#sometimes john and sometimes Ringo

[maybeyourelocalbi]

1963 the beatles perform at the beatles christmas show, at the astoria cinema, finsbury park, london, new years eve, dec.31st

[ringosmistress]

[spacestation-l7]

Sleeping arrangements

(Monster AU doodles while I try to lock in for Comifuro!)

[gretagator]

Hi

[harrisonsbabygirl]

What I think each Beatle would be as a Flower

For Paul I chose a daffodil. He just gives me this kind of energy🌼

Obviously a Marigold for George

I chose bleeding hearts for Ringo. I think he loves them.

And for John I chose very specifically a white and black petunia

[paulic]

the love was there I think, until the end even

[snuuysideup]

“care to join us for a cuppa” ass photo 😭

[hide-your-bugs-away]

wet beatles jumpscare 😔

[rungosturr]

Just finished one of the books about The Beatles and I wanted to share my thoughts.

I don’t know if anyone of you guys have a feeling of being broken by the end of story, even if you know it very well, but this is how i feel right now.

I told my dad „I expected what will happen, cause it’s a part of real history, but everytime it hits different”.

These 4 guys are literally half of my life. I started to listening them when I was 12 and half, now I’m 25. I grow up with their music, their stories, but what is most important, their support.

I had a lot of problems (for sure it’ll be even more) and sometimes I think about John, Paul, Ringo and George like they are my friends. It could sounds very immature, naive and childish, but I don’t really care about it. They literally write my story and in many ways saves me.

I’m really thankfull that they appeared in my life. No one ever reached out to me like that and gave me so much motivation.

Thank you.

(Just an emotional crying, scroll down).

[lilamala]

Artist Tells of Virgin Rites at Beatle Bacchanal

[...] I was somehow hit behind the ear by a stray lavender Jellybean --- ouck! the Beatles were covered in the nasty things and ugly lumpy toys were thrown at them. All crude homemade freaks of the virgin mind --- Just a sweet girl trying to kill a georgeous boyy she loves--- [...] Do the barbie dolls want one of their loves to lose one of his real shiny eyes that open and close! --- Yes! [...]

Hey You'v got to hide yourself from me. Behind an ugly plastic-shield, where you will be safe from the Virgin Girl, who thinks you would fall madly in love with her, if she could get your attention, with a lavender Jellybean in the eye ---.

Art and story by Patricia Oberhaus in Berkeley Barb, Vol 1 No 5, September 10 1965

[george-harrisons-last-biscuit]

A meme and two photos I thought would make great meme templates. 14 year old Neil is done cooking.

[ringosmistress]

[m-olenska]

[April 1, 1974] “It was here on a sunny afternoon that John and Paul were photographed together for the very last time (…) “Let’s see each other again,” McCartney ventured to his old partner before leaving the gathering. Following the McCartneys’ departure, Lennon turned to Pang and said: “you know, I sometimes worry about George and Ringo. Never about Paul. The guy’s just so together.”

Richard White, Come Together: Lennon and McCartney in the Seventies

[gardenwalrus]

Pattie Boyd on herself, George, John and Cynthia being spiked with LSD-laced coffee by their dentist, John Riley

Our dentist, John Riley, had turned us on to acid. He and his girlfriend invited John, Cynthia, George, and me to dinner at his house in Hyde Park Square one evening sometime in 1965. [...] We had a lovely meal, plenty to drink, and at the end George said, “Let’s go.” We were planning to see some friends playing at the Pickwick Club. John Riley’s girlfriend jumped to her feet. “You can’t,” she said. “You haven’t had any coffee yet. It’s ready, I’ve made it - and it’s delicious.” We sat down again and drank the coffee she was insistent we should have. But then we were really keen to get away and John Lennon said, “We must go now. These friends of ours are going to be on soon. It’s their first night, we’ve got to go and see them.” And John Riley said, “You can’t leave.” “What are you talking about?” said John Lennon. “You’ve just had LSD.” “No, we haven’t.” “Yes, you have,” said our host. “It was in the coffee.” John Lennon was absolutely furious. “How dare you fucking do this to us?” he said.

George and I said, “Do what?” We didn’t know what LSD was. John Lennon was the only one of us who knew because he had read about it in Playboy. He said, “It’s a drug,” and as it began to take effect we felt even more strongly that we didn’t want to be there. I wondered if the dentist, who hadn’t had any coffee, had given it to us hoping the evening might end in an orgy. We were desperate to escape. John Riley said he would drive us and we should leave our car with him. “No,” we said. We piled into my Mini, which seemed to be shrinking, and drove to the club where our friends were playing. All the way the car felt smaller and smaller, and by the time we arrived we were completely out of it. People kept recognising George and coming up to him. They were moving in and out of focus, then looked like animals. We clung to each other, feeling surreal. Soon we moved on to the Ad Lib Club - we knew it and thought we might feel better if we were in familiar surroundings. It wasn’t far from the Pickwick so we walked and on the way I remember trying to break a shop window. The Ad Lib was on the top floor, above the Prince Charles Theatre in Leicester Place, and we thought the lift was on fire because there was a little red light inside. As the doors opened, we crawled out and bumped into Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, and Ringo. John told them we’d been spiked. The effect of the drug was getting stronger and stronger, and we were all in hysterics and crazy. When we sat down, the table elongated. Hours later we decided to go home. We climbed into the car again and this time George drove - at no more than ten miles an hour, concentrating hard, all the way to Esher. But it felt as though he was doing a thousand miles an hour [...] it was daylight by the time we got home. We went into Kinfauns and locked the gate so that the cleaner wouldn’t come in and find us, put the cat into a room on her own, and sat down. The drug took about eight hours to wear off, but it was very frightening and we never spoke to the dentist again.

- From Pattie Boyd's autobiography Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me (2007)

[sugardollcurse]

Heeyyyy could I possibly request kiss hcs with the boys? I just wanna smooch them real bad pretty please twirling my hair batting my eyelashes

𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎

꒰ pairings ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ heyyyyy it's you! and yes absolutely !!! i've been wanting to do these for a while...

꒰ JOHN ꒱

“C’mere, I’m not gonna bite...unless you ask me nice.”

John’s kisses are impulsive. They come out of nowhere.

On the tube, in the kitchen, between sentences. Sometimes they’re just to shut you up (lovingly), and sometimes they’re because he suddenly remembered you exist and it physically hurt not to touch you.

He grabs you by the jaw, sometimes with one hand, and pulls you into him like you’re a secret he’s about to spill.

When he’s being cocky, they’re fast and teasing: a kiss and a grin and another one just to hear you whine. “Thought you liked that,” he’ll say, all smug, watching your pupils blow wide.

But when he’s soft?

Then it’s both arms around you, lips lingering at your mouth like he’s trying to taste every word you’ve ever said to him.

He’ll kiss you with his forehead after.

Rest his nose against yours. Just… linger.

Loves kissing you in bed when you’ve just woken up, all messy and slow, like you’re still dreaming.

Says he doesn’t like PDA. Absolutely does like PDA.

Always bites your bottom lip at the end. Every single time.

꒰ PAUL ꒱

“Hang on-wait, just stay there a second. You’ve got this look on your face.... yeah, that one.”

Paul kisses like he’s choreographing something.

They’re smooth, practiced, intentional, but still so warm you feel like honey’s melting down your spine.

He’s a face-holder. Palm to your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw, eyes locked on yours right up to the second his lips meet yours.

He takes his time. Presses in gently, then deeper, until you melt into it. And when you do melt, he smiles into it. Like he knew you would.

Whispers between kisses. “You alright?” “You like that?” “Mm, you taste sweet.”

Kisses you on your temples. On your eyelids. Your nose. He’s annoyingly good at those kisses that make your heart race and your knees go stupid.

His favorite? The slow kiss that turns into a laugh, your teeth bump, or your nose twitches, and suddenly you’re both giggling into each other’s mouths.

Presses his forehead against yours after, hands still cradling your face like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

Also: he 1000% kisses your hand when he’s feeling dramatic. Full-on lifts it, eyes on you, all, “M’love.”

Will definitely pull a “there’s something on your lip” trick just to sneak one in. And if you call him out on it, he’ll only grin wider. “S’just maintenance. Keeping you neat.”

꒰ GEORGE ꒱

“Why’re you starin’ at me like that? …If you want a kiss, just say so.”

His kisses are confident and purposeful.

He’s not shy, not hesitant. If he wants to kiss you, he does.

Leans in, hands on your waist or in your back pockets, and just takes it.

He’s got this steady, controlled way of kissing like he’s reading you.

Pacing it slow at first, until he finds the exact pressure and rhythm that makes you lean in harder.

And when you do? His whole mouth tilts into a smile. He likes knowing he’s undone you.

George kisses with his whole body. He’ll back you up against a counter, press his chest to yours, pull you flush with his hands at your lower back.

Loves when you’re kissing and you grab at his hair, he groans into your mouth, deep and low.

He’s got a sweet side to it. The kind of kiss where he cups your face gently and kisses you so tenderly it feels like an apology you didn’t know you needed.

Not a big PDA guy, but if he’s buzzed or feeling bold, he’ll kiss your neck at a party just to see you go pink.

Sometimes he stares at your mouth and smirks. Doesn’t say anything. Just smirks. And then kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world.

꒰ RINGO ꒱

“I could snog you all day and still think it wasn’t enough.”

Ringo kisses like he’s letting you in on a secret. It always starts playful.

He’ll smirk, say something cheeky, lean in like he’s gonna peck your cheek... and then bam, he hits you with the real thing.

He’s warm, so warm.

Always smells like cigarettes and rain and something a little sweet, and he kisses like he means it. Like he’s not in a rush because he knows you’re not going anywhere.

He kisses with his whole body. Like, chest pressed to yours, arms wrapped tight, hips in sync, like he’s trying to fuse your souls through mouth contact.

Makes soft “mm” noises while you kiss sometimes, totally unconsciously.

He’ll tug your lower lip with his teeth, deepen the kiss fast if you let him. Very responsive, if you shift, he matches it instantly.

He likes the build-up. Will kiss your cheek first. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. Watches you react. Waits.

He’s also a fan of ridiculous kisses.

Quick pecks while you’re brushing your teeth. Playful ones that land on your nose instead. Kisses that end in laughter. But all of that masks just how deep it goes for him.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin

[tavolgisvist]

That evening in the dressing-room of the cinema at York two girls came in and asked to interview them. They said they wanted the interview so they could make a tape of it for a third girl who was ill in hospital. John sat in a corner away from the group. ‘It’s probably just an excuse to get into our dressing-room,’ he says. ‘Anyway women should be obscene and not heard.’ ‘Switch it on now,’ says Paul conducting the interview for the bewildered girls. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks Ringo. ‘John’, says Ringo. He then asks the girls their names. ‘How did you like Germany when you were there?’ asks the girl whose name is Eileen. ‘We liked it fine,’ says Paul. ‘It was hard work,’ says Ringo. ‘Yeah’, says George. All during the interview they sign autograph books that had been sent to their dressing-room, and when they aren’t actually answering a question they read letters from fans. The girls walk over to John. ‘How do you write the songs ?’ says the girl whose name is Daphne. John doesn’t answer. Paul shouts across the room in a voice you use to an errant child, ‘Tell us about the songs, John, tell us about the songs.’ ‘Sometimes we write them together’, says John. ‘Sometimes not. Some of them take four hours; some twenty minutes. Others have been known to take as long as three weeks.’ ‘What’s your favourite song that you’ve written?’ ‘I think “Glad All Over”,’ says Paul, opening his eyes even wider. ‘No, I’m kidding. I think at the moment it’s our new record “I want to hold your hand”. Is that all right ?’ ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ says Eileen. ‘Thank you very much indeed.’ ‘Oh dear,’ says Daphne. ‘It doesn’t seem to have been recording. Sorry about that.’ <…> Inside, the compere is asking: ‘Do you want to see John?’ (Screams.) ‘George?’ (Screams.) ‘Paul?’ (Screams.) ‘Ringo?’ (Pandemonium.) They appear, and all during their act a man in a dinner jacket stands in front of the stage looking bewildered. The girls wave, hold up pictures, and scream. <…> Paul runs off stage shouting, ‘Oh my God, my ulcer. Nell, do you have a ciggy?’ Aspinall alternately hands him a cigarette and leads him toward the stage door where their car is waiting to take them to the hotel. <…>

The Beatles are in their hotel bedrooms finishing their dinners. George feels tired and goes to sleep. John, wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of trousers, wanders down the hallway past the guard, into the room shared by Paul and Ringo. The table filled with the empty dinner dishes is at the foot of Ringo’s bed. Ringo, dressed in pyjamas, is sitting up in bed. Paul, also in pyjamas, is talking about a film, The Trial, which he has just seen in London. He is describing a scene in which there is a misunderstanding about a word, when the telephone rings. ‘Hello, helloho,’ says Paul in a falsetto and then, realizing it is a friend, says Hello seriously. <…> ‘What I liked best in The Trial’, he says, ‘was when they walked quietly through the concentration camp. It was so dead quiet, just like another world and Elsa Martinelli in the background just necking like mad.’ <…> ‘Uh, I need another drink, baby,’ says John. Paul goes to the phone. ‘Hello? Yeah, send us six single Scotches - No, make it doubles, yeah, doubles.’ <…> They started discussing the feelings of adults towards pop music. ‘We’re definitely fighting a prejudice,’ says John. ‘That’s why I’m interested in John getting his book out,’ says Paul. ‘I mean, I haven’t got a cut or anything. It’s just that one of us would be doing something to make people notice. I mean, it’s the same as if one of us wrote a musical. People would get rid of their prejudice and stop thinking that pop people can only sing or go into a dance routine.’ <…> ‘You remember after that big spate of publicity we got in the national papers,’ says John, ‘which was uncalled for by our office. We were news at the time, and it only just happened we clicked in fourteen editors’ minds at the same time. One day Paul was ill and I believe one of the papers wanted a picture of him. Nell told them they couldn’t have it, and the photographer said: “You mean, after all the publicity we gave them – we made them.” I’d like to meet this fella who said it.’ Paul explained that they never talk to the teenage magazines. ‘They just make it up. I think they prefer it that way…’

(Love Me Do. The Beatles Progress by Michael Braun, 1963/1995)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI), (VII), (VIII)

(+ about Paul's flue)