#i saw her standing there

[the-boney-rolls]

he still got it!! busting out the rocker voice don't remember the lyrics but it does not matter both people on stage are creaming their pants over him yes both of these people want to fuck that old man and look at the way Paul puts his hand on this guy's shoulder, ah yes back to his happy place sharing a mic with a hot young guy, I hate him!!!

[gatutor]

Elzabeth Montgomery

I saw her standing there

[thaern]

Hi, the video is not mine but I thought that you'll enjoy seeing Paul singing I Saw Her Standing There in Costa Rica ❤️

[got-ticket-to-ride]

The relevance of "I saw her standing there" between John and Paul

Paul considers "I saw her standing there" one of the best song he has ever written in his book "the lyrics" from 2021.

I think John thought the same? Because he sung this with Elton in 1974 telling the world it is a song from "his estranged fiance Paul". John thought it would be funny to sing it and wondered how Paul would react about it in 1974.

Maybe the song has significance to the both of them? It's the first song on their first official album "Please, Please, Please" from 1963.

The first draft from Paul was genderneutral? IT COULD BE ABOUT JOHN. "You're just seventeen." Which is when Paul met him in 1957.

You're just seventeen

You act like a queen

You.....are beyond compare

So how could I dance with another (feels like a love declaration that's meant to last forever)

When I see you standing there.

"You are beyond compare", remember Paul saying everyone else just faded into background at the Fete when The Quarrymen was performing? You act like a queen would fit John too.

Update: Added Toot and Snore Session from March 1974 his only known jamming session with Paul post The Beatles break up where John said "When I saw me standing there, and I said gee is that me?"

[harrisongslimited]

George Chapter of the Day ( I know you've been waiting for smut, so enjoy!)

Chapter 16

I Saw Her Standing There

Trigger Warnings: adult situations, drinking, swearing, major smut, (M/F consensual).

***18+ only*** and I mean it!!

Chapter 16

Joie stood before him in the firelight, her skin glowing from the warmth in the room and her own desire. She took his hand to help her finish removing her silky beige blouse; George slipped it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Unable to hold back, he kissed her hard and deep and was happily surprised when she met his passion with her own. As his hands slipped down to her hips, her hands went up into the back of his hair and pressed him in closer. His tongue brushed against hers as he tilted his head and plunged in further. Joie welcomed him, and danced her tongue against his.

George's hands swept around to her backside and his one leg slipped in between hers, his erection urged against her body. He knew he had to proceed slowly, but every nerve was on fire. He wanted her. And wanted her now. If it had been up to him, he would have stripped her from her clothes, removed his own and led her to the bed. He needed to be inside her, to complete an act that would bring them closer together, would let her know his full feelings. Owning her body was his goal, her beautiful, sensual curvy body with lavish breasts and a taut torso.

As they kissed, her hand travelled to his erection and she cupped him through his jeans, causing him to jerk.

"Baby," he urged her on, covering her hand with his own, unzipping the tight jeans and allowing him to free himself.

Joie ran her hands along his chest and slipped his shirt off his body. He noticed there was no hesitancy in her touch, she watched his eyes carefully for affirmation. He returned her gaze, removing her pants and allowing them to mix with his clothing on the floor.

He wanted to just stare at her, the fire reflected in her dark eyes, as she stood in her bra and panties in front of him. But he wanted to take her...he ached all over with need for her touch. Joie put her arms around his neck and he kissed her lightly at first, then more urgently. Walking with her backwards, he stopped as his legs hit the side of the bed. Turning her around, she sat down and scooted toward the middle of the bed, her arms outstretched to him.

Crawling on all fours like a stalking panther, he kissed her from her ankles all the way up to her mouth. She opened to him as his tongue darted inside her mouth, her arms pressing his body closer. He began sweetly kissing her neck, then the swell of her breasts over her bra. She surprised him when she leaned to the side and unhooked her bra; George removed it carefully from her body as his mouth and hand covered her breasts. He caressed her gently, taking his time as her nipples turned into stiffened pink buds. She closed her eyes, sighed and inhaled, her hands feathered up into his soft hair.

He followed the trail down her body, tasting every inch of her. When he reached her panties, he looked up at her to see a smile across her face and he removed them slowly.

She was beautiful, lying there naked before him in the huge four-poster bed, her skin glistening in the dim light.

"I've wanted us to be just like this for so long," he whispered to her. "Part of me worries that this is just a dream."

Joie smiled and held her arms out to him. "Then we're having the same dream," she said, softly. "I love you, George and I want you to make love to me."

He inched up her body to kiss her and rested at her side, while his hand travelled down her torso to her mound. His fingers weaved through her short hair and slid across her sensitive skin, causing her to sigh out loud. She was already wet for him and her hips moved with every touch. His fingers slipped easily between her folds and when he circled her clitoris, she arched her back off the bed and exhaled. As gently as he could, he moved his hand over her sex until he inserted one finger into her. She moaned his name as her head tipped backwards into the pillow. Then came another finger and another as his thumb circled the bundle of nerves at her sex. He wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt her when he entered her, knowing it was her first time.

"George," she sighed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes...don't stop."

After George tenderly withdrew his fingers, he quickly took the condom from the nightstand, opened it and rolled it onto his erection. Joie watched him as he positioned himself between her legs and kissed her deeply. She could feel him at her opening, and she wanted him inside her more than she had ever wanted anything.

George went slowly, entering her and withdrawing in small steps. He didn't want to overwhelm or hurt her but his entire body was throbbing to be inside her. He started breathing deeply, not sure if it was helping or not and was surprised again when she urged him on by wrapping her legs around him.

He entered her deeply and completely and Joie inhaled, her arms flying out from her body to grip onto the bed sheet.

As he started to move, he asked her again if she was okay and she answered she was "perfect". George couldn't help but smile. This was so amazing compared to nameless sex he had on the road. It had become as usual as the sun rising in the east. It began to mean nothing and he found he wasn't built that way. When he stopped chasing BB's, the other 3 ragged on him relentlessly. But he knew what he was doing....and he told them all to "sod off". Then there was Joie. And here was Joie, in his bed, while he was buried deep inside her.

She felt so good, so tight, and she began to follow his lead rocking with him in a sweet rhythm. Their bodies met as they made love, the urgency and intensity increasing until they both felt at the breaking point.

"George...," Joie spoke in a gravelly voice. "George...."

"Come with me, baby."

"Now..." she exclaimed, her fingers grabbing onto his back.

As she came completely undone, her body uncontrollable, George bucked into her feeling the spasming of her walls around his erection and released with a raging, powerful thrust.

Breathing heavily and laughing at the same time, George and Joie looked at each other and kissed.

They lay comfortable in each other's arms until George withdrew from her, throwing the condom in the waste basket. As he laid back down, he pulled Joie into his arms and she placed her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her protectively.

"I love you," he said suddenly. "I've loved you since the moment you came into our lives. I feel like I've loved you forever."

"I love you George and thank you for the most wonderful night of my life."

"Mine too," he answered softly.

..........

"Wake up you lazy bastards," John knocked boldly on their door, the sun barely over the horizon. "We rented a car and thought we'd attempt to go out. Breakfast is here and getting cold."

"Go without us," George called back.

"Never. We are in this together."

"Then you'll have to wait. We haven't even opened our eyes yet."

Joie giggled lightly and slid down underneath the covers. "He won't bust in here, will he?" she whispered.

"No...." George assured her.

"Didn't get much sleep did you, you fuckin' rabbits," he continued.

"Oh, sod off," George responded and heard John laugh as he walked away from the door.

George and Joie showered together quickly and got dressed. Joie stopped George before he went out into the main part of the suite and kissed him tenderly.

"I'm glad it was you," Joie whispered.

..........

They toured the Irish countryside, being careful not to run into too many people. John had a cap down low over his eyes and George's peacoat was pulled up against his face. They stopped at several shops and had tea at a little inn in Kilarney. George drove because John...well, no one trusted John when it came to driving.

They stopped at a small jewelry store and after some discussion, George and John picked out claddagh rings. John gave one to Cyn and George tucked the one he bought in his pocket, out of Joie's sight.

"Saving it for a special occasion?" Cyn asked him.

George just smiled.

"I can't believe we've fooled the press so far," John chirped in once they piled back into the small car. "This is like a real vacation."

By the time they got back, they asked the kitchen to just throw some sandwiches together with a couple bottles of wine and bring them up to the suite. Joie and George hid in their bedroom when the bell boy came. Cyn met him and escorted him in, while John hid in their other bedroom.

The bell boy looked around the room a moment. "You here all by yourself, miss?"

"No," Cyn answered, using an American accent. "My husband is in the shower. You need something?"

"Nope. Just leave the dishes for clean up in the morning."

"Thank you."

And he was gone. John joined her back in the parlor and they knocked on George and Joie's door. There was no answer. Cyn knocked again. "Dinner...a glass of wine?"

"No thanks," she heard in reply from Joie and smiled.

"Well, I'll leave it out on the balcony where it's cold. You can eat later. You'll need sustenance if you keep doing what we know you're doing," John knocked on the door. "George, if you make that bird miserable, I'll cripple you. Then I'll motor your sorry ass out into the wash and leave you for dead."

"Thanks," George called through the door, absent mindedly.

"I think our George is in love..." John said softly, turning to leave.

"I think our Joie is in love too," Cyn added.

[crepesuzette2023]

Paul McCartney, Celia Mortimer, Iris & Vi Caldwell & Mike McCartney: Sketches for a Coming-of-Age Novel.

All quotes from TUNE IN by Mark Lewisohn, except the last one.

[Paul] had two main girlfriends in the last weeks of 1962 and neither knew of the other. One was Celia Mortimer, 17, the strikingly attractive redhead from art school who designed her own clothes and was a big Beatles fan at the Cavern.

'In my first year at art College everyone was wild about trad jazz, but then word came up the hill that ‘things were happening’ at the Cavern; a few of us went down one lunchtime to have a look—and there were the Beatles. […] It was the first time anyone in Britain had the black polo neck, black corduroy, existentialist look. I instantly took their lead and started to make hip black corduroy things to wear.'

‘[…] Paul was attractive, intelligent, arty, all the things that appealed to me, plus he was good to be with: a genuine, gentle person who wanted to please. He was the complete opposite of John, who was snarly and grumpy and incredibly, incisively funny. Paul was the nice one. We started to go out, but things were still quite innocent. Because I lived some way out of Liverpool there weren’t many places we could go, except to sit in his dad’s front room or my friend’s front room, or the cinema—we saw the first James Bond film.’ EXOTIC NIGHTMARES

Paul’s other girlfriend was Iris Caldwell—Rory Storm’s witty, pretty, blonde sister; George’s first love; the 18-year-old daughter of Ma Storm, whose house, Hurricaneville at 54 Broad Green Road, was central to the Beatles’ late-night social scene.

‘He had a beautiful voice and puppy-dog eyes,’ Iris says, ‘and he was much more interested in me than I was in him. I wanted more than a tuppence-ha’penny guitarist of a Liverpool group.’ Iris’s professional dancing career had taken off: she was as busy as Paul, working summer seasons and London shows and touring around the country; they could only see each other when their diaries dovetailed, and just as Paul was with Celia when Iris was out of town, she was secretly going out with Frank Ifield. […]

Iris always knew that a big part of the attraction for anyone going out with her or Rory was the chance of extended time at Hurricaneville, to hang longer around her dad Ernie and especially her mum, Vi. […] ‘Mum never chucked anyone out,’ Iris says. ‘We were all late-night people apart from me dad, who the Beatles called the Crusher because he had exotic nightmares and ate household objects.’ […]

Mary had been gone for six years this October, and Vi Caldwell was one of the women who tried to fill the breach. ‘I was practically a mother to Paul,’ she said without boasting. She made him food and drink, took his stage-soaked shirts and washed and ironed them, and shared easy intimacies. ‘Paul used to like her combing his legs,’ Iris says. ‘He had really hairy legs and he’d come in from the Cavern all tired, roll up his trousers and she used to comb his legs. How ridiculous can you get? But he adored my mum and my mum adored him.’

Vi recalls: ‘Paul was very temperamental. He would come on occasions and would be terrifically friendly and down-to-earth, and on other occasions he would come and be rather aloof and we wondered if we had offended him, as if he was thinking ‘I’m being too friendly so I’ll keep you in your place.’ That was our impression.’

THRILLING IN A DIFFERENT WAY

[Paul] was without the others, but with Celia Mortimer…and a new song. It was Tuesday/Wednesday 23/24 October [1962], the Beatles’ sole two-day break of the year, and Paul decided to leave his car at home and have an adventure: he and Celia hitch-hiked to London to see Ivan Vaughan. Paul loved hitching: he enjoyed chatting to strangers and seeing himself in an observational role, but he’d only done it with George or John, never with a girl. Celia—intelligent, chic, a pretty redhead—made it thrilling in a different way. And it was to see the brilliant Ivy, his Institute mate and John’s boyhood pal. […]

The new song was I Saw Her Standing There, though it had no title as yet. Its melody and structure skidded into Paul’s head late on Monday as he drove back from a Nems Enterprises Showdance in Widness. This was a sophistication of delivery had never experienced, inspiration so excitingly hot that when he got to Hurricaneville he grabbed an acoustic guitar and started working it out. […] It was truly a magical moment for Rory Storm, who’d never seen anyone write a song before. Vi and Iris would always maintain that he asked Paul if he could have it, exclusively, and Paul said yes—but as Rory didn’t have a record contract it’s unclear why he asked and Paul may have said yes only to regain some necessary peace and quiet.

Celia: ‘We had an amazing time, just wandering the streets in the sunshine, looking at London, holding hands and having fun, and Paul had the melody of what became I Saw Her Standing There going round his head all day, humming and singing it and fleshing out the words. […] He said, ‘What rhymes with “We danced through the night?” and I came up with ‘We held each other tight’, which was really quite naff, but he used it.’ BACK TO McCARTNEY-LENNON

However, the song was completed only when he had a front parlour session with John at 20Forthlin Road. They tried out little bits on Jim Macs Nems piano but mostly used guitars, working ‘eyeball to eyeball’ just like when they’d first written together here as schoolboys. Mike took photographs of them sitting by the little tiled fireplace—important historic images, the only such photos ever taken—so here we see these two sharp ambitious tuned-in young man looking down at an old Liverpool Institute exercise book in which Paul has written the words, complete with plenty of crossings-out. John is wearing his black horn-rim glasses and playing his Jumbo Gibson, Paul is playing a cheap Spanish acoustic of unknown history. Another original, a McCartney-Lennon one, is taking shape right here, right now. BIG PLAYER CELIA AND THE OTHER McCARTNEY BOY

Celia Mortimer’s relationship with Paul ended in the last weeks of 1962. ‘As the Beatles spent more time in London, Paul was there and not in Liverpool so much, and our situation just fizzled out. There was no time for it.’ She went on to become a big player on the London fashion scene, with her own label and studio on Great Portland Street, just a long from where she spent a few hours with Paul in 1962. In between times, she went out for a long time with Mike McCartney and was part of the Liverpool poetry scene.

Mike (a Ladies’ hairdresser at the time): MY FIRST LOVE AND BOB 'FOLK RUBBISH' DYLAN (from The Macs, 1981)

One day my first real love, after mum, walked into the salon; she was one of a group of models posing for the Daily Post and Echo. I was brushing up the hair as it cascaded endlessly down on to the floor. I wasn't exactly the brushing up which excited her, it was the way I did it (isn't it always?). The brush was balanced, she later recalled, on the end of my index finger, the furthest point from my body and, with absolute disdain, I followed it across the shop floor.

Not being a Post and Echo model at all, but in truth a hungry student plying her body for money, she returned for the free evening classes where she became my model, and I discovered that her name was Celia. From a model customer she became a model model, and from a model model we became a model couple.

She was the first woman I gave myself to, and she gave herself in return. In her Husky Street flat we got lost in each other's body and mind; we swam together through many Liverpool 8 late nights and often into the morning, when she would get up to cook breakfast and put on records. I would just lie there, male chauv-like. One morning she kept playing a particular album which didn't impress me.

'Who's that Ceel?'

'Someone they keep playing at college . . . Bob Dylan.'

'Never heard of him.'

'Neither had I, but after a while he's quite good.'

"Ceel—my first real love (after Mum)." Photo by Mike McCartney.

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

The story of how the High Lord of the Night Court saved Rhysand's mother and gave her the one thing no one else could.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Rhysand's Father/Rhysand's Mother

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Brief Abuse (not main pairing)

AO3 Link

☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾

I Saw Her Standing There

This was it.

She’d worked so hard to delay this moment and still somehow she knew she’d always end up here: struggling and screaming as several males held her down, ready to take a knife to her wings. In the end, all the herbs and starvation in the world couldn’t save her from the inevitable destiny of every Illyrian female.

Still, Verena refused to go down without a fight.

“Hold still you stupid bitch!” She could feel hands on her wings, holding them taut even as she poured all of her strength into thrashing them.

And then suddenly…Verena fell to the ground as the hands holding her simply…vanished.

She glanced at her hands, wondering why everything was suddenly red. Had she hit her head?

Verena shivered on the ground with adrenaline and confusion before a pair of boots came into her line of sight. She cringed away on instinct, certain this was another male who had come to take away the only thing she had ever cared about.

When she glanced up, however, it was not another Illyrian male who stared down at her, but a high fae with night dark hair and piercing violet eyes. Verena only had a moment to wonder what a high fae would be doing here when she suddenly felt a hard tug on her soul.

She had never felt this feeling before, and yet deep down she still knew exactly what it was.

The mating bond.

This was…her mate.

He must’ve seen the recognition in her eyes because he didn’t even wait for her to say anything, he just crouched down, reached forward ever so gently, and winnowed her away from the only home she’d ever known.

☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾

He had taken her to an honest to gods palace.

That was the only thing Verena could think when they appeared in front of the most lavish entryway she had ever seen.

“Where…where are we?” She whispered, equally awed, terrified, and confused.

“Velaris.” It was the first time he had spoken since she’d laid eyes on him. His voice was deep, rough, but strangely gentle. “Come.”

He pulled her forward, into a glittering palace of marble and expensive furnishings, and for some reason she let him. She didn’t even know this male’s name.

“Emrys.”

Verena startled. “What?”

“My name,” he said simply.

Emrys…like the…

Verena felt her heart stop.

Emrys…High Lord of the Night Court.

She’d been kidnapped by her High Lord.

That was why she was in a palace. Why he was able to take her here uncontested.

“What happens now?”

“You’re going to eat.”

Verena startled. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know what they fed you in that camp, but it clearly wasn’t enough.”

She didn’t even bother to deny it. It couldn’t have been more obvious by her ill-fitted dress and the sharpness of her collarbones that she ate barely more than scraps most days. Even if she hadn’t been desperate to starve her menses into submission she was still often the last one fed in her family. After all, what were daughters worth in comparison to sons? Why feed them if they didn’t bring glory to the family?

So Verena just shrugged.

Besides, she was hungry.

Her mate led her into the largest dining area she’d ever seen and she couldn’t help but marvel at the vaulted ceilings and ostentatious luxury gilding every wall, every piece of furniture, even the cutlery as she sat down. She was attempting to gauge if the plate in front of her were actually trimmed with real gold (who was she kidding, of course it was) when the High Lord spoke again.

“What do you like to eat?”

Verena looked up from her plate, surprised and a little confused. “…Like to eat?”

She’d never been given a choice in what she ate. Food was food. It was the difference between survival and starvation. She had always just eaten whatever had been put in front of her, simple as that. Perhaps, on a particularly special occasion, she might have been handed a sweet but those days were rare and had only happened when she was still a child. Something to be occasionally doted upon. Not like now, where she was grown and could only be considered a stubborn liability.

A strange look passed over the High Lord’s face, though too quickly for her to actually tell what he was thinking.

“What about…cake? Do you like cake?”

Verena had never eaten cake a day in her life and told him as much. And…there. There was that look again. He seemed almost…pained. But no, that couldn’t be right. Why would he be in pain?

Emrys seemed to come to a decision and waved his hand and, quite to her surprise, a beautiful white cake appeared on her plate. It was covered in some sort of solidified cream and dotted with strawberries as red and ripe as little jewels.

“Eat,” he said. It was both a command and maybe even a plea from the way he was eyeing her bony wrists as she picked up a spoon.

The first bite was…she couldn’t even describe it. Better than anything she’d ever eaten. Like the first taste of spring after a long winter. It was sweet and soft and creamy and wonderful and before she knew it she was crying.

Her spoon clattering loudly onto her plate as she covered her face with her hands, trying to hide her outburst from this terrifying male who could erase her with a thought. The day’s events seemed to catch up with her all at once and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing.

How did she get here? This morning she’d been panicking over her long delayed monthly cycle appearing and how she was going to hide it and now she was dining on cake with the most powerful person in the Night Court.

Who was her mate.

A mate who felt positively ancient. Old in ways she couldn’t even fathom as a female barely out of girlhood. This was not a male she would be able to call ‘partner’. There was simply too much between them. Age, rank, race. What would they even possibly be able to agree upon?

But he was still her mate. The mate who, in one fell swoop, saved her from a life of agony and servitude. A mate who had saved her wings and, with them, the freedom she so desperately coveted. A mate who had already killed for her and would do so again without question.

“What is going to happen to me?”

It was the only thing that mattered now.

“We complete the bond. You stay here. No one touches you ever again.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

It was almost too good to be true.

With one ceremony she could free herself. Her wings wouldn’t be clipped. She wouldn’t be sold to one of her father’s friends. She wouldn’t be forced to be a broodmare to a husband who would beat her as surely as her own father beat her mother. She could…she could be free. Truly free. Or, at least, as free as an Illyrian female could ever hope to be.

And all it would take was binding herself to the great and terrible Lord of Nightmares.

She swallowed, feeling grossly out of her depth.

“Will I get to fly?”

The High Lord blinked, as if that was the last question he’d thought she’d ask of him.

“Of course,” he said with a strange look on his face. “You may fly wherever you wish.”

He said it as if it were a trifle, but to her it was everything.

Verena pushed her plate towards him.

“Then I accept.”

☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾ • ☽✶☾

They were married that same evening.

There was no grand ceremony befitting a High Lord, but instead him, her, and a priestess pulled out of her bed to perform the rights. Verena couldn’t help marveling at how simple it was to sell her freedom. All it had taken for her to become the Lady of the Night Court was an impatient High Lord and a few words muttered over their joined hands and then that was that. They hadn’t even had to leave the House of Wind. And before she could truly process her new station in life she was pulled into her new husband’s bedchamber.

Perhaps she should’ve been terrified of the imposing man who slowly unwrapped her the way she would a treasured solstice gift, but Verena found that all she truly felt was impatience. The sooner they consummated their union, the sooner no one would ever again have the power to hold her down and take away what was most important to her.

And it would seem her husband agreed because even the discovery of blood between her thighs, still fresh from her new monthly courses, didn’t seem to deter him. She remembered the way her father had often complained of how ‘dirty’ her mother’s courses were, and refuse to touch her (she also remembered that those were her mother’s favorite days of the month, when she’d be left in peace). Surely her new husband would be the same?

“I’m sorry, we can wait if you prefer-”

“Are you in pain?”

“N-no…”

“Then I don’t care.”

And he truly didn’t it seemed, because he had no qualms petting her there, leisurely, as if she were a cat, uncaring of the blood slicking his fingers. And it was hard for her to care either, with the way he looked at her and the way those fingers made her feel. Hot. Indolent. And shivery in a way that had nothing to do with the drafty bedchamber. And then the High Lord reached his other hand to her wing and brushed his fingers along it.

Before she truly understood what was happening she felt her whole body seize. Her insides clenched in a way she had never experienced before, and heat and pleasure spread through her veins like lightning. All Verena could do was grasp onto her mate blindly and cry out as she rode the feeling out.

“What…I don’t…” She couldn’t even properly describe what had just happened to her.

Her mate could though. “You’re lovely when you come.”

“...Come?”

“Your pleasure,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. Oh so gently, he pushed her to lay upon the massive bed before finally stripping himself of his clothing.

“While I have no doubt those Illyrian brutes fail to pleasure their wives properly I have no intentions of leaving my mate unsatisfied.”

Verena had no idea what to say to that. She hadn’t even known that sex could be pleasurable for females. Her mother certainly hadn’t derived any pleasure from her father rutting over her every night.

“You are not your mother,” the High Lord frowned. There he went, dipping into her thoughts again. Something she’d begun to notice after their initial panicked moments together. Perhaps she should be more terrified that her mate was a daemati, capable of rifling through her head like ledger, but she only felt…safe (if a little annoyed). “You are mine. And I will never let you feel as if fucking is a chore.”

And it was clear he intended to make good on that promise as he crawled over her like the predator he was and spread her legs wide. Once more, he brought her to her peak with his fingers dipping into the hot cleft of her and circling the tiny nub of flesh at its apex.

This certainly didn’t seem anything like the sex she’d seen. For one, her mate hadn’t put his cock inside her yet, and seemed more than content with making her writhe around like a cat in heat.

“But…what about you?” Verena gasped.

Perhaps her question reminded him of just why they were here, because in the next moment she suddenly found herself rolled over and up until she sat astride the High Lord of the Night Court, her wings flared out behind her as she tried to find her balance.

“This will do for me just fine.”

She felt her cheeks heat, feeling even more on display than before. Perhaps that was the point.

“But…what do I do?” It felt stupid to ask such a question, but her frame of reference for such things was limited to the glimpses she’d gotten of her parents late at night. And of course as far as she knew they’d only ever done things with her father on top.

But her new husband seemed completely unbothered by her question and only urged her hips to grind down, back and forth. She felt her cunt slip slide over his cock and felt her face grow even warmer in response.

She felt…she felt…

“That’s it,” he grunted in encouragement before she felt his cock catch against the mouth of her cunt and-

It…it didn’t hurt.

Verena marveled at that fact more than any other as she slid slowly down and watched her mate’s face twist as if he were the one in pain. She’s heard so many stories from the females in her life, warnings and shared commiseration of now terrible and painful sex was supposed to be, especially that first time.

Though it didn’t quite feel pleasurable, her muscles ached at the stretch clearly not used to such an activity quite yet, but it was a shock to realize that there was no pain either. That something feared and spoken of in resigned and frightened whispers was, in fact, quite…nice.

“We can do better than nice,” her mate growled suddenly and then his thumb was on that little nub of flesh between her legs and-

“Oh!” She felt that shivery, clenching feeling return.

He seemed pleased with that reaction and kept up his ministrations as Verena instinctively rocked back and forth, chasing that lovely, maddening high he’d given her before. And like before, all it took was his other hand creeping up to brush against her wing and she was gone. She gasped as her whole body clenched and tightened down on the male inside of her and she heard his ragged groan and felt something hot coat the inside of her cunt. 

In her haze, she felt strong arms pull her down and warm lips brush along her forehead and then onto her own.

Her first kiss.

It was…sweet.

Not exactly something she would’ve associated with her imposing, stoic mate. But then again, she barely knew him. That was alright though. They had their whole lives to get to know one another. And even if he turned out to be terrible, at least he’d given her this.

Her freedom.

A future.

So she leaned down and kissed him back.

[myimaginaryradio]

I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles

[rolloroberson]

Sometimes you can actually see and hear the entire world change right before you. The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964.

[rastronomicals]

8:20 AM EDT October 27, 2024:

Pink Fairies - "I Saw Her Standing There" From the album What a Bunch of Sweeties (July 1972)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Pretty straight-up cover of The Beatles thing, a little more raw maybe

File under: Psycho-candy

--

[gatutor]

Bonita Granville

I saw her standing there

[thaern]

Your life suddenly gain purpose when you dance and sing I Saw Her Standing There in a concert with the freaking Paul McCartney and I'm happy for that

[s0ng-of-the-day]

Todays song of the day is:

I Saw Her Standing There by The Beatles

“Well she was just seventeen—

If you know what I mean”

[floralcavern]

“Well she was just 17! If you know what I mean.”

John, John what the fuck do you mean “If you know what I mean.”? John. This is serious. Wtf????

[harrisongslimited]

George Chapter of the Day. March 13, 2024

Greetings my dear tumblr and Beatles' families! Happy to announce I'm popping a foot into the fanfiction pool and seeing 👀 what happens. Your comments are more than welcome!!

All the important stuff:

Title: I Saw Her Standing There

Story Description: John, Paul, George and Ringo meet Joie Armagh, a strong willed American girl, who influences their lives more than they wanted.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, drug references, adult situations and behavior, M/F smut, fluff, falling in love, tense arguments, angst.

**18 only please***

**This is a work of fiction. As such, it should not be read as a factual account of events or as biography. While many characters of the story bear the names of actual people, they and their actions have been imagined by the author and should be considered products of the imagination. This story is fictional and the events did not happen. It is written and re-produced here online for the purposes of entertainment only.**

Author's Note: I've noticed many fanfics have a Starrison or a McLennon flair, but this story will be M/F interactions including smut. It's just how I see them! Now if you're under 18, just move yourself right along. As I'm not there to patrol over you, just be strong and pass this up. I had to wait to read adult material and so do you!

Thank you to gif artists and photo owners.

Phew! That's over....

She was across the room from him; he could barely see her without his thick, black rimmed glasses. He felt her. Felt her as if she were standing within inches of him. His skin was hot. The light brown hair on his arms came alive – his stomach grumbled with a feral intensity.

Chapter 1

There was something about her. Something, he figured, she didn't know about yet, something she didn't know how to use – yet – but it made John Winston Lennon rearrange his slumped body to a nearly half-attentive position.

John watched her as best he could without his glasses. He was nearly blind without them, but acknowledged only to himself that he was far too vain to wear them in public. Besides, if he had to see something that important, Paul, George or Ringo would alert him. But at this moment, they were too interested in their own orbits to notice much.

She was talking to someone. Someone he didn't know – which he didn't care much about. From her body language, he could tell it was tense. She ran a hand through her short, auburn hair, and he continued to watch as she pointedly aggravated the man she was talking to.

This, to John, was great entertainment.

She turned in John's direction, although he couldn't tell if she saw him or not. It was nice she wasn't straining to scope out a look at the four of them , like they were the side-show freaks they felt like – or make a mad dash for the table to try to touch him like he was some bloody good luck charm. He liked that. Maybe she didn't give a shit who they were. THAT, he nodded to himself, would be refreshing for a fucking change.

She was, however, very pissed off at the little runt who was running the audition and had he been asked, John would have agreed with her. The whole scene was outrageously idiotic, as were their whole lives now, but he had danced with the devil and this was payback time.

The little moron in charge, whom John was introduced to but couldn't have cared less about, was a highly paid ass-kisser with a slimy handshake and badly manipulated crew cut. John might have the appearance of someone who didn't give a shit, but he took in everything. Every person, every nuance, every sight and smell and sound. Nothing got past him, unless he wanted it to. And the little California-tanned wild bird was giving it to the little pisser and John couldn't take his eyes away from her. It made him jealous and angry and aroused that she could do what he wasn't allowed to.

Brian was about to intervene, as the pisser/wild bird barney was holding up the whole show. He wanted to tell Brian to leave her alone, that she was practically giving him a hand job from across the room, but he also had an immediate urge to get the hell out of this place. He didn't like the United States. Too much fucking sunshine and not a decent cup of tea within 10,000 miles. But, as was his current circumstance, money, the promise of women and fame had too much a hold on all four of them for anyone to say "piss off" and head back home to England. Because as sure as the sun rose in the east, if one went home, they'd ALL go home.

John watched as Brian interrupted the moron and the woman of his dreams. He threw an elbow into Paul's side to wordlessly alert him to the situation. Paul lifted up his brown eyes and tried to force a smile.

"Another one?"

"No man. Totally different. She's cutting that audition manager a new asshole."

"Good. Maybe we can get the fuck out of here. I'm beginning to think I made a wrong move when I chose a band over plumber's apprentice."

John looked at Paul. "You? A plumber? I'd pay to see your ass rooting out some loo in the low rent district."

"Piss off....," he answered. "So what's going on?"

John filled him in. Ringo and George were both still half asleep, cigarettes hanging off their lower lips. No one made any attempt to pay attention when their manager approached them.

"Get those bloody fags out of your mouths," Brian said to them. "You are all clean cut, working class boys from across the pond – and well paid to act your parts. So sit up and pay attention."

John made an obscene gesture. Ringo turned his back to him continuing to smoke and George leaned forward and gazed at Brian with his middle finger slowly working its way up to his temple.

Paul, ever the diplomat, made a valiant attempt to appear slightly more involved. "Look Brian, we aren't trying to make your life hell, but this is getting out of hand. We've spent 2 hours evaluating 200 girls who want to have a role in this movie. Really, it doesn't matter. We don't even know what the movie is about. Just have that little audition manager pick out the best of the bunch and send everyone on their way."

Brian sighed and pulled up a chair. John knew they were about to be lectured from the Brian Epstein Guide to Managing a Famous British Band. John wished he could order about a dozen Scotch and Cokes and call it a day.

"Boys," he started.

Ringo, George and John turned the switches off and began cruising down the avenues of their brains. Paul pretended to listen and caught the gist of the whole thing.

They were famous. Yes, he remembered that. There were politics involved in being famous. Yes, he remembered that. It was sometimes necessary to go through these things for the publicity. Yes, he remembered that.

"Just like a politician. You have to, figuratively speaking, kiss the babies and hug the old ladies. Half these girls are daughters of Hollywood big-wigs. We can't piss them off. We must pretend we are gentlemen."

"Thank God we've had lessons...." John piped in. "Now shut the hell up and tell me who that bird is."

"Who?"

"The one who is still going off on the audition manager."

Brian turned and jumped up. "Oh shit."

John sat totally upright for the first time all day as he saw her coming towards them at a determined gait. The audition manager followed her, mumbling.

Brian was about to intercept her when John looked at him sternly. "Back off, big man. Let her have her say."

If there was one thing Brian knew, it was when to absolutely listen to John. He could manipulate the other three on an individual basis, but John alone or the 4 of them enmasse, well, that was the ballgame. He let out a heavy breath.

John stood to watch her walk towards them. He had seen plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous. He had HAD plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous, but this pissed off bird was in a class by herself. She was nothing like the girls he normally went after – nothing like the birds of his own turf. He was, at this stage of his life, attracted to "bee-bees", Beautiful, Brainless and Sexy chicks who knew better than to open their mouths for anything except a blow-job. After a brief affair consisting of plenty of sex and perhaps a late night supper or two, maybe an autograph or an album, it was less of a problem to diplomatically dump a BB than it was a hometown girl or some mate's sister.

John had his exit line and delivered it with the precision of Olivier playing Hamlet. He could conjure up this little boy lost persona, with a pained "this is going to hurt me more than it is you" look and begin his speech. "I'm SOOO sorry, but I've realized that I really DO love my wife and I don't know how to thank you for helping me see the honest truth. I have to go back to her. Your unselfishness and honesty showed me what I must do. I know you'll understand. I can't tell you what you have done for me. I will never forget you (insert name or not). "

And it worked. 99% of the time. The other 1%, Brian took care of.

All at once, she was in front of them. Directly in between Paul and George. John shifted in his chair to look at her.

"Look, I know this is all fun and games, but it's 95 degrees out there in the hallway and girls are dropping like flies. There's no water, no air. C'mon---hasn't everyone had enough?"

Brian walked over to her and extended a courtly British hand. "I'm sorry Ms. but you will have to get back into line or leave the audition. You are causing a disruption."

The young woman looked at Brian then beseechingly at the four English lads that were sitting before her. John, for once in his life, was speechless.

Paul stood and faced her. "We didn't know..." was all he could muster. She was not amused. Not amused at all with any of them. George turned his eyes toward her and remained quiet.

"Well, now you do," she said without emotion, then sighed. "Look, I know you are the biggest things to come out of England since Earl Grey, but it's really hot out there. Can you put an end to this?"

George finally spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Her brown eyes flashed at him. "Does it matter? I'm just trying to get those other girls out of the heat."

"Why do you care?" John blurted out, his cigarette smoke exiting his mouth.

She sighed and was going to speak when Brian returned with a police officer and the audition manager.

"Hold off...." John eyed him.

The police officer stared at the woman for a minute before saying, "Joie?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. It's me. I'm just trying to get those girls out of the heat, Mr. Watson. Or get them some water or something. I know they are all probably daughters of movie studios, but they are melting just the same."

Officer Watson turned to Brian. "I know this girl. She doesn't mean any harm. And after all, she has a point...."

John and Brian exchanged looks. Brian knew it well.

"We will get the girls out of the heat and move this along...." He answered properly.

"Thank you." Was all she said. And she turned to leave.

She didn't give a shit that they were the Beatles. She didn't give a shit if she got a bit part in their first movie. She just didn't give a shit about them. What she cared about was 90 remaining strangers, struggling in the heat.

John was enamored.

The audition manager was sweating profusely. He was too old for this shit. He had been around the greats---Barrymore, Hepburn, Gable. These punks from somewhere in England might make every girl wet her pants, but all they were was trouble to him.

Brian pulled him aside and a plan was made to move the line of girls along so they could get a look at the Lads from Liverpool and Brian would pick the 15 or so they needed in bit parts. The others would be given a ticket to the final concert in the film. All Brian knew for sure is that there was going to be a concert at the end. And 100 seats were to be occupied by the offspring of Hollywood elites. The other seats were to be auctioned off to fans through the fan club.

This is what he knew....as the screenwriter typed away, tucked safely back in London.

"Mal...." John groused at their assistant. "get her number....."