Goo goo gajoob 🪲🍓

I heart the Beatles ~pfp by miscartz~

[johnssilverhammer]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。Get to know me !! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ 　ﾟ･｡･

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚

𝜗ৎ As you can prob tell my main fandom is The Beatles (my fave being Paul) 💕

𝜗ৎ I love writing it’s my fave hobby besides drawing! I mainly post fanfics now lol

𝜗ৎ I’m uncomfortable with writing nsfw

𝜗ৎ I go by she/her

𝜗ৎ My requests are usually always open so ask away!

Thank you for reading !!

I hope you’ll enjoy my blog <3

[johnssilverhammer]

“The cover-up”

pt.1

Everyone knows the fan-made headcannon that Billy Shears is some evil hammer wielding murderer that beatlemaniacs have transformed the original “Paul is Dead” theory into. Most of the time it’s Billy who killed Paul and is after the rest of The Beatles (mostly John) but what if someone else killed Paul? What if Billy Shears was a man who was forced to be Paul not of his own choice? What if the murderer purposely played into the whole theory to lead people away from the truth?

John’s pov

The night it happened was ordinary, just like any other day. Half the day was spent in a recording studio the other was.. never mind. I need to get this off my chest without any further trouble. Me and Paul were just talking about how the previous albums success ‘Revolver’ was a hit amongst the music scene. We shared drinks and smokes alone like we usually do! Just two lads debating who “did the better song” or “who the credit should have gone to”. We always do this it’s nothing special, but that night in particular Paul couldn’t hold his liquor well and became enraged after I told him I should have been credited more in ‘Elanor Rigby’. Now I’m not completely innocent, naturally, I’m an instigator. Added onto that I was a little tipsy myself and I can’t bite my tongue when I need to. So we got into an argument.

“Johnny! Do you really think you need all that credit just for backing vocals! Backing vocals of all things!” His words bounced off of my brazen attitude I adopt when drunk. “Well I feel as though it should be Lennon-McCartney! I wrote half of it you bloody bastard.” I mumbled the last half in cowardice. Paul’s eyes shot open and he slammed down his glass in disbelief. “It is Lennon-McCartney! You’re too drunk to even remember that..and for your information I wrote that song. Not you.” My lips snarled and a low growl escaped my throat. “Just shut it Paul..we’re both mad but you need to admit you’re wrong.” My low tone laid out what I believed to be the truth in that moment.

To my surprise Paul lunged up and towered over me, he was always looking down at me. Whether it be in height or in egoism. So I stood up to defend myself if things get nasty. How i wish it didn’t. Paul poked at my chest and raised his voice, “Listen here Lennon, I’m not letting you get your hands on anymore of My songs anymore! It’s exhausting! I can’t write a single word without you claiming it to be yours in press!” Instinctually my eyes rolled and I pushed his hand off me, I was already feeling fired up but now I was getting pissed.

“Well Paul..” I paused grasping for anything to get under his skin. “What about Jane? How’s things with her? Not so good huh? Must be tiring for her to be with such a control-freak! No wonder you she keeps on pushing out the wedding!” It was completely off topic but it did just the thing. Paul’s face tangled in anger and he was quick with a comeback. “Okay! Since we’re on that topic..who’s that bird your always with instead of your own wife? What’s her name…Yoko?! Focus on your own failing marriage rather than my fiancé, poor Cynthia..and Julian.” In response to that attack I pushed Paul a little and yelled. “Don’t you talk about my family like that you home-wrecker! Hopping in bed with every bird that is stupid enough to let him!” That one really pushed Paul over the edge.

In retaliation Paul pushed me back and it caused a chain reaction. I lunged at him with pure rage fueling my every move. My hands instinctively swung at his chest and my fist raced and plummeted into his heart. “Eh!? John!” Paul’s yelps only made me more angry. He stumbled back at the landing punch and he tripped over his feet and fell backwards. Neither of us noticed but close behind paul was a lowered coffee table and on his way down there was a loud thump. Paul yowled in pain, he busted his head on the sharp corner of the table. Then he was on the floor.

There I stood taking my time staring down at him, enjoying watching his hands raise to feel his head and wince in pain. Paul writhed and opened his watery eyes to look up at me. Without any hesitation I pounced onto him with my grisly hands wrapping around his neck and applying all the force I could muster. I felt his breathing quicken and slowly ceasing in accommodation to my restriction of his esophagus. My teeth gritted as Paul pleaded, “P-pleas..e! Jo-hn! S..stop!” And I could swear I heard him whimper out an “I’m sorry.” But sorrys were out of the picture. It was too late. His eyes blushed a shade of pink and his face became blue.

Eventually after the longest minute I’ve lived, his hands stopped clawing at my wrists and his legs stoped kicking. Paul’s eyes had watered a lake and once they fluttered close I noticed little red splotches on his eye lids. I stiffened and studied his face..he was dead. I stood up and fully was made aware of the situation I had gotten myself into. Paul was dead. I did it. There he laid almost like from a painting. His arms were open like a physical white flag, he gave up. His legs were straight like the fighting effort never left them as I saw the muscles tense a little. But his face horrified me the most. I only had noticed the trail of blood his head must have bled after he hit his head.

“Oh my god..” I whispered to myself. Almost like I was afraid of speaking aloud because Paul would just wake up and kill me himself, getting revenge. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon…my friend was gone. My head was reeling and my adrenaline dropped drastically so I could fully understand what I did. My mind was racing with regret and my cheeks were burning like hot coals.

Trying to pick up a dead body is harder than what movies and tv makes you believe. Especially the when the guilt weighs you down more than the flesh. I started by trying to lift Paul bridal style and after some struggle and nearly breaking my back I got him up. “What am I going to do. What am I gonna do.” Rambling I said, stumbling around trying to figure out what to do with his body. His hot blood continuing to leak from the gash in his head onto my clothes, definitely staining them. I considered my choices more. Do I give myself up and risk the band? Ruin my reputation? Hide Paul and hope for the best? Or stage a suicide?

I don’t think none of those could work. I wish I could’ve just gave up then and not get myself into all this future trouble.. I’ll figure it out.

~Months later~

John’s pov

It’s been a while since Paul went missing suddenly, or so I’ve been telling myself and everyone else. It’s now a new year, 1967 hopefully we can push this album out before any other distractions. Now I know what some may think; John how in the world are you going to hide Paul’s…disappearance..in the middle of an album? Well, funny thing, Paul forced all of us to work so much harder to get all the songs recorded that we finished early! So technically all we have to do is get the cover and be done with this infuriating process of an album. At least for a few months!

One minor problem. Paul. We can’t just have one Beatle exempt from a cover! That would make no bloody sense! So to keep my act up before I come up with a solution, I’m going to lie and tell everybody Paul’s gone on holiday! Even George and Ringo don’t know. I mean they would never forgive me and the band would likely dissolve soon after. But something sick within me tells me that they would be glad.. Paul was always a pushing force in production and a creative force. But those great attributes became his downfall in the end. Those damn Beach Boys got to his head with ‘Pet Sounds’ and Paul went insane with jealousy and a strive to create a better album and fast. That sick sense of accomplishment seems to influence my mind every passing day. ‘I did the band a favor! That controlling bastard is gone..’ but I can’t help my heart from tearing apart with guilt. Like any normal man. Every night I stare up at my ceiling and replay the whole murder in my head, every blood splatter, every bruise, and without any warning that too familiar feeling of adrenaline rushes within me. I can almost see his face if I stare hard enough in the popcorn ceiling. His dead eyes staring back down at me as I stare up in disarray. If I’m feeling brave I talk to him and I swear he talks back.

~A month later~

John’s pov

This may seem a bit unorthodox…but I believe I found a solution to my Paul problem. There’s a man that has piqued my interest, I saw him on a late night about a week ago. I was walking trying to clear my head, of course I was doing my nightly routine of thinking about Paul, and I was stopped at a bridge. To be honest I was debating on if I should just jump. Really clear my head, finally be rid of this crippling guilt. That’s when I was caught off guard. The man looked to be 5’11, he had a slim-ish built on him. His glasses were big with black frames that somehow complemented his face. The man’s black hair was parted to the side and he had a black mustache.

“Excuse me, are you planning on jumping sir?” The man’s voice was that of..Paul’s. I thought I was going crazy but i had not lost my mind yet. His remark shook me in his bluntness. “No..why’d you ask?” I curtly replied, I really didn’t want to get into any trouble. He swiftly moved closer to me and then I could really get a good look of his face. “Nothin’…just you looked like any other guy who was about to jump. You were lookin’ so intently I was counting down the second until you’d give in.” I couldn’t tell if this stranger had a morbid sense of humor or I really gave that impression..

“O-okay.” Then I paused and debated if I should engage with this man. “What’s your name, sir?” I gave up my aloof demeanor and decided to engage. “Willam Cambell. What about you?” His voice is just like Paul’s. It’s weird hearing a different name come out of his voice. “John Lennon.” Now it didn’t really matter to me if this man knew of my fame or any of that. He was going to find out anyways. He stuck out his gloved hand and I shook it as he began to speak.

“May I ask, Lennon..why are you out at such an hour?” ‘Lennon.’ He says it just like Paul. ‘Lennon..’ I took a breath of the chill night air, “Just trying to clear me head that’s all, it’s jammed full at the moment.” William nodded. ‘Lennon…’I wish he would say that again. It gave me a chill down my spine.

While chatting, William and I had walked around town further into the night and we just so happened to end up at my house. What a coincidence. Out of my kindness and hospitality I offered the man and drink, and he agreed. So there we were in my parlor drinking and laughing…just like me and Paul. The more my drunken eyes peered into William’s the more I saw Paul in him. He had no clue but the whole time I was planning out my attack. I need him.

“Pardon me really fast! I have to go to the bathroom.” I shot up out of my chair and rushed to my bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and I ran a shaken hand through my hair. Looking deep into my reflection I whispered. “What is going on with you John..?” My pupils were blown wide and a saw beads of sweat trickle down my temple. Just like Paul…’Lennon’ I slithered out of the bathroom and silently watched William check his watch. I snuck into my bedroom and grabbed a thick leather belt.

At I let Willam take his last dip of liquor I gripped the belt with desire and remorse. ‘Lennon’ Then he set his glass down and I struck. I kept my grip tight and pressure unrelenting as he tried to claw and writhe away. Another thing that was similar to Paul, his struggle for power. William choked and sputtered out tiny screams and pleas but I pulled back harder after hearing them. Eventually all the struggle ceased and his arms laid limp in his lap and his head slumped forward. He’s mine.

To ensure I didn’t have another body to hide I checked his vitals and thankfully they were fine. He had a slow but steady heart beat and his breaths were apparent. I hauled him up out of the chair and drug his body to my basement. I clasped his hands tightly and watched his face twitch with every step downstairs that bumped his thick head.

I let his body slouch against the concrete wall, then I took out handcuffs from my back pocket. I also snagged those from my bedroom when I got the belt. I’ve been planning this for a while. The handcuffs clicked close on Williams wrist and connected him to a sturdy metal pipe, probably belonging to some plumbing or whatever. Walking away I flicked the light switch off but just before I closed the door I remembered about the duck tape! Rushing over to the kitchen I riffled through my junk drawers and eventually got the roll. Firmly I stuck a piece to his mouth. With that, William was mine. I dusted my hands off and locked the door behind me. I sat in awe of myself in my parlor, in the very seat he was sat in prior. I took a few sparing sips of his liquor.

‘Lennon’ I hope he will say that again.

Okay so this is just part one lmaoooo

this has been in the works for like a month lowkey and I’m SO proud of this I hope yall like it <3

[johnssilverhammer]

Hi!!! could you write John Lennon x fem!reader fic or headcannon where the reader is a figure skater?

sorry if my English isn’t perfect it’s not my first language🥹 thank you!!

oooo that’s so cutieee also ur fine I understood perfectly !! Thank you and your welcome <3

“Executed perfectly!”

John x reader

Summary- One day off of work John found himself in an ice skating rink and found you! He was astonished and developed a little crush..

First person POV

It was a late night at the rink and I was finishing up my practice. For the last 3 hours I’ve been working hard trying to get my lutz perfected. I went over off of the rink and sat down where my stuff was sitting. But before I even unlaced my skates a man who was just walking in the front door caught my eye. He was taller than me, he had longish brown hair and a piercing gaze that fixated onto me once he saw me staring in the first place. A strong blush hazed over my cheeks and I turned away quickly. I watched as the man sat down in the stands and peered forward onto the rink, there was no one else there.. So I decided to put on a show and get back onto the ice. My skirt flowed with each stride and I managed to contain my giddy excitement every time we made eye contact. A graceful expression overtook my excited smile. Then it was time to really show off my new skill, the perfect lutz.

The moment felt like it was in slow motion. Before I knew it I was in the air and I knew he was watching. Almost like his gaze was lifting me up higher and higher in a state of calmness I’ve never felt. The harsh calamity of my skates hitting back onto the ice brought my mind back to Earth and I landed in excellent formation.

An uproar of claps and shouts opened my eyes, expecting a crowd of onlookers and judges..but onto to find the stray man. Standing giving me applause! I almost faltered in my final spin witnessing such a thing. I quickly escaped the rink and threw my skates off to go over and meet the man.

“Why, hello love.” He stated first with a smile still on his lips. I blushed and responded. “Hello, did you like it?” I said referring to my little performance. The man shook my hand, his firm hand encasing mine. “Yes of course! It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever scene!” I laughed and then asked. “What is your name, sir?”

“John” he simply put and held my hand in his for a moment longer before asking the same. I answered and John then sat down with me chatting about skating for the rest of night.

Okay so I’m back from the beach (for anyone who didn’t see my previous post lol) so yayyyyy

[johnssilverhammer]

Still taking requests?🙈

I’m gonna ignore that I forgot about this for 4 days lowkey I’m sorry my loyal twin 💔💔 but yeah I have one John in the works and my Paul/billy shears and John fic

[johnssilverhammer]

okay I’m home from the beach so I guess I’ll actually write again 😭✌️

If I try and upload any other little Paul pics my tumblr has a heart attack so here’s a little Paul and John lemon ice cream I got on my last night at the beach

(I was kinda bummed out bc it didn’t taste like lemon but instead more like vanilla?)

[maxwellssliverhammer]

green with envy

[johnssilverhammer]

This is genius

[johnssilverhammer]

Little Paul has had much fun at the beach so far

That chud ate 1 pound of crab legs and a huge thing of ice cream and a bunch of shrimp cocktail and a little bit of scallops and like 3 refills of sweet tea 🥹🥹🥹

and when me and my friend bought matching bathing suits he was looking at the green bathing suits thinking of John..

[derak0i]

hellooooo I had an amazing idea,,, what if you did a little longer fic of George? Like it would be in his magical mystery tour era and while filming the mmt movie he eventually asks out the reader? After a lot of pinning and flirting ofc and he’s a little nervous to ask and the reader finds that cute !!

(sorry it feels like I’ve asked you for like a million fics at this point but ur my fav writer on tumblr and a big inspo to meeee <3 )

Don't worry! There's no limit on requests - feel free to send them whenever you have an idea! I'm so glad you like my work this much; it means a lot to me <3

Ripping Buttons (To Make You Notice)⋆˚࿔

Pairing: Mmt!George Harrison x Reader Details: Fluff, shy flirting?, no use of Y/N, indirect mention of the rest of the Beatles, most likely mistakes cause english is not the author's first language, flirting but it’s lowkey a game of cat and mouse Summary: During the filming of Magical Mystery Tour, George becomes deeply infatuated with you. Unaware that you realize how he feels, he begins a game of cat and mouse - one you decide not to put a stop to, curious to see just how far it will go.

Coming up with a film concept is one thing, and finding people willing to star in it is another - but finding someone who would agree, for peanuts, to put up with the whole Beatles crew and handle costumes, set dressing, and all the visual elements? That was a real challenge. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, you were one of the people who agreed to the deal. You didn't have formal training in set design or décor, but you did sew clothes. That evidently sealed your fate, as you were the first person the four musicians turned to for help. You briefly wondered if your close relationship with the band was the reason they’d asked you specifically, but you quickly dismissed the thought. You believed in your skills, and that very afternoon, you set to work following the plans they’d left behind. Fortunately, you were working alongside two other set designers, but the bulk of the costume work still fell to you.

As a seamstress, capturing the specific vibe of the outfits the Beatles wanted was a struggle. They were aiming for an experimental film filled with surreal humor - and after reading the script, you’d have described it as a full-blown psychedelic trip. Still, you couldn't complain; it wasn't your movie, after all. All you could do was roll your eyes and get to work. You were swamped, with nothing but old magazines the musicians would slip you after hours - plus a few notes and comments from the fitting sessions, to serve as inspiration. That was all you had to rely on during the time you were working. You ended up with four sets of outfits, and considering there were four Beatles, it was a miracle you managed to put together sixteen costumes, even if some were unfinished or largely relied on modifying clothes you’d bought. People would have been shocked if you’d sewn everything from scratch. That was the fate that befell you only with the animal costumes. It was sheer agony - torture, even. You still had heaps of fur and feathers in your apartment; you’d probably never get rid of them.

In the weeks that followed, the recording sessions began, and you had to devote your full attention to the new location. At first, you thought you’d simply hand over the costumes, get paid for your efforts, and return to your regular duties - but you couldn't have been more wrong. They needed you on set constantly to handle alterations, fix damaged costumes, and deal with other minor mishaps. You hadn't realized the job of a costume specialist entailed all that, but... You just had to grit your teeth and get on with it.

"I think a button might have popped off..." George said to you one day, and you raised an eyebrow. You were absolutely certain you had sewn that very same button back onto the same spot three times already. By this point, you kept a needle and thread within arm's reach around the clock.

"Again...?" You asked, hoping it was a joke, but he immediately handed you one of the buttons. It was unbelievable that buttons kept flying off like that. You owned a shirt that was five years old and had only lost a button once - or rather, you’d helped it come off because it was barely hanging on and you wanted to reattach it securely. You couldn't believe your sewing was that poor, or that the Beatles were so rough on their outfits. Besides, you couldn't help but marvel at the fact that while no one else ever had parts of their outfit falling off, it happened to Harrison all the time. You had initially assumed John might be the problem - since the script called for a few scenes without his glasses - but, surprisingly, he was really careful. It was only George who had trouble with his buttons. You raised your eyebrow, waiting for some sort of response. “Well, yes, again. I, uh…” George cleared his throat and looked away, most likely flustered by your suspicious look. He scratched the back of his neck, completely embarrassed. “How many times has this happened today? Twice?” You shook your head with an audible sigh of frustration and, without a word of complaint, sewed the button back on. You could already see a hole slowly forming where the fastening kept getting torn off. A few more incidents like this and the costume would need patching - something you weren't mentally prepared for. It was enough to make you throw up your hands in exasperation.

“Do you… Want a ciggy?” George asked just as you finished sewing that one damned button back onto his shirt. To be honest, it took you a bit by surprise that the first person he offered a cigarette to was you, rather than his bandmates as he usually did. I mean, he didn't always hand out smokes, but whenever he offered them in a group setting, he would always turn to the three lads first. Only then would he offer them to the rest of the company, thereby signaling an unofficial pecking order. This time, however, you found yourself at the top of that list - because, as it turned out, even George waited until after you to take one; or at least he was getting ready to, since you could see him looking at you expectantly. You were already so tired from all the alterations and overseeing the work - though let’s be honest, you didn’t really have to; you just did it to keep from falling asleep out of boredom - so you nodded and held out your hand for a cigarette. "Yeah. Sure." You replied as a cigarette was placed in your hand. You slowly - almost gingerly - set it between your lips and waited. You waited a good moment, though, because Harrison was busy watching you, or rather, watching how carefully you held the cigarette and left a smudge of lipstick on it. So that was what this was all about... You smiled to yourself, finally connecting the dots, but you had no intention of making things easy for the guitarist. "Would you be so kind as to light it for me?" You finally asked, waiting patiently for George to pull out his lighter and light your cigarette.

"Ah. Yeah-... On it, sorry." Startled, he finally reached toward you with the lighter, carefully lighting the tip of the cigarette. He waited a moment to make sure everything was fine before turning his attention to his own smoke. After a few drags on the cigarette, you noticed him starting to nervously bite his lip. It was shaping up to be a really entertaining two weeks.

Just as you had suspected, the days that followed were nothing short of delightful. Although the button-related overtures had been abandoned for the time being, new attempts took their place. One of the things you enjoyed most was finding short notes tucked among your sewing tools. They weren't anything incredibly romantic - just ordinary reminders about minor details or suggestions for adjustments to the garments - but once, you even fished a slip of paper out of your needle-and-thread box containing a small compliment: a remark on how the color of your blouse brought out the color of your eyes. It was completely silly, yet it kept you smiling for the rest of the day. You were certain, however, that whoever wanted to hide that note among the needles - and you knew very well who it was - must have really hurt themselves. A prick from a single needle didn't hurt all that much, but plunging your hand into a box full of them? Ouch. You found the victim of the needle-swarm attack shortly after the incident, though. “What happened to your hand, George?” You asked almost laconically, knowing full well what might have happened to the poor guitarist. You examined his plaster-covered hand - which must have been painful, given that he played the guitar yet had injured fingers. Instinctively, George hid his hand behind his back, which made you chuckle softly. You found it absolutely amusing how, despite everything, he tried to hide the fact that he was in pain - or that he had something on his conscience. Or perhaps it was both. “Nothin’, I hurt me hand... While settin’ up the instruments, yeah.” His weak defense made things much worse for you, since this one made you laugh for real, your cheeks started hurting in no time. 

You couldn't believe the story he’d concocted. Had he really injured himself setting up the instruments? Why did he even need them for the recording session? You shook your head, slowly losing all hope in him. It wouldn't be long before he started spinning tall tales just to maintain the facade that your presence didn't faze him at all. You might have even believed it all, too - had you not heard the four musicians whispering to one another, only for silence to fall among them quite by accident whenever you drew near. Totally convincing. “Suuure…” You let the word drag on, without even getting into an argument. Since he thought you were so stupid, you decided to let him squirm a little longer.

It wasn’t until the sixth day that the matter came up again. A button was the culprit once more; this time, George insisted it had simply fallen off on its own. Yeah, right. Yet, there you were, leaning over him again - since, for some odd reason, no one had thought to have him take off his jacket - and sewing the button back on. You knew full well that a few more mishaps like this and there wouldn’t be anything left to fasten it to. George kept fidgeting, so you quickly gathered he was simply embarrassed that you had to go out of your way yet again to fix his stupid mistakes. Even so, you deftly drove the needle through the fabric, threading it through the tiny holes - using a different color this time, purple, because you told yourself the original thread might have been defective (though, let’s face it, you didn’t actually think that; you just couldn’t be bothered to look for the thread you’d used originally).

“Hey,” George mumbled, while you kept your eyes fixed on your work.

“If you’re planning to apologize again, just drop it. Accidents happen’” You replied before he could even voice his thoughts. You still weren't entirely convinced it had been an accident, but you didn't want to accidentally stab him with the needle while he was squirming around.

“No, no, tha’s not it, actually.” He shook his head - a movement you couldn't see but could feel through the shifting of his jacket. “I wanted to ask if... You know, if you’re willing to... To go out with me sometime? We could, like, catch a movie if that’s your thi-... Ouch!” He jumped back instantly when you finally misjudged the angle of the pin and drove it in too deep, piercing not just the fabric but George himself.

“Oh.” You quickly pulled back the hand that had caused the injury and looked up at his flushed face.

“I thought you were going to keep beating around the bush for a few more days...” You admitted shyly, completely caught off guard. “Wai-... Wait. Ya knew about this?” He asked; if you had ever been convinced he couldn’t possibly blush any harder, you now realized how wrong you were. You let out a melodic laugh at the sight of his face and covered your mouth with your free hand. So, as it turned out, you were right - your theory about his childish attempts at wooing you actually held a grain of truth.

“I thought you knew that I knew!” You continued, laughing heartily. “But yes, I’ll go out with you. Even to the movies.” You gave him your final answer, and through eyes slightly misty from tears of laughter, you watched George slowly relax.

“It was worth rippin’ a button a few times and sticking my hand into a whole containa’ of needles…” He muttered, blushing. “I’d do it a thousand times ova’ if it meant you’d agree to a date with me every time.”

[johnssilverhammer]

👅👅👅👅 the perfect thing to read otw to the beach 🫰

[johnssilverhammer]

do you write reader x beatles girls? could you write reader x jane asher?

Sadly no,, idk it doesn’t seem appealing to me to write (nothing against the girls!) itst just in plain words I don’t want to

(no offense to anyone who wanted Beatle girls x reader I just don’t know how to write for any of them)

[johnssilverhammer]

Hello dear✨i hope you're doing well💗

Could you please wirte a John x reader where he's sick and reader takes care of him but he's so freakin dramatic, acting like he's on his deathbed when it's really just a slight fever🤒 (i'll dm you the reference pic as always😭)

oh yes thank youuu I lowkey love the sick ones !!

“Help!”

John x reader

Summary- John has been sickly and despite it only being a cold he’s convinced it’s the plague…

Third person POV

“Y/N!!!! C’mere quick!” John’s voice boomed through the house from the bedroom. You jolted from the couch and rushed down the hallway, your footsteps pounding with each step. Busting through the door you looked only to see John with a sly face which quickly disappeared and became a kicked-puppy look. His bottom lip protruded and his eyes grew wider. John breathlessly spoke, “Love…I fear this may be the last you’ll see of ol’ Lennon..” his hand shakily touched yours. He was fake shivering.

“John. Quit with this nonsense! You worried me just now!” You sternly said and took your hand back and placed it onto his sweaty forehead. His bangs were sticking to the skin and he was visibly flushed. John looked a little remorseful and apologized. “I’m sorry, love. I was just playing!” His eyes came to yours and you could visibly see the sorry within them. Taking his cheek in your hand and you rubbed your thumb against the still sweaty skin. “But, dear, I think you just have a common cold! Nothing a little medicine won’t fix.” You reassured him.

Ever since John was little he was always a little scared of being sick, just something in him could make rational sense to not being afraid of illness. He had read about plagues and terrible diseases in books and every new piece of information only added to his mental encyclopedia of fears. “Are you sure? At first I was just joking but now I’m kinda…scared y’know.” You chuckled a bit and patted his head. “John trust me on this, you won’t die from a sniffly nose and cough.” He smiled and leaned up to kiss you but you dodged it swiftly.

“Nice try you old mixer! But I will not be joining you in that sick-bed of yours.” John frowned and begged. “Just one! Love, if not dying from this cold I think I’ll die without a..” he fake coughed. “A kiss…bleh.” He flopped to his side and stuck out his tongue while closing his eyes. You rolled yours and leaned forward to place a careful peck on his cheek which seemed to have brought him back to life. “Wow! Are you an angel? Am I in heaven?” He teased smiling. “Oh stop you!” You urged him.

“No really! This beauty in front of me must be of an angel!!” John clasped his hands in front of him. You blushed and tried covering your face. “No! Don’t hide such a heavenly sight!” John saw how flustered you were getting and laughed heartily. “Okay, okay! I’ll quit for now.. I think you’ll die if I say anymore!”

“But I thought you were the one thinking they’ll die, John! Mr. Sickly!” You poked at him and grinned. “I think I’m better already, love!” John exclaimed wriggling at your poking.

Yay also I have this amazing idea for a non x reader in my mind I’m gonna work on next week while I’m at the beach (It will be Billy Shears!!) (also this one will not affect any of my Billy stuff I’ve written) (oh also happy birthday Ringo!!!)

[johnssilverhammer]

my boyfriend gifted me my Paul plushie and there was an extra Paul keychain the person on etsy put in

I’m so happy I got the hard days night Paul lmao

[johnssilverhammer]

Heyyy✨ I saw what you just shared and it got me thinking 😳 have you ever written 3 characters at once, or are you thinking about doing it sometime?

I mayyyyy I’ll have to read up on some so I can get the dynamics right haha

once years ago I wrote a few with three characters but it was buns so,,,

[derak0i]

heyyy againnn I hope you aren’t to busy but still take your time of this haha! Could you write a Paul x john x reader fic? Basically it’s beatlemania era like 1964 and both Paul and John want you (you are a close friend form Liverpool to the lads) and they decide they can share. Lots of flirting please 🙏

thank you my goat 🫰

wowie it was my first time writing anything romantic involving three characters at once, but I hope I pulled it off:) Feel free to place as many requests as you like - I’m available and curious to hear your ideas!

I Wanna Be Your Man⋆˚࿔

Pairing: Beatlemania!John Lennon x Reader x Beatlemania!Paul McCartney

Details: Fluff, no use of Y/N, flirting, bit of suggestive content, one mention of Ringo and George

Summary: As someone intimately familiar with the Beatles, you are invited to join them on tour. Despite the initial plan for you to act as the group's minder, two of the musicians have slightly different plans for you.

You never imagined you’d be one of the few people to find themselves right in the thick of peak Beatlemania. At first, you viewed the whole thing quite neutrally - much like a group of friends introduced to you by an acquaintance who happened to know the band’s bassist... But once you met the bassist, the guitarists, the drummer, and the entire inner circle followed. Managers, fans, the press, journalists. You couldn't recall the exact moment you signed the paperwork that plunged you into the heart of the Beatles craze; you must have been asleep at the time. It wasn’t that the men were crazy or unbearable - no. They were decent enough, just a bit... Peculiar. That was why you received a formal invitation to join the musicians on one of their trips. Could you even call it a tour? Honestly, you had no idea what you’d signed up for, but you were taking a train - that much you knew for sure, along with the fact that you’d packed as if for a two-week trip. Mind you, the journey was supposed to last less than two weeks.

In any case, the main reason you were invited to accompany the band was the concern that the four men might start arguing at some point during the trip - and let’s face it, everyone needs a strong, dominant woman to keep a few guys in line. That, then, was your role: acting as the group’s caretaker. Four grown men needed a caretaker. It was laughable, but you decided to let it slide and just enjoy the trip. You had hoped that the views from the train window would somehow make up for your situation. It was also a comfort that the trip gave you some time off work; sometimes, being friends with such popular people paid off.

Either way, you decided to settle more comfortably into your compartment and watch the scenery the area had to offer in weather like this. Your fascinated observation of the world through the window was constantly interrupted by four lively souls, all stubbornly intent on winning a card game - or something of the sort; you hadn't been paying much attention to them. As time passed, the four voices dwindled to three, and the three to two. It became... Unnervingly quiet. You felt compelled to glance at the two occupied seats where - to your dismay - only Paul and John remained. You secretly feared that a squabble would break out between them sooner or later; they were so prone to sudden arguments, whether in jest or in earnest. You could already feel cold sweat trickling down your back.

“Purely hypothetically. Do you think I could take Macca in a fight?” There it was. You glanced, somewhat bewildered, at Lennon and the equally bewildered McCartney. You hadn't the faintest idea what his problem was. You expected him to burst out laughing or playfully throw a punch at the other man any second, yet he sat there strangely calm. You didn't quite grasp the situation you had found yourself in.

"What?" You asked, wondering if you had misunderstood something.

"It was a purely theoretical question, luv. Macca likes the same pretty bird I do, and I don't plan on giving her up without a fight." John explained, prompting Paul to roll his eyes.

"No, you wouldn't beat me in a fight, Lenny, and no, I don't plan on fighting you," the bassist clarified, and you breathed a sigh of relief - there was a good chance they wouldn't be brawling right there in the train compartment after all. At least for now.

Unsure of how to resolve this strange dispute between the two men, you turned in your seat just enough to face them rather than the window.

"Maybe you should ask the girl which one of you she prefers?" You suggested, and the moment you finished speaking, you were certain the gears in the guitarist's head had started turning. He looked as though he’d just heard the best plan in the world - a moment for which you mentally patted yourself on the back. Crisis averted.

"Great idea. Which one of us do ya prefer?" John blurted out; Paul muttered something under his breath, looking flustered, and rubbed his face with his hands.

"That’s not how it was s’posed to go, Johnny." He remarked, while you glanced from one face to the other, bewildered.

"Which… What?"

"Which one of us you prefer - you told us to ask, so I'm asking."

"I didn't think you meant me!" You tried to smooth things over, silently praying for George or Ringo to appear in the doorway, you needed one of them there, pronto.

With a low grumble of discontent, John rose from his seat and forced his way in between you and the wall, compelling you to shift over; you ended up stuck sitting between the two musicians, practically squeezed tight between them.

"I said we could share ya, but he wouldn't listen, that daft." Paul blurted out, his voice laced with audible reproach.

"That would be a bit queer, Paulie." John snapped back, prompting a whine from his friend.

"It would be queer if we were kissing, not us kissing her!" With that, you began to feel somewhat excluded from the conversation - as if you weren't actually sitting between two grown men arguing over whether sharing a girl with a friend was a sign of latent homosexuality. Wow, okay. You had never given it any thought before, nor did you plan to now; your main concern was how to resolve the dispute between the bassist and the guitarist before they decided to call off the trip - or break up the band entirely.

"I’d be a better partner for her; I’ve had my eye on her ever since I met her." Paul decided to go on the offensive and lash out at John, trying to make him look bad in your eyes.

"And I’ve had my eye on her since even before we met her!" John shot back, and as the two men began to go at each other’s throats, you felt increasingly squeezed between them - and irritated by their childish squabbling.

"Oh, for God's sake!" You finally snapped, raising your hands slightly to show you had no patience left for their bickering.

"You can just share me - it’s not like it’ll be queer!" You probably said it a bit louder than you’d intended, leaving both men to hesitate for a long moment, wondering if this was really how it was supposed to go - or if they should actually roll up their sleeves and fight like real men.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked to be certain, and John - as it turned out - didn't need to be told twice; his hand immediately began to slide slowly up your thigh. Seeing this, McCartney joined his friend, though his hand found its place on the other side of you, resting on your waist. John wasn't particularly interested in waiting for you to be one hundred percent sure whether being shared between two men was a good idea. It seemed he already had some sort of a plan in mind.

The guitarist found comfort in gently brushing his lips against your cheek and whispering sweet nothings to you.

"As soon as we get to the hotel, I'll show you that I'm way better than Macca." he murmured - a remark that stirred a competitive urge in the man he’d mentioned.

"I could prove it to you right here, y'know." He whispered, brushing his nose against your earlobe. Their convoluted rivalry was starting to make your head spin, but you didn't stop them; you merely tossed out an indifferent "oh yeah?" wanting them to keep up the fight. Well, as it turned out, not every argument was as bad as you’d expected. Being at the center of such a squabble didn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you actually enjoyed it.

Your ill-advised attempts to stoke a competitive spirit between the men meant that anyone walking down the train corridor could see two men practically devouring you with their eyes as they sat flanking you, their hands wrapped around you. As their lips grazed your cheeks, you felt almost desired - but the moment both men began slowly sliding their hands beneath your layers of clothing, you burst into loud laughter.

"Now, that kind of sharing would be a bit queer."

[johnssilverhammer]

👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅

[johnssilverhammer]

Hiiiii!! Could I request a fic with 70s George Harrison, where he sees that reader has long curly hair but keeps it straight most of the time because they’re insecure about it and he wants/helps reader to embrace the curls??? Just a bunch of really sweet fluff please.

It’d be great if you could do a male reader but I’m fine with anything tbh :p

that’s so cuteeee I love that idea <3

“Curling around each finger..”

George x male! Reader

Summary- George has noticed that you have had some insecurities about your hair and convinces you it’s a beauty.

Third person POV

“My dear, are you okay?” George asked as he looked at you, a saddened expression plagued your face. You were staring in the bathroom mirror looking at your hair. It was long and curly and it sat just below your shoulders. You let out a mumbled “yes” as you continued to touch and play with the hair. George looked disappointed and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“That doesn’t sound too sure, you can tell me if anything’s wrong.” His voice laced with sincerity. You started, “I don’t know…I just don’t like my hair that much. It’s not very manly don’t you think? I with I just could have my hair straightened forever..” Your eyes lingering on a strand of hair you had pulled out for example. George was having none of this so he took your hand in his and turned you around.

His eyes locked onto yours, his deep brown piercing into yours. “Hey, listen to me. I think your hair is the most handsome part of you. You’re my husband and I can’t stand seeing you hurt yourself over something so…enchanting.” He paused to look at you intently, he kissed your lips with tenderness and warmth.

You pulled away with a frown. “George, love, I understand your point but you don’t understand. I get how much you love my hair but I can’t stand it!” George hugged you and held tightly, his hands petting your hair. His fingers took strands and twirled them along the curl pattern. With a grin he said, “But just look at how it curls around each finger…it’s almost like it has a mind of its own and wants me. Quite like you.” He chuckled and let go to take another gaze into your eyes.

You were a bit flustered and looked away but George’s hand caught your cheek and brought you closer to his face. “Listen, we can compromise on the hair but please don’t continue thinking such things about it.” For a moment he kept you there, admiring you and rubbed his thumb on your cheek. “Okay George..I love you.” Between his teeth George replied with a “I love you too my dear y/n.” Then he pulled you in and kissed you and this time you returned it.

I love writing with male readers it pushes me out of the box

[johnssilverhammer]

Hiiii! Do you think I could request a John or Paul Quarrymen era fic? Like reader goes to see them at the village Fete or in Hamburg and completely falls in love with them? Or John/Paul spots them in the audience and starts dedicating numbers to them during the show? If not it’s ok thank you!!!!!

okok so I’m obv biased to Paul and I’d love to write this for him but I haven’t fed the John fans in a minute so it’s John time 🫰

Summary- At a concert one late night in Hamburg a certain guitarist starts dedicating song to you!

Third person POV

The crowd was busting and the air grew thicker with every breath but you somehow found yourself right in front of the stage. The show was just about to begin and it was pure luck you got so close! Inside the dark venue it was getting more hot than a summers day but that didn’t matter to you. Soon the band came on stage, the uproar of fans screaming and claps were close behind their appearance.

One of the guitarists with auburn hair and was holding a black guitar looked down at you and winked! This was a new band to you called; “The Silver Beatles” so you had no idea who that was but man, he had charm! After they set up and tuned up they were set to start. The guy looked down again with a grin and began to announce before the song, “Eh! Everybody! This one here’s to a good-lookin’ bird in the front ere’!” His scouse accent coming through the microphone sent tingles down your spine. Then you realized he was talking about you! He was literally pointing down at you!

Blush quickly overcame your face and a wide smile replaced the surprised expression you once had.

After the show your voice was hoarse from screaming and your hands sore from clapping. Just as you were about to start to leave a hand touched your shoulder. Turning around only to see..the man! He had a flushed complexion and a wry smile. “Hello again, names John.” He held out his hand and at the touch it was a bit grisly and you felt the callouses from strumming his guitar. His charm didn’t stop at the stage. “What did you think of the show? Did you like the song I dedicated?” He said seeking praise.

“Why yes, it caught me off guard when you said that!” Laughing you said, still holding his hand. “Well I ment every single strum and note I played, love.” John had his other hand in his pocket and pulled out a note. “Take this, I can’t not give you my line! I can’t leave a beauty like you behind.” And with a peck on the cheek John placed the note with his number in your hand. Then he was called back by one of the bandmates. He gave you another wink and gestured a phone at you as he ran back.

[johnssilverhammer]

OMG THANK YOU GUYS SM FOR 400 YALL ARE THE GOATS 🫰🥹

[johnssilverhammer]

I just had the TIME OF MY LIFEEEE

literally I was at this train museum and my group was also gonna ride a train. So I obv had to recreate the hard days night scene with Paul’s grandfather

and the video is GOLDENNNNN like it’s so funny and my friends executed the lines perfectly (I was Paul ofc haha) but yeah I loved making the video and everyone loved ittttt