restlessness, so he could stop pretending like he was studying his own script. The younger man leaned forward and put his head in his hands, letting out a strained groan as he rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t think I can take any more of this studying, mate,” Paul muttered. “I close my eyes and all I see is ‘No, actually, we’re just good friends’. Why do I have to say that, like, a dozen times? It’s only hardly clever.”
“Quite the realistic portrait, then,” John replied lazily, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips when Paul shot him an irritated glance. “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”
Paul checked his wristwatch. “When do you think they’ll be back? I thought Ringo was just going to wander about the town. How long could that filming possibly take? It’s not even scripted. Plus, he’s got that massive hangover. I figured they’d be back around by now.”
John shrugged. George had gone along with Ringo to provide some moral support for the dreaded scene (every scene was dreaded for Ringo today, as Paul was right—he was sporting a massive hangover), leaving Paul and John behind to study for their next appearance. For Paul, it was out of necessity; the poor lad struggled with keeping up with his lines, a fact that made him irritated and anxious. Paul typically wasn’t poor at things. For John, the desertion was more punishment for disappearing on set the day before to explore the city a bit. He didn’t mind, though. It could be worse; Paul could have left him as well. At least he had some company.
“We could go to the pub we passed yesterday,” John observed. “I could use a quick drink. Or two.”
Paul frowned, but John could see him shake his head in slight amusement at his friend’s remarks. “No, we won’t be doing that. Could you imagine how much trouble you’d be in with Brian if you disappeared again? To drink, no less? Sometimes I don’t know what goes on in your daft mind.”
John chuckled at that. He quite enjoyed teasing his friend, pushing forth this Teddy-boy persona that he sported when they first met seven years prior. Though he had no intention of actually going to get drunk in the middle of a work day, he knew that the boy wouldn’t tell the difference. He was aware that his behavior gave Paul a bit of a superiority complex, the feeling of being “the good one”, and the thought of that amused him. The public had yet to see how mischievous Paul McCartney actually was, his puppy dog eyes betraying him at every turn.
Of course, John was one of the few people that saw past Paul’s angelic front. The times they’d shared together had proved that even Brian and George Martin were fooled, as John often fell victim to blame for things that Paul had done. He didn’t quite mind the dynamic, though. He was hardly in real trouble, and it felt nice to have a part of Paul that the others didn’t. He was so hard to read at first, so hard to get close to. The intimacy was welcome to John, in a comforting, familial way.
“What shall we do then?” John mused. He huffed as he struggled to pull himself into an upright position, his joints popping at the sudden movement after being a puddle of nothing for so long. “Go for a smoke? Go for a stroll? Go fetch a bird?” He winked at the last suggestion as heat rose into Paul’s cheeks. Last night, John had also unintentionally taken the blame for a girl that Paul had snuck into the dressing room. Paul had been mortified and profusely thanked him, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have a little fun with the knowledge.
“Actually,” Paul replied, rubbing his temples, “I’m quite exhausted. Might have a go at a nap.”
“Paul,” John whined, feigned desperation in his voice, “You can’t. I’m so bored. If you leave, I’ll have nothing.”
“Oh, all right,” the boy sighed. “Then you think of something to do. My mind is strained. And,” he jumped, as John opened his mouth to say something, “we’re not going out. I feel like I’m responsible for you right now. Don’t make me put you in time out.” Paul slouched back as the chair engulfed his figure and closed his eyes, humming softly to himself as he let fatigue overtake him.
John’s stomach flipped Paul’s words, though he almost cocked an eyebrow at the absurdity of the feeling. He quickly shook it off, feeling sure it was nothing more than the delight of knowing he could pester Paul endlessly, now that he was aware how Paul felt of the situation. If he was John’s babysitter, then John would act… well, like a child.
John stretched his legs just far enough as to where he could kick the other man’s foot. Paul half-lidded eyes looked up at him with a slightly annoyed expression, but he was met only with the amusement that twinkled in John’s. This seemed to irritate him further, not feeling at all in the mood for physical banter. So John kicked him again.
Paul’s eyes flew open. “Christ, lad, would you knock it off? I’m not in the mood. If you won’t let me leave, at least let me rest here.”
“But I’m bored,” John whined again. “I want to do something.”
“Look over your script,” Paul muttered as he turned his back on him, shifting to curl up into the armchair. “I don’t want to have to deal with you going on about fish and finger pies again next take. I have enough to worry about with my own lines.”
“You don’t own me, Paul,” John shot back. “You’re not in charge.”
“I bloody might as well be,” came the muffled voice that now felt far away.
John fell back on the couch himself, defeated. He gazed out the window again, eyes following an adorable little bird that hopped from tree limb to tree limb. He felt for that bird, or rather, he felt the need to be that bird, happily hopping on without a care in the world. It was so simple and innocent. He wanted to reach his hand through the glass and stroke the little bird, with its enchantingly dark feathers. To John, it looked like midnight, when the sky was still and the world was quiet and there was nothing but yourself and the atmosphere, high above you. Was it a blackbird? A crow, maybe? Its tiny black eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, but not threatening or eerie. Just… there. Being. Existing. It lived only to live, not to please, or love, or conquer. Oh, to be the little bird.
John continued to marvel at it for a few more moments before it fluttered out of sight. He was left with nothing again, his mind grasping at something else to attend to. The script fell out of his hands onto the floor with a thick thud, making Paul twitch in his barely-there state of consciousness.
Paul! A wonderful thing to capture his attention. John nudged his foot against the chair, hoping to shift it just slightly. When that didn’t work, he pushed a bit harder, sending a croaking sound through the room as the chair leg slipped off the rug and onto the hardwood.
“Piss off, Lennon,” Paul growled, his voice thick with the beginnings of sleep. But John couldn’t let him drift asleep. He would be so dreadfully bored.
John got to his knees on the couch, facing Paul’s chair. He gently pushed the stand with the ashtray and Paul’s script out of the way, and leaned forward, interlacing his fingers on the arm of the couch and resting his chin atop them. He could see Paul’s side rising and falling rhythmically, the stiff fabric of his dress shirt crinkling with every inhale. He hadn’t changed out from earlier, and was still wearing the pressed white button down, black tie, and black trousers. The only thing he had removed was his suit jacket, which lay draped across the back of the chair. John assumed Paul had noticed the warm thickness of the air in the room as well.
Paul’s side stared back at him, open and inviting. He knew exactly what to do, to piss Paul off to the perfect degree while also keeping up the good spirits. He removed a hand from under his chin and stretched ever so slightly before jamming two fingers—hard—into Paul’s soft side.
Paul yelped in surprise and jerked awake and alert, trying to comprehend what had just happened. John watched him smugly as his brow furrowed in confusion, then annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, John, is it so hard to keep your hands to yourself? You’re a child.”
John said nothing, just watched in anticipation as Paul turned away again, muttering something under his breath. He was cranky now, and John wanted to push his limits. He had nothing better to do, anyway. He tentatively reached back over and, in one swift movement, pinched Paul’s side again and retreated into the far side of the couch.
Paul swung blindly, nearly missing contact with John’s extended forearm as he jumped back. John suppressed a giddy grin, knowing that he had succeeded in his mission. Paul was now wide awake and visibly frustrated, taking a moment to rub his tender side while muttering a string of unflattering curses.
“You wanker,” he shot at John, his eyes burning as he massaged his sore spot. Paul knew that John knew that’s where his weak spot was, his ticklish spot. He was only lucky that John had poked and pinched instead of lightly grazing and prodding. They shared a look, both of them well aware of that fact. John couldn’t help but cock a knowing eyebrow at him, as if to say, I could if I wanted to.
Suddenly, Paul’s eyes darkened. John’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a mischievous glint overtake Paul’s gaze. He watched Paul’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, running his tongue between his lips in anticipation. John wasn’t sure what the transformation was, but it couldn’t be good. He felt in a moment that he had lost control of the situation. He opened his mouth to speak, willing himself to come up with something spectacularly witty, until—
Paul had lurched on top of him in a matter of seconds, digging his fingers into John’s sides. John initially gasped as ticklish tremors ran through his body, the sounds of pure, unfiltered laughter soon filling the air. John twisted under Paul’s iron grip as tears began to spring to his eyes from the hysteria, gasping for breath and unable to keep himself from breaking into a fit of giggles every few seconds. He weakly attempted to reach up and grasp at Paul’s weak spots, trying to give himself the edge again, but Paul caught his wrist with one hand, pinning the other down with his knee. “Uh uh uh,” he chastised, pushing John’s wrist into the couch and underneath his other knee. He was straddling him on the couch, his knees trapping John’s hands at his sides while Paul’s hands were free to mercilessly attack John’s sides, stomach, and neck.
“P-please,” he wheezed, as Paul chuckled lightheartedly above him. “Please stop, I- I can’t breathe—”
“You asked for this,” Paul retorted, not ceasing the torturous movements. His tone was light and amused, sounding as though he found himself greatly enamored with the visual of John writhing helplessly beneath him. “Next time, keep your bloody hands to yourself.”
“I will, I will,” John gasped, a tear rolling down his cheek. Slowly, Paul ceased his assault, and rocked back on his heels, letting John’s hands free. He watched as the man caught his breath beneath him, reaching up to wipe away a tear that had fallen in the hysteria. “That was not funny,” John asserted in a mock-serious tone, secretly hoping that Paul would go at it again.
The thought pulled a frown to his face as he contemplated what had just popped into his head. He was “secretly hoping Paul would do that again”? Why? Why did he feel the need to keep it a secret? Why had Paul’s devilish fingers made John’s skin feel so… electric, and tingly? And most importantly, why was he now acutely aware that the man was sitting on John’s lap?
Paul let out an airy laugh and raised himself up off the sofa. John breathed a sigh of relief, concerned over the thoughts that spilled into his head. What the fuck was going on? This was Paul. He enjoyed spending time with him, teasing him, messing with him, pissing him off and making him laugh. Paul, his bandmate. His best friend. His suddenly strangely entrancing best—
Shut up, John begged his mind. He didn’t want to follow himself down a rabbit hole of that sort.
Paul was making his way back to the armchair. He plopped into it, looking as though he was the one who had just been tickled to death. He looked at John with a grin of satisfaction and power, and John knew that the man was about to go for a nap again knowing that John wouldn’t mess with him in that way again.
He liked to prove Paul wrong.
As soon as Paul’s eyes fluttered closed once more, and his breathing became steadier and deeper, John formulated another plan. One that, this time, he would surely be in control of. He watched Paul’s chest rise and fall for a few minutes, waiting for his eyelashes to stop twitching, willing the man to fall just enough asleep to where he would be slightly delirious upon a quick awakening. That way, he couldn’t catch John with surprise force as he executed the first step of his plan.
John waited the tiniest bit longer, until he was sure that his friend wasn’t just pretending, and went for it. In a quick movement, John jumped up and pulled at Paul’s wrists, thrusting him onto the floor forcefully but not painfully. The man blinked wildly as John held both his wrists over his head with one hand and began to aggressively tickle Paul’s exposed armpits. He jerked away from John’s touch, still in a faint haze about what was happening, before he began to come to his senses and bite back a cry of laughter. John knew that Paul was far more ticklish than he, and that the quick prodding and nudging wouldn’t drive him nearly as crazy as light, barely-there touches.
He began to cry out on the floor beside John, who was lying on his side, holding Paul’s hands with one arm and attacking him with the other. “Jesus, John, you bastard,” he wheezed, trying to force himself up but unable to do so. His wrists strained against John’s grip.
This struggle continued for a few more minutes, before John’s own stomach hurt from laughing so much. He released his friend and collapsed on the rug beside him, both of their laughter dying out softly as they caught their breath. A silence of about five minutes ensued, neither speaking but both acknowledging the comforting warmth of their shoulders pressed against one other.
After a long recovery, Paul tentatively lifted a leg and crossed it over, placing it in between John’s. Shooting his friend an inquisitive glance—not that this intertwining or personal touch was a strange posture for them, as they had had countless sleepovers in John’s far-too-tiny bed in his Mimi’s home growing up—John nudged Paul’s foot with his own to encourage him to speak what was on his mind.
“Thank you,” Paul said, the tint of laughter still coloring his voice.
“For what?” John replied noncommittedly. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, which was a rather putrid tile, almost like the ceilings in grade school—something that was jarring against the rather royal layout of the rest of the room. He trained his gaze on a particular patch of water damage shaped a bit like the bird he had watched earlier, through the window.
“I know you could have done worse in that little fight,” Paul mused. “I think I would have peed me self. Or died. Whichever came first.”
John hummed in response, now aware that the little leg movement was almost a thank you in and of itself. That simple search for physical contact, a gesture of appreciation, made John’s heart swell. He liked feeling appreciated. It was almost as if John was a girl, and Paul had reached down to interlace their fingers together and offer a quick squeeze, but John wasn’t a girl and instead Paul had thoughtlessly interlaced their legs. It was a nice feeling, one that spread warmth across John’s chest. As much as he wore Paul down, he was so thankful for him. It was a genuine admiration and appreciation (that he hoped was mutual), an experience that was rather foreign to him throughout life so far. He supposed much of that was brought on by himself—if he hadn’t been such a naughty child in school, if he’d been a bit better behaved for his parents, if he hadn’t been such a dick to the girlfriends he’d had. But with Paul, things were different. There were no expectations of being a son, a pupil, a lover. They could just be. Just like the bird.
John smiled to himself at the thought.
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