#especially paul

[untitledrockstar-if]

I'm sorry, but how is it MC being bratty or unreasonable to ask for Paul to go and fetch the breakfast order instead of MC? Joaquin and Paul do realize MC is one half of a celebrity couple that just went viral for all the horrible reasons, right? All the eyes on them and stuff? Someone moments ago even manhandled MC? Why is MC being treated like an assistant??

bc most staff surrounding SF don't really respect mc as a person

[odetothestrokes]

i love interpol so much

[carolmunson]

the girls on twitter are hating the jq casting but praising everyone else whereas i don’t think any of them look like their respective beatle in any sense of the word.

[jemgirl86]

While we’re on the subject (sorta), I really do hate the way a lot of folks write Paul and Gideon in particular. I won’t go into specifics, because I’ve done it before lol, but yeesh. And, look, I don’t even mean the Pastor thing, although y’all do be having a field day with that. I mean, literally everything about them will be the most side-eye inducing choice. And it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t happening 9 times out of 10 when they show up in a fic, but since it is, it makes you wonder why so many people have these particular headcanons

[elmasinthetree]

love the authors who write children’s book series that are fun but also a little fucked up actually.

[applejuicesoup]

I can’t believe I have a top comment on a Christian couple video shaming them

[mxliv-oftheendless]

She’s Gone

Lolll I hate myself for thinking of this. But I wrote it out last week on vacation and I thought I’d post it for y’all. It’s not the worst thing my mind thinks of, where I am disgusted at myself for having the audacity to think of such a thing, it’s just... sad.

Today on the Black Dahlia series, Heather McMann says her goodbyes.

1988

They always looked so... detached onstage, like what was happening up there was in a separate reality from the one the audience was in. You could be so close you could reach up and touch them, but you were almost hesitant to, as though if you did, your hand would hit an invisible wall.

... Gods, Heather had to stop being dramatic. That was Starchild’s job.

And yet she couldn’t help it; she never could these days. Well, more like these years.

Heather stood invisible in the screaming crowd as the loud guitars and drums crashed through her ears, the lights flashed, and KISS performed their hearts out onstage. It was always such an experience watching them. They looked so happy to be onstage, as though all their dreams were coming true just by being there. She knew what that happiness was like; she’d experienced it, and it was exhilerating.

As they played their last song before the encore, Heather felt the sadness creep up inside her. She wouldn’t be staying for the encore. So instead, she watched them intently, determined to memorize each of their faces.

Bruce. The most chill being Heather had ever met, sometimes far too chill for a band like KISS. An enthusiastic guitarist who threw everything into his playing. Who didn’t know everything about What Happened, but always treated her with kindness nonetheless.

Eric. Fox. The sweetest being she’d ever known. Who never had anything but a kind word to say about anyone. Who tried to make her smile and laugh, because he knew she was having trouble picking herself back up.

Demon. Gene. Who looked so bloodthirsty at times, and stoic the rest of the time, but was prepared to defend those he cared for until his last breath. Who never minced his words. Who acted like he didn’t care, but in truth cared so much. Who, in the days following What Happened, stood vigilantly over her bedside while she slept, ready to defend her from anything else.

She wondered what Ace and Catman would do if they were here, and what they would say. Knowing Ace, he’d probably join Eric in trying to make her laugh, or perhaps he’d shove a bottle of whiskey at her and tell her to take a drink. And Catman, who knows? She wondered if they would protest her leaving, just like everyone else had. Just like...

At that moment he leapt up into the air, swinging his guitar around, then when he hit the ground continued to dance like a maniac. Heather let a smile cross her lips.

Starchild. Her best friend. Who would have thought an awkward betrothal would lead her to finding her closest friend? Her friend, who threw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did, and cared for his friends so much—cared for her so much. Who stayed by her side so fiercely after What Happened, determined to make her smile again. Whose voice was the loudest when they all begged her not to go.

She would miss them all so much, but Starchild... she would miss Starchild the most.

The song ended, Starchild yelled out “GOODNIGHT!” and the stadium was plunged into darkness. People began to hold up their lighters in the air, cheering for more, and Heather took that as her cue.

She turned around, then turned her head back to look at the stage one last time.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

Then she turned away, and disappeared into the crowd.

-BLACKDAHLIA-

Paul felt a sensation of foreboding as he walked to his dressing room after the encore. He knew why, and it was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted the night to end—tonight was the night.

He didn’t want Heather to leave; he hated the idea from the moment Heather gathered them all together and told them about it. All four of them had vehemently protested and begged her not to go, his voice the loudest of all. But Heather stubbornly shook her head, repeating it over and over again until they all gave up.

Why did she feel like she had to leave? What had they done wrong? She had never been the same after What Happened, despite all of them working to make her feel better. Letting her stay with them hadn’t even been a question, and never once had any of them considered her deadweight—the last person who suggested she was had been promptly fired.

What was he going to do without her there? What was he going to do without her sarcasm, her bad jokes, her deadpan humor? Without her fierce support, to the point where she declared she would physically fight the next person who started talking badly about himself? Without her sharp wit and her banter? Without her guitar playing, and her flowers?

He was in front of his dressing room door now, but he still hadn’t turned the doorknob. He was almost expecting her to be inside, sitting with her feet up on the vanity, ready to give him a lopsided smile and say, “You didn’t really think I was leaving, did you? Honestly, Starchild.” The thought of her saying that, and then reaching out to whack him across the head, made him smile and hope rise. Maybe...

But when Paul finally opened the door and stepped inside, his heart sank. The dressing room was empty. No Heather. Instead, lying on the vanity table was a single flower. Paul went over and picked it up, and felt his throat tighten.

It was a black dahlia.

“Paul,”

He turned and found Gene standing in the doorway, with Eric and Bruce behind him. And in their hands were black dahlias.

Paul looked mournfully back at them, tears pricking his eyes.

“She’s gone,”

[suckmycoxon]