“I don't wear small shoes, or tight pants that squash your balls.”

George Harrison

"Good God" George moaned as soon as he stepped out of the room, a hand in his crotch trying to pull the pants down. They were painfully tight and yet they looked great, and that was what Brian wanted: he wanted them to look great.
Paul, of course, was more than pleased to squish himself into anything Brian told them to: the tight pants, the shirts with those narrow black ties, the waistcoats, the cuban heel boots. He loved all that stuff, anything that would make him look even better. But George felt incredibly stupid when he put on the clothes Brian had laid down on the bed for them. He was sure the teddy boy look was his thing, the leather pants, the jackets, the t-shirts. He looked like a schoolar with the suit.
But the pants...! George walked down to the lift fighting against the fabric that was squashing his balls, ignoring the shocked looks of some passing-byers. Cursing to himself he pressed the button for the first floor.
"Good morning" George turned around to find Ringo smiling at him, leaning against the lift's mirroed walls. "Or just morning, apparently" the shorter boy added, stepping up to George as the doors closed.
"It's the damn pants" George said, opening and flexing his legs.

{UNFINISHED}

"What?"

"Pirates or ninjas, boys?" Brian repeated, lying on the unoccupied bed two long garment bags with tags on them.

"What are they for, Brian?" asked Paul as he walked out of the bathroom on a blue bathrobe and a white towel around his head. John groaned and folded his arms.

"For a silly photoshoot" he replied before Brian could say anything.

"Oh" said Paul, sitting on the edge of his bed. He took the towel off his head and looked at Brian "I want to be a cowb-"

"Ringo" interrupted John.

"Well, how about a-"

"George" added Brian, with an apologetic smile.

"Seriously?" Paul asked, pouting.

"Yes. Sorry, but you were the last ons to come back to the rooms. It's only fair" Brian saw by the corner of his eye that John was mocking him. "Anyway" he faced John, who looked straight and serious now "I need you downstairs in half an hour" his eyes went back to Paul, who was listening carefully "Costumes on". And with that he left the room.

John started rocking on the chair, his boots against the edge of a small wooden desk near the windows. "I don't want to be neither" he said, looking at Paul who was still rubbing his hair agains the towel.

"Are the fans tired of your suits?" Paul asked, standing up and leaving the towel over his shoulder, stepping into the closet and dissapearing behind its doors.

"You mean we should go nude?" John asked with a grin.

"Jesus, John" Paul said with a laugh "I'm not standing next to Ringo" he added, showing his head between the doors.

"He won't take off his cowboy costume anyway" he finally sat down and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees "I can hear him running down the corridor with his plastic guns trying to shoot down everybody".

Paul was silent until he came out of the closet in his boxers and a white plain t-shirt.

"He's the actual cute one, isn't he?"

"What?" John was lighting a cigarette when Paul sat down next to the garment bags.

"Ringo is the cute one. Who the hell am I?"

"You're cute too"

"Gee, John, that makes me feel special"

"What the fuck are you complaining about, Macca? You have a trizillion fangirls screaming your name"

"Still"

"...I don't get you"

"Whatever, John"

"Well, tell me what do you want me to say!"

"That's not how it works!"

"It's not working anyway, so you could just have a go and tell me, now could you?"

Paul lowered his head and turned his gaze to the garment bags. His left hand touched the label that read in a very clear handwriting 'pirate'.

"You could just tell me that I'm cute to you. That I'm special to you"

"That's a very faggoty thing to say, my son"

"It's not. Who am I to trust, then? Those fangirls we have in our beds every night? We're fucking gods to them!"

"Don't see the problem" John left the cigarette on the ashtray.

"It's just crazy, John. I don't want to feel like a god and I don't want to feel like I'm nothing"

"Did you put shampoo or philosophy on your head?"

"Be serious for a fucking second" Paul said, frowning.

"Alright. You want to know what I think? I think you're great. I think you're a fucking god and- yes, don't give me that look, son, because I'm being serious. You're cute and clever and talented, Macca. And I'm so glad I'm by your side in this crazy shit we are living where everything is just so unreal. I love you and there's no way in hell Ringo is cuter than you. But now, if you're even THINKING about wearing that pirate outfit" John got up and snatched it "you're losing it".

My classes for the day have been cancelled and I'm bored and too lazy to do homework/ write something serious.



"Look, Rings!" Paul said happily as he walked up to Ringo's bed where the older boy was sitting next to the phone which he had recently hung up. Paul was barefoot and the warm air of the Miami winter entered the room from the glass door that Paul had left open as he walked up to Ringo from the balcony.

Ringo peeked into Paul's cupped hands "What is it?" he asked, looking up at Paul's smiling face. He was so excited about being in Miami, he loved the weather, the view, the people, everything. There wasn't a single thing Paul wouldn't talk about. He tried to seem cooler when the cameras appeared, or when John came into the room. It was understandable, sometimes Paul would seem childish and silly and he didn't want other to see that side of him.

"It's a beetle!" he said with a laugh, opening his hands and showing a small blueish beetle what walked up Paul's hand.

"So are we" Ringo said, smiling at Paul who laughed again, closing his eyes and making some wrinkles appear around his big hazel eyes.

"But this is you" Paul said, sitting next to Ringo and drawing up his hands to Ringo's eyes "See? Blue" he said and the beetle flew off Paul's hand to the open door to freedom. "You brought us luck, didn't you" Paul's eyes were fixed into the clear blue skies.

Ringo stood stilent looking outside too, with a tiny smile.

"But you're not leaving us, are you?" Paul asked. Ringo raised his eyebrows.

"Paul?"

"Well, are you?" he asked, turning to see his friend's face.

"I thought you were talking to the beetle!" Ringo tilted his head back and laughed.

"I am!" Paul retorted with a smile.

"Of course not" Ringo stopped laughing, but the smile stood in his full lips. "Why would I leave?" he asked Paul.

"I don't know, just asking" he said shrugging and standing up, walking towards the open glass door again. "I wouldn't want you to leave" he added as he stepped outside, the warm sun caressing Paul's shoulders as he leaned forwards and looked down at the beach.

Ringo watched him and sighed, shaking his head. He picked up the phone again and dialed his mother's number.

Title: The Tease
Pairing: Brian Epstein x John Lennon
Word Count: 1456 words
Disclaimer: I have not created them, I do not know them and this is fiction. I don't know if something like this happened and I'm making no money out of my crappy writing. I do not intend to violate anyone's copyrights.
Rating: PG 13, I believe.
Author Notes: I think I still can't get out of my comfort zone, I'm being subtle again. This time I tried to be a little bit bolder but still, it's nothing. As usual, comments are highly appreciated :) Please, anything you can help me out with (be it an advice, a critique, thumbs up, anything). Thank you in advance and I hope you like it.





( LJ cut to the story )

Title: Technical Difficulty
Pairing: RingoxGeorge & JohnxPaul (sort of)
Word Count: 1060 words
Disclaimer: I have not created them, I do not know them and this is fiction. I don't know if something like this happened and I'm making no money out of my crappy writing. I do not intend to violate anyone's copyrights.
Rating: T (only contains some language)
Author Notes: I'm still writing really subtle things, but with the intention to be read as slash. I don't know if I make myself clear, and I think that translates into the story too... I'm not sure if the reader understands what I meant to say. If you would be so kind to leave a comment with a critique, an advice, anything, I'll appreciate it greatly (do correct me if you are so kind, please). Thank you.





( A real LJ cut to the story this way, please )

Title: Notice Me
Pairing: JohnxPaul
Word Count: 889 words
Disclaimer: I have not created them, I do not know them and this is fiction. I don't know if something like this happened and I'm making no money out of my crappy writing. I do not intend to violate anyone's copyrights.
Rating: T (only contains some language)
Author Notes: I'm having a hard time writing in English. Not only that I don't know how to express what I mean to say but I don't know how to make the dialogues believable. Any tips, help, critiques, advice or anything will be greatly appreciated... Thank you.



( A real LJ cut to the short story... )

Usually it's written all over my face. People can tell, 10 seconds after greeting me, if I'm having a bad day. I'm usually cheerful and polite, but when I'm in a bad mood I tend to keep a straight face and I don't make eye-contact with anybody.

It sucks, because it usually leads to the feared question "What's wrong?" and I don't like to discuss my personal affairs. So... there.

Today's question for the Writer's Block was far too weird. Befriending inanimate objects? Er.

He burried his head on the pillow and tried to sleep. He wished he could be on stage now, jamming with the rest of the boys, listening to the rough german voices of the sailors sitting on the tables, gulping beer until their voices became completely uncomprehensible for themselves. He thought how great it would be for him to be with his guitar strapped to his shoulders now, thinking only about the chords, the lyrics and some bird sitting at the bar eyeing any of them. Pete, most probably, but that wouldn't matter at all.

At least something else would be on his mind. They had the night off the day he needn't. They were all tired, yes, but... why today? Why on the day when he couldn't stop thinking about his dead mother?

John would understand. John would understand if he weren't so busy trying to pretend he was all strong and stone-hearted. Maybe when he would stop fucking everything that moved to keep his mind away from all the painful memories John could be able to sit next to Paul for a second and place a hand on his shoulder and just... just tell him that 'your mother would be proud'.

It would be a lie. He knew it. Eighteen years old and he had left school, were he had a secure future as a teacher or even a doctor, taking those damned pills to stay awake, having sex with random german girls he didn't even know when he had Dot back at home. He had been so mean to Dot. He had done so many things wrong, he had lied to his father.

His mother would certainly not be proud of his actions. He often wondered what would have happened if she were still alive. Would she have liked John, George, Stuart and Pete? Well, she would have liked George, for sure; she would have dissaproved of John and Stuart (hell, he disapproved of Stuart), she would have had her doubts about Pete. Would she have thought that he should stay in school, would she still love him if she knew everything he had done to Dot?

Paul turned in his thin cold bed and faced the wall as the snores and coughs of the boys filled the room. He could be something more, he could go back, finish his studies and have a normal life as a teacher, maybe marry Dot eventually if she would still have him.

But nothing mattered, actually. Because his mother wasn't there and he would never know if she would be proud. He hoped they would make it someday, and that fame and success would make October 31st easier for his head.