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whatstruthgottodowithit · 2 years ago

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Elvis Fuckin’ Presley

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Actor, RPF, Elvis 2022, The Beatles,

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader

Characters: Elvis Presley, Female Reader, Jerry Schilling, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, John Lennon, George Harrison, Marty Lacker

Word Count: 3590

Rating: Explicit

Summary: It’s true that they’re four of the best and most talented musicians on the planet. But he’s still Elvis Fuckin’ Presley.

Tags/Warnings: Request, Requested Fic, Sex, Oral Sex, Fingering, Elvis Meets The Beatles, The Beatles, Bel Air, Los Angeles, Reader is English, Kissing, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Insecurity, Elvis is Insecure, Marking Territory, Semi-Public Sex, Doggy Style

Notes:

As someone whos not v fond of John Lennon this was fun to write.

As someone from Manchester this was hard to write lolol.

Enjoy <3

Updated 8/23

Elvis Tags: @literally-just-elvis-fics @caitlin1996 @notstefaniepresley

Request: omg could you do like a fic where elvis and reader meet the Beatles (reader is a scouser and from Liverpool) then reader and the Beatles are talking about like there favourite thing from Liverpool and elvis get jealous and lashes out at reader then like kisses her in front of the Beatles like everyone is shocked Memphis mafia are the Beatles are but it ends up with reader and elvis having extremely loud makeup sex whilst the Beatles are downstairs, elvis and the reader come back down stairs and like the Beatles are just in pure shock?

'Do I have to meet them?' Elvis grumbled making me turn around from where I was sitting at my vanity. He was sitting on the edge of the bed slipping his shoes on and paying no attention to me, his words seemingly offered to the universe rather than at me directly.

'Don't be a spoilsport,' I said.

'I'm not being a spoilsport,' he said curtly finally looking up to where I was sat, 'I just don't see why they wanna meet me,'

'Seriously?' I said. Elvis shrugged as if this statement was a fair one. I had to hold back a laugh. Elvis. Elvis fuckin’ Presley. One of the most if not the most famous and successful man on the planet was wondering why someone would want to meet him. I climbed off the stool I was occupying and headed over to him. He wrapped his arms around my thighs, pulling me onto his lap as I wrapped my arms around him.

'They want to meet you because they love you,' I murmured, 'like everyone else does.'

'Even if I'm some dated old has-been?' he asked, the look in his eye was a sincere one, the doubt and fear evident behind his blue gaze which made my heart ache for him.

'You could never be that,' I said kissing his forehead, 'but even so, they won’t wait forever. Come on, let's get this show on the road.'

As I slipped off his lap and offered my hand out for him to take he seemed to debate whether or not he was going to comply before eventually he slipped his strong hand around mine gripping it tightly before the pair of us headed downstairs. The air was different down here. I could feel the excitement coming off of everyone downstairs, whether it was for Elvis himself or the four floppy-haired boys sitting down in the living room waiting for us I didn't know. Though I had to admit I was just as excited as everyone else. Probably more so. Being with Elvis I had become accustomed to celebrities. Some were nice, some were not but at the end of the day, they were all human. What they could do on stage or screen melted back and they became just regular people sometimes even friends albeit slightly more talented than most. But these boys were different. Not because they were supremely talented. Not because they were 'bigger than Jesus'. But because they were four boys from the same place I came from. Four boys who had grown up similarly to me and made it as big as anyone could be. That was some feat.

When we came into the living room all chattering stopped, a noticeable shift in the air. Elvis made his way through the reams of people, shaking hands with those he needed to with me lagging just a second behind him until we were through the throng. I didn't put myself forward, all of a sudden too shy to speak, and instead, I let Elvis navigate everything. Once the formalities were over and each person introduced Elvis led me to a seat, seemingly ignoring the four men sat opposite us who were watching us in various states of awe as he pulled me down beside him and threw his arm around my shoulders before he started assessing them. No one said anything. Some of the guys were with us though they all seemed unsure of what to do as Elvis didn't speak and neither did the boys. There were no attempts at starting a conversation just a stony silence with them watching him just as closely as he was watching them. It was awkward. As I looked at each of them I felt a million questions bubbling around in my head, how I figured Elvis' fans must feel when face to face with him. After a few minutes of agony, Elvis cleared his throat to speak.

'You know if you're gonna sit there and stare at me all night I'm gonna go to bed,' he said. A titter ran through the room putting everyone at ease though I could tell he wasn't feeling as relieved as everyone else. He was tense whether through shyness or irritation I didn't know. I just hoped he could behave.

✵✵✵

The air was cool as I stepped out into the garden in an attempt to try and wake myself up. Though I was having a good time the party had only gotten going late in the evening and so I was flagging a little as the boys talked on. While I didn't get involved much, my nerves still not really disappearing, I sat obediently next to him listening to them talk and eventually start playing songs together until I could feel my eyes drifting closed. That many bodies and the warmth of an August night left me tired and so I slipped outside hoping not to disturb the party.

I walked over to the edge of the patio looking out across the expanse of houses that made up Beverly Hills. It was only then I heard the movement and looked around to find John and George sitting on our patio furniture with Jerry beside them looking sheepish.

'Sorry,' I mumbled, 'I didn't know you were out here.'

'It's okay,' Jerry said, 'I mean we were just talking.'

'Yeah, feel free to stay,' John said eyeing me up as he patted the spare bit of sun lounger beside him making it impossible for me to flee back into the house. I came and sat down beside him offering them both a soft smile.

'So, what are you guys doing out here?' I said looking at Jerry for an answer rather than the boys.

'It's a bit crowded in there,' George said, 'needed a breather.'

'Yeah it can get a bit like that,' I said.

'I'm just glad someone spoke,' Jerry said, 'for a minute there I thought you were gonna ogle one another all night.'

'Yeah and I'm surprised he didn't boot us out right after,' George said.

'It was a fair question,' John said with a shrug referring to the first thing he had said which had been an immediate character assassination. I figured it wasn't meant to be harsh but asking Elvis about his movie career could be like lighting a powder keg. It wasn't that he didn't like acting or that he didn't appreciate the money it was just that the creative control he yearned for wasn't there. In fact, most of the control wasn't in his hands. Fortunately, if he had taken John's questioning to heart he had managed to mask it well, showing the great actor he could be.

'And anyway, if anyone asks we can just say he didn't understand my accent,' John chuckled.

'I doubt that's an excuse,' Jerry said earning a confused look from John.

'Why not?'

'Well he's got his own translator right here, right Y/N?' he said looking at me.

'Well yeah,' I said.

'You're a Brit?' George asked.

'Even better than that I'm a scouser,' I said.

'Now you say it I can hear a twang,' John said.

'It's not as strong as it used to be I've been here too long,' I said.

'Where abouts are you from?' John asked.

'Speke,' I said, 'though I only lived there until I got to comp then my dad got a job out here and we moved.'

'That's not too far from where I grew up,' John said, 'I was up in Woolton.'

'My Nana's lives up that end. She's not gonna believe I've met you,' I said trying not to cringe at just how gushing my voice sounded though John seemed to like it.

'You're livin' with Elvis Presley and you're Nan's gonna be impressed by us?' George said.

'You're the Beatles,' I said as if it were obvious, 'though there is one question I need answering before I can decide if she'll like you.'

'Oh yeah, what's that?' John asked with a smug smile as he leaned in a little closer to me.

'Are you a red or a blue?'

✵✵✵

We stayed out on the terrace for a while though eventually, a night-time breeze settled in forcing us back inside. The house was a warm relief as I stepped inside heading towards the circular sofas people were still dotted along. Elvis looked up as I entered though his strumming didn't slow down as he continued to meet the rhythm of the song Paul was playing on his own guitar. He did however eye me closely reminding me that I was still shrouded in the jacket John had provided in an effort to keep us outside a while longer. I shirked it off and offered it to him though he just took it and threw it on the back of the sofa for safekeeping as he slunk down in a seat next to Paul.

As I sat down beside Elvis he looked at me and I smiled though he didn't offer one in return, his face only darkened as I heard John speak, 'hey Elvis you didn't tell us you had a native in your midst.'

'Huh?' Elvis said somewhat curtly.

'Y/N she's a scouser,' John said.

'Oh really?' Paul said.

'Yeah,' John said, 'we've had a good old chat haven't we.'

'Oh have you,' Elvis said making me squirm in my seat as I saw the jealousy behind his eyes flame.

'Where you from?' Paul said.

'Speke,' I said.

'Oh I've got family from there,' Paul said, 'not that we get back home much these days. What about you?'

'Oh now and again,' I said airily. I don't know why. I hadn't been back to Liverpool in years in fact I rarely spoke about it after having my accent mocked through my teenage years had caused me to drop it for something more subtle but it was still very much a part of me. As Paul started asking me about myself I felt Elvis tense. His strumming had stopped and both he and John were eyeing each other. I tried to ignore them both, keeping my eyes trained on Paul as he continued talking.

'Oh I'm pretty much acclimatised now though Memphis heat is something different in itself,' I said.

'It's the humidity I bet,' Paul said.

'I don't know,' John said, 'it wasn't that warm on the patio. Y/N had to practically sit on my lap to get stop her teeth chattering.'

'It is nearly 2 am,' Paul said oblivious to the staring contest the other men were having but I clocked his words straight away as did Elvis whose grip on my leg tightened for just a second. He didn't say anything though as he placed his guitar down and shifted out of his seat grabbing the attention of the majority of people in the room. He stood, smoothed his shirt and pants out and then looked at the boys in front of him as he said, 'would you excuse me for a minute?'

He then turned and offered his hand out to me awaiting mine to slip into it obediently. I knew better than to reject it and so I allowed him to walk us out of the room followed by perplexed gazes as we disappeared from sight. He led me down the hall to an office, opening the door and gesturing for me to go inside which I did. As I turned around his lips attacked mine kissing me deeply and passionately before he broke apart leaving me breathless.

'E,' I said.

'You two have a good laugh out there?'

'It wasn't like that,' I said, 'all we did was talk.'

'That why you came in wearing his jacket?' he asked pushing me backwards until my thighs hit the desk. His hands were caressing my sides though his face remained indignant as I struggled to explain myself.

'I was cold and he offered it,' I said.

'Yeah I bet he did,' he said tersely.

'He only did it to be nice,' I said.

'Oh I'm sure being nice was all he was thinking about,' he said, 'especially after how you were gushin' over 'em.'

'I was not gushing over them!' I protested.

'I saw you,' he said, 'all smiles and giggles. Lyin' about going home so you can fit in. When was the last time you went home?'

'Not for a while!' I snapped, 'because my life is here. With you.'

'Not as good as ol Liverpool though is it?' he asked a scouse twang in his voice at the mention of the place.

'I like it here. And maybe I was excited to meet them and yeah it was nice to talk about things I remember for a moment but that doesn't mean I don't like my life. Do you think if I wanted to be back home I wouldn't just go?'

'Maybe you will...I mean you do have more in common with them...maybe one of those guys would be better for you,' he said, the anger he had come at me with was now gone replaced by sadness. He didn't look at me properly as his thumb caressed my side gently but I could see the crux of the problem like a beacon going off. He was feeling vulnerable.

'If you really believe that I might as well leave now,’ I said stroking his face tenderly, ‘I don’t care that we’re not the exact same person. We might be different but I love you no matter what.’

‘Even if I’m not bigger than Jesus,’ he murmured against my fingers.

‘You’re Elvis fuckin’ Presley,’ I giggled, ‘that isn’t half bad either.’

‘Mmm, I guess you’re right,’ he said, ‘but even so.’

‘Even so what?’

‘I wouldn’t mind wiping that smug smile off his face,’ Elvis said. I sighed.

‘E you can’t go fighting with him,’ I said, ‘imagine the press-'

‘Oh I wasn��t talking about fightin’,’ he said and with that, he kissed me once more pulling me close to him as his hand snaked up under my dress making goosebumps rise wherever they touched.

He dropped to his knees kissing up my thighs until I could feel his breath between my legs. His slender fingers teased me over the top of my panties making me shiver with anticipation which made him smirk.

‘E,’ I whimpered as he ran a finger over my clothed sex once more.

‘See, I bet he couldn’t get you like this could he?’ he said.

‘No,’ I breathed shakily.

‘Then let’s show him how it's done huh?’ he said and before I could protest he yanked my panties down and started lapping at me as if I was his first meal in days. I shimmied out of the gathered fabric, allowing him to hook a leg over his shoulder, as my hands fumbled for purchase against the table, my knuckles going white as his tongue roved over a sweet spot.

‘Elvis,’ I moaned making him hum in appreciation. I knew I should keep quiet. There was a houseful of guests most of which were not three rooms away but I couldn’t help myself. Every touch, every kiss, every breath was tantalising, edging me towards bliss moment by moment. He knew how to whip me into a frenzy. How every movement of his tongue or fingers would affect me making me whimper and moan against him.

‘E,’ I whimpered, ‘fuck E.’

‘That’s it,’ he said his fingers pumping in and out of me as he traced his thumb over my clit. He had moved from between my legs, standing in front of me so he could enjoy the show and how much I was coming undone just from his touch.

‘That’s it, honey,’ he coaxed as I moaned loudly, my head falling back. I was teetering over the edge as he worked at a ferocious pace curling his fingers inside me until I was clenching around them, soaking his fingers. As I came back to earth he pulled them out of me, wiping them against his pants with a shit-eating grin on his face.

‘Oh my God,’ I said as the heat rushed back to my face, ‘was I loud?’

‘Incredibly so,’ he said.

‘Oh my god I’m so embarrassed,’ I said but Elvis shook his head.

‘Oh no, don’t think I’m done with you yet honey,’ he said leaning in so I could feel his hot breath on my ear as he whispered in his velvety voice, ‘turn around.’

Before I could comply he flipped me, bending me roughly over the table as his fingers returned to my sex, teasing me gently. I could hear him unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down with his other hand yet I could see nothing as my cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. I felt him tease against my entrance just a little but he didn’t wait for any permission before he pushed in down to the hilt, filling me completely as he had done a few minutes before only better. It was enough to make me moan again.

‘Oh my God,’ I whimpered as he started to move. As my hands gripped the other side of the table his went to my hips gripping them as he pounded into me building speed like the finish line was already in sight.

‘That’s it baby,’ he grunted, ‘ain’t no one fill you up like I do right?’

‘No one E,’ I moaned.

‘Don’t call me that,’ he said.

‘What?’ I said barely trying able to string my thoughts together enough to know what he was talking about.

‘I’m Elvis. Fuckin. Presley,’ he said each word punctuated by a rough thrust.

‘Elvis,’ I cried feeling another climax rush over me. He continued to slam into me though his breathing had changed to a guttural pant as I trembled around him. I felt him feel for me, his hand moving from my hips as he pulled me up towards him so I was flush against his chest. My hand went to his face, reaching behind so I could coax him on as he had for me. I was sensitive as hell but every movement still felt divine as he buried his face in my neck breathing in small whimpers against me.

When he came it wasn’t as much of a spectacle. He had made me come unhinged, his touch sending me over the edge in whimpers and screams yet for him it was a delighted spill of ecstasy. He felt safe. Secure enough to collapse into me, making me clutch the desk for security. He held me close for a moment, allowing us both to come back to reality before we moved.

As Elvis slipped out of me he used the hem of my dress to clean us both up before he tucked himself back into his pants grabbing my panties off the floor with his spare hand. I offered my hand out for them but he shook his head, slipping them into his pocket with a smug smile.

‘Elvis,’ I said reaching for his pocket but he grabbed my arm and placed it up around his neck, leaning down to kiss me with a smile.

‘Uh uh,’ he said, ‘you wore his jacket. I’m keepin’ your panties.’

‘That’s not fair!’ I whined, ‘I can't go back in there not wearing any knickers.’

‘The whole house just heard you get fucked. They’re gonna be surprised you can still walk never mind what panties you’re wearing,’ Elvis said.

‘Elvis!’ I moaned but he shook his head, pressed one more kiss to my lips and then took my hand as I headed to the door.

My cheeks were aflame before we’d even touched down in the living room, even more so as his everyone looked around – a couple of sniggers flowing around the room. I tried to hide behind him but he pulled me out to his side forcing me to centre stage. I tried not to look as he spoke, but I couldn’t help be glance to where John was sitting an irritated look splashed across his face.

‘Sorry guys I’m afraid we’re gonna have to cut the party short,’ Elvis said.

‘Everything okay boss?’ Marty said with concern. He was standing by the patio door, a genuine look of concern on his face which made me wonder if he had been privy to the little show we had just put on.

‘Fine, my girls just uh a lil tired,’ Elvis said punctuating it with a cough that sure sounded like he was trying to hide a laugh. I dropped my gaze to the floor, ‘you understand right?’

‘Sure,’ Paul said standing up to reach his hand out in order to shake his hand. My heart dropped into my Elvis went through the motions of saying goodbye to them the hand that had been used to torment me not five minutes ago now touching that of every man he said goodbye to. I didn’t offer anything but a smile. He and John shook hands albeit a little more roughly than the others before Elvis came back to me, threw his arm around my shoulders and started to lead me upstairs. I glanced behind me just once, finding John watching me as I disappeared up the stairs which made my cheeks flame.

Luckily I never had to see them again though I could always feel a blush settle in whenever I heard Elvis’ rendition of ‘Hey Jude’.

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis fuckin presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis fic #the beatles #john lennon #ringo starr #george harrison #paul mccartney

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darkfictionjude · 4 months ago

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I'm sorry in advance because this is quite random, but I've been thinking about the EC time period a lot (”Wikipedia nonnie” yes it's the same person always mentioning Wikipedia lol), and I saw that The Beatles performed in NYC in 1964, 1965, & 1966 on their world tours. I think Luce would have been 12-14 during that time, so maybe a bit young but close to the right age to be one of those screaming Beatlemania fangirls you see in old photos & footage lol.

Would their parents have let them go to something like that? And maybe even gone backstage for a meet & greet (as a rich person) if that was a thing in that time? Would any of the cast be Beatles fans (or haters)?

Yeah I actually know quite a bit about the Beatles very few bands have as interesting lore as they have interesting music so 12 would be realistic as when fans would’ve been allowed to go to those shows

Antonio would’ve let them go but with guards but not backstage since he thinks those English boys are not to be trusted and he would’ve had an even lower opinion when John said the Beatles were bigger than Jesus 💀😭 Luce would’ve needed to listen to their records in secret after that

Dante likes them but isn’t into the later psychedelic stuff he likes the rock songs

Carmen LOVES the Beatles she would’ve been at those concerts and gone to meet them literally flirt like hell

Lazlo isn’t into them, doesn’t get the hype and is kind of annoyed of how hard it is to avoid them in everyday life

Charley only likes one song and that’s Eleanor Rigby

#ngl I really like time period questions #the Beatles #Dante #Carmen #Lazlo #Charley #EC

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got-ticket-to-ride · 1 year ago

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Same anon here. I wish that was a video interview. Because I love to know what the tone that part was (also I would have loved to see John's reaction to it), because you are right it seems unlikely that there where gay rumours about Paul in 1975. Maybe she is just joking, because she is uncomfortable with where the interview is going. But it also feels like such a weird joke to make, because John hasn't brought up Paul in that whole rant.

I also looked up the journalist on Wikipedia. Apparently she wrote about a lot of rock and roll artist and was married to a music producer. Maybe she heard something through the grapevine rather than public speculation.

Honestly that is the part of that interview that confuses me the most. Because I think I get what John is doing here. He is essentially establishing plausible deniability by going ”Oh you saw me at a gay bar dancing with men. Well I was only doing that so I could have a laugh at the puplic by creating fake rumours not for any other reason. *Nervous Laugh*".

I can't really tell if the interviewer and John were friendly enough to be joking with each other maybe that's why she was able to bring up Paul. I saw another interview of hers with John from 1980 on Youtube. But no audio for this 1975 one unfortunately.

This is probably a publicity stunt interview, "damage control" as suggested by their publicist. John brought up "ex-wife and current wife in a feminist relationship" that was such a silly prologue. The gay rumors from his 1974 escapades might've been getting the rounds and John had to put a cap on it because his wife didn't like their image being tarnished. John knew after "Beatles is bigger than Jesus" that he had to dance to the tune a bit even if he was such a rebel.

But it is SO funny how you've put it. Silly John with "I'm not really gay, NO, NO. I've never seen a dick in my entire life except my own." nervous laugh "Hey! how does yours look like?"

#Asks #Thanks Anon - I'm enjoying this LOL #John Lennon #Paul Mccartney #Mclennon #1975 #Lisa Robinson #Interview

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icarus-suraki · 9 months ago

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I'm trying to be kind towards the swifties and their excitement and intense fandom--because a lot of those fans are girls and women and often the things that girls and women really love get put down as less important or less meaningful.

The Beatles and Elvis were both intensely popular among girls and women in the 1950s and 1960s. Certainly the Beatles were brushed off as silly music for girls at first ("bigger than Jesus" came later). I mean, yeah, their music isn't that good, but the Beatles are generally recognized as icons of their era.

I'm not saying Ms. Swift is destined for icon status. I'm not even saying her music is any good*. But I think it would be wise to break from previous patterns seen with girls and women, music, meaning, and fandom.

*I just don't think her music is very interesting artistically. She's got some clever lines here and there but it's not much beyond average top 40 radio fare. It's fine, it's publicly acceptable but kind of boring.. Also I don't care about her personal life. Write something with the universal reflected in the particular not about how people are sending you snake emojis on twitter.

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george-harrisons-last-biscuit · 10 months ago

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Mega posts of Asks Because I enjoy organizing

Catholic

McBeardy

Homophobia from my wife

The Beatles stoned prompt

My Free is Free

Wine and Jesus

My wife says not slurs at me

Wife

Paul McMuppet

Mashup Losing You Letting Go Review

Beatles Color Association

Get back

Tea with the boy

Better Call Paul

you can dm me

url? I hardly know her

Ringo Starr, The Beatles

Ringo 1969

ice cream to share

a little pride for you

little yaoi fanfic for the boys

fuck those mop tops

I am a dumbass

Game list thing part 1

Game list thing part 2

Mclennon day

Jesus is bigger than the Beatles

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pauls1967moustache · 1 year ago

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I, K, R and U :)

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

i don't believe in guilty pleasures. i like what i like. it's my house!

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

okay the angstiest one i've had is a faul fic i sort of want to write but i shan't get into it because i don't want to spoil it. i did also have this idea for a fic that was like: john and paul get caught together in '66 (and outed) in the midst of like the end of touring and the bigger than jesus controversy and it completely derails the beatles' career, and then the fic would be set in the '80s with them reckoning with the after effects of all that mess with like flashbacks and stuff and how their life evolved. but i never ran with it because it felt like it would be a lot of work to develop. as with anything, i may come back to it.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

idk if there's specific fanfic authors i'd call like a conscious influence although there are many that no doubt have influenced me in some way. in the tsn fandom there was this writer called anistar_e and everything they wrote was an absolute banger. several of their fics were formative for me, and when i was a teenager i spent so much time wishing i could write fics that would make people as crazy as theirs made me lol. to this day nothing can ever touch M.A.D. in my mind. also outside of fanfic i really love the way james baldwin and john steinbeck write. they evoke empathy and these really deep and nuanced portrayals of complicated human connections, but they do it so effortlessly. steinbeck can create such cinematic descriptions too, like i reread of mice and men earlier this year and the way every chapter starts with like an ambient setup of the ranch like an establishing shot. it's quick and sparse but it's so effective, aughhh, i love it!

U: A pairing you might like to write for, but haven’t tried yet.

paul/yoko :)

#asks #fanfic ask meme

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msclaritea · 2 years ago

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This month, a $100 million advertising campaign and website have been launched nationwide to help a particular figure rebrand. In the current climate, just who, do you think, might warrant such a massive PR blitz?

My own answer would be “no one,” because this kind of spending to prop up the reputations of the already highly privileged strikes me as one of the more disgusting excesses of capitalism. But whether or not you share my convictions, I’m guessing you didn’t come up with the answer “Jesus.” Yes, that Jesus. A man who’s not even alive—at least not in a way that’s accessible and demonstrable to those of us on this mortal plane—and who is, despite the release of yet another major documentary last year, almost certainly bigger than the Beatles.

Despite all that, some conservative Christians are apparently one-hundred million dollars worth of concerned that the enduringly popular Mr. of Nazareth just isn’t doing it for some of the kids these days. Hence, the rebrand to make the ostensible son of God ‘cool’ and ‘relatable.’

The “He Gets Us” campaign is a project of the Servant Christian Foundation, which Christianity Today describes as “a nonprofit backed by a Christian donor-advised fund called The Signatry.” Both the Servant Foundation and the Signatry, its financial arm, are headed by Steve French—and that’s all we know about who exactly is behind the campaign. Donor-advised funds, which don’t have to disclose the identities of the donors providing the funding for the projects they support, are often used by the Christian Right to minimize transparency. As CT reports, the “He Gets Us” ad spots were produced by Bill McKendry, whose portfolio includes campaigns for notorious Christian Right organizations like Focus on the Family and Alliance Defending Freedom.

The “He Gets Us” spots feature all the forced earnestness of the “This is Your Brain on Drugs” ads from the 1980s, but none of the accidental hilarity and iconic qualities that make those spots such an enduring aspect of Gen-X and early Millennial nostalgia. I may be a little over 40 and only an irregular consumer of TikTok videos, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that “He Gets Us” is hardly going to register with today’s youth.

Gen Z is the least religious generation, and I’m pretty sure that this tech-savvy, culturally aware, and #VeryOnline generation is not going to be ‘won back to Christ’ by, for example, a heavy-handed quasi-parable about Jesus inviting everyone to his table and being “heartbroken” that some refuse his invitation, “because he wanted everyone to be filled—not with food and wine, but with compassion.”

On a superficial level, the “He Gets Us” spots have high production value, but that’s where their sophistication ends. The prose and delivery of their voiceovers are classic evangelical, managing to be somehow both vague and overwrought, in addition to being just, well, obnoxiously concerned. Meanwhile, the music is straight out of the manipulative megachurch worship service’s tug-on-the-heartstrings playbook—as someone who grew up partly in “seeker-sensitive” evangelicalism, I ought to know.

The ads also feature mostly people of color, but interestingly enough, in the photo of the Signatry’s board of directors featured on its website, I count eleven white men, three men of color, and one white woman. Don’t think that disconnect will go unnoticed by zoomers, who have excellent Google skills and don’t tend to take ideological messaging at face value.

Above all, the ads, which direct viewers to HeGetsUs.com, radiate an aura of phoniness, holding up a seemingly pro-social-justice and inclusive vision of Jesus, who frankly comes across as “the Black friend” of the people behind the campaign. Tellingly, the ads avoid mentioning any actual hot-button issues by name or taking any direct political stances, while leaving viewers to wonder, “Alright, it’s obvious that you want something from me, so what is it?” If there’s one thing I know about zoomers, it’s that they’ll see through such ham-handed efforts in a heartbeat, and then probably mock them, in meme form.

So, what do the folks behind “He Gets Us” want from the people they reach? There are a couple of ways to get at the answer to that question. Along with considering Bill McKendry’s record mentioned above, one is to take a look at the 990 forms the Signatry has filed with the IRS. 501(c)(3) nonprofit organizations, which include churches and charities, are tax exempt. But in order to maintain that status, they’re required to make annual financial filings that are matters of public record.

Thanks to that requirement, we can use 990 forms to find out what sort of organizations receive particularly large donations via the Signatry. And wasn’t it… who was that again? Oh yes, it was Jesus who reputedly said, “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,” and in that instance, at least, he had a point.

According to the Signatry’s 2020 form, the most recent available, in 2019 the organization directed over $19 million of funding to Alliance Defending Freedom, an SPLC-designated anti-LGBTQ hate group and the organization that wrote the model legislation on which Mississippi’s draconian new abortion ban was based. Nearly $8 million went to Answers in Genesis, the fundamentalist ministry behind the Creation Museum. Over $1 million is designated for Campus Crusade for Christ (rebranded as “Cru” since 2011). $374,800 went to Al Hayat Ministries, an organization that seeks to “respectfully yet fearlessly unveil the deception of Islam,” and that runs an Arabic-language Christian satellite TV station with the goal of converting Muslims to Christianity.

There’s a more direct way to approach the question of what the “He Gets Us” folks want out of the people they reach, however, and that’s to interact with their website, which offers chat and “text for prayer” options to visitors. I was first alerted to the site when my friend Artemis Stardust, who writes about their experience escaping and healing from their upbringing in a homeschooling, Quiverfull, evangelical Christian family, tagged me in a Facebook post about the PR project. While my initial reaction was along the lines of “WTAF,” I soon found myself sucked in to investigating the bizarre phenomenon further.

Stardust told me they had checked out the chat feature on HeGetsUs.com and described their experience as follows: “I asked some questions about how churches conceal abuse and was told multiple times to seek answers in the context of a church community, to read the bible and pray, and to be willing to listen.” They added, “Rather than engaging with my concerns, the staff member kept sending quotes from the Bible or links to resources on how to find a church or get their prayer team to pray for me.”

Hearing that, I decided to check out the chat feature for myself. Posing as an evangelical college student ‘struggling’ with my gender identity, I had a similar experience. The staff member I chatted with urged me to tell my pastor and my parents my secret, with seemingly little regard for whether it would be safe for me to do so. To his credit, he told me he wasn’t a licensed counselor and that I should see one, but when I said I was afraid that a counselor might lead me astray, he clarified that I should definitely only consider a Christian, “biblical” counselor. At one point he quoted “male and female he created them,” a passage from the book of Genesis frequently used by evangelicals to ‘justify’ their opposition to trans rights and same-sex marriage.

Meanwhile, Ryan Stollar, a child liberation theologian and another friend of mine, took a different approach to the “He Gets Us” chat feature, publicly posting screenshots to Facebook. Adopting the persona of a conservative evangelical angry at the ad spots’ faux social justice-oriented approach, Stollar notes that “‘the marginalized’ are people like gay people and people of color,” and asks “So you support them?”

In response, the staffer explains that the point is for those very people to be drawn in and changed so they conform to conservative evangelical values:..."

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silverdoe · 2 years ago

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You know, there is something so interesting and cool about all of these options, because while they might seem a little small in the grand scheme of the Beatles history, they each lead to cataclysmic event that will end up leading to not only their the break up as musicians/friends, but to the deaths of John and George happening the way they did, to Ringo's alcoholism to Paul's depression and so many other events like everything in history does.

I guess I should break these choices down in a way absolutely no one asked of me to do, and anyone is free to correct me on if you want to:

• With George not getting deported from Hamburg you could easily create a fork in the path of The Beatles becoming global superstars as they probably just stay growing their fandom solely in Europe, or just delay the break in America from happening between late '63/early '64 to a much later date...or maybe actually happening much earlier? This one is very fascinating to explore, because you could also in turn prevent Stuart from dying somehow, or maybe Pete stays with the group, or Pete chooses to leave on his own instead due to the constant aggression from Paul...I love this option!

• Preventing I Wanna Hold Your Hand from reaching number one probably wouldn't have stopped their rise, because to me another single (She Loves You, Twist and Shout, etc) probably could've done the same job...I'm also not entirely certain how the ramifications of that not happening would affect them, I'm not too well-versed of their charting history, but I just think anothe single from that album would've easily just done the same thing. Also, Louise Harrison helping to get radio stations to play them would still be happening, so...Someone smarter than me can explain this better, I feel.

• Now! This one's interesting because preventing the weird dentist from spiking their drinks does have ramifications in a sense, because them not discovering hard-core hallucinogenic drugs you're effectively cutting them off of the drug culture of their time (or maybe just delaying it, who's to say)...Therefore this does not allow albums like Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's, MMT and The White Album from happening because drug culture had a massive (slightly destructive) impact in their music, not just in John and Paul, but also in George and Ringo, even though Ringo wasn't a hard-core drug user like the others were (yet).

Like, this one has a true, clear impact on The Beatles as a whole, not only as musicians but as people. So this would be an interesting path to explore.

• I also feel like this one is very easy to choose, because by preventing John from ever having this conversation with Maureen you avoid the "Bigger than Jesus" thing from happening (which yeah, I know is an iconic moment, but bear with me!) which in turn doesn't lead to the Beatles becoming very antagonistic of the media AND from the media becoming antagonistic to them back; you also prevent religion to become too enmeshed with them publicly, which then avoids the band from stopping touring completely, because by stopping John from saying The Thing, you stop the violence against them to even start, and they stay as a touring unit.

This also prevents from them becoming completely isolated as studio artists, which could in fact rob us of the post-'66 stuff...Maybe. I'd also say that another positive point of this one is stopping a seed of hatred from being planted in the head of a person like Mark David Chapman; without the religious hatred towards the Beatles and John, John's 1980 death is cancelled out and possibly the 1999 attack George suffered too.

• I don't think this one needs much more explaining LMAO we all know exactly what this would prevent from happening. Yoko would easily have become relegated as another weird stalker if no one from the inner circle had allowed her to become close to any of them, especially if Paul had simply thrown away all the papers and contact info that she gave him, we would've never gotten half of the problems that occur because of her (which we're That Many, it was mostly problems in John's personal life...Although, I am of the belief that John and Cyn would've still gotten divorced at some point without Yoko having to be around).

Alternatively, maybe instead of John being the affected party by Yoko, it would've been Paul? As he was the one Beatle with a foot in the art world...God only knows how she would've gotten through to him, though LOL.

• With Pattie not learning about the Maharishi you avoid all the India problems and all of the, I guess you could say, religious freedom that George experienced for the first time in his life. But I also don't think this one is something one should choose to change, because through it you just stop everything that happens post '66 from developing musically. Like, they probably would become musically stagnant without the South Asian influence (and the drug culture aspect if we set it in the same timeline where the LSD trips are prevented) because of it , it maybe would've stopped things like MMT or even Sgt. Peppers from happening. Without George's influence, these culturally impactful experiences wouldn't happen.

• If Paul hadn't done any of the MMT thing, a lot of the other fracturing that occurred within their dynamic wouldn't have happened, because he wouldn't have had the opportunity to become the major public leader of The Beatles, which avoids creating a rift with George, but also avoids letting this democratic four-headed monster from becoming a pseudo dictatorship under him in the later years, thus preventing or maybe delaying the break up for a few more years.

I'd also like to say that I think they would've always broken up in the end, one way or another. At some point their dynamic of being attached to the hip with one of another would've collapsed, whether it was in 1970 or 1980 or 1990. It would've always happened somehow, in my mind.

• Ringo and Mo leaving does have an interesting impact, because as OP said in response to someone else: Ringo becoming a calming influence in the dynamic would've helped from the fracturing that occurred in India from, well, simply not happening at all. This would really be very interesting to explore as Ringo's positive persona would possibly keep their dynamic stable.

• By just crashing this man's plane you not only avoid The Beatles from breaking up and the mess that was the '70s, you also avoid the Rolling Stones from fleeing to France due to tax avoidance. Maybe. Someone correct me on this last bit.

• Again, like I said above: you just crash his plane and we don't get any of his shit <3

Aaaand that's all I have to say about these options because my brain is fried. Hope any of this makes sense, I'm wired up on coffee and what ifs.

#SORRY OP #IT GOT TOO LONG I KNOW 😵‍💫😭#i also picked the paul not giving john yoko's number choice because Duh #not sure if i'm completely accurate in the way things would diverge from reality with each option #because the butterfly effect is so unique so we can't ever be sure of what would or wouldn't change if we move a certain piece in the board #anyway yeah!#john lennon #george harrison #paul mccartney #ringo starr #beatles

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cherry-velvet-skies · 2 years ago

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It's time for more Beatle Era Ratings! (I fixed the title 😌)

Episode 3: Johnny Boy 🥰

Moon Dog (Pre-Beatles Era)

Teddy Boy John somehow looks older than when John was actually older

He gives the vibe of a teenage boy who dresses to look older in order to get into an adult rated movie lmao

Formed a band and felt like the coolest guy in the world (and you know what he unknowingly created one of the greatest bands in the world so he's allowed to feel that way)

6/10 because he looks great but the look is not really for me

Twist and Shout (1962-63)

And just like I thought, he looks younger here than the previous era

John Lennon if he were an android in Detroit Become Human

He looks so uncomfortable dressed like this PLEASE 😂 someone help him

4.5/10 and I know the second they walked off stage he would rip this jacket right off lmao

Cuddle Bug (1964-66)

One of John's best eras and that's a fact

He's so friend-shaped I'm gonna cry

This haircut suited him so well and gave him an all-around adorable vibe

100/10 and I have a personal vendetta against anyone who ever made him feel bad about his appearance 😤

Blue Meanie Defender 3000 (1967)

If you ever wanna know what the people in the late 60s who experimented with any drug they could find looked like, just picture this mf

Bro saw God at some point and God was a walrus apparently

But this was when he actually got glasses instead of just being fucking blind all the time so I guess that's good

7/10 although I can't tell if being around him when he's high would've been nonstop laughs or literal hell on earth

AnD nOw YoUr hOsTs fOr tHiS eVeNinG (1968-69)

An absolute gremlin of a man

But I mean if I was in his shoes I would just randomly scream for no reason too so I get it

If Get Back taught us anything it was that mans hardly showered

6.5/10 the vibes are hella confusing but not terrible. Sense of humor was off the charts though

Bigger Than Jesus (1970)

So far John's Jesus era was the fanciest

The fur coat and wool cap are giving Bratz doll

Speaking of Bratz dolls John would've loved early 2000s fashion I JUST KNOW IT

9/10 he would've worn Juicy tracksuits religiously and ate us all up

I Sleep Well, Thanks (1971-72)

Exhausted dude at his office job who just wants to go home and get high

You know what scratch that he shows up high and has the nerve to act surprised when he can barely function

Survives purely off of spite

6.5/10 he wants to cause problems on purpose

I Am the Egg Man (1973)

I'm not even sure I have the certification to comment on this

Seeing John almost bald feels sacrilegious

He looks like one of those unhinged yoga instructors

2/10 I am very uncomfortable with the energy we've created in the studio today

Freelance Artist (1974-77)

In his academia era

His aura feels like one of those people who you go to their apartment and it's full of giant canvases with art that deserves way more recognition

That Elvis pin is iconic

10/10 and this entire photoshoot is honestly so beautiful I wish I could've included all the photos

Sexy Valet Driver (1978-79)

I absolutely adore the tie and waistcoat combo

It gives me an immense level of gender envy, and John is not immune to that lol I wanna look the way he does in this photo so bad

He looks both cute and handsome but I can't decide which one tips the balance

20/10 if I saw him dressed like this I would definitely compliment him (and maybe ask him out if I was feeling brave 🤭)

Eccentrically Reserved Fashion Designer (1980-∞)

Are we gonna pretend that he didn't look absolutely GLORIOUS this year

I think I have to say this one is a dilf era because oh my god

I secretly think John would've been a great fashion designer idk he seems like he has the correct amount of insanity to pull it off

542/10 and it's a shame we never got to see how he would've evolved physically, and even personality-wise, as the years went on. I feel like he would've been a better person as he got older and I wish we would've gotten to see it 🥺💕

#I was listening to music while doing this and I kid you not Imagine came on just as I was typing the last sentence #I guess that means John approves of my hot takes lmao he must've read them and been like yeah alright #john lennon #john winston lennon #the beatles #beatles #george harrison #ringo starr #paul mccartney

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imperatorium · 2 years ago

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ok what are the most stupid things that sister, nihil, and all the boys have done while drunk. I’m talking what things were stolen/destroyed, what places were they banned from, what terrible opinions and I insults were thrown at people. Sister is the only one with proper brain cells here (primo is on the cusp but I refuse to believe he completely overcame nihils himbo genetics) and that’s thrown out the window when she’s absolutely hammered. I need answers here

Anon, please know that I have not been ignoring this ask - simply meditating on it. Because my gut reaction was to just answer (re: Nihil, at least) was to just be like, "...I mean, you've seen the video for 'Kiss The GoGoat', right??"

I don't know what the stupidest things they've all ever done is but I can say that, generally speaking, Sister has a very high tolerance and, especially in her more recent years, goes through a pretty significant amount of wine in a week. When she was younger, though, and a bit less conservative about how/what she drinks, there were absolutely occasions on which you could catch her (or she would catch you, as the case usually was, at a social function) in just the right mood to hear a whole monologue about special interests, including feminist reads on Greek myths (don't even get her started on Persephone), Paradise Lost as flawless Satanic propaganda, and why Nihil's music makes him (...should make him) bigger than the Beatles who are bigger than Jesus thus ensuring the Antichrist's prowess. Normally, she would keep her verbosity on these subjects to herself, or at least more reserved, but if you get a couple too many shots in her, she loses a good bit of that social wherewithal.

Copia is much the same. He's anxious until he's not and then he also has too much to say about things that a sober Copia would know nobody wants to listen to him rattle on about. And while Sister would wake up the next morning and shrug it off and congratulate anyone who brought it up to her for receiving the sermon, Copia will just get more anxious about how he should have just kept his mouth shut about affectionate behaviours in rats or his philosophy about Ghoul maintenance and summoning and how that can translate into care for the entire Church.

One doesn't drink often enough to have any significantly notable drunk behaviour. He'll indulge, every now and again, but he has nothing stupid to report. And his tolerance is more absurd than Sister's. If anything, I suppose he becomes a little more relaxed than normal. But it's pretty imperceptible to the casual observer.

There's no way to quantify the stupidest thing Two has ever done because he's ridden a steady wave of just barely not alcoholism since he and Three got into the Lupercalia wine at a feast when they were like six. I mean, like, you've seen the Papaganda videos (I assume), you know what he's about. He's not as tolerant as One is, but he's also not afraid of getting noticeably turnt (like other members of his family are). If he's gotta black out, he's gonna black out and when he blacks back in, if there are...damages of any kind, he knows the Church'll throw money at it.

Three, meanwhile, basically turns into a white girl at a bachelorette party that's gotten out of hand. Slutting it up all over everyone, losing clothes, making himself (even more) the center of attention, then one cosmo too many and suddenly, he's in tears and possibly falling asleep in the bathroom while he's vomming for the rest of the night.

And...like I said earlier, re: Nihil...you've seen the Go-Goat footage. That's easily the stupidest thing any of them have done while unsober.

#asks #ghost

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mirrorforevers · 4 years ago

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here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!” You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

#graham coxon #alex james #damon albarn #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #smut #imagine #reader insert #graham coxon x reader #graham x reader #y/n #fluff #au #fanfiction #blur band

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inspiteallthedanger · 2 years ago

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Hii! What are your opinions on the different ways John, and Paul (as individuals, not their relationship) were treated by the medias throughout the 60s and 70s? I thought, at first, that John would have been treated more roughly due to his "impulsive" image, but then maybe the medias liked that (half-fake) honesty (even tho that man hid so many things, my God). Same goes for Paul and his mister perfect media trained, did they liked it, or not? (btw, loved Arrow Through Me <3)

This is a great, if very broad, question. So it’d be good to understand exactly what you mean. Like, do you mean were they ‘nicer’ to one than the other? If so, I’m not sure it’s possible to say, because they had very different images. John was probably seen more as the leader for those two decades so that’s nice. But it also comes with the press’ desire to really knock you down again. Paul probably didn’t like his image more than John didn’t like his. But it wasn’t like they were actively being awful to Paul on the regular. Less ups but also less downs. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t get on David Frost whenever he wanted.

This being the press, they were very capable of being absolutely atrocious one day and then showering them with praise the next. You can see in pretty much every press conference the distain in a lot of the questions at almost every stage of the Beatles’ being together. Like the way it turns on the Bigger than Jesus tour is terrible. It’s not even about John’s comment. It’s everything. Like they’d just been waiting for the opportunity.

It seems neither John nor Paul much liked the way they were portrayed - hence the Cleave profiles. Obviously that backfired spectacularly but it shows they didn’t enjoy the press even when in theory things were going well for them.

The 70s are a harder thing to call. Paul became more of lightweight in terms of influence on culture as far as the press were concerned. Obviously the rock press weren’t hugely nice about his music, but he could certainly get number ones and had a very big profile.

John was the man of the decade in the 60s and really the only way was down. By the end of the 70s, the English press especially were being vile to him. Which is a big part of why (I think) Double Fantasy didn’t get good reviews. Like the way it was reported when he didn’t turn up to the big charity gig because people had randomly decided the Beatles were going to reform for it.

Overall, John was better at handling the press than Paul. He knew how to give a good quote and was able to build really good relationships. He also lent into the press when things got bad, where Paul retreated. That said, Paul wasn’t (isn’t) bad and it was mostly a problem when J&P were actively arguing. But I don’t know that their treatment was wildly different on a personal profile perspective.

So before John died, I think it would depend on what you think is worse. They both probably thought the other had a better time of it and both were sort of right.

#beth rambles #not sure if this helps or not

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bambi-kinos · 3 years ago

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Hi, I just read your addition to the @inspiteallthedanger post about the Fred Seaman quote and the announcement of the break up and found it so interesting. This is pure speculation, so don't feel you have to answer, but do you think things would have played out differently if Ray HAD published? As in, would John have been viewed as the villain in the same way Paul was and blamed for ending the band? I can't help wondering how he would have coped with that as he strikes me as a 'can dish it out but can't take it' kind of a person. Or perhaps that's why he wanted Ray to leak it in the first place, so he could disavow it later if needed?

I imagine lots of things could have played out differently. Firstly, I think that your last sentence "Or perhaps that's why he wanted Ray to leak it in the first place, so he could disavow it later if needed?" is exactly what John wanted, even if he couldn't necessarily articulate it that way. Connolly leaking the announcement would have accomplished two things:

1) Cemented the break up and then John could have gone off with Yoko doing his own thing, having Owned The Libs Pauls once and for all;

2) Forced the Beatles to reconnect and cement their bonds, stronger than ever before in the face of being bullied by the press, which is also what happened during the "bigger than Jesus" thing.

The thing is, John is absolutely a "can dish it out, absolutely cannot take it" kind of person. Remember that Yoko Ono savagely kicked him out when he cheated on her, that she apparently once told him to shut the fuck up and he stopped talking for several days, etc. And John just sat there and took it, like a pussy. So John, at least in the very late 60s/through out the 70s was very much a paper tiger.

And we even see this play out with how the announcement actually went down: Paul's embargo was broken, the announcement was leaked by subhuman journalists, and John's hurt and betrayal was utterly palpable, like he had been stabbed through the eye. It was always okay for John to leak the break up to the press but Paul giving an interview where he was asked point blank to which he responded "yeah idk, I think we're done" proceeded to knock John on his ass in a very sincere way.

I do not believe however that John would have been blamed for the break up and I think Yoko is the reason for that. Like, she's just smarter than John is -- that's not in dispute. She was smarter about the press and knew how to play that angle (not that she was successful every single time.) If Connolly had gone through with it the way John secretly wanted him to then Yoko would have navigated John through the worst of it and he would have come up just fine.

If anything I think Paul would have gotten it a lot worse because Connolly was also supposed to publish a lot of shit about Paul like him being a control freak etc that John wanted out there in the world so he could get in front of the story.

I actually felt deep sympathy for Ray while reading his piece. He genuinely seems like a good person who just wanted to be a reporter and he had the John and Yoko trash fire dumped into his life by a mentally ill heroin junkie that was too cowardly to break the news to the press himself. Ray very sensibly held back on that, his affection for the Beatles notwithstanding, and he even apologized to Paul in a fashion for almost being John's instrument when he gave Paul that long interview where Paul gave his side of the story.

There's a lot I could say about Paul's cowardice and how that contributed to the break up but for now I'll say that Ray Connolly is pretty much the only journalist I will acknowledge as a human being, because he proved that he was in the worst PR storm to date.

#talktalktalk #post break up #john lennon #ray connolly #yoko ono #paul mccartney #the beatles

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johns-prince · 4 years ago

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“I’ve seen religion from Jesus to Paul” I always thought that line wasn’t about John worshipping Paul, but about other people worshipping Paul. I mean, John is criticising religion in this song, he’s criticising worship. He didn’t believe in Jesus, so “from Jesus to Paul” doesn’t seem like it’s supposed to be about himself and his religions imo. I always thought it was about beatlemania and how people worship Paul like a god when in reality he’s just as flawed as any of us. It’d fit with John being mad at Paul.

I might be wrong of course! I never thought about it as John saying he worshipped Paul, so my point of view isn’t really well thought out or anything. It’s just what goes through my head when I listen to the song. I hope you don’t think I disagree with you or anything 🥺 I just love discussing mclennon

No, I think you’re right, but I also believe it’s more complicated than that.

I found something, and I find it really interesting:

“In this angry and bitter song Lennon attacks a number of falsehoods such as the idolatry of the Beatles and how he is the focus for many of those involved in the peace movement.” [x]

It’s incredibly curious how John went with using only Paul’s name, if that’s what this song is supposed to be about. If it’s supposed to be about the whole band itself, why only use Paul’s name in it? Why be so direct as that? We know why—

“The lyrics are some of Lennon’s most vitriolic, taking shots at religion, his parents, drugs, and even his former songwriting partner (“I seen religion from Jesus to Paul”). It presents a clear perspective on the past, a theme he would revisit on the Imagine album’s ‘Oh My Love’ the following year.” [x]

Now that make’s better sense, since I don’t believe this was taking a shot directly at The Beatles and the period of idolatry (Beatlemania), but taking direct shots at Paul.

It’s hypocritical for him to basically claim people were worshipping Paul like some God or religion, when John was being no better in basically being quite obsessive about the man. The opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference.

And again, if this song is supposed to be about criticizing the worship and idolatry of The Beatles, why is he only directly referencing Paul McCartney?

Doesn’t add up.

To me this song is not only for John to “air out” his supposed grievances, and emotions/feelings towards Paul, but to be petty, and lash out at his ex-partner.

This song screams scorned lover to me, someone who’s clearly hurt, deeply hurt, and is lashing out and using music to convey how he feels. I don’t agree that it presents a clear perspective on the past, because it’s John in the 70s and we all must acknowledge that 70s John is not at all a reliable narrator, and often contradicted himself in interviews and double backed on what he’d say about the past, and what he had to say or feel about Paul. It’s his perspective, that’s true, but more-so a skewed perspective on not only the past, but of his feelings at the time and heat of the moment, towards Paul.

John was probably not only envious (To John, Paul is stable, he’s put together, and John recognized and acknowledged that Paul was extraordinarily talented and could very well succeed without him), but hurt that Paul, it seemed, didn’t need him to get along. A fear that most likely rooted and became a nagging insecurity, after Paul unleashed Yesterday in 1965, and then came the questions of whether Paul would leave The Beatles (John) and start a solo career.

It’s obvious that the band broke up because of what was going on between John and Paul, their falling out due to John’s growing lack of involvement due to his use of heroin, which made him unapproachable and testy, his unhealthy escapism into Yoko and her influence/presence. In the end, it’s no real surprise that Paul left. John resented it, even if it was his fault, his doing and behavior that left Paul with no other choice then to abandon ship.

So, Paul left him, and was planning on going solo, and launching his own band in the next year.

Now let me point something out put on your tinfoil hats let’s see if I don’t lose any of you here lol—

Now that I showed you what I been through Don't take nobody's word what you can do There ain't no Jesus gonna come from the sky Now that I found out I know I can cry I, I found out I, I found out

Okay, so I’m reading the two lyrics “There ain’t no Jesus gonna come from the sky,” and “Now that I found out I know I can cry,” as connected. While yes John didn’t seem to believe in Jesus, he was still spiritual. Now, take those two lyrics, of some messiah not going to come and how the realization of it, of the fact this religion or ‘God’ isn’t going to come down and save you— and finding this out, of course you’re going to cry.

What you believed was going to somehow save you, save you from the miseries of life and save you from yourself, wasn’t actually going to come, or happen, that can really break person who was relying on such faith.

I seen through junkies, I been through it all I've seen religion from Jesus to Paul Don't let them fool you with dope and cocaine No one harm you feel your own pain I, I found out I, I found this out I, I found out

Now, I do agree that John is knocking religion and idolatry worship, but also taking shots at Paul.

But I just think John’s outing himself here, because, okay look. John’s seen through junkies— John was a junkie when writing this, let’s be real. He can say he isn’t fooled by them, but he clearly is— he was fooling himself.

So let’s just go with John is apparently attacking The Beatles here— we all know John loved The Beatles, and had just as much faith and passion for it as Paul did. He put all his eggs in that theoretical basket.

And throughout the height of The Beatles, who were the two always together? Who had plans about sticking together and growing old together still making music? Who two had ideas to write a musical together, one day?

John and Paul were John and Paul, and both believed it was always going to be that way. They’d mentioned running off to Scotland to escape a potential draft, Paul had said that after The Beatles he and John would still continue making music together, that as they got older they’d even make music for other, younger musicians to play. It was ALWAYS John and Paul, like, always.

So imagine you have all this faith in someone, all this love, you see them as a stable structure in your life, someone who rarely let’s you down, who’s ALWAYS going to be there for you, who has shared so many intimate experiences with, who knows you and has seen you without your armor on, seen the good the bad and the ugly and still wants to be with you, who you’ve shared similar, vivid dreams with, who would experience misery and fear with you (the LSD trip), who seemingly shares a secret and unspoken language with you— only for all of it, to fall flat, for it to go horribly wrong, for them to (unintentionally) reject you, to hurt you and leave you feeling abandoned and alone. That perhaps they don’t love you in the way you’d come to the realization that you wanted them too.

For you to realize, or feel, like they can’t save you, that they can’t fix you. Because, like you said, Paul isn’t perfect, he doesn’t always have it together, he wasn’t as stable as John believed him to be naturally— Paul’s just as flawed as any of us. He was struggling too, and simply couldn’t always meet John’s sometimes unrealistic expectations and desires.

I think in some way, The Beatles, and thus Paul, were somewhat of a religion to John. He believed in them unlike anything else. Even if partially satirical, the comment of them becoming Bigger than Jesus, I think that in itself is worship (even if that’s unintentional, or perhaps a Freudian slip) of what they all created together— what John and Paul created together. That they could become more popular than Jesus Christ himself, and the religions he’s attached too.

So I honestly believe John was just telling on himself throughout this song. How John wrote his songs, they were personal, they had something to do with him, how he felt and perceived things, his desires and fears— even when attacking or criticizing someone, or something else.

Cor I could be 100% completely wrong in my interpretation and analysis, and I’m just a biased McLennoner who needs to shaddup.

Now a side tangent real quick because I found this and I have something to say:

“This song includes the line: "The freaks on the phone won't leave me alone, so don't give me that brother, brother." Lennon explained the lyric to the January edition of Rolling Stone. He said: "I'm sick of all these aggressive hippies or whatever they are, the "Now Generation," being very up-tight with me. Either on the street or anywhere, or on the phone, demanding my attention, as if I owed them something." [x]

In 1969 he and Yoko did that performative, elitist Bed In For Peace for two whole bloody weeks. Not to mention spreading all that “War is over if you want it to be,” sloganeering. Of course they (the hippie Now Generation) expected something from him, he’d been playing political activist with Yoko for attention, and he got it. So for him to be bitching about suddenly being looked too as some leading figure for these movements, I think is pretty telling.

Like how it mentioned up there, that John had an issue being part of the main focus for those in the ‘Peace movement’, I think it’s funny, or at most annoying, how people claim John was some hippie or commie when, I think it was clear, he didn’t want anything to do with those individuals or whatever they were selling (I mean John was materialistic and a capitalist, all the boys were) John wasn’t political, he wasn’t very interested in all that, and like with most things, his fascination and interest in it faded quickly and he became bored and disillusioned by the ideologies and political figures, and dropped them.

I’m not saying John didn’t care, like anyone he had opinions and thoughts, feelings on subjects— he wasn’t seriously into politics. He wasn’t a political leader, he didn’t want to become a political figure or martyr, he wasn’t a radical of any sorts, and had admitted later on about being embarrassed about who he was during the Imagine period of his life, and regretted a lot of what he’d said or done.

Anyway... I know this was supposed to be about dissecting the lyrical and personal(mclennon) meaning too “I’ve seen religion from Jesus to Paul,” but it really is all over the place. Sorry about that.

#questionsquestionsquestions #mclennon #beatles discussion/discourse

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