#Love letter to Liverpool

[moomin279]

Jurgen Klopp I will love you if I never see you again and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday

[i-am-kind-of-lost]

Jurgen Elisabeth Norbert Kloppo Klopp

[protect-daniel-james]

probably the funniest ship ever for me

[undying-love]

Beatles biographers saying totally normal things about John and Paul: A compilation

"‘John always used to say,’ Yoko told me at one point, ‘that no one ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him.’ The words suggested a far deeper emotional attachment between the two than the world ever suspected - they were like those of a spurned lover." -Philip Norman

"No matter how much he loved Yoko, the Gibraltar ceremony seems like something close to an on-the-rebound reaction to the loss of his first great love, Paul McCartney." -Chris Salewicz

"Almost in each other’s face, John and Paul quickly gained an unusual closeness, little or nothing hidden. Paul noticed that ‘John had beautiful hands." -Mark Lewisohn

"With Yoko present, Paul McCartney’s reign as Lennon’s princess was doomed.” -Peter McCabe

"John's in love with Yoko," Paul confessed to a reporter from the 'Evening Standard', "and he's no longer in love with the three of us." But for all intents and purposes, he might as well have been talking about himself." -Bob Spitz

'I thought Paul's was rubbish,' opined Lennon, saying that he preferred George's All Things Must Pass. McCartney studied the article with the morbid fascination of a jilted lover receiving a kiss-off letter. -Howard Sounes

“Lennon could have abandoned the (US) immigration case and returned to Britain, and possibly even to McCartney, but that would have meant accepting that his relationship with Ono was over.”-Peter Dooget

"Theirs was a volatile relationship right up to the end, and was fraught with emotional summits and valleys. While the connection between them was strictly heterosexual, it was deep, passionate, and highly explosive." -Geoffrey Giuliano

"John was insecure, and when he saw Paul he wanted to look cool. He gave up all his friends for Paul. Aunt Mimi recalled that John jumped around the kitchen when he told her about his new friend. She sarcastically said to John that they were like ‘chalk and cheese’ meaning how different they were. And John would start hurling himself around the room shouting ‘Chalk and Cheese!'’ smiling and laughing. He was fucking in love with him, he adored him. She understood he found the partner of his life." -Thomas Rhodes

“The last week in August, Paul McCartney returned to Liverpool, tanned and noticeably slimmer. In addition to starting school, he came back to begin a relationship he seemed destined for: hooking up with John Lennon." -Bob spitz

“Seeing Lennon focus on Ono rather than him [Paul] was as devastating as it would have been for Cynthia Lennon to witness the couple making love.” -Peter Dogget

[lenetaylor]

George and his "Asser"

A letter from George Harrison to Astrid Kircherr, August 1963, on stationery from the Palace Court, Bournemouth, where The Beatles had played The Gaumont, from Monday 19th August to Saturday 24th August 1963.

There is a LOT going on in this letter (George's obsession with photos?, George writing a book??, hate for Mrs. Sutcliffe???, George's aching balls????), but what endeared me was his nickname for Astrid: "Asser", which would be pronounced Assa or Azza. It's true, Hazza and the lads had loads of Northern nicknames for their mates!

My transcription under the cut.

DEAR ASTRID,

Do you remember me asking you in Tenerife to write to me as soon as you get back to Hamburg? You didn’t know how long you were going to stay at Klaus’ house, so you would write to me from Hamburg, then I would send you all the records and fun and games!

Betty (the great) comes to England all fat and sloppy saying, - “Vhy you no write to Astrid,” as if it was my fault, so just shut up. Anyway Asser, I bought you the records I told you about years ago, and they are still at home covered in dust, so if you have decided where about’s you are living lately, then let me know and I will send them to you with some other nice ones that you would like.

Fat Betty has seen all the Happy holiday Photos, hasn’t she? but I haven’t, oh-no. You won’t show them to me will you!

Actually if she had not come to England with King Size, then I would still be wondering which part of the world you where in!

I bought a Jaguar (car) last month, I think you would like it. I will send you a photograph of it, with the records as soon as I get back to Liverpool.

I hope you don’t think I am being funny but…..Could you look through your photographs and find some – or all of the photo’s that have the Beatles, either all together or separately, or that any of us with other people on them, in fact any photographs at all that may be of interest and then if you felt in a HAPPY ASTRID MOOD, do you think that you could either GIVE or LEND them to me. It does not matter if they photographs are terrible, as I won’t tell anybody that you made them, if you want me to.

You know that Paul and John are going to be very rich soon, when they collect the money they have made by writing all those songs, and I don’t think that you would like to see me poor and hungry, so I have decided to make a book. It won’t be a DA SADE type book, but a daft story about the BEATLES, with some photographs in it, and then I hope to sell it to all the nice people and then I can buy food with the money…Can’t I?

I would like to have some pictures that the people haven’t already seen in all the other books, so that is why I am asking you. It would be very nice of you, even if the pictures were old at the Indra and KaiserKeller and Top Ten. I know you are very particular about what you do with all the lovely photos, but if you are nice and send me some with the negatives, then I will kill Mrs. Sutcliffe for you! But if you don’t, then I will pay for Mrs. S. To go to Hamburg and see you for a Holiday!!!

What happened to Jürgen? Do you know his address? Where is Klaus now, as I still haven’t said ‘Thank you’ for letting us live in his house.

How are you Asser? Are you well, because I have been ill all week, feeling tired all the time. The doctor gave me a tonic which is like liquid preludin. My balls have been aching too, and banging around on stage!

We will be in Paris for 3 weeks in January. I will write again with the records cheerio and love from Georgie (your friend who wants the photos)

This was published in the July 2015 issue of Record Collector.

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂

description: In which lauren james's girlfriend is not a chelsea supporter but will still be seen in the stands, even if some 'fans' dislike it

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

lauren james x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction! Do not take any of this seriously.

warnings: language, rude discussions and slight violence/bullying, also cuteness, also slightly saucy ;) - also sorry to jamie cook i invented u a fake sister lmao

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Lauren huffed once more as she walked toward the car, her girlfriend carrying her bag for her and placing it in the front seat before moving to the other side and going to kiss her girlfriend.

"Good luck!" y/n grinned at her girlfriend, the footballer narrowing her eyes at the author with a pout.

"I don't know why you can't where my shirt." Lauren sighs and y/n sends her a look.

"This is your shirt." She defends, turning to point at the 'James' lettering on the England shirt.

"Not the team I am playing for today." The Chelsea players says and y/n rolls her eyes.

"I will not betray the Hammers. You're lucky I even cheer for you!" y/n states and Lauren rolls her eyes.

"Can't believe I fell in love with a Hammers fan." Lauren huffs as she pecks y/n's lips lightly.

"Can't believe I fell in love with a Chelsea player." y/n counters, trying to pull away from Lauren, but the older woman pulls her back by the England shirt.

Lauren's hands cupped her lover's face and she pulled her up and close to her lips, the two meeting in a deep kiss, Lauren's mouth pressing tightly against y/n's.

Despite Lauren being pinned between her lover and the car, the kiss made it clear she had all of the control, especially when she slid her tongue past y/n's lips, groaning at the taste of minty toothpaste and the strawberry yoghurt she always had for breakfast.

Lauren was lost in the taste of y/n, her teeth caught y/n's bottom lip and tugged sensually. Despite it being a normal move of Lauren's and the fact they had been together over a year now, y/n's legs still buckled.

Her hands which had been gripping Lauren's shoulders tightened and the footballer's hands braced her waist and ass, pushing y/n against her body Lauren sighed out in the physical comfort.

"When you kiss like that, I remember why I fell in love with a Chelsea player." y/n hums, her head tucked into Lauren's neck as the breathed in each other's space.

"I have to go." Lauren sighs and y/n leans up pecking her lips once more.

"Stay calm, play well, I'll be with Reece in the England shirt, screaming for you." y/n whispered. Today was a game against Liverpool, a big game.

"I know. I love you." Lauren nods.

"Love you too." y/n smiles before kissing her girlfriend once more and letting her drive away.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

y/n just posted on their story

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Ten minutes into the game and tension was already climbing, as Lauren had come out, she had shook her head at her brother who shouted her name excitedly, her girlfriend sat happily next to him clapping her hands.

The coat she was wearing was Lauren's, the wrists of the coat over y/n's and it looked slightly oversized, yet Lauren's England shirt was still clearly visible through it.

y/n gripped Reece's hand as she watched Lauren receive the ball, her girlfriend firing it at the goal from a tight angle and the net rippling. Reece shouted as y/n screamed excitedly clapping her hands as her girlfriend ran at the fans, her hand slamming against the badge.

Sam jumped on Lauren excitedly, but the goal-scorer was too busy finding her girlfriend in the crowd and sending her a proud grin, one which her lover returned with an air kiss.

Sam seeing it, intercepted the kiss, pretending to catch it in her hand and place it on her cheek with a grin, which caused Lauren to chase her back to their places, the crowd laughed at this.

There was a scoff behind Reece and y/n, two girls who clearly knew someone to be in the friends and family section eyeing up the back of y/n's coat, which had fallen off her slightly.

In her jumping excitement, it was clear now as y/n pulled the coat back up she was wearing Lauren's England shirt, and one of the camera men zoomed in on the badge as they waited for restart.

The third official needing a new mic pack put a slow start on the game and so the crowd laughed as they noticed y/n in the England shirt, the girl grinning as Reece pretended to shove her.

The game re-started and Liverpool equalised quickly, y/n and Reece groaning as they made eye contact, Lauren shrugging off a Liverpool challenge.

During a tackle moments later, Lauren went down, a petulant pout forming on her lips as she protested at the ref who gave the foul. The Liverpool player murmured something, her head nodding toward y/n.

Lauren paused for a second as if trying to remain calm, and before anything could worsen Sam stood in front of her muttering calming words as they set up the free kick.

"What do you think was said?" Reece asks as Lauren looks over to her girlfriend, her lover sending her a calming look.

"With how Lauren reacted, something about me." y/n sighed Reece squeezing her hand in support.

The was a scoffed laugh behind them from the two girls, whispers suddenly arising Reece tensed but y/n sent him a look as well. Both James siblings had rather bad tempers and y/n was the opposite.

Other than at West Ham games, y/n was probably the calmest person anyone would ever meet. She was kind, lovely and incredibly loveable.

Because of this, Lauren would often say she found a lot of strength in her lover, that she kept her level-headed and calm. Reece had found something similar in the girl he now saw as his sister-in-law.

"Making it about her when it's poor Lauren on the pitch?" One of the girls said, her friend letting out a very pretty giggle at it.

"I know, our poor baby on the pitch and she thinks it's about her." The other answered.

y/n sucked her teeth in, Lauren fans. Lauren fans had a tendency to step too far and they either loved y/n or hated her. Most adored her, but the odd few who didn't, were the ones y/n knew how to deal with.

She got daily death threats, daily messages saying how she was using her lover, that y/n was just a naïve 20 year-old who only dated Lauren so she could get close to all the girls.

The worst was when she and Lucy Bronze, a woman who had very much become an older sister to y/n who had never had a good relationship with her single father and older brother.

She had gone over to see Lucy and Keira in Barcelona, stay with them for a few days and try and spend some time on the beach and finish the third book in her fantasy trilogy, something she wrote under a pen-name.

Photos of her and Lucy playing football on a beach arose, and suddenly the death threats increased, Lucy fans and Lauren fans suddenly appearing and hating her.

Some loved her, most did and sent lovely messages. But they didn't stick with y/n, no only the ones telling her to take her own life did. But y/n ignored them, because anyone who couldn't tell the difference between your, you're and yours would not affect her mind.

"And the fact she isn't even wearing a Chelsea shirt! Because what? She's a West Ham fan, grow up!" One of them continued.

"It must hurt poor Lauren so much." The other girl agreed.

Reece huffed, but y/n kept him facing the front, muttering to him how they were not worth it and she was not bothered by the brainless bimbos behind them.

"They're insulting you." Reece denied as the game continued to rage on.

"And I don't care. Jealousy turns people." y/n promised the man who just sighed but nodded.

A few minutes later Reece had forgotten them as Aggie Beaver Jones scored, the young blonde heading in a beautiful cross from Lauren and the Chelsea fans went crazy once again.

Half time finally blew, Chelsea 2-1 up and as Lauren moved toward the tunnel she looked over at her lover who was already watching her, the author sending her a kiss and a wink, which Lauren returned.

Reece offered to go grab some warm drinks and y/n nodded in thanks, quickly posting a photo of the crowd on her story as she watched Reece quickly disappearing.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

y/n just posted on their story

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

y/n also sent a quick well done text to her lover who responded in something hardly suitable for the current moment.

to baby <3: Lauren wtf? You can't say that

baby <3: But you are my motivation tho?

to baby <3: we had sex last night??? just use your memory of what my body looks like?

baby <3: pleaseeeee

to baby <3: fine you play the best second half of your life and then yes, i will let you take the goddamn polaroids - happy?

baby <3: very :)

y/n rolled her eyes at her girlfriend, it wasn't that she didn't mind Lauren having nudes of her, it was just the idea of Lauren taking them of her on a camera seemed so stupid.

Maybe some of the things people said got to her, y/n wasn't an athlete, she tried to keep fit mainly from having too much energy and needing to actually do something before she jumped off a bridge.

She was okay looking she guessed but for some reason Lauren thought she was the most gorgeous woman on the planet, and as the girls behind her made fun of her hair again, y/n did not feel like it.

"I just, don't get Lauren's thought process." One of the girls said.

"Right? Like tits and and ass can only get you so far, why would Lauren want someone who is so clearly stupid." The other agreed, y/n rolled her eyes and as Reece came back she sighed in relief.

"Thanks Reece." y/n smiled as she took the cup of tea from him, the man promising her it was fine as they began to discuss the game, y/n ignoring the mocking giggles that came from behind her.

The final straw for Reece was when y/n flinched, one of the girls had stood up and 'fell' slightly, her hand and long nails landing harshly on y/n's shoulder as she squeezed and steadied herself.

Reece's eyes hardened and y/n tried to tell him no but he turned back around as the girl sat back down, claiming her legs were now stretched.

"Hiya, I'm Reece." Reece smiled, a dazzling smile on his face that y/n knew was reserved for his girlfriend Mia when he did something that pissed her off.

The girls practically swooned into a melted puddle at the footballers dashing grin and jumped forward to shake his hands, stating their names of Phoebe and Lottie.

"Lovely to meet you lovely ladies." Reece nodded, y/n trying not to laugh as she watched the players come back onto the pitch. "Who are you here for?" He asked.

"Oh well, my brother is Jamie Cook, the match analyst for Chelsea and he managed to kindly get us seats as I am such a big fan of your sister." Lottie explained and Reece nodded.

"Jamie. Got it." Reece smiled as the whistle blew and he turned back to the game.

"You are so bad." y/n said, but her voice was filled with amusement.

"They're really testing me, next time I won't be so nice." Reece huffed.

"He didn't even introduce her, so clearly hates her as well." Lottie whispered to her friend and y/n rolled her eyes as Reece tensed again.

"Reece." y/n warned and he rolled his eyes.

The game went past the 50th minute, the girls still making cruel digs at y/n's personality and reasoning for dating Lauren, but as her lover approached the goal again, y/n couldn't care.

"There's no way." y/n denied seeing the angle Lauren had been forced into.

"No, I agree." Reece said as Lauren shot, the ball bouncing into the net with pace.

"Never fucking mind!" y/n shouted, jumping up with Reece as the two shouted for his sister.

"Holy fuck!" Reece yelled as they got back into position, Lauren sending a wink at her brother who was stood almost squatting with his hands on his cheeks in shock.

"I have no clue how that went in." y/n said to Reece as they sat down, the game continuing. "It doesn't make sense." She adds.

"God, she won't even support her girlfriend, she's got no faith in her! That is ridiculous." Phoebe huffed.

"I know, Lauren really needs to dump her and get with someone better, like you Phebes, you would treat her so well." Lottie hums.

"Or you Lotts, you're so pretty!" Phoebe added.

"Why don't all four of us fuck it out and we'll go from there." y/n muttered under her breath making Reece choke on his drink in shock.

The man snorted again, laughing at y/n's hilarious comment, y/n began laughing at him and they shared a few more giggles while Lottie and Phoebe scoffed and huffed.

"Reece!" y/n yelled in shock as she watched Johanna fire a ball in, Lauren someone getting on the end of it and slamming in her hat-trick 8 minutes after her second goal.

y/n and Reece's voices were hoarse from their shouts of happiness, y/n slightly wincing at the idea that Lauren had definitely fulfilled her side of the bargain.

As the game wound to an end, y/n and Reece were loudly cheering with the rest of the Chelsea fans when y/n felt it, she gasped and her hand flew to her hair, Lottie's giggles covered by her hand over her mouth.

"I am so sorry I slipped." Lottie said falsely, the tea-soaked hair of y/n now dripping.

"Don't worry about it." y/n muttered, ripping her hat off from the floor from where it had 'fell' when Lottie did and y/n quickly through her hair into a messy bun, grateful for it's dark nature.

Reece's eyes had practically flamed as Lottie and Phoebe eyed y/n up one more time before making their way down to the barrier, trying to get Sam and Lauren's attention.

"What the fuck!" Reece hissed as the two moved down, Lauren nearing them before going to her fans.

"Shut up, this is Lauren's day, do not mention it." y/n warned Reece before she grinned at her lover who reached over and pulled her in for a quick peck, not wanting to go father in front of fans.

Sam moved over to Reece, the two had a good friendship and had a quick chat in hushed whispers and hands over their mouths as y/n smiled at Lauren.

"Very well played Miss James." y/n chuckled as Lauren smiled lazily.

"Does this mean?" Lauren began cheekily and y/n laughed nodding her head.

"Yes, you can do the polaroids." y/n smiled and Lauren's eyes lit up as if she had scored another goal.

Sam then came over, her arms wrapping around y/n as the woman squealed trying to shake off the sweaty footballer as Reece spoke to his sister, smiles on their faces as they talked.

Once the group were done, Lauren and Sam headed over to the fans and Reece and y/n decided to head inside where the staff were other than Emma and her assistant manager.

"Yo, Jaimie right?" Reece suddenly said, the match analyst nodding as he shook their hands. "Your sister's Lottie right?" He asked again.

"Yeah, did you meet her?" Jamie asked.

"Reece." y/n hissed, but he ignored her.

"You might wanna teach her and her friend some manners mate, spent the entire game bitching about y/n, while we were sat in front of them." Reece hisses.

Jamie's face paled and y/n sighed pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers as she tried to give herself strength as Reece continued to fume.

"Insulted her, said some honestly awful things and then shoved her and spilt tea in her hair, they're lucky it was not hot or I would have sued them for every penny." Reece continued and y/n finally stopped him.

"Okay, come on Reece." y/n said, cheeks red from embarrassment.

"No, no, it's okay. I am so sorry, Lottie can be a right brat." Jamie sighed and winced as he looked at y/n's wide eyes. "She can be awful and I am so sorry it was directed at you." Jamie added.

"It's not your fault, besides, I'm used to it." y/n adds and Reece recoils. "I am dating a loved girl, I am not surprised about some people's reactions anymore." y/n shrugged.

"That's even worse." Jamie huffs out and y/n shrugs as the three continue to talk.

Eventually, Lottie and Phoebe appeared in the room and y/n excused herself into the bathroom, Reece sending her a worried look which she brushed off as she quickly used the bathroom and walked back out.

Reece waved her over now stood by his showered and changed sister and y/n smiled as she moved over and Lauren wrapped a lazy arm around her.

Her fingertips dug into her lover's hip as Lauren pulled her into her side and chest, y/n's hand coming to rest on her chest as she tucked her head onto Lauren's shoulder, resting and listening to Reece and Lauren discuss the game.

Eventually, Lauren's fingertips dipped under the waistband of y/n's trousers, circling the soft skin as she cleared her throat and decided it was time to get going.

y/n nodded absentmindedly, smiling as Sam noticed they were leaving and bounded over to y/n, the striker hugging her tightly and the two exchanging goodbyes and see you tomorrow's as Sam and Millie were coming round for dinner.

Emma made her way over, once again congratulating Lauren on her performance and explaining she would see her tomorrow briefly for recovery.

Emma then quickly hugged y/n, the blonde asking her if she was okay and y/n sighed glaring at Reece who had snuck him and his sister away and were now talking to Jamie.

"They won't be coming back." Emma promises y/n but the woman shakes her head.

"Emma I'm fine, they just like Lauren, can't blame them." y/n promises.

"Saying and doing the things they did makes the the opposite of Chelsea fans y/n, you're apart of this family, like it or not Hammer." Emma promises and y/n laughs.

Emma had a good connection with y/n the second the two met, Emma already liked her due to the clear effect she had on Lauren but also because she respected the young woman.

The young girl hadn't been born with the best situation, an ill mother and the a passed on one, a single father who did his best and a brother who she didn't get on with.

y/n left when she was 18 and never looked back and neither did her brother or father, and y/n always said that didn't matter, that her father did his best but they just hadn't gelled, but Emma always wondered on that.

Because of that Emma hadn't been able to help the motherly roll she took on with the 20 year old who was just 19 when she met her. The now best-selling uni student had proved many times she had everyone else's best interests at heart and sometimes Emma told her off for that.

"I'm guessing Reece told you?" y/n asked but Emma shook her head.

"No, Fran did." Emma hums and y/n furrows her brows. "Oh, Fran told me who was told by Millie, who was told by Sam, who was told by Reece." Emma explains and y/n sighs.

"What about don't tell does that man not understand?" y/n questions and Emma chuckles as y/n's eyes widen, Phoebe and Lottie now appearing next to Jamie, Lauren and Reece.

"Uh oh." Emma says as Lauren starts speaking, y/n hugs the woman once more before rushing over and stepping between Lottie and Lauren.

"Baby, didn't you say something about leaving?" y/n asked Lauren but the brunette just hummed.

"I was actually just talking to Phoebe and Lottie about how they won't ever be coming to a Chelsea game again." Lauren explains.

"What?" Lottie asks confused.

"Oh don't worry, it's all been okayed by Emma and the board, anyone who speaks about my girl like that just won't be allowed in." Lauren says simply before nodding her head at Jamie and clasping his hand in a handshake.

Lauren's hand slips into the back pocket of y/n's trousers as she grabs her bag and Reece kicks up the ball into his hands and nods at the girls before Lauren guides her lover out the door.

Reece bursts into peals of laughter as they make their way into the car park but whines when y/n slaps his arm lightly.

"I told you not to tell her." y/n hisses but Reece just shrugs.

"I didn't, I told Sam." Reece shrugs.

"And Sam told me." Lauren adds as she unlocks her car, opening the boot.

"You two are going to give me grey hairs." y/n scoffs as Reece chuckles and kisses her head before getting in the drivers seat, he was insured on Lauren's car and liked to drive her back after matches if he came to watch.

Lauren shuts the boot, now bag-less and her hands find y/n's hips and she pulls her lover in, y/n's hands land on Lauren's shoulders, slightly shocked at the tight grip.

"No one speaks about you, to you or acts like that around you baby. Not on my fucking watch okay?" Lauren asks and y/n nods. "I love you so much." She adds, her head resting against y/n's forehead.

"I love you too Lauren." y/n says quietly.

Lauren bends down, pulling y/n's body tight to her own as she presses her lips harshly against y/n's and quickly settling her tongue into y/n's mouth.

y/n was slightly shocked as she gripped Lauren's shoulders tightly to keep herself upright. Lauren wasn't big on PDA, the two shared grins, maybe an air kiss or a quick peck, but never had Lauren kissed her like this where someone else could see.

The two were relaxed people and while they would usually be touching one another, never had a kiss of this ferocity been so public for the two before.

"Oi Oi!" The call from Sam Kerr echoed as she and a few teammates whooped at the two as y/n hid herself into Lauren's chest. The footballer chuckled and flipped them off.

"In the car baby." Lauren hummed, her hand tapping y/n's bum lightly.

"Okay." y/n breathed, a squeak in her voice as she rushed into the car, Reece snorting and poking at her red cheeks as Lauren got into the passenger seat.

"Alright y/n/n?" Reece chuckled as he began to pull away.

"Shut up and drive James." y/n huffed and the James siblings chuckled.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

y/n just posted on their story x2

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

y/n had her head happily on Lauren's shoulder, the empty plates on the coffee table in front of them as they sat watching the TV, Lauren's arm was wrapped around her, drawing lazy shapes on the small amount of skin she could get her finger on.

"You did so well today baby." y/n said quietly. "I was so proud." She added.

Lauren looked down, a soft look in her eye as she watched her lover whose eyes gleamed up at her proudly. The warmth from her statement filled Lauren.

"You kept calm, you were calculated." y/n continues, sitting back up slightly so she could see Lauren without having to tip her head up.

Lauren's hand fell from her sliver of waist to the inside of where her thigh met her knee. Lauren's fingers gripped there, sometimes finding it hard to ground herself when her girlfriend said such meaningful things.

"You really will be the best player in the world Lauren James." y/n says softly, her fingers resting over Lauren's hand. "As long as you keep that attitude in check." She adds.

Lauren lets out a light chuckle, but she reaches over and pulls her lover onto her lap, the 20-year-old letting out a quiet 'weeee' as Lauren did so.

y/n's legs fell either side of Lauren's hips, straddling her as Lauren's hands came to run up and down her sides, the dip in her waists, the skin at her hips.

"I love you." Lauren said quietly, she was never as good with words as y/n was, but y/n knew that those three words meant just as much.

"I love you too." y/n whispers to Lauren, her hand coming up to hold her lover's face softly.

Lauren lent up, her mouth capturing her lover's as her hands pushed against y/n's back, her strength pressing y/n down and her legs wider.

The strength and speed of the kiss was nothing like the innocent words just shared as Lauren poured her soul into y/n's with her lips. Her hands sunk down and rested on the curve of y/n's ass, one of her favourite parts.

As y/n went to move for air, Lauren's hand came down harshly on her, the slap echoing the living room even through her joggers. A mixture of a gasp and moan jumped from y/n's throat as she understood.

y/n did not stop the kiss, Lauren's warning spank had been enough to let her know that air would be a luxury in this moment and y/n continued pouring her being into the kiss.

The two parted and y/n heaved a breath into her burning lungs, Lauren's teeth latching onto her ear-lobe, y/n groaned and Lauren moved her soft kisses down the skin of her lover's neck.

Lauren smirked as y/n's breathing sped up, her hips pushing themselves onto Lauren's, but the footballer easily shifted her so her lover was grinding on her thigh.

The friction between y/n's legs made her sigh in relief and Lauren smiled against her neck before digging her teeth into the skin which sat there begging to be marked.

"I am going to put the plates in the dishwasher, I want you on the bed, in that black lace set from Boux Avenue when I get there." Lauren whispers.

y/n couldn't help the moan which fell from her lips as she nodded her head, Lauren's teeth tightening on her neck for a moment before pressing an innocent kiss there.

"Go." Lauren added before y/n was off and Lauren soon followed with a slight grin, but not before swiping her polaroid camera from the counter.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

END...

part two out soon (probs not cause i’m so bad at updating lmaooooo ;)

had to post this cause lauren deserves sm love and i’m so sick of seeing all the hate and the ignorance abt the hate not being racially motivated - grow up in our world and you realise so much more is racially motivated than you think.

lauren’s actions are not excusable but neither is the hate

we talk about how there is a different vocabulary for men and women but there is also a different vocabulary for white and black people

if you get offended by me saying this then i’m sorry baby but you part of the problem

stay safe and stay aware 💙

-

queenie x

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, my love!

I, unfortunately, missed your requests being open (six pages of a thesis is kicking my ass right now) but when they’re open again, is there a chance you could write another Dad!Price fic?

Since the last one felt so personal to me, would it be possible to have Price helping his daughter through Uni stress? Maybe she asks him to help her on her thesis? Lord knows I could use some inspo/assistance on mine!

Of course, if this is too late then feel free to delete it! I just wanted to pop in and drop a request off before I either, A: forgot about it, or B: missed your requests being open the next time :(

Sending so much love and hugs <3

Late Night Cookies

PAIRING: John Price x Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Stressed and still awake, you go to grab food from the kitchen before you get right back into your work. Your father talks some sense into you over a nostalgic recipe.

WORDCOUNT: 1.5k

WARNINGS: Stress around school, grades, papers, etc. but 90% fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm so glad you sent something in, Love! So good to hear from you again!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes were blurry and your hands were shaking, the table light shining too brightly in the stillness of your bedroom as a cold breeze wafts through the cracked window. 

The words swirled on your computer screen, sitting in front of you as your head slipped forward. Letters bleed into nonsense sentences that even a genius couldn’t make sense out of. There were weights on your fingers—keeping them stuck to the keys. 

“And, thus,” your garbled speech slips out, reading the line you’d just written; eyes squinting as your headache flares. “A-and…thus…” 

Shaking your head, you pull back and press your palms into your eyesockets, your spine flopping back with an audible crack as it straightens from hours of hunched torture. A groan slips out of your lips. 

“Shit,” you growl, sighing harshly. 

University, while necessary, was really your worst enemy right now—you’re constantly stressed and getting little sleep; when was the last time you’d eaten? Pages upon pages of typed research seer your eyes while closed. Only in this tight silence of your room were you able to hear the small sounds of the TV on in the house as it wafts in from under the line of your door. 

Your hands slip down your face as you stare blankly at your ceiling, eyes burning with fatigue. The muffled shouts from football games play in your ears. 

Humming, you push back from your desk and stand, stumbling for a second as your numb legs get prickles of electricity shooting through them. You needed food, water, even. Then you can get back into it. On the way out you snatch a blanket from the frame of your bed, wrapping it over your shoulders to preserve heat. 

Like a snail, you shuffle over the hardwood before finally pushing out into the hallway with only a small bump into the door frame. Hissing, the darkness of the house was good, and before long you’d grumbled past the large form laying on the living room couch in need of any form of sustenance. So brain-fried, you end up completely missing the small questioning ask of your name as Liverpool fights off another rival on-screen. Slashing colors dance across the darkness. 

The hand on your shoulder, though, you can’t miss.

“Sweetheart?” Your father’s voice brings you back from blankly nodding off into his chest as he turns you around. You jerk back with a rapid fluttering of your eyelashes. 

“Yeah?” Your voice slurs, croaky, and you rub again at your cheeks with the corner of your blanket. “What’s up?”

Blue eyes blink down at you in shock at your state, small noise made in the back of the large man’s throat. “Hell’s this, then? Thought you were sleeping already.”

“Sleeping?” The tone is incredulous, a bit of sanity leaking back into your speech. You look up into your dad’s face and his tight beard; his eyebrows are curled in. “I’m not even close to being done. I can’t sleep yet.” 

John blinks slowly, gaze darting from the sizable bags under your eyes to the redness of your sclera—the veins that reach for your irises like infectious fingers. His grip on you tightens. 

“When’s the last time you took a break, Love?” He asks slowly, taking you by the shoulders and bending down a little. He looks concerned. “It’s bloody dark out.”

You stare and huff a sheepish, tired, smile while your dad’s expression tightens with exasperation. He blinks in disbelief at your non-answer, answer. 

“Fuckin’ hell…c’mon, Sunshine, off to bed.” Your head is already shaking.

“I’m hungry.” John sighs, and the air ruffles your hair. But he relents and before you know it there’s a hand on the back of your shoulders corralling you into the kitchen. You lean heavily into your father’s side, and his fingers curl over your opposite arm. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your head. 

“How long have you been up, eh?” You yawn and lick your lips. Flinching when John flicks the kitchen light on. Burrowing down into your blanket, you seep in his heat like a greedy lizard. “Sweetheart?”

“Dunno,” you’re guided over to the island and plopped down into a chair. “I need to finish my work.” 

He chuckles and you slouch over to fold your arms, resting your chin on them. “Well, I suppose you plan on finishing it half-asleep?” 

John opens the fridge, looking over the small remnants of supper. He frowns and turns to look at you as your face lays sideways on your limbs. You blink slowly at him.

“...Maybe,” you grumble, face hot. 

Your father grunts and closes the fridge, turning back around and crossing his arms. 

“No more of this, eh?” He begins, glaring and infecting his words with that infectious authority. “After we get you fed, you’re off to bed. That’s that.” 

You’re about to protest before your dad interrupts with a stern growl of your name. You grit your teeth and shamefully dip your head. There’s a moment of silence where the outside sounds of wind and creaking can be heard—the entire world asleep beside the father and daughter in the dim kitchen.  

John tilts his head and softens his face; feet carrying him over. Stopping beside you, he places his hand on your scalp and pats you gently, rubbing his thumb into your hair. Lashes flutter, and your body sags into the counter even more. Your father kisses your head and whispers, “You need your sleep, Sweetheart. This’ll do you no good. Pace yourself, you’ll get it done—I promise, yeah?”

“How do you know?” Your voice mutters, hesitation finally showing itself. Eyes stare at the table, red and dry. 

Your father chuckles and you glance back. He’s smiling in his own way, wrinkles showing and eyes crinkling with amusement.

“You’ve gotten this far. My girl’s not one to give it up. And even if you do,” he stands and pats your shoulder before he heads to the pantry. Your expression leaks slight confusion as he opens the door. “We can figure it out together. It’s not the bloody end of the world. It’ll pass.” 

Your internal anxiety eases at your parent's reassurance, his casual surety more of a blanket than the one you already swaddle yourself with. The subtle anxious shaking of your fingers stills after a moment of cognition. Stuffing down another yawn, you feel a warmth burn in your heart at the words and you smile. 

“When did you get all wise?” You tease, seeing John take out various ingredients as you watch. He scoffs.

“The second I got the call I was needed in hospital and had a damn daughter.” You laugh. 

“Alright, then,” your sarcastic reply slips out, and John chuckles lowly. After a moment you can’t stop your curiosity, no matter how much your limbs stay heavy. “What are you doing?”

A large bowl had been placed on the counter with a dull thunk. Blue eyes darted at you before measuring cups were spawned next to the previous object. 

“What’s it look like, then?” John’s finger casually points to a recipe that had been set up on the wall, a thin and damaged piece of paper with chicken scratch; stains, and crumpled corners. You blink at it in recognition.

“...Cookies?”

“You want chips or cinnamon?” 

Watching with wide eyes, you clear your throat and utter, “Uh, c-chips, I guess?” John grunts and focuses with a calm face. The recipe had been a sort of inside joke between the two of you. 

When your dad was off on assignment for long periods, you’d always make him a batch when he was set to leave and when he came back—a kind of soothing gesture to ease the uncertainty. To let him know you’d be alright without him here. 

He made them for you when you were sick or feeling bad. You blink quickly to dispel the sudden wetness of your eyes. 

“You helping?” John asks, not turning to you, as he dumps flour into the bowl. “Won’t taste right if you don’t.” A cheeky tone hits your ears. 

Standing, you shuffle over and grab at the chocolate bag, digging inside and stealing a few before your dad can stop you. He gives you a fake glare, huffing under his breath before smirking to himself.

Your body leans into his side and you giggle as he rubs his beard into your head. 

—

Hours later, you rest limply against your dad’s shoulder on the living room couch, empty plate on the coffee table and the TV low. You breathe softly and get the sleep you both deserve and need—of course, the work would start back up tomorrow, but it always would. Having your dad in your corner was the thing to keep you upright; your rock. 

John looks down and watches you with a deep well of affection and ease. He kisses your head before his arms reach around you, lifting with no problem. 

He carries his little girl, because that was what you would always be, off to bed and tucks you in. Snapping off your desk lamp with a small sigh of contentment and a low hum.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[coochiequeens]

"She lied to a military police officer down by a hospital ship, said she was going to interview nurses about the 'woman’s angle,' and they let her on, because, as she said, no one gave a hoot about the woman’s angle. It served as the perfect forged passport for her," said Somerville. She resorted to those measures because her husband, Ernest Hemingway, tried to take over her journalist career.

This Saturday, June 6, will be the 76th anniversary of D-Day, the battle that would come to represent the beginning of the end of World War II. 

There was just one woman, a war correspondent, on the beaches at Normandy that day the allied forces liberated Western Europe from Nazi Germany: the singular Martha Gellhorn. Author Janet Somerville traces Gellhorn’s extraordinary life in her book Yours, For Probably Always: Martha Gellhorn’s Letters of Love and War.

"Since 1937, Martha had been a war correspondent for Collier’s magazine. She knew about the Allied invasion, that there was a plan to cover the Allied invasion of Normandy, and she was determined to cover that," Somerville said. 

The problem was, her very famous husband at the time, Ernest Hemingway, pulled the rug out from under her professionally.

"Hemingway had gone to New York, introduced himself to her editor at Collier’s and said ‘I’ll be your war correspondent.’ And he took her accreditation papers. Which was a bit of a problem," said Somerville.

Each publication could send just one correspondent. But Gellhorn was resourceful and clever. She found herself passage on a munitions ship from New York that would get her to Europe. She was the only woman and the only civilian aboard that ship, which landed in Liverpool. Then, she just needed to get to Normandy.

"She lied to a military police officer down by a hospital ship, said she was going to interview nurses about the 'woman’s angle,' and they let her on, because, as she said, no one gave a hoot about the woman’s angle. It served as the perfect forged passport for her," said Somerville.

Once on board the hospital ship, Gellhorn locked herself into a bathroom until they sailed. When the ship docked in Normandy, she waded ashore through waist-deep water with some of the medical officers.

"She became the only woman and the only war correspondent to be actually on the beaches at Normandy, evacuating the wounded."

Though she was there as a journalist to write about the event, she couldn’t help but tend to the wounded soldiers. She had an uncanny ability, Somerville says, to focus on what needed to be done. So when she saw that the wounded were hungry and thirsty, she set to work.

"She just took it in her stride and found somebody who could bring teapots to tip into their mouths,if they couldn't hold a glass. She just took charge and made sure that they got something," Somerville said.

She also managed to be one of many correspondents who wrote about D Day.

"The incredible thing about D-Day is that accredited correspondents produced 700,000 words of text, just about D-Day," Somerville said. "Martha was one of them. She had a piece called 'Over and Back' that Collier’s published."

Gellhorn went on to report into her old age, from all corners of the globe. She filed her last piece, about the murdered street children of Salvador, Brazil, more than 50 years after D-Day, when she was 87 years old.

Yours, For Probably Always: Martha Gellhorn’s Letters of Love and War, 1930-1949 by Janet Somerville is available at the link above, or wherever you buy your books.

[crepesuzette2023]

Beatles Books as vaguely defined friends and relatives at a party you attend with a new crush, whose name you keep mispronouncing.

The longer you stay, the more trouble you have remembering what the occasion was.

The lights keep changing. Shortly after you arrived, your crush shrunk to the size of a mouse, and scurried away. You’re on your own.

The Beatles (Bob Spitz) greets you, an attractive silver fox who seems to be shunned by most of the others. You wonder why. It’s as easy to imagine him as a crying wreck as it is to imagine him on a golf course. Here, There, and Everywhere (Geoff Emerick) disrupts your musings by pulling tapes from his mouth. Seeing your discomfort, he stops and hands you a photograph of John Lennon and Paul McCartney singing into the same microphone. As he does, his pupils take on the shape of hearts. Someone called George announces his intent to poison him.

Anthology (The Beatles) saunters in, puts eight arms around you, and promises to tell you the whole story. They proceed to speak in tongues, and throw popcorn at you. Stu Sutcliffe jumps from a pendant around their neck, lands on the floor, and scurries after your crush.

“It’s always like this,” says Body Count (Francie Schwartz). “I assume you don’t want to listen to my story about a gifted woman who got locked up for depression? That’s fine, I can also talk about frottage, and a certain man’s curves.”

“Oh, stop it,” says John (Cynthia Lennon). She turns to you. “My advice is: Turn around and run as fast as you can.” She demonstrates what she means by disappearing, leaving behind a purse filled with cheerful letters and drawings of herself getting married and giving birth. Everything smells of olive oil. Francie spots Loving John (May Pang), and rushes to her, greedy for gossip. Loving John (May Pang) is everyone’s favorite, because she doesn’t really know anyone very well, but she knows how to make everyone feel comfortable by saying things that make sense in the moment.

Living the Beatles Legend: The Mal Evans Story (Ken Womack) ends up taking her home; they both live at The Fringes. Her home is a little further than his, which is just this side of Weird whereas she’s all the way in Montauk, but he’ll make sure she gets there safely.

To make up for the disappearance of your crush, Remember (Mike McCartney) cuts your hair. Each snip of the scissors slots a black-and-white picture into your field of vision. Windows in time blow noise and heat in your face, and visions of a screaming band that looks a bit like the young Beatles. Then there’s the quiet heat of summer, towels rippling on the line, and a drain pipe screwed to the wall of a house. He talks about childhood, and you’re almost there, but you never will be, because he won’t let you in. His more verbose twin, The Macs (Mike McCartney), recites letters his brother and John wrote from Hamburg, but you can barely understand what he says, because he stuffed a tissue into his mouth.

“It’s only a story,” says The Lyrics (Paul McCartney). “Pleased to meet you. I’m a storyteller myself.” He sings a love song. “I must have thought about these things when I wrote it,” he muses. “Interesting. What a mind, as Linda used to say.”

He tears a few pages from a diary he kept in Paris in 1961 and hands them to you without comment.

At this point, the party is dissolving. Crocheted furniture floats away and stretches.

“Am I too late?” Skywriting by Word of Mouth (John Lennon) squeezes himself out of the lowest drawer of an antique desk, where, judging from by his crinkly pajamas, he slept. “I’m in pieces. Mend me with glue.”

“I will, I will!” Tune In—All These Years, Vol I (Mark Lewisohn) yells ecstatically. “I’m so glad you could make it Sit down with me and celebrate the heritage of Liverpool.”

Skywriting drapes himself around Tune In, who starts purring and rutting against him.

“Excuse me?” It’s The Fifth Beatle: The Brian Epstein Story (Vivek Tiwary), torero boots clicking on the invisible floor as he strides towards the couch. A spotlight follows him. “I’m managing this show, and I insist on expanding the scene.” Around them, a hotel room forms.

Skywriting lights a cigarette. “Join us in bed, Bri.”

“Yes,” moans Tune In. “I’m so lonely. I’m the oldest of a triplet, or so they say, but the other two haven’t been born yet.”

The Fifth Beatle sits down and observes the unhinged biography losing himself in the friction of rubbing against the shapeshifting Skywriting. Finally, things reach a conclusion.

“And so,” says The Fifth Beatle, “what partially was, finished.”

“Stop repeating lines from a bad movie, Brian," says Skywriting, "you’re better than that.”

As you try to plot ways to escape through the skylight, The McCartney Legacy, Vol 1 (Sinclair & Kozinn) slides out from under the bed, a broad-shouldered lady in a bright red dress. A half-hatched alien with long legs and sunglasses squirms between her breasts, and makes mouth percussion sounds.

“Gentlemen.” The McCartney Legacy retrieves a very, very long rosary from her pocket. “Is anyone interested in an exquisitely crafted, finely wrought chronology?”

At the sound of the word “chronology,” The Beatles (Hunter Davies) crashes through the ceiling.

“Don’t fall for it!” The Beatles snatches the vocalizing baby alien from The McCartney Legacy’s chest, and kills it by wringing its neck. “Time stopped in 1968. The only valid extension are my own salacious additions. Strictly off the record.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” says The Fifth Beatle.

You exchange a glance with Skywriting, who is plucking pieces of Tune In from his body like children snatch pieces of dough, and sticking them in his mouth.

A camera clicks.

“Excellent.”

The Eyes of the Storm (Paul McCartney) lowers the camera, and changes into a suntanned, gleaming likeness of George Harrison. Then he changes into a fish.

“Everyone looking at the pictures will think they know,” the fish says. “They’ll have no idea!”

The floor dissolves under you. You fall into a pool, just in time to save your crush from being sucked into the drain, and after a barely audible edit you find yourself back home, with no memories at all, the taste of chewing gum in your mouth, and wearing matching tops saying, I visited Fellini’s Satyricon, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. (ETA: I can't believe I forgot about Dreaming the Beatles (Rob Sheffield). I guess I'll have to include him in the inevitable sequel to this...thing, as the +1 of John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs (Ian Leslie).)

[klausysworld]

Hey 👋 I've been watching videos of Joseph during the Liverpool convention (hope you had a good time by the way) and got the idea of a Joseph x Reader story where they meet during a meet and greet perhaps during signing?

(Started writing this and it’s kinda giving yandere!reader vibes but she just a crazy obsessed fan like the rest of us🤷‍♀️)

Also in this he is not married! And this is gonna be set in America maybe a few years earlier?

Favourite Fan

Y/n had watched the vampire diaries and the originals religiously. They were played continuously and she could speak each episode word for word. Her favourite character was Klaus by far, she loved Joseph Morgan’s acting and who he was truly.

So she saved up, a lot, and decided she would see how many conversations she could see him at.

She knew he was doing conventions in a couple states that year so decided to go and meet him.

The first time it was to have a picture of him signed as well as a photo.

When she got their, she was practically bouncing. She waited in line and finally got to meet him.

———————————————————————

Joseph had been switching between photos and autographs all day. It was the afternoon and he was growing tired. Time between each person was getting shorter and shorter but he didn’t want to disappoint any fans so he tried his best.

But when he glances up at Y/n, for some reason he decided he would talk to her for a little longer. His eyes were locked on hers, her bright smile seemed to warm him as he wrote her a personalised message on the item she wanted signed. She then shyly asked if he was allowed to hug her to which he let out a soft laugh and nodded.

He pushed his cheque back and stood up, moving around his table and welcoming her into his arms. He smiled at the way she clung to him, it wasn’t uncommon among fans. He gently rubbed the top of her back before she pulled away and thanked him. His eyes followed her as she walked away and he continued with the autographs for a while.

By his last set of photos with fans, he was exhausted and hungry. Some of the other stars were taking a break while others were flooded with people.

He sighed softly to himself, his face hurt from all the smiling but he was used it. He could feel the heat getting to him as he stood in far too many layers but nevertheless he wrapped his arm around the next person and gave an award winning grin for the camera.

He glanced to the next person and saw a familiar face, the same girl from earlier. His smile was smaller but it was real. So was hers as she quickly approached him and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He chuckled and hugged her bag, accidentally smelling her hair as he felt her face against his shoulder.

“You ready sweetheart?” He murmured softly to her and she nodded, her cheeks pink as a blush spread through her. She pulled away and turned to the camera, his arm stayed around her waist and they both smiled. He waved as she left and turned to his next person with a better attitude.

———————————————————————

He saw her multiple times in that year alone, in a few different states across different days.

He began to look for her in the line or when he was walking from photos to the autograph tables. Occasionally he would spot her, she was always already looking at him which made his face warm as a soft blush rose to the surface. Joseph would always wave at her as he went by.

By the time he got round to seeing her, he was always tired. She seemed to uplift him throughout the day.

So when he got to her again, for maybe the 7th time meeting her, he was relieved to have her in his arms again. He could hear and sense his co-stars giggling and staring as the hug lingered for longer than it should have.

“I made you something” she whispered to him as they parted and he smiled

“You did?” He asked and she nodded, holding out a few pieces of paper. One of which was a hand written letter and two were portraits of him in a remarkable amount of detail. His smile broadened and his face went pink again “you made those yourself?” He questioned and she nodded nervously.

“You don’t have to-“

“No no, I want them” he took them from her hands and she smiled back at him. “They’re wonderful, love” he told her and she looked down “thank you” he whispered “will I be seeing you again later?” He asked eagerly.

“No…not this time” she sighed softly “I booked late, couldn’t get anything else. Next time?”

“Definitely” he smiled, subconsciously raising his hand to brush her hair away from her face, ignoring the ‘ooos’ from his co-stars.

They smiled at each other and said their goodbyes before she left and he turned back to his next eagerly awaiting fan.

———————————————————————

Joseph’s friends teased him, Daniel, Phoebe, Claire, Charles. The lot of them knew, as soon as they saw Y/n coming, Jospeh would be a blushing mess.

One of those days, when Y/n was lining up for Joseph again, Daniel came up behind her. He effectively scared her and made her laugh, he whispered to her secretively and had her dial her number into Joseph’s phone.

Joseph and Daniel had been given private rooms to do their photos and signings and Y/n was the last in line for Joseph so Daniel saw it as perfectly set up. He gave her a hug and winked at Jospeh who looked a mix of embarrassed and horrified.

Once she got to him, they were both red in the face and their hearts were beating fast.

“I’m sorry” he whispered “he’s rude and-“

“It’s okay” she smiled “I know it’s just a joke, you can delete the number” she told him but he shook his head

“N-no no I’ll keep it” he whispered, his eyes trailing her body without his permission. She could feel his eyes on her and she could feel herself getting hotter

“Can I have my hug?” She asked quietly and he cleared his throat with a nod

“Yeah- yes” he mumbled, pulling her close and holding her against him. His nose buried in her hair and the soft skin of her face pressed to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut and he held her their for a short well, his hands gently caressing her hips and waist.

He knew it would be inappropriate to touch her, to think of her in any indecent way but part of him just couldn’t help himself. He was attracted to her in every way, she was so kind and thoughtful. He wondered how happy she was on the day to day. He wondered how many people got to see her big smile and get given personal gifts from her.

Sometimes he worried that it would be bad to date a fan, would he be taking advantage of her love for him? And then the worry would settle, does she like him or his characters?

It clouded his mind and he felt her pull back, looking up at his face. “You okay?” She whispered, seeing his eyes zoned out. He seemed to snap back when her hand touched his face and she quickly retracted it “I’m sorry”

“No, it’s alright” he smiled, squeezing her hand gently before stepping back. “You were here for the autograph again?” He asked, and she shook her head

“Photo” she corrected and his face went red, glancing to the camera man who was looking thoroughly amused

“Right” he whispered “a photo” he repeated and she laughed softly

He pulled her close and smiled for the camera. She was the last one so he walked her back to the door, his hand automatically on her waist as though it belonged there.

———————————————————————

After that, Joseph had very nervously sent a message to Y/n. She had assumed it was on of her friends messing with her and told him to go away. He proceeded to ring her and prove her wrong making her apologise profusely and promise she didn’t know it was him. She could hear Daniel Gillies laughing in the back ground and Jospeh telling him to shut up but letting her know it was okay.

They messaged more and more frequently, video calling sometimes in the evening.

The two would talk about the next conventions and when they could see each other again, Joseph felt bad that Y/n had to pay so much to see him for a few minutes and offered to pay for her but she always refused. Until one day, a few months later when she couldn’t afford to go and he practically begged her to send her bank details so he could transfer her.

When she came and saw him, she hugged him so tight and kissed him on the cheek. He felt like he was floating, he went to his her on the cheek back but caught her lips. He could hear people around gasping but he couldn’t care in that moment. All he could think about was her lips on him, his finger weaved into her hair and he kissed her with as much passion as he could show without putting his tongue in her mouth.

He didn’t want people getting to many pictures so he turned her around, away from everyone so they could just see his back as he kissed her gently. His hand cupped her cheek once he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes on her swollen lips before their lifted to her eyes. She was breathing fast but Joseph knew he was too.

“I hope the next fan doesn’t get that too” she whispered and he laughed

“They won’t, I promise” he murmured, kissing her once more and grabbing his pen without turning around. He scribbled his signature onto her shirt, right on her breast making her grin. “I’ll call you later” he muttered, pecking her cheek

And with that she walked away, other fans squealing and looking at her as she floated through the crowds.

[abubblingcandle]

Jamie Tartt Accent Analysis

Um so yeah, after an anon ask to @withbadhair talking about how Phil is posh and Jamie is Manc, I relistened to Phil Dunster's episode on No Such Thing As A Fish again today and got sucked back into how much I love thinking about the intricacies of regional accents and how much I love thinking about Phil's accent work and how it is great!

So here you go -

A Yorkshire Lass' with an obsession with regional UK accents' take on Jamie Tartt's accent

Phil's Intentions with the accent

Phil has said that it was really his choice what sort of Manchester accent they went for (as Jamie wasn't written specifically to be Mancunian) but he was aiming for New Moston sort of area which is north eastern Manchester suburb (see yellow highlighted area on the image)

But he started by mimicking his agent who is apparently sassy and from Manchester but then listened to people like Aitch (who is from Moston which is probably where the idea for Jamie being from Moston/New Moston came from), Marcus Rashford (who is from Wythenshawe which is south Manchester out of the Outer Ring Road), Jesse Lingard (who is from Warrington which is a town between Manchester and Liverpool to the west) the Gallaghers (who are from Burnage which is south eastern - near Highfield Country Park on the map) which was more season 1 Jamie.

It was mentioned that Aitch was a bit inspiration with the attitude and the sort of swagger as well as the accent itself.

Features of a Mancunian Accent (some things to listen out for)

Research says that the Manchester accent can be characterised by a few distinct features:

The LettER vowel: if there is an ER at the end of a word it is pronounced more like UH. So for example "letter" becomes "let-uh"

The HappY vowel: what Jamie is known for. If there is a Y at the end of a word it is pronounced more like EH. For example "poopy" being "poopeh" or "city" being "cit-eh

H-dropping: this is typically northern but prevalent in Manchester. It is not pronouncing the H at the start of a word so instead of saying "head" pronouncing it "ed".

T-glotallisation: if there is a T in the middle of a word it is sort of dragged over. Like in "better" it can be "beh-uh".

-NG: typically if a word ends in -NG you do not say the G. For example "waiting" is "waitin"

All of these features are more easily noticed in words where more than one of them happens like "happy" becomes "appeh" with both H-dropping and the Y at the end

Analysis of Jamie Tartt's accent from a professional (not me)

Manchester Met have done a study of the different dialects within Greater Manchester and have split it into four categories. Lancashire, Mancs, Wigan, Posh. If Phil was aiming for Moston that would be more Manc but some Lancashire.

Dr Rob Drummond who was the lead on this research was sent clips of Jamie Tartt (edit - as a few people commented on this but he is a friend of No Such Thing As A Fish so was sent it in preparation for Phil being on the podcast but was apparently very complimentary so definitely a Phil Dunster win!) and managed to locate very precisely to just north of central Manchester in the Smedley sort of area which is the blue area on the map. If you compare that with Phil's aim of the red area ... that's damn impressive

So if you are looking for areas of Manchester to set your fics around or ways to make your dialogue feel more Tartt. Then we are looking for the Mancs accent and living somewhere in just north/north west of central Manchester based on his accent.

So yeah thanks for reading my thesis. I was going to go into words and sayings here too but it's after midnight and I have been talking to myself for the last hour just repeating the same words in Queens English, Leeds, and Manc 😂

Disclaimer - this is more based on S3 Jamie as S1 Jamie had a lot more subdued characteristics as Phil was finding his feet with the accent.

Side Plug as I have preordered it - Dr Rob Drummond's book called You're All Talk is coming out soon and it is all about this stuff and also social perceptions of linguistic diversity (which as someone who's accent massively chances based on the situation I am in I am super interested in)

[smilingformoney]

The Eternal Summer

BONUS CHAPTER: In Another Life

Summary: You're surviving but not living since your husband was murdered by Sweeney Todd. Now, his cousin arrives to administer the estate, but nothing goes as either of you expected.

AN: Do you remember when I asked whether Turpin should survive Sweeney's attack and the overwhelming response was yes? What if no? 🙂

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Eight months had passed since the death of your husband, Lord Turpin, and your life had been in limbo ever since. Not expecting to die so soon, he hadn’t drawn up a new will to include you, and so his estate in its entirety was to be passed to some cousin you’d never heard of.

Said cousin was living in Australia, and though a letter had been sent to him on your husband’s death, the months it took for ships to travel to the far-off land meant that the cousin that now owned the house you lived in was nowhere to be seen: until today.

You had found yourself a simple kind of routine living on your own as a widow. You weren’t allowed access to your husband’s money, so you were forced to make your own. You sold some dresses you’d made, and with the proceeds you bought more fabrics to make more dresses, and eventually you managed to establish a steady income for yourself.

You were in Johanna’s old room, which had become a de facto workshop, when you heard a knock on the door.

You peered out of the window to see a man at the door, face obscured by the hat on his head, waiting for your response with a suitcase at his feet.

Curious - and unable to send a servant, since you could only afford a cook or a maid and had opted for the former - you made your way downstairs and opened the door to greet the man.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a ghost. The man looked strikingly familiar to your dead husband, if he had been a decade or so younger and sported a moustache and goatee. He was also very handsome.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Good afternoon. May I speak with the lady of the house?”

“You’re speaking to her.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to you. “Ah, Lady Turpin, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elliott Marston. I believe I own your house.”

Of course - a suitcase from a two-month journey at sea, a resemblance to your husband. This must be the cousin.

“I believe you do, sir,” you said with a small curtsy. If this man owned your house, he could kick you out at any moment - you had to stay in his good books, no matter what. “Won’t you come in?”

You stepped aside to open the door fully to him, and Elliott carried his suitcase into the hall, looking around at the house he owned but didn’t know.

“Would you like some tea, sir?”

“I’d love some, thank you.”

You showed him into the parlour room, then busied yourself in the kitchen making a pot of tea. When you returned with a tray in hand, Elliott was stood at the bookshelf, looking curiously at one of the books. He looked up as you entered, then placed the book back on the shelf and sat in one of the seats by the fireplace. You placed the tray on the small table between the two seats and poured a cup for each of you.

“Have you just docked from Australia, sir?”

“No, the boat docked in Liverpool, so I’ve just travelled from there. And enough with this ‘sir’ business, I don’t recall her Majesty granting me a knighthood and we are family, after all. Just Elliott will do.”

That took you by surprise; it was frowned upon to call anyone you weren’t familiar with by their first name. Even your own husband you frequently addressed formally, only calling him by his first name in intimate moments. Then again, this man was from Australia - perhaps they did things differently there.

“Well, in that case, I suppose you can call me [Y/n].”

You poured your own cup of tea and sat opposite Elliott. You were unused to hosting; whenever your husband had visitors, you were always to either stay out of sight or to be seen but silent. Making small talk with the gentry wasn’t something you had particular practice with.

“Did your journey take you very long? I hear Australia is months away by even the fastest boat.”

“Yes, it was two months at sea, but I’m used to travelling long distances. I own a lot of land in Australia, it takes days to traverse it. At least on the boat I had shelter from the heat.” Elliott sipped his tea and nodded his approval at your tea-making skills. “This is excellent. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes, I - I have no maid,” you admitted in shame. “But I have a cook, so if you’d like to stay for dinner, I’m sure he’ll make enough for two.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you. [Y/n], I must admit, I can’t stand formalities and pleasantries. May I talk straight with you?”

“Oh - er - yes, of course.”

“Good. The truth is, I’m happy with my life in Australia and I have no use for a house and its contents in London. When I read the solicitor’s letter, my first thought was to write back asking him to sell it all and put the money towards something good, a school or something. But then I read on, and he mentioned that my cousin had left behind a widow who had no family to support her. Again, I thought about writing and asking everything to be given to you, but the way the solicitor spoke about you in his letter was frankly disturbing. He seemed to imply that he believed you married William only for his money and I worried that if I left it in his hands he’d leave you out on the street, so I decided to come here myself to execute the estate and do whatever I need to do to keep you in your home.”

Your hands were shaking, and you had to put your cup down lest Elliott notice.

“You… travelled here from Australia to ensure I wouldn’t be homeless?”

“Well, of course,” Elliott said with a casual shrug. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” You’d been so scared of him showing up to claim the house and leave you out on the streets, and yet here he was arriving to make sure that didn’t happen. “You are - you are most generous, sir.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I knew there was a lady out on the streets for the sake of my owning a house I don’t need. A good thing too, because a beautiful woman such as yourself would catch the eye of many an untoward lech. I’ll stay a while, if you won’t mind - it’ll take a while to sort out all the administration, and it’s been such a long journey, I’d like to make the most of London before I set foot on a boat for another two months.”

“Of course! You can stay in the master bedroom, I’ll make another room up for myself.”

“Nonsense, this is your home, I shouldn’t take your bedroom from you.”

“No, I must insist. You said yourself you’ve just been on a boat for two months. The best bed for comfort while you’re here is the least I can do.”

“Well, if the lady of the house insists, who am I to argue? Now, I’m going to get myself to the solicitor’s office before it closes for the day - what time does your cook normally serve dinner?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Perfect! I’ll be back by then. Thank you again for the tea, [Y/n], and for your generous hospitality.”

You stood to escort him to the door and gave him directions to the solicitor’s office. Your heart skipped a beat when he kissed your hand before heading off, and you realised only when he turned a corner and disappeared from view that you were even watching him go.

---

You were actually quite eager to have Elliott for dinner, even though you’d spent the last few months dreading his arrival. But now that he was here, and he’d assured you he wasn’t going to put you back on the streets, you were glad for some company and you found yourself buzzing around before dinner, making sure you and the house looked presentable, and by the time he arrived at a quarter to six, you were already ravenous.

“I forgot how cold this country is,” Elliott said with a shiver as he stepped inside, his hair damp from the rain. “I’m here one day and the Heavens open on me.”

“Is Australia much warmer, then?” you asked as you helped Elliott out of his coat.

“Oh, very much. Even in winter it’s hotter than a London summer. I’m used to the Australian weather, but I suppose to you it’d feel like an eternal summer.”

You led Elliott down the hallway towards the dining room.

“That sounds wonderful! I love summer, when everything’s so bright and warm - except for today, of course. But I assure you it’s usually much nicer than this.”

Elliott chuckled. “I’m sure it is. What’s for dinner?”

“Salmon filet and vegetables. I do hope you like fish, if I’d known you were coming I’d have asked chef for more choice —”

“Nonsense, salmon sounds lovely. I live very far from the sea, I don’t get much opportunity to eat fish.”

In the dining room, Elliott sat down at the table in what used to be William’s usual seat, and you busied yourself with making a fresh pot of tea.

“Have you always lived in Australia?” you asked.

“Ever since I was a child and my parents moved over as settlers. That’s why I was so surprised William left me his estate, to be honest. The last time I saw him, I was a child and he was at university.”

“Well, you’re the only family he had,” you explained. You brought the tray of tea over and poured each of you a cup. “He had no siblings and no children. You were all he had left.”

“He had you.”

You glanced at Elliott and blushed.

“Well… we weren’t married very long. He might have changed his will if he’d had time.”

“Mmm, the solicitor said William’s death was foul play. What happened?”

You told Elliott the story of Sweeney Todd and his plan for revenge on your husband, and you surprised yourself at how easy it was to talk to him. Even though you were talking about something awful, and though you did falter in your storytelling when you came to describe the way your husband had been killed, there was something about Elliott that made the story bearable to tell.

By the time you finished the story, the chef was bringing out your dinner.

“[Y/n]… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Elliott said gently. “A sweet lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to witness something so awful.”

The image of your husband bleeding out in the barber’s chair flashed before your eyes, and you shivered.

“Yes, it was… quite horrible,” you said in a quiet voice.

“And you’ve been on your own ever since?”

You nodded and picked up your knife and fork, not even noticing that your hands were shaking. Elliott noticed, though, because he reached over to take your cutlery from your hands and cut your food up for you, making no comment on your reaction.

“I’ve been on my own… waiting for you,” you admitted in a quiet voice. “I thought you’d come here and send me into the streets. That you’re willing to let me stay… it means a lot to me, Elliott. Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes flickered up to you and he smiled. He put your cutlery back down, then placed his hand over yours, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I won’t be responsible for your suffering,” he promised. “Now - let’s see if the salmon in London matches up to the salmon in Melbourne.”

You hadn’t enjoyed dinner so much in a long time, if ever. You’d had good conversation and laughter with your brother Tommy, but never good food. You’d had good food with William, but dinners were always a reserved affair. But with Elliott, you had the best of both worlds - the salmon was delicious, and you had to excuse yourself several times for bursting into laughter with food in your mouth, to the point where you wondered if Elliott was doing it on purpose.

“I refuse to believe there are truly creatures like that in the world!” you exclaimed with a laugh when you heard Elliott’s description of kangaroos.

“There are! I swear on my life. And they’re vicious things as well, I wouldn’t want to get near them. One of my men died from a single kangaroo kick.”

“I’m still not sure I believe you. If only I could go to Australia and see them for myself.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Elliott said casually. He took a swig of his wine, then said, “You could always come back with me.”

“Come… with you? To Australia?” You shook your head. “No, no, I couldn’t…”

“Why not? You say you’re alone here.”

“Well, yes, but…” You glanced around the room. “This is my home. This house - London - it’s all I know. I can’t just… leave.”

Elliott raised a hand soothingly.

“I understand. If you change your mind, the offer’s open.”

After dessert, you stayed in the dining room long after you were finished, talking and laughing, listening to every story he had to tell you about Australia. At some point you moved to the parlour room and rummaged in the cupboards until you found the pack of cards William kept for the nights he played poker with his lawyer friends.

Elliott showed you how to play piquet, and to both of your surprises you picked up the game quite quickly and even began to beat him after a while.

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before?” Elliott said with disbelief as you won your second game in a row.

“No, never! William never let me touch his playing cards.”

“A shame, because if you’re as good at poker as you are at piquet, you might have been his secret weapon. One more round before bed?”

“Alright.”

You won that game too, and you were pleasantly surprised that Elliott wasn’t angry that you’d beaten him, but rather impressed that you’d picked the game up so quickly. After a quick nightcap, you showed him to the master bedroom, then retired to Johanna’s old room, your workshop, to get ready for bed.

Elliott wasn’t used to sleeping in a nightshirt. It was so hot in Australia, he rarely needed to, but in London it was so cold that he had to wrap himself up a bit more. The bed you’d put him in was soft and comfortable, so even though the outside air was cold, he felt quite cozy as he placed his gun on the nightstand and climbed under the covers. It had been a long day - a long two months - and he was ready to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard a tentative knock on the door.

“…Yeah?” Elliott mumbled, sitting up in the bed.

The door creaked open and you appeared in the doorway, peering around the edge of the door as if frightened to impose - as if he wasn’t the one imposing on you.

“Sorry to disturb you, Elliott. It’s freezing in my room. Do you mind if I take the blankets from under the bed?”

“No, of course not. This is your bedroom, after all.”

“Well, actually it’s yours,” you joked as you slipped into the room and made your way to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, come on, it’s yours,” Elliott insisted. “My house, maybe, but your home.”

You sighed as you looked under the bed.

“Oh, drat, I forgot. I used the blankets to make some coats. Well, never mind.” You stood up. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Elliott.”

“Well, hold on,” Elliott said quickly as you went to leave. “You just said your room’s freezing. It’s warm in here and there’s plenty of room in the bed. Why don’t you sleep here?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you gaped at him for a moment before collecting yourself.

“I - Elliott - wouldn’t that be… inappropriate?”

Elliott put his hands up in a show of innocence. “I won’t do anything untoward. I just don’t want you to freeze for my sake. Come on.”

He tugged the covers back on your side of the bed and patted the mattress.

”If you don’t get in, I’ll get out and sleep in the cold room, and what sort of hostess would that make you?”

“Well… alright, I suppose.”

You climbed into the bed, feeling warmer and more comfortable the moment you pulled the duvet over you and fell into your usual sleeping position.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

“…Goodnight, [Y/n].”

When you woke the next morning, you were the warmest and most comfortable you’d felt in months. You had your arm wrapped around your husband’s warm body, spooning him for warmth in the cold winter morning. Your hand instinctively travelled down his torso and felt the familiar hard length he sported every morning.

His nightshirt had ridden up to his waist in his sleep, and so you had no barrier at all when you wrapped your hand around his length and stroked him lazily. You let out a contented hmm when you felt him twitching beneath you, his body responding to your touch.

He let out a small moan, followed by a sigh of your name, and you froze.

Your eyes snapped open, and reality came crashing down on you.

Your husband was dead. The man you were fondling was his cousin.

Before you had time to think, Elliott placed his hand over yours, encouraging you to resume your movements. You obeyed instinctively, not wanting to anger him by changing your mind when you’d already begun… and truthfully, a part of you wanted to keep touching him. It had been so long since you’d touched a man, and his length did feel so good in your hand…

Elliott made such sweet sounds when you rubbed him just right. He bucked his hips into your hand, encouraging more friction, and you obeyed by speeding up.

You knew you should stop. Elliott wasn’t your husband. Yes, you’d had sex with William before marrying him, but you weren’t much more than a glorified whore. You were nothing of the sort to Elliott, just the widow of a cousin he hadn’t seen for years… and yet he wasn’t rejecting your touch.

Your cunt was aching. You’d missed this. Waking up next to a warm body, making gentle love in the morning, both too tired to fuck as ferociously as you had the night before and would later in the day.

You were lonely. You were horny. And when Elliott rolled onto his back, it was instinct more than anything that caused you to slide your hips over his, your bodies pressed together, your height difference allowing you to get away with burying your head against his chest, avoiding looking him in the eye as you tentatively ground your wet cunt against his length. Elliott groaned and placed his hands on your hips just as you raised them, and you truly couldn’t say which of you made the movement that led to his cock slipping inside you.

You wanted to kiss him, but that felt too intimate somehow. Like kissing him, looking at him, would mean acknowledging what you were doing. If you kept your head down, busied your lips with grazing against his neck instead… you could focus on the feeling of his cock inside you as you rolled your hips, the sound of his gentle moans, the feel of his large hands on your hips, helping guide you as you rode his cock. If you didn’t look at him, you avoided the truth of what was happening.

It might not be right. But Lord, you needed it.

It was a chilly morning, but the room quickly warmed up, your moans and sighs filling the air and saying everything that needed to be said about what was happening.

You were both lonely. You both needed this act of intimacy. And you were both choosing not to speak about the implications of it all.

You came around his cock with a long, drawn-out moan, the tensions you hadn’t known you were carrying falling away, and you welcomed his seed as he came inside you, filling you up as his own tensions were carried away into the ether with your own.

You stayed motionless on top of him for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, when you moved off him, Elliott’s hands fell away from your waist and he made no protestations as you rolled out of bed and pulled your nightdress down, covering the sight of the seed running down your thigh, and left the room as if nothing had happened.

When you next saw Elliott at breakfast, you decided to act as if nothing had happened. You chatted amicably about your plans for the day, then cleared up your plates and made your way upstairs to work on your current dressmaking project.

In the evening, Elliott joined you for dinner, and afterwards you invited him to look at the dress you were making, since he seemed to show an interest when you spoke about it.

“I’m very impressed with your creativity, [Y/n],” Elliott said as he examined the half-sewn dress that sat on a mannequin. “Most women of your station would simply buy their dresses. I find the initiative quite admirable. I dabble with some creativity of my own - nothing fancy, mostly recipes - but I find it so much more rewarding than having something presented to me ready-made. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes, I quite agree!” you said enthusiastically. “The ability to create - whether it be food, clothing, art - it’s what sets us apart from animals. It may sound silly, but… it makes me feel I’ve contributed to the world in some small way. So even if I died tomorrow, there would be some mark on the world that I left behind.”

Elliott looked at you curiously and smiled.

“That’s a beautiful way of putting it. Are these your designs?” he asked, pointing to the pile of drawings on the nearby desk.

“Oh - yes, but I’m afraid I’m not as good with a pencil as I am with a needle. They’re rather rudimentary drawings, but it at least helps me remember my ideas. Would you, um… would you like to see them?”

“Please!”

You felt your cheeks blushing harder and harder as Elliott looked through the drawings. You pointed out some of your favourite designs, those that were too extravagant for you to attempt to create, or just plain impossible.

“Remarkable. You truly have a gift, [Y/n].” He glanced up at you and chuckled. “Blush any harder and you might just come to resemble a tomato. You’re not feeling embarrassed, I hope.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I - I’ve never shown these to anyone before,” you admitted. “William… he was never interested. He let me sew because it kept me occupied when he was at court, but he had no interest in it.”

I prefer your clothes on the floor, he had said to you once, but you decided to keep that part to yourself.

“Well, it’s a shame. Are you going to work on it any more tonight?”

“Yes, I was going to put together some more of the bodice before I retire.”

“Might I watch you? Or would you prefer to work alone?”

“No, it’d… it’d be nice to have some companionship, actually. If it won’t bore you, that is.”

“Nonsense. You do what you need to do, I’ll make us both some tea.”

You worked late into the night, later than Elliott could stay up, and he made you promise not to work for very much longer when he retired to bed before you.

The clock in the corner of the room struck twelve, and you realised you should probably retire.

You readied yourself for bed, and shivered when you put your nightgown back on.

You hesitated, thinking. It wouldn’t hurt to share warmth again, would it?

When you poked your head into the master bedroom, Elliott was fast asleep, so you tip-toed quietly to your side of the bed and slid under the covers. Warm and comfortable at last, you fell asleep almost instantly.

You woke up to a soothing presence pressed up against your back, and this time you remembered that it was Elliott who was sharing your bed.

It was Elliott who was fondling your breast.

His arm was under your nightgown, holding you tight against his torso, and his fingers were lazily playing with your nipple. You could also feel his erection pressing up against your bum.

It was clear what he wanted, and you were surprised he hadn’t taken his pleasure from you already. You would often be woken up by your husband entering you in your sleep - he had to dispel his morning erection, after all, and he had to do it before he left for court. He couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

Elliott had no strict timings on his mornings, so perhaps that was why he was taking his time, groping you in your sleep until you were awake for him.

You rolled onto your back, hand reaching out to take Elliott’s length and guide it into you.

He ducked his head to take your breast in his mouth as he let you guide him to your entrance, and his ministrations must have aroused you even in your sleep, because there was no dryness to resist him as his length slid up your walls and settled comfortably inside you.

With each slow but firm thrust, your breasts followed the movement, and Elliott released your nipple from his mouth to let your flesh rub against his cheek. He grazed his teeth against your skin, leaving behind a trail of saliva as he positioned his head in your neck, seemingly as determined as you to avoid eye contact, to avoid the acknowledgement of the strange situation.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding his body against yours, and over his shoulder you saw the movements of his rear as his hips thrust into you.

Elliott let out a small moan with each sensual thrust, his breath tickling your skin, and you responded in turn with moans of your own when he sped up, his movements becoming more firm, more desperate, as you both felt your pleasure climbing.

You were too lost in the pleasure, the intimacy, the desperation of the moment to worry about anything else. For a short while, there was nothing else in the world, just you, he and the pleasure that was coiling ever tighter inside you, and when your orgasm overcame you and your whole body shook, Elliott kept thrusting into you, stopping only when his own orgasm hit and you felt his warm seed filling you up and he moaned sinfully against your neck.

After a few moments, Elliott rolled off you and onto his back, but this time, you made no quick exit. Instead, you let him hold you lazily, both of you sated, both basking in the comfort which existed between you so easily, although you couldn’t explain why.

You still didn’t say a word until breakfast.

You fell into a strange routine. You spent your days as you would - you working on your tailoring, he on the administration of your husband’s estate - and at night you’d slip into bed with him, each time telling yourself it was only because the other room was so cold. In the morning, you’d not say a word to one another as you fucked, usually starting slow and sleepy, and ending with a desperate passion.

On the third morning, you woke to his tongue between your legs.

On the fourth, you were about to lean over to take him in your mouth when he grabbed your hips and positioned you to sit on his face, and you might have worried about suffocating him with your cunt if you weren’t occupied with taking his length into your mouth.

The fifth morning was a Sunday, and you wondered if anything might happen - your pious husband had never fucked you on a Sunday, after all - but your question was answered before you even awoke, as when your eyes opened and your mind returned to the waking world, you felt Elliott was already inside you, though he didn’t begin to thrust until he knew you were awake.

The sixth morning saw you taking him in your mouth before he woke, and words passed between you for the first time when a “fucking hell” escaped Elliott’s lips as his fingers slid into your hair.

On the seventh day, Elliott woke to find the bed empty, and he found you instead in your tailoring room, sitting at your desk and still wearing your nightgown.

“Up early or still up?” he asked as he approached you from behind and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Up early,” you replied. “I had an idea in my sleep… I had to get it down before I forgot.”

“You gonna come back to bed after?”

“It’s alright, I’m done now.”

You stood up, but before you could turn around, Elliott caught you in his arms, and that morning he took you from behind over your desk - and for the first time, you moaned his name when you came.

You knew one of you would break soon and mention your morning activities during the day, but you were determined to put it off. Talking about it would mean thinking about it, and you didn’t want to confront your feelings any time soon, so you continued your strange routine for another week until one day when a letter arrived at your house addressed to Elliott.

“Oh, it’s from my uncle,” Elliott said in answer to your curious look as he read the letter at the dinner table. “On my mother’s side, no relation to William. I wrote to him when I arrived to tell him I was in England. He’s invited us to visit him in Sussex.”

“Us?”

“Well, he says ‘you,’ but I choose to take that in the plural. Would you like to come? He’s got quite the estate as I recall.”

“Sussex? Isn’t that very far?”

“Not really. About half a day by carriage.”

“That sounds very far to me…”

Elliott smiled at you. “Yes, I suppose it would. Compared to my lands in Australia, it’s no distance at all. Have you ever been to the country?”

“No, I… I’ve never left London,” you admitted. “Though I would love to visit the country, I hear it’s a lot greener than London.”

“Oh, much greener. To be frank with you, London is horrid. All the smoke in the air, beggars on the street, buildings clumped together and the earth hidden beneath cobblestones… I’ve only been here two weeks and I’m craving the fresh air. In fact, if you’ve never left London, then I insist you come with me. It’ll do you good to breathe the open air. Who knows - maybe we’ll even see some sheep.”

Your eyes lit up then, and Elliott smiled to see his words had had the desired effect on you. He’d told you all about his lands in Australia and the different animals he kept, and in turn you had told him how you wished to see sheep, which you always thought seemed so cute from your books.

So that night you packed a bag, Elliott went out to find a horse and carriage to rent for the next morning, and come bedtime you were so excited at the prospect of going to the country that you didn’t even think twice about going straight to the master bedroom with him. Usually you at least fooled yourself into thinking you were going to sleep in the second bedroom, but before you even realised what you were doing, you were both in the master bedroom, getting dressed for bed.

Elliott said nothing about it; he acted as if it were normal, and after he blew out the candle beside the bed, he wrapped an arm around your waist and held you as comfortably as if you’d always slept like this.

“Goodnight, [Y/n],” he mumbled against the back of your neck.

You smiled and linked your fingers in with his.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

---

The next morning, you had to be up early as you’d be travelling for most of the day, so you were rudely awakened by a knocker-upper in the middle of a lovely dream about winning a cheese-eating contest.

“C’mon, [Y/n], time to get up,” you heard Elliott say a few minutes later, but you just groaned into your pillow.

“Too early,” you complained.

“You can go back to sleep in the carriage, but we gotta get going.”

“I’m trying,” you insisted. “Body won’t move.”

Elliott chuckled, then you squealed when you were suddenly lifted into the air and thrown over Elliott’s shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You want to see the sheep, don’t you?”

“I wanna see the sleep.”

Elliott put you down, though he kept his hands on your shoulders to make sure you didn’t fall asleep standing up. You looked up at him blearily and smiled.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled.

“Now I know you’re talking nonsense. Come on, let’s get you dressed. You need a hand?”

You shook your head, yawned, then reluctantly set about getting dressed. By the time you’d laced up your bodice, Elliott had already loaded the carriage waiting outside with your luggage, and was waiting for you on the front doorstep with a cigarette when you finally emerged from the house.

“Still awake?”

“Just about,” you mumbled. “If I sleep in the carriage, will you wake me up when we get out of London? I don’t wanna miss seeing anything.”

Elliott offered his arm to you and led you to the carriage.

“Of course. It’s not very exciting, though. Once you’ve seen one field you’ve seen them all.”

“But I wanna see them all!”

Elliott laughed, then helped you up into the carriage. You shuffled along the seat to let him climb in after you, then once the door was closed, you immediately curled up against the side of the carriage and nodded off.

When you woke up, the first thing you realised was that you were lying down, though you’d gone to sleep upright. The next thing you noticed was that your pillow was strange, slightly rough and harder than usual. Then you realised there was a weight on your head, and when you felt fingers casually caressing your hair, you realised the weight was a hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw the back of the carriage driver’s seat, but sideways.

You were lying across the seat in the carriage, head in Elliott’s lap. He’d wrapped up his coat and placed it between your head and his thigh for a pillow, and he was gently stroking your hair as you slept.

You closed your eyes again, savouring the moment. Elliott’s coat smelled like him, and his hand on your head made you feel safe and secure. Even though you were lying in an awkward position, legs bent slightly to fit on the seat, you felt a great sense of comfort.

“I know you’re awake,” Elliott said softly.

“No, I’m not,” you replied, your eyes still closed.

“I can see you smiling.”

“Shh… sleeping.”

Elliott chuckled, and he continued his gentle stroking of your hair, both of you choosing to enjoy the moment rather than address it.

“We’re out of London, by the way. Have been for a while.”

Now you did open your eyes, rubbing them as you sat up and looked around.

“You said you’d wake me when we left!”

“I’ve learnt today that waking you up before you want to is impossible.”

“Have I missed anything?”

“Only dozens of identical fields. Take a look.”

He pulled back the curtain that covered the carriage window, and you leaned over him to look outside eagerly.

“Wow,” you gasped. “There’s so much space!”

The fields stretched as far as you could see, intersected only by trees and hedges. There wasn’t a building in sight. You’d seen drawings of the countryside, but it was an even more magical sight to behold in reality.

“You should see my land in Australia,” Elliott said proudly. “Hundreds of miles, it stretches for. I own even more land in Australia than there is in London.”

“You jest!” you exclaimed, leaning back to look at him. “I believe that as much as I believe that there are such things as kangaroos.”

“It’s true, and so are the kangaroos. The world’s much bigger than you know, [Y/n].”

“Yes, I’m coming to realise that.” You sat back down in the seat, though you made no effort to distance yourself from Elliott. He had an arm thrown across the back of the seat, and when you leant back, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Is it much farther to your uncle’s house?”

“Another six hours or so. We’re only halfway there.”

“Six hours?! Goodness. What do you to pass the time on long journeys such as this?”

“Talk. Smoke. Relax.”

Elliott’s hand was wandering across your skin, fingers dancing as he traced meaningless shapes across your shoulder, and you smiled when he threaded his fingers through your hair and scratched your scalp.

“You like that?” he murmured softly.

You blushed and nodded. He threaded his fingers deeper into your hair, gently scratching at different spots on your scalp until he found a spot you seemed to particularly like, because you shuddered when he touched it, dipping your head slightly to give him better access.

Elliott withdrew his fingers, gathered your hair in his hands, and moved it aside to hang in front of your shoulder, giving himself access to pepper soft kisses across the back of your neck. You giggled slightly when his moustache tickled against your skin.

“What about that? Do you like that?”

You nodded, hardly daring to speak. Elliott’s trail of kisses moved up the side of your neck, and you let out an involuntary whine when his lips connected with the skin behind your ear.

“Elliott…”

He hummed acknowledgment against your skin, but whatever you were about to say was cut short when he placed his hand on your thigh and your breath caught in your throat.

His kisses were on your cheek now, and you could hear his breathing, feel his hot breath on your cheek. He cupped your face with his palm, encouraging you to turn to him, but despite everything you’d done with him already, somehow a kiss felt just too intimate.

So, when he turned your head, instead of kissing him you continued the momentum of your movement and pushed him back into the seat. You kissed his neck, then his collar, and as you kissed down his clothed torso, you were tempted to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt to give you access to his skin, but there was something arousingly scandalous about doing what you were doing with both your clothes still on.

When you reached his belt, Elliott helped you unbuckle it and grunted with relief when he released his hardened cock from the confines of his trousers. You licked your lips, then took his tip in your mouth, easing his girth into you. Elliott let out a low moan as you skilfully took him deeper and deeper until he was buried in your throat, your nose buried in his hair.

He placed one hand on your back and the other cupped your cheek, gently encouraging you to move. You slid your tongue along his shaft as you lifted your head, and though you intended to retract all the way to his tip, Elliott wrapped your hair around his fingers to hold you still and thrusted up into you. You choked slightly with surprise, but you simply widened your throat as your late husband had taught you to, giving Elliott the room he needed to bury himself inside you again - and again - and again.

At some point, although you couldn’t say exactly when, Elliott released his grip on your hair and let you take over. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft so you could pleasure him without choking yourself, and which also allowed you to bob your head faster.

“Ah, fucking hell… [Y/n]…”

Even though you’d been sharing intimate moments for two weeks now, you still hardly spoke during and certainly never mentioned it after, and you’d have expected that hearing Elliott moan your name now would frighten you, making the moment too personal, but there was something about it that shot straight to your core, almost as if you wanted that level of intimacy with Elliott.

You pushed that thought to the back of your mind. That was something to deal with later; for now, you were just enjoying pleasuring him, listening to his beautiful moans as he responded to your ministrations.

What you didn’t know was that while you were trying to ignore the feelings that were growing inside you - which you didn’t want to admit had been growing since the day Elliott showed up at your door - he was revelling in his, savouring every moment of intimacy between you as if he were a parched man and your affection was his hydration. He tried to hold back his orgasm when he felt it climbing, because he didn’t want this to end, to finish your unspoken intimacy and go back to pretending that anything was happening between you.

He tried to hold it back - but you had a way of telling when he was close, and you weren’t one for edging, because it only spurred you on, sucking him off faster until he could resist no more. Elliott grabbed your head and pushed you down his shaft, burying himself in your throat as he shot his load inside you, and though you choked and spluttered, you relished in the feeling of his warm cum bypassing your mouth and filling you up straight down your throat.

You had nothing with you to clean him up, so you used your tongue and licked him clean. Elliott sighed with relief and leant his head back against the seat.

“Jesus, [Y/n]… You are something else, you know that?”

You averted your eyes and blushed, as if you weren’t the one who’d initiated it. Elliott saw your bashfulness and smiled.

“Hey, c’mere.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in for an embrace. You cozied up to him and rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he gently rubbed your back. Elliott’s gentle touch, combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the movement of the carriage, soon sent you back to sleep. Eventually, Elliott found himself dozing off too, both of you comfortable in one another’s arms as the countryside rolled by.

---

You woke up a few hours later when the carriage came to a halt. You sat up, blushing when you realised you’d once again been sleeping with your head in Elliott’s lap. He, meanwhile, was still asleep; you giggled and pushed his mouth closed for him when you saw he was drooling.

Curious as to why you’d stopped, you pulled the curtain back from the window and saw that you were on a long road, flagged either side by lines of trees. The carriage driver hopped down from his seat, and you opened the door to poke your head out.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

“Go back inside, m’lady, nothing to worry about. There’s a man injured on the road.”

“Oh, dear! That’s not nothing at all. Here, let me help.”

Ignoring the driver’s protestations, you hopped out of the carriage, lifted your skirt to avoid muddying it, and followed behind him to attend to the injured man. Before the driver could examine the man, however, another man came suddenly from between the trees, punched the driver hard enough to render him unconscious, and the supposedly injured man jumped up to begin rifling through the driver’s pockets.

You, naturally, had exclaimed in surprise when the second man appeared, and as soon as his punch landed, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey, we got a twofer!” the man exclaimed, grinning hungrily. He grabbed you before you could dodge him, and you screamed.

“Unhand me, you scoundrel!” you shouted, fruitlessly pulling against the grip the man now had on both your wrists. He simply laughed and threw you to the ground.

“I been hoping for a girl to rape all day,” he said with a nasty grin as he unbuckled his belt. “Today’s my lucky day!”

 BANG!

You cried out in surprise again when a gunshot rang out, and the man’s luck ran out as blood began to pour from his forehead, and if his stunned expression were anything to go by, he was dead before he hit the ground.

His companion, who had up until now been searching the driver’s pockets, went to grab his own gun, but his hand had hardly moved towards his belt when another BANG resulted in blood pouring from his chest, and after a few attempts at breathing through the blood filling his lungs, he too collapsed dead to the ground.

You tried to clambour to your feet, but the ground was slick with mud, and you embarrassingly fell back onto your bum. You jumped when a hand gripped your upper arm and pulled you to your feet, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you when you turned and saw that it was Elliott.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

You nodded, though you were still frightened, but you were otherwise unharmed. Acting on instinct more than anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head against his chest.

“Oh, Elliott, thank goodness,” you sighed. “He was - he was going to —”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Elliott said soothingly. His gun was still in his right hand, but with his left he embraced you and gently stroked your hair, seemingly undeterred by the mud that was no doubt all over you. “Nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around.”

You sniffled, and Elliott holstered his gun to allow himself to hold you properly, rocking you and murmuring words of comfort until your breathing had steadied.

“The - the driver…” you muttered, looking over your shoulder.

“Alive, but unconscious - I can see him breathing,” Elliott determined. “We’ll have to wait for him to wake up before we go on. Come on - let’s sit you down.”

Elliott kept an arm firmly around your shoulders as he guided you to the carriage and sat you down on the step to examine you.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked as he gently took your chin between his fingers and turned your head to check for injuries.

“Only my bum from falling back down,” you admitted. “Erm - and my elbows too. I think they took most of the fall.”

“Let me see them. Can you roll your sleeves up?”

“Not in this dress.”

“You’ll need to take it off, then,” Elliott said matter-of-factly, and his hands were on your bodice, pulling apart the lace across your chest, before you could react.

“Is this a ruse to get my clothes off?”

Elliott smirked and his eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t need a ruse for that, sweetheart. We both know you’d be out of that dress in an instant if I asked.”

You had no reply to that. You blushed hard to hear him flirting with you so brazenly when you’d spent so long not speaking of the spark between you, but truthfully he was right. Even though you were out in the open, two dead men lying in the mud nearby and your carriage driver unconscious next to them, you felt a shiver of desire run through your body as Elliott ran his hands over your chest to unlace your dress.

You glanced down at his waist, where his gun was back in its holster, glistening slightly in the afternoon sun. It had happened so fast, you had hardly had a chance to fully appreciate what had just happened - Elliott had killed two men with hardly a flinch, all to protect you.

Almost instinctively, you spread your legs slightly, and Elliott must have been acting on instinct too when he moved closer to you. Although his hands were firm and calloused, still his touch was gentle as he pushed the shoulders of your dress down, peeling the fabric from your skin until you were able to pull your arms from the sleeves - and, as it just so happened, your breasts were revealed too.

Ignoring his desire to ravish attention on your breasts, Elliott instead focused on examining your elbows, both of which were grazed slightly but otherwise unharmed.

“Anywhere else that hurts?”

“My thighs,” you lied. “Maybe you should check underneath my skirt too.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow at you. “Your thighs? Really?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You opened your legs a little wider, causing your skirt to ride up your legs, your calves poking out from below the hemline. Elliott put a hand on either ankle and made a show of slowly checking every inch of you for injuries, before sliding his hands over your knees and up to your waistband to pull your bloomers down, giving himself access to your bare skin to ‘check for injuries.’

“Where does it hurt? Here?” Elliott asked, his hands resting on your lower thighs.

“Mmm… higher.”

“…Here?”

His hand moved up to your upper thigh, and he could feel the warm of your core tickling his fingers.

“A bit higher…”

Elliott smirked at you hungrily, his eyes alight with desire.

“How about… here?”

He cupped your heat with his hand, and you stifled a moan.

“It hurts here, does it?”

You nodded. “Hurts ‘cus it’s empty,” you whined.

Elliott closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled.

“[Y/n], you are… fuck, I don’t know what. I’m no good with words. But actions - actions I can do.”

He withdrew his hand slightly to bring his thumb up to your sweet spot, and you gasped his name when he began caressing it while his other hand busied itself with unbuckling his belt.

“You sure you want this, sweetheart? Here and now?”

You nodded desperately. “Please, Elliott. I… I need you.”

Elliott had been aching to hear you express your desires for two weeks now, and though he’d not imagined you’d first speak them aloud in a carriage doorway on the side of the road with two dead bodies nearby, hearing you express not just a want but a need for him… it would have been enough to make him fall in love with you.

It would have, had he not already fallen deeper than he ever thought possible.

He entered you with a groan of relief. Your mouth was exceptionally talented, and he’d treasure the memory of that morning’s blowjob always, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of your walls around his length. He felt as if he belonged there, belonged in your cunt, belonged with you .

As much as he’d wanted to, Elliott had never fucked outside before. In a place such as Australia, it was hard to find somewhere that wasn’t outside, but his first wife had never been one for show, and even after her death, he felt that taking a whore was something to be done privately.

But there was something inherently natural and right about fucking outside. God made the Heavens and the Earth, and he made man, but he never made anything like a building or a vehicle. Those were inventions of man. Humans were meant to fuck, and they were meant to do it outside.

Now that you’d broken the seal that had held both of you back from speaking during your morning trysts, Elliott took the liberty of being as vocal as he liked, muttering your name over and over again, as if making up for all the times he’d fucked you in silence.

“Ohh, [Y/n]… fuck, you feel so good… so good for me, [Y/n]… Lord, if only I could live inside this sweet cunt of yours.”

Elliott’s words danced around your mind like a flame, setting your desire alight, every sense overwhelmed by him. The feel of his cock thrusting inside you, the sound of his muttered praise intersected with grunts of pleasure, the sight of his handsome face overwhelmed with pleasure. Even his smell, his musky smell that lingered on all his clothes, the unmistakable smell of sex that filled the carriage. The only thing missing was taste, but then again, you’d tasted him well enough earlier.

Lord, he was beautiful in the throes of ecstasy. And as your pleasure overwhelmed you, causing you to cry out and fill the carriage with the sounds of your moans as your orgasm washed over you, Elliott thought you were not just beautiful, but something otherworldly altogether. He fucked you through your orgasm, and when he filled you up with his seed moments later, Elliott knew in that moment that whatever you were, you wouldn’t travel north up this road back to London as anything other than his wife.

---

By the time you arrived at Ivy Manor in Sussex, you were feeling a desperate need for a bath. You had cum on your legs, mud on your dress and in your hair, and you were sweating from the summer heat.

All your discomfort fell away, however, when Elliott helped you out of the carriage and you saw the manor house in all its splendour. It was bigger even than Westminster Abbey! And the land surrounding it sprawled for miles; you had certainly ridden at least a mile further past the manor gates before approaching the building itself.

You looked around, eyes wide as saucers, amazed that a building this large could even exist. And this was only one family’s home!

“Ah, there’s my nephew!”

An older man, perhaps a little older than your late husband, came to greet you, wearing a black wool suit with a garish checkered vest, and you wondered if country lords were immune to summer heat, because you imagined Elliott’s uncle should be boiling inside that suit.

The uncle greeted Elliott with a warm smile and a friendly handshake, then turned to you and bowed his head.

“And this must be the cousin’s wife. A pleasure to meet you. Duke Rupert Beaumont, at your service. Forgive me, miss, but Elliott neglected to give me your full name in his letter.”

“[Y/n] Turpin, sir,” you said with a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having us in your home.”

“Lady [Y/n] Turpin,” Elliott corrected you.

You smiled coyly. “Yes, well, I don’t see a need for formalities amongst family.”

”Turpin, you say?!” Duke Beaumont said in surprise. “As in Lord William Turpin?”

“Yes, sir, he’s my late husband.”

“Why, I had no idea! Elliott mentioned his cousin was a judge, of course, but not that it was Lord Turpin! And you’re his lady wife, you say?”

“Yes, sir. Did you know my husband, then?”

“Know him? My dear - apologies, my Lady - I studied alongside him at Oxford! A very long time ago this was, mind you, but we’ve written to one another on occasion. I had no idea my brother-in-law was his uncle. I hadn’t known of his passing, though. I’m very sorry for your loss, my Lady, he was an excellent lawyer and a noble man in every sense. Might I ask how he passed?”

“Oh, erm —”

“It was foul play,” Elliott said, quickly sensing your discomfort and placing a comforting hand on the small of your back. “A former convict with a vendetta. A tragedy, of course, but let’s just be grateful [Y/n] wasn’t harmed. In an unfortunately similar turn of events, we were stopped on our way here by highwaymen, and [Y/n] suffered an unfortunate fall. Could we trouble you for the use of a bath, and perhaps a servant to wash her dress?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Highwaymen, you say? Should I send out for the police?”

“No matter, I dealt with them,” Elliott said smugly, pushing his jacket back slightly to reveal the gun on his hip. “Unless you want to clear the road of their bodies.”

“Hmm… yes, I suppose we should clear the road. I’ll send someone out. Well, come along, old chap, let’s get your luggage taken in and we’ll draw a bath for the lady.”

A few hours later, you were feeling much cleaner after a bath, and the room you’d been told you were to stay in was already made up for you and your clothes laid out. You were surprised to find a servant girl expecting you to need her help getting dressed, but not wanting to embarrass Elliott with any faux pas, you allowed the girl to dress you for dinner.

You left your room just in time to see Elliott leave his, which was directly across from yours.

“Well, fancy seeing you here, m’lady,” he said with a smirk. “Are you my dinner date for tonight?”

“I think I must be. Although you’ll have to keep your eye on me to make sure I don’t do anything embarrassing, I know the basics of etiquette but I’ve never done much more than dine with William and Johanna.”

Elliott scoffed. “And you think I have? This is just as foreign to me as it is to you.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief to know you weren’t alone in feeling like a fish out of water in such a grand place. You took Elliott’s arm and he escorted you down the corridor, both of you secretly hoping you remembered the way back to the dining room Duke Beaumont had pointed out to you earlier.

“So, Elliott… your cousin a Lord, your uncle a Duke. Why don’t you have any titles?”

“Oh, we don’t bother with peerages and titles in Australia. A man’s worth is judged on his character and achievements, not his name. Though if we did, then with the amount of land I own, I’m sure I’d be a Lord.”

“Lord Elliott Marston of Australia,” you said in a faux-pompous voice, and Elliott laughed. “No, you’re right, it’s not very you, is it?”

“Definitely not. Mr Marston is fine with me. But Lady suits you very well.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” you said with a blush. “I come from nothing. I’m a Lady only because of William. It feels strange to call myself a Lady when I don’t have a Lord, that’s why I never introduce myself as Lady Turpin. If I remarry a man of no rank and become a Mrs, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you… intend to remarry?”

You turned a corner and succeeded in finding the staircase back down to the entrance hall.

“Well, I must, mustn’t I?”

“Must you?”

“Yes, I mean, if you truly intend to transfer my husband’s estate to me, I can’t very well go on without children, can I? I’ll need an heir to inherit William’s estate.”

“And do you… have any suitors in mind?”

The stairs were steep, so your focus was on not tripping over the hem of your dress, and you had an excuse to hide your blushing face - and avoid seeing the cautious hope in Elliott’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” you said noncommittally.

“Perhaps?”

“Well… there is one man I’d consider accepting a proposal from, but…”

“…But?”

“I’m not sure he’d want me,” you admitted.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and Elliott paused.

“Whyever wouldn’t he want you?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“Well… he has no need to marry me for the estate,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “So the only reason he’d marry me is for me. And, well… I’m not much on my own, am I?”

Elliott frowned. He took your chin between his fingers, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“[Y/n]… you’re wonderful. Don’t ever think you’re anything less. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, estate or no. William married you knowing full well you came from nothing, didn’t he? No dowry, no estate. Just your kind heart and your gentle soul. He knew that you were worth far more than any lord’s daughter - and he was right.”

“Do you - do you really think so?” you asked quietly, your voice almost breathless as your insides twisted into knots.

“Have I ever struck you as a dishonest man?”

“No, I —”

You were interrupted by the ringing of a bell to call you for dinner, and you glanced away from Elliott’s striking gaze, your face no doubt bright red.

“Perhaps together we can fumble our way through dinner with a duke,” you said, glad for the distraction. You readjusted your hand on Elliott’s arm and let him escort you into the dining room, not realising that his eyes were firmly on you the entire time.

---

Dinner went on much longer than you were used to. There were seven courses, each with a break in between, and after dessert  Duke Beaumont’s granddaughter Leanne who had a musical talent played a few songs on the piano. She reminded you a little of Johanna, who sometimes would play the piano in the parlour room, and you wondered where she was and if she was enjoying her new life with Anthony, wherever they were.

It felt strangely reserved, the way everybody sat and listened as Leanne played. Music was best enjoyed with dance, you had always found, and to sit simply listening made you feel as if something were missing.

But you didn’t want to embarrass Elliott, so you sat politely, and with everyone’s attention on Leanne, Elliott took the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh under the table.

You blushed hard, and from the corner of your eye, you could see him smirking.

Lord, how could a simple touch from him make you feel all aflutter?

“Play something we can dance to, Annie!” said an older woman - possibly Leanne’s mother, though you found it so hard to keep track - and so Leanne switched to a faster song, and people began to stand and pair up to dance, mainly in couples, although adorably Duke Beaumont asked his five-year-old granddaughter to dance with him.

“Do you dance, [Y/n]?” Elliott asked.

“Not since my wedding day. We never - we never had a chance to host any social events.”

Elliott stood and held his hand out to you, the same one that until moments ago had been on your thigh.

“Come on, then. I’ll die a happy man so long as I’ve had one dance with the most beautiful woman in England.”

Was his intention to experiment with how much he could make you blush?

You took his proffered hand, stepped away from the dining table, and Elliott gave you a small, formal bow before placing his hand on your waist. You were both a little out of practice, but you fumbled your way into a rhythm together.

“You’re very cute when you blush, you know,” Elliott commented as you danced, “but you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I told you, I’m an honest man, [Y/n]. I only speak the truth.”

“You’re very kind,” you said with a small smile, looking up at him. “I suppose I’m a shy person, that’s all, and I’m not used to such kind words.”

Elliott chuckled and shook his head. “I’m a lot of things, [Y/n]. Kind is not a word many would use.”

“Then let me be the one to use it.”

 “Alright. You can call me kind. So long as I can call you beautiful.”

You blushed and ducked your head with a smile. You knew Elliott had just told you not to be embarrassed, but how could you not be?

The song ended and you broke apart from Elliott to join the others in polite applause for Leanne’s playing. Duke Beaumont announced it was time for the men to have a smoke and a drink, so you decided it was time to go to bed. Elliott kissed the back of your hand as he wished you goodnight, and though you felt yourself blushing, you managed to stop yourself from glancing away this time.

A few hours later, you were still awake, as you were struggling to fall asleep in the unknown bed. You heard the bedroom door open and close; thinking it was a servant, you sat up groggily to tell them to come back in the morning, only to realise by the moonlight slipping through a crack in the curtains that it was Elliott.

He was already in his nightshirt. He slipped under the covers of the bed, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you back down to lie under the covers with him.

“Is your room cold?” you asked.

“No,” Elliott replied, his eyes already closed as he held you, and you turned towards him almost instinctively to wrap an arm around him. “It was lonely.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah… mine too.”

“Doesn’t feel so lonely to me.”

“Not anymore.”

Elliott smiled.

“Goodnight, [Y/n].”

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

The next morning, it didn’t even hit you that it was the first morning you’d woken up in bed with Elliott and not had sex. You felt so comfortable waking up next to him, as if the simple intimacy of being in his arms and inhaling his scent was enough for you. You kept expecting him to initiate something, but instead he just held you, his fingers drawing meaningless shapes across your skin.

When eventually you got out of bed, Elliott went across the hall to his own room to get dressed for breakfast. You greeted him in the dining room as if you didn’t know how he’d slept, and as you ate he asked if you’d like to accompany him for a walk around the grounds.

“This place was a lot bigger in my memory,” Elliott mused as you set out side-by-side down a footpath around the manor. “Then again, I was very small last time I was here.”

“I think it’s enormous,” you replied, looking around at the gardens you were meandering through.

“I suppose it would be to you. My land in Australia’s much bigger, though.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“On the topic of Australia… have you given any more thought to my proposition on the day I arrived?”

“Forgive me - what proposition was that?”

“Coming back with me.”

“Oh - well, yes, that’d be lovely I’m sure. But if you’re to transfer me the estate, there’s no point in leaving it to gather dust, is there?”

“Well… you wouldn’t have to, necessarily. Here, let’s turn left - as I recall there’s a lovely pond down this path.”

You followed Elliott down the left-hand turn, then he said, “I must admit, [Y/n], I had a slightly ulterior motive in coming here. I wanted to speak to my uncle about his purchasing the estate from me, though of course all the proceeds would go to you. He seems amenable to it - he’d like to purchase it as a wedding gift for Leanne. But I know how important William’s legacy is to you, so I wanted you to come here with me, to meet him and Leanne. I’ll only sell it to him if you permit it, and only if you don’t intend to keep it for yourself. If you want to stay there, or if you don’t trust him to look after it properly, I’ll not sell it to him. It’s your home, after all, and you know I’ll not evict you from it nor leave it with someone untrustworthy.”

You reached the pond and there was a long silence as you considered everything Elliott had said. Although the idea of someone else living in what was supposed to be your family home with William filled you with dread, you didn’t much fancy the other options.

You had known for a while what you wanted.

A part of you felt it was a betrayal of William’s memory. You owed him so much, after all. But he had left you without an heir, and if you didn’t move on, then on your own death the estate would flounder.

“I have to think about it,” you decided. “There’s so much at stake here - for you, for me, for William’s legacy. I must consider what he would want me to do.”

You glanced down at the clear water of the pond, and your eyes widened when you saw the large body of a fish swim by.

“Look, you can see the fish!”

Elliott laughed. You looked at him, frowning.

“And just what is so funny?”

“Nothing, darling. I’m laughing because your childlike wonder never ceases to be adorable. Don’t you live by the riverside?”

“You can’t see fish in the Thames, it’s too dirty,” you said defensively, turning away from him to peer into the water again. “Besides, the water’s too toxic to consume, so I hardly expect any fish can survive in there. Can you see the fish in Australia?”

“Of course you can. But then again, Australia is an untempered land, still in her infancy. There’s nothing to pollute the waters with.”

“Oh, Australia’s a she?”

“Most definitely,” Elliott said. You felt his hands on your waist as he stood behind you, his body definitely too close to yours for propriety.

“That makes perfect sense, actually,” you teased. “The way you talk about it, someone might think you’re in love with it. Why don’t you marry Australia?”

“Hmm, I’d much rather marry you.”

You froze. Time stood still. Your heart missed several beats. When you turned around to look at Elliott, your mouth agape as if you were one of the fish in the pond, suddenly nothing in the world existed but for him and you.

“Do you - do you mean that?”

Elliott blinked in surprise, then laughed and shook his head.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer. What I’m saying, [Y/n], is that I’d like you to come back to Australia with me - as my wife.”

---

You were a little embarrassed at the way you’d excused yourself and almost ran off from Elliott, citing some mumbled excuse about having to think about his proposal.

A proposal! Elliott had proposed to you. You, with nothing to your name that he didn’t have, nothing more than the collateral damage from some ex-convict’s murderous rampage. You, a glorified street urchin, who had only risen to the status of a Lady because Judge Turpin had fallen for you as more than a whore who kept his bed warm.

What could he possibly expect to gain from a marriage to you? William had married you for love only because he knew he had little time left, because if your time hadn’t been cut short you were willing and able to serve him loyally and give him the heir he needed.

Perhaps that was it. Elliott had no heirs either, his wife having died some years earlier from sickness. He needed a wife, and he knew already how well you took his seed. You’d unintentionally spent the last few weeks essentially auditioning your body to him as marriage material.

You were in the empty parlour room, pacing back and forth as thoughts swirled around in your mind, until your reverie was broken by Duke Beaumont entering the room.

“Duke Beaumont, sir,” you said by way of greeting, accompanied by a curtsey. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here. I needed a little time alone with my thoughts.”

The Duke smiled knowingly. “Elliott proposed to you, then, did he?”

He knew? Of course he knew - Elliott must have told him that the sale was contingent on your accepting the proposal.

“Well… yes, he did,” you admitted. “I’m considering the options he’s laid before me, sir.”

“Well, let me give you a bit of help with that.”

The Duke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter with its wax seal broken.

“Allow me to give you this - evidence of my nephew’s intentions, I suppose one would call it.”

“Sir?”

You took the letter cautiously, and Duke Beaumont smiled through his beard with a knowing glint in your eye.

“Curious, isn’t it, what a person says about another when they’re not around to hear it?”

With that bit of vague wisdom, the Duke left you alone with your thoughts and the mysterious letter.

You unfolded the letter and read:

Dear Uncle Rupert,

You may be surprised to be reading a letter from me addressed from London; I am just as surprised to be writing it.

A cousin on my father’s side residing in London passed late last year, and as his only surviving relative I’ve travelled to London to administer his estate.

He leaves behind a stately townhouse, containing many extravagant furnishings, books, art and the like. He also leaves behind a widow, a wife he married not long before his untimely death, and therefore he had not updated his will and she had not yet borne children.

My first instinct on hearing of my inheritance was to write back asking the solicitor to simply sell the estate on, but when I heard of my cousin’s lone wife, I felt it my duty to attend London myself to ensure she wouldn’t be left homeless.

On meeting her yesterday, however, my intentions have changed.

I’m not ashamed to say she has bewitched me. She’s certainly beautiful, but that’s only the start of her qualities, Uncle. She has an interest in the world most women don’t possess, and she’s clearly resourceful - having been barred from her husband’s money since his death, she instead has been making money for herself designing and making clothes.

I worry, though, that my cousin was less than kind to her. She seems afraid of men, and it took some time of conversation with her to convince her I wasn’t a danger. I fear, if left alone, she may be susceptible to marry a man who mistreats her, particularly if I grant her ownership of her husband’s sizeable estate.

While in London, as well as administering the estate, I intend to take the time to get to know her, and more importantly, to give her the chance to get to know me and understand that I pose no threat to her.

Then, if she’ll have me, I’ll ask her for her hand and bring her back to Australia with me.

Which brings me to the reason for my letter, other than a friendly greeting. [Y/n] is clearly still very attached to the house and its contents - understandably so, since she still carries my cousin in her heart. I don’t believe she’d wish to depart without certainty her husband’s legacy was being cared for by a trusted person.

I wonder, therefore, whether you, or perhaps someone you know, have any interest in purchasing the estate? The house is located centrally in London (for my cousin was a judge of the High Court) and its contents, if you wish to sell them on, would fetch a pretty penny at auction. I propose to sell it to you at a fraction of its value for the sake of a quick sale to a trusted person.

Please write back to the above mentioned address with your answer. I should also, if you are agreeable, like to visit your home during my stay in England, as it’s been many decades since we last met, and I’d like to meet my cousins you’ve so often written about.

Yours truly,

Elliott Marston

---

While you were considering the choice you had to make, Elliott couldn’t stand to sit around waiting, so he joined his cousins in riding out to shoot some pheasants.

To his frustration, he kept missing them, because his mind was still on you. His cousins teased him, not for missing his marks, but because he was so bewitched by you.

“Well, if she says no, she has to marry someone,” said one of the younger men, Duke Beaumont’s grandson, who was about your age, as the men were tying their kills to their horses. “I’ll gladly have her. Pretty little thing like that with a free London estate and no father to pay a dowry to? Bargain.”

Elliott’s hand twitched over the barrel of his gun, and he had to remind himself that murder was a bit harder to get away with in England than it was in Australia.

“If she rejects me, I hardly expect she’ll have you, Jonathan,” Elliott snarled.

“Oh yeah? I’m not twice her age, for one thing. Better put a bun in that oven before you run out of ammo, old man.”

“I’m forty-four.”

“Yeah, and she’s what, twenty?”

Jonathan’s brother, Samuel, nudged him with a laugh. “Hey, though, grandfather said her dead husband was sixty-something. Maybe she likes them old.”

Elliott stepped towards the two boys - because that’s what they were, boys , hardly men - with a snarl on his face and his hand firmly on the barrel of his gun.

“Speak one more unkind word about [Y/n] and I’ll tell your grandfather I mistook you both for pheasants.”

“Ah, only a jest, cousin,” Jonathan said with a dismissive wave. “I’d not have her really. Don’t want used goods, you know?”

Elliott forwent his gun for possibly the first time ever as his instinct took over and he punched Jonathan squarely in the jaw.

Samuel burst out laughing.

“Ha, that’s what you get, John!”

“Bloody bastard!” Jonathan cursed. “What was that for?!”

“For besmirching [Y/n]’s honour,” Elliott hissed. “Perhaps she does prefer older men, and who could blame her when men her age are nothing but boys?”

Jonathan glanced at his brother, who was still amused at seeing his brother taken down a peg, and so he made the wise decision not to engage Elliott any further.

“Hey, isn’t that her over there?” Samuel said, peering into the distance.

Elliott looked around, and sure enough, you were approaching atop a horse, riding sidesaddle behind Duke Beaumont.

“Grandfather, what are you doing out here?” Jonathan asked. “I thought you weren’t joining the hunt today? We’re just about to leave, actually.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m simply the delivery man. Lady Turpin required a ride out here and I was only too obliged to provide it. Off you pop, then, m’lady, and I’ll escort these two ratbags back to the house. Come along, pip pip!”

You slid off the back of the horse, landing on your feet, and the Duke turned his horse around to escort his obedient grandsons back to the house, leaving Elliott suddenly alone with you.

“There might be some pheasants left in the north burrow,” Elliott said. “Though I suspect you didn’t come here to hunt.”

You smiled coyly.

“Not for pheasants, no. I, um… I couldn’t wait for you to get back. Literally - Duke Beaumont practically threw me on the back of his horse. He seems to be quite enthusiastic about you and I.”

“You and I?” Elliott said questioningly, as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

You pulled the letter out of a pocket (you always sewed pockets into your dresses) and handed it to him.

“The Duke showed me this.”

Elliott took the letter curiously, and when he opened it, if you didn’t know any better you might have thought he blushed.

“And… you liked it, did you?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“And, er… what was your favourite part, if I might ask?”

You laughed.

“You wanted to marry me from the day we met.”

“Of course I did, I’d be a fool not to.”

“But you… you waited. As if - as if my opinion in the matter was important.”

“Of course it is. I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation, [Y/n]. I don’t want you to come to Australia because you’ve got nowhere else to go. And I certainly don’t want your estate. I want you, and I want you to want me.”

“I want you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened hopefully.

“Then you’ll have me?”

You grinned.

“Yes.”

Elliott wrapped his arm around your waist and easily picked you up, spinning you around on the spot, and you squealed.

“Elliott!”

He just laughed. When he put you down, you were both breathless, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Just you wait, [Y/n], you’ll love it in Australia.”

“I’m sure I will. I’ll love it anywhere we go, so long as I’m with you.”

---

You were married the very next day. You didn’t bother with an event wedding - neither of you knew anyone in England who wasn’t already at Ivy Manor. Besides, you’d both been married once before, and neither of you felt the need to wait for another opulent wedding. You just wanted to be wed, and so you married in your nicest dress and he in his best suit either of you had with you, and your guests were Elliott’s family.

Duke Beaumont gave you away, his daughter acted as maid of honour, and your groom was the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on.

You weren’t ashamed of the tears that ran down your cheeks as you exchanged vows. Why should you be? They were tears of joy, joy you’d never known you were capable or deserving of feeling.

You made love that night free of the unspoken tension that had pierced your sinful but oh so right premarital trysts. You were his wife, he your husband, and you were free to make love as often as you’d like.

Some confidence came over you and you impaled yourself on your husband’s cock, riding him with a ferocity and passion you never knew you were capable of.

Marriage must have given him a new virility, because Elliott came in and on you five times that night, but not without ensuring you came just as many. He worked wonders with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, and by the time you collapsed, exhausted, into each other’s arms, you were sweaty and sticky and full of his seed in just about every place imaginable.

“If I’d known when we met that this was what you were like in bed as a husband, I’d have married you on the spot,” you giggled. Elliott, although sated for now, was laying gentle kisses on the top of your head as he held you against his chest, as if your scent was a drug he was desperately addicted to.

“I can’t get enough of you, [Y/n],” Elliott mumbled against your hair. “I meant what I said in the letter — that you bewitched me from the moment we met.”

You looked up at him. He was exhausted, sweaty, and just about the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, because his amber eyes were almost glowing with love as he looked at you.

“I think I knew you in another life,” you said quietly, almost in a daze, as if you were overcome by some kind of hypnotic trance just by looking into his eyes.

Elliott smiled.

“I’m glad I found you in this one.”

[lfc21]

hi!!

i absolutely loved your last request for me :)

okay so basically some time ago i saw a prompt about single dad!trent and it’s been on my mind ever since!

so can you write something about single dad trent, with the reader being let’s say, liverpool’s physiotherapist or part of the medical team, and trent tends to bring his little one to practice a lot and the reader bonds with them and eventually that makes trent and reader get closer??

so much fluff and cuteness pls ‼️

thank you sooo much!! <333

Fix my daddy

Your job at LFC was possibly the most entertaining yet stressful job in the world. You had been apart of the club since you where 22 and now coming onto your 3rd year - it seemed so far away. Since the day you came everything started to feel right, you where accepted like a family and no matter how many times you tried to leave there was always an extra hour you where at the training centre for. The boys and you connected like none other, some more than others; when Trent announced his arrival of his little girl you had every reason to connect with him more. Trent split up with his ex girlfriend just before the arrival of his baby, since then he relied on you for support when times got hard. At first you thought it was going to be simple - hold her when she was fussy, do her hair or simply make her laugh but as relationships got stronger you seemed to be the one she cried for when she had enough of her dad. Apart of you loved spending time with Trent and her but sometimes you felt guilty, you knew that one day you would have to leave her and that was going to hurt her just as much as it would hurt yourself.

Being a physiotherapist was hard and more often that not you would stand on the cold wet and windy training pitch listening to Klopp tell you about what he made for tea. It was far more stressful on match days, you had a million things to do and not one day went by where it got easier.

"Look over there babe" you heard a Scouse accent softly say behind you. Your head turned to the right back and his mini version of himself. Him and his daughter where inseparable, he named her Skye which was a name he found a love for. When he found about the plans of his very own girl he urged her name to be those very four letters.

"Hello you too! "You cooed as you crouched down to his little one. You had spent all morning wondering when Trent would turn up with her. Every morning you ached to be in his presence and it was killing you even more with his little girl.

"Y/n" her little voice shouted at you as she took her small clumsy feet over to your presence. Your arms wrapped in her embrace as her body seemed to melt into yours. Trent watched from a far as he styled the small pink bag on his arm. You looked up at him with a smile as you gently picked the small girl up.

"I'm guessing that's mine" you announced with a laugh as he passed you over the princess bag.

"Where will you be? In your office?" Trent asked as his hands wondered through his unruly hair. You nodded as you where more bothered about your eyes being locked into his. "Give daddy a kiss" Trent said to her as she gave him a bright grin with joyful eyes.

"Mwah" she shouted with a giggle as she dramatically showed her dad love. You quickly said your goodbyes as you wondered into your office. You and Trent's daughter became very familiar with spending time with one another in your office. Since she was tiny she constantly looked out the large glass window onto the bright green grass. You span round on your chair to meet the little girls body looking out the window.

"Daddy" she said as her small finger pressed against the glass. You chuckled to yourself as you looked for the very same man. "I want to see daddy" she admitted as she rested her hand on yours. Her affection with you was shown more and more everyday. You started to wonder what it would be like with your very own daughter. Would it be the same? Would you get along with her in the same way? Would it be with Trent?

"Y/n" pep shouted from your door in a rush as your head fell from the thoughts that where piling up in your mind.

"Yeah" you answered as you spun back round on your chair.

"We need you out there for a bit" pep said as he signalled to the pitch outside. "Peter has had to leave early and where short staffed" he explained as you started to listen more intently.

"I cant I have this one" you said with a laugh as the little girl sat on the small chair next to you. Her hand was messing with her small Liverpool shorts that she had matching to you. She had become your twin, without you nor Trent realising. Since Trent had her on his own she started to become his little version of you.

"Take her" pep said with a laugh as he ushered you both out the door. Small childlike giggles fell from Skye's mouth as you both ran after peps much larger footsteps.

As soon as you reached the pitch your eyes caught the magnet of the windows to your soul. His hair ran wild as he ran for the flying ball. His body was like a sculpture made from Greek cherubs, you could admire him until the end of time. The beads of sweat fell down his cheek bones as he ran through the herds of people before him. As his body made speed through the thin blades of grass your eyes fell to a blink until his frame came crashing down.

"Trent!" Jordan shouted as he saw the body come plummeting down. Pep and Jurgen's bodies rushed to the scene in a matter of minutes as you watched the scene unfold.

"y/n come here" Jurgen shouted ushering you over. You ran over as you kept the hand of the youngest Alexander - Arnold. What was you to do? you couldn't leave her little self on her own but you needed to help. You took his leg in your hand and you knew it wasn't great, his voice heightened at the touch of your finger tips and his pain started too run through the patterns of his leg. You grabbed his hand as the two men ushered him up onto his feet.

"bring him inside" you ordered as you looked at Trent with his arms grasped onto the two men next to him. Your hand was still grasped with Skye's as she looked up at her weeping father, her eyes grew soft at the sight and she knew this was something way beyond her power.

"Daddy what's wrong?" She asked with furrowed eyebrows and a wobbling lip as she stared at the familiar man in-front of her. Her fathers lips didn't move an inch, he couldn't hear her small worries and pleads as he moved across to the large double doors. Your hand lead her closer to the doors and behind her dad, Skye's lips fell tight shut as she intended to find out what was wrong with her dad. The girls head was so tiny, she was still so young but the love and care she felt for her dad was something no being could ever compare to.

As hours went by and the head doctor tuck charge of Trent's situation the idea of your bed sounded more appealing. Skye's body rested on your knee as her head was fast asleep on your shoulder, you carefully managed your emails as your office door slowly opened up.

"Hello" you heard an ever so familiar scouse accent speak through the cold large office. You looked up carefully as you noticed the large frame in-front of you. You shushed him with a laugh as you looked down at his little daughter resting gently on your body. Trent's eyes where admiring the view in front of him as he saw the two girls he had known to love and want to cherish for the rest of his life.

"hi" you whispered back with a small giggle as you ran your hands through Skye's long hair. "Any updates on your leg?" you asked as you quickly diverted your eyes to the computer screen in front of you and the gentle man to the side of it also.

"I will be out for a couple of weeks but it should be ok?" Trent admitted as he looked down at his leg with a small tight smile. His body walked over to his little girl resting on your body as his hand tickled her small fingers, a little smile creeped up onto her mouth as her eyes opened wide.

"Daddy!" she shouted as she opened her eyes wider and caught glance of the man stood preached in front of her. Trent's mouth turned up into a huge grin as his eyes fell into an addicting glow.

"Hello princess" he replied back as he reached out for her embrace. As soon as her legs wrapped tightly around her dads waist and her arms grasped his neck you quickly logged off you computer and started to make an exit for the day. As you pushed everything into your bag you felt a glance of the mans eyes on your small active body. "do you want me to drive you home?" Trent asked knowing you would normally have to walk home in the poring down rain or gale force winds.

"are you sure?" you asked with furrowed eyebrows "you have Skye with you, she's tired" you added with complete confusion and a weary feeling of the wellbeing of Trent's daughter.

"y/n I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want you to say yes now would I?" He questioned with a laugh as he watched you get up from of your chair. "is that a yes then?" Trent added with an even bigger grin.

"so many questions Trent" you announced with a laugh as you ushered them both out aswell as grabbing skyes small bag.

"Y/n stay with us and daddy" Skye shouted as you walked through the halls.

"I don't know about that little one" Trent replied with a laugh as he let her down as she ran out towards the large exit doors. He stopped in his tracks causing you to loose your walking pattern and look over at his duly lit face.

"What if she is right?" Trent asked as he acknowledged the small girl running around the reception of the training centre.

"Trent" you warned as you didn't think this conversation was best acknowledged in a building full of people getting ready to leave for the night.

This is an imagine i have been working on for a while so i apologise if it is badly written or isn't my best piece. please leave feedback and requests as they are greatly appreciated and I read them all! thank you! have an amazing day.

"y/n" Trent warned in the same tone as yourself. "Please, one night" He added with a small smile as your heart dropped. You wanted to but was it for the best. You couldn't understand what would make this situation better but you did also know a night with these two was a night worth memorising forever. As your eyes locked back with his you let out a small smile and just with that he knew he had found his way around you. "Skye! guess who is staying with us tonight?" Trent shouted as he kneeled down and watched the way her eye filled with sparkle and ran around in circles with excitement towards you. this was the start of something, you wanted this to be more than just one night. You, Trent and Skye.

[eppysboys]

Sam Leach and Joan McEvoy's Engagement Party, 17th March 1962 🕺💃

Earlier in the evening, The Beatles performed at the Village Hall in Knotty Ash, Liverpool. The evening was billed as a "St. Patrick's Night Rock Gala". Sam Leach, (Liverpool concert booker) booked The Beatles and Rory Storm and The Hurricanes to draw a big crowd so that he could make enough profits to pay for his engagement party, scheduled to follow the night's show. Both bands attended Leach's party, which didn't end until the following afternoon. Also present at the party was Mike McCartney, Paul's girlfriend Dorothy 'Dot' Rhone, Brian Epstein, Bob Wooler and Ted 'Kingsize' Taylor.

In his book Sam Leach has a distinct memory of 'a gang of us' (presumably including Beatles and Hurricanes) travelling to the party from Knotty Ash in a van. Their driver (not Neil Aspinall) pulled out from the Village Hall into the path of a speeding articulated lorry which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Everyone braced themselves for the inevitable impact but miraculously the lorry, its brakes screeching hysterically, managed to stop less than a foot from the side of the van. Shocked, stunned, shaken and stirred, everyone in the van travelled the 1.5 miles to the party in complete silence. 

Hurricane Johnny 'Guitar' Byrne diary entry for 1962 mentions the party:

"Bought Zodiac. Knotty Ash, Orrell, then Sam Leach's engagement party. Had row with Eileen. Got home 6."

The party was at the family house in Huyton, thrown by Dolly, mother of Vera and Joan McEvoy.

"I can vouch for the fact that Brian fell in love with Vera and pursued her all night. In fact after the party he wrote more than one letter to Dolly asking her could she help him fix a date with Vera. Unfortunately for Brian she wasn't interested." Sam Leach (She seemed a little interested, as displayed below)

"Brown, who was married (but separated) at the time of her liaison with Epstein in 1962, describes him as "...very emotional. He always gave the impression of being cold and icy, but he was very softhearted, very tender, very gentle, and he had a lot of feelings. And he was all man, I don't care what they say." (Ray Coleman, The Man Who Made The Beatles)

"We’d been to the Knotty Ash Club for my sister’s engagement. The Beatles had played there, as did Rory [Storm] and a few other groups. Afterwards, as usual, we all went back to the house and Brian came along.

If you saw the Beatles in my mother’s they were just a scruffy bunch of boys. And who’d look at them? I wouldn’t bother with them but then Brian stood out and Brian looked like the real thing. He was handsome. He was tall. He was immaculate. That’s why I let Brian get behind the bar with me and help me serve the drinks. He was the best of the bunch.

So we were just behind the bar when Elvis came on, 'Heartbreak Hotel’. He loved it, I loved it, and we started dancing. There wasn’t much room. You know, you could go two steps forward, three steps back and that was it. So we sort of got a bit close and everyone was laughing at us, saying, like, 'What’s going on?’ But if you moved sideways you fell over the crates. There were crates of beer in there and everybody’s coats. We ended up on top of the coats or on top of the crates if we just moved the wrong way. And we got pretty close but I wasn’t surprised by the way he was acting towards me.

We were dancing and kissing at the same time. He was probably one of the sexiest fellas I had ever met. People say, 'Oh well, Brian was gay.’ but he wasn’t very gay with me. He was just like any other man and more. He was very easy-going and casual and funny. He’d make you laugh and he could dance. You know he could move. He said to me, 'I’ve seen you in different places and I thought you were stuck up.’ And I said, 'Well, I thought you were stuck up because I remember being in your shop and you were like the big boss.’

I think he was pretty fresh. In a house where people are looking at you it’s not like a club with all the lights out and people tend to be aware of others but Brian wasn’t that bothered. He was interested and he showed it. Maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink. I don’t know. But I can’t say that because I met Brian afterwards and he was still interested.

The next day he called round to the house. I wasn’t there so he talked to my mother about poetry. I don’t know how they got talking about poems but Brian came the following day with a book of poems for my mother with a little letter. He also gave her a letter thanking her for having the party because everyone had made such a terrible mess of the house. It was full of eggs and rubbish and bottles everywhere and he apologized for the actions of everybody else at the party.

Well, my mother just thought he was the most wonderful person in the world. At last a gentleman has come through this door and not Teddy boys and hooligans and all the rest of it. In the first letter he said he’d enjoyed meeting her, loved coming to the house, felt so welcome and would she mind if he came around again to see me. I said to my mum, 'Well, that’s impossible. How can I see him? You know I can’t go out with Brian.’ She said, 'You will have to’.

My mother was in love with Brian: 'He’s beautiful. He’s wonderful.’ So she sort of arranged it. I didn’t want him to come and pick me up at the house because I didn’t want people to see us going out. I arranged to meet him in a little cafe in Bold Street. We had a coffee and a chat and then I can’t really remember where we went. We went somewhere for a drink around Bold Street where there were all these little dives at the time. But I had to be back for nine o'clock. Another time I met him in the Tower and we had a little chat. We met in the back office and had a talk.

I liked Brian as a man and I think Brian liked me. But then he suggested if we were to go out we’d have to go to Southport or Manchester - anywhere out of Liverpool because he didn’t want to walk into my husband in Liverpool. We were separated at the time but it was a little bit awkward, you know.

It’s hard for me to believe Brian was gay. I think if I had been free and if I’d seen more of Brian I think we could have got serious. I think he was all man. I just can’t accept that he was gay.

In the shop Brian seemed like a man, like your dad shouting at you and superior. He had an attitude of superiority. But later on I discovered he was just like any other man. I thought he was a very passionate, loving person. He was like two different people. So if there’s a third person involved - this gay person - I just say he’s one hell of a man to be able to please everybody. You know, he was just unique. That’s all I can say." Vera Brown, In His Life, The Brian Epstein Story.

"George always fancied Joan and when I began dating her, he asked her to let him know when she finished seeing me. 'But don't tell Sam', he added. 'He’d batter me!' Today she probably feels like battering me for spoiling her chances." Sam Leach, The Rocking City

"Later in the evening, Joan had a headache and said she was going upstairs for a lie down. I went to fetch a couple of aspirins from the kitchen and said I'd follow her. Bob Wooler then made a typically cheap remark about pre-marital sex. Before I had a chance to sort him out, Paul and George grabbed him and made him personally apologise to Joan." Sam Leach, The Rocking City

"Rory Storm was lying on the floor hopelessly drunk. He shouted up to Paul, 'I wanna be in the picture'. So, as you can see, Paul bent down and lifted his foot into the shot." Sam Leach

"The night rolled on and I found Lennon, completely sloshed, sitting in the kitchen rolling raw eggs down Ann Barton's birds-nest hairstyle. Each time one broke, he gave a gasp of astonishment at the gooey yellow mess spreading across the tiled floor. Dolly found out and gave him a severe rollicking, which sobered him up enough to utter a sincere, 'Sorry, Mrs Mac'. Everyone liked and respected Dolly McEvoy and that was the only time I ever saw Lennon genuinely humbled. He disappeared for a while after that and was found later fast asleep in the bath.

When he finally came downstairs, he once again started to apologise. Dolly had forgotten all about it, but he was still apologising as he left at nine the next morning. As we stood outside, he shook my hand gravely. 'That was the very best party I've ever been to . . . honest,' he croaked. I was pleased everyone had enjoyed themselves, but when John started thanking me for a third time, I put him in a taxi and packed him off home. As he left, I slipped an egg into his pocket. He never did tell me how that hatched out." Sam Leach, The Rocking City

[get-back-homeward]

The chapter of Royston Ellis meeting the Beatles is so wild.

He first hits on George at the Jacaranda. George responds to this with a casual “oh, you’d love my friends” and brings him to Gambier Terrace:

Also dropping into the Gambier Terrace pit was a special guest, Royston Ellis, “King of the Beatniks.” The bearded bard, who featured in TV documentaries and press articles whenever an offbeat teenage angle was needed, was in Liverpool to read his poetry at the university on June 24/25, and he swiftly found himself drawn into the Beatles’ company. The conduit was George, who (with nothing else to do while John, Stu and Paul were in school) was hanging around the Jac when the wandering coffee-bar poet traipsed in, drawn by hip radar to “the happening place.” Avowedly “trying everything,” Ellis was an active bisexual in this period of his life and he took an immediate fancy to George: “He looked fabulous with his long hair and matelot-style striped T-shirt, very modern, which is why I deliberately spoke to him. I was nineteen and he was seventeen and we clicked right away.”15

George took Ellis, his typewriter and his duffel bag back to Gambier Terrace to meet John and Stu. A rapport was quickly established and Ellis was invited to “crash” for a few days—yet another occupant for the filthy back room.

Then Ellis hits it off with John and Stu and wants them as a backing band:

Ellis says he developed a particular rapport with John and Stuart and that they discussed poetry, art and London. When he left, they spoke of doing it again sometime: “We were talking about how I wanted a band to come to London and back me on my Rocketry performances, and they were thrilled at the idea.” Art school studies finished the following Friday, July 1, marking the end of Stu’s fourth year and John’s third and last because the college was waving him goodbye. The exam results, when they came through on August 1, were just as expected: John failed and was out, Stuart passed the NDD, for which he received a certificate. The option was there for him to do a fifth year and attain the highest available qualification, the Art Teacher’s Diploma (ATD), akin to a degree and entitling him to become a teacher … but both he and John were pondering a period as prospectors, and doing something again with Ellis was a definite possibility.

So much so, Ellis is responsible for the first* two mentions of the band in the newspaper:

As for Ellis, so much was he enthused by the possibility of appearing with them again that he soon got the Beatles their first mention in a music paper. It was the July 9 edition of Record and Show Mirror, where a supercilious little article about “the bearded sage of the coffee bars” ended “he’s thinking of bringing down to London a Liverpool group which he considers is most in accord with his poetry. Name of the group? ‘The Beetles’”

….A born publicist, Royston Ellis knew how to manipulate a follow-up, writing a letter for publication that clarified a point in the first. He expressed his intention to find a group that would join him on TV appearances with Bert Weedon and the Shadows, and reiterated, “For some time I have been searching for a group to use regularly, and I feel that the ‘Beetles’ (most of them are Liverpool ex-art students) fill the bill.”

John and Stu decide to go to London on their own to join Ellis…but then chicken out:

By July 10, at the end of his three-year art school vacation, John had arrived at a key decision in his life: he would try to earn his living from the guitar. “I became a professional musician the day I got a red letter from the art college saying ‘Don’t bother coming back next September,’ ” he later said.31 Cyn would remember, “John decided that this [music] was very definitely the life for him. All the ideas that everyone else had for him of making an impact on the art world faded into the back of beyond with incredible rapidity, and with almost no regret at all. Aunt Mimi was distraught. Her view of his future couldn’t have been blacker at that time.”32

These events coinciding, it seems John and Stu decided to head south and hang out with Royston Ellis. Allan Williams is emphatic on the matter: he says John and Stu “split the Beatles and went down to London.”33 Norman Chapman would remember Stu asking him for a lift through the Mersey Tunnel one day so he (or he and John) could hitchhike to London—“They wanted to go down to London and become involved in this poetry-music scene.” Beat poets led a nomadic life by definition. Ellis lived for periods in all sorts of places, but his main base was still his parents’ house, at 31 Clonard Way, Hatch End, Pinner, Middlesex, a pleasant detached villa with the name Denecroft. This was the address he gave John while staying at Gambier Terrace. When Ellis arrived home one day his mother said he’d missed a visit from his “beatnik friends from Liverpool.” He never knew how many or who had come, but—as insane as it appears—John and Stu (and/or as Ellis always thought—hoped—George) had hitched the best part of two hundred miles, taken the trouble of locating his house in leafy Metroland, not stayed or left a message and then gone home again, never returning or making further contact. It makes no sense, but there it sits, illogical and incomplete.

Allan Williams remembers them being “back in Liverpool within a week, because it didn’t work out,” at which point the Beatles “reformed” as if they’d never been away. With bookings only every Saturday, it’s conceivable they did all this without missing one, and perhaps that was always the intention. However, while three independent witnesses (Ellis, Williams and Chapman) all remember something happening, none of the Beatles ever mentioned it—though in their interviews they talked with candor about everything. So it must remain in doubt, an intriguing puzzle unlikely to be solved.

There are two additional curiosities that may or may not be incidental. One is that, in the last days of July, a group of Liverpool art school students, apparently including John and Stu, went to London (or tried to go) to see a Picasso exhibition at the Tate Gallery. Second, and most fascinatingly, a set of photographs taken at this very time (mid-July 1960) in Stu and John’s studio-bedroom-slum at 3 Gambier Terrace includes several people they knew but not John and Stu themselves—perhaps because they were on the Hatch End trip. It was published on July 24 in the national Sunday rag the People in a sensation-splash headlined THIS IS THE BEATNIK HORROR. It’s as if a man on a flaming pie was pointing down at Flat 3, Hillary Mansions, Gambier Terrace, Liverpool 1. In six months, three Beatles moved in and the fourth was hanging out, the nation’s best-known beat poet had come here to get them high, and now, when a Fleet Street journalist and photographer were looking to substantiate a load of old tosh about dirty beatniks—reportage that could have been cooked up anywhere in the country—they landed in Stu and John’s room.34

Though hugely amusing, the feature had one unfortunate side-effect: because the address was given (a “three-roomed flat in decaying Gambier Terrace in Liverpool”) and some of the occupants (“well-educated youngsters”) were named, the landlord gave the tenant, Rod Murray, notice to quit. On August 15, everyone—Rod, Diz, Ducky, Stuart, John and sundry other bodies who’d joined them—would be out on the street.

—Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In, Ch 15 (May 31–Aug 15, 1960)

And Lewisohn is just like yup nothing to see.

So what the hell happened here? Was it just a school trip? Or was it a deliberate split?

[big-barn-bed]

Top 5 Paul boyfriends

omg marry me

(these are in no particular order)

-Robert Fraser aka Groovy Bob aka Paul’s emotional support art dealer/drug dealer/fag :’) Most interesting man of the swinging London era! There’s something so special and soft about how Paul always talks about Robert. “I expect people to die so I don't feel a loss but there's a vacuum where he used to be.” And in a letter sent from Paul to Robert when Robert was in prison from The Rolling Stones drug bust, “Jane sends her love, love, and is baking a file cake. I send mine.” aughhh <\3

-Tara Browne… I wish there was more written about him! We know he was very important to Paul. He was the person Paul first took acid with and was with Paul in the Great Liverpool Moped Accident of ‘65! I always wondered why Paul invited him to Liverpool for his family holiday asdkskj. Paul describes him as “a nice Irish guy, very sensitive bloke. I’d see him from time to time, and enjoyed being around him.” which is basically a declaration of passionate love in paul-speak.

-Peter Asher! Underrated Paul boyfriend. I’m not saying Paul only stayed with Jane as long as he did because he had a whole thing for her family… but I’m not NOT saying that. The songs he gave him! The wrapping paper he designed and kept secret as a gift to Peter and the Indica gallery!

(I’ll also just mention Paul’s never ending kink for high society types. He loved hearing Robert talk about his time at Eton, specifically the ‘fagging system’. Tara was heir to the Guinness fortune, not to mention son of a member of the House of Lords. The whole Asher family was a wet dream come true.)

-Denny Laine (is in my ears and in my eyes..🎶) listen. LISTEN. Look at any picture of Paul, Linda, and Denny in the wings era and tell me they weren’t a god’s honest throuple. You can’t. I know it in my life’s blood they got it on down and dirty for YEARS. Linda especially is allll over him in so many pictures and I don’t blame her! He’s a cutie! But they all had fuck-nasty sex.

-John Lennon. Yes, the world’s greatest and most tragic love story etc etc. fanfic tropes galore! Meet cute, mutual pining, only one bed, father doesn’t approve, found family, let’s run away together etc etc

Me: so anyway John had mommy issues and Paul had daddy issues. And John was sort of daddy and Paul was sort of mommy but they just weren’t enough for each other. They were somehow the most and least compatible people on the planet but the love was there and it changed everything.

My mom: 👁️👄👁️