[kanopos]

beatleponies pt. 2 for those of you who expressed enthusiasm

[angelicabr]

Another post to glorify Paul’s ass, because why not

[poisedwalrus]

have you ever thought about lesbian mclennon 👀

now i have! ヾ(´︶`*)ﾉ♬

[oldmanpusspuss]

Carl perkins needs to come back to life and blog with the paul girls he'd fit right in

[thehuxler]

Would coke slag Paul stop doing cocaine if he got pregnant

yes

no

he would tone it down but still be sneaking bumps here and there

he would replace it with a different drug/addiction (specify in comments)

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[thehuxler]

Would Paul stop smoking weed while pregnant

Yes

No

he would switch to edibles

he would actually smoke even more

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[thehuxler]

would Paul stop drinking while pregnant

yes

no

only the recommended amount

it actually would never occur to him that drinking is bad

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[thehuxler]

Would Paul stop whoring around while pregnant

yes

no

he would whore around more

he would try to whore around but John would attempt homicide

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[thehuxler]

Is Paul's baby coming out deformed

yes

no

no but it will have whatever the fuck Paul has

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[thehuxler]

Sneak Peak Fic Preview under the cut:

They lay on the grass at Strawberry Fields. It’s a hot day—too hot to do much of anything. Too hot to sit inside. Their bikes lay discarded, handlebars damp with sweat, on the other side of the brick wall. 

John rolls onto his side, propped on one elbow, and his head shadows Paul’s own, a respite from the sweltering heat. 

“What is it?” Paul asks, when John doesn’t say anything. John has a bad habit of staring at him—looking at Paul like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. A symptom, Paul knows, of being as close as they are, the way twins can sometimes read each other’s minds. 

“You don’t have a girlfriend,” John says, and the shade doesn’t matter then—the heat returns, just a little, dusting over his cheekbones. John smiles, pleased, always, when Paul is embarrassed. When Paul does much of anything in response to John—laughs, or smiles, or even just looks at him.

“So what?” Paul asks, heart thudding against the inside of his ribs. He’s gone wobbly all over—feels it, even though he’s lying down, in every one of his joints. Soft like gelatin. Is it so strange to not have a girlfriend? Is it something he should do, needs to do, so people don’t know he’s—

“Don’t you think it’s time you got one?” John asks. “You don’t want people thinking you’re strange, do you? Hanging out only with blokes all the time.”

John spins out every thought in Paul’s head the way carnival men spin sugar thread for candy floss. So John’s noticed then, too—how strange Paul is—the same way Jim does. The same way people seem to sometimes—a thing they get a sense of without knowing why. An instinctive distrust, looking at Paul through the corner of their eye when he was in the shops, or weeding an elderly woman’s garden. 

Mary had told Paul he’d just have to be nicer, for every uncharitable word or glance. It had always felt like turning one cruel word to two—digging out an extra fisful of dirt for a bloke who was digging Paul’s grave. 

Fifteen now, with nice manners, and nothing to show for it. 

“You hang around with blokes all the time,” Paul says, weakly. 

“That’s different,” John says. “I’ve had girls. The others have had girls. You—haven’t.”

John doesn’t mean much by it, probably, but the words land heavy. You haven’t—flops into the grass between them like a carcass. Is that true? He’s the only one who hasn’t….

Paul squirms a bit, uncomfortable. Turns half on his side, so John can’t see his face as he reaches, plucks up a piece of clover like it’s the most interesting thing. 

John watches, Paul knows he is, even if he can’t see him. 

“You don’t want people talking,” John says, behind him, and Paul can hear the smile in his voice, knows he’s enjoying it—riling Paul up, making him uncomfortable. 

“People aren’t talking,” Paul protests. 

“Not yet,” John says, and there’s something horrible and familiar banging away in the back of Paul’s mind in the way John says it—something Paul needs to hide, desperately, from everyone—including John.

Especially John.

Paul keeps his voice steady with effort. “I’m not strange,” He says, pushing a bit of grass between his fingers, shredding it to hide his hands shaking.

“Didn’t say you were, did I?” And John must have slid across the grass, towards Paul’s back, because he’s close—close enough to nudge Paul’s knee with his own, casual, and Paul’s joints go soft again, and shaky. “Just saying—maybe get ahead of it. Prove you’re not…you know. Odd.”

Paul forces a laugh, face still pressed down into the grass. “Dunno why it matters so much to you.”

“Doesn’t matter to me. Just looking out for you, aren’t I?” John drawls, slow. His knee is still touching the back of Paul’s knee, and after a moment he shifts his ankle, hooks it through Paul’s, which does nothing to slow Paul’s heart rate. He’s always wanting to touch—John. Always casual and bold like it’s no big thing. Paul wishes he could touch like that—like it didn’t mean anything. Like it was alright to. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” John asks, and Paul starts enough their feet knock together, and John is laughing, hand on Paul’s upper arm, forcibly turning Paul around, back toward him. 

“John!” Paul protests, squirming. Reaches to shove John off before he realizes John is right there, face inches from his own and he stops, eyes wide, dumb, mouth open. Their noses are nearly touching, and Paul’s chest is doing something funny, and for John it doesn’t even seem to register—how close they are, how much they breath the other’s air. 

John is still laughing, a loud, unrestrained thing—a beautiful thing—tips his head back and opens his mouth and barks. “Christ, I knew it,” he says. “How are you gonna get a girl if ye don’t know how to kiss?”

“I don’t—I don’t think—” Paul stammers, red, and John grins wider. 

“I know ye don’t,” John says, gloating. It’s not possible for John to lean further in, but he siddles his chest closer to Paul’s, so close they’re pressed together, so close Paul can feel the swell and the dip of John’s chest with each breath, and when John talks his voice goes lower, smooth and thick like honey, like the way he talks to birds in bars, the way he talks when he’s trying to pick somebody up. 

“I could teach ya, y’know?” John whispers, eyes flicking down to Paul’s mouth, and Paul can’t breath, can’t speak. He feels like a fish yanked out of the water, plopped down in a place so antithetical to everything else his brain can’t even interpret it, make sense of it. “Give you a bit of practice. Just so you can get girls, yeah?”

And it doesn’t make sense that John would be using that voice with him, with Paul, so he must be taking the piss, and Paul is going to embarass himself like this, laying practically in John’s arm in the grass, no space between them, like something out of a wet dream. 

“Sound, that,” Paul says, tries for sarcastic, comes out wobbly instead, and he tries to push John away, but John’s hand it still on Paul’s upper arm and the fingers wrap tighter, so tight Paul can’t, and Paul doesn’t understand, and then John’s other hand is on Paul’s chin, tilting his head up, and back, so that he has to look up into John’s eyes then and—oh. 

“I’m not joking,” John says, honey-colored eyes staring down into his own, and yeah, he looks pretty fucking serious. 

The bottom has dropped out of him, he’s sure, and all the pieces are spilling out into a gross a pile on the grass. He’s sure John can hear him swallow. They’re so bloody close he can probably hear the blood sliding through Paul’s veins. Paul doesn’t know what to do, what to say, and his own hand it clutching weakly at John’s wrist, the one holding his chin, and he should tug away but doesn’t, because he can’t look away from John’s eyes. 

He remembers reading in The Boy’s Own Paper as a lad—All About Vaccum Tubes!—how the anode and the cathode, with nothing between them, would exchange electrons uncontrollably, without end. Two things, properly aligned, that could not stop the endless flow between them as long as they were connected. 

He feels like that now—looking into John’s eyes. Every time he looks into John’s eyes. An anode and a cathode, no grid between them, and the endless, unstoppable flood of everything pouring out of them, everything about John, and everything about Paul, from the moment they both were born.

No way to stop it, unless one of them looks away, and Paul doesn’t want to, and John was never one to lose at a game, and Paul realizes, again, and again, and again, how beautiful John’s eyes are, what a precious shade of brown they seem in the light, tan like a pot of caramel, or the leather on his old school bag, or the plumage of a baby duckling. 

It only makes sense to practice kissing, he realizes, because the real blokes know how to kiss girls, and they wouldn’t want to look like a couple of queers who don’t know how to get girls, would they?  And he knows John’s only helping him, because he can see it in John’s eyes, in that flow between them, the glassy surface of his eyes like a mirror. John is only offering to help him, and Paul should let him, Paul should let him because Paul wants him too, because John wants Paul to want him to. 

And Paul can barely string together two coherent thoughts when he nods, and John smiles, rolls more onto his front, pushing Paul back, and Paul follows, mirrors, John is over him in the grass, looking down at him, and they stare at each other. He’s shaking, just a little, as John starts to lean down. He’s shaking, as John’s breath ghosts over his lips, and his mouth opens just a little as his eyes close, and he’s knows it’s wrong—that boy’s arent supposed to kiss, and his fingers are still curled around John’s wrist but he doesn’t stop him. 

Their mouths connect. A moment of plush pressure before John pushes down. Their noses rub, and John’s hand on Paul’s chin tilts him, and Paul moves so easily, like putty, and John kisses him, and John kisses him, and every other thought he’s ever had stops. He’s dizzy, the ground beneath him roiling like the ocean. John’s other hand is on his cheek now, and Paul can feel the callouses bloomed from guitar strings, can feel the grass tickling the back of his neck, can smell the soap Mimi buys, and, more than anything—the feel of John’s lips. The slick damp of him, the way he moves against Paul’s own. 

John makes a sound, far back in his throat, and Paul feels, against his own skin, the moment John’s mouth opens, the moment his tongue darts forward—and Paul’s mouth is already open, of course it is, and he can’t stop the shuddering moan that darts out of him—suprised and pleased and mortifying, the moment John’s tongue forces it’s way inside his small mouth. 

And then John is pushing harder, and it’s not just their lips now but their whole bodies—pushes against each other from head to toe, and John isn’t just kissing him but rubbing on him, rutting on him, and Paul knows he should be horrified but he can’t remember anything—any of the fear, or the shame or the disgust. He knows only pleasure, rolling through him from his core like something swaddling him, thick and warm and cozy. 

He’s drunk, he thinks, for the fourth or fifth time in his life. Heady and insensate on the sounds John makes, and the way he moves, and the way his skin feels against Paul’s own. He never wants to stop kissing him. He never wants to stop lying beneath him, here, in this sun-drenched field. Think, perhaps, he understands what bliss is, in a way he never has before. 

Paul is panting, when, finally, John pulls back. Paul’s fingers still clutch John’s shoulder, lips red and wet and slick from John’s saliva. 

“Was that okay?” He asks, looks up into John’s eyes, and they’re dark, and deep, and Paul could fall into them, could live and die in them. Wants, suddenly, to be miniscule, infinitesimal. To live in the forest of John’s eyelashes and soak his feet in the black pool of his pupils. 

“You need more practice,” John says—and they do.

They practice much, much more.

[niceappleheart-deactivated20251]

i kind of like the beatles

[tavolgisvist]

(Monthly Book, November 1963)

[poisedwalrus]

[paulmccartneyfiles]

Paul McCartney, John Lennon and Ringo Starr playing pool in Los Angeles.

[sgtpipis]

My Beatles Emo Au Art

Imagine Podting at 3 am OH my god bruh ❤️‍🩹

Oh i forgot tjis One heh Silly me

[yneoo]

I hope we are close enough mentally that you understand how obsessed I am with these two

[wasthewalrus]

the difference between take 1 of yellow submarine (john’s lyrics) and take 2 (paul’s) is so perfectly representative of their personalities and artistic styles. and further proof for my conspiracy that if john was born in 1990 he would have been emo and paul would be his manic pixie scene gf

[demonzebr]

English singer, songwriter and musician Paul McCartney in a studio to record ‘The Family Way’, November 1966. Composed for the film of the same name, ‘The Family Way’ is considered by many to be the first Beatles solo album. A photoshoot for The Sunday Times. 

(Photos by Duffy/Getty Images)

[hamyilton]

John and Paul's "autobiographies" from May 1961

[nerolikestowander]

You know how you go online and see something and go oh? that exists?? this is it. mclennon femboy ottoman empire au

lots of ramblings about the au below the cut

okay so i had a dream. became obsessed with it. started to write stuff about it. here is some of that stuff.

this is set in the 1560’s :D

Paul is an english farmer boy! Idk much about the state of england in those times but this is a silly fanfic so his mother dies in some kind of a pillaging and he gets captured. After being traded by multiple people, he ends up really south and gets sold to pirates and they sell him to the palace but they mistake him for a girl (this was the part I dreamt about lol I know not realistic but….fanfic logic). So he ends up in the harem with the other captive girls, doesn’t speak any turkish. I knew that they checked the girls for std’s and stuff so John actually sees and figures out that he is male before the girls are sent to the baths (by the head of the harem, who is Ringo!! He grew up in the palace with John so they are great friends!) John takes the matter in his hands and rescues Paul from the check up.

now a little info about John :D

He is the only male child of the sultan (idk looking at the time period it must be süleyman the first but yeah whatever) and the legitimate heir to the throne. He has many many sisters, many aunts (I had to make Mimi his father’s sister or she had no place in the story and I needed her to rule the harem) but his mother was killed in some kind of rivalry in the harem (happens all the time) his father is away at war since he was FIVE so it’s closer to the canon material lol (real life). Long story short he is a bored prince looking for ways to entertain himself in the palace, he has Cynthia as his “favorite” concubine and Julian but like he is bored whatsoever. So when he spots Paul he thinks he can pull a prank on the palace by making him his favorite, and like full on “wife”ing him. (He can’t really marry from the harem cuz they are slaves). Oh also princes are like really well taught and he speaks many languages, thus making him interact with Paul easier! He offers paul a deal, he’ll keep him safe and well fed in the palace, and Paul will play the part of his concubine.

(a little info about the harem, no other male can see the girls and can’t go in cuz if he impregnates one the bloodline will get messed up and stuff like that. They even castrate the head of the harem so he can’t do anything :( and if they found out Paul was inside they’d probably kill him but John doesn’t really care about that (for now) he just wants to play for a bit and see where it goes and if Paul gets killed along the way he doesn’t really care just another slave yknow? (FOR NOW)

George is the head of falcons, in charge of anything hunting related. They are also friends with John and they go hunting together frequently. Ofc George figures Paul out immediately but doesn’t say anything. John wants Paul to come to hunting trips, unusual for a lady to be out there hunting but George just goes along with it.

Anyway yeah John and Paul meet up daily in his room to…hang out? The whole palace thinks john is obsessed with this new concubine and like “for sure she’s pregnant by now” but no they are getting to know each other and playing music and stuff like that Paul starts to warm up to him slowly. John kinda forgets about his little game and actually starts to like-like this farmer boy :D but for Paul the palace is not so fun (aside from meets up with John and going out hunting) cuz all of the other girls are turning against him for being John’s favorite, Mimi doesn’t like him and doesn’t want him to raise to power (being a mother of a prince is like really important, since when your kid becomes sultan you become royalty! And they think Paul is trying to do that but mpreg doesn’t exist in this universe lol) He also hates the dresses and the roleplaying. He just wants to be outside in the woods (with John but we don't talk bout that) Cynthia is…mild and doesn’t turn on Paul (they actually become friends) but she’s kinda there with a certain melancholia.

Well things turn sour when John's father returns from war and wants to marry him proper with a foreign princess!!! (for relations of course) Enter Yoko :D (omg plotting this is so much fun???? telenovelas are my guilty pleasure) this is were Paul realizes he might like John a tad bit further than he thought. He gets crazy jealous about this situation and starts to really play into the concubine act.

Okay I haven't really figured out what's going to happen next, but probably they are going to figure out the whole scheme, paul's going to be sentenced to death and john will rebel against his father to save him idk yeah they'll fall in love and run away together I guess. The empire is doomed cuz of mclennon yayyy. Oh and if anyone wants to talk bout this au please dm me I'm burning with it

[amoralto]

Paul plays with his hair during the Beatles’ press conference at the Philadelphia Conventional Hall, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. (September 2nd, 1964)