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18 August 2005 @ 01:01 am
 

Title: White Light
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Paul/George (YES I WRITE SOMETHING BESIDES JOHN/PAUL! WORSHIP ME!)
Summary: George gets drunk. George starts talking. George says things that he can't blame on the alcohol.

So, quickly, since my notes tend to be freakishly long. With the influx of P/G ness, I realized how much I love the pairing. So inspired by banburytale 's wonderfully delicious ficclet AND the concert footage she spoke about AND the sweet little P/G hug in the Real Love video I did...this. Yay. Title from the Gorillaz song since the only lyrics to the whole thing are 'White light, do do do, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol white light.' but no one cares. So...yes. Enjoy.

 

 

There was always one out of the four of them that would go to a party and get so blubberingly fall-down drunk that from watching them you laugh until it hurts to breathe and curse yourself for not bringing a camera.

 

Usually it was John. Tonight it was George.

 

George was the most entertaining, Paul mused. John was bonkers to begin with so once he was intoxicated nothing really deviated from the norm, Ringo would chat up a few inanimate objects, and Paul would find the nearest instrument and boast his musical talents to anyone who would listen. George, however, was the first to rip off his shirt and leap on top of the kitchen table. His expressions were what really put him over the top, though. Somehow his face would contort in the most bizarre, odd, hilarious positions that he would never be able to achieve if his blood alcohol content had not matched his weight.

 

“So I says to him,” He slurred, leaning heavily on a slim brunette sporting a cross between a grin and a grimace. “I says, ‘Hey man, you can’t take all those blueberries.’ And he says ‘Well, yes I can, I’ll take whatever I damn well want! I’ll take the fucking raspberries too if I wanna!’ So I’m like ‘Hey, you can’t do that. Those are for the children.’ And he says...well, I don’t know what he says...but the moral of the story is never go for a swim during the salmon mating season, because....errr, what was I talking about again?”

 

Paul snickered from his vantage point on the couch and took another sip of his gin and tonic. It had been a slow night, to say the least. The birds simply weren’t doing it for him that evening. Not to imply that they were unattractive (Or that they showed no interest in him, HEAVENS no.) but Macca had opted to observe the scene rather than partake in it. He hadn’t really wanted to go to the party in the first place, but Eppy insisted that the Fab Four make an appearance, and since no one felt like explaining that the baby faced bassist would rather sit in a bathtub than dance, Paul was dragged along.

 

There was suddenly a loud cacophonic clang from the other end of the room and Paul’s attention was immediately drawn to a man banging out something meant to be Blue Suede Shoes on the elegant grand piano.

 

“No! No wait, I got it!” He yelled, obviously trying to hold the lime light as long as he could. He stumbled through the opening, screeching out lyrics between laughs and continuing out of key for several more bars until eventually someone reached their senses and yanked the stool out from under him. Paul raised an eyebrow at the scene.

 

“Christ, is THAT what I look like when I’m plastered?” He muttered, and glanced down at the drink in his hand. He made a face and was suddenly a lot less thirsty than he had been previously.

 

The cushion beside him dipped with weight, and he glanced over to see the warm, friendly face of his drummer unceremoniously sprawled out beside him.

 

“He’s got no idea what he’s going on about, does he?” Ringo asked with a smile, jerking his head in George’s direction when met with a hazy cloud of confusion. Paul grinned, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and trying to keep his eyes away from Ringo’s obviously-open legs.

 

“Not a clue. I doubt he even remembers her name.” He coughed and made a show of crossing his legs, but when Ringo didn’t catch the subtle hint he decided to concentrate on running his finger along the rim of his glass.

 

“How many has he had?” He asked, and Paul shrugged.

 

“Dunno. Enough to drown every fish in the Pacific, no doubt. He’s been on that rant about fruit for nearly an hour, I don’t think the conversation ever even occurred.”

 

Ringo laughed, shifting into a more comfortable position. He was still presenting worse than those ugly little monkeys Paul read about in magazines, but at least now he’d taken the courtesy to censor himself with a pillow. “At least he’s having fun, and we’ll have something on him next time he does something cheeky.” Paul smiled politely but didn’t respond; he was quickly growing bored with the mundane conversation. Ringo fiddled his thumbs for a moment, pursing his lips and moving them in circles before opening his mouth again. “So...you think he’s had enough, then?”

 

Paul visibly brightened at the prospect of being able to leave, and thought the guitarist’s inebriation was an appropriate excuse. “Yeah, yeah I think so. I don’t mind taking him back, you know. You can stay here and ride with John.”

 

“You sure you’re alright to drive?” the blue eyed musician asked, eyeing the beverage that Paul was still holding.

 

“Oh.” He replied simply, removing his feet from the table and setting the glass down in its place. “It’s m’first one, and I barely touched it. No need too worry, dear.” He added with a pert grin as he stood up. Ringo returned it took the opportunity to prop his feet up where Paul had formally been.

 

“Alright, then. Sure you don’t mind leaving?”

 

“Not at all.” Paul said, trying to sound as if he was lying as he readjusted his tie and turned to leave. “I mean, we can’t have our little Georgie running about with his knickers in a twist, or worse yet, no knickers at all.” Ringo chuckled and waved a goodbye, seizing Paul’s drink when he thought he wasn’t looking.

 

“There’s not going to be anything red, tonight. Red is on holiday, you know. There’s plenty of blue, though. Or even orange, but between you and me, orange is a bit of a git. Always sneaking about with pink behind yellow’s back and...oh, you’re shrinking.” George blinked upon realizing that he has just been talking to the air and the girl he thought he was charming was actually moving further and further into the distance. He felt someone clasping tightly onto the crook of his elbow and he languidly scanned around to find the source. “’Ey.” He poked his kidnapper’s back with the word. “’Oo are you?”

 

Paul cast him a sideways glance and pressed through the dense crowd. “I’m taking you back to the hotel, Georgie. You’re smashed, love.” George glared when the fact that his good time was being cut short sunk in.

 

“I’m not smashed, you’re smashed! He’s smashed! The whole fucking system is smashed! And another thing-” He paused, thinking of something, and his trademark crooked-toothed beam exploded on his face upon recognizing his companion. “Hey! I know this guy! Hey everyone! Look! I know this guy!” he shouted, pointing and prodding Paul as he was hauled towards the door. Paul hushed him, but to no avail, and when George continued to get distracted by shiny, enticing things Paul groaned and whipped him around, firmly grasping both shoulders and using his body as a battering ram. Maybe nursing the drunk hadn’t been the best alternative.

 

When the two had finally made it outdoors, Paul released George and lightly tugged at his jacket to get him moving in the direction of the car. He fell a number of times, the alcohol taking a toll on his motor skills, and while he found this hilarious Paul found it irksome, and was forced to slug an arm around the guitarist’s slim waist and make his arm slide over his shoulders.

 

“Where are you taking me Paulie?” he asked, feet practically dragging in the rugged dirt road.

 

“Back to the hotel.” He repeated, keeping his annoyance in check, and swung the car door open with his free hand. After helping George inside Paul withdrew his keys and settled into the driver’s seat, cautiously driving away.

 

The ride home had been a considerably uneventful one, save for the one instance when George tried to jump out the window. The two had bumbled through the lobby and up four flights of stairs before Paul realized that he was unable to gain access to George’s room. Kicking himself for not finding John and asking him for the key, he tugged at George’s elbow again and started down the hall.

 

“My room’s over there, Macca.” He said childishly, following Paul obediently. Paul fumbled with the lock to his door, nearly collapsing with it when it swung open unexpectedly.

 

“I know, son, but we can’t get in. You can stay with me tonight.” He walked in, dropping the key onto the desk against a wall, and slumped down onto the edge of the bed as he removed his shoes. Halfway through the knot on his left foot, he realized that he was no longer being followed, and glimpsed up quizzically at his band mate. “George? Y’alright?”

 

George hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorframe. His glazed eyes were locked dazedly on the curtains and he swayed slightly from side to side. After an eternity his glossy gaze met Paul’s confused one, and the moment his eyebrows flicked into the tale-tell sign of distress Paul knew exactly what was going to happen next.

 

“Ohhhhhhhh....”

 

“FUCK!” Paul screamed, bounding towards the guitarist and snatching up the wastebasket along the way. He shoved the bucket into George’s chin at the perfect moment to catch the fluid that was pouring out from his mouth. George coughed and sputtered, drained from the exertion, but when he tried to rise his knees buckled and he sank against the wall and stuffed his head back into the bin for round two.

 

Paul made a face as the nauseating fumes of puke and other questionable liquids slithered into the air, but managed to kick the door shut and shift his weight to support George’s lithe form. Even with Paul acting as a pillar, George couldn’t last much longer on his feet, and lethargically slid down the wall as he continued to spit into the basket. Paul followed suit, sitting cross legged beside him as he rubbed his back soothingly.

 

“It’s caught up with you now, hasn’t it son?” he asked with a smile, to which George replied with another lurch. “S’not all rainbows and pink elephants anymore, is it? Now you’re feeling the aches and pains, right? Maybe this’ll teach yeh not to down 40 shots in 40 minutes.” Paul’s good-natured jests were meant to lighten the mood, but they seemed to be doing the exact opposite, so he bit his lip, apologized, and kept George’s hair out of his face.

 

George hacked something unpleasant up and sighed, relieved that the worst was over, and feeling thoroughly spent he leaned back into the wall, eyes closed and moaning softly. Paul crept forward, subtly pushing the can towards the bathroom, and put a hand to the thin man’s cheek.

 

“You good then?” He asked relaxingly. The younger man had apparently thrown up his ability to speak properly, so he merely nodded and absorbed Paul’s gentle touch. “Alright then, love. Up and at ‘em.” He hooked his arms underneath his friend’s and lifted him into a standing position. George groaned at the physical activity and stumbled onto the bed, collapsing into the sheets and burying his face somewhere deep inside the pillows. Paul was about to change when he accidentally inhaled the putrid stench from the trash and knew he would never last a night with it in the room.

 

“Georgie, I’m just gonna clean up this mess, kay? I’ll be back in a minute.” George growled acknowledging and Paul scooped up the plastic pile and slinked into the bathroom. After several long moments regarding what to do with the stinky goop, Paul resolved to finally flush it down the toilet, gagging at the smell as it swirled down the porcelain bowl. Feeling sick still, Paul ran the water to the sink and rinsed out the remains, and since he still felt filthy, stripped down to his tee shirt and boxers and washed his hands for a few hours.

 

Paul reentered the room with a cool, damp washcloth in one hand and a clean wastebasket in the other in case George decided to have a relapse. Said man had curled up into a ball on the bed, hugging the blanket protectively to his chest. His maple eyes lifted indolently upward when he discovered he was suddenly draped in a dark shadow. Paul smiled benignantly and pressed the towel to the guitarist’s burning forehead.

 

“Better?” He received a grunt in the affirmative as a reply, and patted off the light film of sweat from George’s face with the cloth. “Now.” He continued, folding the towel into a long rectangle and laying it on his forehead. “I’m gonna leave this” He kicked the wastebasket to indicate what he was talking about, “right over here in case you need it. Don’t worry about mussing up the bed, it’s Ringo’s anyway. He can just room with John tonight. Do you want anything? Tea maybe?” The thought of ingesting more fluids made George’s stomach do backflips, and he moaned painfully into the pillow. Paul chuckled a little out of the side of his mouth. “Guess not. I’ll be right in the next bed if you need me, ok?”

 

Paul had every intention to crawl into bed and sleep off the night until he felt something lash out and pull him back. Puzzled, he peeked over his shoulder to find that George had firmly latched onto his hand. Paul’s tongue poked out from between his teeth and he sighed.

 

“You want me to stay with you, then?” A nod, or something resembling one at least, and Paul rolled his eyes and begrudgingly slid under the covers, arms crossed and fairly annoyed. It really was going to be impossible to get a decent night’s sleep with a far-from-sober rock star with dragon breath snoring beside you.

 

There was an ‘Mmph!’ in protest and Paul gasped when suddenly a pair of slender arms had linked around his waist. Paul flushed, embarrassed by the spectacle, and lifted his own arms in the air in an attempt to wriggle out of the hold. George wouldn’t have this, though, and pressed his cheek firmly into Paul’s chest. Paul uncomfortably shifted his shoulders so he wouldn’t be nailed to the bedpost.

 

“So...you want me to...stay with you, then?” He felt something slide down him and stop at his stomach, followed by a movement he assumed was a nod. Paul whined a little before awkwardly setting an arm around George’s deadweight back. Not sure what to do with his other one, and since it seemed George needed comfort from his alcohol-induced demons, Paul bit his upper lip and tentatively laid it on top of his mate’s head. After a moment’s consideration, he hesitantly started to stroke George’s soft, sweat-sopping hair, which the quiet one seemed to enjoy.

 

The uneasiness melted away after a second or so, and Paul stopped mechanically patting his friend like some kind of dog and added tenderness to the task. It wasn’t the first time the two had been this close; Paul could recall countless Hamburg nights when they were forced to bunk together in a barely twin size bed and would wake up the next morning tangled in each other’s limbs and upon regaining their senses would clamber away from each other so quickly one usually ended up with something bruised. But this wasn’t as bad. The feeling was actually kinda...nice.

 

“Paul?” George’s sweet, faint voice floated mellifluously into the dark hotel room. Paul was a little surprised by the sound; it was the first word George had said for nearly half an hour.

 

“Yeah, George?”

 

“We’re friends, right?” Paul was really taken aback by the abruptness and bluntness of the question, and accidentally plucked out a few of his friend’s hairs when he heard it. He reasoned that the younger man had been stewing over the topic for a while and didn’t seem as random to him. He opened his mouth to speak, still confused, and when nothing came to him he closed it and resumed caressing the back of George’s head.

 

“’Course we are, mate. Been friends since we were ten years old.”

 

“Oh...Paul?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“We’re always going to be friends, right?” This one caught him off guard as well, but instead of going on a rant about how times can change and they may not always see eye to eye and yadda yadda yadda, he thought it best to pacify him.

 

“I’d like to think so.” He replied with a smile. He felt George’s fingers draw nervous circles around his spine.

 

“...Paul?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

George waited a while before he responded, licking his lips and fiddling with the sleeve of Paul’s shirt as if he wasn’t sure of what to say. He hoisted himself up so he was no long lying on the bassist but eye level with him.

 

“Would you still be my friend,” He paused to make sure Paul realized how serious the situation was, “if I did something really, really stupid?”

 

George’s honey-frosted eyes were quite a spectacle; they danced in the dim light and looked as though they would shatter if Paul gave the wrong answer. He swallowed, eyebrows drooping down suspiciously as the smile he and sewn on was quickly fraying.

 

“You haven’t done anything to scare me off yet, mate.” He said with a laugh. “I doubt you can do anything now. Why do you ask?”

 

Before Paul could comprehend what was going on George’s mouth had captured his in a blissful mind-numbingly chaste kiss that went on for days. Paul’s entire body stiffened and his bones seemed to be made of jello, but this didn’t take any wind out of George’s sails. He moved in, practically sitting in Paul’s lap, and flicked and probed his tongue into places Paul hadn’t realized he’d ever possessed. George suddenly had a thousand hands and ten thousand fingers, and each was crawling like spiders over every inch of skin on Paul’s body, sinking through the pores and swimming through the bloodstream and learning every fiber and nook and cranny of Paul inside and out. Nails clawed through jungles of thick charcoal hair before the spiders retracted back into the nest and George had two hands again, and they were moving in sync with each other down Paul’s cheeks and around his neck and finally resting on his shoulders. George lifted himself up, panting from the deed, and held Paul’s starry eyed gaze as long as he could.

 

That’s why.”

 

To say that Paul was stunned would be the understatement of the century. He had been so astonished and flabbergasted that he could barely form the fragment, “George...wha-”

 

“No, wait, there’s more.” Paul repressed a groan; that last kiss had left him crippled for a week, another would make him an invalid.

 

“You want to do that again?!” George’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair and Paul quickly saw why he was called ‘the Serious One.’

 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I was twelve. Now, listen. That was stupid, and this is worse. Ok? I love you.”

 

The silence was so deafening that Paul thought his eardrums would explode.

 

“....Huh?”

 

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I-”

 

“I heard what you said.” he interrupted; hearing George say it again would turn what little remained of Paul into a pile of goo. “I know, Geo. I....love you too.” He uncomfortable stumbled past the words, but George shook his head.

 

“No, Paul, you’re not listening. I fucking love you. I’ve loved you before I even knew what love was, before I found out about the barriers like morals and gender and logic. I know you don’t love me back, but I don’t care. I made this for you, Paul. This isn’t some drunken story you can have a laugh about in the morning. This isn’t the same kinda of love I have for John or Rings or anyone else in the whole fucking world. It’s just for you. I made this love for you. And I really wanted you to have it.”

 

And with that George collapsed into an intoxicated slumber, passing out so hard that the Apocalypse couldn’t stir him from it. It was if it were the most normal thing in the world.

 

And all Paul could do was stare.

 

The next morning (or afternoon, rather; it was sometime past one.) George was vaguely aware that he had no idea where he was. When he tried to process what had happened, his head screamed in objection, and he immediately ruled thinking out of his daily activities.

 

“Nnnnngggggghhhnnn...” he moaned, pulling a pillow over his ears to stop the throbbing. The sunlight was drifting in through the divide in the curtain and was making him dizzy, so he threw the stuffed thing at the window trying to shut it off.

 

“Fuck you, sun!” He yelled. “Blasted fucking good for nothing star, you SHUT THE HELL UP!” He sat up (a decision he soon regretted because now he was fully aware of the aches and pains in the rest of his body.) and looked around for something familiar, and grinned a little when he found Paul casually reading the paper on the opposite bed. “Morning, beautiful.” He said cheekily. Paul’s eyes continued to scan the print and didn’t bother to acknowledge the greeting.

 

“Morning.” He replied automatically. “Sleep well?” George groaned again and pressed the blanket into his face.

 

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.” Paul hid a bemused smile.

 

“That would be two of us...” he muttered, the phrase having a completely different meaning for him.

 

“Eh?”

 

“Nothing. So...any recollection of last night’s activities?” George looked worriedly out from behind the puce cover.

 

“...Do I want to?”

 

“Some I would hope you would.” George grumbled at having to actually think today, but figured that he had done something truly idiotic to have Paul egg him on like this and thought it best to remember.

 

“Er...something about a bird and fruit...”

 

“Mm,” Paul nodded, eyes still locked on the paper but no long moving with the words. “What else?”

 

“...I think I threw John down the stairs...oh God, is he alright?”

 

“Dandy. Actually maybe you should steer clear of him a few days...what else?” George’s brow furrowed and he gnawed on his tongue as he strained to recall.

 

“...Something about you...and...wastebaskets...and I said that I...”The realization seemed to sock him in the gut all at once and if possible he grew paler than he already was. “Oh God...Oh Fuck...Oh SH-”

 

Paul had abandoned the paper eons ago and leapt across the room and on top of George, slamming his head back into the sheets as he crushed his lips with his own. The kiss was fantastic, fireworks set off and stars exploded and flowers bloomed at the pique of passion and the only way for it to be more wonderful would be if George’s breath hadn’t had that hint of vomit. Paul tore himself away, still straddling George’s chest and grinning like a mad man. George tried to compute what just occurred, but could only stare dumbly up at the triumphant Paul.

 

“...What was that about?”

 

“You didn’t give me time to react last night.” He laughed and rolled off him, lacing their hands as he did. George turned, glowing, and smiled.

 

“So now what?”

 

“Well...we can do that again...on one condition.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“You brush your damn TEETH. It’s like snogging a mantee!” The comment won him a slap on the arm and a smirk.

 

“Tart.”

 

“Love you too, darling.”

 
 
 
Kat: Dhanila_sabre on August 18th, 2005 05:24 am (UTC)
Drunk! George is so cute (except for the part where he throws up).
hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 05:25 am (UTC)
XD Drunk!George should not have been as fun to write as he was. Thanks!
the_scouserthe_scouser on August 18th, 2005 05:51 am (UTC)
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

I love George and Paul love.they were so cute, and I LOVE the way Paul reacted the next morning. They're so Snoogley!
hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 05:52 am (UTC)
Tee hee, aren't they though?! This was my present to George after emotionally raping him in that freakishly long fic of yestermore that he starred in. Thanks a lot!
oh_johnny_ on August 18th, 2005 11:51 am (UTC)
I made this for you, Paul. This isn’t some drunken story you can have a laugh about in the morning. This isn’t the same kinda of love I have for John or Rings or anyone else in the whole fucking world. It’s just for you. I made this love for you.

Awwwww. *sniffle*

Very cute (although I have to say I really, really wanted George to go brush his teeth).

hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 02:15 pm (UTC)
Thank you!

Haha, I suppose after a night on the town one's breath does get a little skanky. Paul doesn't seem to mind as much XD
ex_darkles on August 18th, 2005 12:18 pm (UTC)
That was fabulous, feels like a truly guilty pleasure,LOL!Drunk George rocks.
hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 02:17 pm (UTC)
Thank you kindly!

Drunk!George is my new favorite Beatle!emotion, right after Angry!Paul and Emo!John
oddballer35oddballer35 on August 18th, 2005 04:58 pm (UTC)
*Worships*
Haha...That was funny and adorable!! I don't usually read P/G, but I loved this! :)
hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 05:13 pm (UTC)
Thanks!

Yeah, I'm really more of a J/P person meself, but one day I said 'Hmm, George is hot. And Paul is hot...think of the hot things they can do TOGETHER!' XD
banburytalebanburytale on August 18th, 2005 06:43 pm (UTC)
You know, I never thought that an image with spiders in it could be so very, very hot, but somehow it was. You really made it work, and despite my arachnophobia, it's now my favorite part of the whole fic. :P

So inspired by banburytale 's wonderfully delicious ficclet AND the concert footage she spoke about...
Thanks so much! I'm honored! ^_^
hollywood_song on August 18th, 2005 09:30 pm (UTC)
Hehe, thank you very much! Just don't try the spider thing with, you know, ACTUAL spiders.

What are you thanking me for? You inspired the story! I should be thanking you! Tirelessly! ^_^
Appyhighregister on August 18th, 2005 11:47 pm (UTC)
So, you are officially the best writer ever. Not just John/Paul...everything.
Please please please let me beta something for you. IM me kjhsdfkhsdf.
I can give you plot babies for a good GINGO STORY OMFG.


Baaah listen to me I am such a fangirl.
hollywood_song on August 19th, 2005 03:48 am (UTC)
<333333

I should get a beta, but I wouldn't want to inflict the horrid task upon you because I just make SO. MANY. MISTAKES. Even re-reading it now I'm like 'Baaaaaahhhh people will think I was raised in a barn in Lithuania.'

YAY PLOT BABIES! AND YAY GINGO! AND YAY FOR THE FAN-GIRLING ON BOTH ENDS-NESS!
whatsherass on August 19th, 2005 01:18 am (UTC)
Oh my GOD, this was so BRILLIANT! UGH! I was going to post and now I can't- I have to re-read and proofread my shit (which is a good thing...) cos this was SO DAMN GOOD and now mine feels like shite!! ;)

I thought you totally captured their personalities. Your dialogue was tremendous- especially your George stuff! I'm normally all j/P, too, so this was wonderful for me.... G/P have such great, untapped weird tension; it's lovely when a great writer like yourself sheds some light on it. (I'm new to this whole G/P thing)

I have one question... how does one pronounce "Geo?" Is it "gee" or "joe"?

George's drunken ramblings in the club were probably my favorite- SO GOOD! So aural... I read it in his voice and it was so vivid!

Great stuff. Sorry for gushing. ;p
hollywood_song on August 19th, 2005 04:08 am (UTC)
*Will Ferrel voice* You are a delight! Ahhhh there are so many mistakes in my story, and you're so good that I feel like I'm doing you an injustice somehow which doesn't make sense but WHATEVER.

Thank you! I love dialogue, and I always strive to make it...Beatley, I suppose is the only word for it. Even if I favor the John/Paul dynamic, I adored the relationship Paul had with George. They knew each other for so long and they were just SO DAMN CUTE.

I have no idea, honestly. I usually only shove Geo in there when I'm too lazy to add the -rge at the end. XD I would assume, like, geologist? Like the rocks? Or...something.

XD The drunk scenes were seriously the most fun thing ever. I feel like a narcissist laughing at my own stuff but really I am. (Laughing, that is. And a narcissist.)

You're wonderful, thank you so much. (And I love long reviews, they're fun to read ^^)
whatsherass on August 19th, 2005 04:16 am (UTC)
typos? really? I honestly didn't notice any.

p.s. "Paul would find the nearest instrument and boast his musical talents to anyone who would listen" bwahahahaha! :D I love Paul, but that was hilarious! ;p
hollywood_song on August 19th, 2005 04:18 am (UTC)
XDDD Paul is my favorite, but I had to do it. He was asking for it.
whatsherass on August 20th, 2005 02:35 am (UTC)
It's fun to abuse Paul. >:D And yeah, he's my favorite, too. ;p
Paulmagicaltrevor on August 20th, 2005 03:34 pm (UTC)
Aw, so cute! This pairing is just... fun. I'm normally a J/P shipper but I love this pairing cos it's just so... cuddly. For lack of a better word.
Paulmagicaltrevor on August 20th, 2005 03:41 pm (UTC)
Oh, and I've always pronounced it "joe". Banburytale and I have been known as "George" and "Paul" since high school (there used to be four of us, you know how that always happens with Beatles fans). I think I've only ever called her "Geo" in writing, but I'm pretty sure it's pronounced "Joe". I've never really heard it, though. I'll ask her.
hollywood_song on August 20th, 2005 04:08 pm (UTC)
Thank you! And yes, they are quite cuddly. I can't help but love them...Somewhere John is looking on jealously and grumbling...tee hee...
Katiebonshaybon on August 21st, 2005 03:54 am (UTC)
You have NO idea how much I love Paul/George. There's just not nearly enough of it.

But even one fic like this a YEAR would make my undying devotion to this pairing worthwhile. This was FABulous!

~Shay
hollywood_song on August 22nd, 2005 06:44 pm (UTC)
XDDD Thank you! I love the pairing too, they're simply too adorable to pass up! And I'll be sure to break that one-a-year quota of P/G fics, expect some more eventually ^-~