#Somerset: N

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Buick Somerset T-Type Coupe, 1986. The 5th generation Buick Skylark (GM N-body) adopted the Somerset model name for the 2-door variant, the T-Type was the "sporty" version with a 3.0 V6 though only a 3-speed automatic transmission. It also featured an all-digital instrument cluster. The Somerset name was dropped after 1988

[thekidsare-not-alright]

bruh minnesota peeps complaining that they didn't get a twin cities show for tourdust (30 min away) when I just realized wisconsin has had hella mega tour and that's IT since 2014!!!! most wisconsinites live on the eastern half of the dang state grRRRr. no mania show!!! wtF!!

hey fob i just wanna talk. pls. green bay show. now. (well not now I gotta get my car fixed first pls) <3.

rip the great plains states 4ever tho yall's part of the map is BLANK 0.o

[obeisnce]

tag dump ┊MUSE TAGS PT. 3!

[inuyashaluver]

Hi lovely I love ur stuff 🩷 I have a little request/idea - obviously feel free to ignore it

I was thinking R has a really thick accent (English - either Scouse (Liverpool), Geordie (Newcastle) or West Country (Devon/Somerset/Farmer) or Aussie or something really thick like hard to understand from native speakers let alone anyone else) but R plays in Barca and has a crush on a Spanish player (Maybe Patri? maybe Ona? Maybe Alexia?) and is tryna talk to them more and maybe ask them out but they just get looked at funny and they walk off and she goes to Kiera and Lucy and is like what have I done? Do they all hate me? And [Crush] overheads them and goes round to their house after training and is like I really wanna get to know u, I think you’re really pretty etc but I cannot understand a word that comes out of ur mouth to the point where I am questioning whether it’s English

qué? - alexia putellas

alexia putellas x reader

description: in which your accent proves to be difficult to understand

warnings: LONG!! swearing, misunderstandings, spanish in bold italics

a/n: i love this woman, your honour!! i was writing alexia angst but had to put out the fluff haha!! thank you so much for the love and request, lovely!! ily and enjoy ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you never thought your accent would get you into trouble but you were entirely wrong. and we’re not talking about trouble like criminal, we’re talking romantically.

—

you’re from liverpool, your thick, scouse accent distinct in your dialect. at home in england, the accent was understood most of the time, with an occasional person asking for clarification about your words but you didn’t mind.

even some of your england teammates had to ask you to repeat yourself occasionally when you got overly excited or stressed, your accent proving to be the hardest to understand at those moments.

you often needed a translator for even native english speakers if you spoke too quickly, lucy and later grace helping out when people were truly confused.

when lucy and keira moved from manchester city, you moved with them, having played in the club for 2 years and desperately wanting a change. and so, when the contract arrived from barcelona for the three of you, you accepted it without a second thought.

you had supported barcelona in liga F, having a huge appreciation for the way the spanish players moved, the quick passes and the goals that came out of nowhere. you were excited to pick up those skills to adapt to your own play.

and through your extensive research, you grew a special appreciation for alexia. in your eyes, alexia was the definition of perfect, not only her football skills, but her as a whole.

you would watch her interviews and videos for ‘research purposes’, claiming it was to practise your spanish. and it was, until you zoned out hearing the gentle hum of alexia’s voice, getting distracted entirely but you weren’t complaining.

when you got caught making heart eyes at your phone during england camp, the teasing was so relentless it wasn’t even funny.

—

“our little (y/n) has a crush on la reina! (the queen)” lucy exclaims in the change room, you immediately turn off your phone and look up at her with an icy glare, only making her smile at you affectionately with a pinch to your cheek that you were quick to swat away.

“you’re not much older than me” you glare, “5 years is 5 years” she shrugs, moving away when you launched an empty bottle at her.

“go on, tell us about your crush” leah smiles, millie and rachel pretend to kiss each other while looking at you and you heat up in the cheeks.

“i’m only watching so i can pick up spanish” you defend, lucy laughs loudly, out of the three transfers, she was definitely the one who picked up the most spanish.

“excuse me, lucia, and everyone in here,” you scoff, “is it such a crime to watch a video of my future captain?” your accent was so heavy at this point, everyone cracked a little smile at you.

“so you were watching videos of alexia then?” leah smirks, you let out a frustrated groan, “leah, shut up man” everyone laughs, the teasing continuing until keira and alessia told everyone to stop.

during the whole of camp, it wasn’t uncommon you got caught looking at photos or videos of alexia, the teasing was so bad you thought you would explode.

—

when the time finally came for you to join barcelona, you were incredibly nervous. the fear of underperforming playing on your mind, only becoming worse at the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of a certain blonde you couldn’t take your mind off.

lucy and keira assured you everything would be fine, but you weren’t convinced, unsure of how you’d react when you finally saw alexia.

when you all walked to the change rooms, it was shocking how welcoming everyone was. hugs and kisses to the cheeks had you feeling so accepted amongst your new team.

and funnily enough, the last person to greet you was alexia, sending you a charming smile that had your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“(y/n), yes? bienvenida! (welcome)” alexia grins, her arms pulling you into a warm hug, her scent enveloping you and making you borderline dizzy.

“(y/n) is a big fan of you” lucy teases as alexia lets you slip from the hug after you mumble a quick hello. alexia gives a surprised smile, looking between a cheeky looking lucy and a sheepish looking you.

“you’re very good, too, I look forward to playing with you,” alexia’s hand moved to give your bicep a gentle squeeze and you swore your heart stopped, your cheeks were tinged with pink and you could barely formulate a sentence.

“yeah, i’m excited to play with ya” you breathe out, you move to your new cubby and get changed into the barcelona kit, feeling at home already even though it was your first day.

due to you busying yourself with avoiding alexia, you missed the way her gaze lingered on you as you changed, she was intrigued by you.

what you didn’t know was alexia had done her own forms of research. she had heard your name countless times in the media, a rising star in the making.

she respected the way you played, a midfielder who wasn’t afraid to take risks but also managed to avoid fouls frequently.

she wanted to get to know you as much as you wanted to get to know her.

—

weeks and months fly by and it was easy to say you felt comfortable amongst the team. your spanish was surprisingly getting better, being able to go through training without a translator most of the time.

the girls reciprocated you well, you’d go to team bonding nights and laugh and joke around with them. it was obvious to everyone except alexia that you were harbouring a crush on the captain.

the ways your eyes would follow her every move with pink cheeks honestly exposed yourself. and what made it harder was that alexia and you were growing closer each day.

—

one day you were chatting with mapi and ingrid, more like you getting teased while you begged them to stop before you were interrupted by a certain someone.

“do you want to be my partner?” alexia questions from behind you suddenly, making you choke on your own spit as she looked at you with a kind smile. “really?” you breathe out, she nods, nodding her head to the pitch for you to follow her.

you’d both been able to converse easily as the months went by, she’d have to ask you to slow down a couple of times when you both talked about something you had in common but it worked.

as you both trained together, you chatted and laughed, talking about random topics.

when you both got to shooting practice, alexia analysed your every move. she would give little nods of approval when you touched the ball, sending you an encouraging smile if you made eye contact, your heart was fluttering around her.

“you should put more weight into your hips when you kick” alexia corrects, you look at her questioningly, she huffs out a little laugh and comes to stand behind you.

her large hands place themselves on your hips and she turns them slightly to the front. her front was pressed against your back and you certainly weren’t breathing. she noticed you tense but chose to ignore it.

“focus here before you kick so it’s stronger” alexia says next to your ear, squeezing your hips gently before letting go of you. “try again, vamos! (let’s go)” she exclaims, you do as she says with her corrections and it was a much better result.

she smiles proudly, “buena niña! (good girl)” she laughs, coming up to you to squeeze your shoulders encouragingly, your cheeks were burning.

the entire team watched the interaction with big grins, ready to tease you for how sheepish you looked.

“gracias (thank you), ale” you scratch the back of your neck with an embarrassed smile, she shakes her head, “it’s nothing, thank me with a goal next game” she jokes, pinching your cheek teasingly before walking off to get some water.

you’re left there in shock, lucy and keira approaching with cheesy grins. “you’re in love” lucy coos, poking your shoulder teasingly while you shielded yourself in a hug from keira.

“i’m so fucking stupid, why can’t i be normal” you groan, keira laughs, her hand rubbing up and down your back. “you’re just shy, which is weird to see because you’re the complete opposite” she laughs, you pull back to throw her a glare.

“it’s cute” lucy chuckles, “i can’t wait to tell everyone about the development” she grins, her and keira share a hearty laugh seeing your face go pale, while you attempted not to scream.

“don’t you fucking dare” you grit out, “i won’t” lucy winks, unfortunately she did and by the time training was over, your phone was blowing up with text messages talking about the interaction.

you looked at lucy with a stone cold glare while she blew you a kiss, alexia watched how angry you were, she could practically feel it radiating off you on the other side of the change room.

“estás bien? (are you okay)” alexia walks up to you, holding a cold drink out to you. you take it after a moment of hesitation, “uh, yeah, sí” you smile, “lucia is annoying you?” alexia grins, looking over at lucy to see her and keira whispering while looking at you. “yes, she’s very annoying” you grumble, your eyebrows furrowing.

alexia smiles fondly at you, her hand moving to your face, her thumb smoothing out the crease between your eyebrows. “wrinkles” she tutts, your breath caught in the back of your throat as you looked up at her.

“are you coming tonight?” she says like she didn’t just make you flatline. she’s talking about a team bonding session at her house. “yeah, i think so” you smile at her, “think or know?” she teases, was she flirting with you?

“know, i’ll be there” you mock, she nods with a pleased expression, “hasta luego, lindura (see you later, cutie)” she winks, moving to grab her bag from her cubby and leave, making sure to look back at you another time with a soft smile before walking out.

you get pulled out of your trance once you hear your phone blowing up again, checking it to see lucy had recorded you watching alexia leave. you throw your head back in frustration but chose to avoid letting the older girl feel your wrath, you were still on a buzz from the thought of alexia flirting with you.

—

when you arrived at alexia’s house, you brought her a bottle of wine with a sheepish grin. when she opened the door for you, she pulled you into the warmest hug, both of you fitting together like a puzzle.

“finalmente! (finally) i was waiting for you!” she grins as she pulls away, taking the wine out of your hands and grabbing one of yours to drag you into the living room where everyone was.

her hand was so warm against yours, soft against your skin and you really didn’t want her to let go. “you look beautiful” alexia smiles before she ushers you to sit down, you barely had the time to tell her how breathtaking she looked, dressed casually but still looking like she could be on the front of a magazine.

you sit next to mapi and she immediately bombards you with questions, “have you kissed yet?” she questions, you slap her knee, “ingrid, your girlfriend is a bully” you huff, ingrid laughs, nodding along with you with an apologetic smile.

everyone was watching a movie while eating, alexia sitting beside you, the two of you would chat back and forth with small giggles and smiles shared between you.

by the time the night was ending, alexia’s arm was resting behind you on the couch, basically over your shoulder while you were in your own little bubble.

when you left that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about all the interactions you had with the catalan, you needed to do something about it. fast.

—

on a match day for barcelona, you decided it was time for you to tell her about your feelings. it was clear you were flirting with each other. confirmed during the game.

in the second half, you managed to get a goal, using the technique alexia had taught you a couple of days prior.

she was the first one to you after, the loud roar of the crowd drowned out when you felt alexia’s strong arms wrapping around your waist.

you both smiled so brightly as she congratulated you, placing you on the ground, giving you an affectionate kiss on the forehead and squeezing your shoulders. this told you everything. it wasn’t just her being friendly, it was alexia making a move.

at the end of the match, the two of you lingered in the middle of the pitch, you were fidgeting so much alexia was worried.

“(y/n)?” she dips her head to make eye contact with you, “estás bien? (are you okay)” you nod, opening your mouth to speak but nothing came out. “take a deep breath” she smiles, a hand on your shoulder offering you comfort but also stressing you out.

“ale” you start, she nods with an encouraging smile, “i really fancy ya, ale, i’ve been wantin’ to tell ya for a while” you blurt out, alexia’s eyebrows furrow, she looks a little confused.

the silence was loud, why hasn’t she said anything back. if this was her rejection, it hurt more than anything she could have verbalised.

“you know what, forget i said anythin’” you run off before she could say anything. “qué? (what)” she was about to ask you to repeat yourself, one - because you were speaking too fast, two - she didn’t know what fancy meant.

you heard her call out for you but you ran into the change room, knowing keira and lucy were in there. “keira!” you yell, “fucking check my pulse!” you shove your arm in her face and she looks at you in shock. only a couple of people were inside, and the ones that were were shocked at how you tumbled into the room.

“jesus, your heart is going so fast” keira says as she presses her fingers to the inside of your wrist. “fuck, why couldn’t you tell me i’m dead and this is a nightmare” you groan, your hands running over your face frustratingly.

“what’s wrong with you?” lucy says as she walks out of the shower to see you in absolute shambles. “everything!” you explain each and every detail and they look at you sympathetically, understanding now why you were so upset.

what you didn’t know was alexia was outside, ear pressed to the door as she heard you explain that you were trying to confess. she feels her stomach tighten, cursing herself for not understanding what you were saying.

“whatever, i’m going home, don’t follow me” you grit, tears pooling at your waterline as you rush out. alexia had moved out of eyeline when she heard you, quickly going into the change room and drilling lucy and keira for your address that they happily gave her with sly grins. happy to know it was all a misunderstanding.

—

that afternoon, you hastily wiped your tears away thinking about alexia. you had misunderstood her intentions clearly, you were disappointed with yourself.

you heard the banging from the front door and groaned, knowing your fellow england teammates were probably on the other side with ice cream and apologetic smiles.

“i told you both not to follow me-” you huff, the door opening to see alexia standing there, a bouquet of bright flowers in hand. “hola (hello)” she smiles, “what are you doing here?” you ask softly, “can i come in?” you nod, moving back a little so she could step inside. she hands you the flowers and you take them with a confused expression.

what type of rejection was this?

“i heard you speaking to lucy and keira before” she starts nervously, both of you walking to the kitchen so you could put the flowers in water, they were beautiful.

“it’s fine if you don’t feel the same” you shrink into yourself, brushing the petals of one of the flowers between your fingers.

“hermosa (beautiful)” she calls out, moving around your counter to stand directly in front of you. “me gustas mucho, y quiero estar contigo (i like you a lot, i want to be with you)” she says earnestly, speaking in her mother tongue and hoping you understood because she was speaking from the heart.

you freeze, each and every word quickly translated in your head. “amor (love), you’re very beautiful and nice but you speak very fast, i did not understand a word you said before” she laughs, you can’t help but laugh too, shaking your head at how fast you fled the situation.

“i’m sorry, ale” you grin, “don’t be” she dismisses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, relishing in the blush she just produced on your cheeks.

“me gustas mucho (i like you a lot), alexia” you smile, she gives you a dazzling expression, appreciating how you spoke her mother tongue to her so she really understood this time. “muy bien, preciosa! (very good, precious)” she coos affectionately, her hand cradling your cheek as she directed your eyes to hers.

“we will teach each other, sí?” she grins cheekily, you hum along with her words, “sí”.

she pulls you closer to place a sweet kiss on your lips, your stomach lurching at how soft they were against yours.

you both smile into it as she drew you closer, your arms wrapping around her neck while her free hand came to rest on the small of your back to press you against her.

she pulls away, not without pressing a few more kisses to your lips through the giggles and the small chatter between the two of you.

—

when you both came to training the next day hand in hand, sighs of relief were heard from everyone. lucy whipped out her phone as quickly as she could and sent pictures to the england group chat, your phone blowing up more than ever.

now that the team saw you interact, the teasing somehow got worse every time alexia would kiss you, or even hold your hand.

the pining drove everyone insane but the loved up versions of the two of you were insufferable. you were attached at the hip, just how you and alexia wanted.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill, just pretend it’s you xx

liked by keirawalsh and 44,232 others

alexiaputellas: mi niña (my girl)

view all comments

yourname: mami

↳ alexiaputellas: i didn’t teach her this

↳ marialeonn16: sureeeee

lucybronze: the most annoying couple ever

↳ yourname: shut up man

↳ leahwilliamsonn: there she is!!

↳ keirawalsh: she went soft but is still a shit head

↳ yourname: @/alexiaputellas bebé! defend me!

↳ alexiaputellas: you are soft

↳ yourname: the betrayal is unreal

[d-targaryenshoe]

In The End - Colin Bridgerton

Word Count: 2172

Summary: To be married to a stranger is not what every single lady of the Ton wants, is it not?

You and Eloise Bridgerton, childhood friends, sat under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze.

The sunlight streaming through the leaves cast dappled shadows upon your faces, dancing like living things.

"You can't be serious, y/n," Eloise said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "An arranged marriage? You're far too young to be thinking of such things!"

You shrugged, your expression wistful. "I know it's not what I would have chosen for myself," you admitted, "but it is the path my mama has chosen for me."

Eloise reached out to take your hand, your eyes filled with concern. "But what if you don't like this Lord Somerset?" she asked. "What if you don't want to marry him, must that not change things?"

You sighed, looking away from your friend. "My mother says I must marry well, to secure the future of our family," you replied, your voice tinged with resignation. "I fear my opinion does not matter in this matter."

Eloise frowned, her brow furrowing. "But y/n, you're not just a possession to be traded or bargained with! You have feelings, thoughts, desires! You should have a say in who you marry!"

You bit your lip, looking away again. "I know, El. I wish things were different," you sighed. "But my mama has made it clear that this is how it must be."

Eloise's heart ached for you, but she could tell that there was no changing your mind right now. "There must be something we can do?"

You looked up at her, hope flickering in Eloise's eyes before being extinguished. "I don't know, El. I don't want to disobey my mother. She's only trying to secure my future."

"The future you did not choose, must I remind you."

Eloise's tone was gentle, but firm. You looked up at her, surprise flitting across the Bridgerton her features before settling into a pensive frown.

"I know, El. I just... I feel as though I have no say in anything that happens to me."

"But you do, you always have a say."

Eloise's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hope.

"You could speak with your mother, and explain how you feel. You could try to convince her that you deserve a choice, that you deserve happiness."

You shook your head, your hair swaying gently. "She'd never understand, El. She's always put her desires first. I don't think she'd ever see things from my perspective."

Eloise bit her lip, thinking. "Then maybe it's time you showed her," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "Maybe it's time you stood up for yourself, for your future. You don't have to do this alone."

You looked up at your friend, hope flickering in your eyes. "You'd help me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise nodded, her determination growing. "Of course, I would. You know I'd do anything for you. Together, we can find a way to make sure you get the future you deserve."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. Your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms.

You looked away from Eloise, out towards the garden where the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Eloise watched you with a mixture of sympathy and determination. She could see the turmoil in your eyes, the conflict between your duty and your desires.

It was clear that this decision weighed heavily on you. As if sensing the tension in the air, a figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

Colin Bridgerton, Eloise's brother and your friend, approached you from behind, his stride purposeful.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, there you are, you two. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Eloise turned to face him, her lips curling into a smile. "Hello, Colin. We were just having a... ladies' moment, if you will."

You looked up at Colin, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Hello, Colin. It's nice to see you."

Eloise watched as Colin's eyes flickered between the two of you, clearly sensing the weight of the conversation.

She wondered what he made of your sudden seriousness, but decided not to dwell on it. "Colin, why don't you join us?" Eloise invited, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, before sitting down beside Eloise. "What were you saying about standing up for yourself, y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I know you've always been good at doing what's expected of you, but sometimes I think it's important to follow your heart, too."

You looked at him gratefully. "It's just... my mother has always been so strict. I feel like I can never live up to her." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I want so much more for myself, but I don't know how to make her understand."

Colin nodded in understanding. "I can see that. It must be tough, feeling like you're always walking a tightrope." He glanced over at Eloise, who was watching the two of you intently.

"But you know, sometimes all it takes is someone on the sidelines to give you the courage to step out of line, to take a chance on yourself."

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes once more. "Do you think... do you think she'd ever understand?" you asked softly.

Eloise took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I believe she can if you give her the chance. You just have to find the right way to explain how you feel, and why this means so much to you." She glanced over at Colin, who nodded in agreement. "But I- I have to join mama to the modiste."

You looked up at your friend, a mixture of gratitude and determination in your eyes. "Thank you, Eloise. I'll think about what you've said."

Eloise hesitated for a moment before standing up, her dress rustling softly against her legs before she turned around and walked away.

Colin studied your profile as you watched your friend disappear into the crowd, a quiet strength emanating from you. "You know," he began, "it's not always easy to stand up to our parents, but I believe you're brave enough to do it."

You turned to face him, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do," he replied with conviction. "You have so much to offer the world, and I think your mother just needs some time to see that."

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that easy, though. She's always been so focused on me marrying well, and living a comfortable life. She doesn't understand that I want more than that."

Colin nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know it's difficult, but you have to believe that she can change her perspective. You just have to find a way to help her see things from your point of view." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "And I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the way."

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity in his words giving you strength. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

"Thank you, Colin," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

He smiled, and you noticed how his dimple dented his cheek. "I think I do, actually," he said softly.

At your surprised expression, he continued, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you in the garden that day. You're beautiful, intelligent, and brave. You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you listened to his words. You had never expected to hear anything like this from him.

"But... we're just friends," you stammered, your voice barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the people around you.

Colin smiled gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "We are friends, yes. But I think there's something more between us. Something deeper, more intense. And I want to explore that." He reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to get to know you better, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as a woman. As my woman."

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips mere inches from yours. "I know this is sudden, and perhaps I shouldn't have said anything tonight, but I couldn't help myself. I've felt this way for so long, and I needed you to know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and you could hardly breathe. You knew you should say something, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

You could only stare into his eyes, lost in the moment.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Colin leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

At first, it was gentle, a mere flutter of sensation, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. You gasped, your hands finding their way up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.

You felt as if you were floating, your body alive with the heat of the moment.

The world around you seemed to fade away, and it was as if there was nothing but the two of you, your hearts racing, your breath mingling together.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held you close.

When at last you broke apart, you found it difficult to focus on anything but the look in his eyes.

They were filled with desire and tenderness, and you knew that he meant every word he had said.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile shyly.

"I-I don't know what to say," you managed to stammer.

Colin smiled back, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know that I meant every word I said and that I want to explore this with you." He paused for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before continuing.

"I want us to be together. I want to protect you and cherish you, and show you the love that you deserve."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You had never imagined feeling this way about anyone, and the thought of being with Colin filled you with a warmth you hadn't known was possible.

You looked up into his eyes, your shining with tears of happiness, and nodded slowly. "I want that too," you whispered. "So much."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "I know it's fast, and I don't want you to feel pressured, but...I want to start making plans with you. I want to take you away from here, show you the world. I want to build a life with you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from yours once more. "I love you, y/n," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life by his side, explore the world with him, and build a future together.

You knew that you could trust him and that he would always protect you.

With trembling hands, you reached up and cupped his face, tenderly brushing your thumbs across his cheeks.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The weight of your words settled between you, and you both paused for a moment, taking in the gravity of your decision.

It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving you alone in your little bubble, suspended in time and space.

Colin leaned in closer, his lips finding yours once more, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth.

His kiss deepened, his hands exploring the contours of your body, and you melted into him, returning his affections with equal fervor.

[f0point5]

But God, I love the English

Part 33 of the Lando Norris x fakegirlfriend!reader social media au

Previous

A/N: So. I decided to skip an Austria update. I hated absolutely everything I made for it. It added nothing to the plot, everything felt overly speculative and really pointless. I know that’s not really typical of how I do things but I really didn’t feel that it was going to move the fic forward to cover it, and trying to force it was messing up the schedule really badly. So hate me if you want but…yeah. I’m really hoping Lando goes home to Somerset soon because I have plans 😭😭😭 We will back to daily updates until at least Saturday now. I hope those of you who don’t hate me enjoy this part 🫶🫶🫶

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[diamonddaze01]

The Somerset Affair (TEASER)

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN teaser wc: 1.2k | series wc: ~20-30k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: this is my longest work yet and it genuinely took a village. // ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and thank you to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites and haneul @chanranghaeys you all are amazing and i adore you for dealing with me // 1st part will be posted on Tuesday, with sporadic updates as I finish chapters

summary: the three times seokmin asks you to stay, and the one time you do.  

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

On the eve of your debut, you find yourself seated on the swing in the garden of the Somerset townhome, the night cloaked in an almost palpable tension. The sounds of Mayfair filter through the stillness—a symphony of distant laughter, the soft clatter of carriages, and the occasional rustle of silk skirts—as the ton settles into slumber. The air feels electric, crackling with anticipation, as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the events of the morrow to unfold.

You take a deep drag from the cigarette you swiped from Minghao’s rooms, the smoke spiraling into the night like a fleeting thought. With each inhale, you hope to drown out the anxious fluttering of your heart, a dissonant rhythm that accelerates at the mere thought of tomorrow’s debut.

“Why, Lady Xu Y/N, are you smoking?” The voice breaks through your reverie, causing you to sputter and cough, hastily attempting to conceal the cigarette behind your back. You turn to see Seokmin, leaning casually against the sturdy oak tree that secures the swing, his figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

His presence is both familiar and disarming, the boyish charm of his smile juxtaposed against the weight of his title. “No, Seokmin, I—” you stammer, flustered.

“Shove over,” he commands lightly, and before you can protest, he plucks the cigarette from your frozen grip, taking a deep, leisurely drag. The sight of him—so confident, so carefree—sets your heart racing in a way that both delights and terrifies you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I was with your brother at White’s,” he replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It was my mistake to forget how little he can imbibe before devolving into an utter fool. I was merely making sure he returned home safely.” His tone shifts, curiosity sparkling in his gaze. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“Excited? Hardly,” you grumble, kicking at the scattered rocks beneath your feet. “What my heart truly desires is to run away—pack my things, flee to Paris, and open a quaint little bookstore. Perhaps live out my days as a spinster, surrounded by novels and solitude.”

Seokmin’s expression shifts, a shadow of understanding passing across his features. “We cannot always have what our hearts desire,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Sometimes, we must accept that we can find happiness in what we have, not in what could have been.”

You watch the smoke dance and dissipate into the night sky, thoughts swirling as restlessly as the tendrils of fog around you.

“And you?” you ask quietly, the question escaping before you can catch it. “What does your heart desire?”

“Desired,” he corrects, taking another deep drag. “I once dreamed of being a fencer, of dueling beneath the sun. But above all, I yearned to find love.”

Your heart stutters at his admission. His thigh brushes against yours, an electric touch that feels so scandalously intimate you can hardly breathe. You suddenly become acutely aware of the nightgown you wear, the thin fabric doing little to shield you from the heat radiating from his body. If Minghao were to catch you in this moment, you are certain he would demand that Seokmin either marry you on the spot or duel him for your honor.

The very thought sends a shiver down your spine—an improper thought that both terrifies and thrills you. You are a young lady, poised to make your debut, and here you are, perched so closely to an eligible duke, the expectations of the ton looming like a dark cloud. What would society say if they were to discover you in this clandestine moment? The whispers would be deafening, your reputation in tatters, and yet… the thrill of it, the danger, pulls at you like a siren's song.

“And you believe you shall never find it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a Duke, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it barely pierces the night air. “Duty must come first. If there is any part of me left, which there rarely is, only then can I pursue love.”

The distance between you feels both impossibly vast and achingly close, the weight of his words pressing against you like an invisible force. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken longing that mirrors your own.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, yet the weight of his words presses down on your chest.

“But how fortunate am I,” he continues, his gaze piercing through the night like a beacon, “to have found such a remarkable friend who stands by me even as duty threatens to drown me where I stand.”

A friend. The word lingers between you, heavy and loaded. Is that truly all he sees you as? The realization sends your mind reeling, your heart racing in an entirely different way.

No, the trees whisper, urging you to reconsider.

Could it be…love?

That foreign sensation, long buried beneath layers of propriety and friendship, now unfurls within you, roots taking hold. You realize with a start that you have loved Seokmin, perhaps from that very first kiss on your hand all those years ago, long before you could articulate the feelings swirling in your heart.

Panic courses through you, and you leap up from the swing as if it has burned you. “It is late, Lord Lee. I must take my leave now,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “I hope you find your way home safely.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against your wrist, and your breath hitches at the contact. “Wait,” he says, his voice low, almost laced with concern. “Are you alright? You seem... distant.”

His eyes search yours, and you feel the weight of his gaze, an anchor that both comforts and terrifies you. Your pulse quickens, a frantic rhythm echoing in your ears. What would it mean to linger here a moment longer, to let the night wrap around you like a cocoon?

But all the books you’ve read offer no preparation for the heartache that comes with knowing he regards you as merely a friend. A friend, just like your brother. You are his friend, and the shattering realization settles in: he will never love you back.

“Tulip?” he adds softly, the word a whisper that brushes against your skin like the wind.

You swallow hard, every part of you aching to give in, to lean into the connection pulsing between you. But the truth looms like a storm cloud overhead, dark and inevitable.

You love Lord Lee Seokmin, Duke of Lancaster, but he will never love you.

And with that heavy knowledge weighing on your heart, you turn to leave, every step toward your room feeling like a betrayal to the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. 

You don’t sleep at all, thoughts consumed by a boy you had once known and the man you now love.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy-ish!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, some strong language, a small part of the dialogue is in French (with translations provided), period-typical views on women, alluding to sex, mentions of alcohol

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: French is not my first language so IM SORRY if the dialogue is a bit weird. I speak some French and obvi double checked to make sure it made sense but please lmk if i made a mistake 

April 14, 1816 – Dearest Gentle Readers,

A new season is upon us, and so my work begins anew. Firstly, we can reacquaint ourselves with the familiar faces we expect to see this season. It has been two years since Viscount Anthony Bridgerton married, and dowager Viscountess Bridgerton is surely itching to secure a match for more of her children. Miss Eloise Bridgerton, now in her second year of being out, remains unmarried. And, of course, one cannot help but wonder whether the charming Mr. Colin Bridgerton will return from his travels in time for the season. Though Benedict Bridgerton has been absent from the public eye as of late, he could also be considered an eligible bachelor. Shall we see any of them marry this season? This author remains skeptical, though, with the Bridgertons, one must always expect the unexpected.

There are, however, plenty of new faces. Chief among them are the two youngest Montclair siblings. The Montclairs resided in London for the debut of Lady Charlotte Montclair, now the Duchess of Somerset, before vanishing from England’s social scene. Until now, of course. Though Lord Louis Montclair is only two and twenty and may still be considered green for the marriage mart, all eyes will surely be on Lady Y/N Montclair as she steps into the spotlight and searches for an impressively titled gentleman. Though the Montclairs have graced the streets of Calcutta, Rome, Geneva, and Madrid, among other illustrious locales, one can only hope that the grandeur of London lives up to their expectations.

You let out a resigned sigh of frustration, scolding yourself for your tardiness as you hurried down the stairs. It was half an hour past when you were supposed to be in the breakfast room, and your mother was bound to be at least a little displeased with you. It was the first time your entire family was in the same place since your older brother Jacques got married in September. Despite being a big family, six siblings in total, four of whom were married, it was unusual that you had gone so long without seeing them all in one place.

Moving from country to country every few years for much of your upbringing had made your siblings a very tight-knit bunch. So, as you neared the breakfast room, which was full of laughter and lively conversation, you couldn't shake the twinge of guilt for your late arrival.

But you couldn’t help it! Not this time, at least. It had been your first night in London since your sister Charlotte’s season eight years ago, and you had stayed up until the early hours of the morning stargazing in your garden. There was a secluded patch of grass between the summer pavilion and the tulips, a secret spot hidden from prying eyes, where you could spend hours looking at the sky in peaceful solitude. Last time you were in London, you had snuck out of your bedroom every night to stare at the stars, and you had been pleased to find that the spot remained undiscovered.

You had always been comforted by the fact that the cosmos would remain the same even if your home did not. The night sky had become somewhat of a companion during your childhood years, and you were interested to see what part of it you were privy to in London at this time of year. Perhaps a scolding and a lecture from your mother were not such a high price to pay for the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the stars, you reasoned.

You slithered into the breakfast room quietly, hoping to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you had no such luck. Your brother closest to you in age, Louis, was sitting nearest to the door and noticed your late entrance immediately.

Taking advantage of every opportunity to make your life just a little harder, he goaded, “T'es très en retard, demoiselle. Ce n'est pas convenable pour une fille en quête d'un mari!” (You’re very late, young lady. This is not suitable for a girl looking for a husband!)

Under any other circumstances, you might have laughed at his impression of your mother, but you were quite sleep-deprived and in no mood to have your brother lecture you. You sighed in frustration, hissing, “Louis, ferme ta gue-” (Louis, shut you mou-)

“English, please!” interrupted your father, not even looking up from his newspaper as he sat at the head of the table.

You were relieved he hadn’t commented on your colorful language, but his curt reprimand reminded you that it was in poor taste to speak a language not everyone could understand. Growing up, your family had primarily spoken French, but with none of your siblings having married a francophone, you were now only allowed to speak in French when everyone present could speak it, too. It was a rule enforced particularly during big family gatherings such as this one. Despite your fluency in five languages, your parents insisted on English, the only common language among all twelve family members.

“Sorry,” you muttered, not quite sure that your father had even heard. You slid into your seat between Louis and your brother Jacques’ wife, Chiara. Still annoyed with Louis, you turned to the newest addition to the Montclair family and smiled at her warmly.

“Ciao, Y/N,” she greeted, smiling back and kissing you on the cheek.

“Ciao, Chiara, è bello rivederti,” you responded (Hi Chiara, it’s nice to see you again). You were tempted to keep speaking to her in Italian–you liked the practice, after all–but feared another scolding from your father. So, you settled for, “I trust your trip back home was good?”

“Oh, it was lovely. Florence always is at this time of year. You should come back to visit sometime! Beatrice misses you terribly,” she exclaimed.

Beatrice was Chiara’s younger sister, whom you had become dear friends with while living in Tuscany. You had remained in Tuscany for nearly four years, longer than you usually stayed in one place, and though you were itching to leave and see more of the world by the end of your time in Florence, you were thankful you had met Beatrice. Both of you were delighted when you realized your brother was marrying her sister, ensuring you would remain close even when you moved away.

You sighed. “I miss her, too. We correspond quite regularly, but it’s simply not the same. I assume it will be worse now that I am in England and even farther from her,” you lamented.

After Jacques and Chiara’s wedding, your parents, Louis, and you returned home to Amboise for a few months. Beatrice had visited for the holidays along with Chiara and Jacques, but you knew she was unlikely to come to England when she was busy with her season back home.

Chiara smiled sympathetically. “Well, Jacques and I are only staying for a few weeks before returning to Tuscany. If you get bored here in London, you are always welcome to visit,” she comforted.

It was a lovely thought, but you doubted your parents would allow you to leave England until you were married. Your parents’ marriage had most certainly not been a love match, and though they did grow to love each other eventually, they didn’t particularly care whether you loved the man you married. To them, marriage was an economic endeavor rather than a romantic one. You had never minded much, having accepted your fate early in life as you watched your siblings marry strategically.

Nevertheless, you had grown rather nervous about your season after watching the outcome of Charlotte’s. In your parents’ eyes, her season was a complete success as she married a Duke a few short months after her debut. But you knew better. Not all of your siblings had enjoyed moving around so much, but you, Louis, and Charlotte were the most enthusiastic. Having married the Duke of Somerset, Charlotte had become Duchess, and her duties tied her to England. After such an international childhood, you knew Charlotte was dreadfully bored of staying in England year after year.

You knew there were much worse marriages to be in, but you still wanted to avoid being permanently tied to England, of all places. You were only twenty years old, after all, and you still had so much of the world to see.

---

“By the way,” Violet said, strategically avoiding the topic until she was about to leave the sitting room. “Both of you are attending the Danbury ball tomorrow night.”

The expected chorus of complaints filled her ears, and she shook her head in amusement at her children’s petulance. One would think she was trying to force them to walk halfway across the world!

Violet sighed and said firmly, “I understand that neither of you is particularly enthusiastic, but we are not so rude as to miss the first ball of the season. And at Lady Danbury’s home, at that! Surely the retribution you would receive from her is enough to make you want to go.”

“Well, Colin’s coming home from Greece tomorrow and I hardly think he’ll be in attendance, so I don’t see why we should be,” argued Eloise, earning an enthusiastic nod from Benedict.

“You make the mistake of thinking that I have not already informed Colin he will be in attendance. None of you have the option to stay home, I’m afraid.”

And with that, she left her grumbling children behind in favor of a quiet turn around the garden.

---

Colin arrived at Number 5 Bruton Street feeling rather unkempt. His journey from Greece had been particularly tumultuous, and he was ready to change clothes and sleep for the next seventeen hours.

“Colin! I’m so glad you’re home,” exclaimed Violet upon seeing him. For all her nagging, he was quite fond of his mother and found that he had missed her while he had been away. Seeing tears forming in her eyes, Colin wrapped Violet up in a tight hug, hoping to avoid feeling worse about being away for so long.

“He’s home!” shouted Gregory, running up to greet him. The rest of his siblings followed suit, and Colin basked in the excitement of his homecoming.

To the rest of the ton, Colin was the most well-liked Bridgerton due to his easygoing nature and cheerful demeanor, and because he was rather good-looking as well, he hoped. However, it was nice to know that his family still cared for him despite his prolonged absences.

“The Danbury ball is in a few hours, so make sure to be ready on time,” his mother reminded him once she had gathered herself.

He groaned, having forgotten he had promised his mother he would attend. He sighed as he prepared for an evening of excruciating conversation as he politely listened to ambitious mamas name every single positive attribute their daughters possessed in the hopes of impressing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, but rather that he remained uninterested in marriage, finding his travels a much more exciting prospect. But he had a reputation to maintain, so he would be as courteous as ever to everyone he met and perhaps even dance with a few of them.

A few hours later, the Bridgertons were, quite impatiently, one could say, waiting for Benedict to finish getting ready so they could leave for the Danbury Ball.

“Excited for your third season?” Colin directed his question at Eloise. He knew the answer, of course, but he was growing bored of waiting for Benedict and thought that this would be the perfect distraction.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone you absolutely adore, El. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities,” preached Colin, annoying Eloise further.

“What about you, Colin? Five and twenty and still unmarried, that’s a bit ghastly don’t you think?” she shot back.

Of course, it wasn't unheard of to be unmarried at his age, but Colin panicked regardless, knowing his mother would surely love to join the conversation now that his marriage prospects were a talking point. But Benedict saved him by walking down the stairs at that moment.

“Finally! Now can we go, please?” exclaimed Eloise.

“I’m surprised, Eloise. I thought you didn’t want to go to this ball,” teased Benedict, but she only grumbled in return as they headed toward their carriage.

The carriage rides were usually the worst part of going to a ball. Violet Bridgerton, efficient as ever, would inform each of her children of the possible prospects that would be in attendance that night, impossibly elongating the journey and making the Bridgertons less and less pleased about being forced to go. They weren't always forced, of course, but the carriage rides certainly made it seem that way.

“The Montclairs will be in London for the season, I heard. Lady Y/N Montclair will be making her debut, which will surely interest you two,” said Violet, nodding at the men in the carriage. “And for you, Eloise, her older brother Lord Louis Montclair is perhaps too young to get married, but it wouldn’t hurt to speak with him and practice your French.”

Violet droned on for the rest of the ride, and the Bridgerton siblings could barely get out of the carriage fast enough when it arrived at Danbury House. Little did they know that they had played right into Violet’s plan. She wanted to enjoy the evening and visit with her friends, and hopefully, her overly long analysis of the key figures at today’s ball would keep her children away from her enough for her to do so.

Inside the ballroom, you were speaking with a perfectly nice but quite boring gentleman. You couldn’t quite remember his name, having talked to at least a dozen men practically identical to him already. You barely registered his request for a dance, and you only realized you had accepted when you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, the dance went by fairly quickly and you were able to sprinkle in interested hums and “oh really?” at the appropriate times. All in all, it was not a terrible experience, if only you could remember his name.

He returned you to your mother and bowed in parting, kissing your hand and promising to call on you the next day.

“Who was that?” you muttered once he had left.

“Y/N,” she scolded, but could barely contain her laughter. “I can’t believe you danced with a man you don’t even know the name of!”

You shrugged, not particularly interested in learning who he was anymore.

“Is there anyone else you want me to meet?” you asked her, hoping she would say no and you would be free to find Louis and talk to someone familiar at last.

But your mother was distracted from answering as she saw two tall men crossing the ballroom. She squeezed your arm and nodded in their direction, careful to be discreet.

“Those are the Bridgertons. Their oldest brother, the Viscount, is already married, but it is of no consequence. Perhaps the second and third sons might not be fit to be your husband, but you should still introduce yourself and make a good impression should you encounter them.”

You nodded, disinterested. You were too busy looking around the room, realizing that there was still a myriad of gentlemen left to speak with. It seemed that there were too many eligible bachelors if that was even possible. You had thought there would be five men that your mother would have approved of, at most, and you could make your pick between them. But it seemed London was a particularly popular place for titled gentlemen to search for a wife, and you were growing uneasy.

Trying not to think about the long evening ahead of you, you tuned back into what your mother was saying. “Oh! I don’t quite know where Colin Bridgerton has gone off to now, but Benedict is over by the lemonade if you can see him. I believe that is his sister, Eloise. They all look identical, don’t they? The same brown h-”

“Pardon me,” you interrupted as panic rose in your chest. You were in desperate need of a respite, and could hardly handle another minute listening to her speak about more men she needed you to meet. “I think I see an old friend of mine, and I must say hello,” you lied.

Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, shocked that you remembered people from eight years ago, but let you go regardless. Impatiently, you waited until someone else engaged her in conversation and quietly slipped out into the hallway. Stepping out of a ball on your own like this was forbidden, and your father would surely have your head if he found out you had risked being found unchaperoned and away from the ball, but you needed to get away for just a moment to gather yourself.

Lady Danbury’s home was quite beautiful, you found, and you were enjoying looking at the art on her walls as you roamed the halls. You were careful not to stray too far, not knowing your way around and recognizing that you only had a short time before someone was bound to notice your absence.

Suddenly, your senses heightened as you heard two men’s voices far closer than you would have liked. Panicking, you jumped around a corner and prayed that no one would find you, absolutely not ready to be forced to marry a man only one ball into your debut. You willed your heart to stop beating so loudly lest you get caught and tried to discern what the men were saying, unable to quell your curiosity despite the precarious position you found yourself in.

“And, if she's the right sort of woman, you won’t even have to do anything, she'll just get on top and do all the work. Though I suppose it all depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook,” slurred one of them. “And you, Colin? Do any ladies catch your eye? I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the same time as you heard 'Colin' say, “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, Nigel?”

Their footsteps echoed down the hall and you risked a glance at them, still horrified but wanting to know who they were anyway. You were unsurprised to find Nigel walking toward the garden, having met Mr. Nigel Berbrooke earlier in the evening and finding him quite unpleasant. However, you were shocked to find who you assumed to be Colin Bridgerton walking quite close to Mr. Berbrooke. Hadn’t your mother said the Bridgertons were people of good standing? Surely someone would have noticed that the third son was a complete ass. But perhaps he was the odd one out, and the rest of his family was lovely. Or perhaps Englishmen were simply unpleasant as a whole. Whatever the reason for his horrible comments, you decided you despised Colin Bridgerton and dreaded the day you would have to speak with him.

“Quel salaud,” you muttered angrily under your breath after you heard Mr. Bridgerton close the door to the outdoor patio (What a bastard). Pacing up and down the hallway, you were too enraged by what you heard to return to the ballroom.

The quality of men in England seemed to be quite lacking, and suddenly you wished you could follow in your sister Isabelle’s footsteps and go to Spain to find a titled gentleman there. Isabelle had seemed quite excited about all her suitors before eventually settling on Carlos, who practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Unfortunately, it seemed that you were not destined for such a husband, you thought glumly.

But you supposed you didn't really have a choice. You let out a weary sigh and leaned heavily against the wall, shaking your head as you accepted the reality of your situation. With an angry humph and one last look to make sure no one was around, you quietly slipped back into the ballroom and searched for your mother, who would surely be looking for you now. As you expected, she spotted you almost instantly, and she immediately drew you into conversation with a gentleman you believed to be an Earl.

---

Colin stood outside the door to the ballroom, flexing his fingers to make sure there was still feeling there. Confirming the health of his right hand, he gently opened the ballroom door with his left and stepped inside, looking around for Benedict. Spotting him a few feet away, Colin quickly made his way over hoping to avoid any particularly insistent mamas at this precise moment.

“You look quite relaxed,” commented Benedict, earning a glare from Colin.

“Berbrooke,” Colin explained flatly. “How that man manages to get so drunk so quickly I will never know.”

But suddenly his attention was drawn elsewhere. Time seemed to slow down as a stunning lady he had never seen before crossed the ballroom. He was paralyzed, stuck to his spot on the ground as he stared after you. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his ears, and though Colin wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, he imagined it might have felt something like this if he did. Without a second thought, he knew he had to know you. It was almost instinctual.

Colin tugged on Benedict’s sleeve, his eyes still glued to your form as you laughed politely at whoever you were speaking with. “Who is that over there? Have you spoken with her?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” responded Benedict. “You could always ask Mother.”

“I might do just that, actually,” hummed Colin, deep in thought.

Benedict choked back a laugh, looking over at his younger brother. “Are you being serious?”

Tearing his eyes away from you for a moment, Colin turned to his brother, confused. “Well, yes. If anyone knows who she is, it’ll be her, no?”

Realizing that Colin was, in fact, quite serious, Benedict’s expression sobered. “You are aware if you even hint at the fact that you might be interested in her, Mother will surely come up with at least a dozen plans to marry you off?”

“I don’t think that would be the worst thing in the world,” Colin reasoned, eyes searching for you in the crowd again. Five minutes ago, he would’ve thought it silly, how captivated he was by you. But five minutes ago, he had not yet seen you.

Just as he was about to seek out his mother to ask about you, Lady Danbury walked up to the pair of Bridgertons and poked Colin's foot with her cane. Usually, her presence would have instilled a healthy dose of fear in him, but tonight all he really wanted was to know you, and he supposed Lady Danbury was just as knowledgeable as Violet Bridgerton about the goings on of the ton.

“What are you doing staring at Lady Montclair?” she demanded.

“Lady Montclair? Is that her name?” Then, vaguely remembering what his mother had said on the carriage ride to the ball, he added, “The one from France?”

Lady Danbury hummed, suspicious of Colin’s enthusiasm. “Yes. Lady Y/N Montclair. Speaking with her brother Lord Louis Montclair. Are you interested?”

“I think I am, yes,” he sighed.

“I do believe she has space left on her dance card,” prompted Lady Danbury, doing very little to hide the fact that she was nudging Colin in your direction.

Once Colin had taken off, Benedict turned to her, not distracted enough to forget decorum as his brother had. “This is a wonderful ball, Lady Danbury. My deepest gratitude to you for inviting us, as always.”

But she only waved his thanks away. “Shush, boy. I’m trying to pay attention to Colin willingly asking a lady to dance for the first time.”

Soft music floated through the ballroom as you laughed quietly with Louis, who seemed to be having a wonderful time terrorizing your mother and refusing to dance with any ladies she introduced to him. The gentle hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of footsteps beside you, and with a polite smile on your face, you turned to greet whoever had approached. Realizing you were face to face with Mr. Colin Bridgerton, your expression immediately turned stony.

Bowing with just the right degree of formality, Colin introduced himself, his charm seemingly effortless. He certainly played the part of a perfect gentleman; you could give him that. But you couldn’t forget his conversation with Mr. Berbrooke, the distasteful words replaying in your mind over and over.

Then, extending his hand to you and tilting his head slightly toward the dance floor, a soft smile on his lips, he asked, “Would you care to dance with me this evening, Lady Montclair?”

Looking at him squarely, you responded, your voice sickly sweet, “Why no, Mr. Bridgerton. I don’t believe I would.”

—

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[joshym]

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.  

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness. 

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive. 

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work. 

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs. 

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless. 

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice. 

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands. 

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work. 

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being. 

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once. 

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura. 

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now. 

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight. 

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk. 

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck. 

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over. 

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric. 

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging. 

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going. 

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door. 

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago. 

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.” 

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently. 

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.” 

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath. 

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head. 

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette. 

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light. 

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body. 

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade. 

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet. 

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence. 

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips. 

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body. 

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression. 

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you. 

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck. 

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice. 

“It’s…incredible, Jake.” 

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body. 

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them. 

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp. 

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands. 

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity. 

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth. 

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you. 

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions. 

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being. 

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.  

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him. 

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock. 

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.” 

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him. 

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you. 

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.  

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure. 

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.” 

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release. 

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax. 

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested. 

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs. 

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with. 

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth. 

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek. 

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand. 

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch. 

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.” 

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.” 

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

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@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

[turnertable]

I’m suffering the post-concert blues from a festival I didn’t even physically attend, only through a TV (Glastonbury of course!) and was wondering if I could put in a request for just some general fluff between Alex and the reader after his show with the monkeys at glasto this year? Maybe reader being just extremely proud and some tired but cute as fuck fluffiness. I’m not great with actually putting my ideas into words and describing them, sorry! Hope you understand what I’m on about <3

written by meee, first fic. sorry if it's shit

warnings: none, just silly sick Alex fluff

word count: 2k

----------------------------------------------------------

Sick Day at Glastonbury

(Alex Turner x Reader) (the car era !)

(gif credit to @alexturner )

----------------------------------------------------------

The final chords of R U Mine? buzzed across the field of Worthy Farm, Somerset and Alex finally breathed out after all the excitement of the Glastonbury Festival. "Third time's a charm." Alex said under his breath as he did his bows and blew the kisses like usual, turning to his bandmates to leave the stage with a smile. His voice was on the brink of collapse but the attention was enough to make him want to do it all over again.

At the side of the stage, stood her. His pride and joy, the one person he needed to prove himself worthy to still, to impress. Even with the mirrorball right there, somehow she glowed brighter. Y/N could hardly contain her excitement as she cheered him on at this final hurrah, like she hadn't been screaming his name after every song as a measure of her pride in the band. The anticipation of seeing each other again was magnetic and it only took a few steps.

As the Monkeys left the stage, Y/N offered a soft smile and congratulations to Jamie, Matt and Nick, her voice hoarse from the screaming which the boys could understand and offered her hugs before running off to their girls desperately. Y/N loved Alex to the ends of the earth but dating a lead singer did mean you were left at the side of the stage the longest because he was always the one to cue the lights to go down, this was almost a game to see how long he'd take at each gig she attended. Eventually, Alex got off the stage and smiled so wide at the sight of her, running over and picking her up excitedly.

"Babeh!" He chuckled a bit at his excitement as she clung to him. "We did it!" His voice was getting hoarse since he was supposed to be on vocal rest. Y/N pulled him for a kiss to shut him up which Alex of course didn't mind, it was the only polite way to keep him quiet.

She got down and looked at him like he was a god, noticing his messy hair after and giggling. "Al, you look like a lion" She tried to tame it slightly but it was too far gone plus he looked too cute to try to amend perfection. He smiled back like she was an angel before him and shrugged.

"You seem t' like it tho.." Alex hummed as he wrapped an arm around her waist, attempting to lead her backstage so they could both rest after all the raucous. She smiled and looked down, nodding, "perhaps…" as she followed Alex back to the dressing room, letting him rub her side as the crowd became quieter and quieter.

----------------------------------------------------------

Alex opened the door and held it for Y/N, "Ladies first, me love." Y/N slightly swooned at his gentlemanly moves. Even if she was used to his actions, the looks and gravitas of Alex Turner would forever be a shock of her system. She waltzed in and essentially fell onto the sofa from the exhaustion of jumping around for 2 hours, making Alex chuckle softly at the sight.

"You ok, babeh?" He sat on the arm of the chair, coughing as his voice squeaks due to the laryngitis he was facing; frankly the fact he even went out on stage was a feat for only the best. Y/N offered him a sympathetic look and a nod, mumbling out a small "tired." with a whine.

As they shared a moment of mutual sympathy, Alex attempted to pull Y/N to sit up gently so she could lay in his lap from the sofa as he rested his voice, just so she knew that he was there for her, even if he couldn't say it. Y/N complied and Alex's hand found it's way into her hair to softly stroke it as he looked down at her with awe and love. She was his, the muse in every word he wrote, the light of his life. He just hoped she knew it.

Y/N shut her eyes and hummed to herself to fill the silence of where Alex's words would usually occupy, much to his joy. Everything felt perfect in this moment. If the festival hadn't felt like a milestone, this comedown was a haven well deserved. Alex's gaze never left her face, studying it like it was the first time he'd ever seen it: tender touches traced her jaw and cheek. This made Y/N giggle slightly, remaining serene amazingly.

"Alexander, that tickles." One of her eyes opened up for a second to see his reaction with a sweet smile. What voice Alex had left was a breathy, squeaky mess so to avoid being compared to his younger self, he offered a cheeky shrug and a poke on the cheek. Y/N noticed and thought to herself: "Do you want some tea?" She tried to sit up as she voiced her concern for him.

This wasn't just an offer of a beverage and the pair of them knew that: Y/N wanted to look after a very sickly Alex. Being the man of the relationship, he had been handling laryngitis "well" or in actuality, he hadn't been able to have a smoke for a week and lay on the tour bus bunk for hours at a time. However this was not a usual Alex is ill situation, it was Glastonbury and a continuing tour after it: there was little time for reluctance nor resistance to being looked after for Alex. He nodded and let her go to the kettle as he sat on the sofa silently, putting his feet up which Y/N smiled at softly as she turned back to look at him, exchanging a look of "it'll be ok baby".

----------------------------------------------------------

On the table that housed the kettle, also sat the record player which Alex always requested on the rider: a man who loved his profession didn't cover it. If Alex wasn't performing, the 8 track or gramophone filled the fleeting seconds until the next time he was on stage. Naturally Y/N got the record from before the show back on, much to Alex's enjoyment as he hummed out as if to say "good job" and leaned his head back. Y/N leaned against the table as the kettle boiled, watching her boyfriend relax and grinning to herself at the sight of Alex Turner relaxing for once in his busy life.

"You good?" Y/N joked, checking he was alright since this was odd for her to see. Alex offered her a thumbs up and a stupid smile, making Y/N actually laugh and narrow her eyes at his need to one-up her joke. Alex's wide smile and her genuine chuckle was rudely interrupted by the click of the kettle going off, leading them to both jump at it which only prompted another soft laugh and gaze between them. Y/N turned back to the table to make their tea, making sure to do it perfectly for Alex, he only deserves the best.

"Now I know it's not beer or the best rolled, organic cigarette but… I think I make a good cuppa." Y/N said all cutely as she set the drink down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Alex smiled softly and sat up, gazing at her with such a grateful look. No words were needed for Y/N to understand how much Alex loved her and appreciated this. She scurried off to get her tea and came to sit with him, leaning on his shoulder to stay close to him and holding her cup in her hands to stay warm.

"I don't know if you need to hear this because I think the crowd said it for you.." Y/N whispered to him as she continued, "but I'm so fucking proud of you, there's no band that could do that 3 times that well as the monkeys…" Alex immediately turned to her and kissed her temple with need after that reassurance, not being able to thank her vocally. Y/N lit up and sipped her tea before cuddling into him more and sighing. "I'm glad I'm here, to watch you do this…" Y/N just gushed on and on about the band and himself, not quite finding the words specifically but talking like she couldn't ever stop praising him.

Alex's smile felt permanent as far as he was concerned, just the way she made him feel was like a drug and he was so ready to be able to talk properly again so he could tell her that but alas, here he was, non verbal with tea in his hands and a sore throat. "I love ya." Alex squeaked out and blushed slightly, "Sorry luv, it's like we're back int boardwalk, aye?" He continued into the joke to hide the disdain he had for his voice right now.

Y/N smiled brightly and shrugged, "I'd still kiss 20 year old Alex, don't you worry. His voice was cute too…but don't let him out just to talk to me. Vocal rest, Turner." She scolded him slightly but it was all in the name of love and wanting him well again. Alex nodded and smirked at the comment, looking her up and down to be funny, making Y/N tap him softly. "Behave yourself, not like that." Alex was content with that answer and sipped his own drink, listening to the music that filled the room.

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As cups drained and cuddles were exchanged, Alex and Y/N's eyes became heavy with warmth and comfort; "Do we need to go back to the hotel?" Y/N mumbled out, followed by a yawn. Alex hummed in response as he nodded with shut eyes. Stretching and leaving Alex's arms, Y/N giggled slightly, "are we that old now where we won't even enjoy Glastonbury after hours?", causing Alex to crack up a bit. Alex looked at her and shrugged like "yeah and what about it?, the smug persona hadn't left since the last time they were at the festival, just it wasn't to get a girl but in fact, a bed to sleep in with the love of his life.

"Back in a sec." Y/N got up and went to leave to find Steve or anyone from the crew to get the pair of them a ride to the hotel. It was a benefit of dating a rockstar, she got what she wanted with more included but honestly Alex's needs were shared right now. Once the ride was confirmed, she returned to Alex and packed their stuff they desperately needed, anything that the crew wouldn't be able to get them later. Alex came to help and yawned as they waited for the knock on the door to leave. His hand found its way to her waist again, it was his way of keeping her safe within the feeling of fame; plus he knew she liked it. She smiled up at him and rubbed her eyes as the knock came at the door as the cue to go.

They snuck out of the dressing room and out of the back to their security, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in this massive festival where Alex was already under a lot of pressure. If he was seen ill and half asleep, the NME would have it on the website in an hour. They stayed hidden, heads down and walking fast to that car on the other side of the festival. Luckily, the paps only caught what they couldn't see as the pair stepped into the car and sped off to their hotel.

Alex sighed out and looked over at Y/N who was already looking at him. That knowing gaze was unstoppable at that point. It took a lot to get the rockstar away from the music but for Y/N, the golden boy of Glastonbury Festival would call it a night.

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[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Nine

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i love angst and i love it when roy acts like a middle aged white woman at a wine party where he laughs too loud and pretends he's having a great time just to get through it all

Word count: 6.5k

Chapter Nine

After a few weeks, you’d already got used to the tube journey from Richmond to Somerset House. You reluctantly found out that, despite London being one city and the tube routes being easy, it was so fucking huge that it took you almost an hour to get to work. Maybe that was your fault for staying in Richmond instead of moving, but you didn’t mind a longer commute into the City of London if that meant you got to stay put.

Pluto Press was unique, and you felt proud to have a position there. Your desk was by the window, looking over the Strand outside. Your colleagues were nice, and you got to work alongside artists and writers wherever you went. It was like a dream come true. Which was why, as you arrived home on the Friday of your second week, you couldn’t understand why you felt so… shit. You felt lonely, isolated, and so overtired that you were certain your brain wasn’t working at full capacity. You missed the team at AFC Richmond, talks with Keeley and Rebecca, Ted’s american jokes– Roy.

Since his last game, Roy had gone off the grid. You were lucky if you randomly saw him out and about in Richmond. You’d attempted to meet up with him after his retirement press conference, a month after the end of your placement and his injury, but to no avail. And even now, staring at your phone, glass of wine in your hand as you settled in for another Friday night alone, you had the urge to text him. You downed your wine before you did, and dropped the glass onto your coffee table as you opened up Roy’s and yours text chain. Then, you typed:

Are you coming to the game tomorrow? I’d love to see you!

Enthusiasm wasn’t the key to Roy’s heart, but you’d run out of options to get him to respond. It was only a friendly match, anyway, since the season was still a few months out. You wanted to imagine him there tomorrow, black shirt and black leather jacket donned, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he settled into his seat at the Dogtrack– not as a player, but as an admirer, maybe. 

When you sat in the owner’s box the next day, with the whistle about to be blown, you couldn’t stop calling yourself an idiot. Why the fuck would Roy want to come back here, of all places? The pitch where he played his last game, the stadium where he trained for his last season ever, surrounded by the people who got to keep playing after he all but faded away. 

You settled into your seat with a sour taste in your mouth and a frown on your face. Keeley squeezed your hand affectionately. “You okay, babe?” she asked. 

You shook your head, trying to get yourself out of this hole. “I asked Roy to come,” you told her. “Stupid, really.”

Keeley frowned at you empathetically. “ You tried, babe, but I think that’s all we can do right now after his retirement.”

You nodded, feeling sick. “Yeah.” You forced yourself to perk up, to focus on the positives, and abruptly shot up from your seat. “Come on, Richmond!” you screamed into the void, in some attempt to make you feel better about it all. 

That feeling only lasted so many days. By Tuesday of the next week, you were back to feeling overwhelmed, overtired, and so lonely that you genuinely didn’t know what to do with yourself. Most of your colleagues at work didn’t live anywhere near the west, so you were forced to leave after work drinks early, or not go at all, just to get home at a reasonable hour. 

The walk from Richmond station to your flat was becoming so dull that you could hardly stand it. One Thursday in the beginning of July, you elected to cut through Richmond Green and travel a longer route home, just to stop your brain from imploding. You left the station in the complete opposite direction to your flat, and said fuck it in your head. You passed over the green, treading along the concrete paving around the edge, until you reached Mae’s pub. 

To your surprise, inside you saw the unmistakable moustache of one Ted Lasso, sitting opposite the familiar hat donned by one Coach Beard. Your heart soared, and you bound into the pub before you could tell yourself to slow the fuck down. Ted spotted you as soon as you entered the bar, and stood up immediately. You realigned your direction of movement and took a hard right, heading straight towards the coaches.

“Well, howdy–!” You wrapped your arms around him before he’d even finished speaking. The happy smile on his face quickly dropped to a confused frown. Ted embraced you warmly, and it was clear to see that something was very wrong. “Hey–” He was going to ask if you were alright, but he stopped himself. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

Beard peered up at the two of you, his face stoney and thoughtful. His finger tapped on his chin in subtle curiosity and concern. Ted didn’t urge you to say anything, not for those few moments where he held you tightly. Beard gestured to Mae at the bar, and whispered “One lager, please, Mae. On our tab.” She brought it over in a matter of seconds, and you finally pulled away from Ted long enough to suck in a breath. 

You glanced at the beer on the table for you. “Thank you, Mae,” you croaked, turning to look at her as she strolled back to the bar. She smiled at you warmly, and you finally took a seat alongside the coaches. “Sorry, Coach. Didn’t mean to ambush you,” you breathed out. 

“I don’t mind it, not when it’s you who’s doing the ambushing,” Ted said, taking a sip of his beer and waving it off like it was nothing. 

“Seems to me like there’s something going on,” Beard chimed in, and took a sip of beer to mimic Ted before him. His eyes seemed mischievous, like he was looking for gossip, but that was generally what Beard looked like when he wanted to know something. He was like an old, wise owl. He placed his beer back on the table. “It’s either that, or I just haven’t noticed that you’ve always looked like you’re in the middle of an existential crisis.”

“Very funny,” you let out, tapping your glass anxiously. “I’d go with the former over the latter, Beard.” 

“I know,” he said, before he smiled at you knowingly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You frowned at the table while Ted and Beard waited patiently for you to open up. You felt silly. How could you put your loneliness into words when it felt so unnatural? You had no reason to feel so terrible. You had a great new job, lived in a gorgeous neighbourhood, and had everything you could possibly want in life. You had the guys, and couldn’t wait until the season started up again in a few months, despite them being relegated to the Championship. You had Keeley and Rebecca, two strong and powerful women who you could confide in and rely on if you really needed to. You had… Well, that was just it. 

Did you really have Roy anymore? 

“It’s so stupid,” you started, trying to keep yourself steady, but all composure went out of the window as soon as those three words left your lips. “I have no reason to be this way. My new job is fucking fantastic, and I still get to live in Richmond, in my flat that I love so much, and I still get to go to games and see the guys and walk to Nelson Road across the green. This is all so fucking stupid.” You smacked your hands over your face in frustration. “I have no reason to feel this alone.” Your words were muffled beneath your palms, but Ted and Beard still glanced at each other with concern. 

“You’re feeling lonely?” Ted asked gently. 

You dragged your hands down your cheeks and sniffed through your snotty nose. “A little bit.” 

“A little bit.” Beard mimicked you. You scoffed abruptly, and it felt good just for a second.

Ted shuffled next to you, and readied himself to speak. “Lemme tell you something about loneliness,” he started. “When you feel it, you always feel silly. You feel like a dang moron, because all it does is make you think about all the people you have in your life that are there to listen to you, yet when you reach out, you pretend not to feel that loneliness, am I right?” 

You remembered the text you’d sent to Roy. So over enthusiastic in some attempt to hide how awful you’d been feeling. When he didn’t respond, or give you any indication that he’d even read your message, it just made you feel even worse. If you’d been honest, maybe he would have been more inclined to reply.

You nodded at Ted in understanding. “It’s hard sometimes. To tell people close to you that you’re struggling.” 

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Ted said. “That’s the catch, ain’t it? You wanna keep things light, you wanna keep things happy, but sometimes you can’t. And that’s alright. It’s okay to feel lonely, and tired, and tearful. Don’t beat yourself up for any of that.” 

You held onto Ted’s words for dear life. You’d never understand how he was able to be so optimistic, so constantly happy. No one was truly like that, so you bet it was all a bit of an act. Even so, Ted had a way of getting through to you. His words resonated, and you found yourself listening to him more than shrugging him off. He was good to you. You had the small green, army man that he’d given you for good luck, in your pocket or your bag constantly, moving it around like a chapstick from garment to garment. 

Even now, as you gently stuck your hand into your jacket pocket, the army man was there. Gun raised, knees bent in a defensive stance, ready to protect you. 

“Have you… heard from Roy?” you asked. 

Beard looked at Ted sullenly, almost, and you understand immediately. “Roy will be Roy,” Ted said, smiling at you halfheartedly. “His retirement press conference, though– jeez, it didn’t half tug on my heartstrings, here.”

“The end of an era,” Beard said, widening his eyes with grandeur. 

“I haven’t seen him since the Man City game in May,” you said. “Two months.”

“He’ll come around eventually,” Ted said, trying to reassure you, but you were sure that nothing but seeing Roy’s face in person would be able to do that. Ted suddenly perked up. “Anyway, how’s the new job! Got some new friends? Got some new besties? Oh– have you met anyone special yet?”

If you didn’t already know Ted, this would be incredibly out of the blue. But, you did know him. He was sweet, and kind, and capable of distracting you from your sadness. He made you feel welcome, and loved, and thought about. And– he made you roll your eyes to oblivion. 

You did just that, rolled your eyes into your skull with a smile on your face. “Job is great, but the dating pool is still very much dry, Ted.”

“Dang it!” he exclaimed. “Maybe the guys were right, all those months ago, huh? You should get on some dating apps, just for funzies.”

“Keeley has been wanting me to try out one, to be honest. It’ll only be a matter of time before she forces all of you guys to get on it,” you said, pointing at Ted and Beard in warning. “It’s called… um– something with a B. Like, Bantz, or Bumz. I don’t know.” You waved your hand in front of your face, giving up on remembering. 

“Might be worth a try all the same?” Ted said, egging you on. 

You sat for a moment, thinking, before you nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I should put myself out there, yeah?”

“Heck yeah,” Ted said enthusiastically. “No harm in it, right?”

Was there any harm in it? Surely not. You were a single woman, you were free to branch out. But, underneath it all, there was still something that held you back. Without meaning to, Roy’s head popped into the back of your mind. All that you’d shared over your year at Richmond, that unspoken thing that fluctuated between you. 

You thought back to his final game then, as you remembered it all. The gentle way you held each other’s faces as you knelt on the floor beneath him, just to be close, just to let him know that you were there. The soft way he’d draped his arm over your shoulder as the team gathered after relegation. Despite the loss, and the end of his career, Roy had still laughed alongside the guys. His fingers had skimmed over your knuckles under those fluorescent lights, noticed by everyone, but it had all gone unsaid. It didn’t need to be mentioned, not when everyone had known this was bound to happen eventually. 

You and him, him and you. It fit, didn’t it? 

But, with the silence of the past few months, you didn’t know anymore. Maybe it was just the proximity, the familiarity of being around each other, that had made you believe it all to be so. Roy hadn’t said a word to you in months, hadn’t tried to. Had it all been in your mind?

As you finished your pint with Ted and Beard, talking about the new season, you forced yourself to stop thinking about Roy. You’d let him know you were there, and it had gone unreciprocated. As much as a part of you still yearned for him to be near, you had to stop putting in effort when he wasn’t trying to do the same to you. 

The name of the dating app was Bantr, and as soon as you messaged Keeley to say you were doing it, she replied with a winky face. You scoffed to yourself as you filled out your profile, and within an hour had got chatting to a guy from Richmond. 

The thing about Bantr; it was anonymous. You knew ages, and usernames, and location, but not actual names, or looks. It was a refreshing change from other apps, and you found yourself having a great conversation. Within a week, you’d already arranged to go out for dinner in the town.

As you walked to your date, a week or so after seeing Ted and Beard, you spoke to Keeley on the phone for a pep talk. 

“What if he’s ugly? Or boring?” you said. 

“Give it a chance, babes, you haven’t even met him yet!”

“I know, I know. I don’t think I was made for dating apps, honestly,” you let out, laughing to yourself to avoid a proper anxious meltdown. You thought you looked quite good, as you wore the same jumpsuit that you had for the charity ball last year. It was amongst the only fancy clothes you fucking owned. 

“You’ll get used to it. How long has it been, anyway?”

“Since I’ve got some, or since I’ve been on a date?” you joked. 

Keeley cackled down the phone. “The date. No– both.”

“A long time. For both, unfortunately.” You could practically feel Keeley grimacing.

“Go and get some then, babes,” she urged you on. “You never know, he might be your soulmate.”

You felt sick immediately, and frowned in disgust. “Ew, stop talking like that. Soulmates aren’t real. And if they were, I doubt I would meet him on Bantr.”

“Stop being so cynical,” she said, like a teacher telling off a student. “Take it from me– even if he’s not your soulmate, still try and have a good time, alright?”

You laughed softly. “Alright,” you gave in. 

“You deserve some fun! Promise me you'll have fun,” Keeley said sternly. You would never be able to deny her. 

“I promise,” you let out, alongside a smile. 

“Tell me everything. Love you.”

“Love you too, babes,” you said, before you hung up. 

You dropped your phone into your bag, and inhaled sharply as you made your way into the restaurant. Maybe this would be a good thing. A change of pace, something to get you back out there into the real world. As you waited at the bar, you shoved away the thought of Roy from your head. He didn’t belong there anymore, not when he’d made no attempt to stay close. 

Rebecca had been right. Footballers were dangerous. Especially the ones who pretended not to care. 

You spent the first twenty minutes of your date wondering if you were being pranked. There had to be a camera crew round the corner, there had to be some presenter who would pop out and tell you it was all a massive joke– because he was gorgeous. 

Lucas was his name. He had a face that lit up a room, and a voice that whacked you in the chest. For a week, you’d been discussing books, films and all the things you enjoyed over text. That didn’t change when you were face to face, but the accompaniment of seeing his face was definitely a plus. He bought you drinks, and was interested when you spoke, and all the things you’d been dying for over the past few years of being chronically single. 

“You’re new to the area, aren’t you?” he asked, as you finished your main courses. 

“Partially,” you said, tapping your wine glass. “I moved here last year for a masters degree.”

“Oh, fantastic. In what?”

You let out a breath. “It’s sort of a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” he said, smiling. “We still haven’t had dessert.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he was utterly perfect. You told him everything. The mix up from the university, the placement being at AFC Richmond, of all places. You spoke about your time there in depth, not even realising that you’d been whittling on about the guys, and Ted and Beard, for a while. By the time you were done, your dessert plates were thoroughly devoured, and you’d both moved onto something a little stronger. Lucas swilled a whiskey, and you clutched onto a gin and tonic. 

“That sounds like an awfully big adventure,” Lucas said, awestruck, when you were finally finished. 

“It was a blessing in disguise, really,” you said, smiling to yourself as all the memories of the year came flooding back. “I still got a position at Pluto Press, and I got to know some of the best people I’ve ever known. Luck was really on my side for this one, I think.”

“Definitely sounds like it,” Lucas said, gawking at you with eyes that only made you feel one thing; heard. “So, you’re still friends with them all?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. I saw Ted and Beard last week, actually. They convinced me to get on Bantr, funnily enough.”

“Well,” Lucas said softly. “You’ll have to thank them the next time you see them. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” Your heart lurched in your chest. You fought the urge to look away and cool your face down by fanning your hands. “Also, you need to do me a favour,” he continued, and you smiled questioningly. 

“What’s that?”

“I was a big Chelsea fan growing up, the biggest, if you can imagine it,” Lucas said. “My favourite player of all time was number six, Roy Kent.” Your heart dropped into your gut. When before it had been pumping happily, it was now a stone in your stomach, ready to be ejected through your windpipe. “The next time you see him, can you get me his autograph?”

You stopped breathing for a moment, from a lack of what to say. As soon as Lucas saw your face, he changed his demeanour immediately. 

He leant forward and looked at you with a gentle smile. “I’m totally joking,” he said quickly. You could breathe again, and found yourself stuttering out some chuckles of relief. “It was a joke, truly,” he repeated himself. 

The two of you shared some awkward laughter, but you were thankful it was all a bit of fun. “You scared me,” you said. “You don’t know Roy. If I asked for an autograph he’d fully think I’d gone mad.”

“You seem to know him quite well,” Lucas figured out. “I’m probably barking up the wrong tree, but he doesn’t seem like the friendly type.”

Your chest burst with the need to defend him immediately. “That’s not true at all. Don’t believe what the press says,” you said quickly. “Roy is… he’s… well– an arseshole, completely, but…” You swallowed, allowing yourself to think of him, just this once. “He’s also one of the kindest people I know.”

Lucas smiled, satisfied. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. 

He paid the bill, and batted away every attempt you gave to pay half of it. As the two of you left the restaurant, Lucas put his arm out for you. You took it graciously, and the two of you walked back into town together. He walked you to your door as you continued your conversation, and when he rose up the steps to your building, he gently let your arm go. 

“I had a really lovely time tonight,” he said. 

“Me too,” you smiled. You meant it. 

“I’d really like to see you again,” he said strongly, before he backed up slightly. “Only if that was something that you wanted, as well, of course.”

You were already laughing by the time he’d finished. “I would love that, yes.”

“Great,” he said. “I’ll call you?”

You nodded, and he nodded too, both of you smiling like two school children who’d just discovered crushes on the other. As he left, you watched him walk away and around the corner. You felt giddy, you felt content, and you couldn’t believe it had all gone so well. Part of you was certain it was all too good to be true, but you followed Keeley’s advice as you entered your flat. You told yourself not to overthink it, to let yourself have a good time, to embrace something going well for once. 

Even so, as you got ready for bed at home, your mind kept flashing back to Roy. He was part of you, and it was impossible to ignore it all. As much as you shouldn’t have, you felt guilty. You and Roy had never been a thing, never gone there, yet you felt like you’d betrayed him, almost. The happiness from your beautiful evening quickly descended into sadness. You’d never felt more lonely than this, despite having a lovely meal with a gorgeous man. 

You dropped yourself onto your sofa, and brought out your phone. Quickly, you clicked on Roy’s name and began typing out a message. You sent it before your slightly drunk self could take it back, choosing to be honest with him for once in your life. 

I miss you. 

As the season kicked off, you focused on work. You applied yourself generously, and were hanging out with your colleagues in the city even more so. You took Keeley’s and Ted’s advice on board– you opened yourself up to more. You went on a few more dates on Bantr, including a second date with Lucas, over the next few weeks. 

None of them had worked out well, apart from Lucas himself. He’d kissed you after your second date, and you’d had to tell yourself not to invite him into your flat for a drink. You didn’t want to rush it all, didn’t want to dive into something that you were enjoying at this pace. Despite being in need– desperately, if you were being honest– you held yourself to a higher standard than that. Not that there was anything wrong with having fun and sleeping around, but you were out of practice. You’d rather sleep with someone you knew a bit more, before jumping straight in. 

Lucas seemed fine with that, too. He made an active effort to call you occasionally, and you’d both talk about work or your plans or your friends and family. He made you laugh, and that was a big green flag in your eyes. 

“So, when are you going to fuck?” Keeley said, and you scoffed abruptly. You both sat in the owner’s box at the Dogtrack, watching Richmond’s third match of the Championship season. July was well and truly over, as the second week of August had just begun. 

Still– nothing from Roy. You’d stopped caring to count the days. 

“Not everything has to be about sex,” you hit back. 

“Sure, I know that. But if he’s really as gorgeous as you say, why the fuck haven’t you yet? Are you playing hard to get?”

“Absolutely not. If anything I probably reply too fast to his messages,” you said. “I just… I don’t want to rush. We’re having fun, and he’s lovely, and– I just don’t need to worry about when sex is going to happen or not happen.” You made yourself believe the words you were saying, but you were definitely lying.

Keeley saw straight through you. “It’s going to happen on your next date, isn’t it?”

“God, I fucking hope so,” you burst. “It’s been over a year for me, you know.”

“A year? Like– a calendar year?”

You nodded severely, like it was the worst thing in the world that you hadn’t been dicked down in over 365 days. Since moving to Richmond, you’d never had the opportunity to, if you thought about it. You had your work colleagues, who overlapped as your friends. Shitting where you ate was always a bad idea, especially with a bunch of footballers. As much as they were all gorgeous in their own ways, you couldn’t imagine sleeping with any of them– well, except…

“What about Roy?” Keeley’s tone changed to something much softer. Her gaze hit you gently, and her eyes told you it was okay to open up to her. “You didn’t ever… you know.”

You frowned as soon as she brought him up. You shook your head, not knowing what else to say. When Roy was brought to your attention now, all you felt was anger. Red, burning rage, penetrating deep into your bones. Your prior loneliness and sadness had turned to being pissed off. 

“No. We never did.” Your voice was blunt, plain, so devoid of anything other than severity, that you hated the way you sounded. You let out a sigh, and told yourself to push forward. “He’s a footballer, Keeley. And you know exactly what he’s like. Maybe I thought something was there, but it’s been three fucking months. He hasn’t contacted me at all, and honestly– I’m done with it.”

Keeley quickly dropped her hand into your lap, clutching her fingers over your own. She smiled at you. “Screw him. You’re so much better than you were last month, so fucking screw him.”

You smiled at her, feeling your anger dissipate. You were lucky to have her, Keeley, because she wholeheartedly understood you. She supported you, and held you when you needed to be held, and yelled encouragement at you when you needed it, too. It was then, as Richmond failed to score a goal, and subsequently performed their third tie of their season so far, that you couldn’t wait for her to meet Lucas. Maybe this would turn into something great, if you only let yourself fall into it. 

A week later, across the green and beyond his neighbourhood, Roy stared at his phone for the umpteenth time that day. He had no new messages, no missed calls, not even any notifications from Dominos or Pizza Hut. He counted the days in his head– thirty-four– since you’d last contacted him. That message, the last one you’d sent him, saying you missed him; he still found his gut coiling and his chest compressing when he thought about it. 

As he oversaw his under 9’s girls football team on the pitch, he slotted his phone back into his tracksuit. This was all getting to be too much for him– missing you, avoiding Richmond, growing out his fucking hair– but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this after-retirement slump. 

He regretted the conference. Putting his heart on the line at the end of his career, bursting into tears behind the microphone and in front of the press. You’d messaged him about that, too, saying that you were proud of him, that you wanted to see him, that it’d been a while. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was a prick, he knew that more than anyone, and the fact that he was actively avoiding you and other people who gave a shit, made him feel even worse about it all. 

It only made him want to stay away more. 

Maybe he could coach these under 9’s for the rest of his life, and live in seclusion, only interrupted by his yoga mums and an occasional glass of rosé. 

He entered his house that evening, grabbing a beer as soon as he did. He popped off the top, and glugged back a few gulps. The evenings were bright in summer, and it only made his house feel emptier. He glanced around his living room, skimming his eyes over his overflowing bookshelves, when he caught a look at your article. 

He’d framed it, and placed it in the middle of his homemade cards from Phoebe. As much as it stung him to look at now, it was a reminder of you. Those months together at Richmond, his final game, all of it. He thought of it all more often than he wanted, as his mind roamed and landed upon things that only made him feel worse. Going from playing football everyday to this was a big change. It hurt his heart profusely, but he knew it was partly his own doing.

He’d cut himself off from everyone, shut himself away for the foreseeable future. In some ways, he felt he deserved it. He’d battered away every attempt at people to reach out. You, Ted, Keeley; their names sat in his phone with messages from over a month ago that he’d never responded to. He gulped back more of his beer as he started getting angry at himself, and a split second decision had him finishing his drink and grabbing his house keys. He left his empty house and headed into town, as the sun still shone high over Richmond. 

You hugged Lucas as you approached the bar, and your table outside. He kissed you on the cheek affectionately, before he pulled out your chair. You sat, and he confidently waved over a waitress to take your drink orders. 

This was nice. Your third date, and neither of you could get enough of the other. You sipped on wine and talked about your daily lives, sharing jokes over some olives, as the sun skittered across the lush outside space of a central Richmond bar. 

“How are they doing?” Lucas asked, popping an olive into his mouth. 

“Not good,” you said. “They’ve tied three games in a row. Not the best after relegation, really.” You shrugged, picturing Sam’s sullen face after the game last week. 

They were all so tired, all so capable, but they’d lost Roy. It was doing a number on all of them. They missed their ex-captain.

“Hm, that’s a shame. What do you reckon is holding them back?” he asked. 

You often felt giddy when Lucas asked you about football. He listened to what you had to say, took on board your points, and thought you knew a lot more about the sport in general. It was a welcomed change from what the guys at the club had thought of your knowledge. 

“Lots of things, I suppose,” you said, taking a sip of your drink before you started. “Having Ted and Beard was always going to be a learning curve, but that wasn’t the reason for their relegation. Jamie Tartt was taken back by Man City a few months before the end of their previous season, which drastically made things worse, amongst other things.”

Other things being Roy. 

“Other things?” Lucas said, and you wished he hadn’t. 

You were trying this thing where you didn’t bring up Roy when you didn’t need to. It had helped you a lot so far, over the past few weeks, and kept your moods happier in general. When you thought of him, it was often difficult to get him out of your mind again. It only ever reminded you of the past few months of silence, and no one needed to be in the firing line for that– except him. 

Nevertheless, you sucked in a breath, and drank a large gulp of your wine, before you forced yourself to continue. “Well, their final game of last season. Other than the loss, and the relegation itself, they were definitely shaken up by–” You stopped, but not because of anything in your mind. 

Your heart catapulted into your throat when your eyes focused on him. Black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans. His hair had grown out. He looked scruffy, and unkempt, and all the things that he hadn’t only a few months ago. You noticed his limp first, next to the steely gaze that he shot to the world around him. 

“Roy.” His name burst from your mouth.

He was fast approaching, about to pass the bar, and you didn’t want him to spot you. You weren’t in the mood to see him now. You wanted to enjoy your date, and get laid afterwards, and not think about him ever. 

Lucas hummed and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Losing Roy must have been a big change for them, you’re right.”

“No– uh,” you said, suddenly leaning forward to clutch onto Lucas’s arm. “Can we go inside? I suddenly have a really bad chill.”

Lucas widened his eyes at you in concern, but he didn’t seem to catch on. “Really? It’s still quite warm. I can grab you a blanket, would that help?” he suggested. God dammit he was so considerate, and kind, but you didn’t think a blanket would fix this. Panic set in tenfold.

You rethought your escape plan. “I– I’ll go to the loo, and grab one on my way out,” you said frantically, standing up far too quickly. 

Your leg hit the table abruptly, sending a sharp pain through your kneecap. You squeaked, and your glass toppled over suddenly. It was too late to be stopped, as it fell from the table and smashed upon the floor. Glass shards littered the concrete, and your presence was alerted to everyone at the bar, and beyond. 

Lucas got up swiftly, and clutched your arm. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. 

“Yeah, I just–” You looked up, and you froze. 

Roy Kent stopped walking, as his eyes focused on your face. You felt your blood boil uncomfortably beneath your skin, as his gaze took in the panicked expression on your brow. The jig was up. He’d spotted you, due to your utter clumsiness, and a wave of upset ravaged in your chest. 

The first thing Roy thought when he saw you, was how much you were glowing. You hadn’t glowed like that in a while, not unless he counted the night of the charity ball, or when you’d interviewed him in his dining room. The sun settled over your shocked expression, a look that should have made you look scary, like a deer in headlights, but it only made his heart lurch. 

There was a man before you, clutching onto your arm as he asked you if you were okay again. He rounded the table and held you close, and as he did you finally looked away. You smiled at him, clearly embarrassed that you’d broken a glass and whacked yourself. That look was one that Roy recognised– you’d looked at him that like many times before.

This is what he’d allowed himself to pass by. You, and drinks in the summer, chatting over a bowl of olives as you swished a straw into a spritzer or got froth on your upper lip from a beer. He was a fucking idiot. Roy told himself this was it. He could either go over, and get you back– get it all back– or he could miss this opportunity and never fucking try. When he started walking again, you snapped your gaze back at him in warning. 

Roy chose to ignore it.

You could’ve punched him.

“What was that all about–?” Lucas said, as he followed your gaze. He stopped short as soon as he saw Roy, and smiled excitedly as he looked back at you. “Is that… Roy Kent?”

You inhaled sharply, deeply, trying to calm yourself down as a wave of anger rose from within you. “Yes. Yes, it is,” you said, giving up. There was a look on Roy’s face that you knew well, that fake smile that he put on for people, when he was pretending to be a joking version of himself.

“What a coincidence!” Lucas exclaimed. 

You hummed, trying to keep your tone light. “Massive,” you said bluntly. 

As Roy stepped towards you both, you felt your chest crumble ever so slightly. Lucas peered at him like an awestruck kid. This was the last thing you’d ever wanted to fucking happen. 

Roy gestured to the broken glass on the floor. “Think you dropped something.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you said, as you inhaled his words for the first time in three months. Alongside your anger, you felt your throat start to close. Seeing his face again after so long was a hit. 

“Roy Kent,” Lucas said happily, sticking his hand out. Roy shot you an amused look as he leaned in and shook it. “Big fan. I’ve heard a lot about you from this one,” he said, gesturing to you affectionately. 

“Have you now?” Roy said. The sweet way he was talking was all a farce. He was playing nice for your sake, but you had a horrible feeling that he was going to go overboard. 

“Yes. All bad things,” you said, smiling sarcastically. Lucas laughed loudly, and Roy smiled overenthusiastically, like someone at a pantomime performance. It was incredibly off-putting, and made you feel slightly sick. It was probably overlaid from the deep panic you felt in your gut, amongst other things. 

Roy and Lucas parted. As they did, Lucas peered down at you. He took one look at your face– your gaze stuck on Roy bluntly and trying not to scream– and utterly misinterpreted your emotions. “Would you care to join us for a drink?” he asked Roy. 

You sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, he’s–”

“You know what,” Roy cut over you. “I’d love to.”

After a year of knowing him, you knew this was it– this would finally be the time you punched Roy Kent in his fucking face. 

CHAPTER TEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff@ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum  @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7

[twopoppies]

Artists don't headline Glastonbury for the fee. The organiser Emily Eavis has gone on record to say they have never paid more than £500k even to Elton and Guns n Roses. Harry is not going to go into negotiations demanding £1m or something because he'd never get it. The prestige of headlining the world's most iconic festival is enough.

https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/how-much-glastonbury-headliners-paid-33104817

Yeah, I have no idea about how festivals are run, or about Glastonbury specifically. Thanks for the info and the link. This makes a ton of sense, and honestly, this makes that whole receipt seem super fake.

Dua Lipa received around £200,000 for her headline slot - but she is expected to plough a large percentage of that fee back into her performance and “elaborate” set to make the show as spectacular as possible. Sometimes artists perform at Glastonbury and make a LOSS once they factor in their touring, crew and set costs. Dua is said to have thrown “everything” at the set and production…suggesting an eye-watering amount of money. She recently promised a night of "non-stop, relentless fun" on the night.

Festival co-organiser Emily Eavis, youngest daughter of the festival's founder Michael Eavis, confirmed that artists get paid 10 percent less than what they are typically paid by other festivals. That is because Glastonbury prefers to donate £2million to charities every year, which dispels the myth that some headliners are paid £1million - the number is likely much lower. In a 2017 interview with BBC Radio 6, she explained: "We're not in a situation where we're able to just give people enormous amounts of money. So we're really grateful for the bands that we get because they're basically doing it for the love of it."

Founder Michael once revealed that Coldplay and Paul McCartney were both paid around £200,000 for past headline sets. He said at the time: "Although it sounds a lot, they could have charged me far more." The exact number each 2024 headliner receives will be kept under wraps, but in an interview with Metro, a music consultant specialising in live music venues and festivals, Lyle Bignon, said of 2023’s headliners: "The likes of Elton John and Guns N' Roses, who have decades of global fame behind them, can likely command higher prices running into the £250,000+ range." But there is a limit, no matter how huge the star is. In an interview with Somerset Live, Bestival organiser Rob Da Bank revealed that Glastonbury's budget is under £500,000 per headliner. He said: "They cap their budget and even the headliners don't get paid more than 500 grand, I think, which is cheap for some of the headliners and they've had a lot of them."

in reference to this

full article here

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson’s fans love that he’s ‘going gray loudly and proudly’

The singer and former One Direction member is being called a “silver fox” by some fans.

By Liz Calvario

July 1, 2024, 11:49 PM EDT / Source: TODAY

Louis Tomlinson’s latest look has fans loving the singer even more.

The former One Direction member made headlines at Glastonbury Festival after he brought a full-size television to the grounds so he and festival-goers could watch England play Slovakia in the UEFA European Football Championship quarter-finals.

But aside from being called “a legend” for setting up the TV, Tomlinson's fans began praising him for “going gray loudly and proudly.”

In video posted by BBC Somerset, the 32-year-old musician is seen with salt and pepper hair, presumably more than he's rocked in the past year.

His sister, Lottie Tomlinson, also shared a photo of the two of them at the festival on her Instagram story on June 30.

People on social media commented on his gray hairstyle, with one person pushing back at haters by writing, “In this house we love silver fox Louis and no disrespect will be tolerated.”

One X user tweeted about how reassuring it was to see Tomlinson with the lighter locks.

“As my hair has been slowly going white at the sides since I was in my late 20s, it’s surprisingly reassuring to see 32-year-old Louis Tomlinson is greying. It’s natural,” wrote @matthewrimmer.

Another fan wrote that his hair graying is a "process of life."

"Also because he has hair not like other bald men or those who paint their hair to deny any trace of aging," the comment continued. "My man is getting more SEXY."

One fan account also made a poll asking if Tomlinson should dye his hair. "No" was the winner by 87.9%.

Tomlinson's graying locks are nothing new — as his most loyal fans would know.

Back in 2022, the "Bigger Than Me" crooner shared a photo on Instagram of himself celebrating reaching No. 1 on the U.K. charts.

In the pic, Tomlinson, with his broken arm, can be seen with silver hair by his ears.

Since then, the singer — much like 'N Sync's JC Chasez — has embraced his graying hair.

[sapphic-woes]

Kingmaker - Female Eivor x Reader

A/N: I wrote this for no reason in like two hours sorry. Minors DNI

Word count: 1.2k. AO3 LINK

______

"They say the Queen had someone by her side when she first took Wessex back. Someone sworn to her flesh and bone."

You look up as you sweep the palace floor. The girls loved to chatter, but you couldn't blame them. There wasn't much else maids could do to pass the time. You weren't above joining in, but this was a topic you'd never heard before.

The queen was a person of reverence. She ruled righteously and was loved by all. However, she had sworn to never marry another. No matter what man or king came to win her heart, your queen stood firm…

"...because her heart already belongs to another. Her kingmaker." One girl whispers, dusting the walls.

"Are they dead?" Another asks empathetically, frowning at the thought of the queen mourning her dead lover.

"Apparently, the witan were against their love. My father said a plot was formed against them." The girl sweeping with you mutters. You perk up at that.

"A ploy?" Your question makes the girl dusting the walls (Was it Alfwood?) turn to look at you. 

"It was! My mother was in the crowd when it happened. She said the kingmaker always wore a hood, and their voice was hoarse. There, surrounded by the crowd, the witan raised their voices against a single person…

"How can you dare say you've stood with us, heathen? You are the enemy!" The head of the witan snarls, voice booming across the town square. It makes my mother jump, but the hooded figure in the midst of it all remains calm.

"Am I, Lord? The knights of Wessex know I have. I was with them from the Somerset marshes, to Edington, to all the battles that followed. Does that stand for nothing?" The hooded figure was right. My mother and everyone else knew Wessex would have fallen long ago if not for this person. So why were the witan against our savior staying?

"Yet you have tried to convert our Queen and make her worship your idols. I have seen it with my own eyes!" Another member of the witan cries, and the hooded figure pauses, as if stumped. 

The crowd fills with gasps. If the Queen turned away from God, surely Wessex would fall. My mother swallows nervously, glancing at the queen.

"She's heartbroken." Is what my mother said she thought the moment she did. She said the  young queen looked devastated.

The witan–

"Wait, devastated?" You interrupt much to everyone's annoyance. "Sorry, the queen is so stoic, and intimidating…I can't imagine her openly being sad…" Alfwood scoffs.

"Well of course, this was long before we were born. The queen now knows how to hide her emotions, but back then it was different. Anyways…"

The witan spewed insult after insult, and the crowd began to turn on the hooded figure–yet no one was interested in what the queen thought. Newly appointed, she had little power like she does now.

Her twisted expression of grief was clear as day. Surely, she did not want this. However, no one seemed to care, no one except…

"It's alright. We are bonded. You and I." Except for the hooded figure, who looked straight at the queen rather than anyone else.

"I do not apologize for following the faith of my lands. The gods have always guided me, and they shall continue to do so." Her words addressed to the witan cause a stir, yet somehow she remains focused on the queen, and her voice carries over all the other noise.

"You are the woman I could never be. Nor do I wish to be. But you are the only person who can lead this land. That is why I helped put you on the throne…because you are strong enough to stay, even when I'm gone." The queen's eyes shine, yet she doesn't cry.

"I have loved you. Despised you. Fought with and against you so many times over…" A light chuckle comes from the hooded figure. Their head twists up towards the queen, but my mother still can't see the entirety of the figure's face. She only catches vibrant blue eyes that gleam under the sun.

"But it was never less than an honor to serve you, my queen."

"…Then what happened? Did they die?" Alfwood shakes her head. 

"No, my mother said they were exiled from Wessex and never came back…but there are rumors." All the servant girls pause, including you, and Alfwood basks in the attention as she whispers.

"Like forbidden lovers, the kingmaker sneaks into the palace at night! Once a month, under the beautiful moon, with only heaven as their witness–"

"Girls! What did I say about slacking off on the job?" The head maid yells at the top of her lungs, and your little group immediately scatters. You scurry off to sweep another hall, thinking about the story you just heard.

"How romantic…" you whisper, focusing once again on your duties.

—

You arch your back with a soft groan. The head maid was so cruel, giving you extra work as punishment for gossiping on the job. Now you were off to put away the cleaning supplies, too lazy to light a candle as you walk the shadowy halls of the palace.

"...Please….the girls are already gossiping about it…getting caught will only add fuel to the fire–ah, Eivor!"  Your queen's voice makes you jump. What was going on? Why did she sound like that? Who was…oh.

You peek around the corner of the hallway, hands over your mouth. Your queen is pressed against her chamber's door, flushed and moaning as a hooded figure tenderly kisses her neck. Your eyes widen, blushing as you witness such intimacy…and in public nonetheless!

"Do they? Well then, why don't we give them some new material, hm?" A rough voice teasingly murmurs, and you queen laughs breathlessly. Your queen that you admired for her cool demeanor and poised manner was…smiling. She looked free, happy…and in love.

Could it be? 

The broom slips from your hand. The moment it hits the ground, blue eyes snap at you. You squeak, turning away quickly to dart down the way you came.

Blue eyes…a hoarse voice…a hooded figure…!!

— 

Eivor still stares at the end of the hallway, though you know she's just avoiding your gaze.

"...You're a greedy idiot." The Dane nods.

"I'm an opportunistic idiot. The child had no light with her, and she was as quiet as a mouse…" Her piercing gaze shifts back to you.

"...and I was focused on more important things." You can't help but smirk, wrapping your arms around Eivor's neck.

"That child will tell half the entire palace what she saw by tomorrow afternoon, and by night there will be about a hundred more rumors that follow." Eivor hums, lips tickling your jaw.

"My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to my queen?" You giggle as she peppers kisses across your body. Clumsily, you open the door of your chambers behind you, and the both of you stumble onto the bed.

"Then serve me, Eivor." You whisper as Eivor gently undresses you, gazing at the wetness between your legs. Her breaths are rugged, as are yours, and you reach up to caress the exile's face.

"Show me again why you're my kingmaker."

[greater-than-the-sword]

As Reformation Day Approaches...

Many will wish to talk about Martin Luther. Which makes sense because he famously nailed the 95 theses to the church door at Wittenburg on October 31st.

But what better time to commemorate all of the OTHER important figures and reformers of the Protestant reformation? Of whom there were many.

Wikipedia lists 284 people burned in England under Queen Mary I, as she attempted to consolidate her power. Her new laws declared anyone teaching against Catholic doctrines to be guilty of heresy and subject to the death penalty. The Catholic church has never denounced these murders committed by its members on its behalf.

These laws affected famous and regular people alike. Over time I may make a series of posts with more detail about some of these persons.

Incomplete list of the protestant martyrs in England under the cut. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

Protestants executed under Mary I

1. John Rogers City of London clergyman – preacher, biblical translator, lecturer at St. Paul's Cathedral burnt 4 February 1555 Smithfield, London

2. Lawrence Saunders City of London clergyman – preacher, Rector of All Hallows Bread Street, London burnt 8 February 1555 Coventry, Warwickshire

3. John Hooper Gloucester and Worcester clergyman – Bishop of Gloucester and Worcester under Edward VI burnt 9 February 1555 Gloucester, Gloucestershire

4. Rowland Taylor Hadleigh, Suffolk clergyman – Rector of Hadleigh, Suffolk burnt 9 February 1555 Aldham Common, Nr Hadleigh, Suffolk[5]: p.98 [59]

5. Rawlins White Cardiff, Glamorgan fisherman burnt March 1555 Cardiff, Glamorgan[60]

6. Thomas Tomkins Shoreditch, London weaver burnt 16 March 1555 Smithfield, London[61]

7. Thomas Causton Horndon on the Hill or Thundersby, Essex gentleman burnt 26 March 1555 Rayleigh, Essex[62]

8. Thomas Higbed Horndon on the Hill or Thundersby, Essex gentleman burnt 26 March 1555 Horndon-on-the-Hill, Essex[62]

9. William Hunter Coleman Street Parish, London apprentice burnt 27 March 1555 (or 26 according to Foxe) Brentwood, Essex

10. Stephen Knight barber burnt 28 March 1555 Maldon, Essex[64]

11. William Pygot (or Pigot) butcher burnt 28 March 1555 Braintree, Essex[64]

12. [n 6] William Dighel burnt 28 March 1555 Banbury, Oxfordshire [65][66]

13. John Lawrence (or Laurence) clergyman – priest and former Blackfriar at Sudbury, Suffolk[50] burnt 29 March 1555 Colchester, Essex[64]

14. Robert Ferrar St David's, Pembrokeshire clergyman – Bishop of St David's under Edward VI burnt 30 March 1555 Carmarthen, Carmarthenshire[67]

15. George Marsh Dean, Lancashire clergyman – curate to Laurence Saunders and minister at Dean, Lancashire burnt 24 April 1555 Boughton, Cheshire[68]

16. William Flower Lambeth, London surgeon and teacher burnt 24 April 1555 Westminster[69]

17. John Cardmaker Wells, Somerset clergyman – prebendary of Wells Cathedral burnt 30 May 1555 Smithfield, London[70]

18. John Warne Walbrook, London upholsterer burnt 30 May 1555 Smithfield, London[70]

19. Thomas Hawkes (or Haukes) Essex gentleman burnt 10 June 1555 Coggeshall, Essex

20. Thomas Watts (or Wattes) Billericay, Essex linen draper burnt 10 June 1555 Chelmsford, Essex[7][72]

21. John Ardeley (or Ardite) Wigborough, Essex husbandman burnt 30 May 1555 (or 'about 10 June', according to Foxe) Rayleigh, Essex[7][73]

22. John Simson Wigborough, Essex husbandman burnt 30 May 1555 (or 'about 10 June', according to Foxe) Rochford, Essex[7][73]

23. Nicholas Chamberlain (or Chamberlaine) Coggeshall, Essex weaver burnt 14 June 1555 Colchester, Essex[7][74]

24. William Bamford (or Butler)[n 8]Coggeshall, Essex weaver burnt 15 June 1555 Harwich, Essex[7][74]

25. Thomas Ormond (or Osmande)[n 9]Coggeshall, Essex fuller burnt 15 June 1555 Manningtree, Essex[7][74]

26. John Bradford City of London clergyman – prebendary of St Paul's Cathedral burnt 1 July 1555 Smithfield, London[7][75][76]

27. John Leaf (or Jhon Least) Christ Church Greyfriars, London (born in Kirkby Moorside, Yorkshire) apprentice tallow chandler burnt 1 July 1555 Smithfield, London

Canterbury Martyrs of July 1555

28. John Bland (or Blande) Rolvenden, Kent clergyman – vicar of Rolvenden, Kent burnt 12 July 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][78]

29. Nicholas Shetterden (or Shitterdun) burnt 12 July 1555 Canterbury, Kent

30. John Frankesh Adisham, Kent clergyman – parson of Adisham, Kent burnt 12 July 1555 Canterbury, Kent

31. Humphrey Middleton Ashford, Kent burnt 12 July 1555 Canterbury, Kent

32. Nicholas Hall Dartford, Kent bricklayer burnt 19 July 1555 Rochester, Kent

33. Christopher Wade Dartford, Kent linen-weaver burnt July 1555 Dartford, Kent

34. Margaret (or Margery) Polley Pepeling, Calais widow burnt 17 July 1555 Royal Tunbridge Wells, Kent[80]

35. Dirick Carver (also spelt Deryk; also known as Dirick Harman) Brighthelmstone (now Brighton), Sussex beer-brewer burnt 22 July 1555, Lewes, East Sussex

36. John Launder Godstone, Surrey husbandman burnt 23 July 1555 Steyning, West Sussex

37. Thomas Euerson (or Iueson, Iverson or Iveson) Godstone, Surrey carpenter burnt (day unknown) July 1555 Chichester, West Sussex

38. Richard Hook (or Hooke) lame man [66] burnt unknown date in July 1555 Chichester, West Sussex

39. James Abbess Stoke-by-Nayland, Suffolk shoemaker burnt 2 August 1555 Thetford, Norfolk (or Bury, according to Foxe)

40. John Denley Maidstone, Kent gentleman burnt 8 August 1555 Uxbridge, Middlesex

41. Robert Smith Windsor, Berkshire clerk at the college in Windsor, Berkshire and painter burnt 8 August 1555 Uxbridge, Middlesex

Canterbury Martyrs of August 1555

42. William Coker burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][89]

43. William Hopper Cranbrook, Kent[79] burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][89]

44. Henry Laurence burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][89]

45. Richard Collier (or Colliar) burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent

46. Richard Wright Ashford, Kent[79] burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent

47. William StereAshford, Kent[79] burnt 23 August 1555 Canterbury, Kent

48. Elizabeth Warne (or Warren)[n 13]Walbrook, London widow of John Warne, upholsterer burnt 23 August 1555 Stratford-atte-Bow, London

49. Roger Hues (aliases: Curryer, Corier) St Mary's, Taunton, Somerset burnt 24 August 1555 Taunton, Somerset [66][7][91]

50. George Tankerfield London (born in York) cook burnt 26 August 1555 St Albans

51. Patrick Pakingham (aliases: Packingham, Pachingham, Patchingham or Pattenham) burnt 28 August 1555 Uxbridge, Middlesex [7][87]

52. John Newman Maidstone, Kent pewterer burnt 31 August 1555 Saffron Walden, Essex [7][87]

53. Robert Samuel (or Samuell) Barfold, Suffolk clergyman – minister at Barfold, Suffolk burnt 31 August 1555 Thetford, Norfolk[7][93]

54. Stephen HarwoodWare, Hertfordshire brewer burnt 30 August 1555 Stratford in Essex[7][94]

55. Thomas Fust (or Fusse) hosier, August 1555 In the environs of London or Ware

56. William Hale (or Hailes)Thorpe, Essex, late August 1555 In the environs of Barnet, London

57. William Allen Somerton, Norfolk labourer burnt early September 1555 Walsingham, Norfolk

58. Roger Coe (or Coo or Cooe) Melford, Suffolk shearman burnt date unknown September 1555 Yoxford, Suffolk

59. Thomas CobHaverhill, Suffolk butcher burnt date unknown September 1555 Thetford, Norfolk

Canterbury Martyrs of September 1555

60. George Catmer (or Painter) Hythe, Kent burnt about 6 September 1555, according to Foxe (or 12 July 1555) Canterbury, Kent

61. Robert Streater (or Streter) Hythe, Kent burnt about 6 September 1555, according to Foxe (or 12 July 1555) Canterbury, Kent

62. Anthony Burward Calete (possibly Calais) [98] burnt about 6 September 1555, according to Foxe (or 12 July 1555) Canterbury, Kent

63. George Brodbridge (or Bradbridge) Bromfield, Kent burnt about 6 September 1555, according to Foxe (or 12 July 1555) Canterbury, Kent

64. James Tutty (or Tuttey)Brenchley, Kent burnt about 6 September 1555, according to Foxe (or 12 July 1555) Canterbury, Kent

65. Robert Glover (or Glouer)Mancetter, Warwickshire gentleman burnt 14 September 1555 Coventry, Warwickshire

66. Cornelius Bongey (or Bungey) capper burnt 20 September 1555 Coventry, Warwickshire

67. Thomas Hayward (or Heywarde) burnt mid September 1555 Lichfield, Staffordshire  

68. John Goreway Holy Trinity Parish, Coventry, Warwickshire [50] burnt mid-September 1555 Lichfield, Staffordshire Ely Martyrs

69. William WolseyUpwell, Norfolk constable, one of the Ely Martyrs burnt 16 October 1555 Cathedral Green, Ely, Cambridgeshire

70. Robert Pygot (or Pigot) Wisbech, Isle of Ely, Cambridgeshire painter, also an Ely Martyr burnt 16 October 1555 Cathedral Green, Ely, Cambridgeshire

Oxford Martyrs

71. Hugh Latimer (or Latymer) Baxterley, Warwickshire [103] clergyman – chaplain to King Edward VI burnt 16 October 1555 outside Balliol College, Oxford

72. Nicholas RidleyFulham Palace clergyman – Bishop of London under Edward VI burnt 16 October 1555 outside Balliol College, Oxford

Canterbury Martyrs of November 1555

73. John Webbe (or Web) gentleman burnt 30 November 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][105]

74. George Roper burnt 30 November 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][105]

75. Gregory Parke (or Paynter)[citation needed] burnt 30 November 1555 Canterbury, Kent [7][105]

76. John PhilpotWinchester, Hampshire clergyman – Archdeacon of Winchester burnt 18 December 1555 Smithfield, London[7][106]

77. Thomas Whittle (or Whitwell)Essex clergyman – priest or minister burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

78. Bartlett (or Bartholomew) GreenTemple, London – born in Basinghall, London gentleman and lawyer burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

79. Thomas BrownSt Bride's parish, Fleet Street, London – born in Histon, Cambridgeshire burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

80. John TudsonSt Mary Botolph parish, London – born in Ipswich, Suffolk artificer burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

81. John Went (or Winter or Hunt) Langham, Essex artificer burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

82. Isobella Forster (or Annis Foster) St Bride's parish, Fleet Street, London – Born in Greystoke, Cumberland wife of John Foster, cutler burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London[7][107]

83. Joan Lushford (or Jone Lashforde, or Warne) Little Allhallows parish, Thames Street, London maid burnt 27 January 1556 Smithfield, London

Canterbury Martyrs of 1556

84. John Lomas (or Jhon Lowmas) Tenterden, Kent burnt 31 January 1556 Wincheap, Canterbury [7][108]

85. Annes Snoth (or Annis Snod) Smarden, Kent widow burnt 31 January 1556 Wincheap, Canterbury [7][108]

86. Anne Wright (or Albright); alias Champnes burnt 31 January 1556 Wincheap,Canterbury [7][108]

87. Joan (or Jone) SoaleHorton, Kent wife burnt 31 January 1556 Wincheap, Canterbury [7][108]

88. Joan Catmer Hythe, Kent 'wife (as it should seem) of George Catmer', burnt in 1555 burnt 31 January 1556 Wincheap, Canterbury [108][n 15][7]Ipswich Martyrs of 1556

89. Agnes Potten Ipswich, Suffolk wife of Robert Potten burnt 19 February 1556 Ipswich, Cornhill [7][n 16][109]

90. Joan Trunchfield Ipswich, Suffolk wife of Michael Trunchfield, a shoemaker burnt 19 February 1556 Ipswich, Cornhill

91. Thomas Cranmer Lambeth Palace clergyman – Archbishop of Canterbury (former) burnt 21 March 1556 outside Balliol College, Oxford[7][110]

92. John Maundrel Beckhampton, Wiltshire – brought up in Rowde, Wiltshire husbandman burnt 24 March 1556 outside Salisbury, Wiltshire

93. William Coberly Wiltshire tailor burnt 24 March 1556 outside Salisbury, Wiltshire

94. John Spicer (or Spencer) Winston, Suffolk[50] freemason or bricklayer burnt 24 March 1556 outside Salisbury, Wiltshire

95. John Harpole (or Hartpoole) St Nicholas Parish, Rochester, Kent burnt 1 April 1556 Rochester, Kent[7][112]

96. Joan BeachTunbridge Wells, Kent widow burnt 1 April 1556 Rochester, Kent

97. John Hullier (or Hulliarde) Babraham, Cambridgeshire clergyman – curate of Babraham, Cambridgeshire burnt 16 April 1556 Cambridge, Cambridgeshire

98. William Tyms (or Timmes)Hockley, Essex clergyman – curate of Hockley, Essex burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London

99. Robert DrakeThundersley, Essex clergyman – minister or parson of Thundersley, Essex burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London

100. Richard SpurgeBocking, Essex shearman burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London[7][115]

101. Thomas SpurgeBocking, Essex fuller burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London[7][115]

102. George AmbroseBocking, Essex fuller burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London[7][115] 103. John Cavel (or Cauell)Bocking, Essex weaver burnt 24 April 1556 Smithfield, London[7][115]Colchester martyrs of April 1556

104. Christopher ListerDagenham, Essex husbandman burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex [7][116]

105. John MaceColchester, Essex apothecary burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex [7][116]

106. John SpencerColchester, Essex weaver burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex [7][116]

107. Simon Joyne sawyer burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex [116]

108. Richard NicolColchester, Essex weaver burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex

109. John HamondColchester, Essex tanner burnt 28 April 1556 Colchester, Essex [7][116]

110. Hugh Laverock (or Lauarocke) Barking, Essex painter, (a lame man) burnt 15 May 1556 Stratford in Essex

111. John Apprice (or Aprice) blind man burnt 15 May 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow or Stratford in Essex

112. Thomas Drowry blind boy burnt about 15 May 1556 Gloucester, Gloucestershire [7][n 18][118]

113. Thomas Croker bricklayer burnt about 15 May 1556 Gloucester, Gloucestershire [7][n 18][118]

114. Katherine HutBocking, Essex widow burnt 16 May 1556 Smithfield, London[7][117]

115. Elizabeth ThackvelGreat Burstead, Essex maid burnt 16 May 1556 Smithfield, London[7][117]

116. Joan (or Jone) HornsBillericay, Essex maid burnt 16 May 1556 Smithfield, London

117. Thomas Spicer Winston, Suffolk labourer burnt 21 May 1556 Beccles, Suffolk

118. John Deny (or Denny) (possibly a female Joan or Jone) Beccles, Suffolk burnt 21 May 1556 Beccles, Suffolk

119. Edmund PooleBeccles, Suffolk burnt 21 May 1556 Beccles, Suffolk

120. Thomas HarlandWoodmancote, Sussex carpenter burnt 6 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

121. John Oswald (or Oseward) Woodmancote, Sussex husbandman burnt 6 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

122. Thomas Reed Ardingly, Sussex burnt about 6 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

123. Thomas Avington (or Euington) Ardingly, Sussex turner burnt about 6 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

124. Adam Forster (or Foster) Mendlesham, Suffolk husbandman burnt 17 June 1556 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk [124][125]

125. Robert Lawson Mendlesham, Suffolk linen weaver burnt 17 June 1556 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk [124][125]

126. Thomas Wood clergyman – pastor burnt about 20 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

127. Thomas Milles Hellingly, Sussex burnt about 20 June 1556 Lewes, Sussex

128. Thomas Moor servant and husbandman burnt 26 June 1556 Leicester, Leicestershire

Stratford Martyrs, 11 men and 2 women.

129. Henry Adlington (or Addlinton) Grinstead, Sussex sawyer burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

130. Lawrence (or Laurence) ParnamHoddesdon, Hertfordshire smith burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

131. Henry WyeStanford-le-Hope, Essex brewer burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

132. William Holywell (or Hallywell)Waltham Holy Cross, Essex, smith. burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

133. Thomas Bowyer (or Bowier)Great Dunmow, Essex weaver burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

134. George Searle White Notley, Essex tailor burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

135. Edmond Hurst St James's Parish, Colchester labourer burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

136. Lion/Lyon Cawch City of London merchant/broker burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

137. Ralph Jackson Chipping Ongar, Essex, serving-man burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

138. John Derifall (or Dorifall) Rettendon, Essex labourer burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow[7][126]

139. John Routh/Roth Wickes, Essex labourer burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

140. Elizabeth Pepper St James's parish, Colchester wife of Thomas Pepper, weaver burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

141. Agnes George West Barefold, Essex wife of Richard George, husbandman burnt about 27 June 1556 Stratford-Atte-Bow

142. Roger Bernard Framsden, Suffolk labourer burnt 30 June 1556 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk [124][125]

143. Julins Palmer Reading, Berkshire schoolmaster burnt about 15 July 1556 'The Sand-pits', Nr Newbury, Berkshire

144. John Guin/Jhon Gwin shoemaker [66] burnt about 15 July 1556 'The Sand-pits', Nr Newbury, Berkshire[7][128]

145. Thomas Askin/Askue burnt about 15 July 1556 'The Sand-pits', Nr Newbury, Berkshire

Guernsey Martyrs – (Three women and one unborn male foetus)

146. Catherine Cauchés (sometimes spelt Katherine Cawches) St Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands burnt 18 July 1556 St Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands[129]

147. Perotine Massey (pregnant) St Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands wife of NormanCalvinist minister burnt 18 July 1556 St Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands[129]

148. Guillemine GilbertSt Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands burnt 18 July 1556 St Peter Port, Guernsey, Channel Islands

149. Thomas Dungate (or Dougate) East Grinstead, Sussex burnt 18 July 1556 Grinstead, Sussex

150. John Forman (or Foreman) East Grinstead, Sussex burnt 18 July 1556 Grinstead, Sussex

151. Anne Tree (or Try) West Hoathly, Sussex burnt 18 July 1556 Grinstead, Sussex

152. Joan WasteAll Hallows', Derby, Derbyshire blind woman burnt 1 August 1556 Derby, Derbyshire

153. Edward Sharp glover (possibly)[66] burnt early September 1556 Bristol, Gloucestershire/Somerset

154. Rose Pencell burnt 17 October 1555 Bristol

155. William Shapton weaver burnt 17 October 1555 Bristol[131]

156. John Kurde Syresham, Northamptonshire shoemaker burnt October 1556 or 20 September 1557 Northampton, Northamptonshire

157. John Noyes Laxfield, Suffolk shoemaker burnt 22 September 1556 or 1557 [133]

158. Thomas Ravensdale burnt 24 September 1556 Mayfield, Sussex[85][122]

159. John Hart burnt 24 September 1556 Mayfield, Sussex [85][122]

160. Unknown man shoemaker burnt 24 September 1556 Mayfield, Sussex [85]

161. Unknown man currier burnt 24 September 1556 Mayfield, Sussex [85]

162. Nicholas Holden Withyham, Sussex weaver burnt 24 September 1556 Mayfield, Sussex

163. Unknown man carpenter burnt 25 September 1556 Bristol, Gloucestershire/Somerset

164. John Horn burnt late September 1556 Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire

165. John Phillpott Tenterden, Kent burnt 16 January 1557 Wye, Ashford, Kent

166. Thomas Stephens Biddenden, Kent burnt 16 January 1557 Wye, Ashford, Kent

Canterbury Martyrs of January 1557

167. Stephen KempeNorgate, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

168. William WatererBiddenden, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

169. William ProwtingThurnham, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

170. William LowickCranbrook, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

171. Thomas HudsonSelling, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

172. William HayHythe, Kent burnt 15 January 1557 Canterbury, Kent [136]

173. Nicholas Final Tenterden, Kent burnt 16 January 1557 Ashford, Kent

174. Martin Bradbridge Tenterden, Kent burnt 16 January 1557 Ashford, Kent

175. William Carman (or Carmen)[n 28] burnt day and month unknown 1557 [138]

176. Thomas Loseby burnt 12 April 1557 Smithfield, London

177. Henry Ramsey burnt 12 April 1557 Smithfield, London

178. Thomas Thyrtell (or Sturtle) burnt 12 April 1557 Smithfield, London

179. Margaret Hyde burnt 12 April 1557 Smithfield, London

180. Agnes Stanley (or Stanlye) burnt 12 April 1557 Smithfield, London

181. Richard Sharpe weaver burnt 7 May 1557 Cotham, Bristol[141]

182. Thomas Hale shoemaker burnt 7 May 1557 Cotham, Bristol[141]

183. Stephen Gratwick (or Steuen Grathwick) Brighthelmstone (now Brighton), Sussex burnt at end of May 1557 St. George's Fields, Southwark, Surrey

184. William Morant burnt at end of May 1557 St. George's Fields, Southwark, Surrey [7][142]: p. 272 [143]

185. Thomas King[66] burnt at end of May 1557 St. George's Fields, Southwark, Surrey

Maidstone martyrs

186. Joan (or Jone) Bradbridge Staplehurst, Kent Presumably a relative of Widow Bradbridge, burnt 19 June 1557[144] burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

187. Walter Appleby Maidstone, Kent burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

188. Petronil Appleby Maidstone, Kent wife of Walter Appleby burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

189. Edmund Allin (or Allen) Maplehurst Mill, Frittenden, Kent miller burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

190. Katherine Allin (or Allen) Maplehurst Mill, Frittenden, Kent Wife of Edmund Allin/Allen, miller burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

191. Joan (or Jone) Manning Maidstone, Kent burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]

192. Elizabeth (surname possibly 'Lewis') blind maid burnt 18 June 1557 Maidstone, Kent [7][145]Canterbury martyrs of June 1557

193. John Fishcock/Jhon Fiscoke burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [7][145]

194. Nicholas White burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [7][145] 195. Nicholas Pardue/Perdue burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [7][145]

196. Barbara Final burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [7][145]

197. Bradbridge's Widow (Bradbridge's Wife) Probably Tenterden, Kent Probably the widow of Martin Bradbridge, burnt 16 January 1557 burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [145]

198. Mistress Wilson (also referred to as 'Wilson's Wife') burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent [7][145]

199. Alice Benden, possibly also referred to as 'Benson's Wife' Staplehurst (or possibly Cranbrook), Kent[146] burnt 19 June 1557 Canterbury, Kent

Lewes Martyrs

200. Richard WoodmanWarbleton, Sussex iron-maker burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex [7][82][147]

201. George Stevens (or Steuens) Warbleton, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

202. William MainardMayfield, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

203. Alexander HosmanMayfield, Sussex servant of William Mainard burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

204. Thomasina WoodMayfield, Sussex maidservant of William Mainard burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex  

205. Margery Morris (or Morice) Heathfield, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

206. James Morris (or Morice) – son of Margery Heathfield, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

207. Denis Burcis (or Burgis) Buxted, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

208. Ann Ashdon (or Ashdown; also referred to as 'Ashdon's Wife') Rotherfield, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

209. Mary Groves (also referred to as 'Gloue's Wife') Lewes, Sussex burnt 22 June 1557 Lewes, Sussex

210. Simon Miller (or Milner) Lynn, Norfolk burnt 13 July 1557 Norwich, Norfolk

211. Elizabeth Cooper St Andrew's Church, Norwich, Norfolk wife of a pewterer burnt 13 July 1557 Norwich, Norfolk [7](which calls her 'a woman')

212. George Egles/Eagles hung, drawn & quartered, August 1557 Chelmsford, Essex[7][150]Colchester Martyrs of August 1557

213. William BongeorSt Nicholas Parish, Colchester, Essex glazier burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

214. William Purchase (or Purcas) Bocking, Essex fuller burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

215. Thomas Benhote (or Benold) Colchester, Essex tallow-chandler burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex

216. Agnes Silverside (or Smith) Colchester, Essex widow burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

217. Helen (or Ellen) EwringColchester, Essex wife of John Ewring, miller burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

218. Elizabeth Folk Colchester, Essex 'young maiden' and servant burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

219. William Munt (or Mount)Much Bentley, Essex burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex

220. Alice Munt (or Mount) Much Bentley, Essex wife of William Munt (or Mount) burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

221. Rose Allen (or Allin) Much Bentley, Essex spinster, daughter of Alice Mount burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

222. John JohnsonThorpe, Essex labourer burnt 2 August 1557 Colchester, Essex [151]

223. Richard Crashfield Wymondham, Norfolk burnt 5 August 1557 Norwich, Norfolk[7] which records 'one at Norwich' in July[152]

224. Father Fruier burnt August 1557 Rochester, Kent[7][150]

225. Robert Stevenson burnt August 1557 Rochester, Kent[153]

226. Sister of George Eagles burnt August 1557 Rochester, Kent

227. Unknown Woman burnt August 1557 Rochester, Kent[7]

228. Agnes Prest Boyton, Cornwall Spinner burnt 15 August 1557 Southernhay, Exeter [154]

229. Thomas Benion weaver burnt 27 August 1557 Bristol[141]

230. Joyce Lewis Mancetter, Warwickshire gentlewoman burnt September 1557 Lichfield, Staffordshire  – may be the same as Joyce Bowes, August 1557 (the Regester)

231. Ralph Allerton/Rafe Glaiton Much Bentley, Essex burnt 17 September 1557 Islington

232. James Austoo (or Auscoo) burnt 17 September 1557 Islington

233. Margery Austoo (or Auscoo) burnt 17 September 1557 Islington[7][157]

234. Richard Roth (or Rooth) burnt 17 September 1557 Islington

235. Agnes Bongeor (also known as Bowmer's Wife), wife of Richard Bongeor (similar name but different death date) burnt 17 September (or unknown date July) Colchester, Essex (or March 1558, Colchester)

236. Margaret Thurston/Widow Thurston-similar name but different death date burnt 17 September (or unknown date July) Colchester, Essex [132](or March 1558, Colchester)

237. Cicely Ormes St Edmund's Parish, Norwich, Norfolk wife of Edmund Ormes, worsted-weaver burnt 23 September 1557 Norwich, Norfolk

238. Thomas Spurdance servant of the Queen burnt November 1557 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

239. John Halingdale/Hallingdale/Hollingday carpenter burnt, 18 November/or day unknown October 1557, Smithfield, London

240. William Sparrow burnt, 18 November/or day unknown October 1557 Smithfield, London

241. Richard Gibson gentleman[66] burnt, 18 November/or day unknown October 1557 Smithfield, London

242. John Rough/Jhon Roughe London/Islington, Middlesex clergyman – minister at London/Islington, Middlesex burnt 22 December 1557 Smithfield, London

243. Margaret Maring (or Mering) burnt 22 December 1557 Smithfield, London

244. [Unknown forename ...] Lawton burnt March 1558 Huntingdon, Huntingdonshire

245. Cuthbert Symson/Symion London/Islington, Middlesex clergyman – deacon of the church in London/Islington, Middlesex died 28 March 1558 Smithfield, London

246. Hugh Foxe hosier[66] died 28 March 1558 Smithfield, London

247. John Devinish/Jhon Denneshe wool winder, died 28 March 1558 Smithfield, London

248. William Nichol burnt 9 April 1558 SM9515 Haverfordwest/Hwlffordd, Pembrokeshire/Sir Benfro

249. William Seaman (or Symon) Mendlesham, Suffolk husbandman burnt 19 May 1558 Norwich, Norfolk

250. Thomas Hudson Aylsham, Norfolk glover burnt 19 May 1558 Norwich, Norfolk[166] described as 'Glouer' in [7]

251. Thomas Carman[n 28] burnt 19 May 1558 Norwich, Norfolk

252. William Harris burnt 26 May 1558 Colchester[7][127]

253. Richard Day burnt 26 May 1558 Colchester, Essex [7][127]

254. Christian George (female) burnt 26 May 1558 Colchester, Essex her husband had previously been married to Agnes George, mentioned above

Islington Martyrs

255. Henry Pond (or Houde) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

256. Reinald Eastland (or Launder) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

257. Robert Southain (or Southam) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

258. Matthew Ricarby (or Ricarbie) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

259. John Floyd (or Flood) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

260. John Holiday (or Hollyday) burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

261. Roger Holland London (taken in or near St John's Wood) merchant tailor burnt 27 June 1558 Smithfield, London

262. Sir Richard Yeoman (or Yeman) Hadleigh, Suffolk clergyman – curate of Hadleigh, Suffolk burnt 10 July 1558 Norwich, Norfolk

Islington Martyrs (second group)

263. Robert Mills burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex [167]

264. Stephen Cotton burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex

265. Robert Dynes burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex [167]

266. Stephen Wight (or Wreight) burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex

267. John Slade burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex

268. William Pikes (aliases: Pikas, Peckes) tanner burnt 14 July 1558 Brentford, Middlesex [7][167]

269. John Cooke sawyer burnt about 25 July 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk [170]

270. Robert Milles (or Plummer) shearman burnt about 25 July 1558 Bury St Edmunds

271. Alexander Lane wheelwright burnt about 25 July 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

272. James Ashley bachelor burnt about 25 July 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

273. Thomas Benbrike/Benbridge gentleman burnt unknown day in July 1558 Winchester, Hampshire

274. John (or Richard) Snell Bedale, Yorkshire burnt 9 September 1558 Richmond, Yorkshire

Ipswich Martyrs of 1558

275. Alexander Gooch (or Geche, or Gouch) Woodbridge or Melton, Suffolk weaver of shredding-coverlets burnt 4 November 1558 Ipswich Cornhill

276. Alice DriverGrundisburgh, Suffolk wife of a husbandman burnt 4 November 1558 Ipswich Cornhill [173]

277. Philip Humphrey (or Humfrey) burnt November 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

278. John David/Jhon Dauy (brother of Henry David) burnt November 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

279. Henry David/H. Dauy (brother of John David) burnt November 1558 Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk [174]Canterbury Martyrs of 1558

280. John CornefordWrotham, Kent burnt 15 November 1558 Canterbury, Kent [175]

281. Christopher Brown Maidstone, Kent burnt 15 November 1558 Canterbury[175]

282. John HerstAshford, Kent burnt 15 November 1558 Canterbury, Kent

283. Alice Snoth burnt 15 November 1558 Canterbury, Kent [175]

284. Katherine Knight/Tynley an aged woman burnt 15 November 1558 Canterbury

[ludmilachaibemachado]

15 de setembro de 1967: filmagem de 'Magical Mystery🌸

Fish 'n' chips em Smedley's (108 Roman Road, Taunton, Somerset) para finalizar a primeira semana de filmagens da 'Magical Mystery Tour🍁