starr's writing

Study hall. Teddy’s trying to do his homework, but other people’s conversations keep catching his ear.

Teddy closes his books quietly and collects his things. Leaving the classroom, he walks down to the Hufflepuff common room as quickly as he can. Once there, he heads straight to the boys dormitories, ignoring anyone trying to say hello or start a conversation. He gets to his room and slams the door behind him. He’s alone. He drops his books on his bed and collapses against the wall.

FANFIC CONTEST ‘IF I FELL’

Rating: General! There’s no smut here to worry about, it’ s just a cute and fluffy little fanfic!

JULY 6, 1957

Sounds of laughter drifted in through my open bedroom window. I looked down at the street below to see a crowd of teenage boys goofing about. I rested my head against the window pane as I watched them go about their antics, fake punching each other and running off in mad circles. A few of them were carrying guitars.

“Ay Johnny, I betcha two ciggies that yer fat arse is gonna crack the flatbed on the lorry!” one lad shouted.

He cackled while the others collapsed on the ground around him, crying tears of laughter. I snickered. One of the older looking boys in the gang walked over to the smart lad and tapped him upside the head.

“Shut yer fat gob up Shotton before I crack you one with my guitar!”

The boy held up his instrument and shook it at the lad who bolted away playfully in fear. That must be “John.” I could hear an engine rumbling up the street, backfiring a few times and the boys scrambled to gather up their gear.

“It’s here!”

The old jalopy pulled up to the curb and the boys hopped on the back. “John” paid the driver and climbed up on the back. They rearranged their equipment on the flatbed and slapped the cab of the lorry, alerting the driver to pull away slowly.

“LONG LIVE THE QUARRYMEN!” They yelled as the lorry took a left turn at the end of the street.

Quarrymen? Where have I heard that name before…? I suddenly remembered seeing a sign around the neighbourhood advertising the annual Garden Fete at the Woolton Church with some group called the “Quarrymen” that were topping the bill. That must be where they’re headed. A flash of excitement ran through me as I thought of joining the afternoon’s festivities. I’ve got to get there! I jumped up and grabbed my purse, catching a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror before I left my room. I ran downstairs and shouted to my mother that I’d be home later before she had the chance to ask me where I was going and disprove my plans and out the door I went.

I walked up the street, remembering the trail of the vehicle and went off in the direction of the church. As I neared the church, I saw the lorry parked in the courtyard. In the distance, the boys were standing on an outdoor stage. I made my way to the front of the crowd standing around. As the setup came into full view, I saw that there were five boys all together. Each of them looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, hair greased back in the Ted style, guitars slung around their shoulders. The boy named John was standing at the front of group, his back turned to the audience. Cigarette perched between his lips, he was quietly talking over some chord changes with his mates for the opening song. When he turned around, my heart almost stopped beating. He had on a pair of black drainies and a faded, red plaid shirt. His darkish blonde hair was quiffed up in an ode-to-Elvis style and framed his mature face. His jawline and scowling expression cut the air as swiftly as his handsomeness took my breath away.

Lost in daydream over his looks, I snapped back into reality when the microphone screeched. John rocked the microphone back in forth in its stand to resolve the technical difficulty.

“Ello boys and girls. I’m John and this is me band the Quarrymen. We’re mighty glad to be here and we hope you enjoy the show yeah!”

And with that, they counted off and kicked into “Come Go With Me”. Still focused on the leading Ted, I watched as he plunked out the chords and half shouted the song because of the terrible amplification. I loved this song but something about it sounded off. Come little darling, come and go with me… Down, down, down, to the penitentiary… He’s singing the wrong words! I giggled at his comedic lyrics as only a true git could forget the words to a song this badly. He squinted as he scanned the crowd with his eyes and then he suddenly stopped in my direction. He opened his eyes wide, a smile cracked at the corner of his mouth and he winked at me! My heart skipped a beat and I found myself beginning to smile like crazy.

“What a great little band, eh?”

Someone beside me nudged my elbow. I turned and locked eyes with a boy in a white jacket. His wide hazel eyes sparkled in anticipation of my answer.

“Yes of course!” I cheered.

He smiled back at me with delight, the jerry-curl of dark hair on his forehead raised with his kind expression.

“Say, whaddya think if we hang around a little while and see if we can chat up with the band after the show? The name’s Paul by the way.” He charmingly stuck out his hand for me to shake.

There was just something in his eyes I couldn’t resist.

“I think that would be an absolutely wonderful idea, Paul!” His touch felt like an electric spark and in that instant, I knew I was becoming the witness of something much bigger than just a friendship with these two lads.

I turned back to the band. John was still focused in my direction with a smile on his singing lips. I beamed a smile back at him and I think it made him blush. Paul and I jumped up and down to the music, feeling the beat of the drum in our souls. Would the lads I met that day ever change the world with their music? Two teenage hooligans with beat-up guitars and Rock ‘N’ Roll in their hearts could never do such a thing. But then again, maybe some day they’d break hearts around the world just as they broke mine that summer day in Liverpool.

I hope you guys enjoyed it!! Please please please reblog and like it to get the votes up there for the contest!! Thank-you so much!!! 💖💖💖💖💖

Take A Chance ~ Tyler Bate Ft David Starr

Originally posted by superkickparty

Originally posted by thearchitectwwe

Note : David is so cute in that gif

@imnobodiesbitch @oreillyskyle @newjapan @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @earl-01 @wallflowerfangirl-life @smolsassynalilsmartassy @spot-of-bother @helluvawriter @lip-sync @i-ship-it-okay @kakakatey @frenchfries102301 @broken-coffee-cups @baybayforlife @cam0flug3 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @xxnobodyshero13xx @raditudelab @ellothelongwaydown @stormyynight @leteverythingexist @originalbish98 @sammusicaddict


Being David’s little sister was difficult. No one really knew that you were David Starr’s sister besides Jim Smallman. He promised to keep it under hush hush until you told him otherwise. David was over protective to where he had to know which guy you were going to see or the guy you talked to. It was ridiculous sometimes. 

David though does know one thing and doesn’t know another. He knows you secretly like one of the British Strong Style boys and what he doesn’t know, your dating one. He thinks Pete will corrupt you and you won’t be the same as you were. Trent would be too good for you as David puts it. Tyler was well Tyler, that was David’s reasons not yours. 

When you met your boyfriend Tyler, you already knew who he was and you already had a crush you would say. Felt like you were in high school with the crushes. There was something about him that struct to you. He was sweet, funny, always listened to you and was always there. Things started to change from friendship to flirtation. However, you had to tone it down because David was one of Tyler’s good friends. He would kill both of you if he found out. 

But, Tyler has no idea that you were a Starr. You never told him. 

“ Y/N! There you are!” David yells, scaring you a bit as he walks into your hotel room. For some reason, he does this to annoy you. He knows it bothers you. He loves it. 

He appears randomly out of nowhere. 

“ What do you want?” you groaned as you take out a shirt you were going to wear later on tonight out of your suitcase. But when you turned around, you gasped seeing not only your brother there but your boyfriend as well. Rolling your eyes at their childish smiles on their faces. 

“ Hey Y/N” Tyler says. “ Hey Bate” you mutter.Turning to your brother playfully punching him in the arm. “ What kind of person just walks into the room. I could of been naked, you know?” you say glaring at him. But Tyler was wiggling his eyebrows as he heard you. 

“ Because it’s me, and I love to get under your skin,” He reaches out to pinch your cheek for you to swat his hand away. Tyler couldn’t help but laugh at you two. Tyler thought you and David were just good friends, he know you two had a long history. If he only knew. 

“ You’re an ass,”  you say shaking your head. “ You love my ass,” David says. 

“ Yeh both are asses, how’s that?” Tyler asks. “ What? Oh! What do you know!” you playfully pushed him with a giggle. “ But, hey, why are you two here?”

“ Just wanted to see what yeh are up t’,” Tyler sends you a soft smile, one that you adored. You couldn’t help but blush. 

“Nothing, why?” They shrugged. “ Let’s hang” David suggest. “ What do you propose we do?” 

“ Watch TV?” Tyler asks. “ Sure, we got nothing else better to do” David says. 

“ Wait, how about we watch a movie? I have a few in my suitcase, what do you say?” David looks between you and Tyler. You nod along with Tyler, “ Okay, I will be back. Don’t miss me too much.” 

Davis leaves, leaving you and Tyler alone. You sit there in silence, not really knowing what to say because who knows when David will be back. You could feel Tyler staring at you. 

“ What?” you ask him. 

“ Your beautiful” He says sitting on your bed patting the space next to him. You moved to sit down next to him. Tyler wraps his arms around you and reaches for the remote to turn on the TV, to make the silence less quite. You snuggle into his chest as he flips through the channels. 

“ Baby?” 

“ What is it Tyler?” you ask looking up at him. He looks down at you, deep into your eyes. “ We have been goin’ out for a couple of months, but I just wanted yeh to know that I love yeh,” he says shocking you. “ Tyler,” your voice shakes but a smile lifts up on your face, “ I love you too, so much.” 

Tyler smiles before he turns to the side cupping your face with his hands, caressing it before slowing leaning. He looks into your eyes before your lips meet with his. You melt into the kiss, his lips are so warm and soft. Wrapping your arms around him, his mustache tickling you. 

“ What the fuck is this?!” Someone yells, a clad noise on the ground. You quickly pull away from Tyler and turn your head to the door. There stood David, his face full of anger. The blue-ray movies on the ground and silence is in the room. You look away from your brother, not wanting to even look at him. 

“ David, lad. I can explain..” Tyler says. 

“ You shut the fuck up! She’s my fucking sister! You can’t date one of your friends sisters! No! No! No!,” He yells, moving his hands around. “ Yeh sister? She never told me,” Tyler says looking at you. 

“ Y/N” David says through his gritted teeth. “ Look David, I am an adult. I am a big girl and I can date who I want,” you say lifting up your head to look at David. 

“ You are my sister! He’s my friend! No!,” he shakes his head. “ I love her, lad,” Tyler says wrapping his arms around your waist. 

David blinks his eyes, as he looks at you two. His face softens, he glances at you then at him. 

“ Are you serious?” he asks. You nod, “ I love him too.”

“ I promise I won’t hurt her” Tyler pulls away from you as he walks over to David slowly but keeping his space. 

“ I don’t want to see you two playing tonsil hokey when I’m around. I don’t need to throw up, “ he looks to you then at Tyler. 

“ Okay”

“ Yes?” your eyes beam with happiness as you clap your hands. Tyler and David chuckle before you run to them both embracing them together.

“ I love you both so much!” you squeal.

3

“Imagine, sitting outside on a warm summer night, lying on the grass gazing into the sky. Watching how each individual star twinkles independently, how some shine brighter than others and how together they create pictures in the sky. Suddenly dawns on you that your world, what you thought only existed, is nothing more than a grain of sand on a beach that stretches for miles and miles.” - a short excerpt by me

(clink the link to read the rest!) 

I decided to make a masterlist! Since some people have been asking me, here it is :) Smut is marked with an asterisk, and requests are open. 

Imagine cleaning John up after a fight

Imagine comforting a sad Paul

Imagine sleeping with George

Imagine dancing with John at the Cavern

Imagine George coming home angry after the Let It Be sessions*

Imagine John spotting you, a familiar face, at the record shop

Imagine cuddling with John

Imagine John comforting you when you’re doubting yourself

Imagine finding George shivering at a bus terminal

Imagine being woken up by John and your daughter

Imagine struggling to tell John how you feel

Imagine going skinny dipping with George*

Imagine cuddling with George

Imagine comforting Ringo during the breakup

Imagine George saving you from something dangerous

Imagine staying the night at John’s while Mimi is away*

Imagine John writing you a song

Imagine having giggly sex with Ringo*

Imagine Paul cheering you up with his favourite records

Imagine having a crush on George when you first meet him

Imagine kissing Paul

Imagine going skiing with George and the lads

Imagine Paul trying his best to impress you

Imagine messing about with George in India

dianthuse  asked:

Apodyopis-- with Draco doing that on Hermione! All the love xx

Modern AU Draco x Hermione - Apodyopis; the act of mentally undressing someone. Coupled with - Gymnophoriathe sensation that someone is mentally undressing you. Author’s note in tags.

the oppressive architecture of textile

Hermione Granger, actual poster girl for due process, has had a rough week. She’d just barely survived on six hours of sleep for the last seven days, passing papers with topics ranging from Marxist readings of Shakespeare to the existence of feminist apologetics in Abrahamic theology, and just- give her a break. If she wants to virtually inhale the ultimate commodity fetish (vanilla bean crème frappuccino®, whole milk, extra whipped cream, grande), then, well. 

And, okay, that’s not all, exactly, it’s not the worst thing she’s done that’s against her convictions. There’s also this very tiny, almost inconsequential thing, and she can’t help it, okay, she - well, actually, she could, except that it would take willpower and god-breathed strength she frankly doesn’t have, to keep herself from mentally undressing actual starter pack Draco trust fund trash Malfoy. And- and -

It’s the stupid white-and-mint striped bowtie accentuating his Adam’s apple. And the gray cashmere cardigan falling just so across those broad shoulders. Malfoy has got the whole mass-produced, Instagram-worthy hipster aesthetic down pat, and Granger loathes it, absolutes abhors the whole principle behind the thing, but he’s pretty, in that distinct patrician way objected to by the patriarchy, so -

She imagines tearing his clothes off, basically - untying that ridiculous bowtie, unbuttoning his starched dress shirt, his designer jeans, letting them fall at his feet, the feeling of expensive, skin-warmed fabric falling away because of her fussy fingers. She imagines messing up that meticulously coiffed hair, kissing his pretentious tortoise shell Ray-Bans askew. Kissing him, full stop -

( - and continuing to take it further, with skin on skin, his mouth on the underside of her jaw, her fingers clutching his hair. She imagines the sounds he’d make, the low grumble ripped from his throat - imagines the sounds she’d make, his name in a variety of pitches - )

( - it’s the fantasy of it, the almost wrongness of this rich pretty boy starring in her bleary-eyed strip shows in the middle of a crowded Starbucks, the ridiculous strangeness of her wanting to give it up to this particular person, right-wing and out of her league. It’s what does it). 

She’s snapped out of her - daydream? inappropriate cinematic thought process? - reveries by the sound of a chair being pulled out beside her. And it’s just her luck, really, it’s just the universe deciding to upfront screw with her, that she looks up to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’m a pretty liberal guy, Granger, but at least buy me dinner first.”

The straw she’d been chewing on falls unceremoniously into her Starbucks cup. “What?” 

“Please. I’d been watching you stare at my crotch for the last fifteen minutes, mentally undressing me, and it’s - a feeling I get.” If possible, his smirk hitches higher on the right. “It’s totally fine, by the way. It’s the least I can do on behalf of generations and generations of male-propagated female objectification.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, forgetting to be apologetic in the face of this asshole. “Okay, so what are you still doing here?” 

Draco Malfoy, idiot, smiles. “So. Are you buying me dinner, or-?” 

Send me a word, and a pairing, and I’d write you a drabble

Day 7 AU: All These Things About Destiny

Disclaimer: Batman, Superman, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language
Pairings: Helena WaynexGalatea/Karen Starr
Rating: T
Synopsis: [Mixed Earths AU] Helena Wayne’s time as Robin has been marked by trials, but probably none more than meeting a clone of Kara Zor-El, former Supergirl, who needs some guidance of her own. Helena WaynexGalatea. Sapphic September: Alternate Universe.

A/N: I basically made an AU by going “I really want Helena Wayne in the main universe, but I also want to keep my Power Girl/Huntress ship. So then I created this monster and I kinda love the concept now. This is the new future of Gotham. Hope everyone likes it, because that’s just what it is ;P

Robin was not supposed to answer the signal without Batman. But that was only the first oddity of the night.

The commissioner raised an eyebrow at her but Robin stood her ground, hands solidly on her hips and gaze set forward. Appearances were important. And she needed the appearance of confidence and certainty so that she was not turned away out of principle.

“Where’s Batman?” was the expectant question he started with. “Or Nightwing?”

“Batwoman couldn’t make it either,” Robin informed him without hesitation. “But don’t worry, Commissioner, I’ll handle whatever it is you needed.”

Keep reading

Imagine kissing Paul — as requested by @keithmymoon 💖

Paul McCartney is silent as his head rests atop your stomach, glowering boredom into the aged, shed-styled ceiling. The former being evident in the poor chinks that follow the edges of your threshold and chasm off into countless other branches that reach like trees toward the sunny, summer sky. They scope downward within the juncture of a plastered pile and reach the wooded floor along its baseboard, grossing the curvature of the wood in a gentle caress.

He twists something similar to clothe fluff between his thumb and forefinger, in a hand that rests atop his own clothed stomach, staring at nothing in particular, neither following the pattern of the hollow runes with his eyes, nor tracing the stained-glass figures that fall in contended clashes along the wood grain of the 18th century flooring.

Paul’s lips are a pale pink, against the yellowing plaster, that reminisce in a rose bud-like fashion. Shifting sideways, he redirects his focus to you, eyes glistening in the orange mood-light that fractures into strips through your versed blinds, and brings Paul’s peaches-and-cream skin tone forth.

“Does your father object to kissing?” He asks, the faintest of smiles tinging the curvature of his lips when enunciating his f’s.

“I don’t know,” you tease back instinctively, “shall I tell him that you would like to kiss him?” Paul’s mouth gapes in confusion for a select moment, perhaps not linking your mock to his previous words, or not having the wit to latch onto it as funny.

“You what?” He shoots back, baffled.

“Oh, nothing.” You say, shaking your head, your expression not wavered visually, when you tilt your chin up at Paul and smile. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, then?”

To which being the statement that settles him, yet knowing what’s coming you glance away, not nearly focusing on the door before you as much as you’d meant to. When he shuffles closer on his knees and reaches his hand under your hair below your ear, his thumb caressing the gentle flesh of your cheek. The peachy hairs getting caught on his bass-roughened fingers when he does so, drawing your face to his direction.

Paul exhales shallow breaths as he is caught in a moment of harmony when his eyes meet your lips. “Can I?” He whispers slowly, the vowels pouring from his plump lips like plush liquid, barely present in their entirety, though he tries his best to enunciate through the feverish burn that clings its way down like red wine.

Suddenly you see him, his eyes revealing more than his words can express, lips parted and breaths mingle, before he latches himself on, and with more velocity than your weak stance on the bed could handle. Paul pushes you back, head dangerously close to the wooden headboard, when you suddenly feel his cold hands pressing underneath your shirt, skin as though being set alight beneath the contact.

They leave a vanishing loveliness as tender as the flush of the rose leaf and as ethereal as the light of a solitary star, and when he breaks off for a breath of air, the burn with it, the sensation altogether disappears. Moonlight now bathing the contours of his face, with chestnut hair that falls beside his hollowed out cheeks, he looked like you felt, love like a miser in the dark his joys would hide. And he loves you.

lucky number seven

a/n: for starqued bc you were feeling sad and i know how much you love my fic so w/o further ado, here’s clarke & bellamy playing seven minutes in heaven as per your request

[AO3]

Bellamy absently wonders when Clarke went from just ‘his little sister’s best friend’ to ‘really hot - i’m talking about a 15/10 possibly - chick that he really should’ve hit yesterday’, when he lays eyes on the blonde during a party that Wick’s hosting in hopes to woo Raven Reyes.

Who, coincidentally, was taken by the very same douche who was attempting to chat up said Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy reluctantly agrees that not only is he a horrible person for wanting to bang his little sister’s best friend, but all his friends are too, for various reasons.

That’s okay - they’re all going to burn in hell together one day anyway.

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Baby, it's cold outside

Imagine going skiing with George and the lads
as requested by anon

“Go ‘ed, George, ain’t ya gonna ‘old yer bird by the waist?” John mocks, from the unnaturally stiff stance he’d taken up beside Paul on his rented skis. Through the black, ivy cap that sits an inch down too far on his head, chin tilted up, and looking as though an elder woman through her low-resting specks. Yet his teasing, childly expression disappears faster than the icy speckles that melt on the bridge of his nose that tipped crimson and lacked a certain pair of glasses them self. When he sees George sending him a threatening glance from beneath his lengthy lashes, his cheeks are suddenly kissed pink like a spring rose beneath the barren cold that foiled it.

His eyes are soft, all while he doesn’t drop his gaze toward the sheltering wood that held you in the wings, among skiing gloves and Fischer-branded equipment. “She’s your girlfriend, ain’t she? Why don’t yer treat her like it?” John says, before stashing one ski pole into the layered snow to end the silence he’d pitched.

It’s broken up by the laughter of children, whom, at first have it echo out into the vast ivory, of which be the sky and snow alike, and then laugh again and again and again to overlap the rolling indicator of joy. The distant hues melting into one other as though that of a Monet watercolour that ambers and wilts at edges, yet still blooms like a frail buttercup in a papered, mid-summer. Highlighting their watery brinks and curves that run into ashy auras with an inky outline. 

John only settles when he sees George’s shape paddling over on his skis, whilst everyone watches with an intent that dips any remnants of confidence that inhibits the latter. He visually swallows, whether it being the guilt of being so shamefully bashful, or the embarrassment of making it so obvious to a crowd — and when the scintillating texture of snow against wood switch rather abruptly beneath his feet, he almost hurdles over the damp planks and into your helpless arms.

Looking at George from beneath your hat, he is null but a puddle of clouded emotions and white canvas against the clothed-black, broken silhouette that painted its edges into the brailled texture and dipped orange on red. When he becomes closer, the liquid takes on a form of flustered confusion, though friendly, offering a hand, and beckoning a different turn of events.

When the pair of foreign textures meet, he hurls you up icily, and inert to whether you stumble or fall; he lays one hand stiff onto your waist as though in a formal dance, and then another onto the small of your back, this time gentler, and though cautious, you hear his shaky breath go in your ear, his hot face warming the perimeter of air around him.

“You just got to bend ya knees, is easy like.” His tone is hushed, as though the words that leave his mouth daren’t leave it whole. In response you buckle your knees — whether from instruction or sexual frustration — it’s just enough for George to be able to have his own slot into the space and fit your shape like a jigsaw piece. “And then… slide.

He says, with perhaps a pinch too much vigour in his voice, frame pushing into yours when the pair of you shift along the snowy front, George’s hand loosening on your waist and being the only underlying signal of his ease. When you pull to a halt again, the lower half of your ski becomes buried under the white sheet, stumbling when you turn to face George, who’s hand had now itself fell lower than torso and warmed it far better than any other boutique coat could.

George melts into a half-smile at last when his nose becomes in-contact with yours, so close it should be uncomfortable, though never feeling as full of amenity as now. Though when he finally realises that your skis are the only barrier, apart from height, from your lips meeting, he quickly ducks his head down and connects your lips with the sweetest caress of a gentleness that rolled over the snowy whites and forced him to press his nose into yours.

He stays like that for awhile, probably playing the utmost uncomfortable scene to watch, though he seems unfazed. Warming into the embrace and lightly exhaling through his nose when he moves his hands in rhythm to the actions. And from then on, it was hard for anyone to tell George Harrison to take his hands off you again.

Scan - Paul, John, Jimmy Nichol and George, June 1964. Scanned from A Hard Day’s Write.

“John and Paul readily agreed that it was a sensible thing to do to get a replacement for Ringo on this tour, but George was a little more difficult. In fact, he was downright truculent. He said, ‘If Ringo’s not going, then neither am I. You can find two replacements.’ Brian Epstein and I had quite a time persuading him it was in the interest of the group, as a whole, for him to go and out up with Jimmy Nichol.” - George Martin, Off The Record

“I was dead against carrying on without Ringo. Imagine, The Beatles without Ringo! Anyway, I bowed to the pressure and off we went, but I was none too pleased, even though Jimmy was actually quite a lovely guy.” - George Harrison, Off The Record

George: "Well this week, we have a special person for you on our program – None other than John Lennon of The Beatles. Well John, I believe you’ve written a bewk. And this bewk’s called ‘John Lennon In His Own Write,’ folks. W-R-I-T-E, you see. It’s a larf. It’s a larf a minute with John Lennon. Some of you might find it a bit difficult to understand – because you see, it’s in a sort of funny lingo. Well, we get it, you see. It’s full of larfs. I don’t really know how you could describe it. But, it’s sort of rubbish. Maybe that’s one way. Well, sitting on my left I have another person of the Beatles called Ringo Starr. What, Ringo, do you think of this book by John Lennon?“

Ringo: "Well, I think it’s marvelous. I mean, I’ve never read anything like it.”

George: (jokingly) “You’ve never read before, though, have you?”

Ringo: "No. I can’t read, you see. That’s why I’ve never. I mean, the stories are so funny, I just… Ha-Ha!! I mean, the titles are so funny. 'Partly Dave’ and what else have we got here? We got many a nice story. 'Sad Michael,’ that’s a sad story. 'The Famous Five through Woenow Abbey’ that’s a well-known place. 'Randolf’s Party,’ I mean, that’s one not to be missed by anybody. We also have 'The Wrestling Dog.’ Many little drawings which will make you laugh.“

George: "Larf.”

Ringo: "George is trying to lose his accent, you see.“