#not tagging john lennon cause fuck him

[omgitzlongdennis]

the best beatles song is the one about the guy who kills people with hammers and its a whole song about a guy who kills people with hammers

[iheartjohnlennon]

'Let me take you down'

London, '66

Summary: John and Paul see the same so John and Paul share the same (you).

Word count: 3,054

Tags: Smut, Threesome, Unrequited Love

The lounge was adorned with light, drugs, and music. The holy trinity of joy.

The light was more a metaphorical one. But no one had caught your eye, personally.

You had caught a few though.

Through your peripheral vision, you saw John Lennon slightly sauntering towards you.

A cig in hand, flirtation on standby and a smile that would make most of his thirteen-year-old army piss themselves with happiness.

Finally, you thought to yourself. 

He can now stop undressing you with his eyes or making passing comments.

You knew he wanted you, you've known that for a while now. 

You also know of his other half, his bandmate, Paul. He gives you eyes as well.

But you try not to pay Paul any romantic mind because he gouges his eyes out for any woman he sees anyways.

"Well 'ello love." John speaks in a chipper tone, he sits beside you, not even asking if the seat is taken.

His cockiness shines through as he rubs against you, you turn fully to look at him.

"John." You don't give anything up, you won't make it easy.

"Why so quiet tonight, hm?" He strokes your chin, he seems disappointed you aren't on your knees from the first hello. 

You scoffed, "Quiet? We've been speaking for seconds John." 

"Ye know wha' I mean.." He rolls his eyes, he didn't like how dismissive you were sometimes.

John always had a simple philosophy of flirt then fuck, which clearly didn't seem to work a hundred percent of the time.

"Why's a bird like you, 'ere alone?" How classic.

"Because I came here alone."

"Well, no shit."

"Don't get rude."

"Not gettin' rude lovely." He took a puff of his cig.

A voice interrupted your little squabble, it was a familiar one, "I reckon he's tryin' to call ya beautiful."

You saw the charming face that matched.

"Which ya are by the way," Paul added with a smirk.

He stood before you both. His hair was dishevelled and he smelled delicious. 

"Alrigh' McCharmly she gets it, fuckin' 'ell." John spoke with an acute bitterness in his tone. He wasn't prepared to let you go yet, especially not to Paul.

"Ha, well, anyways I came here to ask if yous wanted to smoke some grass."

So that's what that aroma was, the one that hypnotized you to no end.

And 'yous'. He wanted you both.

As much as you preferred Paul's company over John's, you were intrigued by this offer of having both of them at the same time, smoking.

"Wha', you wanna smoke 'ere?" John questioned.

"Not really, follow me." Paul palmed your hand in his with a warm smile as John placed his hand on your back possessively.

~

They both ushered you through the bar area upstairs, into some sort of chamber.

It was abundantly less lively than the former and had harmonious jazz playing in the background as opposed to some soft rock.

Everyone looked like they were on something, good and bad. You felt intimidated. John and Paul knew this scene more than you, even though you came to the lounge often.

"Welcome!" Paul began, "Make yerselves at home I suppose, I'll be back."

You and John were oddly close on the sofa. Physically because his arm was loosely around your waist and emotionally because his eyes were intensely on yours.

Maybe it was the music, the lighting, or his flirting that made you yearn for more than just his gaze.

He took your chin in his fingers, "Yer beautiful, ye know that?"

"Do you need me to know that?"

"I'll tell you every day if I can."

John shifted his head, it was on a tilt as if he was going to kiss you. You were happy to oblige, but a vigorous Paul interrupted you both. Again.

He strode in with a plastic baggy filled with weed, rolling paper, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. This could be an undoubtedly long night.

~

Paul placed himself beside you, now you were nicely in between the pair. 

"We'll share one blunt and do a pass around." John affirmed.

"Yeah, an' Y/N will roll 'em 'cause she has tiny, cute fingers." You adored the way Paul tickled your hands after saying that. You sent him a smile and he sat back, hand tracing circles on your back.

You didn't smoke weed often but didn't find it hard to roll the blunt.

"Good girl." John whispered, giving you a smirk.

"Have a light?" You asked no one in particular.

"Sure thing." 

Paul reached into his pocket and fished out a light, he held the blunt between your lips childishly and held your jaw as it lit.

You took in a puff and immediately felt inundated with pleasure and simultaneous dizziness.

You sat down but felt like you were stumbling on a circus wire. You turned to John and Paul, their faces were now just attractive blurs.

You cleared your throat heavily after inhaling more.

"Ladies first." John chuckled.

"Easy there, you ok?" Paul asked patting your back.

"Absolutely sublime." You sneer whilst inhaling even more. You could feel your face getting hot and your vision getting more skewed.

You had enough and passed it on to Paul. This was nothing new and as he took a puff he looked at you with contentment.

His hand was still on your back, rubbing up and down. 

He passed the blunt onto John.

He held your shoulders and began with a lustrous look in his eyes, "I want to kiss ya, lemme kiss ya Y/N?"

You could only nod in response before Paul lay a warm kiss on your lips, his tongue exploring yours as he replaced John's arm with his.

"Slag." John mumbled.

Your noses touched, your tongues tasted and your chests collided as Paul kept his devoted pace.

John watched you and Paul make out whilst longingly taking swigs from the whiskey.

John was watching with a peculiar fixation. He loved the way you groaned as Paul bit your lip, he loved the way you squirmed with each wet kiss.

This was peculiarly turning him on.

Paul met John's eyes for a moment whilst in the middle of necking on with you.

He felt bad for the fella, he was in this cuckold, which wasn't a cuckold because John isn't with you, but still.

Paul stopped kissing you, you sighed craving more of him.

"Can I share ya?" Paul mused to your bewilderment.

"Hm?"

"Sorry, I meant can we share ya?"

"Hm-".

You were overwhelmed with such a flabbergasting joke. You were stopped in your tracks by such a crude joke.

Or?

Was Paul asking for a ménage à trois right now?

John sniggered from beside you, "He's not good with his words, is he? It seems like he wants a threesome, well- we." 

This was convenient. You could all find somewhere private, knew each other well and were as horny as it seems.

Paul spoke, "Ya know, ya really don't have-" 

"I want to." Your eagerness came out as you interrupted him to accept.

Paul put on a grin. He had you where he wanted you.

"We'll take this somewhere more private after you neck on with John."

You did somewhat like John. And you supposed he would have fucked you eventually, but certainly not in this circumstance.

Paul playfully pushed your head towards John's and whispered, "C'mon baby ya know ya want to, I see the way ya look at him."

Before you could even formulate a response, John was already on you. He grasped the back of your head and immediately placed his lips on yours.

His tongue and teeth collided with yours, you could taste each drop of whiskey on him.

Paul smoked and watched with lidded eyes.

John gripped your waist with both hands, his kissing was passionate and abrasive. He groaned, he was properly getting off to this. He got rougher, pushing you into the sofa.

"Alrigh', alrigh' don't kill 'er." Paul cracked up whilst separating you both.

Paul's kiss contrasted with John's. Your lips felt all puffy after John, he looked at you smugly. You couldn't tell the difference between John making you dizzy and what you were smoking.

Paul's task was over and the men on either side of you gave each other a knowing look.

~

You all rushed down the stairs quicker than a blink.

They were all over you the moment the driver set his eyes on the road. You didn't care if the driver was watching, or hearing. You had two pairs of hands on you. Yanks and grabs were all you felt the whole way through. Paul was in one ear and John was in the other.

Paul attacked your neck with smooches and sucks, you giggled girlishly at the feel. 

John buried his face in your breasts and all but tried to leave marks on your chest.

You felt their hands travel down further, like waist down further. You halted their efforts to dually finger you in the back of some car and cautiously mumbled, "Later, later.."

A triad of soft moans and silly giggles continuously echoed in the car, you were sure the driver was sick of you all now.

"Are we nearly there yet?" You said dramatically.

"We arrived minutes ago you daft girl." John laughed.

Jesus, now you were dazed.

Paul began, "Shall we?"

~

The driver didn't bother to say goodbye and drove off with a scowl.

You all sounded hysterical whilst rushing to Paul's hotel room.

The hallway was closing in on you. Paul had his key in hand and fumbled with the lock, John had your ass in his. 

"Any slower McCharmly?" You jested.

"I'll go faster when it's convenient Y/N." 

With his dirty quip and the push of a door, you eventually entered.

Before you could even close the door behind you the duo was still all over you. You felt so many hands it was as if you were crowd surfing. They were taking small bits of clothing off, like ties and shoes, and somehow still found focus on you.

"We aren't even on the bed yet you animals." You whined.

"I'll 'ave ye anywhere." John retorted.

"A bed? Let's get on the bed then princess." Paul cooed, bringing you up to your feet properly.

You couldn't even get on the bed without feeling gropes and pinches all over you. You got on top of the thing and slouched back, in a relaxed position.

Paul made his way on top of you and John got on the side, laying by you. 

Paul confidently took off your articles of clothing. He carelessly tossed your heels on the floor and began working to get your tights and skirt off.

John almost immediately mouthed you in that same rough manner again. He held onto the back of your head, making sure you wouldn't pull back. He took his kiss lower, to your jaw. Lower, to your neck. Lower, to your chest. He dragged your shirt up, so eager to have a taste he couldn't even pause to unhook your bra.

He sucked and fondled your breasts. You let out chortled moans as the ticklish splendour of him using his teeth to nibble and his tongue to swirl drove you over the edge.

"Fuck John-" You seized his hair in your hands, raking through it, drawing him closer. He swapped sides and moved onto the other breast.

The way your body writhed as John sucked you off made it fidgety for Paul to get your bottom half off. He managed in the end and wasted no time in taking an interest in your silk panties.

"Ooo, these are pretty... pretty Y/N.." He marvelled, tracing a maddening thumb over your clit.

As John proceeded with his kissing assault to your top half, Paul took his head to your lower regions. He licked your clit through the panties and teasingly gave it a kiss. 

Then you felt Paul pull your panties aside. He slipped a finger into you and began a come-hither motion inside of you whilst also giving you little flicks with his tongue.

You frolicked around in ecstasy, you were reaching a boiling point from having both successes on your cunt at the same time. You could've cum from this alone, but you comprehended this was going to be a long night.

Your moans only rose louder, they turned into cries, you could feel yourself pulsing. Paul is damned good with his mouth. 

He moved his head off you, leaving you wet and wanting. John also did the same, looking down on you triumphantly.

"Oh Paul...Oh John..." You sighed pleasantly.

The two gave each other another knowing look, you rolled your eyes, "What is it this time?" You flirted.

"Nothin' love, we're jus'...wonderin' ya know." Paul spoke back.

"Wondering about what?" You mused, turning on your stomach.

"How good ya are.." Paul whispered.

"How good I am what?" You question, confused.

John suddenly mocked, "Bloody 'ell Paul, carn't stop speakin' in bloody metaphors can ye?" 

"Awe, I think he's just a bit muddled from what he had earlier Johnny." You tittered.

Paul interrupted, "Righ' I'll get to the point then shall I? We wanna take ya from both ends." 

"You don't have to present everything like a business proposition Paulie." You laughed, getting into a doggy position. 

"Ya are our business Y/N." John enunciated. 

~

Their positions were determined. Paul was behind you and John lay on his back in front of you. You got in between his legs, lowered down on your elbows, and greeted his clothed cock with a kiss.

You could feel him growing stiff as you worked to pull down his trousers, then his boxers.

Before Paul could put anything in, he was working to get fully naked.

John would have preferred fucking you from behind but he felt like the guest star, being all lounged back, receiving attention from your mouth.

You got his trousers off, then his boxers, you received a happy welcome. 

He met your eyes and snatched your hair in his hands. "Yer beautiful...so beautiful..." John murmured, stroking a thumb across your lips. 

"Isn't she." Paul chirped in, guiding his cock towards your entrance, in a reverie, all imperceptive and seductive. 

You practically shivered at the intention, his first thrust was unreal, different to any cock you had felt before, maybe because it was him. 

His cock naturally felt more distinct than his fingers. Its thickness caressed your vaginal canal and provided tinges to your G-spot via the tip. 

He sped up the moment he got that first feel, moving you forward before you could even fit the latter into your mouth, the impulsive movement causing you to brush your face against his cock as opposed to sucking. 

"Mmmph, mmm." Paul moaned. 

"Fuck- fuck-" was all you could muster as John watched in amusement. He gave himself a few tugs before discovering great solace in your lips. 

He bobbed you up and down, vulgarisms rang from his mouth as you wrapped your lips around the top inches and used your hands to trace what your throat wasn't handling. 

"Fuckin' 'ell Y/N...fuckin' 'ell...keep goin' baby, jus' like tha'..." John's head lulled back in fulfilment, he honoured you to high heaven and was for the time thankful Paul was here, as every thrust he gave you caused your moans to vibrate onto his cock. 

~

You were all moaning messes, utterly void of any emotion apart from pleasure and whatever emotion you would call being under the influence. 

You were being rag-dolled back and forth and wished for every bit of it. 

John's hand got tighter but his once consistent up-and-down movement got sloppier, his hips moved up lightly, trying to get as much of you on his cock as humanely possible. 

He was balls deep within your mouth, you were taking in a nose full of his pubic hair. "Yer goin' to make me cum- Jesus Christ Y/N!" His words were still riddled with praise and hastiness as his free hand palmed your tits. He grunted as each movement he made caused the sensitive tip to touch the back of your throat. 

You relished in providing John pleasure. 

Paul had only gotten harsher, the space was mainly filled with the moist sounds of Paul penetrating you, the viscosity you two had produced felt mouthwatering.

"Ya like it when I go faster don't ya? Tell Paulie you like it when he goes faster." He uttered. 

His strokes were paired with that voice off his and as he arrived close, he all but cooed, "Like tha' Y/N? Like tha' baby?"

You turned your head back at him for a moment, he greeted you with a cocky, yet lovely smile. His hair was all messy and he was flushed with colour. 

You could feel him precisely hitting and caring for every nerve inside of you, with his hands tugging on your hips and his pelvis meeting your ass.

And as much as you rasped out John's name, you couldn't help but pull him out of your mouth, only subtly, just to stammer out Paul's. 

You felt an exhilaration coming from all senses. John let out a definitive moan, finally releasing into the back of your throat. The consistency made you feel naughty, you spat some back out only to lick it off his cock again, the slight overstimulation drove him mad, "Shit- fuck...Y/N...slag..." 

Almost on command, Paul did the same. You felt his cum shooting into you, a liquid bullet. He moved in slightly, shoving his semen to the innermost part of you, moaning yeahs and ooos. 

He trembled as you clenched around him. 

 ~

Paul changed positions off of you and so did John. You all looked like orgasmic chaos. 

You felt hit with weakness after that, you signalled to them that maybe it was time to rest. 

~

You were in between them. Paul spooned you, seemingly falling asleep the fastest, probably because he smoked the most. 

John was facing you, muttering sweet whatevers and giving you smooches along your chest. 

It's as if your souls intertwined with one another as you all simultaneously climaxed, you pondered. 

"I love you." You whispered to no one specifically.

[raylangivins]

still working through my backlog of tags. thank you @acorrespondence for tagging me in things :)

1. comfort character tag game

not to show my age but i don’t know wtf the kids mean by comfort character. i just listed some all time faves because it brings me comfort to think of how fucked up they are :)

raylan givens (justified), duh

brian o’conner (fast and furious movies)

addy hanlon (dare me--book version moreso than tv version)

betty cooper (riverdale)

pacey witter (dawson’s creek--the only one here who i think could be described as a comfort character for the reasons i assume people made up the term)

2. ao3 first lines tagline

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway (spoiler alert: rules are made to be broken…)

look. i’ve been exclusively writing beatles rpf for the last year, so we’re all gonna have to either acknowledge it or Pretend You Do Not See, alright.

1. “What’s got you all quiet?” Robert asks him in the bathroom.

Paul realises he’d zoned out, staring blankly at Robert, bent over the sink, snorting a line.

2. John takes a long inhale of smoke as he watches Paul talking to one of the camera guys outside. His breath fogs up the bus window a bit, the evening air causing a cloud of condensation to spread, blurring Paul and the camera guy to nothing. When it shrinks back to dribbles of moisture, Paul’s hands are moving—explaining a shot, or a scene, or a fucking dream he had that he’d like this poor sod to turn into reality.

3. Paul can't pinpoint exactly where his night deteriorated, but it was probably somewhere after Brian left The Cavern for the evening, and Neil had driven away with all their gear, and John—realising that they'd lost the closest thing they had to adult supervision—loftily announced that he was getting married tomorrow and so everyone should buy him pints about it.

4. John doesn't notice him at first, engaged in answering a question for the crowd of journalists in front of him. Paul's half-hidden among the shelves anyway, peeking over to get a good look at John in his element.

5. John's not sure how they get onto the topic. They're in the canteen—just the two of them for the moment—talking in circles around each other, under the guise of talking about George, edging towards an argument but never really landing there. Just half-chastising, and half-imploring each other to be different people entirely without really saying it. And then, suddenly, they're talking about it.

6. "Here," John hisses at Paul and yanks him unceremoniously into a utility closet, letting Paul slam the door shut behind them.

7. Paul shows up late to their show. He makes it to the Jacaranda by the skin of his teeth, just as some fragile, spiteful thing in John is gearing up to lash out at anyone who'll listen that they don't need the bastard anyway. It's unlike Paul to be late, which makes it annoying enough, considering how much he'd whine about it if it were any of the rest of them, but then he has the gall to say it's because he was doing something for his dad.

8. After the Bob Wooler incident—the first but not last time Jane questions Paul’s association with the likes of John Lennon—Paul tells her: “He can be quite lovely when you get to know him.”

9. Paul feels lazy and warm as he sucks in another drag of the spliff John rolled them. He closes his eyes as he exhales. It only serves to heighten his sluggish senses. He could fall asleep like this, lost in the sensations of his lovely geodesic dome. He can feel every thread of the rug they're lying on; can hear Martha's soft snores from where she sleeps, her head pillowed on John's ankle. The sprinkling of sunlight leaking in through the leaves of the trees, outside, creates some sort of greenhouse effect—the air around them muggy and mellow. Paul could float away, if not for the grounding warmth of John's arm, pressed next to his. The true north, reminding him where his body is.

10. "You're like Julian with a new bloody toy," John says to him from somewhere on the couch.

Paul doesn't know why he's complaining. He's the one who asked about it, after Paul mentioned the new camera.

tagging for either one: @wurmzirkus, @tulakhord, @tallahasseemp3, @softbrah, @itookyoudown, @magog83, @jeanharlowseyebrows, @indiekidsupremacist

[cinnamontoastandtears]

fulfilling another request !! for @sammysfurmama (who i can’t tag for whatever reason)

more mcharrison, bc… this is what the people want !!

so, enjoy: a post-concert adventure as experienced by john lennon

John collapsed in the armchair, exhausted from their set that night, hair dripping from the shower. He’d gone last of course, he always went last, (he took the longest) and the others sat in the small living area between the two rooms they’d been given at the hotel.

Ringo was flipping through a book that had been lying on the table, and Paul and George were in similar positions, reading magazines with their feet up on an ottoman.

“Did you get-”

“Yes,” Ringo answered before John could even finish asking his question, “We ordered your chicken, it should be here in…” he checked his watch, “half an hour.”

“Oh. Brilliant!”

The other three hummed in agreement and John stared as they went back to their reading material. Eventually, he gave in to the boredom and swept a newspaper off the table to fiddle with before the food got there.

The headline sported their names, which maybe should have made him puff up with pride, but instead was quite boring. He flipped to the article anyway, just to see what drivel had been printed this time.

John Lennon, leader of the Beatles, shocks fans by agreeing to give a male fan a kiss on the cheek!

Well that was ridiculous. If the girls were allowed to get kisses there was nothing wrong with giving a guy a kiss as well, right? And besides, it wasn’t a kiss on the lips. That would be a very different story. (He’d probably agree to that as well, but-)

John was startled out of his thoughts by an uncharacteristic movement from the other side of his paper. He lowered it to see what had happened, but nothing looked to be out of order. George and Paul still sat with their magazines, feet still up in front of them. Ringo had a slightly amused smile on his face, and John wondered what had caused that.

Thinking it must have just been a flicker in the corner of his eye, John fixed his gaze back on his paper, but then he saw something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to see, and the small entertainment of the article couldn’t hold his attention.

Paul’s left toes just, only just, brushed George’s right foot. They leaned over once, as if to tease, then right back to their former position. John was confused. Though it was probably an accident, a twitch or something, nothing to lose his mind over.

He was halfway back to the illogical article once more, but then it happened again. Except this time, George had been the one to initiate the toe-tapping. But something kept John from believing this to be entirely on purpose, so he decided to watch his band mates instead.

Their faces appeared steady, maybe there was a glimmer of something, but not much. It was really their feet John had to keep an eye on anyway.

And- ah. There it was once more. Only- they didn’t stop. The whole sides of both their feet were pressed close to each other, rubbing, almost… sensually. John’s eyes flicked to their faces, decidedly not looking at each other or their feet, but tiny smirks pulling at the corners of their lips. George raised his eyebrows, as if he’d been challenged, and pushed Paul’s foot more, curling his toes and running them down the side of Paul’s foot. The angle was awkward due to the fact that they were both wearing socks, but judging by how Paul’s lips parted to reveal his teeth, George’s goal had been achieved.

George was grinning too, and having been able to go as far as he had, still not looking at their feet, traced his socked-toe up Paul’s foot, lifting his whole ankle from the table and putting it over Paul’s.

John gaped. What the fuck were they doing? He needed some sort of support in this.

He ruffled the paper, almost forgotten in his hand, then looked over at Ringo. The drummer looked up from his book and made questioning eyes at John, who had disrupted his momentary peace.

John lowered the paper a bit more and made a face, then glanced quickly over at Paul and George who- oh god. They’d begun to use their other feet as well, rubbing the feet they’d crossed together and curling their toes around each other and- John looked back at Ringo.

Instead of the shock and frankly, outrage that should have been there, all John found on Ringo’s face was pleasant amusement and a—a knowing glance. So John was the only one who’d been left out of this big secret.

One more glance at George and Paul’s faces, tugging up so much it must have hurt, desperately trying not to look at each other, John had had it. He threw the paper down.

“This is ridiculous! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Immediately, his other three band mates burst into peals of laughter, the kind that hurt your abdomen and made tears spring to your eyes.

“What?” John was still not sure what was going on.

“Oh…” George sighed, breaking from his fit first, “That was a good one, Rings.”

“Ah, you know me. ‘M the funny one!”

“Really good, Rich,” Paul commented, wiping the corners of his eyes.

“Will someone please explain what’s the fuck is happening!” John yelled. He was getting quite fed up.

“It’s simple, really,” Paul said.

“Do tell.”

“Well…” the bassist glanced at George, who just nodded, seeming to be content with a previous decision made.

“Geo and I are… we’re a- a thing.”

“What’s that supposed to- oh.” Suddenly, a lot more things were starting to make sense to John.

“Ringo here caught us…” George paused and made a squeak of embarrassment before continuing, “He told us we should try and freak you out by doing something… well, you saw. I think it worked pretty well.”

“I’ll say,” John said, but the anger and shock was gone from his demeanor.

Collectively, they shared another laugh, then Paul slung his arm around George’s shoulders and brought him close. The younger man leaned into the touch, abandoning his magazine in favor of reading the same one as Paul. Their feet were still entangled, but John didn’t care much at that point.

No longer was he shocked, but… slightly jealous. He glanced over at Ringo again, and the older man gave him a wink. John ruffled the stupid article about kissing in front of his face again to hide his blush.

[killer-beans]

I posted 5,840 times in 2021

540 posts created (9%)

5300 posts reblogged (91%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 9.8 posts.

I added 311 tags in 2021

#horror tw - 98 posts

#needed this - 42 posts

#i hate it here - 31 posts

#autism - 24 posts

#autistic - 24 posts

#being autistic - 22 posts

#actually psychotic - 21 posts

#actually autistic - 19 posts

#seriously schizophrenic - 15 posts

#/j - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but really mother that is the trauma of my father not being home for weeks on end getting bullied in goddamn preschool and csa babeyyyyyyyyy

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

637 notes • Posted 2021-04-22 00:04:50 GMT

#4

things that i am absolutely baffled by

- people who dont have sensory issues w/water just put their entire face under the shower???

- not everyone’s parents have yelled at them at some point

- people who can just,,,,do things.  like they think “im gonna do x” and then immediately get up and do it

- conversations. what the fuck is that about

- apparently most people dont (try to) listen to an artist’s entire discography once they decide the like them

- people just say things to their therapist.  i know thats what theyre there for but like how do you bring shit up

821 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 01:19:40 GMT

#3

bands/musicians ableists are not allowed to listen to (feel free to rb with more):

Pink Floyd (Syd Barrett was schizophrenic, he also struggled with drugs as did band mates Rick Wright and David Gilmour, Gilmour’s wife also speculates he could be neurodivergent, Roger Waters has PTSD)

The Who (Keith Moon posthumously diagnosed with ADHD and possible Bipolar disorder, also speculated that John Entwistle was neurodivergent, Pete Townshend is a csa survivor/PTSD and developed tinnitus over the years and recently speculated that he has Bipolar disorder, all former/recovered drug addicts)

Talking Heads (David Byrne is autistic)

Billie Eilish (Tourette’s syndrome) 

The Beatles (John Lennon was legally blind and dyslexic)

David Bowie (schizophrenic brother died via suicide which impacted a lot of Bowie’s early work, former drug addict)

The Velvet Underground (Lou Reed had a nervous breakdown and was subjected to electro-shock therapy for it and other reasons (ie was bi but that is not a disability), recovered former drug addict)

The Beach Boys (Brian Wilson is schizoaffective)

The Rolling Stones (Brian Jones had asthma and former drug addict, Keith Richards recovering drug addict)

Black Sabbath (Ozzy Osbourne has Parkinson’s disease and recovering drug addict, Tonny Iommi has no finger tips)

Nirvana (Kurt Cobain committed suicide)

Joy Division/New Order (Ian Curtis was epileptic and committed suicide)

Def Leoppard (Rick Allen lost an arm and uses accommodations for drumming)

Stevie Wonder (legally blind)

Kiss (Paul Stanley has a malformed ear)

Ray Charles (legally blind)

Ludwig Van Beethoven (deaf)

Bill Withers (stutters)

Hank Williams (birth defect that lead to deformed spine)

José Feliciano (legally blind)

Cher (dyslexic)

Michael Jackson (lupus and vitiligo, which caused him to “turn white”)

The Kinks (Ray Davies is bipolar)

Gary Numan (autistic)

Jefferson Airplane/Starship (Marty Balin is autistic)

Amadeus Mozart (autistic)

Hole (Courtney Love is autistic and recovering drug addict)

The Runaways/The Blackhearts (Joan Jett is a recovered alcoholic)

Queen (Brian May and John Deacon both have depression)

Imagine Dragons (Dan Reynolds has ADHD)

The Blockheads (Ian Dury had polio as a child, resulting in many physical disabilities)

Linkin Park (Chester Bennington was a csa survivor and struggled with addiction until his suicide.)

The Blues Brothers (Dan Aykroyd is autistic, John Belushi had binge disorders)

975 notes • Posted 2021-01-07 02:04:02 GMT

#2

wait so you’re telling me it’s not normal to *obvious symptom of mental illness/neurodivergency*

6831 notes • Posted 2021-01-15 13:34:06 GMT

#1

*removes headphones to make sure random ass noise was part of the song and not psychosis*

47974 notes • Posted 2021-04-10 21:26:34 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

I’d disagree with the anon that Paul was “incapable” of love, but I do agree he was very distanced, and pretty cruel (to women) when he was younger. (It was unfortunate they bought into the love at first sight myth, but he was also a charmer, and dropped affection and got colder after fucking them.)

But I just can’t see romantic interest on Paul’s end. I’m sure he loved John, but a lot of the “sexual/Romantic evidence” really can just be as construed as platonic love. I feel there may be some confirmation bias looking for “clues”. (Not an attack on anyone, but some of the analysises seem to try too hard, really).

He does make references, with the whole “calling him babe during concerts”, and “in bed” but that could just mean he’s not uncomfortable with coming off “gay”. He has a quote about it somewhere I think. He’s supportive of the community at any rate.

This is kind of my own bias, but at times I think he…plays it up a little during the present day? Again, I’m positive he did love John a lot, but with how he is, a charmer, good at manipulating his image, he knows there is a benefit to building up the “magical” Lennon McCartney dynamic. John’s dead, and the old conflicts have faded, so he has no reason not to. I don’t think he’s anti-social, or a psycho or anything, but he certainly does put a lot of thought into his image, especially now, with how he wants to leave his legacy.

I’m less knowledgeable about John, and the speculation about his mental illnesses, but on his end, I can certainly see it. Maybe he’s just blind, but the looks are very much…yeah. He does seem to rely Paul a lot, and hold him in very high regard (REGARDLESS of what those old male biographers might make of him). You just know he was suffering over Paul, poor bastard.

Not sure if anything happened. I think Paul knew though, and either ignored it, or was kind, knowing John wouldn’t act on it. OR he didn’t notice! With the whole “we shared beds A LOT. you would think he’d make a pass at me, darling~”

I guess that’s how I see it. I don’t really have strong feelings on the nature of their relationship, or want them to be “confirmed”, so I try to be as objective as possible! Not a shipper, but not a male biographer. In fact, I was very put off learning the ship was a thing at first! With every fan base “having to” ship the main male leads, that’s what I thought this was. But after three years, reading actual books, primary stuff, I’ve began to change my mind on its legitimacy, and this was my conclusion. But new information can always change!

(Sorry for the long long analysis, god! I just took my adderall and I should go eat! Feel free to block me for spam/harassment.)

Yeah, this is basically my big mclennon dilemma: did Paul love John?

Of course he loved him, but I mean did he harbour any homosexual feelings towards John - and I just go back and fourth on that a lot.

In my last response to an anon I wasn’t necessarily trying to argue that Paul was romantically/sexually attached to John, because all in all, I don’t believe he did - but it probably came off that way because I didn’t particularly like the way the anon had phrased some stuff (like calling him “a master manipulator” and “incapable of love”) and so I just sort of wanted to show that the relationship was more nuanced then just “john was simping for paul”. My overall point with that response was more so that whilst I think Paul struggles in showing real affection and emotions, I don’t think he was incapable of love prior to Linda. I think he did really love John (in whichever form of love you want to take it: romantically, platonically etc.)

And so my point I guess wasnt so much that Paul was always capable of love (because I think he did at least love his family, his close-friends, probably Jane etc.), but maybe more so that he was always capable of intimacy with another person, though he struggled with it.

But yeah, he was quite cruel to a lot of the girls he slept with in the 60s, but I wouldn’t say that suggests he was incapable of love (i know thats not what you’re saying but other people might interpret it through that lens) I would just say he was young, dumb, ridiculously rich and famous and not emotionally mature enough yet to really empathise with most of those girls. Not trying to completely excuse him, but like, i dunno, i always just try to view people from the most human perspective. Everyones an twat sometimes yknow

I also really struggle to see romance on Pauls behalf towards John - the only times I think “wait but maybe he did fancy john back” is when I read some of his lyrics (like in ‘Coming Up’, ‘Yvonne’s The One’, and to some extent ‘Here Today’ - though I think interpreting Here Today as strictly platonic love is still a valid interpretation). I mentioned this in a different post though, that analysing his lyrics just isnt particularly convincing for me, because it feels more like speculation - and also as someone who does write songs, I know that a lot of lyrics just arent as deep as we wish they were. It is really difficult to be truly introspective and honest in a song, without exaggerating or hyperbolising or fictionalising any autobiographical aspects.

I do see your point with Paul possibly playing up the “Lennon/McCartney m a g i c” - im not entirely sure how much I agree, but I do agree to some extent. I think he’s always been very image conscious, and being in what is probably the all-time most famous pop band definitely wouldve heightened that. Even as a teenager I think he’s always just had this natural charm about him, and that tends to stem I guess from a need to be liked; I think you can see it in every interview he’s ever done to be honest. Its not necessarily a bad thing, (because id take a charmer over a rude knobhead any day) but I guess it sort of just shows that Paul is flawed like everybody else. Also, just read @mothernatures-sons tags and I agree with her - Paul just knows when to be a nice person! Nothing wrong with that! It isnt manipulative like the last anon suggested, its just how most people are: polite :) Ive heard a lot of anecdotes from people who have worked with or met Paul and the majority of them say he was a just a nice guy. Not saying he was never an arsehole (cause yeah he was pretty cruel to those girls in the 60s) but I think overall, hes a pretty good guy 👍

On the other hand though, you could also say that superficial journalists are looking for superficial answers - and Paul knows what the people want to hear. But occasionally ill hear an interview that does seem more intimate then most - I havent listened to it in awhile, but the interview he did with Sean I remember felt more honest to me then most. And when he said he’d like to spend the day “in bed” with John, to me that felt like a genuine and fitting response. Because, whilst it has sexual connotations, it also just feels like he’s saying he’d just like to sit around, chat, dont chat, just whatever with John for a day. Like he would just like another moment of intimacy with him.

I think we are pretty much in agreement on most of this though! At first I was also like “nah, mclennon isnt real, teenage girls just love shipping guys!” (I am a teenaged girl and I can confirm this lol) but then it just sort of became apparent to me through reading more and more about their relationship that there probably was something more on Johns behalf. If John wasnt in love with Paul, then it feels as though a lot of things he said and did just dont add up (the big one for me is him marrying Yoko so soon after Paul married Linda - like I really cannot come up with a heterosexual explanation for that!)

But when it comes to Paul, though ill have moments of doubt, I dont think he was in love with John (homosexually) and I do think a lot of the evidence on Pauls behalf seems like a stretch (but like you, im not having a go at anyone, because I understand that it is easy to carried away, plus its fun - but realistically, most of Pauls evidence just is not convincing to me). He’s comfortable with his sexuality, and I really do try to respect that and not force a gay interpretation of quotes or songs from him, unless it is genuinely making me question his sexuality and mclennon.

PS dont worry, I didn’t take this is spam at all!! And also, I would never block someone just for disagreeing with me! I enjoy discussion and I think its good to engage with people who disagree with you! To be honest, id only block someone if they were purposely being a real arsehole <3

[theplumsoldier]

NO KISSES

Summary: y/n is a guest at the red sea diving resort and is down to fuck the hot guy in the reception. also again i tagged some sweet people that i thought might be interested—do let me know if you are not, i dont wish to inconvenience anyone. as always, feedback is most appreciated!:)

Pairing: ari levinson x reader

Word count: 3227

Warnings: smut, vulgar language.

Truly and in all certainty, the man behind the counter had to be created by the meticulous hands of God himself—hell, if that was not Jesus standing right there in trunks and a buttoned-down shirt you swore the Earth might as well be off and be flat. But then again, religion was ancient and so was that bird-brained belief, and the man you had come to know as Guy, he too appeared to belong to the ‘archaic’ variety of men who had caught your interest.

He was not old. You did not think so, at least, still, he certainly was the kind to age with grace, much like wine and although you never had found yourself able to appreciate a good glass, this man seemed to be the ideal type to drink a bottle with.

Chest hair peeked from behind his open shirt, a fine glow that the sun had left on his skin made the beads of sweat glisten so beautifully in the yellow light. The Magen David pendant hung in swaying motion from his neck and you had to curse yourself for imagining it jumping from his chest while he pounded into you. Undoubtedly this was a vacation and you were going to have fun now that you finally were single, only you could not imagine this was a vacation to him, this was work. As a woman working in a bar, you were widely familiar with those late-at-night-attempts to get some, and therefore you had more respect for both Guy and yourself than to hint towards the conspicuous sin.

The hour was late, and the resort deserted. You figured most had gone to sleep or were out by the beach for a late-night drink, considering there were few places in the vicinity providing leisure of that kind. The friends you were at the retreat with had retired to the bedrooms you shared. As the day had consisted of little besides ample writing, you were nowhere near tired enough to sleep and the humid weather did nothing but make you toss in the sheets.

And that was why you had yet to join your friend, thinking it better to leave her be to doze off while you could tire yourself out some. So, sitting in the foyer, you were leaned in over papers, some with and some without writing, a pen spinning between your fingers and half a bottle of exotic, combustible liquor.

Guy had been wandering about for some time, disappearing and reappearing every now and then, taking care of his late-night resort business, you supposed. The next time he was away was a little while longer than the last, making you wonder just what he was occupied with, missing the sight of his fine figure.

By the time he returned, you were too caught up in your paper to take notice of his approach. However, once he cleared his throat your head lifted and you could not help but smirk at the cocksure man, holding a pot of coffee and two cups.

You leaned back in your seat, pushing at the chair opposite you with your foot under the table, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I was wondering when you were going to stop playing hard to get.”

Guy let out a laugh on took you up on the invitation.

“I hope it’s that paper keeping you up this late and not your room,” said he and tilted his head curiously to the side, as if asking a question and you caught on.

“Oh, no the room is very accommodating. It’s really just my friend’s snores that are rather offensive.”

“Ah,” Guy chuckled as he got comfortable, pouring the coffee and speculated what it would feel like to have a large man such as himself to pin you down, or in good hap, pound you, even. “Mind my asking what you’re working on?”

“It’s an article. About the prosperous lands of the African savannah.”

“Really?” ticked he, nonplussed.

“No. At this point, this—” you held the smaller stack of papers into the air, “is just a bunch of zany scribblings of a drunk. You know, it was my friends that picked this place and planned the whole trip. Just, like, a getaway, ‘cause apparently their actuary- and retail jobs are so fucking stressing, and I got curious, you know? Of all the places in the world, they settled on Sudan. I mean, now that I’m here, this is nice, I guess, it’s nice! But they must have spelled something wrong somewhere and fortuitously got us shipped off to this desert, and—shit, I’m sorry, I’m maundering.”

Guy held out a cup for you. Accepting, you leaned over the table and you swore your heartrate increased the moment his fingers brushed yours. You almost knocked the bottle of liquor over when you pulled back, cheeks flushed.

“No, please—continue. I have been wondering what brings people so far out.”

“Well, to begin, your brochure was extremely tantalizing,” deadpanned you and inhaled the smell of the steaming java. “Also, I figured heck, so I did some research about Sudan and ended up on some wild goose chase, somehow stuck on fucking Mossad.”

Candidly, your words ignited a spark of fear in Ari, his azure composed eyes widening for a split-second, though you did not take notice of the change before he shifted and regained composure. Circumspect he observed you warily and shifted in his seat, trying to read you but you were not as much of an open book as he would have preferred. This made you interesting, yet perilous for a man of his taste.

“Anyway, I ended up with more questions than I had to begin with and decided it might be an interesting place to spend some time. Though I have to admit, I thought there would be more of a chance of getting a taste of the culture, but this is nice too.”

Coming to understand you were no threat, he soon relaxed in his place. You were no more than a tourist. He decided it was safe to let down his guard and be a nosy parker, asking where you got with “that Mossad story”.

“In retrospect, I can honestly say not far. I mean it was more of a conspiracy theory than anything. Still, I had the audacity to, on a whim—” you were chuckling by now, taunting yourself as you now could see why your boss had allowed you to take some time off, clear your mind. “—run it by my editor, but he turned me down. Our paper just made a deal to have a column-collab with CNN, which he wants me to be in charge of, so he’d rather have me go with something, said “more appropriate”, like a tribute to John Lennon or fucking post-its. Can you believe that? I didn’t get into journalism to gossip; I write to make people feel something; incite revolution; I wouldn’t mind that now.”

“Huh,” hummed he fairly entertained, curiously eyeing you as he lifted the cup to his lips. “Well, I have to admit, I’m a bit of a sucker for conspiracy theories myself, so, I mean, I’d love to read it sometime.”

You chuckled and shook your head, leaning over the table. “Oh no, I fed that garbage to a shredder long ago.”

Guy’s face dropped, seemingly contorting into a mix of disappointment and concentration as he was deep in thought.

“Trust me, you did not miss out,” said you and eyed the trepidation in his entangled fingers. “This piece, however, now that would be worth your while! Nothing that’s ever going to see the light of day but it’s a fine review of this corner of the world, complimenting your superlative resort here.”

“Is that so?” uttered he with a sly smirk and you nodded your head, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Aha! Also, I needed something to distract my mind with, seeing as I have been going at whatever the hell this is for hours now. I can assure you; a sleep-deprived drunken state is the circumstances a writer could ask for.”

He clicked his tongue and his head tilted back, mind going elsewhere. “Doesn’t sound very healthy, though. I could think of other sufficient ways if it’s a distraction you’re seeking.”

A coy smile curled your lip upward, needing no more to assimilate the overt hint and had it not been for the alcohol, your face would have been red as the sunburnt Germans on the tour.

“You know, if you want to fuck, all you have to do is say so.”

He seemed taken aback, but his pacific eyes flashed only a glimpse of surprise before he felt himself break from the daze. “And here I thought I was being bold.”

Humming in reply, you suppressed your smirk and wet your lips, trying to read his face.

Then he spoke up again, “it was Y/N, yeah?”

Nodding your head slowly, you felt your heartbeat increase and your legs’ position shifted as you struggled to tend to the tingle fluttering between your legs.

“Good.”

“And Guy?”

A short moment passed by in silence until he uttered a low “yeah” in reply. Then another passed, one where you took the time to wonder if you really were going to have sex with a complete stranger. The thought, although you never would have considered yourself so adventurous, was appealing to you and the heating sensation only stirred in you. You watched as Guy took you in and he hurriedly looked around him, the sound of his chair’s legs screeching against the floor.

“So, let’s do this.”

And Guy set marching.

His pace was moderate, something for you to keep up with, still, he did not walk five feet without casting a glance across his shoulder to make sure you still were at his tail. You were, of course, and like an eager dog following the food of that. In the end, he ended up reaching for your hand to pull you along, faster and you could not help but grin at the hurry he seemed to be in.

Finding yourself in his company, in his room, you looked around you, though he gave you little chance as he quickly had you caught against the shut door. Dipping down to connect your lips, Guy never got further than grazing your plump, soft lips, ever so slightly and he gave you a questioning look, a funny smirk tugging at his features and you explained, naming your one condition.

“No kissing.”

Guy pouted like a child finding coal rather than candy in his stocking on Christmas morning. “But that’s half the fun, darling.”

And you laughed at him, one hand teasingly sliding down his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. “Well, I’ll try my best to make up for it then.”

From excitement, Guy emitted a begging whine and his head dropped back, knowing all too well what you implied, and he had grown impatient even before you could rid him of his shorts. Reimbursing him with a teasing kiss just below his navel, you pulled down the cover. Springing free from strains, his cock stood tall and proud, saluting you and you gaped at the size and thickness of his girth. Surely, that was a mouthful, but you did not let yourself scare and rather blinked up at him, breaking a coy smile, before wrapping your hand around him. Feeling him, your fingers curled him and ran up his shaft, enjoying the sounds you pulled from him at the simple action. He was so responsive, and his cock twitched when your lips brushed his mushroom head. Darting out your tongue to teasingly swirl around him, you set at the base and licked along the prominent vein, humming a sweet sound for him as you complacently watched his blissed expression. Wetting your lips, you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the hint of salt he had to offer and for balance, your hands steadied you on his thighs while he moved the hair from your face. Taking a few inches, you dragged yourself up and down his cock, drawing back to spit on him and then fit more. While accustoming your throat to the considerable size of him, your one hand worked on what you had yet to fit, squeezing around him. Guy moaned your name as your tongue massaged against him, reveling in the pleasing sensation in which you provided.

Working on him for minutes, you could feel yourself wet at the very idea of him down your throat and you had to bring your hand down between your legs to take care of yourself all the while. The sound escaping you was almost pornographic, gagging around his cock as his hips bucked forward, fucking your face.

Hissing, Guy was ready to burst at any given time and urged you deeper on his cock, when you shifted. You received a questioning gaze through his daze when your lips left his cock and you merely grinned for yourself. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought a man such as himself would so easily be wrapped around your finger, but here he was, wanting you more than anything, making you feel divine as you stood from your knees.

You never had been one to stride from an honest challenge in this time was no different, although it proved none at all when he so complaisantly fell under your curse. Thus it was nothing but nature for you to take what you wanted, and knowing you had to be dripping down your thighs by now, you reached to suck on his neck, pushing him onto the bed.

Feeling him rock hard against your clothed cunt, he elicited a moan from you the had him groan low in his chest. Desperately Guy wanted to take control of the moment and set a bruising pace, only he could not recall a time where he had felt so small, not to mention the part of him enjoying a woman in power.

Straddling him, your dress hiked up you fevered skin and his rough hands helped you pull it over your head, exposing your body for the humid air to embrace. Exploring hands admired your bare chest, tugged you down by your waist, grinding against him and his large hands fell to your bottom. Adroit fingers rid you off your garments in seconds and he hoisted you closer to him. It was then he got a sense of just how wet you were for him. All for him and he grunted, smirking to himself at the thought of how slippery you had gotten from sucking him off.

Driving yourself crazy by running your sex up and down his pulsing shaft, you spread your wetness across his cock and made a mess when you decided you had kept him waiting long enough. Steadying yourself with a hand flat on his heavily heaving chest, you lifted yourself and lined his head with your slick entrance, before sliding down.

Guy winced, pleasure engulfing him as your warmth swallowed him whole. Panting a faint moan, you heaved yourself unsteadily and the precariousness of a lady, eyes squinting shut at the all too missed feel of a man filling you.

Alleviating hands kneaded the soft spots of your body, holding you by the waist to guide you up and down him. His azure eyes were fixated on where you met, head craned out of comfort, pulled off the pillow to watch how well you took him. The sounds you made were hushed but pornographic and became more so when he pulled you down, close to his face and he could smell himself on you as you coveted climax.

“You hear that?” mutters he into your skin, voice husky and responsible for the shivers sparking through your bones. While your head was long gone in a state of ecstasy, the taunting slap of his balls on your skin echoed through your mind and you whined in response, nearly collapsing as you failed to keep up with him. Fucking up into your clenching cunt, Guy grunted against you, his one hand lifting your chin, forcing eye contact and you moaned at the sight. With all but his glorious, damp expression and the resonating, squelching sounds from between your thighs blocked out, you shuddered, hoping to God, not a soul had heard, for your frolic affairs could not be mistaken. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, Y/N.”

And barely in the mental state to keep yourself composed; Guy stripped you from all chances of keeping quiet as his hand snaked between sweaty bodies to toy with your clit. Whimpering, you harshly bit down on your lip, your own hand tentatively, shakingly clasping against his and he can do nothing but watch keenly in wonderment as you came around his cock. Ponding you through your orgasm, he did not heed the thumping sound on a fist on the wall, refusing to let the face of Max ruin his orgasm. Squeezing around him, Guy felt himself unable to restrain any longer, and he pulled out, his thick load painting your stomach and pussy.

Moaning an elongated cry at the absence of his bruising thrusts, you ground out your fading orgasm on his stomach, his cock twitching beneath you, still spurting. Fragile as glass, you were collapsed on Guy, breath hitched in your hoarse throat, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck as you attempted to pacify your rapid breathing. Moments passed, recalibrating your respiration and his soothing fingers kneading the spots where marks had been left.

Drawing in a deep breath, you gently lifted your head, shifting and leaning your cheek on your open palm. Simpering and with a hint of thoroughly-fucked in your kittenish eyes, you stole his half-lidded gaze, catching a peaceful smile.

“I should go,” breathed you, catching yourself lick your lips when your eyes darted to his.

Lips parted, Guy moved a little beneath you, hand resting on the small of your back while his thumb still drawing circled patterns.

“You don’t have to,” muttered he with a short pause, only after voiced, realizing his words may have sounded importunate. And that was the last thing he wanted to paint himself as, but he had scant to worry about—after all, he had just fucked a stunning stranger and not one of the two was in rue. “Not yet, at least.”

And you hummed with a smile, one that later would make an appearance in his deviant thoughts. Softly placing your hand on his chest, you leaned in close and ghosted your lips over his, hungry for more but tantalizing in essence.

“This was fun.” Lightly tapping his sturdy chest, you pecked him on his bearded cheek and cast him a smile before making your entrancing exit. “We should do it some other time.”

And just like that, you left him in his room with nothing but his mind to replay the previous scene of wanton happening, his cock hardening only at the notion of sweetest gasps and sinful pants you had offered him. He fucked his hand one last time before he drifted off, off into the deepest slumber he had had in a long time.

TAGLIST: @patzammit @draeluna @chibi-crazy @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @tanyam93 @valentina-booth @peach-acid @jeanily3000 @jamesgiuseppe @loilko

[givemequeen]

leaks & cuddles ; john x reader

request: Please PLEASE #10 Dialogue with either teddy John or teddy Paul ? :) (10: "Fine! You can come in the bed...but don't touch me.") a/n: brooo 🥰🥺 you acc read my stuff? 🥰🥰😳also in this fic Ringo is in it and they are all still teddy boys cause i felt like it B) pairing: teddy john x reader summary: you tag along with your bsf’s, Paul, band to travel and have more experience. you never really liked John until now... warnings: fluff🥺 year: 1960? word count: 1426

“He’s actually not that bad yn!” Paul said as he sat on top of his suitcase. Ringo was by the receptionist checking you all into the crappy hotel the boys had managed to find and pay. You looked around the reception and shuddered, there were leaks on the roof and damps on the walls. If the reception looked like this you couldn’t imagine what the rooms must be like. It was definitely not going to be warm tonight and outside it was definitely going to be cold.

“He’s a greasy teddy boy, yuck,” you replied eyeing the older man playing with George on the other side of the small room.

“You sound like a five-year-old.” joked your best friend across from you. “What are you going to say next? He has cooties?” you looked at him and widened your eyes, your eyebrows rising saying what you needed to tell him. “Oh come on yn, he’s my best friend-”

“Your what?”

“My other best friend.” he corrected himself giggling. “Get along with him?” you huffed and crossed your arms. “For me?” Paul added showing off his best puppy eyes, a technique he perfected over the years to get what he wanted and one which always worked on you.

“Fine. I’ll try, only if he doesn’t annoy me.” you caved in making him smile. 

“There we go!” Ringo called out, you looked over and saw three sets of keys in his hand. The drummer handed out the keys, giving George and Paul one and keeping the second for himself. The last key was hanging on his index, you snatched it and smiled. 

“I get the single room?” you asked excitedly.

“No, I do.” Ringo smiled and stuck out his tongue. You frowned, your posture falling, and cocked your head.

“Where is he sleeping?” you pointed at John who stood next to you equally as confused.

“With her?” John questioned, a sarcastic laugh coming from him.

“Yes. Now, it’s late so let's go up and go to bed.” Paul quickly said heading back to the suitcases. George and Ringo followed not wanting to get yelled at by you. You huffed and turned your heel to face Paul, he was hunched over looking at the suitcases 

“McCartney! Get back here!” you snapped, your voice icy. Paul froze and slowly stood up, shyly turning around to face you. “Why don’t you sleep with John?” you asked.

“Yeah, Macca.” pipped John from behind you.

“Because I promised Geo we could bunk together,” Paul replied, his voice with newfound confidence. You rolled your eyes and marched to your suitcase, pulling it up to your chest and walking back past John without acknowledging him. You stormed up the stairs and found the floor the band would be staying at, your room was at the very end which gave you hope. At least you would have a window!

Your hopes were ruined as soon as you opened the squeaky door. The window was facing another building that blocked your views, you sighed loudly and stomped your foot down. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” asked John as he came into the room, pushing in past you. 

“Shut up.” you snapped. “We don’t even have views!” you complained.

“What do you mean? You have me.” John winked at you making you gag. He chuckled at your response and set down his suitcase at the foot of the bed. “I want this bed!” he called out before jumping back onto it, he crossed his feet at the edge of the bed and his arms behind his head. You bit your lower lip and groaned, you were going to have to put up with him for three more nights. Three nights and four days.

Using your foot, you slammed the door behind you startling John. “Jesus woman,” he complained. You made him a face and set down your suitcase on your bed, you opened it and took out your change of clothes. “Is that your bra?” John asked from his bed.

“Stop it Lennon!” you closed your suitcase and sat down on your bed, it creaked and dented. 

“Sorry,” he said rolling his eyes, he took out a book from his coat and started reading it.

“I’m going to shower, do not come in,” you warned. The bathroom wasn’t the best but better than you imagined. The warm water run out pretty quickly pushing you out of the shower. You got changed and slipped into your pyjamas. When you came out John was changed and under the covers, he had his thick glasses on and the bedside table’s light was shining on his book.

When the door creaked opened the took his frames off, you knew he didn’t like them. “Keep ‘em on,” you said quietly, your clothes in a bundle covering your chest.

“Hmm?” asked John.

“Keep the glasses on, they suit you.” you complimented before putting away your stuff. Behind your back, John had the biggest smile you could’ve ever seen. Once your stuff was neatly put away you stood back up. “I’m going to bed, don’t stay up too late.” John nodded in response, his eyes going back to the book. You got under the covers and when you went to turn off the lights you saw him looking at you. John looked away quickly and you smiled softly. He wasn’t so bad after all.

A little while later the light was off and John was sleeping. At least trying, a couple minutes into his sleep he was awoken by water tapping on his forehead. He sat up abruptly and groaned so loudly you woke up as well. You reached for the light and turned it on. “What’s wrong?”  you asked.

“Fuck, there a leak,” he said drying his forehead.

“Over your bed?” you asked even though you knew the answer.

“Yes...” John groaned into his hands. “I’ll go sleep on the floor,” he whispered dragging himself with his pillow to the floor. You turned off the lights and laid back down, your eyes wandered to John on the floor and you bit your lip. He kept moving around and it did not look comfortable. 

“Fine! You can come in the bed...but don't touch me.” you sighed

“What?” John asked sitting up.

“Just don’t touch me,” you repeated. John didn’t reply, instead, he got up and slipped under your covers. You had moved so you were touching the wall but you still felt his back against yours. Without causing too much hassle, you attempted to get comfortable but there was no use. The cold was starting to fill the room even with the crappy heater on. You shivered and cuddled yourself.

“It’s kind of cold...” John said, you didn’t know he was still awake.

“Yeah...” you replied quietly. 

“We could... try cuddling...”  you eyes widened at his suggestion. “For warmth, of course,” he added when you didn’t respond.

“Sure. For cuddling,” you confirmed. John rolled over, his arm hesitantly going around your waist. You flinched at his touch, your body going tense. 

“Relax love.” you obliged, your heart fluttered at the nickname he gave you. Why were you acting like this? It was just John... 

Your muscles relaxed and you fell back onto his chest. You both sighed happily at the new warmth. John pulled you close and you instantly felt warmer. He snuggled his forehead onto your shoulder and wrapped his legs around yours. You bit your lower lip and tried to gain the confidence to say what had to say. “I’m sorry.” you finally managed.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry John,” you repeated.

“For what?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“For hating you- for not liking you when I didn’t even know you or had given you a chance.” you felt him smile against your shoulder.

“That’s okay, I’m not good around pretty girls I like,” he replied, your eyes broadened, a kaleidoscope of butterflies was flying around your stomach and heart.

“I- I-” you stuttered completely speechless. John’s smile against your shoulder grew even more.

“Would you want to go with me sometime? Get to know each other...” 

“Yes,” you whispered. You rolled around and looked up to him, he had a grin on his face. Slowly you reached for his lips, he lowered his head closing the space between you two and kissing you. “Yes, I would love that.” you echoed once you pulled away. He kissed your forehead and tucked you into his chest. John’s arms went around your back pulling you close.

You should’ve given him a chance long ago...

tag list;

@thebeatleswritings​  @beatlevmania​  @i-love-queen-3000​  @brians-metaphor26​ @honimello​  @julessworldd​  @storiesfrommirkwood​  @beatles-babee​ @geostarr​ @thiccjelly17​  @crab-king-69​  @in-the-frap-of-the-gods​  @psychosupernatural​ @fiesta-freddie​ 

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through XIII

Chapter: 13/16

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The first surface they fell onto was the sofa, Ringo had somehow managed to guide the both of them over without either of them tripping over anything. Ringo's hands were roaming all over George's body, running up and down his back or gripping at his shoulder while George settled his own in Ringo's now very messy hair. It felt liberating to finally be able to touch him like this, with no barriers and no audience.

Had George come over here knowing Ringo was going to fuck him? He couldn't quite make his mind up, because that's certainly what was going to happen but did George know? Without a doubt he knew the effect he had on Ringo, but it was only now that Ringo was starting to consider the effect he might've been having on George all this time. This wasn't just the one-sided thing that he'd always thought it to be, and that was very evident from the way George desperately pressed his lips against Ringo's. It all felt completely surreal, like he was going to wake up in a few minutes to find it'd been a dream all along.

At some point tongues had got involved, Ringo wasn't exactly sure when. He could really taste George now, not perhaps as much as he was planning to, and it made him hungry for more. They barely gave one another time to breathe, never pulling away for too long.

It was already fairly warm in the flat before any of this had started, but now the heat was becoming unbearable and both of them were wriggling against the uncomfortable material of the sofa. Ringo had George on his lap, not a particularly new experience by any means, his hands resting on George's slender hips which hovered over his own. Their breaths rapidly turned into quiet moans; Ringo couldn't remember a time he got this aroused just from kissing since he was a teenager.

Ringo experimentally pushed his hand under George's shirt, he wasn't quite sure when his coat had been discarded but it evidently had been, brushing his thumb against the flatness of George's stomach. It was apparently all the encouragement George had needed, he broke the kiss hastily to pull his top off over his head to reveal the nakedness beneath.

"You gonna charge me for this?" Ringo asked with a satisfied smile.

"I'll put it on your tab." George punctuated his sentence with another kiss, deeper this time with his tongue pressing into Ringo's mouth immediately.

He'd seen George shirtless countless times but now he could finally touch him, allowing his fingers to trace over the lines of bone and muscle across his chest and back. George would inhale sharply whenever Ringo's cold rings rubbed against his skin, but would then moan right afterwards. George then began to unbutton Ringo's shirt, his deft fingers making quick work of it without even needing to break the kiss.

Ringo moved one of his hands to the small of George's back and the other up to his neck, then he rolled them over so that George was lying flat across the sofa and Ringo towered above him. It caused a glimmer in George's eyes which encouraged him to continue, which Ringo certainly intended to do. He captured George's mouth in another kiss, only lips with no tongue, as he began removing George's trousers as smoothly as he could. The angle was a little awkward and it led George to let out a muffled chuckle against Ringo's mouth.

"Don't waste any time, do you?" George asked sarcastically, he was leaning up on his elbows.

"Are you gonna make smart comments the whole time?" Ringo retorted with a playfully stern look.

"Guess you'll just have to shut me up." George purred, raising his chin up a little.

Ringo wasn't to waste taking George up on that offer, he lifted him up from the sofa with ease and began carrying them over to his bedroom. George let out a surprised yelp when he got picked up so easily, but it quickly transformed into an excited giggle as he laced his hands together around Ringo's neck. Ringo had to back up against his bedroom door to swing it open, it wasn't the most graceful chain of events but he managed to get George over to his bed without dropping him. He could've gently lowered George down onto the bed, but where was the fun in that? Ringo almost threw him onto the mattress, making him bounce slightly as he landed, then pounced on top of him seconds later.

"Aren't you a big, strong man?" George grinned at him, running a single finger down the muscles on Ringo's arm.

"I bet you say that to all your drum teachers." Ringo smiled back at him, he would've been happy just to look at George all day.

"Time to teach me a lesson." George winked cheesily, raising his hips up slightly from the bed, and Ringo let out a playful groan.

Ringo returned to the task at hand, pulling George's trousers down and discarding them to merge with the rest of the room's mess - Ringo really wished he'd cleaned in here earlier today but if he had known George was going to show up at his door there's probably a lot of things he would've done to prepare. Ringo didn't expect any more surprises today, but George was living up to his reputation of forever catching Ringo off guard as his choice of underwear was suddenly revealed: he wore a deep purple, lacy piece of fabric which Ringo could tell was a thong from the lack of fabric covering anything but his cock. He let out a mixture of a scoff and a gasp when he laid eyes on it, George merely lay there with a smug expression on his face.

"Those can't be comfortable." Ringo commented, running his finger along the thin bands of fabric but never getting too close to his crotch.

"Better take them off then." George responded almost immediately, Ringo wondered whether he just had a repertoire of lusty remarks in his mind.

"Seems a waste to get rid of them so quickly." Ringo dipped his finger under the strap "You clearly wore them for a reason."

"Suppose I'll have to keep them on then." George sighed, shifting his weight so that he could move his hands down to where Ringo's was still diddling with the material.

George ran his finger over Ringo's knuckles slowly, tracing the outside of each ring individually. It felt like the most personal touch they'd ever shared, and Ringo thought it was a little silly that his mind was focused on this small gesture rather than the fact he was currently playing with George's thong. The sexuality of it all didn't scare him at all, it excited him more than anything, but it was the sensuality that was a little frightening. George had always been sexy, Ringo had realised that immediately, but for him to be gentle or even warm, that was new.

"Don't see a reason for you to be so overdressed, though." George's voice had gotten softer.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was wearing the exact same thing?" Ringo let out a weak laugh.

"They say seeing is believing." George raised an eyebrow and the same smirk began spreading across his lips.

Ringo shuffled up onto his knees so that he could begin unbuckling the belt of his jeans but before he could even get his hands on the buckle, George had caught his wrists.

"Allow me." George spoke in a gruff voice, his eyes were getting darker.

Ringo didn't think he'd ever submitted before so quickly in his life, allowing his hands to rest at his side as George set to work. It was like watching an artist whenever George used his fingers, all slender and itching to get a hold of something. This was a sight Ringo never thought he'd see, George stretched out below him while he eagerly undid his jeans, tongue darting out to wet his lips in preperation for what was to come. As soon as George quickly looked upwards through his dark eyelashes, Ringo knew he wasn't going to last very long, as much as he wanted to.

Throughout all this Ringo was already half-hard, it'd been painfully pressing against the hard denim of his trousers but it only made him more excited for when the relief would come. George's grin widened as he pulled Ringo's jeans down past his hips, he didn't even give Ringo a moment to shed them off entirely to get comfortable, his hand and mouth were immediately drawn to the outline of Ringo's cock in his boxers. Ringo was a little embarrassed at the low groan he let out at the sudden contact, but it only seemed to urge George on further. He ran his tongue over the head almost desperately, his fingers cupping Ringo's balls through the fabric. For a moment Ringo questioned whether George might've been filming porn on the side for extra cash, because the way he looked was utterly sinful.

"Fuck..." Ringo breathed out as he ran his fingers through George's wavy hair, pulling a hum from the taller man.

That seemed to be what George was waiting for, encouragement to go further, because like a bolt of electricity was shooting through him he moved again, pulling Ringo's boxers down a little awkwardly to where his jeans were pooled above his knees, freeing the now almost fully hard cock. George licked his lips again and Ringo couldn't tell whether it was a subconscious thing, or whether he just wanted to send Ringo even further into oblivion.

If this was some sort of twisted dream, he would've had to wake up now before anything too satisfying happened, but thankfully nothing vanished. George used his mouth before he used his hands, pressing his face up against Ringo's length as though he wanted to breathe in the smell of him before proceeding. It was strange to see George like this, almost worshipping Ringo in the way Ringo had been doing to him for so long, but it was definitely something he could get used to.

Ringo couldn't help thrusting into the warmth of George's mouth, even if it was just a little. The realisation that this was the first time he'd had sex in over a year definitely didn't escape him, it was almost impossible to ignore with the tightening in his stomach that was already beginning. He didn't want this to be so over so soon, but he also didn't know if he'd able to go for two rounds and it wasn't a risk he particularly wanted to take. George wasn't making it any easier on him, swirling his tongue as he bobbed his head down almost the entirety of his erection. It turned out that George hadn't been entirely truthful in their messages, because he seemed entirely sure that he'd be able to take all of Ringo in his mouth and he demonstrated that with ease. The feeling of being completely swallowed was something Ringo had never experienced, no man he'd ever been with before had been able to manage it, and he was beyond thankful that George had been the first one to do it.

George began to gag on Ringo's cock fairly quickly, but that didn't deter him, he looked up at Ringo once more and raised his eyebrows as though this was completely natural to him, which Ringo was starting to believe it was. Ringo wasn't quite sure if this was what George had been expecting, but he'd curse himself if he didn't at least try, as he began pulling his hips backwards carefully then thrusting forwards just as gently. It seemed to be the right decision, because George let out a guttural moan that vibrated throughout Ringo's aching cock.

It didn't take long to build up a more brutal pace, each time Ringo sped up he worried that George would pull away spluttering and wrecked, but he never did. George took it with a ridiculous amount of ease, his eyes watering copiously and his mouth so filled with saliva and pre-cum that it was beginning to drip down onto the bed. There was no way he'd be able to keep this up for long, his thrusts had begun to stutter and his eyes kept closing unintentionally.

"Shit... I'm-I'm close, George." Ringo breathed, he made sure to make use of his name just because he loved to say it "I don't- Ah! I don't wanna cum just yet."

George managed somewhat of a whine, if his mouth wasn't currently so preoccupied Ringo was sure he would've pouted. As much as Ringo would've loved to cum down his throat at that very moment, there's no way he'd forgive himself if it cost him actually being able to fuck George. For a moment Ringo worried that George wasn't going to pull away, he began bobbing his head for a few seconds before moving off entirely. Now he allowed himself to cough, a long string of saliva elongated from his lip to Ringo's crotch, that sight alone was almost enough to finish Ringo. Even with such signs of stress on his face, George still managed to look beautiful, even if it was a more ragged and erotic kind of beauty.

Even more enticing than his face in that moment was the roughness of his voice "Don't faff about trying to prep me or anything, just fuck me."

Part of Ringo wanted to protest, as much as he didn't want to waste any more time he didn't want to hurt him in any way, but it was all part of the realisation that George wanted Ringo to hurt him. Ringo had a reputation for being quite caring in bed, so to ignore his instincts in that moment was very difficult indeed but he felt it would've been impossible to argue with the firmness of George's demand. Ringo managed to regain enough composure to get himself fully undressed, throwing his jeans and boxers carelessly into a corner of the room.

George lay there watching Ringo intensely, he'd never seen his eyes so dark before. Ringo began to move himself between George's thighs but just as before, he was stopped. George placed his foot against Ringo's chest - when had they taken their shoes off? Ringo couldn't remember - and gently pushed him down onto his back which Ringo allowed without any fuss.

"I meant what I said too." George began as he lifted himself onto his knees so that he was hovering over Ringo's crotch "I wanna ride you, feel that big cock sliding in and out of my ass."

Ringo's head fell backwards onto the sheets, reading those words had been arousing enough but to hear them actually coming from George's lips was diabolical. George wasted no time in proving his dedication to his word, sliding the piece of fabric between his two cheeks to the side so that he could line Ringo's cock up with his entrance. Was he really going to do this dry and unstretched? Ringo couldn't imagine anything more painful, but that seemed more like motivation to George than any kind of deterrent. Unsurprisingly George was immensely tight, Ringo panicked for a moment as he felt there was no way it was going in, but eventually the head slid past the ring of muscle and both of them let out a loud moan.

"George..." Was all Ringo could manage to say, he gripped his hip lightly and rubbed over the bone soothingly.

Whatever Ringo's mind had been able to conjure up whenever he'd fantasise about this exact moment was nothing compared to the reality: George was tighter than he ever could've imagined, with every inch he pressed inside himself came more desperate moans from the two of them. George's eyes began watering again, Ringo felt like stopping the whole thing entirely because he looked so in pain but his hooded eyes and languish moans prevented him from doing so.

When George finally bottomed out, Ringo already felt exhausted and he'd barely done a thing. George's cock was leaking eagerly, spilling out onto Ringo's stomach. Ringo was sure to fight the urge to thrust upwards, he had to be stronger than he'd been before because he risked seriously hurting George now.

"If I'd have known you were this big, I would've fucked you sooner." George was still catching his breath, hair was beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat.

Ringo could hardly think of anything to say in response, and he didn't think George was even looking for one because he immediately began lifting himself upwards again. It didn't take him long at all to adjust to Ringo's size, soon enough he was riding it like it wasn't a problem. Ringo wasn't sure what he wanted to focus on more, the way his cock disappeared into George over and over again with such a fast rhythm, or how George looked as he slowly but surely unravelled. His eyes were closed and his mouth hanging open, rough moans pouring from his parted lips. Ringo wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked, how he'd cherish the image of this forever, but he could hardly even keep his head up.

How George was able to do all this while still confined in that tiny thong was a mystery to Ringo, but he wasn't about to allow it to get in the way of George getting any relief. Ringo didn't want to announce how close he was just yet, instead he focused on getting George close too; he pulled down the fabric sloppily, revealing George's aching erection which was desperate for any contact at all. Ringo wrapped his hand around George's cock, forcing a low groan from him as the cold metal contrasted the heat of his skin. Ringo managed to time his hand with George's riding, both of them were getting a little rough by this point.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon." George moaned, and Ringo was relieved that he hadn't been the first to say it.

"Me too." Ringo managed to breath out.

George's eyes had been closed almost the entire time, Ringo didn't think it was entirely intentional but as soon as they locked eyes again he felt liked he'd been cheated out of something, if George had been looking at him like this from the moment he'd started riding him Ringo didn't think he'd last much longer than a minute. Ringo made sure to keep the eye contact as he began to thrust up his hips shallowly, he could tell George's legs were getting tired by this point. George's moans evolved into gasps and even into quiet, repetitive curses. Ringo didn't feel capable of making much noise at all, he was mostly just breathing heavily.

Ringo felt George begin to tighten around him, how he was able to get even tighter Ringo didn't know, and it was a clear sign that he was nearing the edge. Ringo tightened his grip on George's hip and began thrusting more aggressively while speeding up the movements of his hand. The closer George got, the tighter he became, and so the closer Ringo got too. George let out a series of almost shrieks, his eyes widening then fluttering shut as he called out to warn Ringo. The feeling of George clamping around his cock like that, spilling cum out onto his bare stomach, was more than enough to set Ringo's orgasm off.

Ringo knew he'd never forget the sight of George like that, his face in pure bliss, and he couldn't help but feel sad when George lifted himself off and rolled down to lay beside him. Both of them were panting intensely, Ringo felt just as he did when he'd lost his virginity, only that hadn't been so extreme. George began to smile as he watched Ringo coming to terms with what had just happened, he'd been so busy giving into the moment that he hadn't really considered what the moment was. What did this mean? Did it mean anything at all? George no doubt didn't like the look of worry that was beginning to spread against Ringo's face, so he spoke to break the relative silence.

"Please tell me you have a working shower." His voice was still wrecked.

"I'm not sure if that's a judgement on me or the people you've previously slept with." Ringo chuckled.

"I'll let you know which when you give me an answer." George began to sit up.

"Yes, I have a working shower. I also have a microwave and WiFi, would you like to see the brochure?" Ringo teased, making George laugh.

"Are you always this jokey after sex?" George slowly slid off the bed, he was careful to not make too many sudden movements.

"Suppose you'll have to find out." Ringo answered, he couldn't really move at all with the pool of cum on his stomach.

"Suppose I might." George's voice trailed off as he headed into the bathroom.

In that moment Ringo wished more than ever that he could've detected when George was being serious or not. He really didn't want this to be a fluke, that'd be far more painful than it never happening at all. All he could do was wait and see, the waiting part he'd had sorted for a while now, but actually seeing any real developments was something he'd have to get used to, something he very much planned on doing.

[sgt-revolver]

ULTIMATE Beatlemaniac Tag!

I was tagged by @ourladylennon and @johns-prince to complete this questionnaire. Thanks for the tags, I honestly really enjoyed answering these questions.

How long have you been a fan?: I’ve been a fan for as long as I can remember. I always loved hearing their music on the radio and my music teacher was a fan, so he’d regularly play their music in his lessons and on one occasion I saw like the first 30 minutes of A Hard Day’s Night. I think I only got as far as the scene with John in the bath before he turned it off. But it’s only been during the last 2 and a half years that I’ve listened to them more often, and I’ve finally listened to all the albums all the way through. Now I’m a huge fan and can’t live without their music.

Favorite Beatle: John. It’s always been John for me, even back when I was a kid he was my favourite.

Favorite era for music: I’ll always have a soft spot for their early-mid era music, around 64-66 is my absolute favourite.

Favorite era for lewks: Teddy boy and the whole of 1966 for me. They simply looked so fucking cool around those two eras. The teddy boy era was just hot with all the leather they wore and how they tried to make themselves look ‘tough’, and during 1966 that entire year seemed to be a huge transitional period which mixed with their earlier career and how they looked later on.

Favorite song: This changes, and I do not have only one favourite song. I’ll always love Strawberry Fields Forever, it is always up there as one of my favourites. Same with I am the Walrus. I also love If I Fell, Nowhere Man, In My Life, I’m Only Sleeping and Something. There’s more but this answer will be too long if I keep going.

Favorite album: Revolver, no question. My username is based off it too.

Unpopular/Controversial Beatles opinion: Not necessarily unpopular but I really don’t like Yoko Ono as a person. I wish she didn’t try to make herself part of the band, it’s actually really infuriating. I don’t like to talk about this sort of thing so I’ll leave it at that.

A song everyone loves but you dislike: Ok I don’t necessarily dislike these songs, but I think Hey Jude and Let it Be are overrated.

A song everyone dislikes but you love: Run for your Life, Blue Jay Way and Revolution 9. I’m not really sure why Blue Jay Way isn’t well liked its underrated imo.

Your fantasy involving The Beatles: Seeing them live in concert, before they become big and go to America, preferably in Hamburg or at the Cavern Club. It must have been amazing to be able to be where they started out before Beatlemania, the atmosphere omg yes please. After the show I’d try to do anything I can to meet them, but I suspect I’d end up being so starstruck it would be painfully awkward, but it would be so worth it.

Tell us about the moment you knew you were a fan: There is no one moment I knew I was a fan, but I guess I realised I was a big fan when I listened to their albums all the way through, and I enjoyed them. There’s also the time when I watched the Eight Days a Week documentary and I couldn’t help but love them so much.

Did you ever have a genuine ‘The Beatles suck!’ phase before becoming a fan?: Nearly. This was after I became a fan but a long time ago, I kept hearing constantly how they’re not that good from people I know irl and it almost got ingrained in me for no reason at all. I’m glad I didn’t have that phase, otherwise I would be beating myself up for it now.

Favorite Beatles book: I haven’t read any yet, but I really want to and I’m not sure where to buy any (I’m a bit iffy about buying off Amazon)

Thoughts on the old generation of fans: They can be a bit full of themselves, but I like hearing their stories and their preferences on their favourite albums. Most of the older generation of fans I personally know seem to love John and hate Paul, so I automatically think they’re all the same but I know that’s not true.

If Hollywood were to make a high budget Beatles biopic, what is one thing you desperately hope they include?: I’m personally unsure if I want a Beatles biopic as I know they’ll mess everything up but I want them to include the strong bonds formed with each other and that they never actually hated each other.

Do you read/write fanfic?: I read a lot of fanfic, but I’m not confident with my writing ability so I don’t write anything. Yet.

Are you the only one in your family/friend group to enjoy them?: Both my mum and my dad claim to be fans. My step dad loves them though, yet every time I bring it up with him when he mentions them he ignores me completely, and its painful. My friends either think they’re overrated (they’ve probably only listened to Hey Jude, All you need is love and Yesterday) or they just don’t care/don’t know who they are. And if anyone I know is interested in them, they just mansplain everything to me so I can’t really enjoy listening to them or talking about them with others irl.

Are you a shipper?: Yeah I am.

Favorite movie starring/made by them?: A Hard Day’s Night.

Do you believe in McLennon?: I believe they were soulmates, definitely.

General opinions on McLennon?: They loved each other, there is no doubt about it. The signs are obvious, like the eye fucking, how they were literally inseparable for years and their LSD trip they had together. I do think it was mostly platonic though, and that any romantic attraction was one sided from John. I think Paul was oblivious to some of John’s feelings for him during the 1960s and that upset him.

If you got to change ONE thing about their history, what would it be and why?: The break up, they hurt each other’s feelings so much from all the suing and fighting they were miserable. I would make sure they ended things more amicably and I’d make sure Allen Klein does not get a look in at all during 1969. Seeing Paul get hurt like that is awful.

What song has the best vocals?: This is a real hard one to answer, but I’d say Twist and Shout, Helter Skelter and Norwegian Wood.

What song do you feel had no effort put into it?: Wild Honey Pie.

What is a well talked about moment in Beatles history you genuinely believe to be false?: Yoko wasn’t fully responsible for the break up the Beatles. I believe it was everyone’s fault to some extent, some more so than others. I think John caused the most damage to the band as a result of him putting in nearly no effort and having Yoko on his shoulder every day. Ringo quitting for two weeks is when I believe things were really starting to fall apart, and they never really recovered from that.

What is something you KNOW to be true, but often gets erased in their history?: John was bisexual, he’s pretty much admitted it as well. It gets dismissed constantly though. All of the Beatles were nice, amicable men who had their flaws and did what they can to become better people. None of them were gods, and none of them were inherently terrible people. John and Yoko’s relationship was toxic and incredibly unhealthy. They weren’t as happy together as the books and the Lennon estate make them out to be.

Least favorite look from a Beatle(s): John’s Sgt Pepper moustache. It just didn’t suit him, but then there was his beard from 1969. The beard looked disgusting and way too messy. I don’t think he made any attempt to keep it clean and that he just didn’t give a fuck about it, he just left it there to get worse and worse each passing day.

Favorite look from a Beatle(s): Shea Stadium, on all of them. But when John’s sweaty and his hair is a mess, he just looks fantastic. I also love the suits all four of them wore in Cincinnati in 1966.

I’ll tag @princessleiaqueen @theliverpoolsoldier @underwallsandbridges and @latinxbeatles and anyone else who wants to do it. Don’t feel like you have to do this, but I love reading everyone’s answers :)

[sgt-paul]

Why in the tags of the anon about Paul and Jane’s relationship (which I agree with) do you then say in your tags the “uwu depression beard” is similarly misinterpreted? Paul himself said one of the reason he grew the beard was as a result of the insecurity and hopelessness he felt, stating he felt on the brink of a break down; drinking constantly and wanting to stay in bed. I can see that you want distance yourself from certain interpretations, but why deny that Paul suffered from depression?

(first of all, i’m sorry that it took me literally like a month to answer these!!i hope the two of you will see this post!)

i 100% want to distance myself from certain interpretations but i genuinely don’t know where did you get denial from that tag :D i probably should have used quotation marks better and i understand that i could have also elaborated on it, but i didn’t feel like flooding my tags with a needless rant + i didn’t expect anyone to actually read my tags properly and/or interpret them something like this. 

i’m aware of what he has said about this period, and i am far from being in denial about accepting that, and what he went through. i definitely think his post-break up period, his retreat to his farm, his tumultuous feelings, his depression and drinking problems etc have to be talked about, because i obviously think this was an extremely interesting, important and formative era of his life and i really value that he has openly (as openly as he could) talked about it multiple times.

(although i also think that his emphasis on it sometimes can come from the fact that in so many ways he was painted as the person who broke the band up. he was accused of being a soulless JR basically, essentially delivering the message that all he could care about was fame, money and success, and that the band has meant nothing to him. this could easily contribute to him wanting to correct the picture and he does this by stressing how emotional he felt during this period and that the band was important to him etc. it doesn’t take anything away from his feelings of course. just you know… context)

but… i still think that this period - which probably lasted a few months(?) in late 1969 and then some in mid 1970(?) (not to lower its significance) - gets so often confused with the previous and following years, and some people extend his depression to the get back sessions, or even to late 68 when the beard first appeared, and all the way to mid-71 until he ultimately shaved it off, which is quite misleading. we end up with paul being full on depressed for about 3 years, and that would be far from the truth. like, the era he was talking about, the one he had actually described as his worst, did not start until late 69, after the wrap up of abbey road. for instance, at the end of december he had already started working on mccartney (according to paul the album he had enjoyed recording the most), the sessions of which lasted ~4 months, so his description of the depressed phase can’t truly apply to this period either. or to photos from portugal 68, the get back sessions, the ram sessions etc.

another thing that’s sort of misleading, is that in some circles this “moping and pining” is getting traced back to only john (with the questionable popular theory that john “dumped” him) while all other contributing factors are ignored, (the shit at apple with klein, whom he had nightmares about, and the business problems he had had enough of; falling out with his best friends; his general love for the band and the concept of a band; his love and need for working and creating and the sudden loss of his workspace and therefore the feeling of uselessness which was especially hard on him… his general frustration anger and hurt in connection with the whole situation; growing up; being a solo act etc) which also helps to create an extremely inaccurate picture.

the emphasis was on the “uwu” part though lol, which was meant to imply that some people are basically obsessed with the idea of paul being depressed and sad, to a degree which i find ridiculous, and that some are aggressively clinging to paul’s depression because it’s another m*lennon proof for them. i really don’t wish to get into the almost fetishistic portrayals of his depression and/or draw comparisons between how his depression and john’s is presented, again, in a few circles, because i would love to save my energy for other things.

i’ve never seen him say he didn’t like the look of the beard and i personally doubt he would have done an entire movie with it and gone on for years sporting one on-and-off, if he had truly hated it. (although of course there is a difference between the “normal” beard, and the unkempt one which was a result of not caring, but, that’s like the whole point of this rant lol) the quote i can think of about the one he grew out during his depressed phase is about how the “motivation” behind that beard wasn’t to be groovy, he just couldn’t be bothered to shave at the time. but he has also talked about how he thought it was actually natural to have one and shaving was weird, and the joy he got out of not being recognized with it etc. (x) so as always, this topic is much more layered, and it’s clear that we’re talking about different situations and different motives. 

i’m definitely not saying he couldn’t have had low points before the break up, or after his main depressed phase passed, but i think there’s a difference between those and the state he had referred to (not getting up, heavy signs of alcoholism etc), so i would definitely not swipe it all under the “oh that’s The Depression™:)” umbrella as some people tend to do on here. 

i am not questioning his depression, his feelings, or that there could have been insecurity behind his decision of growing a beard and how it shows he did not have the energy to care. however i would think being thorough is something that this discussion and some parts of the fandom are missing, and it’s causing his depression and general state between 1969 and 1971 to be quite misinterpreted and misrepresented. i guess for me it’s just fucked up to see a photo of bearded paul and run into “oh he’s so depressed, that’s him being depressed:((((, depressed paul, dEpRessIo-” comments all the time, when the picture in question has nothing to do with the state paul himself had referred to. but i mean, everyone can interpret it however they want to and i probably sound like a idiot whining about it in such a long post lmao, but i felt like i had to clear it up for you guys. (it was just an inner joke with myself yo:/)

[nowandthenoldfriend]

john lennon on let it be - lennon remembers

So what happened with ‘Let It Be’?

Well, it was another one like Magical Mystery Tour that...[sigh] well, sort of- this is- it’s hard to say. In a nutshell, Paul wanted to make- it was time for another Beatle movie or something, and Paul wanted us to go on the road or something. As usual, George and I were going, “Oh, we don’t want to do it, fuck,” and all that. I would just tag along and I had Yoko by then, I didn’t even give a shit about anything. I was stoned all the time, too, on [heroin], etc. And I just didn’t give a shit. And nobody did, you know. Anyway, it’s like in the movie when I go to do “Across the Universe,” Paul yawns and plays boogie, and I merely say, “Oh, anybody want to do a fast one?” That’s how I am. Year after year, that begins to wear you down.

How long did those sessions last?

Oh fuckin’ - God knows how long. Paul had this idea that we were going to rehearse or...see it all was more like Simon and Garfunkel [laugh], like looking for perfection all the time. And so he has these ideas that we’ll rehearse and then make the album. And of course we’re lazy fuckers and we’ve been playing for twenty years, for fuck’s sake, we’re grown men, we’re not going to sit around rehearsing. I’m not, anyway. And we couldn’t get into it. And we put down a few tracks and nobody was in it at all. It was a dreadful, dreadful feeling in Twickenham Studio, and being filmed all the time. I just wanted them to go away, and we’d be there, eight in the morning. You couldn’t make music at eight in the morning or ten or whatever it was, in a strange place with people filming you and colored lights.

How did it end?

So the tape ended up like the bootleg version. We let Glyn Jones remix it and we didn’t want to know, we just left it to him and said, “Here, do it.” It’s the first time since the first album we didn’t have anything to...we just saidm “Do it.” Glyn Jones did it, none of us could be bothered going in and Paul...nobody called anybody about it. The tapes were left there, and we got an acetate each, and we’d call each other and say, “Well, what do you think. Oh, let it out.” We were going to let it out with a really shitty condition, disgusted. And I wanted... I didn’t care, I thought it was good to go out to show people what happened to us. Like this is where we’re at now, we couldn’t get - we can’t get it together and don’t play together anymore. Leave us alone [laugh]. Glyn Jones did a terrible job on it, cause he’s got no idea, etc. Never mind. But he hasn’t, really. And so the bootleg version is what it was like. Paul was probably thinkingm “Well, I’m not going to fucking work on it.” It was twenty-nine hours of tape, it was like a movie. I mean just so much tape. Ten, twenty takes of everything, because we’re rehearsing and taking everything. Nobody could face looking at it.

So when Spector came around, it was like, “Well alright, if you want to work with us [laugh], go and do your audition, man.” And he worked like a pig on it. He’d always wanted to work with the Beatles and he was given the shittiest load of badly recorded shit - and with a lousy feeling to it - ever. And he made something out of it. It wasn’t fantastic, but I heard it, and I didn’t puke. So I was relieved after six months of this black cloud hanging over, that this was going to go out. I thought it would be good to go out, the shitty version, because it would break the Beatles, it would break the myth. That’s us with no trousers on and no glossy paint over the cover and no sort of hype. “This is what we’re like with our trousers off. So would you please end the game now?” But that didn’t happen, and we ended up doing Abbey Road quickly and putting out something slick to preserve the myth.

[idasessions]

Famous Muses & Groupies in Rock Music Pt. 38

MUSE: Phyllis Nesmith (born Phyllis Anne Barbour)

Back by popular minor demand, I am reviving this series! So sit back and enjoy some more chaotic classic rock gossip. Phyllis was born on July 30th, 1946 in Long Island City, NY and spent most of her upbringing on US military bases in Europe where her dad was an educator. In her private life, Phyllis practiced Christian Science, as did her first husband Michael Nesmith—whom she met while they were both attending San Antonio College of Texas in March 1963, when Phyllis was 16 and Mike was 20. A year later they married on June 27th, 1964 when Phyllis discovered she was pregnant. Their first son Christian was born on January 31st, 1965 about a year after the couple moved to Los Angeles, CA to expand Mike’s aspirations of a music career. Only 10 months later Mike was cast on the show-turned-real band “The Monkees” (1966-68) where he was both an actor and musician on the affiliated records. When the show/band first got famous, Mike was known as the ‘married Monkee’ because he was originally the only bandmate with a wife and child. Like most pop/rock couples in the 1960s, Mike and Phyllis were regularly photographed and profiled in teeny bopper magazines as a cute celeb couple. She also sang back-up on the track ‘Auntie’s Municipal Court’ from the 1968 LP ‘The Birds, the Bees and the Monkees;’ attended both the taping of the (godawful) TV special 33 1/3 Revolutions per Monkee (1969) and the movie premiere of Head (1968); and traveled with the band for the parts of their 1967 US/UK tour.

Because of the Monkees’ TV shoots, tours and recording sessions, Phyllis spent a lot of time at her and Mike’s Hollywood Hills home raising Christian on her own as a housewife. If you’re starting to get déjà vu and feel like this sounds familiar, it’s because this is basically the Texan version of the John & Cynthia Lennon story. College sweethearts, unplanned pregnancy, shotgun wedding, both Cynthia and Phyllis became blondes as rock wives, family life at the helm of Beatlemania/Monkeemania, etc. And as we all know, John and Mike were friends for 15 minutes in 1967 while the Beatles’ ‘Sgt. Pepper’s’ and the Monkees’ ‘Headquarters’ were being composed. Mike and Phyllis even spent a week staying at the Lennons’ estate when they visited London for the first time. In Cynthia’s 2005 memoir John, she complains about how Phyllis would give passive-aggressive suggestions on her cooking (lol). Mike was famously at the epic recording/filming of the ‘Sgt. Pepper’ track ‘A Day in the Life,’ with Phyllis tagging along on the side with fellow rock SOs Cynthia, Pattie Boyd and Marianne Faithfull.

Just like John, Mike was the smart-ass of his band with a dry sense of humor and also shamelessly cheating on his wife. But he took it an extra step by knocking up another woman while married. In 1967, Mike and Czech-Israeli groupie photographer/band friend Nurit Wilde had a sporadic affair for the next couple of years. But about the time they met, Phyllis became pregnant with their second son. So on February 4th, 1968, Mike & Phyllis’ son Jonathan was born, and only seven months later, Mike & Nurit’s son Jason was born on August 7th, 1968. Oh, and this was all the same year Phyllis experienced a near-fatal car crash….what the FUCK. Mike’s lucky his public image wasn’t completely tarnished like what happened to Billy Crudup in 2004. Then again, I don’t think most people outside of the band’s circle even knew about Jason’s existence until the 1980s. But…still….jrhrgnfdgf. Mike ended up choosing Phyllis in the end (and ultimately becoming a deadbeat dad to Jason until he was 5 years old). They even had a third child, daughter Jessica, on September 10th, 1970. Things officially came to an end in 1972 when Mike and Phyllis separated and finally divorced in March 1975. The final straw was, you guessed it! More cheating. This time with Mike’s future second wife Kathryn Bild (what a gd mess). Miraculously, Mike now has great relationships with all of his kids (including Jason), making him the luckiest SOB alive. In his 2017 memoir Infinite Tuesday, he blames himself for all of the messed up drama he caused. His song ‘Nine Times Blue’ is supposedly for Phyllis.

But now back to the lady of topic. After experiencing one of the worst marriages of all time, Phyllis went into politics in the late 1970s, and became a professional aide to senators like John Tunney and Alan Cranston. By 1990, she switched over to business and ran her own communications company with Winner & Associates. Showing she’s super awesome and too good for Mike, lbr. [Still love you, boo.] Ironically, Mike’s mom was also a very successful businesswoman. Phyllis also married again in the late ‘80s to a man named Bill Gibson until her premature death in 2010 at age 63 of ALS. (Five years before Cynthia would die of her own serious health issues too.) She’s survived by Christian, Jonathan and Jessica. What’s weird/interesting is that none of Mike & Phyllis’ kids have children of their own (kind of like how both of John’s kids are childless too.) I wasn’t planning on making so many Lennon-Nesmith comparisons with this entry, but the parallels are like…strikingly similar.

Fun fact: Christian used to ‘play’ Jimmy Page in the famous Led Zeppelin tribute band Led Zepagain. The son of my fave Monkee cosplaying as my fave LZ member, wowowowie.

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 14)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: I'm sorry.

Words: 3800ish

---

ACT TWO - NIGHT

“Everything is more intense at night.”

Chapter 14

It was already summer, a month and a half later, when Roger woke up with Ticket To Ride, by The Beatles, in his head. Y/N was all settled to move to New York in the next afternoon, the last month being a nightmare of packing and getting her parents to prepare her room; Rog and you barely saw each other, between Roger wrapping up the album with the band and you moving her things out.

You didn't pack everything. Your crystals, from your hippier phase, were all around the house, along with your essential oils and incenses. It made Roger sad to see that he missed the part where you gave up on caring so much about these things - he didn't even knew what you were into now.

Whenever he was home, you was out, working with the researcher and meeting with your new bosses. You never took him to meet them, and he tried not to be bothered, but he was.

He knew he had no right to be mad; he also stopped taking you to Queen promotions. Poppy was in each and every one of their meetings and interviews, intoxicating him with her french perfume, blinding him with her diamonds - she always had them on her, rings, bracelets, necklaces.

She would always find a way to touch him, her long nails and cold hands contrasting with your short and warm ones. She was the complete opposite of what you were right now. She still had mystique - something a long relationship took from both you and Roger. But he always told himself that yeah, maybe he was physically attracted to someone else, but that's okay - he was in a relationship, not dead! - as long as he didn't do anything about it. He wouldn't cheat on you again.

He kept a mental list of all the opportunities he had to flirt with Poppy and didn't; it was a defensive mechanism, almost as if he was already in a fight with you, trying to argue that he changed, he didn't cheat. His guilt was already flowing through his body, pumping along the blood through his veins.

He couldn't cope with the idea of you and Poppy in the same room. You were almost like two sides of him: Rog and Roger Taylor, boyfriend and rockstar - and one time he thought, and then censored himself - past and future. The two of you couldn't coexist.

The rest of the band noticed that Y/N was absent. When Deacy asked what happened, Roger told him everything - the graduation, you moving out and going back to New York. "Shouldn't you be spending more time together, then?" Veronica said, wrapped around John. And then Roger looked at the two of them - always in peace, always warm, Veronica always focused on being there for John and very little else - and he knew he would never have that, and he didn't knew if he wanted to. He always liked how you were independent of him, how you always had your goals and interests.

He noticed how that started to be less apparent in you as you tried to adapt to his life, as you tried to be more like Veronica or Chrissie. You'd be quiet, supportive, trying to fade into the background.

And that was not the girl he met at the pub. The girl who cheered on him watching her.

It was always good to play lovebirds, like you did in the little time you were spending together, and you did love each other. But none of you were in a good place now. Not a good place to make decisions.

Sadly, that's exactly what the two of you had to do.

She said that living with me

Is bringing her down yeah

For she would never be free

When I was around.

"Shut up, Lennon", Roger said to himself, putting the pillow over his head as if it would help muffle the music in his head.

He turned around and realized the bed was empty. You left already. You had a good time last night, a way to say goodbye already, but you were not there to have a last morning with him in your shared house.

You were already in the museum. Your boss told you to spend all your time helping Will in whatever he needed, but his research has been complete for the last two weeks. You were just talking about your childhoods and New York now. Listening to his accent, his lingering fragrance; it made you feel like home.

And you missed being home.

"Yeah, I went to St Jean Baptiste High School. We used to go out with the Loyola boys all the time", you told him, leaning over the table in which you were both having a Coke.

"Now that's interesting. In my Loyola days, the Jean Baptiste girls were very shy, very quiet. We had to put in a lot of effort to go out with them", he looked at you through his long lashes, chewing on his straw.

"Well, that's cause you're old", you said, and he laughed. "The sixties were more liberal, you know", you told him, raising your brow.

A giggle interrupted you two. "Hey, Y/N. Nice song your boyfriend put out… I'm In Love With My Car… Didn't knew you had weird nicknames for each other", one of the interns said, and you felt your cheeks blush. She could see that you were talking, quite closely, to another man - you refused to see it as flirting. You wouldn't cheat on Roger again.

You did spend too much time with Will, more than necessary, but he just felt so familiar and yet so new to what you were now used to. His accent, his clothes, the way he had a scruff - Roger was always clean shaven - and fluffy short hair. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, and you held your fingers down when that happened. It was like trying to stop yourself from rubbing your nose; the desire felt like second nature already.

"I guess we do", you answered the intern, annoyed that she mentioned your boyfriend in front Will. "But it's cute that he wrote a song for you… I guess. It's a bit raunchy, but maybe it's just how you are", she said, and left. It hurt you that you didn't have a song to prove that Roger did love you, very romantically, at least sometimes, but you had to play along with the intern to avoid a more embarrassing situation.

He could make things easier for you, you thought. But you censored yourself. Don't get annoyed at Roger while talking to Will about your city, you answered your own invasive thought.

"Hm, didn't knew you had a boyfriend", Will said, a bit cold. "Yeah, I do", you said, looking down. You could feel Roger's lips in your neck from last night, and you wondered if Will could see the mark they left.

The thing you and Roger would agree if you ever spoke to one another about your feelings - hell, you didn't even admit it to yourselves - was that your relationship felt a bit like a terminal patient. The diagnosis was when you took the job, or maybe when Roger decided to move to a fucking farm for months and leave you alone and vulnerable - again. You didn't knew, precisely, when the end began.

But as soon as it began, you both knew there was no way to save your relationship, just try to make it last as long as possible. The end was inevitable - you were both just waiting for it.

There was some good days - days when you felt like the in the beginning of the relationship, but grayer. There was nothing to be infatuated over anymore. You were growing bored of the parts you liked about each other, deep down. And scared of the new parts you were developing.

Roger was decided to make it a good day when he got off bed. He drove around, thinking of a way to impress you tonight - you were spending your last night away from each other, since the band had to perform in Brussels for some TV show. He invited you because he knew the answer; you couldn't. You had a last dinner to go to with your new bosses. A celebration. You invited him, knowing he couldn't cancel the promo. You said it was fine; it was not a goodbye, really. Just a see you soon.

He would still have you around him - the house had more of you in it than it had of him. But you would have nothing to remember him.

So he had an idea.

-

You came home to an empty house. Roger was not there, so you decided to get ready for the dinner. You took a bath, lighting up your rose scented candles, but this time, just for its smell.

You enjoyed crystals and oils and incenses and such because they gave you a sense of control - maybe if I put this rose quartz here, the living room will be a space we're being romantic, and if I light a rue incense in the bedroom, the place will be cleaned of bad energies - but now you didn't believe the universe gave you any opportunity to control your life, to have things your way. You were just trying to live one day at a time, at the moment.

You had no goals, not anymore. You didn't really knew who you were, now that you didn't knew where you wanted to go.

You heard a knock on the door, and you lift your head up from the headrest just as Roger walks in. "Hey, Y/N", he says, holding a small box on his hands.

"Hey, Rog", you say, and for old times sake, you smirk as you say "Care to join me?". But you know the answer.

"I'd love to. But I have to go to the label to catch our helicopter to Brussels", he says. "I got you something for your trip", he says and he gives you the box.

You open it and find a heart shaped, shiny red crystal pendant on a gold necklace. "It's beautiful, Rog", you tell him, and he shrugs. "I wish it was ruby, but yeah… Crystal will do for now. I can switch it for a ruby one later, if the album sells well", he says, and he brings in the memory of one of the last really, really good days you had. Before the farm and before your job and everything started to go downhill at a faster pace. When he said he wanted to provide for you. That he was in it for the long run.

"No, you don't have to. I love it", you say, and you move your gaze to meet his. You were then surprised with a realisation you didn't have for a few weeks now - how Roger could be sweet, how he'd go out of his way sometimes to show you that he cared, that he will do whatever it takes to make you happy.

"I love you", you say, looking at his blue eyes and not thinking about anything else - New York, Will, the fact that Roger barely invited you to spend time with him outside of the house, the fact that you felt like you had no way to make your relationship - or your life - work the way you wanted to. You just saw his eyes.

And you felt like the lost girl who just moved to London and was full of dreams, not only working at the British Museum, but belonging, finding out who she really is. All those dreams were purposely forgotten now, as you gave up on them. But those blue eyes made you remember why you obsessed over this guy, this fucking guy for over five months. And why you kept fighting for your life with him ever since the moment you met those eyes again, in a stall at Kensington Market.

Because those eyes, when looking at you honestly like they were now, are a powerful sight.

"I love you, Y/N" he said, and his voice trembled a bit as he started to talk again. "But there's a meaning to it; the heart. I know we're not in a good moment, you know. I know it. But I refuse to give up on us. I still remember how I felt when it started, how I never even knew I could feel this way with someone", he said, tears starting to fill his eyes, and you could feel yours mirroring his as he continued. "And I realized that I don't know if I will ever love someone like I love you. You have my heart", he said, gesturing to the necklace, "And this little expensive crystal is there so you can feel it with you", he said, and you wrapped your fingers around them. Because of the steam in the bathroom, it didn't feel cold. It was the same temperature as you.

"And I know that this is going to be hard, and we're in for some tough times in our relationship, maybe the hardest ones, but I love you. I don't want to deny myself from admitting that just so it hurts less if something happens to us. Cause even if it does, you still have my heart, and you can do whatever you want with it", he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't wipe it, so you moved your hand out of the bathtub to do it. "It's yours to keep", he completed, and you pulled him for a kiss.

It wasn't really a long kiss - your lips barely moved. You just wanted to know that the two of you were still there, together, present, at least for that moment. At least for that moment you both agreed to love each other in whatever way you could - you knew this was the end of an era for the two of you. You didn't knew what would follow it, but you were willing to admit that you loved one another. And, sometimes, this could be enough.

"I have to go", Roger told you, breaking the kiss. "Can you help me put the necklace on before you go?" You tell him, turning around in the bathtub and twisting your hair up.

He smiled as he helped you. "Beautiful", he said, and he really took in the sight of you, flushed face as the steam moved up from the bath bubbles to your cheeks, the necklace making your lips more pink.

"Will you take me to the airport tomorrow?" you asked, and he nodded. "I'll be back before noon", he told you, giving you a peck on the lips before going out of the door.

And you didn't know it yet, but just like a terminal patient, your relationship had Last Good Days, or better, Last Good Moments. This was it.

-

Roger laughed with one of the studio heads, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a cigarette in the other, as he watched Poppy watch him from the other side of the hotel bar. She was completely comfortable in her seat, exuding power. This was were she felt comfortable in. She looked like a tigress resting on her velvet armchair.

Her lipstick wasn't red today; it was almost black, how dark it was.

He couldn't help but compare it to your lips, always a natural pink, since you never wore lipstick around him. "It doesn't make sense. We'll just get it rubbed over our faces", you told him one time, when he asked why he didn't see you wearing your red lipstick anymore.

He missed it. He missed how you were before you tried to be Roger Taylor's girlfriend.

How you were in the beginning.

But now there was nothing he could do but hope things eventually worked out, hope he didn't cheat on you, hope you didn't cheat on him, hope the hazy cloud caused by the whiskey didn't compromise his decisions.

He hated, absolutely despised doing TV show performances; he hated lip synching and pretending to play the drums. And he hated how you were not there to laugh over his mood, kiss his pout as he'd go backstage.

He tried to keep a conversation with Freddie, for a while, but none of them were in the mood to say interesting things and keep the conversation going. So before Roger could notice, he was surrounded by people from his label.

And that included Poppy, who was sitting by his side - he could feel his skin burning where she touched him, sitting closer than it was necessary - and when she leaned over him to get a lighter on the table by his side, he catches himself watching her, how her cleavage looked so close to him, how soft the skin seemed to be.

He felt an urge to brush his lips over it.

And, filled with guilt, he stormed away from the bar.

-

You were sitting with Will by your side, sipping on champagne as your new bosses told you a story about how they bought an original roman chariot from a farmer in Italy, and how difficult it was for them to rebuild it.

"We spent too much trying to figure out how long should the draught-pole be" the lady told you, and the man completed, "Until we realized it wasn't so important as finishing the chariot so we could expose it!", and you laughed. It was nice to spend a night talking about subjects you dominated; you were now used to spend dinners just listening, as people spoke about music and the industry and stuff you didn't understand.

Will laughed, too. It was a nice view; his sunkissed skin would crinkle around his lips, his bright smile almost blinding you. You looked at his scruff and you wondered how it would feel against your inner thigh - would it chafe it? - when you realized what you were thinking. Shut up, Y/N, you told yourself, and you could feel the blush in your cheeks.

You order another glass of champagne.

Roger would laugh at your nervous drinking - he'd always tell you to calm down, he didn't want to spend the night holding your hair up as you threw up in the toilet - but he would always do it anyway.

His skin didn't chafe your inner thighs.

You took another sip of the champagne.

"Well, time flies when we're having a good time, right? We have to go to our hotel already. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning", the lady told you. "It's been a pleasure to meet you and it's going to be a bigger pleasure to work with you, Y/N", the man said, shaking your hand and then Will's. "The people you find, Will. You're gifted", he says, and then follows the lady outside of the restaurant as Will says "I guess I am".

You get up, but you feel dizzy. "Shit, I got up too fast", you say, but Will looks at you worried. "Are you sure?", he asks, a concerned look on his blue eyes - so pale, so different from Roger's. "Yeah, my blood pressure's kinda low, so it happens", you shrug.

"We can share the taxi home", he says, and you correct him in under your breath. "Cab" you say, but he doesn't listen, and is already on his way out. You follow him; it was late, you didn't want to ride a cab on your own. London could be dangerous.

As you sit on the backseat, he sits beside you, his fingers ghosting on your thigh as helps you with the seatbelt.

You could feel the shiver on your spine.

-

Roger marches over to the elevators, going inside one, and the doors are already closing when a clutch stops it.

"Almost missed my chance", he hears a familiar voice purr.

Poppy goes inside the elevator, her high heels clicking, and Roger wonders if she was really talking about the lift.

She stops besides him. Closer than necessary.

The elevator was panoramic, and Roger's suite was on the top floor. They watched as the city got distant from them, as they were brought apart from the rest of the world.

"Nice view. I wonder if your girlfriend wouldn't appreciate it", Poppy said, and Roger felt his shoulders tense.

"I'm sorry?", he says. "Your girlfriend. I heard you have one. Funny that I never see her around", Poppy says, clicking her nails against the elevator wall.

"Hm. She's busy with her own career", he was able to say, trying not to get distracted by how close Poppy was from him, how he could feel her perfume penetrating his pores.

"That's interesting. Y/N, right?" she asked, and he nodded. He hated hearing your name coming out of Poppy's lips - it felt wrong. Not natural. "Kinda sad for you. You could spend some interesting times with people that are around you, you know", she said, moving closer to him, staring deep into his eyes.

He couldn't focus enough to answer something. She made him feel like a teenager.

"Someone who's a bit more like you", she completed, moving her hands to his jaw.

He felt paralyzed when she kissed him, but he soon realized he was answering her kiss, but not very well - part of him thought it wasn't right, but a bigger part of him could only taste her lipstick.

And it was the only thing on his mind as he followed her to her hotel room.

-

Will's eyes stared deep into yours as he asked you about details on your trip, offering help.

You found his eyes distracting, but disturbing. They were so pale you felt like you could see through them, if you tried hard enough.

His mint scented breath hit your face every time he said something, and you felt relaxed at the sound of the familiar accent. He sounded just like home.

"Y/N, I actually decided to listen to some of your boyfriend's work. Roger, right?", Will asked, and you felt disgusted. Roger's name on Will's voice and accent felt invasive, wrong. "Don't say it", you said, moving your finger to Will's lips.

He looked at you, confused, but soon moved his hands to meet with yours. It was the first time you touched him like this, so close to his lips.

And, very carefully, very slowly, he got closer to you, his eyes on yours, almost asking for permission to kiss you.

You didn't stop him.

He kissed you, carefully, and you responded slowly, the guilt weighing down on your arms.

You felt his beard irritate your skin, and you thought of that when Will broke the kiss to tell the cabbie to take the two of you to his house.

---

Chapter 15

Masterlist

Taglist: 

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @patrick-the-stumping @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy

[lewyn-martell]

rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to know better

tagged by @laurels-things thanks! you seem like such a nice person!

i. nickname?

lui or simply lu

ii. zodiac sign?

scorpio

iii. height?

165 cm... I'm not sure if I'm below average height on my country, but I believe brazillian people are pretty short. I may be the shortest amongst the boys in my class but I'm the tallest amongst the girls (except one girl who is nearly 180cm i stg) and as a nonbinary person this is a good place to be, i think.

iv. hogwarts house?

hufflepuff :D

v. last thing I googled?

amongst or among — i was unsure if i was using the word correctly sjbshsbshsvs

vi. fav musicians?

THE BEATLES (all 4 of them, but john lennon speaks to my soul in ways i can't describe... the way he makes me feel is something out of this world)

david bowie

elton john

brendon urie from panic! at the disco

the boys from green day

aaand i have mad respect for some soundtrack musicians bc i eat these up constantly. i like ramin djwadi, michael giacchino, ennio morricone, danny elfman, jonny greenwood (yeah i know he's from radiohead but i haven't listened a lot of stuff from this band yet and his phantom thread compositions are SUCH A BOP), hans zimmer and i've been also listening to the score of the shape of water by alexandre desplat (i like him, but jonny greenwood was ROBBED) so maybe that'll be a future fave. also i love a lot of composers for disney animated musicals but if i start i won't ever shut up. but i love almost all of the disney soundtracks.

i would say some time ago whoever wrote the songs for the smiths which i believe includes morrisey, but i recently found out he is extremely right wing and i don't think i can still like someone with these kinds of inhumane views on people&society... i'm disappointed

vii. song stuck in your head?

currently bad boy (the beatles' cover of the song), john's vocals make my pulse speed up since the first verse

viii. following?

2234 nfbdjdbjdsbjshs but i think most of the people i followed years ago are no longer active, i must go through the list and try to do a spring cleaning or something

ix. followers?

408... and like half of these i gained only the last two months or something... and i don't know why shdbsjbshsbs maybe it's the beatles thing

x. do you get asks?

i don't, but that's ok because i don't know if i have a lot of interesting things to say... but if you wanna get something off your chest, go ahead, i love to listen to/read drama 👀

xi. amount of sleep?

tricky question because it constantly changes, sometimes i don't sleep at all bc i have to leave the house at 5h20 in the morning to go to uni and i stay awake until late and when i realize i have to go shower already dhsbshbshsvshs and then when i come back i sleep for like... 10 hours or smth or i don't bc i got stuff to do and i accumulate sleep and then there will be a day of the week i'll just shut down for 15 hours. mostly i try to go to bed around 23h and wake up around 4h45, so that makes it almost 6 hours .

xii. lucky number?

never noticed any particular number that favors me

xiii. what are you wearing?

t-shirt, shorts, it's hot as hell here

xiv. dream job?

don't have one, just want one that won't consume me so i have time to do stuff i'm actually interested in

xv. dream trip?

also don't have one

xvi. instruments?

flute, some percussion, some guitar, i wish i had actually studied music besides the basic stuff... i still wanna learn to properly play something and not just beat some bongos during carnival

xvii. languages?

portuguese, english, bit of spanish only cause of the similarities with portuguese and 4 years of classes in middle school...but still, can't speak or write, only read and listen

xviii. favorite songs?

oh my god... ok...

i was making this in list format but it got way too big... it's still big i'm sorry

the beatles: i want you (she's so heavy), strawberry fields forever, across the universe, oh! darling, and your bird can sing, tomorrow never knows, mother nature's son, yer blues, golden slumbers, i am the walrus, i me mine, long tall sally (little richard cover), you can't do that, what you're doing, ticket to ride, rain, eleanor rigby, happiness is a warm gun, i'm so tired, blue jay way, for you blue, in my life, anna go to him (cover).

david bowie: time, cygnet committee, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed, tvc15, life on mars, young americans, queen bitch

panic! at the disco: that green gentleman, she had the world, build god then we'll talk, nearly witches, emperor's new clothes, bittersweet, nine in the afternoon, northern downpour, behind the sea, stall me, the piano knows something i don't know

green day: jesus of suburbia, brutal love, hitchin a ride, blood sex and booze, give me novacaine, whatsername, last night on earth

the smiths: this charming man, panic, how soon is now

elton john: goodbye yellow brick road, bennie and the jets, rocket man

queen: somebody to love, killer queen

strawberry swing - coldplay

welcome home - radical face

joão e maria - chico buarque

barbara rose - jonny greenwood

bachianas brasileiras no 5 - heitor villa-lobos

le festin - michael giacchino, camille

rains of castamere - ramin djwadi

unchained melody - a lot of versions from a lot of artists

another day - paul mccartney

meu erro - paralamas do sucesso

flor de lis - djavan

love the way you lie - rihanna&eminem

man! i feel like a woman - shania twain

xix. random fact?

well, it's not really a fact i think... i'm moving (again) but this time is to my father's house because my mum is moving to the south of the country... and i'm so fucking scared because we aren't close at all (i met him when i was 14) i mean, he seems nice enough, all of our interactions have been mostly pleasant but his wife (and probably he himself too) is a bit conservative in the brazillian traditional white family way (she's white cause she's a southern. i know yall think all latinos are poc,,,, but that's not true) but then again, that's something i had to live with all my life so i can handle casual homophobia and racism and sexism... but it will still be so weird cause i never been away from my mum too long (i'm... a momma's boy). i'm going next week i think, wish me luck.... (also he's got two dogs who won't leave me the fuck alone, i get out of the shower and they drool all over me, they know i'm a beta so they keep getting on top of me and since they're HUGE and i'm such a weakling i can't even get them off me and i can't scold them with a strong voice, i just can't do it... i mean, don't get me wrong i like them... but... they like me way too much and keep making me dirty.. i hate being dirty)

xx. aesthetic?

farm aesthetic..... idealistic farm aesthetic habshabaha like marie antoinette's pettit chateau. also the whole pretty odd aesthetic and strawberry swing by coldplay aesthetic

i'm tagging (probably less than 21 ppl) @zutaralesbian @ekscelsior @benstolemyhearty @lannistermartell @tyrionlannysters @avatars-legend @cerseiofhouselannister @falconsredwing @gendryayaya @glittering-snowfall @agirlandabeast @bugband @alittlebigpotato @vairemelde @charmeilon @jawn-lemon @antilennon @im-only-sweeping @ssimsass

i hope tumblr actually notifies you guys, i had problems with the last one...

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I saw a thing on Twitter about that apparently someone from The 1975 quoted the article about ryan adam’s harassment allegations AT AN AWARD CEREMONY calling out misogyny. Pretty fucking cool, plus to be elevating a woman’s words (as the article writer was a woman!) and take on misogyny in the music industry. I’m really glad about that.

But that brings me to some further disappoint: 1) I haven’t heard from the men who collaborated with ryan. About anything. Whether they agree or disagree or renounce the accusations at all or are fucking taking a stand and saying “ENOUGH WITH THE BULLSHIT AND TREAT WOMEN LIKE HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS AND ARTISTS THANKS SO VERY MUCH.” Because ideally, that’s what I want to hear. Which leads me to 2) Benmont hasn’t said shit about it or interacted with anyone (as far as I’ve noticed) who was talking about it. Like, HIS FUCKING WIFE (Alice - bless her, she seems amazing) liked Liz Phair’s comment on it. So there’s no fucking reason for Benmont not to know. Which really pisses me the fuck off. He LAUDED ryan’s music, and HAS FOREVER. And now he’s gone radio silent? FUCK this bullshit. NO FREE PASSES YOU ASSHOLES.

And now the last stupid thing which is gonna make what I said above sound really stupid/discredit it, but some absolute dumbass on Twitter noted that Benmont and Scott Thurston were on some album [I’ve never heard of] and they fucking tagged it ‘TP’ and ‘petty forever.’ And I’m like...*pushes up sleeves* I’LL GIVE YOU FUCKING PETTY FOREVER!! GOD, HOW FUCKING STUPID DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO TAG SOME DUMBSHIT WHO HAS NO RELEVANCE TO THE THING WHATSOEVER WHEN YOU ALREADY MENTIONED THE PEOPLE WHO ARE ACTUALLY RELEVANT TO IT? Because it’s like saying ‘OH, BRILLIANT WORK, GEORGE HARRISON...but god I love John Lennon forever.’ Like? He literally? Had jack fucking shit to do with it? And they already mentioned Benmont and Scott so they LITERALLY did not need to mention anyone else from that camp UNLESS THEY WERE ACTUALLY INVOLVED IN THE PROJECT? BUT NONE OF THE OTHER HEARTBREAKERS WERE, NOR WAS TOM. SO WHAT IN THE ACTUAL...I can’t believe people are that stupid. Publicly, you know, ‘cause I noticed it because Benmont liked it. And he probably did just to be nice - gracious - and stuff, but on behalf of him (and even Scott, who I strongly dislike), I would be so fucking offended. Like wow, great, I did “great work” or whatever but all I’m remembered for “in memoriam” is this jackwadpissant. Wow. Fucking...brilliant.

No but anyway I’m still really pissed off at Benmont and any of the other guys who ever collaborated with ryan who haven’t said jack. Fuck them. It is not women’s responsibility to stand behind or with those who were abused/assaulted/traumatized/discouraged/sabotaged by ryan. Women don’t owe anybody shit. But MEN, who CAUSED ALL OF THIS FUCKERY...it IS their responsibility, THEIR JOB to hold their male peers accountable. Nothing will ever change unless men acknowledge the shit they’ve done in the name of the patriarchy.

And smash the fucking patriarchy.