Freddie: So We’re Still Squabbling Over That Fact, That’s What He’s Trying To Say Roger: Rawr

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                       INSIDE EDEN’S GATE EDITION [ 3 / ??? ]

Before The Lift (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

A Prequel To Lift Confessions

A/N: okay WOW. First of all, thank you so much to everyone who noted my last fic! I was shocked from all of the positivity I received! As a thank you, I wrote a prequel to it! You can read either first, it doesn’t exactly matter. You can even skip over this, if you want. Like always, comments, requests, and ideas are always appreciated!

Summary: Two years before you and Roger Taylor are stuck in a lift together and your lost friendship is found, your friendship with Roger had to be lost in the first place.

(This can be read as BoRhap!Roger or real Roger, idc)

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol/intoxication, Smoking, Breakups, Fighting, Vomiting, Mentions of sex (but not smut), and Suggested Domestic Abuse (WOW what a long list. (I apologize in advance if I missed anything)

This fic is fluffy af but it turns angsty REALLY fast. I’d rate this fic between a T and an M

In 1974, a usually barren pub in downtown London was nearly filled to the brim with people, most of them with the intention of just being in the same room as the geniuses performing that cold Saturday evening.

Those geniuses were none other than Brian May, John Deacon, Freddie Mercury, and Roger Taylor.

Queen.

These four boys were about to make it big, so it only made sense that this small pub was crawling with crazy fans and starstruck young adults who would kill for a smile from Brian, a point from Freddie, a nod of acknowledgement from John, or a wink from Roger. Honestly, you could see the appeal.

Anyone with a right mind could see the appeal.

The guys on stage were attractive, and it was only expected that these fans would come drop to their knees and worship the musicians as if they were Gods.  

How such a big band like Queen got into such a small pub on a usually dead night, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that the pub owner was probably rolling in a pile of pound sterling in his office right now due to the spectacular turnout.

None of that exactly mattered to you, though; you had the best seat in the house– with a perfectly good view of Roger.

Despite being in a relationship with one of your friend’s cousins, you liked Roger.

A lot.

You and him had a special bond since the moment you two met. You met at one of their band practices when you and Brian reunited after university. He brought you along to meet his band members and needless to say, you and Roger just clicked.

“There was a lot less practice being done that day, and a lot more flirting,” as you remember Brian putting it.

Despite this minor “setback” Brian brought you along more and more. It then just became the norm.

Often times, during practice breaks when the boys would go out for a sandwich or a coffee, you would stay behind with Roger and listen to him play the drums for you.

He even let you play the drums one day. You weren’t very good at it, but you did it, nonetheless.

“You have to be a very special lady to be able to play these bad boys,”

You smiled to yourself at the memory. You honestly weren’t even paying attention to the music anymore. You just watched your boys move and perform they way they always did.

Effortlessly.

Gracefully.

Perfectly.

After the last cord for the Seven Seas Of Rhye stopped echoing through the pub, the crowd erupted into cheers, and enthusiastic girls in the front waving to whichever band member they wanted to grab the attention from and be with for the rest of the night… and nearly all of them wanted Roger.

Despite this, you remained calm, and showed your appreciation to the band by whistling, and clapping. Roger looked over the heads of all the hot and bothered girls trying to get his attention, and he winked at you with a cheeky grin.

You could tell your face was rosy, but that didn’t matter. You felt a little smug when Roger found himself off the stage and all of the girls turning to look at you. You could sense all of the jealousy coarsing through their veins, and you loved every second of it.

Joke’s on you, bitches. I’m his favourite.

It had been roughly an hour after the set, and the boys had retreated to the maintenance room until some of the crowd in the pub gave up on waiting for them to emerge from hiding, and soon disbanded.

You were at the back of the pub, unplugging and collecting all of the cords on stage after putting Brian’s guitar and John’s bass away safely.

“Hello, Pretty Lady,” a voice cooed to you as you bent down to peel up small x’s of tape put on the stage. Even during smaller sets like this, Freddie thought it was important to determine where everyone stood; even if he’d move wherever he wanted just moments after the set began. You look over your shoulder, and brand the same grin the voice had on his face.

“Hey you! You had a great set tonight!” “Well, it must have been that lovely good-luck hug you gave me earlier.” You rolled your eyes and straightened your posture, rolling the tape into a ball and playfully throwing it at Roger’s chest.

“Dumbass. You know luck isn’t real.”

“Now how is that possible? I met you.”

“Touché, Taylor.” This sassy blond could capture your heart so easily and have you wrapped around his finger in seconds. Something told you he knew that. And he loved it.

“Well, Lovely, since you’re working awfully hard, I’m gonna buy you a drink. We can unwind.”

“Have you checked in the mirror lately, Pretty Boy? I’m not the one sweating from all the hard work.” Roger smirked. He enjoyed your sense of humour, especially when it could vaguely have a double, more erotic meaning.

“Besides, I’m still cleaning things up. You go, have a drink, flirt with a gal who looks like you, try and take her home.” Roger’s grin weakened when you said that, but you didn’t notice. You were turned back around, peeling up more tape and searching for the ball you threw at the drummer.

“I’ll just be at the bar. I’ll be sure to save a seat for you, Doll. Don’t think a drink won’t be there waiting for you.” You smiled to yourself, and after throwing the ball of tape away, and placing the cords away with the band’s instruments, you met Roger at the bar.

Sure enough, a glass of amber liquid was waiting in the empty spot next to him.  

“Something clearly isn’t right, here.” You sat down next to Roger, picking up the glass and swirling the drink around, the ice tapping the inside of the glass’ walls.

“I thought pretty girls had their drinks paid for by others,” you teased.

“And that’s what happened.”

“I’m calling you a girl, Roger,“ you retorted. "And I’m calling you pretty, y/n.”

You smiled rather shyly, and Roger happily raised his drink towards you. You clinked glasses before sucking the drinks down rather quickly. No slower than it was to place your glasses back onto the bar, Roger had already knocked on the bench, the bartender moving to prepare more drinks for the both of you.

Not even an hour later, you were four drinks in, and Roger ordered one more for you, as per request. He was sipping at his eighth glass of brandy. At least, you thought it was his eighth.

Or… was it his eleventh?

His cheeks were very rosy, so it might have even been more. You expected the bartender to cut Roger off at some point, but that never happened.

Again, things like this didn’t matter. What mattered was that Roger kept sliding the bartender bills, and he slid Roger drinks in return.

The both of you had finished discussing a funny situation regarding John the other day when the band was packing for their trip.

“Speaking of, do you guys even ‘ave any song ideas for this album?”

“Fred wants to call it 'A Night At The Opera’,” Roger explained, examining the floating ice in his cup.

“He explained it to Ray as 'an album anyone can enjoy’.” Roger quoted Freddie as a sports announcer would have.

“How thoughtful of you boys,” you mused teasingly, your eyelids heavy and your cheeks as rosy as Roger’s.

“Yeah. I got a song I want on the album. I was telling you about it a few days ago.”

“I’m pretty sure when you mean an album for everyone, guys who wanna fuck their cars isn’t on the list, Roger,” you slurred his name, and laughed at your comment.

“It’s a metaphor, y/n!”

“I beg to differ. You really enjoy that car of yours,” you scrunched your nose. “Is that why the back seat has a stain on it?!”

Roger looked horrified. “John wanted ice cream and he dropped his vanilla cone on the seat and it won’t wash out!”

You laughed loudly, a few loners sitting at the bar turning to look at you in mild annoyance. “I’m only teasing!”

Your fifth and final drink of the night was slid over to you by the bartender, and you picked the glass up.

“To your final night 'n greater London?” Roger tapped his nearly empty glass against yours with a soft smile on his face.

“To my final night in greater London.”

“May you not leave me here alone for too long.”

You took a sip of your drink and set it down. Roger was just watching you move, and when he was drunk like this, he never shied away from being obvious, or confident.

In fact, that’s how you often realized he was drunk. His confidence was out of this world. Roger was really good at holding his liquor. He was also the kind of guy who didn’t look or act drunk when in reality he’d be absolutely wasted.

You, on the other hand, were the very opposite.

You turned to look at him, and you opened your mouth to say something, but Freddie interrupted your conversation.

You were somewhat glad because you had no idea what you were going to say.  

“Hello, Lovies. How’s the night?” He grinned his signature smile at you, and you returned it.

“Pretty good Fred, and yours?”

“Oh just wonderful, my dear y/n.” Freddie then turned to Roger.

“Roger, Love, there’s a young lady over there who wishes to speak with you.” He gestured to his right with his head, and sure enough, a woman was there.

She was seated at the bar, her posture a lot straighter than yours. Impulsively, you shifted uncomfortably and straightened your own back.

Despite this, she was the epitome of beautiful, and not even good posture, you thought, could even place you anywhere near her on a “beautiful scale”.

She had very long legs, and long wavy hair. It was a rich chocolate colour, and you impulsively reached up to touch your own bland hair. You envied this woman even more.

She turned to look over at you three and she twiddled her dainty hand at Roger, clearly batting her long eyelashes over her big brown eyes. She smiled a perfect grin and your stomach churned violently.

This woman had everything Roger was into. Judging by all of the women he’s brought along to band practices and parties, you could confirm that this was his type.

She got off the bar stool, and slowly made her way towards your group. Before she got too close, you leaned into Roger, who was too busy looking at this other woman he was going to most likely pursue. “Im'a go out for a cigarette. Make good of tonight, Roger.”

You patted his shoulder, and glumly stumbled out of the bar.

You knew you shouldn’t have been upset. You were in a relationship. Roger wasn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to want to control his love life when you had yours… somewhat under control.

You shakily raised your lighter up to your cigarette, but the ignition never lasted long enough to let you light the cancer stick. “Fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, sitting down on the curb in defeat.

You sat there for a while, taking in the scent of the humid London night. The street was completely dead.

You wanted to lie down in the middle of the road and fall asleep. You scrunched your face up.

Was that really a drunk thought? You very rarely got drunk, but when you did, you doing stupid shit definitely ensued.

“Mind if I join you?” A gentle voice asked you from behind. You glanced over your shoulder and shrugged, looking back down at your unlit cigarette.

Roger found himself seated next to you, and he retrieved his own lighter from his Jean pocket. He ignited it, and you lit the cigarette. You immediately took a deep breath, and exhaled with instability.

Roger opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to make you more upset.

“I thought you went to chase after that girl,” you mumbled before putting the cigarette back between your lips.  

“Nah. She chased after me, and I got away.” You shook your head, the smile on your face nearly invisible.

“What, she have bad breath or somethin’?”

“You have no idea, y/n,” Roger said helplessly. You laughed, smoke leaving your mouth in short puffs.

“It was like a garlic factory!” He tried his very hardest to keep you smiling and laughing.

And it worked.

He liked how pretty you looked when you were laughing.

“So you came out to be with good ol’ y/n.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be with anyone else tonight.” The night got quiet after your giggles subsided. You took a nice long inhale from your cigarette, and blew it out slowly.

A ring of smoke danced over the heads of you and Roger, and you offered the rolled object to him.

As he inhaled from the cigarette, you looked down at your stretched out legs.

“… d'you really have to leave, Rog?” He simply nodded before blowing the smoke into the air.

“Unfortunately.”

“Will you miss me?” He laughed halfheartedly– a simple quick exhale from the nose. He stared out into the street, shaking his head.

“Is that even a question?” You took your cigarette back and drew in another breath of the poison.

As you breathed out, you felt an arm gently slide around you. Roger kept his hand at your waist, and that’s where it intended to stay.

“Why would you even think I wouldn’t miss you?”

“I just don’t want you forgettin’ about your special girly at home,” you explained in a hushed tone. This seemed to be an appropriate time to be a little quiet.

Roger rested his head on your shoulder, his other hand reaching out to take your cigarette for one more drag.

“You mean so much to me. Forgetting you will be impossible.”

You took the cigarette from Roger’s hand and finished it off, snuffing the butt by squishing it into the sidewalk next to you.

“Just don’t want you runnin’ off with a prettier girl.” You slurred, smiling sadly.

“Trust me, everyone in Surrey probably looks like everyone here in GL.” Roger’s free hand reached over to grab one of yours.

“Besides, you’re the prettiest girl I know.” The laugh from your mouth sounded stale.

“Very funny, Rog.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“We’re drunk, for one,” you counted on your free hand.

“Two, I am, and will always probably just be a roadie. To you, n’ the rest of the band.”

Roger lifted his head off your shoulder and looked at you.

“Three, you’re famous. You can have any girl. You can choose them like a little kid picking a candy bar off the shelf.”

You looked down at your feet, shutting your eyes and dropping your hand.

“I know now is the worst time to have this conversation. We’re both very drunk. But… ’M not good enough for you. You can do so much better.”

You felt a hand cup the side of your face, and turn your head to the left. Roger slid his fingers into your hair, and he pulled you in for a kiss.

You didn’t move for a moment, your eyebrows lowering in confusion. But as soon as Roger pushed closer, and caressed your cheek with his thumb, you found yourself closing your eyes and kissing him back.

You were enjoying the kiss much more than you should have been. Roger pulled away too soon, and you found your lips chasing after his.

You caught yourself doing this and Roger smiled, his fingers combing through your hair.

“Even if it were possible, I don’t want to do better. I want you.”

You found yourself kissing him again, but it was you who made the move. Your hands reached up to grab Roger’s face, and his hands moved down to grip your hips.

You tilted his head to the side by pulling his hair, and Roger parted his lips to gasp. This sound of surprise was muffled by your tongue which you slipped into his mouth.

Roger placed a hand on your back, and another at the side of your neck before pulling you flush against his chest.

You could feel his heart drumming against your chest at an insanely quick pace, as did Roger.

But then he felt yours stop.

“Y/n…?!”

You and Roger broke the kiss and turned to the voice, your hands dropping to the drummer’s shoulders.

“Steven…?!” Your boyfriend of nearly two years marched towards you and Roger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with her?!” His face was burning hot.

He was angry he found his girlfriend sucking face with a famous drummer, and he was humiliated that he was unaware of whatever this was, and how long it was going on for.

“Steven, t’s not what it looks like!”

“Get in the car, y/n!”

You got off of Roger and guarded the blond with your arms outstretched. “If you hurt him Steven, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!” Your warning was slurred, and didn’t sound too threatening.

“Get in the goddamn fucking car y/n!”

“You don’t talk to her like that!” Roger exclaimed angrily.

Steven grabbed your arm tightly and moved you away from Roger, his fist grabbing the front of Roger’s shirt. “I can speak to her however I want, asshole!”

Steven looked over at you, teeth clenched. “Get. In. The. Car!” He shoved you away, and you followed his orders.

Steven turned his attention back to Roger, who tried to shove him away. Despite this, Steven didn’t budge.

“How long have you two been seeing each other, huh?!” When Roger didn’t respond, Steven shook him around like he was a rag doll.

“Answer me!”

“I’m not even seeing her! We just kissed!” Hot tears rolled down Roger’s cheeks, his lip quivering.

He hoped to God your relationship with Steven wasn’t like this. Roger would have sold his soul to make sure you were safe, and happy.

Something Steven wouldn’t have ever done.

“You touch her again, Taylor, and I will fuck up your face so badly that you’d be unrecognizable to your own mother. Do you understand?!” Roger nodded rapidly, and Steven shoved him to the ground.

“Fuck you,” he huffed at your boyfriend.

Steven turned around, and kicked Roger in the side. The blond turned over and threw up all over the sidewalk, sobbing quietly to himself.

“No. Fuck you.”

                                                          “Get the fuck out of here!” You were shrieking at Steven, throwing various things of his at him with the intention of hurting him.

“Why?! So you can invite him over to the house I pay for?! And fuck him in our bed that I bought us?!”

“You are so childish, do you understand that, Steve?!” Steven pulled a suitcase out of your shared closet, and zipped it open.

“Why don’t you two go have sex in the shower I renovated for us?!” He started violently shoving his clothes into the case, moving to leave the bedroom and go to the bathroom.

“Hell, why don’t you just have his kids?! Marry him! Wake him up every Sunday morning with breakfast and coffee and a kiss!” As he rummaged your bathroom cabinet for his things, you shouted back at him. “Well maybe I will!”

Steven picked up a brush, and threw it at you. You shielded your face with your arms, and you shouted when the brush came in contact with your arm. Hard. Steven then shoved you against the door and walked back into the bedroom with his pills and toothbrush.

“I never want to fucking see you again!”

“See if I care, y/n! That pussy can have my sloppy seconds! I can just call up the tens of girls lined up waiting for me! Can finally get between the legs of a woman who’ll actually enjoy what I give them!”

Your eyes were burning as more tears flooded your waterline. “Get. Out!” You picked up a vase of flowers off your bedside table and followed Steven out the bedroom door with it. He struggled a little with getting his suitcase out the front door, but you threw the vase, and it shattered against the closed door.

You screamed, and sunk to the floor, broken glass all around you. All of the photos of you and Steven had either been turned downward or broken. The living room, bedroom and bathroom had been flipped upside down, and you were left by yourself in this massive house.

You curled up into a tight ball, and cried violently until you nearly fell asleep on the floor.

You crawled up the stairs helplessly, and climbed into bed, not even worrying about changing your clothes. You didn’t even care. As soon as your body relaxed into the mattress, you started crying again. This time, you successfully cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you knew you were supposed to say good bye to the boys before they took off for the next handful of months. They were to be in complete isolation so they could record parts of their new album.

Unfortunately, just opening your eyes killed your head. You tossed your comforter over your head, and began crying yet again.

You didn’t have Steven, and you didn’t even have Roger.

For the first time in your entire life, you had never felt so alone.

                                                    A/A/N: Wow so I’m sorry if this isn’t as good as my first one, but I still really like it. Enjoy, and don’t be afraid to leave your feedback!

@benders-diamond-earring​ @radiob-l-a-hblah​ @bohemiansweede​ @demo-wise​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Across the Universe II (Paul McCartney x Female!Reader)

Find Part One Here

A/N: I just checked chapter 1 and I literally put it up over a year ago. Shit. I just wrote a part 2, and finally got ahold of a computer to post it. I hope you's enjoy it. my last chapter had like... 20 likes altogether, so hopefully this chapter will draw some readers in.

Summary: Paul makes it to the Princeton campus where he not only reunites with his cousin Vick, but he meets a fellow stoner named Max. From there, the boys indulge in some Ivy League Hospitality.

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, smoking psychoactive substances (Cannabis), just dumb college guys doing dumb college shit. also, it's probably got mistakes bc I suck at revising

This is just a statement clearing up that none of these characters are mine except for Vick. Everyone else belongs to those who were involved in and/or collaborated with Julie Taymor in making the Across The Universe film (2007)

I'll rate this one a T seeing as the substance use isn't THAT bad.

"Vick Hoffner?"

"Try across the way, man. I think there's a Vick of sorts there."

Paul simply nodded at the stranger before turning on his heel and making a beeline to the next apartment, his hands fiddling with his useless book of contacts.

What was the point of giving me your number if you won't even pick up the phone?

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the palm of his hand. He'd been hitchhiking for two days just to get to the Princeton Campus, and then a few hours going through the closest rented apartments to locate him.

This was apartment number 9.

And it was nearing one AM.

Paul rapped weakly at the door, silently concluding that this would be the last place to check before finding somewhere to sleep until the next morning.

The door swung open, and Paul was face-to-face with this college kid who seemed to be about his age. He had unkempt blonde hair that curled around his ears, patchy stubble, and big blue eyes hazed over with the red assault of cannabis in his system.

Despite this, and the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand, the guy looked like he was keeping it together pretty well.

Paul cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow. "... Vick Hoffner?"

"Nah, man. He's out at the moment gettin' drinks," the guy paused, and looked at Paul for a moment.

"Hey, hold on, you're not... Vick's cousin, are you?"

"Would it be an issue?" Paul asked sarcastically, to which the other guy responded after a laugh, "Nah. I just can't wait for him to get back and find out you got the better looks."

Paul just rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Probably don't matter. He's the brains n' so is me brother. 'S what really matters; though I take pride in this thing." Paul pointed teasingly at his face.

The other guy smiled, pulling two cigarettes from behind his ear. He offered one to Paul, and he claimed the other. He lit the both of their cigs, and they each took a long drag after Paul scanned the apartment hallway for any angry tenants who happened to be against smoking indoors.

"So... does Vick's "pretty boy" cousin have a name?"

Paul nodded like the fact that he had a name was astounding information, but he smiled genuinely before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "It's Paul."

"Max," The blond shoved his hand out, and the boys shook hands firmly. Max eyed Paul again."Where's that accent from, Paul?"

"Same place as me," Paul answered as he shoved his free hand in his pocket, blowing out smoke a moment after. "Liverpool."

"But why come to America?" Max gestured Paul into the apartment as he spoke, closing the door behind them. "Kill someone? Were you on the run from the cops? FBI?"

"'Sounds like you'd be one to know 'bout all of that." The boys took a seat on the couch in the centre of the room as their cigarettes slowly burned away as they chatted.

"Hey, hey, I've barely ever been in trouble with the cops, but I have pissed off every professor in Princeton, and have broken several campus windows."

" 'nd... you're proud of it?"

"I'm an adrenaline junkie, what can I say? Smashed nearly forty five windows and despite being Princeton's number one vandalidm suspect, I'm still not expelled. Y'know why?" Paul leaned in a little, enough to catch the dank scent of weed, and Max lowered his voice. "... because they can never prove it's me."

" 'nd why is that?"

The answer to Paul's question burst right through the apartment door.

"There's three more of us, and it could be any of them!" One of which, Paul could surprisingly recognize.

"Vick. Long time no see," Paul rose to his feet, and Vick, who'd set a six-pack of beer on the coffee table between them, greeted his cousin with a friendly hug and some "how are you"s.

Despite being an intelligent young man, Paul noticed that Vick behaved a little less like how he used to: polite, conservative, and proper. It was suspected that his behaviour changed because his newfound freedom at Uni allowed him to experience and access things that he would have been otherwise restricted from when he was younger.

Booze was one of them.

Dope was another.

In fact, he wordlessly cracked open a beer for Paul, and handed it to him like he'd asked for a drink in the first place.

Paul wasn't a huge drinker. It was never a vice of his, or anything like that either. He got shitfaced every once in a while for fun.

But when he brought that aluminum can up to his lips, Paul would never have guessed that it would have led to the night it did.

Five minutes after Vick and his buddies returned, Max brought out the roach Paul suspected he was sucking on before he got there.

With enthusiastic cheers from around the room, Max lit the sucker up, took a nice drag from the hot remainders of the joint, and passed it on to Paul.

Paul looked at the roach, almost as if he was confused. No one had asked him if he'd ever smoked before, but Max and the others yelled hurriedly over top of one another, instructing for Paul to suck in quickly and hold the smoke in for as long as he could.

It resulted in a coughing fit, and encouraging pats on the back from the other guys. Vick ended up taking the roach next, and Max reached out across the table.

"Have another one of these, my friend," he slid over another beer after cracking it open just moments before, despite the fact that Paul wasn't quite finished his first drink.

"Y'know, the more you cough, the higher you get? Pretty fucking sick. Like a win-win, man. You don't cough: You're high. You cough: You're super high."

As time went on, and Paul nursed his second drink more responsibly than the first one, things, ironically, started making less and less sense to him.

At one point, he was talking to the guy sitting across from him, and he just stopped talking for a whole ten seconds before turning to Max and asking "what the fuck was I just talking about?"

"Who fucking knows." The blond's shoulders shook as he tried suppressing his laughs, but eventually Paul just burst out into laughs and uncontrollable tears.

And everyone followed suit.

He had absolutely no idea how he got there, or how long he'd been there for, but sitting before Paul were now two empty Tankards. A waitress just set down another to him, and collected the table's empty glasses.

They were in a bar.

Max sat beside Paul as he watched Vick spectate the other two guys play pool.

For the life of him, Paul couldn't remember those guys' names, despite knowing he was told multiple times in the last few hours. To be fair, being drunk and stoned is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to how one forgets another's name. He supposed it didn't exactly matter, anyways.

"So, you got any hot sisters abroad I should know about?" Paul gave Max a funny look  but it may have been because it took so long for Paul's brain to register what had been asked.

"... No. Do you?"

"I've got two younger sisters; one's eight, and the older one's a little on the uglier side," though he didn't say it, Max's little smile indicated to Paul that he was joking about the last comment.

Paul and Max watched the boys play pool a little longer until the eight ball was pocketed.

"Wanna play?" Paul's head snapped to his left, and he nodded at Max's offer.

The other guys traded off, and Vick continued spectating. Max made the first break, and Paul watched as the cue ball rolled right into one of the pockets. Well, it seemed to have been only him to notice, because Max's eyes were instead trained on a brunette woman passing the two.

She looked over her shoulder to wink at Max, and rather than gouging his reaction, she simply walked off and took a seat alone in the corner of the bar.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, McCartney?"

"Well, I'm sure that it 'appens all the time. Never 'appened to me, personally."

"You just need to find the right one, my friend.." Max trailed off again, eyes still locked on the bird in the corner. He was slowly inching from the table and toward her. Max eventually just set the cue on the table and completely abandoned their game to talk to this girl, who flashed him a flirty smile with her bright white teeth and painted lips.

Paul watched Max amusedly, taking a swig from his beer and memorizing the moves Max was putting on his lady friend, who was clearly enjoying his company.

Maybe Paul wanted to get better at approaching certain women. He knew how to flirt, and be charming. It's not like he'd never had girlfriends. He'd had his fair share of girls in his teenage years, and he had Molly now back in Liverpool.

But Paul, at this moment, in his crossfaded brain, realized that he didn't want to attract the women he had been anymore. Just from her visual appearance, and how she was reacting to Max's charming flirts, Paul could sense an airiness to her personality. She was always smiling, inching closer, initiating physical contact by nudging his hand with her own, the list goes on.

Hell, even on her happiest days, Molly would be reluctant to kiss Paul, but he'd excuse her behaviour because she was just a regularly bitchy person who hated public displays of affection.

Or hardly any affection at all, it seemed.

Needless to say, Max returned to the table five minutes later with a phone number and a big red lipstick stain on his cheek. So to celebrate, the gang decided to go golfing.

"Here she is, Window Way," Max introduced Paul to the roof of their apartment building. The other boys started giggling at the name "Window Way". Each guy had their own club, Max held a bag of golf balls, and Vick carried another six pack.

Max set his things down and took in the crisp night air as Vick opened yet another beer for each of the boys. Max took a can for him, and one for Paul, and proceeded to show his new buddy just why he called it "Window Way".

"A Driver will send a ball..." Max pointed his arm straight out in front of him, his finger pointing right towards the windows of the Princeton Campus library.

"...Straight towards the school," Paul finished. He turned to look at Max. "You guys do this every night?"

"Paul, I do this all day. I barely go to class anymore."

"Hey, Max! You tee first!" One of the nameless guys called out to them. Max brandished the widest of grins before rushing to grab his club, a ball, and a green tee from his pocket. "Hey, Paulie, wanna help me out by holding my tee up?"

"Well, how'd I do that without gettin' hit?"

The other boys started laughing again, and Paul was genuinely confused until he found himself lying on his back seconds later, and the bottom of the tee between his lips, which only got heavier when Max set the ball down onto it.

If he were sober in this moment, Paul would not have been this comfortable with someone swinging a golf club full force towards his head and then trust their judgement regardless of their in intoxicity that they'd hit their target...

It was a good thing Max had been doing this for a long time, because wow, did that ball ever fly.

Paul watched in stoned disbelief as the ball soared far off into the distance and over the roof of the library. And while no one had seen it, they certainly heard the shatter from the other side of the building.

And that's when all five boys ran away from administration retired back to their room to light up a new joint Vick had also brought home as a surprise. They all sat around and lazily talked to one another about how crazy Max's shot was, and while some of them were falling in and out of sleep, Max insisted they all stay up to watch the sky change colour from the courtyard.

Paul didn't know how he stayed up any longer than he did, but he pulled through like a trooper, and they all watched the sky change as they lay down in the fallen leaves. But as soon as they all came back to their room for a final time, Paul dragged himself in exhaustion to the living room chair to sit, but he just slipped out of it onto the floor, and that's when his body decided to turn off on its own.

The other guys dropped to the ground or onto the furniture like dead flies, and within ten seconds of the door closing, the room was quiet.

And it stayed like that for nearly ten hours.

Paul woke up that evening with a raging headache and multiple trips to the bathroom to be sick, but now three things were certain for him: He definitely had one hell of a time, he definitely wanted to hang out with Max a lot more, and that evening Paul definitely got by with a little help from his new friends.

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A/A/N: alrighty, if this chapter doesn't do too too bad, I'll see about continuing this story. I've got chapter 3 pretty much done as well, I'm just in the midst of revising it. If you want more, by all means, PLEASE let me know!

I swear, if they don't get Jim Sturgess to play one of them, I'm starting a fire

scared about the beatles biopics because I just know they're gonna cast men with Instagram face to play my little freaks I can't do this

Insert Brian and Roger in traffic in separate cars

*turtle crossing the street*

Roger: *gets out of car and picks up the turtle*

Brian: Aww that’s so sweet of him

Roger: *brings turtle back with him to the car*

Brian: WH A T

Justice for Deaky and his small room

THIS NEEDS TO BE ADDRESSED

I am so happy that fanfiction brings joy to people, and even inspiration for readers to begin writing, themselves.

HOWEVER

If a specific fanfic gives you inspiration to write your own version with the same idea, PLEASE give the original author credit!!!1!!1

Yesterday I came across a fic that was very similar to my story Lift Confessions. The plot, the warnings, the couple in the writing; it was all very painfully similar.

Some of y'all have no idea how upsetting it is to spend months planning out a story and publishing the first chapter only to have the idea taken and claimed by another; one with a particularly larger audience, as well.

Even in my second series, The Couple Next Door, although I don't know who the OP was for that idea, I still gave them credit because it wasn't my idea.

I'm a visual artist as well, and stealing other people's ideas and claiming their hard work is common and so upsetting, I can barely even put the frustration of it into words.

All of those hours and hours of work we spend creating something we love?

Gone.

Let this be a message to all (future) fanfiction writers.

PLEASE GIVE CREDIT TO THE ORIGINAL POSTER IF IT WAS THEIR STORY THAT HAD YOU INSPIRED.

P.S. Giving the OP credit won't make your story any less good. Please just be truthful to your audience to prevent breaking an artist's heart (whether their medium is writing, drawing, music, etc.)

🎵Stuck in the middle with you…🎵

Ok, so I was reading this news story:

So far so normal, right? But then:

Like what. And then:

Like, I think Alaska State Trooper Ken Marsh wants to be a romance novelist. 

Hey, I'm not dead

I'm sorry I've been inactive. This quarantine is kicking my ass, and I've had no motivation. It's all coming back, now though, so y'all should expect a new TCND chapter soon.

So, I'm also a massive Beatles fan and I watched Across The Universe (one of my faves) last night baked as hell and now I have inspiration to write about some of the Bug Boys. I just wanted to know what Y'all would think about me expanding my writing to more than one character. (Trust me, I love Rogie, but I also wanna see who else I'm capable of writing as)

Thank you all for your patience ❤❤