High school is an unusual society
where the students follow unspoken rules and the teachers let them in order to
maintain an easier, quieter life. The rules are simple enough: stay within your
group, don’t become the teacher’s pet, keep fights within your year, and above
all, never tell on another student.
Unfortunately, that last rule
came with its own consequences for you on a Friday before school let out. Toby
Garfield had accidentally broken one of the windows for all the students to see
but since nobody, including yourself, was willing to tell the teacher, Mr Maguire,
you were blamed for being the closest to the scene of the crime. It meant that
after school, you had been given glamourous job of scrubbing graffiti off the
walls; you had even been given the janitor’s keys to put the cleaning supplies
After an hour and a half of scrubbing,
you checked your watch yet again, sure that it must finally be time for you to
go home. When you saw it wasn’t, you were sure time must be passing agonisingly
slow just to taunt you.
“That’s it.” You growled
irritably, throwing the scrubbing brush back into the bucket and inadvertently
soaking yourself with water. “No more. There’s nobody here. I’m going home.”
You continued to chunter to
yourself down the hallway until you reached the supply closet where you grew
even more frustrated as it refused to unlock.
“OH, COME ON!” You exploded
“Hello?” A muffled voice sounded
from inside the closet.
You frowned at the door, puzzled.
“Hey um, I’m kind of trapped in
here, do you think you could let me out?”
“Oh!” You burst into action,
trying again to unlock it. The door remained stubbornly shut, even when you
leant against it with all your might. “Door’s jammed.” You grunted, pushing
“Yeah… Flash dented the lock so I
wouldn’t get out.”
“Flash? As in Flash Thompson? Why
would he- Hang on, you’re not that guy are you? The one he always picks on?
What was it? P- P- P- Percy? No, uh-”
“It’s Peter actually.”
“Right, Peter, sorry about that.
This is (Y/N) by the way, if you know me that is.”
“Yeah, we’re in most classes
“We are? My bad, I don’t pay much
attention. Well, when this is over I’m gonna kill Flash. Okay, move back from
the door, I have an idea.”
Peter moved as far back as he
could in the tiny supply closet, waiting for your master plan. There was a loud
thud against the door, followed by a pained groan.
“H-hey, are you alright?” Peter
“That was… That was a stupid
plan.” You cringed. “New plan. I’m going to get some of the tools from
workshop. Sit tight Peter, I’ll be right back.”
Peter sat down, leaning against
the wall as he had before you came along. He debated what he’d tell Aunt May
and Uncle Ben this time, after all, there would be no explaining the- Loud
scraping of metal on metal interrupted his thoughts.
“You’re back.” He declared
“Uh-huh.” You answered
distractedly, attacking the door hinges with a screwdriver and hammer. It took
just under half an hour of hacking inexpertly at the tight metal before you
managed to remove the hinges completely. You grabbed the door quickly, easing it
to the floor to let Peter out.
“Done.” You panted tiredly,
staring at the mess you’d made.
“Thank you, I’m sorry I put you
through so much trouble.”
“It’s no big deal, I’m just glad-”
You turned to Peter, “Good God man.” You stated, appalled at the sight before
Peter’s face was covered in cuts
and bruises, his left eye was swollen and purple, and there was dried blood,
which had made its way from his nose to his shirt.
“Did Flash and his gang do this
to you?” You whispered incredulously.
“Uh yeah, sorry.” Peter
apologised, hating the worry on your face. “It’s fine really. I’m sure Flash
just has his own troubles and-”
“No. This isn’t okay so don’t go
acting like it is. Come on, we have to get you cleaned up before your cuts get
infected or something.”
“Are you sure we should be doing
this?” Peter questioned apprehensively as you tried each key on the bunch for
the nurse’s office. “Isn’t this breaking the rules?”
“Peter, I just broke down a door,
I think this is acceptable.” You pushed the door open. “Now sit down, I need to
get a cloth.”
Peter perched on the edge of a
bed while you rifled through some drawers, “Cloths are in the second drawer and
saline solution is in the cupboard on your right.” he explained.
“I’m guessing you spend a lot of
time in here.” You got the items, moving back to him.
“A little more than I should.”
You prepared the solution on the
cloth, “This may sting a little.”
You dabbed his face gently,
clearing away the blood where you could. Peter sat silently, suddenly bashful
at your proximity.
“So, where do you live anyway?”
You asked while you worked.
“What? Uh, w-why?”
“It’s late, I don’t want you walking
home alone in the dark.”
“What about you? If you walked me
home, who would walk you home?”
“Look, just tell me where you
live, who knows? It may be right next to me but I won’t know until you tell me.”
“I live in Forest Hills but you
don’t have to-”
“No way, I live in the street
around the corner.” You lied, doing whatever it took to get Peter home.
“Really?” Peter lit up excitedly.
“Yeah, come on, I think I’ve done
all I can here. I’ll lock up and we can go.”
“Uh (Y/N), what about the supply
“What the principal doesn’t know
can’t hurt us, he’ll probably just assume it was just some vandal; God knows
the school’s full of ‘em. Now let’s go, it’s bad enough walking through New
York in the day, it’s even worse at night and I don’t know about you but I don’t
have any bus money so I’d rather set off now.”
“Where could he have got to May?”
Ben Parker paced restlessly around his living room, waiting for the phone to
“Ben-” May started, looking
through the net curtains.
“I should be out there looking
“It’s been hours now.”
“Ben!” May raised her voice
slightly, startling her husband. She smiled serenely, “Peter’s outside and it
looks like he’s brought a friend.”
“What?” Ben joined his wife at
the window. Peter’s back was facing the pair but they could just see you in
front of him.
“Do you think he’s been out on a
date?” May gushed ecstatically.
“Now May, it could just be a
“Either way, our little Peter
hasn’t brought many people over before.”
“What do you suppose they’re
talking about out there?”
“I don’t know, oh let’s invite
them in, I’d love to meet Peter’s new friend.”
“Do you really think that’s a
good idea?” Ben asked a little too late, May was already heading towards the
She threw it open
enthusiastically, “Peter dear, welcome home. Come now, why don’t you introduce
us to your friend?”
Peter blushed awkwardly, “A-aunt
May-” he stuttered.
You looked behind Peter to see
his aunt and uncle in the doorway. They motioned you inside, “Come now dear, no
need to be shy.” May cooed at you.
“Sorry about this.” Peter
whispered, nervous that you would hate his family and think him a loser. In
truth, he loved his family more than anything so if you disliked them he knew
he wouldn’t have anything to do with you from then on.
You walked past Peter to the
front door, “Hello, I’m (Y/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You stuck your
hand out which Ben shook amiably.
“Please dear, come inside, we’d
love to hear how you know our Peter.” May beamed.
“Oh, um- I wouldn’t want to
“Nonsense, it wouldn’t be a
“Uh, well I suppose, if Peter
Peter finally joined you, “No,
His aunt gasped, “Oh my, Peter
what happened to your face? It wasn’t those boys again was it?”
“Uh, no. No, it wasn’t, it was
“No, I can tell you, I saw the
whole thing.” You jumped in, saving Peter from whatever mess of an explanation
he’d come up with. “Peter actually slipped on something at the top of the
stairs and fell down half a flight. It was reported to the principal and I took
him to the nurse’s office; it was all just a clumsy mistake.”
“Peter, you really must be more
careful.” May chastised mildly. “Still, it’s good you had such a nice friend to
help you. Now come on in out of the cold you two, I’ll make everyone a nice cup
Over the next twenty minutes, you
were asked all manner of questions which you answered gladly, knowing that if
your family met Peter, they’d probably do the same to him. You found May and
Ben to be lovely people who clearly adored their nephew. It almost made you
reluctant to announce you had to leave.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for
dinner?” May offered.
“No thank you, I should be
getting home ASAP.”
“Where do you live dear? I
wouldn’t want you walking home alone in the dark.”
“Aunt May, (Y/N) lives just
around-” Peter started until you gave him a look and shook your head.
“I um, I actually live in the
city, but if I start walking now I can be home in an hour or two.”
“Peter,” Ben scolded, “you let
(Y/N) come with you all this way even though (s)he lives in the city. How could
you be so irresponsible?”
“It’s alright, really. Peter
didn’t know where I lived, I didn’t tell him.” You explained. “It was nice
meeting you both, I hope I’ll get to again. See you later Peter.” You got up to
“Hey now, it wouldn’t be right to
let you go out alone in the pitch black. What kind of person would I be if I
allowed you to do that? Come with me and we’ll go in the car.”
“No buts, come on now.”
You knew there was no way you
would win the argument against Ben Parker; he was the very image of how a
guardian should behave. You followed him out of the house apologising for the
When the car pulled away, May
turned to Peter, gushing, “(S)he is a lovely one, that (Y/N). You should ask
him/her out before someone else does.”
“Aunt May-” Peter blushed.
“Now, now, I saw the way you
looked at (Y/N), it’s the same way your father looked at your mother when they
“(Y/N)’s just a friend.”
“For now maybe but that can
change quite easily.”
Peter shuffled awkwardly on the
“Alright.” May relented. “I’ll
drop it for now but we both know I’m right.”
She walked away, leaving Peter to
his thoughts. You were one of the first people to really acknowledge him in
school and you’d met his family all in one day, how could he not have a crush
on you? Despite that, he was sure you were just being polite and that
everything would go back to normal on Monday because who would admit to liking
him in front of the other students?
Much to Peter’s amazement, you
didn’t ignore him on the following Monday. In fact, from then on you made extra
efforts to sit with him in class, work together on group projects, and even
meet him when you could outside of school. Your friendship endured even when
Peter started acting unusual, disappearing on occasion, and making peculiar
excuses not to meet you. Although you wanted to know what was wrong with him,
you stopped asking because he became fidgety and uncomfortable whenever you did.
After a year as your friend, Peter decided it was finally time to ask you out;
as soon as Valentine’s day rolled around he was going to visit your house, take
flowers, and hope you wouldn’t reject his affections.
Peter checked himself out in the
mirror. He had a million questions right now but nobody to ask them to. Was his
outfit okay or would a suit be better than jeans and a t-shirt? Were the dozen
red roses he was holding too much or not enough? Should he slick his hair back?
How would he ask the question? Would he suddenly blurt it out in a moment of
clarity or would he stand gawkily spluttering clumsy words? His multitude of
questions were interrupted by the phone downstairs, he ran to get it since his
Aunt and Uncle were away on a day-long date.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Peter, where are you?” You
asked. “You said you were coming over to work on our Science project today or
did you forget?”
Peter cursed himself silently,
he’d been so busy getting ready that he’d forgotten the excuse he’d made to
“Uh… yeah. I’m on my way now,
it’s just that to make our uh presentation board we’ll need tacks and I went to
the store here but they don’t have any.”
“Oh, no problem, you just get
over here when you can and I’ll pick up some tacks at our store.”
“Great, I’ll uh, see you soon
“Okie doke, see you soon, bye.”
The phone clicked off. Peter
looked at the clock on the wall, he’d have to hurry if he wanted to ask you out
before your family got home. He ran upstairs, grabbing his backpack. There was
only one thing that would get him to your place in good time; for this job, he
would have to be Spiderman.
You threw the tacks in your bag
on the way back home from the store, absentmindedly taking the shortcut through
the back allies to your apartment block as you always did when it was cold.
“That sure is a nice lookin’ bag
you got there.” A lanky man in a cut off denim vest and jeans croaked.
“Excuse me?” You turned to face
“I’ll bet it’s worth a pretty
penny or two.”
“W-What do you want?” You
“That depends really don’t it.
How much do you have?”
He pulled a switchblade out,
grinning maliciously. You took a few steps backwards, keeping an eye on him
until two meaty arms wrapped around your chest.
You screamed and bucked, craning
your neck to see your attacker, another man who was clearly in league with the
first, sneered as you writhed against him. The first man came closer, swaying
his knife around, “I think this is going to be a fun day.”
“Wait.” You shrieked. “I’ll give
you everything I have. Please, you don’t have to do this.”
“Have to? No. But I do want to, I
like hearing people scream.”
“Wow.” Sarcastic clapping brought
everyone’s attention to the vigilante Spiderman, who was stood only a few feet
away. “Real great show everybody but it won’t make it to stage if someone dies
in the first scene.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
Denim jacket waved his knife in Spiderman’s direction.
“Wait! This isn’t a play rehearsal?
Damn, if it was I was gonna add a scene where the two idiots got arrested and
the victim goes free… Oh well, I guess I can do that anyway.”
You watched disbelievingly as the
other thug let go of you, ready to go head-to-head with Spiderman. You didn’t
know what to say about the scene in front of you as you stood, paralysed,
watching it unfurl. It took only about two minutes for Spiderman to
incapacitate the two men, leaving them stuck against the wall, presumably for
the police to find.
He approached you, completely
relaxed. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
You swallowed thickly, your
suspicions confirmed, then in a low voice you whispered, “Peter?”
Spiderman stumbled back, stunned.
“Wha- Who? I don’t know any-”
“Stop. Don’t insult me like this Pe-
You turned to leave the way you’d
came but were stopped as Spiderman grabbed your wrist. “Can I… Can we talk
You hesitated before nodding
uncertainly. Spiderman grabbed you around the waist tightly, using his web
slingers to take off into the sky. Cold air whipped across your face as you
clung tightly to him, both exhilarated and terrified until he stopped at the
top of a nearby building, about 20 stories off the ground.
“How did you know?” He asked,
sounding less confident than before.
“No matter how you disguise it, I
know your voice by now.” You kept a safe distance from the friend you thought
you knew. “How- I mean… You were always the guy who took photos but like… Were
you born like this? Hell, are you even from this planet?”
“You’ve definitely been reading
too much Superman.”
“Okay, drop the sarcasm mister or
I’ll uh, very slowly climb down the fire escape, I guess.” You peeked over the
edge of the building dubiously.
“It’s a long story with a
radioactive spider and I know it’s weird but this is new to me too. Do you… do
you accept me as Spiderman?”
“I don’t think I have much of a
choice.” You replied sardonically, then switching to concern you asked, “Do you
get hurt a lot?”
“Is this where you’re always
“Okay.” You clambered onto the
“Wait, (Y/N) where are you
going?” he asked, alarmed.
“I just need some time to figure
this out because I’ve just found out my best friend is a vigilante superhero
who disappears often to get into fights with strangers.”
“Hang on, please don’t be like
this, I- Just stay here for two minutes, can you do that for me?”
You exhaled tiredly, rubbing your
forehead, “Sure, fine, whatever.”
“Great, I’ll be right back.”
Spiderman zipped away, leaving
you on the fire escape to survey the city below; it seemed peaceful to be above
it all. You could almost see the advantage of having powers like Peter’s. The
peace didn’t last long however as Spiderman flung himself back onto the roof,
landing behind you. When you faced him, you saw that his hands were behind his
back and he was shuffling nervously.
“I uh, I planned to do this
properly but considering everything… here.”
He pulled a very wilted bouquet
of roses from behind his back, the heads had fallen off a few and the rest had
shed most of their petals from the journey up. The sight of them made you smile
wearily as you took hold of them gently.
“It’s Valentine’s day.” Peter
“That it is. So, is this you
asking me out?”
“Yeah. If you don’t like it
though, I can try again, we could do it a different way, or-”
You put up a hand to stop Peter’s
babbling, “I um, I still need to get my head around everything so I’m just
going to head home now.”
“WAIT!” Peter put his hand out.
“Uh… Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again but please, I’ve gotta
ask you, you won’t tell the police about this will you?”
“Excuse me?” You said, affronted
by the question. “What kind of cretin do you take me for? I would never in a
million years, tell the police that my boyfriend was Spiderman.”
The whites of Peter’s mask
widened in surprise, “B-boyfriend.”
You grinned. “Yes, boyfriend.
Now, either you give me a lift to my apartment block or I climb this fire
escape. Either way, it’s an adventure.”
Peter ran over to you clumsily;
he was too lost in his ecstasy to speak. Instead, he simply grabbed hold of you
and vaulted confidently off the roof to take you home.
Ok, hear me out... So fem!reader gets thrown into Overwatch universe. She starts wandering around the base, thinking it's a dream, and runs into her favorite character (the trash baby). How does Junkrat react to having such a big fan gush about him?
- This had to be some kind of dream, it had to be, you’d spent way too many hours playing the game recently for one of the new events and the sleep had come at you full force and your coffee and junkfood fuelled dreams were making it seem like you were walking down the halls of one of the bases in Overwatch.
- Everything you touched felt so real, the metal you ran your hands over, just feeling it’s cold smooth surface, everything was like it was real but that was wrong right? it was all just a dream… right?
- As you were walking down the hall touching everything you could trying to prove that this was just a very real feeling dream there was a pair of footsteps, one was mismatched a step clang step clang on the metal and you peeled yourself off of the wall and looked ahead.
- “Mate, all I’m sayin’ is tha’ this place is shitty, we should be out and about fuckin’ up stuff like the good ol’ days“ Junkrat sighed and threw his hands to his sides when his partner just shook his head at the little rant the smaller Junker was on.
- Junkrat was happy to chunter on some more when Roadhog stopped and he almost bumped right into his back. He huffed and elbowed the older man in the cut as he pushed past to see what the hold up was. There was a girl just stood there in the middle of the hall now gawking at them both.
- “Who…tha’ fuck…” Junkrat looked at Roadhog with a confused look raising one of those bushy brows at him. Roadhog looked from you and back to the skinny man and then back at you shrugging those big shoulders of his.
- “Oh wow, it’s you two!“ you cried and clasped your hands together, Roadhog was one of your favourite characters in the game but not as much as Junkrat, you really adored the guy and you played as him all the time.
- Neither would be dangerous, not in your dream so you grinned and walked right up to Junkrat without another thought and grabbed his face between your hands and grinned, rubbing the soot around on his face, it felt so real, the way his face felt, the soot being smeared and the feel of his dry skin.
- “Your eyes are even more beautiful then I could have thought” you sighed and stared into the blinking amber, the way his brows furrowed as his hands met yours and held them. He was so confused and shot Roadhog another side long look, another shrug was in place.
- “No one ‘as ever gotten close enough to me face without me blowin’ em up but thanks for the kind words darl’ now who the fuck are ya and wot you doin’ in the base? new kitchen staff an’ lost?” Junkrat asked and when it seemed you weren’t going to let go of his face he pulled your hands off just to have you dart around him now, tugging at things and rattling away happily while the Rat tried to dance on one leg while you admired his pegleg and pulled at him some more.
- “Is the tire really heavy? can I touch your hair, is it really on fire? your leg looks like it wouldn’t work up close, you don’t smell as much as people write you oh wow and you are so tall, can I see your grenade launcher? can I fire it? and can you juggle for me?” so much all at once and then you just squeaked, happy, this was your dream so you’d get away with anything, you flung your arms around his skinny waist.
- “Least buy a fella dinner first” he cackled, it was as loud and shrill as in the games, that manic giggle that you loved. He tried to peel you off of him since your grasp was making his pant fall even lower on your hips.
- “You are so handsome in person, oh wow I love you” you gushed and nuzzled his torso, all the while Roadhog was laughing a deep booming laugh as Junkrat looked so confused, an awkward laugh leaving him now as he put his hands on your shoulders and gently pushed.
- “This gotta be some kinda joke, lets take ya to ol’ planet of the apes an’ see wots wot” he itched his neck but you could see there was a blush on his face hiding under the smudged around dirt, seems he wasn’t used to compliments. You just grinned and linked arms with him, Roadhog holding his gut behind you both as he carried on with his booming laughter, he’d never seen Rat so stunned and at a loss of words.
So Felix said the n-word in a live stream and a lot of people immediately declared him to be the embodiment of Satan and demanded Sean and Mark to abandon him and Marzia to leave his ass and…
I wanted to be a bit more nuanced than that but I didn’t expect this much reaction so I didn’t make myself very clear and I didn’t give too much context as to what I meant.
I posted this on the matter and I said I’d get to all your reactions so here we go, I will be talking about this in different parts, getting to all your reactions and taking those in consideration. I won’t be commenting on all reactions individually though as they way too many already for me to get to, but all of them have been read and taken into consideration.
edit: I give up… this thing had 300 notes yesterday, now it’s at 1200+ I can’t get to all of you but I’ll address as much as possible.
First of all, I want to say that I acknowledge Felix made a mistake, I agree he shouldn’t have said what he did, I don’t condone him saying it at all.
Secondly, when I made the post I made, I was looking in the pewdiepie tag that was going absolutely insane. I wasn’t speaking against those saying that he made a mistake, I was speaking against those who were acting like Felix murdered their family (+ pets) and burned their house down after. But I understand that I didn’t make that clear in my post.
Third, I’m tagging each and every single person who added to the convo, since most of you don’t follow me. Feel free to add to this, how things are in your culture, but please read everything first.
Please don’t comment on Part 1 before you’ve read the rest as your comment may already be addressed in a later part. I know it’s a lot, and you might not be interested in reading, which is fine, but I figured some of you might be interested in the full story.
The first 4 parts are actually not at all about Felix, purely about the word and cultural differences. This is not an excuse for Felix at all, it’s simply an essay about words, languages, nuance, sentiment and losing things in translation. Part 5 is the only one that’s about Felix. The first 4 are in no way trying to excuse him.
okay but like, au where the lads have actual proper choice in where they go to uni + what they study:
scripps does english and creative writing joint honours at leeds trinity; its far away enough that he’s independent but close enough to home that he can run back on the train if his family need him urgently, and there’s times when they do. he’s happy, mostly, and he takes an internship at the guardian after his third year that eventually turns into a job.
posner does primary education at uni of, and in second and third year him and scripps get a house together. his mental health still isn’t 100%, but it’s a bit better. him and scripps go to each others graduations, and the grad balls that follow (they get together at scripps’s, when they’re walking down the headrow a bottle of champagne down, suits dishevelled and shirts untucked. when they kiss it tastes of bubbles and they nearly fall into a hedge in the city square)
lockwood, after much deliberation and several offers from other places, goes to sheffield and studies law. he worries he’ll regret it, but his family are a bit strapped for cash and really it is an okay university, and it’s good for him to have a support network on hand. he has a good three years, in the end, and doesn’t join the army.
dakin does law and english joint honours at goldsmiths. he’s happy there, and sometimes he sees irwin on the weekends. he likes being in the city, and he stays there after he graduates to do a masters. (scripps chunters at him all the time for defecting down south and never coming back)
timms goes to newcastle and is happy (he does film and tv studies and is the president of the comedy soc in his third year, and generally has a whale of a time)
akthar goes to manchester met and is the only one of them who actually chooses to study history. he likes it, likes the difference between sheffield and manchester, and ends up staying there after he graduates. the trams make him feel almost at home.
rudge decides not to go to university, in the end; he has offers from a few places –sheff hallam, leeds, chester– but ultimately he decides it’s not for him. he starts working for a joiners in town and eventually sets up his own. he still sees a lot of jimmy, and some of the others when they’re in town.
crowther does drama and theatre studies at edinburgh and ends up on the fringe a few years later. it’s not what he expected to be doing, but he likes it anyway, and the lads all drag their arses up to scotland to see him and make a right racket in the back of the stalls.
and a bonus:
felix is apoplectic with rage that his best oxbridge prospects have all told him to shove it up his arse and gone to mets and polytechnics and northern universities
You’re A Plus Size & Nervous About Asking Michael Out
A/n: Hey Anon! Thank you so much. I have tried my best with this one but I feel as though it is still rather shit so I do apologise. xx
.Michael x Reader
on. Take a deep breath Y/n you can do this… You can do this…”
You told yourself mentally at you glared at
your reflection in the mirror of the communal toilets.
Other girls swanned in and out again during
your mental pep talk and you knew they were staring and muttering at your
strange stance, but you couldn’t worry about that right now; you had bigger
fish to fry.
Finally standing back and straightening out
your tee, you checked your appearance for the tenth time in fifteen minutes
before gathering your courage and heading out into the deserted, early morning
corridors of your college.
Today was the day you were going to ask your
best friend Michael Clifford, to be your boyfriend.
You never intended to let your feelings for
this boy get so out of control but you couldn’t help it. Every day when he came
into class and smiled right at you, every day when his sweet laugh reached your
ears and when his eyes sparkled with mischief, you swooned.
You had tried on several occasions to pluck up
your courage and ask him, but it had always failed you.
When you were younger and carefree you had no
problem asking guys out but the more they turned you down, the more you started
to think… was your weight really such an issue?
By no means were you slim; you had always been
bigger ever since childhood and it never once bothered you but as you got
older, it always seemed to be a problem.
The guys would take one look at you, their eyes
lingering on your love handles as they laughed, and the pretty girls would
sneer at your failed attempts; you had promised yourself that you would be more
reserved in the future and you had been, until Michael came along.
When you eventually arrived at your classroom
door, you took a deep breath and counted to three before pushing open the door
and sure enough, Michael was sat by himself in his regular seat, lost in his
It was a few seconds before he registered your
presence but when he finally glanced over to you, his face split into a grin as
he pushed back in his chair.
“Y/n! I’m so glad you’re here, I was wondering
if you could look over this sequence I’ve been working on and let me know what
There went your chance of just getting it over
and done with.
Never mind, you would look over his work and
ask him after. With a soft smile, you nodded your head and walked over to take
a seat in the chair next to his.
“Sure thing Mikey, let me see…”
The longer you looked over his work, the more
conscious you became on how close he was and like an idiot, as he reached
across your outstretched arm to grab a pen, you jolted away.
“…You okay Y/n? You seem a little distant
Trying to contain the blush that was spreading
smoothly over your cheeks, you shook your head in dismissal.
“Yeah I’m fine, I’m just still waking up that’s
Michael rolled his eyes dramatically as he
“Tell me about it, why on Earth do we have to
start so early in the morning? If I were to teach a class none of my lessons
would start till at least one o’clock in the afternoon…”
Just like Michael, he chuntered on for a good
long while about nothing in particular and before you knew it, the room began
to fill up with your fellow students and you had missed your second chance.
“Thanks for looking at this, I really
appreciate your help Y/n… Listen, if you don’t mind, I don’t suppose you could
meet me in the Apple Mac suite upstairs for lunch today? I don’t really understand some of
this written work we’ve been set, could you help me out?”
Like a love sick fool, you nodded before even
thinking about it but it was worth it to see Michael’s smile.
“Thanks Y/n, I owe you big time.”
By the time lunch rolled around you were
beginning to think twice about asking Michael out.
You were the first to arrive in the Mac suite
but as you took a seat on the middle row and proceeded to log onto the
computer, you could hear muttering and snickering behind you.
Not even having the chance to turn around, a
rough female voice called out with a laugh.
“Watch where you slam your arms Beefcake, you
nearly took down all the computers.”
You felt your face flush with anger and
embarrassment and you had no idea where to put yourself when they were so
obviously laughing at you.
Taking a slow breath, you logged straight back
out of your PC before getting to your feet and turning to the two girls on the
row behind you.
You opened your mouth to respond but you had
never been good at quick comebacks. This only caused the girls to laugh even
louder and you had no choice but to hastily remove yourself from the situation.
To add insult to injury, you crashed into
Michael on the way out.
“Woah Y/n, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”
Of course, what with being the whale you were
how could you have not have missed nearly knocking him over?
Keeping your head down you pushed past your
friend and power walked down the hall, letting the noise of the laughing girls
and Michael’s questioning shouts follow you through the swinging doors and down
the stairs case.
Slamming your bag down on an unoccupied bench
in the courtyard outside, you took a seat and let yourself breath. You were
beginning to gather a headache as you fought the tears threatening to fall.
You didn’t cry, you weren’t that sort of person
and you also weren’t the type of person to let other people get to you.
You were just having a bad day.
Pulling out your phone, you swiftly rolled
through your contacts to find the name of your best friend, Y/bf/n, before
hitting the dial button.
She picked up on the third ring.
She mumbled, probably through a mouthful of
food and the image you conjured in your head caused you to smile.
“Hey, um… I was just wondering, you know those
boxercise lessons you go to… Well, I don’t suppose you would mind if I tagged
There was a short hesitant pause before your
But didn’t you say just last week that it would be a cold day in hell before
you stepped foot in a boxercise class?”
Sighing, you slouched over your bag as you
began to grumble down the phone.
“I know. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if I
lost a bit of weight. You know, everyone is into all this healthy eating and
exercise at the moment, maybe I should join the bandwagon?”
Again, a short hesitant pause before Y/bf/n
gushed back down the phone.
something happened Y/n? You don’t sound overly thrilled and it’s not like you
to suddenly be into carrot sticks and running marathons.”
Sighing, you finally collapsed fully onto your
bag as you began to explain.
“I don’t know, I’m just having a bad day. Some
girls were picking on me earlier and I know it’s silly but today was the day I
was going to ask Michael out…”
Your friend made a noise of recognition down
“And I kept on missing my chance and I
practically walked into him and nearly sent him flying down the corridor… I
don’t know, why would he want someone like me when he can have someone who… who
at least won’t get in his way. It was silly for me to even think about it, he
would have said no anyway.”
You didn’t hear much of what Y/bf/n said in
response because a loud, angry voice spoke up from behind you.
“How do you know?”
You nearly jumped out of your skin and dropped
your phone as you turned to see who the intruder was.
Breathing a sigh of relief when you caught
sight of Michael’s unnaturally black dyed hair, you shook your head.
“Mikey, you scared me half to death… Don’t do
“How do you know?”
He asked again, frowning down at you with
slightly sad eyes and you had no idea what he was talking about.
“Sorry Y/bf/n, I’m going to have to call you
You ended the call to your friend and pocketed
your phone before giving Michael your full attention again.
“I’m sorry, how do I know what?”
You asked in confusion as Michael took a seat
tentatively by your side.
“How do you know, if you asked me out… that I
would say ‘no’?”
He asked as a dark blush began to stain the
corners of his cheeks, but you could only stare at him in horror. Had he heard
that part of your conversation?
“I… I don’t know, I didn’t know you were… I
You could feel your own cheeks heat up as you
stumbled over your words, causing Michael to give you a soft smile.
“Why don’t you ask me and discover the true
answer right now?”
Michael challenged, causing you to bite your
lips nervously. Was he being serious or just messing with you?
Well, you finally had your chance as well as
Michael’s undivided attention, and you’d even said it yourself; the worst he
could do was say ‘no.’
“Michael, will you go out with me?”
It was Michael’s turn to take his bottom lips
between his teeth as he tried to restrain the massive grin that was beginning
to take over the lower half of his face.
He shortly gushed as if it was the most obvious
answer in the world.
“Did you honestly think I could have said no?
You’re so clever Y/n and you develop the most kick ass games in the whole
college! Not to mention your pretty face… As soon as I set eyes on you, I was
lost. If I weren’t such a wimp about asking you
out, we would have been happy together long ago.”
You weren’t sure how to process all this
information but it was a rather pleasant surprise.
“So… My weight doesn’t bother you?”
Michael screwed up his face as if you’d just
said the most stupidest thing in the world.
“Of course not, you’re one of my best friends
Y/n… it’s just not an issue, so it shouldn’t be for you. If you want to go to
those classes that’s fine, but only if it’s for your own enjoyment. Don’t
change for anyone but yourself.”
Getting to his feet, Michael pulled your bag
from its resting place on the table and slung it over his shoulder before
offering you his hand.
“Walk back to class with me?”
His smirk was cheeky and you felt yourself
blush all over again as you reached up and intertwined your fingers with his.
“I can carry my own bag Mikey.”
You insisted as you tried to reach it, but you boyfriend was having none of it.
carrying your bag, pretty lady.”
He reassured before leaning down to press a shy
kiss against the curve of your cheek.
It was funny, how you could go from feeling so
down to so high within the space of one conversation and even though you needed
some help with it, you were so pleased you were now with the person who you
always, truly wanted.
The life of a sorcerer was not as easy a life as you would think. In
a world where most rejected the very idea that magic and creatures
you have nightmares about exist, it was increasingly difficult to
make a living. Gabriel had been in the profession from being in his
teens. Though his family specified in totem magic, fusing power into
trinkets and other items to be held close or placed upon specified
grounds, he had quickly learnt how to perform other forms of
miracles, though he still often worked through weaving magical
energies into entities, be that potions or amulets. Business revolved
around those who were of the night creatures, be it werewolf,
vampire, shifters or even faeries. The only time he had humans come
into his shop was usually for potions and concoctions, when they
truly had no where else left to go. Now, Gabriel was talented, but no
magic could cure the inevitability of death, and so, though he could
cure ailments such as colds, those on the brink of death he could not
save. He could however, stem the deterioration of such terminal
illnesses, and for most, that alone was enough for them to pay him
the large fee in order to do so.
The Interview: Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond by
In 2007, James May seriously considered killing Jeremy Clarkson. It was a long shoot, cold temperatures. The three of them were “on our trip to the North Pole”, says May, when suddenly, he found himself alone with Clarkson. “We were miles away from the crew behind a big sort of ice floe thing,” he says, “so nobody could see us. And I had a shovel …” He pauses. “And I thought, YEAH!” He could have staved his head in or just smashed him silently into the sea. He could have pushed him over, or cut him off completely. He thought: “This bit’s going to melt,” by which time Clarkson, bleeding and unconscious, would have simply floated away and been “gone” for ever. It wouldn’t be a loss, no. “We never liked each other in the first place,” he grins.
Clarkson agrees that May became inexplicably “murderous” during the icy trip. The explorer Ranulph Fiennes had warned him that the “weak and feeble-minded will not be able to cope”. Even Fiennes, who is Clarkson’s idea of the perfect human being, said he’d become “murderous” himself, so it was no surprise that May wanted to bash Clarkson’s head in. According to Clarkson, this is because May is “stupid”, sleepy and slow. Because obviously no one would ever really want to kill Clarkson. Would they?
We are sitting in the darkened back room of a pub, five minutes from the new offices the trio share in Chiswick, west London. Clarkson sits in the middle, a tall, loping man with ungovernable limbs. May is a soft, sloping sort who looks like an off-duty instructor of the lute. Hammond is quiet, big-eyed. All of them seem hushed, focused, “scared”. It has obviously been the most stressful year of their lives.
Losing everything and having to build their show back up from scratch has been “daunting”. After Clarkson was dumped from Top Gear last year, they went from being the biggest television stars in the world to being the owners of a single, resentful bog brush. Moving into temporary offices on “day one”, booms Clarkson, they found they did not have a pot to piss in. Not a desk, a chair, nor even a printer. There was a space “about half the size of this bit of the room”, he says, motioning into the dark. But otherwise “we had to buy bog roll”, he booms. “BOG ROLL! We actually bought a BOG BRUSH.” “And a mop,” says May. “And a mop,” nods Clarkson. “And a bucket,” says May.
I think at that point they probably did slightly wish May had killed Clarkson. As the presenters of Top Gear they had been watched by 350m people. The show is dubbed into eight languages, including Farsi, where one of Clarkson’s favourite phrases, “gentleman’s sausage”, was translated as “Pharaoh’s dried testicles”. It was lusty, banterish, bombastic — and, in some people’s opinion, bloody awful, terrible and politically incorrect. But after a series of dramas, including a “fracas” in which Clarkson allegedly punched a producer and called him a “lazy Irish c***”, most people were both startled and sorry it was over. Indeed, 1m people petitioned the BBC to take them back. Clarkson is not openly bitter, but I’m fairly certain his life’s task is now to create a new show so brilliant it will totally destroy the BBC. As ever, he approaches everything with the searing intensity of the final showdown in a Bond film. Even this interview feels as if it is some kind of duel to the death on the rim of a volcano. (Obviously, he is already in character by the time he turns up. He is a Bond villain, probably Blofeld, and I am his “vursy adwersary”.)
The pressure is undoubtedly on. Clarkson and his crew have landed a £160m deal with the online streaming service Amazon Prime to deliver a car show, called The Grand Tour, over three years. Each year they will produce 12 episodes. Each episode sees the entire circus travel to a new country, a bit like Formula One. From the clips I have seen, the new show looks like something more pantingly explosive than every single Michael Bay film rolled together. Admittedly, it is in the spirit of Top Gear, but, as Clarkson would say, with much bigger tits. There are machineguns, fighter jets, terrorist-level detonations, cars dangled at 1, 000ft, not to mention Clarkson slamming tanks across the usual protected rainforest/untouched salt flats/virgin savanna. It looks like the most fabulous midlife crisis ever.
For the past few months, the trio have been busting the enormous budget, pinballing from Venice to Los Angeles to South Africa, where one of the make-up girls was so horrified about how their “greying” skin might look in the new ultra-high-definition 4K format it is shot in that she decided to “entomb” their heads in “three-quarters of a tub” of orange foundation. When they walked into the studio, their heads were “simple orbs”, says Clarkson, massive “pumpkins”, hidden in a thick rind of Hollywood make-up. I find it difficult to look at Clarkson on normal television, so I cannot imagine what it will be like when every pore is exaggerated to cinema quality. It is an experience to lay eyes on him — especially if, like today, he has decided to … well, let’s say dress down. He wears the crumpy jeans and the leather jacket, as well as a paper-thin patterned shirt I’ll be damned if he hasn’t either heavily vomited on or woken up in five days on the trot. His hands are huge, his face is huge and craggy. When AA Gill took him to the gay paradise that is Mykonos, he said that terrified boys physically shrank into walls as Jeremy “the taste apocalypse” passed by.
May agrees there have indeed been “some quite unkind comments saying haven’t they got old, don’t they look ancient. Yes, that’s true, we are getting old. I’m going grey, he’s …” he points to Clarkson, “very fat”, and “he’s …” he points to Hammond’s ratty new goatee, “got a beard. But we’ve been honest about everything else: why shouldn’t people watch us get old?” Clarkson is proud they don’t have a wardrobe budget and “we pay no attention to how we look”. Even Hammond doesn’t seem to have actually dyed his beard. I’m more worried about the soul-charring new stunts than their mascara, though. I’m not sure how they will keep it all up now they are collectively 155 years of age. After all, one of the new scenes in the show cost “not far off” £2.5m, a “Mad Max-style” extravaganza complete with monster vehicles, acrobats and 2,000 extras. Andy Wilman, the producer of the show, says he cannot wait to see if Clarkson, 56, can get in and out of a low-slung car “in three years’ time” without leaving “a big puddle of piss in the seat”. “Three years’ time? Three weeks’ time,” mutters May.
Clarkson says he “gets out of breath doing the simplest things”. At one point he was frightened he might drop dead in Namibia: “I was genuinely scared. I thought what if [the car] does break, what if I have to walk through the desert? I won’t be able to. I can’t even walk over there. I can’t even come and shake hands goodbye.”
But it was May who nearly died in Venice. He was swimming to a jetty “and I thought I would drown. I couldn’t get out of the slippery thing. I had completely run out of strength.” Halfway through filming, he also broke his arm. He was so drunk during the second shoot for the new show that he slipped and fell over when he came out of a pub. Everybody else “managed to get into their cars”, says Clarkson, “but somehow James slipped”. “He took a tumble,” coos Hammond. “He took a tumble,” coos Clarkson. “Graciously,” says May, through gritted teeth. He had offered to be collected by his partner, leaving the others to be chauffeured. He thought he’d be fine walking on the slippery pavement, seeing as “if you’ve had a few, legend always has it that you can fall over as much as you like, fall off a wall and bounce. But it turns out not to be true. If you’re shitfaced and fall over, you still break your arm.” Man laughter. “Still,” says Clarkson, “it did give us some good material, which is all that really matters.”
Clarkson will do anything to land “good material”. If May hits his head on a rock and is rushed to hospital, as he did when they were filming in Syria, “that was like, just take a moment, oh, he’s all right. Straight to laughter.” If Hammond crashes at 288mph and spends two weeks in a coma, as he did in 2006, when he wakes up, “straight to laughter”, he says. Part of the attraction of Top Gear was what Clarkson calls “healthy banter” and what May calls “persiflage”. Strip away the cars, the celebs, and Top Gear, sorry, The Grand Tour, is three men chuntering away about sexy Ukrainian bodywork and “cock”. It is exactly the sort of conversation you’d hear on any day, in any year, in any town outside the M25, and it is voraciously, hilariously popular. It is the language of tyres, tits, moobs and sweat. Sometimes I think that Clarkson is more akin to a whole political party than the presenter of a telly show. Personally, I love telling people that I love him — they always seem so shocked.
Having said that, being on screen with him can be a shock. I once made the stupid mistake of teasing him during a recording of Have I Got News for You. In response to Clarkson’s statement that “kar means cock in Albanian”, I said: “I think you’ll find car means cock in English as well.” Whereupon a terrible chill descended and he attacked me for not knowing what diesel was. His banter isn’t “bullying”, he says now, because “we can’t bully each other, we’re all on a plateau” (he means a level playing field). But sometimes it can feel a bit like being run over by a tank.
How does this go down with Amazon? So far, the Americans haven’t really engaged. Clarkson has not even met the boss, Jeff Bezos. “Amazon are very happy for us to say whatever we want,” he says. He will continue to attack everyone, even Americans, whom he has called “fat, stupid and rude”. Clarkson says he is their editorial policy decision-maker now — obviously I cannot wait to see what this means in real terms (he once called Sarah Jessica Parker “a boiled horse”). At the BBC he had a whole person whose job it was just to stop him saying anything unacceptable, and look how that ended. We can probably date the decline of Top Gear from mid-2013, when an executive named Danny Cohen was promoted to BBC director of television. It wasn’t just that Clarkson hated him. It was more he felt betrayed by him. For 25 years he’d been the BBC’s golden toddler. Suddenly here was someone who not only didn’t like him, but didn’t even get what he did. “Danny and I were famously not ever going to get on,” Clarkson says. Shortly after Cohen arrived, he started to “wind him up”. He’d deliberately write things he knew would infuriate the new director. “I mean, I would think, ‘I’m going to say this. Nobody else would care less. But Danny Cohen, his teeth will move about with rage.’ ” He did it “because I know what his views are on everything, and I just thought, it’s so easy. ’Cos those views are not echoed by anyone living in the country that I know about.”
Also, there is the slight added problem that Clarkson loves “telling people lies”. “Sometimes the truth can be quite boring, so it’s much funnier to make a story up.”
Almost immediately, things started to go wrong. First there was the scandal of the “slope” on a bridge over the River Kwai in the Burma special (slope is a derogatory term for Asians). Wilman apologised. Then there was the scandal of the n-word, an outtake mysteriously leaked in which Clarkson claimed he desperately tried not to say the word but failed. Clarkson apologised (sort of). Then there was Argentina, in which Clarkson didn’t notice the number plate of the grey Porsche he was driving, H982 FKL, was offensive to Argentinians. May claims that any suggestion they rigged the plate is “total horse’s arse”. Clarkson says: “It couldn’t possibly have happened … Swear on the children’s eyes.” But looking at footage of the team as their poor camera crew were stoned out of the country, I can’t quite tell whether they were thrilled — or really thrilled. Also, the police inconveniently discovered a set of interchangeable number plates in the Porsche’s boot — one of them being BEII END (“bell end”). So by the time it came to the inquiry, “nobody believed us”, says Clarkson.
About five months later, the end came when Clarkson supposedly punched the Top Gear producer Oisin Tymon in the reception of a country-house hotel, when he arrived knackered after 10pm and discovered there was no steak. I had thought Clarkson might be a sort of half-hearted “handbags at dawn”, girl on girl, mano a mano type of a fighter, but according to the BBC he harangued Tymon for a whole 20 minutes, only stopping when he was dragged off. (Wilman later pointed out it is almost impossible to berate someone nonstop for 20 minutes: “Try it with a stopwatch at home — you can’t.”) At first everyone tried to brush it off as a “fracas”, but it was clear this time Clarkson had gone too far. He was dropped from Top Gear and later paid the producer about £100,000 in a private settlement. At the time, he said: “I went home thinking, ‘This is a bit ugly.’ ” I know Clarkson won’t say anything about it now (“lawyers”), so I ask Hammond and May if they ever felt annoyed he let them down. “Lawyers,” says May, hesitantly. “Just can’t,” says Hammond, more hesitantly. “Seriously,” says May. “Lawyers.” “The evidence is,” says Hammond, after a small pause, “here we all are, talking to you. Our actions speak louder.” I’ll take that as a no.
Cohen left the BBC just a few months after Clarkson’s contract wasn’t renewed. “Of course he’s gone,” snaps Jeremy. “That was inevitable. You can’t have a man like that running anything.” And while he thinks the BBC is “fantastic”, he thinks it can no longer handle talent or big shows. It is a “1920s” operation that is “going to have to face up to the cruel realities of the modern age”, he says, adding that scheduling is also “an issue”. “It is a 1920s operation trying to operate in the 2020s, which is tricky. But of course it will survive. Of course it will.”
May quietly misses the BBC. “I miss the warm feeling I get from being part of [respectability and the establishment],” he says. He thinks of it as “a sort of third parent”. But after something bad has happened, “you just have to walk away from it with dignity and not be bitter about it”. Clarkson reluctantly admits to watching two episodes of the revamped show: “It was a television programme about cars,” he says blankly. He says it is not for him to pass judgment “on the efforts of others” (not a comment I can take seriously from a man who called Gordon Brown “a one-eyed Scottish idiot”, before refusing to apologise for “idiot”). But he can’t have been too crestfallen when new hosts Matt LeBlanc and Chris Evans crashed.
So what went wrong? Evans (since departed) was probably too nerdy. Part of Clarkson’s genius is that he has no time for overweeningly earnest reviews or sentimentality over car parts. He says, rather dismissively, that it is the other two who “collect” cars; he drives just one car, a Golf GTI. He just wants to drive fast, humiliate celebs, blow up some heart-breaking nook of the landscape and have fun. Ranulph Fiennes is his favourite person precisely because he “has no time for weeping” and “sawed his own fingers off”.
By this stage of the interview, I am only just getting the hang of the trio’s dynamics. Clarkson is “loud and badly behaved”; Hammond is “the boring one”; May is the pantomime dame (“Widow Twankey”), with a touch of the batty, hapless, flowery academic. He is a former flautist and choirboy who read music at college. Later, Clarkson will mouth that May’s partner is a “dance critic”, as if this is the weirdest thing ever.
When I tell Clarkson I find Hammond so earnest it is nearly impossible for me to take in anything he says — even when he talks about dying — Clarkson leaps to his defence, saying, “He is not boring, really. Hammond is very funny.” Clarkson, however, is the real enigma. On the one hand he is very hard-working, a defiant beacon of masculinity (“I just cannot do what I’m told. I love getting into trouble”). But on the other he is also strangely soft and girly. He drinks organic rosé and loves tabloid gossip. He is kind to his friends, likes to get wasted with women, and loves boyfriend chat. At one point, we get entirely lost discussing Simon Cowell’s “gentleman’s sausage”. At which point I pounce. So what was the body count on set — any altercations? “That was a fairly blunt attempt,” says Hammond.
Well, have either of you ever wanted to punch Jeremy? “I did kick him once,” says May. “I know what you want,” says Clarkson. “And you’re not going to get it. You can sit and ask. You can think, well, we’ll sit here and he may come out with it. Your phone battery will go flat and you won’t get anywhere with it.” But I only asked if May had punched him.
“You CAN’T,” says Clarkson. “I’m not even … I can’t even legally go there.” He gives an enormous sigh. “Try as much as you like. We’d have to go to prison.” As it is, Clarkson has been arrested twice: “Once in France, mildly drunk, once in Greece, mildly drunk.” In Greece, he only escaped when he was told to get out of the policeman’s car: he ran away, still handcuffed. I have no idea if this is 100% true or not, but the somewhat tiddly bit sounds fairly authentic. If any of them actually has an issue with booze, no one’s admitting it. May insists: “We do not have a drink problem. He simply likes rosé, I like beer and wine, Hammond likes gin and tonic. We don’t do it to excess. We drink to content, not capacity.”
But as we trickle out into the yard after the interview, we manage to disappear five bottles. Off-duty Clarkson is different. He is less coiled, more relaxed, vulnerable, a bit self-absorbed. He fears tabloid fuss, but seems disappointed if he isn’t mobbed or papped. I have no doubt he can be a control freak on set: he is a technical obsessive, a details man, someone who really bothers. At one point he starts foghorning at one of the techies who has arrived with a video camera, telling him how to do his job.
Sometimes he has to actively remind himself that some people aren’t as fortunate as he is. He does this by remembering the terrible pity he once felt for a man working in a branch of PC World in Liverpool. He found himself staring at the shop through the rain “and I thought, if he works really hard for a few years, he could become a store manager. If he works really, really hard for 10 or 15 years, he’ll become perhaps zone manager. Then he’ll be able to go to a country-house hotel once a year and have a business discussion, maybe with his secretary. And that will be the highlight of his life … And we’re whingeing because we’ve been in a bloody helicopter? So it does have a profound effect. I do think about that a lot.” He pauses. “I don’t work in PC World …” Don’t we know it. CV: Jeremy Clarkson • Age: 56 • Training: Former Rotherham Advertiser journalist • Favourite car: Lexus LFA • Favourite saying: “On that bombshell”
CV: Richard Hammond • Age: 46 • Training: Former Radio Cumbria presenter • Favourite car: Porsche 911 GT3 RS • Favourite saying: “That’s torn it” (milliseconds before crashing a jet car at 288mph)
CV: James May • Age: 53 • Training: Sacked Autocar features editor • Favourite car: Ferrari 458 Speciale • Favourite saying: “Oh cock”
The Grand Tour begins on Amazon Prime on November 18
- Ever since he could remember he had this name written in pretty writing on his wrist, his soul mates name, when the world went to shit for him he gave up on thinking about his soulmate and hid his wrist away.
- He had to explain to Junkrat what his own writing was, boy never having heard of it before, you’d both given up on finding them, didn’t need anyone else really.
- Sometimes the name would itch or burn, were you in trouble? hurt? he had no idea but it was an unwanted reminder of something he didn’t deserve and would never find.
- When him and Junkrat started their rampage neither thought anything of it but it wasn’t until one heist at a jewelry store that things for odd.
- One of the people in the room was on their knees, the TV in the corner showing the news report giving their full names, said person gasped and Roadhog turned to face them, they slowly stood and Junkrat hopped over to them.
- “M-Mako?” the person asked and Roadhog tugged Jamison away from the person, while making a fuss.
- You showed them your wrist, the words glowing in gold ‘Mako’ and it wasn’t a common name. He moved his cuffs from his wrist and saw your name glowing on his wrist.
- “I didn’t think I would ever find you” he mumbled as alarms and the sound of sirens went off. Jamison also chuntering annoyingly at your side
- He offered you his hand and you took it. You were scared but this man was your soul mate and you didn’t want to loose them after taking all this time to find them..
Abaddon scowled as the vapid form appeared. “Get out of here!” he growled, chuntering something about Neverborn and lack of personal space. Another look up informed him that this was not one of the warp entities always hungering for a physical form, no, this was something else entirely. Blinking, he snorted. “Different… What do you want?”
Imagine Jamie meeting Claire the first time he stays at Leoch and Collum promises him to someone. But they end up eloping together at the gathering just like his parents before.
Running in the family; How to elope - Fraser style.
So to make this a wee bit more tangible I have altered the Jamie-Claire age gap. Jamie is 16 and Claire is 18, so only 2 years difference. She is still a time-traveller and has come through the stones, though.
The announcement still rung in his ears as Jamie paced the courtyard.
‘…engaged to be married…’
‘…on her sixteenth…’
Those few words cut him to the core.
What if he didn’t wish to marry her?
What if they weren’t meant to be?
He barely kent the lassie, and she was still just a wee bairn to him.
Another pawn in his uncle’s games, Jamie knew he was being thrust into this ‘partnership’, not for his own benefit, but for theirs. Marrying him off to the wean kept Lallybroch in their clutches.
Stomping through the silent halls, Jamie walked the length of the castle, from the grand hall right down into the recesses of the peat-scented cellars.
The sound of a rattling chain pulled him from his melancholy and he twisted his head in the direction of the noise.
Cautiously, he tip toed towards the closed door, the thick bars of the viewing window hindering his view of the captive that lay beyond. As he approached, a flash of deep brown passed into view. He swore he’d seen thick curls and he tilted his head in confusion.
“Hello…” he broached, laying his hands against the rough wood as he peeked through the prison door.
Catching a glimpse of her profile as she turned, Jamie took a stunted breath and stepped back a little.
So it was a lassie, a young one at that. She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him.
Glancing down, he could see the thick manacle that kept her chained to the floor. Bolted around her ankle, she could move a wee bit about the tiny room, but it wasn’t enough to allow her access to the door.
“What have they got ye trussed up in here for?” he whispered, once it became obvious that she wasn’t offering anything up herself.
He couldn’t fully understand himself, but something about her had him *captivated*.
“Theft…” she spoke, finally breaking her silence as she turned fully to face him. “I stole a horse. Mr. Mackenzie didn’t seem particularly pleased at my explanation, and so here I am.”
A sassenach. No wonder Collum had her locked away.
“…and why, pray tell, did ye steal a horse?” he replied, a hint of wonder in his voice. To steal from the Mackenzie took some *nerve*.
“I was trying to escape,” she retorted, a glimmer of rebelliousness lighting up her liquid amber eyes.
“Ach, I take it ye didna get verra far then, aye?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she blinked slowly, a coy smile lighting her face. “Quite far, and yet,” sighing, she turned away from him, “not far enough.”
“Aye, I see that lass,” Jamie returned, his interested piqued. “Do I dare ask why ye were trying to escape?”
Rotating slightly back towards him, she twisted her head back in his direction. “They were holding me prisoner.”
The hallways were dark now, the candles extinguished as the evening’s celebrations had come to an end.
Hand in hand, Jamie led his newest companion through the quiet castle, hoping that all of the inhabitants were suitably half-cocked; enough that they all might be incapacitated for a time yet.
“This isna right. I dinna even ken yer name,” he whispered, slipping his fingers through hers as they came to a stop by the last corner. “Seems only polite since we’re sneaking awa’ like this.”
“It’s Claire,” she replied, a hint of humour in her tone. “Claire Beauchamp, and I’m so very pleased to have met you…”
“Jamie,” he finished for her. “Jamie Fraser, at yer service.”
Only one man stood between the pair and the portcullis. An elderly guard leaned against his broadsword as he napped at the exit to the castle.
‘Ye need to be utterly still, Claire. We can get passed him wi’out much trouble, I’m sure. But if Collum had ye paraded through the castle on yer return, afore he had ye clad in irons, yer probably well known to all o’ clan Mackenzie.” Pulling the pilfered cape around her face, Jamie tucked her stray curls beneath the heavy fabric.
“Thank you…truly,” she added, stepping closer to Jamie’s side as they readied themselves for a swift exit. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Jamie Fraser.”
Jamie had been right, it didn’t take much to sneak past the snoozing guard and it wasn’t long before he had Claire mounted on his horse. To his mind, he couldn’t work out *why* he’d needed to free her so badly, but something deep in his heart told him he should.
“Where were ye going, Mistress?” he asked rather formally, feeling the breath of his father against his neck, combined with Claire’s as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Would you think I was mad if I told you I couldn’t remember?” she answered, her heart pounding as she clenched her thighs around the outside of his legs, the steady gait of the horse forcing them together.
“I’m promised,” Jamie began. An unspoken truth lay between them. In the short time they had been acquainted, he and Claire had forged something of a bond, “to a lass that I dinna wish to marry.”
Clicking his tongue, Jamie tugged the horse off the trail, to avoid trackers hunting them down once they discovered Claire’s disappearance.
“Oh,” Claire whispered, her hands gripping solidly at his hips as they picked up pace through the underbrush. “And is there a girl you *would* like to marry?”
“Aye, I do. If she werena to object to the idea…”
Nuzzling her nose into the back of his musty jacket, Claire forgot her initial quarms and lost herself in Jamie’s scent. “I don’t think she would be…” she sighed, her mouth watering at the prospect.
This was daft, a complete leave of her senses. But she couldn’t find it in herself to be perturbed by the situation.
Jamie clenched the reins in his hands, the heat of her filling him with warmth from toe to head.
‘Jamie,’ a tender voice echoed in his ear, ‘ye’ve the Fraser about ye, my lad…’ the wind whipped up around them, stealing the soft ghost of his mother, his cheeks pinking at the illusion.
“My da stole my mam away, Claire,” he began, the memory of his parent’s stories alight in his mind now, “just as I did you. Weel, apart from springing her from prison, aye?”
Claire scoffed, rolling her eyes as she snuggled closer still to Jamie, revelling in the close proximity of his alluring body.
“Maybe,” she murmured, letting her hand slide down and along his thigh as the stars twinkled through the breaks in the trees above them, “this is just a case of history repeating?”
Chuckling, Jamie tightened his heels around their mount, urging him ever onwards. “Maybe yer right Claire,” he replied, an eager lilt to his tone as his soul lightened at the prospect of marrying a girl he actually had designs on, instead of one chosen for him by his greedy uncles. “Either way, I think my da will love ye.”
‘…as I do…’ he thought, but did not say.
‘One look was all it took,’ he remembered, his father’s voice now reverberating around them as the crickets began to chirp beside them, ‘just one look, Jamie, my boy.’
“Springing a criminal from the Mackenzie jail, damnit Jamie lad!” Brian Fraser muttered, irritation lacing his tone. “I sent him there to better him, Murtagh. No’ to have him upset half of our relatives. Where did I go wrong?”
“Gi’ the boy a chance, mo bhràthair, we dinna ken the circumstances yet. He might have a good reason for doing what he did,” Murtagh appeased, trying to keep Brian from throttling his young son moments after they tracked him down.
Through the trees, Murtagh caught a brief glimpse of wee Jamie’s horse, and nodded at Brian, a knowing look in his eye.
“He better had, Murtagh, I’m telling ye now,” Brian chuntered, his gaze hardening as he caught his first view of Jamie through the trees.
Claire sat on a rock facing Jamie as he readied the fire for the evening, tugging the thick tartan around her shoulders, she shrugged the hood from her head, letting the slight breeze blow through her loose locks.
“James Alexander Malcolm *MACKENZIE FRASER*!” came the billowing voice through the forest, making the birds scatter from the branches in fear.
Jamie’s face paled as Claire sat bolt upright, her eyes wide as she took in the two men who strode, meaningfully, through the tree line and into their little camp.
“What are ye playing at, mo mhac?” Brian boomed, slamming his palm against the bark as he stared blindly at his son, rage colouring his whole being.
“Da, hear me out…” Jamie began, shuffling his feet nervously in the detritus of the forest floor, “it isne…”
“What I think? It better no’ be! I had Dougal on our doorstep, Dougal Mackenzie himself, Jamie. Have ye any idea the thoughts that have been going through my head?”
“He saved my life,” Claire piped up, standing behind Jamie and peeking out from behind him, brave but not so bold as to take on Jamie’s father without some moral support. “It was my fault. Mr. Mackenzie had me locked away for stealing his horse, and Jamie got me free.”
“A sassenach?” Murtagh whispered in awe, his and Brian’s eyes fixed solely on Claire now as they took the measure of her.
Jaw clenched tight, Claire stood straight, coming out from behind Jamie as she took full responsibility for her part in the whole affair. She would not back down, nor would she cower.
As Brian took a step forward, Claire took one back, certain that her number was up and Mr. Fraser and his comrade would have her marched back to Castle Leoch before sunup.
“A lassie, a wee sassenach lass? Tell me yer pulling my leg, Jamie?” Brian questioned, looked between the pair as he stepped closer still.
“I love her, Da…” he sighed, his eyes holding his father’s as Claire coughed and spluttered behind him, her heart pounding against her chest as the words hit her ears, “and her name is *Claire*.”
“Ah Dhia,” Murtagh cursed, lowly, his jaw dropping as he saw the truth that lay between the young pair. “It’s happening again, Brian, lad. She’s his Ellen,” he exclaimed, watching as Claire slipped her hand into Jamie’s and swallowed, audibly.
“Ach, Christ, Jamie,” Brian murmured, dropping his head in defeat.
“Ye willna send her back, will ye, Da?” Jamie begged, pulling Claire into his side and shielding her from any would be harm that might befall her from his father and godfather.
“Nay,” Brian replied, a hint of ire still lacing his tone. “I won’t.”
Turning to Claire, Brian eyed her, skepticism written all over his face. “What, and tell me honestly, are yer intentions for my lad, Claire? Since I dinna ken where yer from or *who* ye are.”
“I…” she began, her hands shaking as she tried to reason with herself what had occurred between her and Jamie. How could she explain to his family, when she didn’t truly know herself? “I would never hurt him, Mr. Fraser.”
“Do you know what you’ve started, Mistress?” Murtagh broke in, certain that there was something powerful between Claire and Jamie, but also fearful of the wrath of clan Mackenzie. “What lengths Collum and Dougal will go to get justice for what Jamie has done? No’ only did he free ye, a known thief, but he also eloped away from his obligations.”
“I know fine well what he did for me, sir,” Claire bit back, shifting forward slightly, straightening her shoulders as she spoke, “and…” she paused, taking a large breath as she finally acknowledged the strange feelings bubbling under her skin, “I love him too.”
Smiling from ear to ear, Jamie stepped back in line with Claire. Dropping her head against his side, Claire exhaled, letting out a breath of relief at her admittance.
“Weel then, bairns,” Brian said, scratching his head and chuckling under his breath, all manner of irritation extinguished, “it looks like we have a wedding to organise.”
“And fast,” Murtagh interjected, humour coating his words, “afore Collum catches up wi’ ye, again!”
Nothing would fix it. I sang my heart out, the alcohol
buzzing through my veins as I tried to be upbeat, but it all felt wrong.
The only song worth my time was Amnesia, the lyrics so
honest it took my all to resist the tightening of my throat and the tears
resting behind my eyes. The hum of warmth through my veins had fizzled out and I
felt raw, unprotected as I stood in front of each person in the crammed arena
who was signing along with me.
I spun on my heels after walking down the runway, my
throat hitching as I saw her standing at the side, tears streaming down her
face. After all, I still cared for
her and she did nothing, in reality. I hate myself, not her. If I had told her sooner, it could have been
She noticed me staring, having stopped singing when I caught
sight of her. Luckily, Calum and Michael had picked it up as I froze slightly.
I watched her whip around, leaving in a hurry as I spoke.
“Y/N!” No sound left my mouth, a whisper of something
that seemed further away than ever, the need to talk to her overwhelming me. I
found it incredibly difficult to keep my mind on the show, though we were near
the end already. It ended abruptly, Ashton grabbing onto my arm as I shook
around in anticipation, ready to get off the stage.
I smiled gratefully at him as I didn’t want to look
eager to leave, that was just rude. He grinned back at me as I silently thanked
him for being so understanding, the crowd still roaring at what looked like a
simple act of brotherhood between the lead and the drummer.
The time eventually came when we could sprint off stage,
the boys stopping to high five and chatter as soon as they were off but I had
other plans. Backstage was busy, slowing me as I hastily rushed to the makeup
room, politely pushing past people, murmuring a quick sorry. I entered; all
makeup cleaned off the sides and packed up. Frantic was an understatement as I panicked
slightly and spun around as she wasn’t there. Where was there?
Where it all
My head cocked up at the thought as I began to scale the
stairs, jumping a few at a time as I ran upwards. I hoped, prayed she would be
there as I slammed through the door and looked around the dimmed room in lost
“Looking for me?” I spun responsively, turning to see
her step out from the part that overlooked the stage.
I hated it. How weak I sounded, how weak I felt. My
entire body shook as I watched his lips stretch into a small smile, sheepish.
“I’m sorry; I’m so sorry Y/N. I’ve been such a dick.” He
rambled, stepping towards me as he said it. His hands were outstretched,
shaking like me.
“It’s my fault. I’m sorry.” My voice was so small, like I
was. I used to love that. How tall he was, broad and safe. I loved feeling
small next to him, like he would protect me no matter what. But now I just felt
“No, don’t. Please don’t.” He was so close now, towering
over me as I felt his warm breath on my forehead as I looked at the floor. He
was breathing heavily, his shoulders moving back and forth rapidly as he gently
grabbed my wrist as he pleaded. “Seriously. You can do whatever you want. I had
no right to be a complete idiot. It’s my fault, you didn’t do anything. I
“Why not?” My sudden question surprised me as well as
him. “It’s was stupid, and I don’t blame you for being disgusted. I am.” His
lips parted in astonishment as his finger went under my chin.
“No!” Gently, he tilted my head up to look as him though
I still found it hard to look in his swimming eyes. “I’m not disgusted! I could
never – I would never, think that of you!” His voice held urgency, giving me
enough courage to look solidly at him. I noticed his still messy, blonde hair
that was slightly matted to his forehead with a sheen of sweat from performing.
His eye circles shining through, his lips red from where he had been biting
them. “I should have told you before.” He shook his head dejectedly.
My heart shattered as she looked at me completely, a few
stray tears leaking down her face as I went to wipe them away.
She thought I was disgusted. YOU ARE SUCH A DICK. My thoughts screamed at me as I agreed with
them, how could I not? I could never be disgusted with her, this beautiful girl
who I knew had never done any wrong, this girl I was so infatuated with.
She continued to look at me, watching me as the thoughts
clearly crossed my face. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I leant down before I could
stop myself as I passionately kissed her.
The word scrawled across my mind instantly, carving into
my whole body. This guy, he was random to me but could be anyone to her. This
is a mistake. Mistake. MISTAKE. But I wanted it so badly.
She leaned back, her beautifully intricate eyes widened
“Sorry, I just- I. Ugh.” I said instantly, scrunching my
eyes and letting go of her to turn around.
“What about the other girl, Luke? Do you think that’s fair
on her?” She asked loudly, her eyes brimming with tears again.
“Wait – other girl?” I asked, her words cutting through
my thoughts as I turned back around.
“The interview girl? The perfect girl? The beautiful,
kind girl?” She ran a hand through her hair as I began to chuckle. She only got
more agitated, coming to grab my wrists. “What is wrong with you?” I carried on laughing, grabbing my phone as I opened
the front camera.
“Here, let me show you a picture of her. She’s honestly
amazing. The best.” She turned away, huffing.
“Who do you think you are? You just kiss random girls
and then chunter about your perfect one! I don’t want to see a picture Luke.” I carried on laughing despite her
angry tone as I came behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist as I used my
other the shove the camera in front of us.
She looked, puzzled for a moment as her eyes widened
again and she gasped loudly. I took the opportunity to snap the picture, the
perfect moment of realisation as she spun back around.
looked up at me in surprise and disbelief, throwing her arms around me as my nerves set in
again. Her soft lips pressed to mine as it was my turn to look shocked, heat
coursing through my veins better than alcohol ever could as my body began to
buzz. “It’s me?” She asked, breaking our lips to rest her forehead against mine
as my hands shook on her waist.
“It’s always been you.” I laughed, crashing my lips back
I hope I did this ok for you guys, I really felt the pressure!
This was a prompt from the lovely lady Bethany - @learningacceptanceme - for an AU where Finn is going out with Chloe initially, then things change :)
Enjoy guys! If you ever want to prompt me, just ask.
So it had been 2 weeks and 3 days since Finn started going out with Chloe. Finn supposed it was going ok. They had been on a couple of ‘proper’ dates but being in the same gang of friends meant they spent a lot of time together. If I’m being honest it was too much time. She just didn’t stop talking and majority of the time it was bitching about other people. For example, right now they were sat at the pub and Chloe starts chuntering on about some friend from school that had recently come back from France and she was going to be coming to the pub. “… and she is really nice guys just shy, so be nice ok. I’m going to wait outside for her so she doesn’t walk in on her own ok? I’ll be five minutes.” Chloe stood and kissed Finn on cheek. God I hate it when she does that, it’s just awkward. As she walked away Finn wiped at his cheek feeling the sticky lip gloss she had left behind.
It just gets worse. Ok now I’m being a complete knob! I need to stop being like this with Chloe. She really is an ok person and she is really fit! That helps. When we kiss it feels good, she has nice lips, soft but maybe a little small.
“Guys, this is Rae!” Everyone turned to see Chloe’s friend. She was a tall girl, slightly bigger than most girls but who really gives a shit about that? She was wearing leggings, a band shirt and a leather jacket. It was her dark brown eyes and long flowing locks that caught his attention. They really were something. She had a shy smile playing on her lips and this really didn’t help the strange fluttering going on in Finn’s stomach. She was… well… beautiful.
Finn looked away because he was pretty sure he was staring quite openly at her. Everyone introduced themselves and Finn decided he would roll a cigarette and keep his eyes down because he knew if he lifted his eyes to her again, he wouldn’t be able to turn away.
During the night Chloe’s friend Rae soon got in to the swing of things with the gang and it was obvious that she was going to be a permanent part of their group.
Great now I’ve got to be around her all the time.
This was not something Finn was looking forward to. Each time he looked at her he got this strange feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t explain it but it wasn’t something he wanted delve into. Finn was determined to bury it deep and pretend it wasn’t there. A few times Rae had glanced at him, it was like he could feel her stare. Only once did their eyes meet. He couldn’t look away. It was as if her eyes had captured his and was staring deep in to them unable to break the spell. She was first to break it, Chloe had grabbed her attention. It was a relief for Finn to look away. It was as if she had grabbed his heart in her hands and began to squeeze, tighter and tighter until she finally let go.
It was around 10:30pm and Finn couldn’t handle it any more. He stood, said a fleeting goodbye to everyone, told Chloe he would ring her tomorrow and shot out of the pub as quickly as he could. He smoked on his walk home trying to calm his nerves.
Just one look and I was done. This enigma of a girl had stolen my heart and apparently I was never going to get it back.
Over the next few days Finn refused to leave the house. He couldn’t be around her and function like a normal human being. On day three of avoidance, he heard a pounding knock at his front door. Finn checked out of his dad’s window to see who it was and before he even looked he knew who it would be. Chloe.
She is not the person I wanted to see right now.
Ever since that night Finn couldn’t stop thinking about Rae, pushing Chloe to the back of his mind, well if he was being honest, out of my mind. He hadn’t thought about her really and only when he did he would somehow link it with Rae. He went down stairs and answered the door to a very pissed off Chloe. “Oh so you are alive! Where the hell have you been? And why have you been ignoring my calls and giving your dad bullshit excuses about why you can’t come to the phone?!” Finn stood at his door wait for the tirade to finish. “You done?” Finn was definitely not in the mood for bitchy Chloe. He turned and walked up to his room leaving the door open knowing Chloe would follow.
“For god sake Finn will you just stop and tell me what they hell is going on? I get that you’re grumpy but at least you never ignored us before. What’s your problem?” he couldn’t exactly turn around and tell his now, sort of, girlfriend that he couldn’t stop thinking about her best friend, about her hair, her smile, her eyes. “Nothing is up Chlo, I’ve just not been feeling well ok?” He was really hoping she would drop it because he didn’t want to have that conversation with her.
“Finn… is this about Rae?” Finn felt his heart in his mouth. How did she know? She couldn’t know, could she?
Plead ignorance Finn.
“Chloe, what the hell are going on about?”
“Finn is obvious you don’t like Rae and I don’t know why. Is it because she is bigger? Cause that is just horrible Finn…” How dare she? Does she really think that little of me? “Fuck off Chloe! Seriously? No it isn’t because she is bigger. I don’t have a problem with Rae.” Which in one way was true and in another it wasn’t. His problem with Rae was the way she made him feel. He wasn’t meant to feel it for her. That flutter and heart wrenching feeling he had when looking at Rae should be for the girl he is going out with. “Then why have you been avoiding us since she started hanging around with us. The first night she was in the pub with us you had a right sour face and didn’t talk to anyone from the second she walked in. Please Finn, she’s my best mate, just try to get along with her… For me?” Chloe was now stood in front of Finn, hand grazing his arm staring in to his eyes.
She really was a pretty girl and she really deserved someone who actually had feelings for her rather than a grumpy twat who thinks he has really strong feelings for her best friend. She placed a soft kiss on to Finns lips, Finn not returning any pressure so she didn’t deepen the kiss. “Look I’ll see you at the pub tonight ok? I’m not feeling great and I’m just going to sleep it off, and I promise I’ll try with Rae and talk to her.” Chloe left the room and Finn waited until he heard the front door shut before letting out a breath and collapsing on to his bed.
Finn let his mind wonder to the possibility of tonight. He had to speak with Rae. He did act like a complete dickhead to Rae and he did need to make it right. Maybe he was thinking way too much in to this. He found her attractive and she has gorgeous open eyes and beautiful hear and cute pursed lips that he so… Ok Finn calm down. She is you sort of girlfriends best mate now stop this! You are overreacting.
Finns mind kept swimming around the idea of Rae and what his relationship with Chloe was and all the feelings he was having about the whole situation. It soon reached 7:30 and it was time to face the music. He put on his jacket, shoes, grabbed his fag tin and made his way to the pub.
Finn walked in and went straight to the bar. He was definitely going to need some Dutch courage to get through tonight. He hadn’t even looked up to see if his friends were here, just head down and straight to the bar. He soon felt a hand on his lower back and turned to see Chloe, leaning in for a kiss. Finn offering Chloe his cheek because… Well, he just didn’t feel like it. “So are you going to speak to Rae tonight?”
Chloe was determined for me to speak to her.
“Yes Chlo I’m going to speak to her, I’m getting my pint then I will be over, what does Rae drink? I’ll get her one ok?” Chloe told Finn that Rae loved a snakebite so he ordered one and when both drinks arrived he took them over to their table and sat next to Rae. “Rae? Here y’ go.” Finn pushed the drink towards Rae and on hearing his voice she turned to face him. Again Finn was hit with the power of Rae’s eyes. That is not fair.
“Oh. Thanks.” Rae was apparently quite nervous with Finn and he understood why. He was a dick to her. He needed to say sorry, just couldn’t quite do it yet.
To Finns absolute disgust someone had decided to put Backstreet Boys on the jukebox. Great so not only do I feel massively awkward right now but I also have to listen so some poppy shit! This was not going to be a fun night. Then there was a loud thump on the table bringing everyone out of their conversations and turning to the culprit of the thud. Rae.
“WHO THE FUCK PUT THIS SHIT ON! No way in hell am I sitting here listening to this shit!” Rae then proceeded to stomp over to the jukebox, put in her money and chose a new song. This is where Finns heart began pumping so strong that he thought he was on the verge of a heart attack. Beastie Boys – Sabotage. Well… that’s just not fair is it? It was over. She had captured his heart and he was never getting it back, he didn’t want it back. Rae walked back over to a chorus of praise and cheers from the rest of the gang bar Chloe. She was complaining about the song change, saying she loved that song.
“Nice one Rae, thank god you changed it! I really hate that shit!” Finn finally found his way in to talking with Rae. He had a link and he was going to grab it tight. “Oh god I can’t handle it. How is that shit even remotely classed as music?” Rae came alive when she talked about music. She was so animated and passionate, she shone.
During the night Finn and Rae continued to talk about music. This was the thing that bonded them. But with each passing minute and with every word she uttered his heart grew a little bigger. His own smile brightened during their conversations and he himself felt alive.
At one stage Chloe tried to get involved in the conversation, attempting to try to talk to them about her music preferences, which consisted of, Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys and UB40. Rae again gave Chloe her opinion. “Chloe they aren’t even proper bands. I would rather repeatedly punch myself in the tit than have to even grace their names with the word ‘music’ or ‘band’.” Finn found himself howling at this and soon Rae joined him. Finn was happy. Happiest he had been in a long time.
Over the next few weeks Finn and Rae became great friends. Finn still harboured his feelings for her, but out of courtesy of Chloe he kept them buried and hidden. But on days where Rae was in a great mood, cracking out jokes and making everyone laugh, it was hard to keep them hidden. His smile was never bigger than when he was with Rae.
And as more time went on, Finn spent less and less of it with Chloe. If he did spend time with her it was always with the gang and never on their own. No more nights of being at Finns, no more dates. No more of anything. Everything Finn thought of or did was always revolved around Rae. She didn’t even cross his mind, he was too engrossed with Rae. His Rae. She was and forever will be his Rae. What started as just a tiny part of Finns heart which had Rae’s name stamped on it, has grew bigger and bigger with time.
Friday night of the third week they had known Rae, Archie was stealing all her attention. Finn did not like it. He wanted Rae to himself and he really didn’t like sharing. Never did really even as a kid. So right now Finn was on the verge of a full scale toddler tantrum if Rae didn’t start talking to him soon. If I could just get her attention. Then an idea struck him. He had to have some kind of communication with her so he would write her a message. Finn lifted his index finger, lay in on to Rae’s thigh and wrote, Y-A-W-N. Finn noticed Rae’s body tense and she gradually turned her head to Finn with a questioning look. Finn couldn’t help but grin at her reaction. He raised his eyebrows in question asking for a reply. She turned back to Archie to continue listening. Finn thought she decided to ignore him and he was about to write another message on her leg when he saw her raise her own hand, place her finger on his leg and write, H-E-L-P. Finn stifled a laugh. He knew better than anyone how dull Archie’s history talks can be. “Rae, come help me with the drinks, my shout everyone! What do you want?” the orders came thick and fast and both Finn and Rae stood to collect the drinks.
What Finn didn’t realise was that the past few weeks Chloe had been watching. Testing the waters as she put it. She fancied Finn, he was gorgeous and quite sweet but she didn’t feel anything deep for him. She knew he didn’t feel it with her either. They hadn’t even slept together yet and they have been ‘going out’ for nearly 5 weeks. She hadn’t even kissed Finn in the past week, not properly. On the other hand she noticed Finn and Rae getting closer and closer. She saw the laughs, sly looks and cute smiles shared between them. Chloe’s feelings towards Finn and Rae being together were getting stronger. Not anger, but disappointment that they weren’t beginning their lives together. She knew that both would never do anything about their feelings for each other because of her and this is what made them amazing people. Her best friend deserved someone like Finn. Size didn’t matter to his, he wasn’t a shallow person. He liked people for who they were not what size clothing they had to wear. He found the person inside beautiful and that is what Rae needed. She had noticed tonight that they were communicating without even looking at each other. This solidified it in Chloe’s mind. She would talk to them both, together, and make them realise how much they were made to be together, that she didn’t have any bad feelings toward either of them and wanted them to be happy. But she was going to have a little fun first. So as they stood to get the drinks, Chloe left it for a moment then followed.
Finn was stood at the bar with Rae talking about plans for them to listen to some new records Finn had gotten at his place. “Finn, I don’t think that would be the best idea do you?” Finn couldn’t understand why she decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Apparently his confusion showed on his face as she answered his unsaid question, “Seriously Finn? You have a girlfriend, Chloe! Who by the way happens to be my best friend, so having another girl in your room, ALONE… Well I’d understand if she got very angry.” This is one thing Finn adored about Rae. She always thought of others before herself. “Well, I don’t think she would mind. Me and you are just friends… Right?” Finn left the question hanging in the air, hoping that Rae would catch his double meaning.
If she just let me know I had the slightest chance with her, well id never let her go. Please Rae, just give me a hint that we could be more.
Rae’s eyes connected with Finn’s. He felt the severe heat that sailed between them, both unconsciously leaning towards each other, never breaking eye contact. This is it, she is going to let me kiss her. Then they heard a slight cough behind them. They broke contact and separated. Chloe.
Oh god, Chloe. She’s your girlfriend Finn. Remember?
Rae looked ashamed, but Finn knew that what was going to happen before would have been amazing. But Rae is right, it would have been wrong, he was still technically dating Chloe. Finn turned to her, layered a smile on to his face and kissed Chloe’s cheek. Boyfriend stuff. Keep the façade. “Hiya Chlo.” Rae had turned to greet her best friend. Her best friend. Finn internally sighed knowing that no matter how he felt about Rae, until he had the bollocks to end it with Chloe, it was going to go nowhere fast. “Rae, Finn. Can I have a word with both of you, outside?” Chloe turned and left to go out to the beer garden.
Oh Shit! What did we do? Has she seen me flirting with Rae?
Well of course she has you dickhead, you don’t exactly hide it!
Oh piss off, she doesn’t know! No one knows, it just looks like we are really good mates!
Yeah course it does Finn, to a fucking blind man!
Finn and Rae turned and followed Chloe outside. She was sat on a bench waiting patiently for them both. Rae refused to look at Finn and only concentrated on her best friend. When they reached Chloe they both stood awkwardly.
God I feel like I’m about to be told off by me mum.
“Finn, Rae. Take a seat for me.” They both sat down, both staring at Chloe, waiting for what was going to be a rather bad conversation to begin. Finn decided her would try and smooth things over. “Look Chlo, whatever…”
“Finn, stop. I know what has been going on between you two. You’ve gotten very close over the past few weeks and now I’m finally calling you up on it.” Both Finn and Rae were staring at Chloe with horrified faces. Chloe couldn’t handle it anymore, she burst out laughing, tears springing into her eyes. “ AHHHH, the looks on your faces! It’s priceless! Where’s Izzie and her camera when you need her?!” Chloe continued to laugh and Finn and Rae shared confused glances.
“Chlo, are you alright?” Rae asked her. She definitely looked worried for her best friend’s state of mind. Rae turned to Finn with a worried look, “Oh god, I think we broke her.”
“Oh shut up Rae, I’m fine. It’s just your face were hilarious! Right so yes, I have been watching you pair and I just want you to know, I’m not angry, or upset. You guys are kind of meant for each other and I know for a fact that looking at you both, you really like each other, like a lot. So stop being dickheads and get it together already! Finn, it’s been nice but let’s face it we both know we don’t really feel anything for each other. We are definitely better off as friends.”
Rae and Finn turned to each other, both of their cheeks flaring a nice tinge of pink. Finn raised his eyebrows again in question to Rae. She smiled bright and nodded to Finn. He reached over his hand to Rae and she placed hers in his. Finn couldn’t believe what had just happened. I have her. I have Rae. My Rae. The bashful smile on Finns face was bright and wide and Rae’s matched his.
Chloe stood, stepped round to Rae and Finn, placed her arms round both and said, “By the way, seen as in I worked my matchmaking magic on you pair, I expect a gift of some kind. Money, jewellery, something pink maybe, I like pink.” With this Chloe kissed both Rae and Finns cheeks then sauntered off in to the pub, very happy with herself.
Finn was definitely buying Chloe some form of present. He turned back to Rae, her hand still in his and looked at her. He really couldn’t believe it. She was his, or was she? He hadn’t actually asked her yet. Oh shit, what if she didn’t actually want this.
“Erm, Rae. What she said… do you? I mean, would you?…” Finn didn’t know how to ask her. Rae do you secretly love me as much as I love you? Because let’s face it, this is what this is, love. Do you Rae?
Rae looked Finn dead in the eyes, leaned slightly forward and whispered, “yes” Finn didn’t even think twice. He gently placed his lips on hers and felt heat searing through his body.
Heaven. She is my heaven.
They continued to kiss for god knows how long. Both lost in oblivion, unaware of time or anyone. Even their closest friends. Apparently Chloe had shared her victory with everyone else and wanted to see the result. They all made their way outside to see Rae and Finn locked in a rather heated embrace. The gang all shared a look of happiness. They all knew that Rae and Finn were meant to be together, all knew how they felt about each other, but it was left to Chloe, Rae and Finn to finally make it happen.
Cat calls and whistling and happy shouting ensued and Rae and Finn finally broke apart and turned to face their friends, all looking very happy with the revelation. Well so were Rae and Finn.
i am thinking abt getting myself "carry on" by rainbow rowell as a birthday present for myself but i do not have a ton of $$$ to spare; have you read it, can you recommend it???? [i'm obviously total drarry trash so i am primed 2 like things with the premise but also a bit unsure.] THANK YOU SO MUCH.
I HAVE READ IT AND I WHOLEHEARTEDLY RECOMMEND IT.
I would, in fact, recommend it to absolutely everyone who loves Harry Potter, fanfiction, Harry Potter fanfiction and The Drarry Dynamic in general (endearing and moral protagonist vs bitchy and immoral antagonist, with kissing).
I’ve had sooooo many messages about this book in the last few days but I don’t want to say anything else rn BECAUSE I WANT TO RECORD SOME SORT OF BOOKTUBING BOOK TUBER BOOK REVIEW BOOK VIDEO ABOUT IT! WOULD THAT BE SOMETHING PEOPLE ARE INTO OR WOULD WATCH? ME, HOLDING A BOOK, CHUNTERING ON ABOUT IT FOR MINUTES AT A TIME? LMK MAYBE???
Description: Crowley x Reader. Reader is in hell and Crowley pays them a visit…
Warnings: Dark humour?
Author’s Note: Got a request to continue my little drabble the other day, so here! This felt like the writing equivalent of stretching out muscles after a long day and putting on the kettle for a tea only to then remember you have Ben & Jerry’s left in the fridge. Very enjoyable, good fun and you wish everything could flow that easy more often.
You’re not exactly falling, but you don’t have firm footing, the world rushing past you at a million miles an hour. Fast enough to make you feel incredibly queasy but not enough to make you physically sick, after all, it was undoubtedly more difficult to even tell what was physical or not at this point. Now, add an inert darkness, a nothingness that you cannot touch, smell or see. It penetrates everything yet nothing is there all simultaneously. Whilst this is happening, every muscle is aching painfully but you can’t get away, there’s no magic tablet to take it away, no distraction from this reality. It’s all consuming and it was never ending.
It was your perfect idea of hell, but perhaps more importantly, it was Crowley’s perfect idea of your hell. It’s true, and you had to hand it to him, he knew you. If it wasn’t so utterly terrifying, it might almost be flattering that he’d gone to all of this trouble for you. But alas, it was more than a little alarming and instead of approaching it with an air of coherence you were ashamed to admit you cried, you whimpered and you screamed.
You screamed as if it would save you, or that by some dumb luck, somebody would hear you. And of course, they didn’t, or not for a good few decades at least.
It was one particularly lost day in the adrift sea of nothingness and in that you heard a voice. You’d heard voices before, whether your own conscience or the demon in charge of your personalised hell, but this voice was different.
The voice was familiar, but you knew better than to let that flicker of hope bloom in your stomach. It could and would be used against you, they would let it bloom into a feeling of bouyant anticipation before it was ripped, burned and went up in smoke.
“Not today,” you snarled back at the voice. Admittedly it came out with around as much power as a lamb may have against a 10 tonne lorry, but it was the thought that counts.
You shook your head against it. If closing your eyes could have made a difference, you would do it, but it was everywhere. It, whatever ‘it’ was, consumed you and tried to prise from you every ounce of sanity you had left.
Before you had time to coordinate a witty comeback or more depressingly, a plea for help, a dull light seemed to ebb at the end of your virtual tunnel. It grew slowly until you realised it was no more than a small window with a lone silhouette peeing through grimy glass.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” The same familiar voice said with a low chuckle.
You blinked a few times, letting the moisture get back to them after your wide eyeed horror ride.
He flashed a smile and gave you a little wave as he leaned against the window.
“Yeah, sorry about this whole, you know, hell business,” he said wiggling his fingers at your stricken surroundings.
A floor seemed to materlialise and you landed in an unceremonious heap on cold, damp stone. You shakily tested standing up on legs that felt as if they resembled jelly more than flesh and bone, but after a few seconds of panting and wheezing, you took a step towards him.
“No you’re not.”
“True,” he grinned.
“You’re- you’ve been…” you trailed off, panting.
He shrugged and with the movement of a hand, a section of wall cracked open, a door, you quickly remembered, and Crowley walked in. He looked down and stepped over a puddle of ‘something’, frowning a little when a speck got on his tailored shoes.
“You… you bastard. What do you want?”
Crowley paused, looking you up and down before opening his mouth to speak.
“I have a proposal.”
You stared blankly at him for a few seconds you then decided that staying silent probably was not going quieten any of the thoughts vying for attention in your head.
“What on earth? That’s what you’re here for? I said no last time, and I’m saying it agai-” you started to babble before he cut you off.
“I’m not asking you to marry me again, Y/N.”
You pursed your lips. It had been an awkward afair, the king of hell tipsy and chuntering on about how he could strip a church of enough holiness to enable him to get married. You’d nearly died on the spot when he had asked for your hand, more than slightly inebriated yourself, you’d laughed and said yes, but needless to say that in the morning it had gone down like a lead balloon. He was embarrassed, you were embarrassed and the whole thing was swept under the metaphorical carpet never to be brought up unless you were trying to shut the other up quickly. Which come to think of it, was probably exactly his intention now.
He stood with one hand in his pocket looking at you expectantly, when he realised you weren’t going to talk, he spoke again cheerily.
“It’s been, what, just over 50 years with no sign of cracking? Impressive. But have you ever considered just letting it all go, taking a step back and becoming a demon? Come on, live a little!”
Crowley, clearly uncaring of your response, wandered closer to your still slightly shaking form and looked you up and down.
“It would be easier for everybody if you just agreed, you know. My demons are getting tired of asking nicely and trust me sweetheart, you don’t want them to be worse.”
You maintained a silent glare, you throat was already raw and sore from talking, and well, screaming, so if a glare could answer for you it certainly seemed preferable. Every day you thought you could not take a single beating or slice more, but you did. It was indescribable but it was your life now.
Crowley maintained the eye contact before a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. If you hadn’t known better, it would be nice to assume you’d won with a cold glare but it could never be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy.
“What if you came off the hook for a chat. Not to torture anyone, just a harmless little chinwag?”
The eternally tightened knot in your stomach loosened slightly, hope was dangerous but you could conceal it well enough. You threw him a sceptical look and ignoring the pain in your limbs, you crossed your weakened arms for added effect. You even fooled yourself for a second or two.
“Alright then, Y/N. See, I’ve always thought we have a… a 'bond’ and I’d like to think it still means something, there’s no need to be so glum.”
It look a phenomenal amount of effort to not laugh at the statement, but you stayed steely.
“Glum? 50 years of hell does that to you.”
“That it does,” he smirked, pausing before carrying on, “how about a scotch and a chat, for old times sake?”
You maintained your winning glare and regarded him coolly.
“Hypothetically,” you muttered, clenching your jaw and swallowing hard, “if I said yes, what would that mean?”
“A drink and a catch up, no more. It’s not rocket science.”
The idea of walking out of your private hell for even 10 minutes sounded like heaven (the irony of the thought wasn’t lost) but there was no way that he didn’t want something. It was a stage show and you never saw behind the curtain with Crowley. He never changed, ulterior motives were always there, just as the sun always rose, demons would always be manipulative cretins feeding off of any weaknesses a human showed. You’d fallen for it before, but never again.
But who were you kidding, just once off the hook couldn’t hurt… right?
Hartbig. All lies. Multi-chapter. SFW. Who knows. Sparked from a prompt by M, which I plan on playing merry hell with although at least I decided against setting it in the sixties
This is just a brief intro. If anyone actually lives in the area I am writing about please don’t correct me, I have done only the most basic research.
After two weeks, Grace decides that humans probably can’t die from too many new things happening at once.
Otherwise she would probably have been a tragic statistic; Yet another American fails to acclimatize to London living and keels over from sensory overload.
But it is a great deal of new at once, Grace decides, and she’s excused that constant feeling of just about fighting off a panic attack.
A new job, new home, new city and new country all at once is a bit much, probably even for the sturdiest of personalities. And Grace has only cried two times since she arrived - once when she first unlocked the door of the apartment (studio flat, she reminds herself) and had discovered that ‘semi furnished’ meant ‘we’ll give you the bed frame but no mattress’. And the other time when she’d gotten very lost on her way back from work, and had to ask the least scary stranger on the sidewalk (pavement) for directions. The tiny woman had stared at Grace as if she was dumb, and then pointed at the street sign just across the road, because it turns out that Grace had been lost and panicking for a half hour all the while only being twenty yards away from her building.