waveofahand

[waveofahand]

This is freaking BEAUTIFULLY done! What a talent! Even their bodies, from behind are perfectly studied and noted. I've always believed John wrote "In My Life" for Paul. It doesn't make sense for anyone else, and it would have been true whether their friendship was platonic or something else. This is heartachingly beautiful. It makes me imagine John Lennon missing Paul at the Dakota, full of regret...

it’s brilliant, by fionafu0402

[waveofahand]

Happy Birthday, Paul!

[waveofahand]

What the Beatles are Saying Here...

Hello, Conventionality. It is 1963, and we are looking down into your grave. From this moment on, everything will be different. You have no idea the impact we four lads are going to have on everything, for everyone, but we’re gonna smile and flirt and wag our hairy heads as we lay waste to everything that has come before us. And then we will salt the popular culture so that nothing grows that has not been influenced by us, not music, not fashion, not politics, not social give-and-take. When you hear clever public sarcasm, you’ll remember we did it first. When you hear grunge or ska, or heavy metal, you’ll remember that anything we didn’t invent we mainstreamed. But we invented most of it. When you hear anything wicked smart, unconventional enough to be jarring and even a little scary, you’ll remember Eleanor Rigby.

One day, you’ll know…. that we were the Walrus… who understood…the time had come…to talk of many things…

Are you afraid yet? You should be. Oh wait, you’re dead.

Okay, goodbye to all that staleness. Goodbye to the black and white world. Here comes the color. See ya. Love ya. Mean it. Love, The Beatles

[waveofahand]

Arse down in the snow

Arse down in the snow, they have me! Paul hangs on to the thought for as long as the weed permits it. They've all been sharing blunts all day, and things feel a little... confused. He becomes momentarily distracted by the two-fingered nonsense John is noodling on the piano behind him. Why do we have a piano in the snow, he wondered. It's not good for pianos, all the snow. It's not good for the piano. Or my arse. I'm a sickly boy, then. No one cares that me arse is cold. "Why is there a piano in the snow, John," he wonders. "Why are we here?" John wonders back. "It's existential, innit?" He shivers. Arse down in the snow, they have me, the thought winds around, coming and going from his mind like a horse on a carousel. Why am I here? Why are any of us here? He taps his snow boots together, enjoying the sound of the heavy plastic, amusing himself with a rhythm. "Bloody uncomfortable, these, for shoes," he mutters to no one. "But they're good in the snow, aye," George replies, sounding many miles away.

Why is George here? "How can you hear me, when me face is all covered," Paul wonders as he shivers. He's not sure whether he's said it or thought it. George doesn’t answer, so he decides he musta thought it. He taps the shoes together again, thinking of a walking bass line as he watches the snow fall from his laces. Aye, good for snow laces, then. Or for snow. Shoe. Laces. Shoelaces. Snowshoelaces.

Ice on my arse. He shivers once again. "Bloody cold," he complains. Or thinks. The bloody cold is seepin' up into my arse, innit? Because they have me arse down in the snow! "I don't like this," he announces, loudly, although no one is listening. "It's cold. You've got me bloody arse down in the snow, and yer freezin' all my bits!" "Yer arse is too buoyant to stay down long, son," someone laughs. Was that Ritchie? But Ritchie is so nice. And we split a spliff before... before then... I'm going to fuck him up when I get warm. "Can we shoot this fecking movie, already," he demands, "so I can get out of the snow?" Someone from the crew finally responds. "What's the problem, Paul?" "Well, you've got me arse down in the snow, dontcha," he challenges. "Like some git who's too stupid to get up and go into the warm! Don't you know who I am?" "Lads," the crewmember announces over a bullhorn. "Once again, we're tellin' you we're done shooting for the day! Can all of you hear me? Can you hear me through the nonstop high, fellas? We're done for the day! You can all go inside, into the warm!"

"You've got me arse down in the snow!" "And please, please take Paul with you..."

[waveofahand]

3,000 want to put Paul to bed!

It's one of my earliest one-shot fanfics, a brief little "30-second-fanfic" (small stories based on photos...), but I was tickled today to see that 3,000 people have read "Time to Put Paul to Bed."

“John, look at me! I’ve a cape, just like Batman! Look! I can fly! I don’t need that LDS stuff! I can fly!"

At that moment, John realized that Paul McCartney, ever the lightweight (and currently confusing Lysergic acid diethylamide with the Church of the Latter Day Saints), had consumed all the drink he could possibly handle for one night and should be bundled off to bed. He set about the room, shaking hands and making their excuses to their hosts, because even he knew that sometimes manners mattered, and this was one of those times. “Lovely night, and thank you, we’ve had a grand time, but you see Paul is a bit knackered and we have an early sound check, so we’ll be leaving. No, please don’t get up, don’t trouble yourselves, we’ll see ourselves out.” “I can’t see!” Paul murmured as he clutched John’s hand. “I must be invisim…invism…imbisival! I can’t see! And nobody can see me, too!” “That’s right, love,” John said, getting a sense of what Paul had had to deal with, all too often, during those pub-crawling nights in Hamburg. “Everything is all right, you’re just invisible, so hold on to me, and I’ll get us home before you get visible again, and people can see you.” “Oh, I LOVE YOU!” Paul hollered, shaking his head back and forth as he tried unsuccessfully to shrug the cape off his head. “’M-member that time on the bus, when I didn’t have enough money to get home, and that nice man gave me a quid? And I shouted ‘I love you’ at him because he was leaving, and I didn’t know wh-what to shay?” “Yes, Doll, I remember,” John smiled fondly. “Jus’ like that!” Paul shouted.

“Shhhh! I’m right here, you don’t have to shout, Bunny. Just like what?” “Just like that guy on the bus, I love you just like that!” “Ah, so you’re grateful to me and don’t know what to say, is that it?” “Wheeeeeee! The room is spinny when I shake my head!”

John laughed out loud. “You’re pissed, mate.”

You can read how it ends over at A03!

[waveofahand]

Reblogged for addition of pics

A beautiful, mysterious MESS of a face!

An early picture of Paul McCartney. Ridiculously beautiful, of course. But at some point (probably the same time his left side got all those scars) part of Paul's bottom lip went missing on the left side. I've posited that at some point he had surgery on his face due to a mishap (so many scars, and 1/3 of the lip gone).

You can see it very visibly in this shot from when he was about 19 years old, taken during a party at Rory Storm's:

Note that part of his lower left lip is missing, above. Now see how it is "repaired" (and rather clumsily) below.

Once you know to look for it, you can always see it. It's nearly never perfect:

In the above picture, we see a particularly good job of repairing his damaged lower lip, which photogs used to do as a matter of course. As with so much about the Beatles (all of them), the oddness of Paul's lip, his scars, they're all things that simply were never talked about in the creation of the Beatles mythologies. But, just as I am convinced that Paul McCartney's life was far from the "happy family, happy childhood ideal," I am convinced that the press cooperated with the Beatles to adjust pics of Paul's bottom lower lip whenever possible.

Once you it becomes easy to spot, from image to image. It's usually a very subtle difference in shade, texture or lighting. Not noticeable at all, until you DO notice it.

The above repair was better than this one, which you can see is not well-placed. This was way before photoshop, after all. Note below, the lip correction is badly lined up.

Sometimes they WAY over corrected, as below, creating a completely fake look:

Like I said, it's a subtle thing, but once you see it, it's easy to spot, again and again - the slight difference in shape, size, texture, color. Very often, as here, the repaired part looks darker in tone (top) or a little too puffy (bottom):

The private pics of Paul (probably taken by bandmates) show no photoediting, as you see here. Paul, 1965, playing cards with the boys and showing the same partially-missing lip as at Rory's party:

Mike McCartney seemed to try fixing the bottom lip, but not well.

I would imagine that Paul (who ran around with a chipped tooth until Brian forced him to get it fixed), didn't care about it himself, the bad lip and the scarring -- it didn't seem to stop him from doing as he liked and getting all the sex he wanted. But back then pop idols had to look "perfect." So, the official stuff that was released, always shows evidence of lip-tampering. This one's a bit sloppy:

This one below is just a mess in every way, over-lined upper, the "fix" to the lower starting on the right side...

This one is very well done -- but it's still possible to see the difference in shading and texture. The repaired portion of the lower bottom left lip is just a tad different.

This one, too, well done, but again, different in tone and texture:

Paul McCartney is an international man of mystery. Someone who clearly loved family but was nowhere near as happily-raised as the myths tell. Someone who gave off gentlemanly vibes but showed evidence of anxiety issues, possibly because he was used to a much rougher life than we want to imagine. I think it's interesting that in pics of him as a young man in Liverpool he is never smiling, unless he's with the band.

Even David Bailey, in his very natural and revealing portrait of Paul dabbled in fixing the lip, but not completely. Shiney, too smoothed, Bailey left enough to show us that there is more to wonder about, where McCartney was concerned.

I don't know. It's a mystery and we'll probably never get to the bottom of it. But it must be connected, somehow to all the scarring on the left side of his face.

See the correction? It's well placed but too pink, and goes all the way to the corner of the left side of his mouth. When you see it, you can't miss it. Sometimes, especially while singing or speaking his lower lip would just go haywire, veering off to the left which suggest nerve damage that healed over time, as he aged. See below, the left side of his lip is not quite under control. In the second gif, you can see the unnatural stretch when he smiles. I'm sure he had additional work done to correct this as time went on.

At about age 13, his face was still recovering from reconstruction, I think, below.

As near as I can tell, the damage happened when he was about 12:

I wrote a completely speculative and FICTIONAL one-shot story on the subject of his scarring -- How DID he get those scars? -- and his whole weird, impossible face. You can read it at A03. Another badly "fixed" lip, way too puffed. The boy was a beautiful mess.

Questions, questions, questions. The more I research this boy, the more questions arise.

I've noticed as well that from a very young age he learned to blank out his face and also to cover his private parts with his hands, even as a kid. Which might be yet another thing to wonder about. But honestly, I'd rather not.

The anxious little boy who loved flowers and grew up learning to show nothing, hide the feelings, keep it all inside. You're KILLING me, Paul.

[waveofahand]

It was 60 yrs ago today...

June 11, 1965. Macca serving up good face after Brian Epstein requested that Paul McCartney and Jane Asher return from their Portuguese holiday a day early, so all The Beatles could be in Britain on the day it was announced that they would be awarded the Member of the Order of the British Empire.

The press embargo restricting publication of the Queen’s Birthday Honors list was lifted during the evening, to allow the next day’s newspapers to carry the news.

The Beatles collected their MBEs from Buckingham Palace on 26 October 1965. Via Beatles Bible.

[waveofahand]

George Harrison is so much fun to write!

He's angry. He's hungry. He's mad, bad and dangerous to know. And he's head-butting Paul, who will not hand over the car keys:

Lennonhungry has changed his name to Lennonwhangry

LENNONWHANGRY: Guys, it’s really starting to comb down, here. Water from the sky and all.

RITCHICHICHI: Georgie, love, they’ve got the big Linzer Tortes if you want them?

LENNONWHANGRY: There’s thunder. I can hear it getting closer.

HAZZATUMMY: Oh, I LOVE THOSE! Get 2! No, 3 so you can have one too!

POLISTOL: I’ve a bruise! John, I’ve a bruise near my eye bc of Hazza! LENNONWHANGRY: Gonna be LIGHTENING soon! You know, ELECTRICITY???

POLISTOL: He hurt me, Johnny. LENNONWHANGRY: Did I mention I’ve no UMBRELLA?

HAZZATUMMY: He’s flirtin with me, Johnny, you should know! Wants me reachin’ down his pants, doesn’t he?

LENNONWHANGRY: And you shut up, Hazza. You know he doesn’t want your hand in his pants.

HAZZATUMMY: Not anymore, anyway. POLISTOL:

LENNONWHANGRY: Wait, what?

LENNONWHANGRY: WHAT?

LENNONWHANGRY: Hazza? WHAT?

LENNONWHANGRY: Macca? Macca, what? Why do you look guilty? Or anxious. Or gilty?

LENNONWHANGRY: Hello?

LENNONWHANGRY: Hello?

LENNONWHANGRY: RINGO?

RITCHICHICHI: Well, they’re really fightin’ now aint they?

One of my silliest pieces ever, based on a true story about George and Paul, as told by Ringo. But with some artistic license. And time travel. Meanwhile, John is standing in a thunderstorm without an umbrella, and Paul is not dead. Yet. You can read it here.

[waveofahand]

reblogged for added pic. Also girl shoes and those broad shoulders. In what world?

How did he do it?

How did he do it?  How does he sit there, on the rocky shore, drinking tea and eating a biscuit. Crossing his legs like a girl while wearing girl shoes. And still look sexy as hell? It’s a question for the ages.  Also, how did he ever sit and cross his legs in those tight jeans? Another question for the ages.  That’s it. I’m done. I’ve had enough. Put that boy in jail. Sex jail. For being too sexy. 

And that’s exactly what John is thinking as he gazes helplessly at Paul, in his girl shoes and tight jeans: “Put him in sex jail!” 

Let’s be real: John’s thinking it all the damn time!

[waveofahand]

Chapter 18: You’ve been waiting for this one…

Chapter 18 of "Here, There and Everywhere" is up, now. There is a lot going on, including George Harrison's utter breakdown after he realizes he has failed in his quest to be Paul's protector -- something Paul hadn't ever expected or thought about, before -- and a situation Paul must attend to comes to a head, finally, because John's need is so emotionally fraught, and so great.

He needs something only Paul can give him. And Paul... must overcome his own nightmares to provide it.

And tonight, with such a stark reality of death, or a lifetime’s terror of love being lost, lives ticked away from him one, by one… tonight, there could be no “no”. He knew it in his bones. “Ah, look at all the lonely people,” he had written. And loneliness was a first cousin to desperation, which I have seen in everyone’s life at some point or another, even my own,he thought now, recalling the half-hearted slices he’d made to his wrists after that first phone call from Valentine. Loneliness and desperation had left him feeling out of options, because love had not been close at hand. 

“I won’t stay in a world without love…” he’d been only sixteen years old when he put that thought to paper. Now, at twenty-four, he was beginning to understand that love required more of oneself, every day, no matter the cost or the ghosts and demons set before one and meant to scare you away from it, because love was more powerful than fear, even the heart-shredding fear borne of real experience, real evil. “Perfect love casts out fear, boyo,” Father Sean had told him over a belt of whiskey. “And it clears away all the barriers.”

All the barriers. Paul loved John, he did. And where love was real, there could be no limits. No, tonight there could be no “no”…

And so, pushing down an instinctive sense of panic, willing his hand not to shake, Paul finally met John’s wide, searching gaze with his own steady look. He reached up to his tie, putting his hand over his partner’s and nodded.

Yes, for those of you who have been keeping track, that means pretty much what exactly what you think it means. So... enjoy reading it at A03!

[waveofahand]

Paul: Stranger on a Train

Every once in a while, someone leaves "kudos" on a piece I've totally forgotten that I'd written. This is one of them. I'd totally forgotten it but when I re-read it I found a sorrowful little piece that has nothing to do with smirky humor or slash or anything but the way love and youth and life-as-it-happens can create such a confusion of excitement and sadness and even grief, but one just has to keep going, because there's nothing that can be done about it. Especially when something seems too big to be anything but fated, or even perhaps supernatural.

“I’m okay, really, Paul. You need to go.”

“I hate to leave you like this, though.”

“No, really. It’s good. I’m good. This is your world, and you need to, you know… live in it. Take it as far as you can.”

“I don’t like that. I don’t like what you’re saying, love. This sounds too much like a ‘goodbye’ and I’m not lookin’ for that.”

[Kisses your hand. In the distance you hear John Lennon calling out for him. “Macca, let’s go! Everyone is waiting for you!”]

[You give your bravest smile.] “'Everyone is waiting for you', Paul. You’d better go.”

“You’ll be here when I get back?” [Running the back of his fingers against your cheek.] “You will, yeah?”

Though I can't recall writing it, but I doubt that I started out intending for it to be such a moody piece. It made me feel bad for both of them. You can read it at A03.

[waveofahand]

Glowboy VII

The pics just keep piling up. The glowboy kept glowing. Here he reminds me of the Spirit of Christmases Past in A Christmas Carol, light seeming to pour out from the top of his head. I know it's probably a lamp, but it fits the "Glowboy" narrative! And of course hollering at someone and making a spectacle of himself.

Glowboy, why did you glow under your freckles?

[waveofahand]

Chapter 17: Mr Rigby comes a-calling on Macca

It's been a long time coming, I know, and I apologize for that. But here is Chapter 17 of Here, There and Everywhere, and yes boys and girls, we're finally in the hot-house fever zone of Memphis, Tennessee in August of 1966:

His fingers trailed the inscribed lettering, and the hunting scene engraved below. “This rifle is something else. A true work of art it is, for sure, but this is also one deadly bitch meant to take down big game. We’re talking ‘lions and tigers and bears’, sure enough. And bigger.”

“A hunting rifle,” John pondered, his eyes mesmerized by the gun, his voice barely audible. “And one of us is the prey… so…” he looked at the chief. “One of us is being hunted, then?” He looked at the shell casing. “And someone took a shot at me, right? Me an’ my big mouth? With that big fuckin’ bullet, yeah?” His hand went to his stomach and he shook his head as if dizzy. Before anyone could reach him, he fumbled himself into a chair, curled over as though he wanted to vomit.

“This is my fault,” he moaned, rocking a bit as Ritchie, of all people, got to him first and squatted down, rubbing his back. “I did this. I did this. No, don’t try to make me feel better. I’m such a fuck up. I did this! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

John Lennon finds himself apologizing for a horrific reality now before the band. Until George falls apart, and has an apology to make of his own. You can read it at A03.

And again, I'm really sorry for making you wait for so long...

[waveofahand]

Oh now that you mentioned it, I remembered how Paul was always glowing in Get Back as if he was freaking Snow White or something... That part when he was asking John if he had written anything and John said something like he had Sunday off, with Ringo was messing around... You know?

I don't mind your asking but I am sorry to have to say this -- I had EVERY INTENION of spending all day yesterday writing that chapter and publishing it. But I spent it instead in the emergency room and by the time I got home it was 5PM and I was exhausted and went to bed. Maybe next Monday! I'm hoping!

[waveofahand]

Glowboy VI: Paul, why did you glow?

I can't believe this is my SIXTH post on glowboy's weird glowing, but I can't help it. I keep finding pics or seeing it. Glowboy, WHY did you glow, so almost-ghostly?

[waveofahand]

Hello!

Will you post a chapter soon? (Book III)

Thanks!

I hope everything is okay ☺️☺️☺️

Hello and thank you for asking! My day job has been involving me in a huge project is just winding down. I HOPE to have a new chapter up by next Monday or Tuesday! And I expect it to cover a lot, be a bit hot and end with a bit of a cliff hanger courtesy of George Harrison!! I really appreciate your interest!! Thank you!

[waveofahand]

Paul's daughter, Michelle, all grown up!

This might be appreciated by those who have read the three-part "McLennon Angst" series, and understand who Michelle is. That tale that is made up of "Carry That Weight" and "Hello/Goodbye" and the (sorry, not yet finished) "Here, There, and Everywhere," and it is shortly after Paul's recovery from a brutal attack that we meet his 4 y/o French daughter Michelle (conceived in Hamburg), who appears in all three books. When I saw this I cracked up, particularly when she loses her temper in frustration, which would be very much on-point for the character. For me it was like, "Oh, there is Michelle, all grown up." I mean, look at those long lashes and big, uneven, sloping eyes, the dimple in the chin, the lips and rabbity teeth and bow lips! And adorable! Click link HERE.