Heaven
First things first, I found out I'm a completely productive person when I'm motivated.
Um, here it is. :D
To join up, please check out bfrpinfo! The main comm is at beatlesfreerp.
(oh, and I have this. :O I write too much.)
Title: Heaven
Author: withalittlewit aka Priscila
Pairing: Paul/John, Paul/Linda, implied Paul/Ringo, implied Paul/George
Rating: pg
Summary: Paul is the last one to die, and when he opens his eyes again, he's in Heaven.
Author Notes: SO YES. Because I wanted to. D:
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
Paul closes his eyes for the last time.
He opens them for the first time not long afterwards.
Paul blinks several times at the sudden flood of light in his eyes.
He gazes around his surroundings; a garden of Eden, perfect and unsymmetrical and full of light and shade and warm breeze and trickling water and laughter. He sees all the colors at once, sees all the beauty at once, sees all the love at once.
Lean arms wrap around his waist and hoist him up, and he finds laughter bubbling from his throat. He knows these arms too well; they had held him many restless and lonely nights in his last few years of life.
Rough lips press themselves against his neck, and he finds auburn hair clutched desperately in his fingers. He knows these lips too well; they had kissed his body with pure longing for twenty-three years of his life.
Dark eyes catch his own knowingly, and he finds an inescapable smile tugging at his mouth. He knows these eyes too well; they had gazed up at him with adoration and affection since he was fourteen-years-old.
Golden-wheat hair brushes against his forehead, and he finds his heart overflow with love. He knows this hair too well; it had been tangled in his hands passionately from one day in May in 1967 until a fateful night in April in 1998.
Paul feels tears sting at his eyes, but is only met with more smiles and more laughs and loving hands that wipe away his pain.
“Macca, oh, Macca, I’ve waited so long to see you,” the man with the rough lips whispers to him. Paul’s fingers reach out and interweave with something tangible, a touch he had missed horribly.
“I’m here now,” he whispers back, and the man with the rough lips laughs.
The man with the lean arms gives him a bright grin. “Are you two going to share with the rest of the class, or do we need to send you to the principal?” he calls, and the man with the dark eyes smiles in an entirely too nostalgic and wonderfully quirky way.
“Paulie,” the woman with the golden-wheat hair says gently, and Paul wraps his arm around her waist, fitting perfectly as if they had been made that way.
“I love you all more than you can know,” Paul says and they all gather him up in their embrace, and Paul falls into complete peace and happiness and warmth and love.
Um, here it is. :D
To join up, please check out bfrpinfo! The main comm is at beatlesfreerp.
(oh, and I have this. :O I write too much.)
Title: Heaven
Author: withalittlewit aka Priscila
Pairing: Paul/John, Paul/Linda, implied Paul/Ringo, implied Paul/George
Rating: pg
Summary: Paul is the last one to die, and when he opens his eyes again, he's in Heaven.
Author Notes: SO YES. Because I wanted to. D:
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
Paul closes his eyes for the last time.
He opens them for the first time not long afterwards.
Paul blinks several times at the sudden flood of light in his eyes.
He gazes around his surroundings; a garden of Eden, perfect and unsymmetrical and full of light and shade and warm breeze and trickling water and laughter. He sees all the colors at once, sees all the beauty at once, sees all the love at once.
Lean arms wrap around his waist and hoist him up, and he finds laughter bubbling from his throat. He knows these arms too well; they had held him many restless and lonely nights in his last few years of life.
Rough lips press themselves against his neck, and he finds auburn hair clutched desperately in his fingers. He knows these lips too well; they had kissed his body with pure longing for twenty-three years of his life.
Dark eyes catch his own knowingly, and he finds an inescapable smile tugging at his mouth. He knows these eyes too well; they had gazed up at him with adoration and affection since he was fourteen-years-old.
Golden-wheat hair brushes against his forehead, and he finds his heart overflow with love. He knows this hair too well; it had been tangled in his hands passionately from one day in May in 1967 until a fateful night in April in 1998.
Paul feels tears sting at his eyes, but is only met with more smiles and more laughs and loving hands that wipe away his pain.
“Macca, oh, Macca, I’ve waited so long to see you,” the man with the rough lips whispers to him. Paul’s fingers reach out and interweave with something tangible, a touch he had missed horribly.
“I’m here now,” he whispers back, and the man with the rough lips laughs.
The man with the lean arms gives him a bright grin. “Are you two going to share with the rest of the class, or do we need to send you to the principal?” he calls, and the man with the dark eyes smiles in an entirely too nostalgic and wonderfully quirky way.
“Paulie,” the woman with the golden-wheat hair says gently, and Paul wraps his arm around her waist, fitting perfectly as if they had been made that way.
“I love you all more than you can know,” Paul says and they all gather him up in their embrace, and Paul falls into complete peace and happiness and warmth and love.