ten-pound-note

accidental-rambler  asked:

“I’m in a bookshop and I really need to get that book but I'd rather get on my toes and jump at the shelf and do every single ridiculous thing to reach it than ask for your help, oh wait, you've read that book, let's have an aggressive in-depth discussion about it." for nessian au, pretty please :) (bc height difference and bookworm Nesta are life!)

(they really and truly are. Okay i had a go??) 

Azriel emerges from the backroom with a large box full of new books to put out onto the shelves. He and Cassian had agreed to watch Amren’s book store for a few hours while she ‘did things’, which was all the information either of them had gotten on the matter. Az doesn’t mind, he enjoys working in the shop. Cassian sets up at the front of house and talks to the customers and deals with that side of things, leaving him free to sort out the backroom which, inevitably, is always a mess. 

Glancing over at his brother as he begins to set up the display at the front of the till he notes the way he’s standing. Both elbows are braced on the desk in front of him, his chin propped on his hands, gazing across the room with unwavering focus. 

Azriel spots the girl who’s become the unfortunate object of Cassian’s attention and frowns. A few years younger than them, by the looks of it, petite, brown hair that turns golden when the light hits in the right way, a neat dress on. Pretty, he supposes, but not worth the intense focus Cassian is levelling her way.

“You’re staring,” he says pointedly, hoping this will direct Cass’ attention elsewhere. 

It doesn’t. He only gets an irritable wave of one of Cassian’s massive hands, he doesn’t even turn to look at him as he does so. “It’s a slow day,” he says, as though this explains anything, “She’s very entertaining.” 

Frowning, Az sets down his box and pads noiselessly over to the counter for a better look at the woman. She seems to have her eyes on one of the books on the top shelf but, coming in at just a little over five feet, she’s having some difficulty getting the one she wants. 

Az sighs, “Why don’t you go over there and help her?” he suggests, shaking his head. 

Cassian turns to him with a look on his face that implies he’s just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard in his entire life. “But this is much more fun,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“She’s going to hurt herself,” Az says, casting a wary eye over her again, fearing for the straining muscles in her shoulders as she reaches for the book again. 

He makes to slide out from behind the counter but Cassian grabs his wrist. “We’re right here,” he says, that annoying smirk firmly back in place, “She can ask us for help any time she wants. You know Amren’s policy is not to bother the customers.” 

Azriel glowers, “I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to have to send a customer to hospital because you miraculously decided to start following the rules,” he comments drily. 

Cassian irritably flaps his hands again in a shushing motion, then gestures back towards the woman, now apparently looking around for something to stand on. Cassian slaps a ten pound note down on the table, “I give her five minutes before she’s over here begging for one of us to help her get her book.” 

Azriel eyes her again with an appraising look, then rummages in his own pocket and pulls out a ten pound note of his own, far less creased than Cassian’s and lays it neatly on top, “Not a chance,” he says simply. 

As predicted, Azriel is correct. Five minutes later he scoops up the money, Cassian grumbling irritably with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and the woman is still doing everything she can think of save simply asking for their help. When she gets to the stage of piling books out of her bag on top of one another to reach the shelf above, however, Azriel nudges Cassian in the ribs and orders him to go and help her. Now. 

Huffing, and throwing Az a vulgar gesture over his shoulder, Cassian moves towards her. 

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” Is how Cass chooses to open proceedings and Az groans, shaking his head. He resists burying his face in his hands only because he wants to fix this moment perfectly in his memory for the rest of his life. 

The woman gives him a truly withering glare that would have caused any man save Cassian to shrivel before it and then replies with forced, terse politeness that no, she does not need help from some overlarge, hulking busybody, thank you very much. 

Azriel’s eyebrows raise in approval even as he watches his brother cock his head at her, sizing her up, a new worthy opponent to distract him from the slow day they’re having. “By all means, knock yourself out, sweetheart,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping back to watch her struggle, smirking. 

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps at him, eyebrows narrowing. 

“Well if I knew your name, I wouldn’t have to resort to it…Sweetheart,” he replies with a casual smirk, laying a delicate emphasis on the petname. Azriel is thinking he should have started another bet before Cass left him, namely on how long he could pull this shit with her without having his head ripped off, which she looks altogether too capable of doing. 

She isn’t forthcoming with her name, she only turns away from him, as though he isn’t worth the breath it would take to spit out a scathing reply, and turns back to the bookshelf with renewed determination. 

Cassian simply watches as she climbs onto her teetering pile of books, reaches, stretches, jumps, snarls, and mutters a string of highly amusing curses that Azriel has never heard before in her attempts to reach the book. 

When, however, she actually starts climbing on the shelves in her bid to grab the damn thing however, Cassian starts forwards in alarm. Not a moment too soon, either, as a second later her foot slips and with a gasp she topples from the shelf, right into Cassian’s waiting arms. 

He sets her gently on her feet, looking a little shellshocked and she manages to grit out a stiff, “Thank you,” not looking at him. Before she can attempt any more dramatics in the pursuit of fine literature, Cass reaches up and tugs a copy of the book down, pressing it into her arms. 

Amazingly, she opens her mouth to snap at him but he cuts her off firmly, “You have good taste, sweetheart,” picking up her pile of books he carries them towards the counter, “Why don’t you go home and read it rather than ending up in hospital trying, okay?” 

She glowers at him but salvages her pride, lifts her chin, and marches towards Azriel. Cassian trails her like a lost puppy, watching her now with hungry eyes. He elbows Az out of the way to ring her up himself, studying the book she’d picked, “Let me know what you think of it when you’re done,” he says, “It’s a good read.” 

“I’ve already read it,” she says coolly, digging in her bag for her purse, having replaced the pile of books she’d attempted to use earlier as a footstool. Then she looks up at Cassian, eyes slightly narrowed, “You’ve read it too?” 

He grins almost wickedly, leaning casually against the counter, “Of course I have,” he smirks. When she further narrows her eyes, as though she doesn’t believe him, he launches into a debate about one of his favourite characters who was brutally killed off far too early, in his opinion. 

She fires up at once in response to this, seeing red and ranting at him about how necessary that death was, how it had to happen, how the story would have been flat and meaningless without it. After fifteen minutes of hot bickering back and forth, neither of them stopping long enough to breathe in between bouts, she catches sight of the clock behind the counter and jumps, blushing faintly. 

“I have to go,” she mumbles, pulling the book off of the counter and stuffing it into her bag. 

Daringly, in Az’s opinion, Cassian reaches across the table and takes her hand, staring straight into this beautiful blue-gray eyes, “I’m free at five,” he offers quietly, “There’s a nice little coffee shop just down the street we could continue this in.” Azriel isn’t sure if she catches it, but he can hear the hopeful note in his brother’s voice. 

She stares at him for a long moment, weighing, considering, then, “My name is Nesta,” is all she says, before turning and heading towards the door. 

The smile that spreads across Cassian’s face in answer might have implied that he’d just won the lottery, rather than potentially secured a date with a woman who seems just as likely to devour him as to get on with him. Az just claps him on the shoulder in a universal gesture that implies he’s going to need a lot of luck to get through this, then shuffles back down into the storeroom, leaving Cassian standing at the till and grinning from ear to ear. 

Could Too

“I totally could.”

“Could not.”

“Could too.”

“What are you two bickering about?” Joe said, rolling his eyes at the two Maynard brothers.

“Conor is betting me ten pounds,” Jack said, the two turning to face Joe.

“For?” He said, raising an eyebrow.

“To get one of Y/N’s bras,” Conor smirked, looking at his brother.

“What?” Joe said, a bit shocked. “Isn’t it a bit rude to go through her things and steal one of her bras?”

“I’ll put it back,” Jack said, “I just want to prove to Conor I can do it,” He said, glaring at Conor.

“Alright, but I’m not involved in this,” Joe said, looking back down at his phone as the two continued to banter.


“Now,” Conor grinned.

“And if she catches me?” Jack said.

Conor just shrugged, waving the ten pound note infront of his brother.

“Alright, I get it,” Jack chuckled.

He turned on the light in your room, walking over to your draws. He opened the first draw, then the second, then finally the third where he found what he was looking for. He grabbed one of your bras, bringing it over to Conor.

“Happy?”

“Very much,” Conor laughed.

“Now let me put it ba-,” Jack started, but was interrupted by you standing at the end of the stairs, looking over at your two friends, eyebrows raised.

“Why do you have my bra in your hand?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

At this point Conor couldn’t contain himself, and he let loose, laughs spilling throughout the room.

“You owe me ten pounds,” Jack said, looking over at Conor as he continued to laugh at the situation.

He handed over the ten pound note before walking back up the stairs.

“Sorry?” Jack shrugged, smiling over at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He grinned, handing it back over to you as he began to walk back up the stairs.

“Good one,” You said, giggling over at him.

He stopped, sending you a questioning look.

“With the dare. You got ten pounds, nice one,” You said as you both began to laugh.

Knot because I love you, just because I care

A drabble for @nickillian cos she loves fake!married tropes

1k

*unbetad,sorry for the awful title 😂


“You know you have to actually lift the glass to your lips to drink the vodka.”

Emma lifted her gaze from the glass of icy spirit and smiled.

“Funnily enough I had heard that before, Jones.”

“And here I was thinking that I had stumbled upon something revelatory.”

He gestured to the seat beside her and she nodded, waiting until he ordered a drink.

It was Tuesday and The Rabbit Hole sports bar was just about as empty as she had ever seen it. She was glad of it - the last thing she needed now was to deal with a bunch of drunks even if she really wanted to get drunk herself.

His order came, alongside another vodka for her, and he paid with a crisp ten pound note before settling into the stool beside her.

“So, Swan, what brings you to Wimbledon’s only American sports bar tonight?”

He grinned, his smile bright despite how tired he looked.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, nodding at what remained of his business attire - tie askew and shirt sleeves pushed up.

“I asked first,” he quipped, “But since you must know today I got a new job and I thought it appropriate to celebrate.”

“The one at Graham’s company?”

He nodded. “Yep, you are looking at the new deputy marketing manager for Mills Media.”

Emma smiled. She knew how much Killian had wanted a promotion and it just wasn’t happening in his current position. At least someone had good news that day.

“That’s great,” she sighed softly, staring longingly into her vodka, before quickly adding, “My visa renewal was declined today.”

“Declined?”

Keep reading

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU


also on ff.net


Thank you so much to the fantastical @lenfaz, for lessons on child development, read-throughs and general hand holding.

Tagging: @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, and whoever else asks.


Emma

Emma Swan had a PhD. Emma Swan had 1265 followers on Instagram. Emma Swan had every line of The Princess Bride memorized.

But one thing Emma Swan did not have?

Electricity.

She flicked the switch again, in the vain hope she’d just imagined it the first time. Nothing happened. She tried the outlet by the toaster. Nothing. Nada.

Because of fucking course Emma would wake up on the first day of the year to find her new apartment shrouded in unending darkness. Because what landlord in their right mind actually picked up the phone at 7am on January 1st? Hell, judging by what she’d seen out her window over the last few hours, they were probably just getting started on all their Hogmanay festivities. Everyone else seemed to be.

Only, Emma wasn’t going to accept defeat right away. Sure, cold Pop-Tarts were okay in a pinch, but it was still freezing out and she had a mighty need to crank up her space heater and put on a pot of coffee. She was very motivated.

It went to voicemail three times before someone finally picked up, the voice on the other end of the line irate and decidedly not sober.

Keep reading

24/5/17

Being A Woman

At thirteen I used to count the beeps as I walked from my home into town
I used the number to measure how good I looked and how good I felt
only as an adult did I realise the implications of measuring your self worth by other people’s reactions
and the implications of fully grown men peering up the skirt of a newly pubescent girl

My first boyfriend wanted to buy me a dog collar because he said I was his bitch
he broke up with me because I wouldn’t let his clambering fingers inside parts of myself that I called my own
It was the first time that I realised that to some I was only worth what parts of my body they could leave fingerprints on

My second boyfriend forced my head down with words
the expectation weighed my body down to the bed until I was on all fours
choking on the word “no”
Afterwards, he praised me
and I felt sickeningly proud
It was the first time I realised that the more I’d do, the more men would want me
When he broke up with me he said it was all I’d been good for

My third boyfriend left blackberry marks all over my skin
he dug his nails into my lungs and squeezed the breath out of me
he broke me into pieces and called it love
whilst I desperately searched my soul for the strength that he’d ripped out of me

He found the flesh of other women and I pretended to be brave but
I let him ruin me over and over until he had
beaten the love out of my soul and
I could then find the courage to take back my battered heart
The police blamed me for the ways he found to stalk me for the next six years
and the shadows he created still seep under the door at night
I have a step by step escape plan should he ever be waiting for me

My fourth boyfriend and I stayed friends after it was over
until he broke my phone and refused to help pay for a new one
he eventually came into my house and climbed the stairs to my bedroom
to throw a ten pound note at me as I was sleeping
that afternoon he took the time to send me text messages calling me a slut
and months later after I gave my blessing
I watched him break my best friend’s heart

My fifth boyfriend burned things to the ground
including our relationship when my existence was no longer exciting to him
six years later he said he had changed
and we fucked for months until the time I asked him to make me come and
he “couldn’t be bothered”
he never asked me why we stopped talking
and I realised I had never been worth anything but the clothes I took off:
just another lump of willing flesh to add to the current collection

My sixth boyfriend was good in every way
but even he lost control when he pinned me to the bed and
taunted me because I had said something that made him feel weak
I said “get off me” over and over but he wouldn’t and
only bursting into tears made him snap out of whatever world he was in
They tell us “not all men”
but how will I ever know which men will lay their hands on me when even the best ones do?

The first friend I slept with had chlamydia
he didn’t tell me until a year later
when my body could have decided not to forgive me
had I not been the sort to check
he never apologised
I never asked him to

The second friend I slept with didn’t wear a condom when I asked
it was dark and I was drunk and I didn’t know until he acted like it was a victory
seven years later he didn’t take no for an answer until the fourth or fifth time his hand wondered down my torso and searched for more
The sickest thing is that for a second there was a moment where I could have taught a man that no means yes
I have never been good at impulse control but
the potential of another man passed out in the same bed stopped me

The third friend I slept with consumed me when I was drowning in darkness
he took the last of what I had and then
vanished for half a year
I made art about him
he would never have known it was about what he did

I’ve woken up in a bed with a boy I never even kissed
to find his hand running over the curve of my buttocks as I lay on my front
I could barely breathe and
I didn’t know where he would touch me next
he thought I had no voice to say no since my eyelids were closed
I didn’t know that the men you trust won’t always ask for your consent before putting their hands on you

The guy tattooing my neck makes suggestions about the sexual acts that he would do to me and I laugh because I don’t know what else to do
the boy I was seeing apologises to my abusive ex-boyfriend for taking what was his
the men on the street leer
and comment on my body like it is theirs to do what they wish with
they tell me what shape I should make with my mouth – smile!
And the drunken men slur and follow me and I try to breathe and smile and hurry at the same time because if you don’t say thank you and giggle he might grab you or beat you or rape you or kill you
and so every time when it is dark and men walk past I look at the floor and think
please don’t notice me. please don’t hurt me

A guy at the bar leans over and says
“Did you enjoy your run earlier? I saw you as you ran past.
It’s clearly working for you. You look good.”
I don’t know whether to feel angry or afraid or complimented
and so I feel all three and then I feel ashamed
I don’t know how I am supposed to feel when men I have never seen before talk to me
but my whole body tightens when I notice that they have noticed me

I’m out at the pub with a girl friend when a stranger tries to sit with us
he tells us all the intimate things that he wishes to do to us
and the more we reject him the more aggressive and unpredictable he becomes
we try to be polite to stop him from hurting us
he bangs the table in front of me with his fist and I flinch and
I remember why I am scared of men

My first driving instructor talked to me about foursomes
and breast tattoos
and whether I’d want to have a lesbian experience
he never taught me anything except how to feel uncomfortable for sixty minutes and not say a word about it

The boys who liked me thought that I should like them
they thought their eager little hands were better than the hands I allowed on me
and blamed me for my inability to see this;
blamed me for my inability to want them
One threw flowers at me
and smashed a glass against a wall
as if he could
smash my resolve into pieces

I am sick of these being just a handful of stories
a handful of crappy poetry lines
that I have spent so long trying to sound good

living in fear does not sound good and
trying to explain the shivers and the panic
and the anger and the licking of dry lips
and the dry swallow
and the dry eyes
as you accept that this is your life;
as you accept that this is normal
does not sound good
I can never explain a lifetime in lines

“NOTE FOR YOUNG PEOPLE AND AMERICANS: One shilling = Five Pee. It helps to understand the antique finances of the Witchfinder Army if you know the original British monetary system: Two farthings = One Ha'penny. Two ha'pennies = One Penny. Three pennies = A Thrupenny Bit. Two Thrupences = A Sixpence. Two Sixpences = One Shilling, or Bob. Two Bob = A Florin. One Florin and One Sixpence = Half a Crown. Four Half Crowns = Ten Bob Note. Two Ten Bob Notes = One Pound (or 240 pennies). One Pound and One Shilling = One Guinea.

The British resisted decimalized currency for a long time because they thought it was too complicated.”

—  Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

Imagine this; Jung Daehyun and Moon Jongup officially saving 2017 with their Project album, releasing new songs as well as prior studio versions of their solos. B.A.P finally getting the recognition and appreciation they deserve, thus souring in the charts and continuing to make an impact on social justice as well as mental health issues. Me casually slidin’ Bang Yongguk a crisp™ ten pound note for a comeback of Bang&Zelo including a live version of Pray. All is right in the world.

"How do I passively-aggressively say 'fuck you' in a cake?"

To say it was a slow day at the bakery was an understatement. Harry had never worked on a day with almost no customers. There were always a few that would come in needing to pick up an order, or to say hi to Barbara, or something.
Harry lets out what he intends to be a loud sigh, but it ends up coming out more like a raspberry with how his hand is propped under his chin and by the way his lips are smushed together.
With no customers ringing the bell above the door, he figures he better get caught up on his bakery duties other than manning the register. But it was after he already does everything that he needs to do, and then some, he gets really unamused. He filled all the orders for the coming week, filled the showcases, organized the back fridge, swept the floors, done the dishes, Christ, he even straightened the labels on the dishes holding the pastries.
He swears he’s never been so unstimulated in his life.
Harry is soon starting to doze off into his hand, after he’s been waiting for a good fifteen minutes staring out the window. There are only so many different London skies to see before you’ve seen them all, and he stayed up too late last night and he’s just so tired…


Before he knows it the bell above the door is chiming and the loud swoosh of air and cold draft overtakes him, he jumps in his seat, and the beanie on his head falls down a bit from the sudden movement.
A young girl, about his age, charges into the store, and before he can even wake up or try to process what’s going on she’s slamming a 20$ bill onto the counter in front of him,
“How do I passively-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in a cake?” She’s staring at him with glaring eyes, and he’s so shocked by what’s happening he’s left speechless.
“I… uhm..” he stutters out, completely at a loss for words. She doesn’t look like she’s messing around, but he simply doesn’t know how to respond.
“My boyfriend of a year and a half has been cheating on me for months… I thought I’d get a cake to let him know I found out… Maybe you could write a mean message for me? Or m-maybe I can smash it in his face.” Tears start to glimmer in her eyes as her confidence spurred from anger subsides and Harry’s stomach clenches.
Harry can’t believe this. Even if he did write something obscenely offensive on it, it would still be too nice. Even if she smashed it into the blokes face.
No way.
She’s got to be the sweetest person he’s ever met.
“You want to buy your douchebag of an ex a cake?”
“I.. I-uh, well,” she lets out a watery sigh. He takes a moment to really look at her, and she has tears welling up in her eyes, “Now that I’m here it seems stupid, I’m sorry for bothering you, you probably have better things to be doing.” She puts her face in her hands and scrunches up her shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, I-I’ll go now,” she whispers, obviously crying.
Harry is furious.
Not at her, but at the asshole who made her feel so awful. Harry is exasperated at the thought of anyone cheating in a relationship, but especially with this girl who seems too sweet and compassionate to deserve such mistreatment.
When she turns to leave, Harry knows he has to do something,
“No!” He shouts, startling her, she looks back at him with wide eyes, her jumper falling off her shoulder.
“Shit! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I just, do you want a cupcake?”
Smooth, Harry thinks to himself.
“Sorry?” She questions him.
“I just made some cupcakes, do you want one? I can make you some hot chocolate and we can go sit if you want, you’ve had a rough go of it today huh?”
“Oh I couldn’t,” she smiles sadly, “I don’t want to interrupt your job or anything-”
Harry laughs at that, “I promise it’s okay, it’s not like we’ve got a full shop, right?” He gestures to the empty tables in the front of the bakery, “Unless you’ve got to be somewhere or something.”
“No, I can stay,” she responds pulling out her wallet, “How much is a cupcake and a hot chocolate then?”
“Don’t worry it’s on me,” he grins at her.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have to take it out of your check.”
Harry is already on the way into the back room to get their treats.


Harry learns a lot about her.
Simply put, he is just infatuated. He’s captivated by every word that comes out of her mouth. Her voice is hypnotizing, it drips like warm honey and his ears buzz with delight.
He learns that she’s in love with animals, specifically dogs, and that she wants to go to veterinary school in the states to fulfill her lifelong dream. She tells him with a serious face that dogs are like people to her, and that every time she sees one on the street or with their head out the window, she makes an effort to wave at them and tell them hello.
She’s probably one of the most giving people he’s ever met.
Obviously, she doesn’t speak directly about this, but he picks it up from her various stories when she was younger. Once, during finals week, she gave her favorite Spanish teacher a Christmas gift every day until it was time for break. When she got her first job, she dedicated her first paycheck to buying all her baby cousins cute onesies and pajamas. She organized a clothing drive at her school for the homeless shelter in her city downtown.
How can she be real?
He learns about her family situation, her abusive mother and alcoholic stepdad, and when her eyes pick up a watery gleam, he quickly changes the subject.
He doesn’t want to see her cry again.
How can someone take advantage of such a sweet person?
She’s got cartoon ducks on her purse for Christ’s sake.
Harry has been so caught up in listening to her undividedly he doesn’t notice how much time is passed or the fact that the sun has gone down and the streetlights have come on.
It’s only when she gives out a cute yawn, and stretches her arms above her head, (while lifting her shirt in the process and exposing her tummy and cute belly button, making all the blood in Harry’s body move into the crux of his thighs) that he realizes that they should probably end this soon.
He glances at the clock, his eyes shooting wide open before he snaps his head to look out the window.
“Shit!” He exclaims, bolting out of his chair and almost slipping onto the ground in the process.
“What?” She responds exasperated, “Is there something on my face? Do I have frosting in my hair? Christ not again, I can’t believe how many times that’s happen-”
He gawks at her for a moment before chuckling quietly.
“No love, I promise you look wonderful. It’s just- shit, I was supposed to have the shop closed down almost two hours ago.”
“Two hours ago?!” She all but screeches, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, shoo Harry! I’ll get out of your hair I promise.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but she doesn’t give him a chance, resting her soft hand gently on his shoulder, she looks him in the eyes and gives him a kiss on the cheek and a sweet hug. He takes little time in wrapping his arms around her waist and savoring the feeling of their bodies pressed together, but before he has time to really take her in, she’s already pulling away.
He’s blushing, for sure.
“Go on Harry, thank you for everything.” She smiles at him shyly.
He awkwardly stares at her for a moment, before turning around and running to the back of the shop to start on the dishes and nightly duties.


Barbara is going to kill him, he concludes as he walks out of the back well after closing time. He’s shrugging his apron off and wrestling his coat on when he notices something on the front counter next to the register. He steps over quietly and picks up the note.
“Thank you for the treats, they were almost as sweet as you were.”
At the bottom of the note, her name and number are signed, and Harry actually physically pumps his fist into the air.
He starts to put the note into the pocket of his jacket, when a ten pound note falls out and flutters to the ground.
Another note is attached to the bill.
“Hope this covers the cupcake and chocolate.”


Harry’s fucked, she’s got him wrapped around her finger.

I love seeing Outlander Modern AUs go over my dash but y’all are missing out on the fact that Jamie Fraser would not be ordering a frappe cappuccino at Starbucks. He’d be the astonishingly handsome and disheveled guy who comes in every day at 7am and buys an Irn Bru, maybe an iced bun if he’s got more than just smash change in his pockets, and then proceeds to hole himself up for several hours in a corner seat, hunched over his decrepit and ancient laptop (the power cord held together with electrical tape), eating up the free WiFi as he mulls over how to save his family business after the financial collapse of 2008 hit them and the rest of Scotland hard. He’d have an SNP button attached to the lapel of his worn leather jacket.

Claire is a young nursing student at Caledonian University, travelling back and forth between England each month to visit her fiance Frank. Frank never comes north, unless it’s to go sightseeing around the castles. He’s writing an historical novel. Claire’s got a whole other range holistic skills under her belt too, which Frank thinks of as ‘quaint’. She winds up taking the barista job because while the fees are less expensive than studying in England, being English means she doesn’t get her higher education for free and she needs the income. The first time she sees Jamie he’s got a wild windswept look to him, the curls of his hair misted with rain which he shakes out of his eyes as he counts out the one-pound twenty-pence in smash and offers it over with a tight little smile. A guy yesterday paid for three quids worth of coffee in pennies so she doesn’t bat an eye. After that he just becomes a part of her morning routine. 

And she can’t help but take note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way he spares his left shoulder as he hoists his messenger bag, and the way he always rolls his neck like he’s in pain from more than just sitting hunched over that tiny flickering screen all day. He downs a worrying amount of pandaol during the day too, and she begins to worry about his liver. He wears rugby shirts a lot—one of them looks like it might have been professional—and assumes correctly that at some point he was injured. His back is a wreck and she wants nothing more than to get him on her table back home in her shitty over priced West End flat and straighten it out. Purely out of good will for her fellow human and not at all to do with the way his smile lights up the room every morning when he walks in, or the way his mop of red hair falls boyishly into his eyes in a way that makes her heart stutter. Or because, despite the fact that he never seems to have more than a rumpled ten pound note at the start of the week and counts out his order in spare change by Friday, he always tips. Always. She wonders if it’s simple generosity or a point of pride. Possibly both.

One day, when the students have all departed for classes and the hurried business men have fled with their espressos, she swallows her nerves and approaches him with a rice pack she just spent several seconds in the back warming up in the shitty staff microwave. She makes them herself in her spare time and gives them out as gifts. This one is scented with rosemary for clarity, and just a hint of sandalwood for calming. And perhaps because she likes to secretly imagine it’s what he smells like. 

“Here,” she says, offering it to him. “Put it on your neck it’ll help.”

Jamie—who had just been rolling his shoulder in a bid to get the knot out—looks up and takes it from her. “Thank you…”

There’s an awkward pause, and Claire momentarily wonders if she’s overstepped some boundary. But he doesn’t seem offended, just perplexed a little, as though he’s surprised she noticed his pain. She offers him a small little smile and retreats to the safety of the coffee machine, emptying out the drawer and saving the grounds for old Mrs. Fitz who tells her it works a treat at keeping the slugs away from her herb garden. There’s a polite cough behind her and he’s standing there, heat pack resting lightly around his massive shoulders. 

She’s already moving towards the cabinet to fetch a chilled bottle of Bru from the refrigerator when he holds up a calloused hand. She knows they’re calloused, his fingers have brushed hers more than once and it fills her with a little thrill that leaves her guilty enough to slink off into the back and text Frank a stream of heart emojis. Even if he never replies…

“I dunno about you but I could fair murder a cup o’ tea,” he treats her to a crooked smile that makes her stomach twist in knots. It’s not an unpleasant sensation. 

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

And he doesn’t need to buy her a tea, she keeps telling him this. She gets it free as part of her perks of employment, but he does it anyway and when she refuses he drops the money into he tip jar. And that too becomes a part of their daily routine. A small moment of respite in the humdrum of their lives where he’ll pull one of the high backed chairs up to her counter in the quiet of the day and they’ll converse over tea in paper cups—hers with a little honey, and his with enough sugar in it to keep the spoon standing upright.  

“I dinnae ken what’s in that wee bag,” he comments one day as he hands over the rice pack to be reheated, “But I think it must be magic.”

Claire smiles, and dips into the back to throw it in the microwave. “Just heat and some scented oils. No magic.”

“Oh I dinnae ken about that, Sassenach”—his own little pet name for her—”there’s a bit o’ the witch about ye and nae mistake.”

Frank had said something similar once. But the way Jamie says it, it sounds like praise, eyes dancing with mischief and something dangerously like fondness. 

What makes a good short story?

By David Almond, short story writer & novelist

Short stories move quickly. Every word works. Nothing is flabby or loose. The language is specific rather than general, concrete rather than abstract. Short stories do not refer to a world: they present a world and make us experience that world. They show us things rather than tell us about things. Short stories are not neat little assemblies of beginnings, middles ad ends. Short stories often move cinematically, taking us abruptly from scene to scene. Short stories focus closely on their subjects, but they imply and suggest a whole world of experience. Short stories are broad, not narrow, in their effect.The plot can be minuscule. 

The short story does not deal in earth shattering events, except in showing how those events affect intimate human lives. The short story writer understands those things that really keep us awake at night: global warming, the nuclear threat, poverty perhaps. But more powerfully: a nagging memory, the crack in the bedroom ceiling, the ten pound note that we lost, the way that boy/girl turned away from our smile. The short story is intimate. Short stories do not depend on twists in the tail, cop-out endings. The end might be left hanging. 

There is not a pre-determined short story form. Every story is an experience that draws the reader quickly into its world. Stories are about secrets, lies, hidden things that might be exposed, disguises, little searches and excavations. They are about journeys, quests, discoveries. Short stories work on our senses. We taste, hear, smell, see, touch the story’s fictional world. Strong stories are strong on naming: they do not say flower, they say what kind of flower. Short stories do not trade in loose adjectives or empty adverbs. They depend on the stronger effecct of nouns and verbs. Stories are living things, elemental things, among the most important things in the world. In a short story, we can hear the echoes of fairy tales, myths, legends, jokes, the Bible, the Arabian Nights, the stories told to us by grandmothers, toddlers, mad uncles, the stories chanted around fires in the Ice Age Cages. 

Settling Down - Phandom Big Bang

Title: Settling Down

Author: thatsmistertoyou

Artists: veolentnighthawk - art & realityisnoplacetolive - model

Beta: ginatheficster

Read here by brdlyficrecs

Word count: 9800

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: Dan and Phil go to an arcade and get to talking about kids and commitment. They then get drunk with other YouTubers, who force them to reconsider their relationship. 

Author’s Notes: Massive thanks to Gina for being a fabulous beta; couldn’t have made this what it was without you! Enjoy ^.^ [Read on AO3 if you prefer.]

Dan and Phil ambled down a relatively crowded street in London. They had never been to this particular part of town before. That wasn’t unusual, really - London was a huge city and they barely left their flat -but nonetheless, they were excited to explore a new comic book store and arcade. (If you could look past the fact that they were two grown men and it was a Friday afternoon, their anticipation was perfectly understandable.)

Keep reading

Flickering Lights

Summary: Dan and Phil bump into each other late one night in Manchester.

Genre: Tiny bit of Angst but mostly unbearable fluff

Word count: 2.9k

Trigger Warnings: None

A/N I wrote most of this late at night so sorry if it’s bad

The rain had started. Little droplets pouring down, slowly turning into pellets, plummeting into the ground. The distant chatter of thunder, a strike of lightning somewhere.

Keep reading

Joe Sugg imagine || It started as a bet. ||

Anonymous said:

Hello love ;) can you please make one where the reader is with Joe because she made a bet but she actually falls for him but he finds out the truth.

- - -

A/N: Going to be flashing back and forth a few times in this imagine. :)

Also a pre-ish Youtube.

- - -

~ Flashback ~

He’s kind of weird… Well, a lot weird.” You laughed as you sat with your friends on the small set of bleachers outside the school – it was after school and most of your friends had boyfriends who played football after school so you decided to hang out with them while they watched and waited. “Yeah, a lot.” Your friend Marlee repeated with a laugh as you were talking about Joe Sugg – a guy in your grade who was also on the field playing football.

I bet you wouldn’t go out with him for a small wager.” Carolyn looked at you with a smirk – you were the only one in your circle of friends without a boyfriend. “For how long?” You wondered, you did think Joe was kind of weird, but you didn’t really do the whole hurt someones feelings thing.

Like, two weeks?” Carolyn figured, Marlee and Anna nodded looking at you, “I mean, if you don’t have the guts to do it.” She giggled and you narrowed your eyes at your friends. “I do to! But what’s in it for me?” You wondered. “Uhm.” Marlee thought and looked at your other friends. “Thirty pounds and this packet of half gone gum?” She offered. “And you HAVE to take him to Anna’s birthday this weekend.” Carolyn stipulated.

Seriously?” You raised your eyebrow at them and they nodded. You were sixteen, mostly broke and gum was always a luxury. “Fine, he isn’t that bad anyway.” You agreed, you all shook hands sealing the bet and you waited until after football had finished.

You walked onto the field seeing Joe picking up his backpack, “hey.” You waved seeing him, he looked up and smiled. “Hi.” He said, “(Y/N) right?” He asked, running his fingers through his bleachy-blonde hair, watching you with his blue eyes. “Yeah, Joe, right?” You counted and he nodded. “What’s up?” He wondered, glancing around, you had only spoken to him a few times in Photography class, mainly since you used machine two and he used machine one. “I was just wondering… Would you be interested in maybe… Going out sometime?” You asked casually, you did feel slightly nervous. “Really?” He sounded surprised. “Yeah.” You smiled. “Sure, yeah.” He nodded witha bright smile. “Great,” you looked around, “text me?” You wondered taking your phone from your pocket and offering it to him to put his number in while he handed you his.

~ End Flashback ~

“Joe, you’re running late. Your uncle is going to kill you!” You called upstairs from the kitchen of your house, it was ten and a half months later and you had gotten into a serious relationship with Joe, you really liked him, well you loved him actually. “Coming, coming.” He came rushing down the stairs in his tattered work jeans and an old hooded sweater with pieces of straw still stuck to it. “See you after work.” He came rushing by after grabbing his keys, he stopped mid-step, walking backwards he kissed you sweetly on the lips. “Love you.” He added and you grinned. “I love you, too.” You felt fuzzy every time he said, ‘Love you’. Joe had taken the career experience option and went roof thatching with his uncle.

~ Flashback ~

Girl, it’s been two weeks, you’ve earn this.” Carolyn handed you the thirty pounds in ten pound notes. “You deserve way more for letting him kiss you at Anna’s birthday though.” Marlee snickered and you felt awkward taking the money and shoving it into your pocket, “yeah, I guess…” You muttered, trying to move on from the subject it started as a bet, but you had started developing feelings for Joe after you two started spending time together. “So… When are you gonna break up with him?” Anna asked you and you shrugged. “I’ll find the right time, I wanna break it to him gently you know. I mean… I don’t wanna hurt his feelings too much.” You looked around, you were all sitting on the bleachers again, looking toward the field, Joe had looked up and waved at you with a smile, you smiled waving back to him. “Girl, you didn’t fall for him did you!?” Carolyn asked as she started to laugh. “What?” You looked at her seriously. “No!” You assured, looking to your shoes.

~ End Flashback. ~

You had met Joe after work and school in the small shopping centre area to pick up a couple things for supper, you both walked into the store holding hands, “you’re covered in straw.” You giggled, picking a piece of it from his hair as he grabbed a basket. “but you love me regardless right?” He glanced at you and you grinned. “With all my heart.” You assured as you both walked down an aisle.

You wanted to melt into a puddle when you rounded the corner and seen Anna and Carolyn both looking at the sweets. “We don’t need anything here.” You tried to tow Joe from the aisle. You had started to spend less and less time with your friends as the continued to make fun of you for still being with Joe.

“We don’t need anything here.” You assured and he laughed. “I think I want some cakes for tonight.” He pulled you with him into the aisle and you lowly groaned. Hearing the small scuffle of shoes, Anna and Carolyn both looked up. “HEY!” They said brightly seeing you. “Hi.” You muttered with a slight head nod at them. “Still with Joe?” Anna giggled and tried avoiding the question.

“You won you know, you don’t have to carry on.” Carolyn had walked up to Joe and yourself.
“What do you mean?” Joe had asked looking somewhat confused by the conversation. “Nothing babe.” You assured and your glared at the two females. “What you mean you haven’t even told him?” Anna laughed, looking like she just hit a jackpot. “Told me what?” Joe asked. “Nothing.” You said quickly and gave them the dirtiest look you could muster.

~ Flashback ~

(Y/N) It’s been two months! Break it off already! You’ve proved you don’t take a bet lightly and you won!” Marlee poked fun of you as she seen you giving Joe a small kiss outside of your English classroom, whilst you had English he had PE and he always walked you to class because the Gym was on the way. “I kinda like him.” You admitted sitting beside her. “Seriously?!” She gawked at you like you grew another head and turned pink.
“Yeah, he makes me laugh.” You shrugged wishing your friends would lay off already. “Yeah, funny looking.” She rolled her eyes and you went to snap at her but the teacher came into the room and started talking immediately.

~ End flashback. ~

“We had a bet ages back.” Anna started and you wished the floor would open and swallow you whole. “We bet (Y/N) she wouldn’t go out with you for two weeks for thirty pounds and some gum.” She explained the situation like it was a huge joke. “And she accepted the bet and she has gone above and beyond the bet.” She laughed and Carolyn nodded. “What?” Joe whispered looking from them to you and you looked down ashamed.

“We’re surprised she kept it going this long. I mean … Come on.” Carolyn gestured to Joe and made a face you wanted to slap off of her, “this is true?” Joe looked at you, hurt swimming in his eyes. “Joe.” You started and he inhaled, putting the shopping basket down, having let go of your hand a while ago he nodded. “I see, this is all a joke to you.” He held his head up and he walked away from you. “Joe!” You called after him, going to go after him.

“At least we took care of your problem with dumping him.” Carolyn pointed out. “You’re welcome.” Anna chimed in and you glared. “I love him you idiots! And you’ve just ruined everything! THANKS A LOT!” You yelled and some customers stopped to look at you.

You left the store quickly rushing after Joe, looking at your car. Joe was no where in the parking lot, it had started to drizzle a cold rain. You got into the car and started driving up the street looking for him.

Seeing him walking up a side street which would lead him back to his house at least thirty minutes by foot, you pulled up beside him. “Joe, please… I need to explain.” You drove slowly as he kept walking with his hood up. “Joe!” You pleaded.  

He stopped walking and looked to you, with tears that killed you. “Explain what? You were dating me because you made a bed with your friends, explanation complete.” He started walking again.

“No, Joe! I … Please get in and let my explain everything to you.” You watched as he stopped walking again, he walked around and got into the passenger side but refused to look at you.

“It started as a bet, okay? It started as one. They bet me I wouldn’t go out with you, I took the bet… It was suppose to be over and done with in two weeks, but Joe… I started to fall for you. I’ve fallen for you. I love you.” You whispered.

“How am I suppose to believe that, huh?” He asked only partly glancing over you and you rubbed your forehead, the rain started pouring down harder as you were pulled off to the side of the road.

“I understand, it was stupid. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to hate me.” You whispered as you got more and more emotional.

“How do you think I feel right now? You only went out with me for a stupid bet!” He looked at you angry and hurt. “I know! It was stupid.” You said again. “I’m sorry!” You pleaded with him.

“The two weeks came to an end but I didn’t want to end being with you! I made a mistake, I started getting to know you like I should’ve properly in the first place and this conversation wouldn’t be happening. If I knew what we’d be like together today, I would never had taken a bet to go out with you.” You rubbed some tears from your eyes before they fell. “What can I do to make you believe me, Joe? I’ll do anything.” You kept watching him as he shook his head. “I love you.” He looked at you painfully.

“I love you, too! So much! You have no idea.” You sniffed, “I get it you’re mad, you hate me.” You nodded. “No, (Y/N). I don’t hate you… I love you and that’s why this hurts so fucking much.”

“Please believe me Joe, I never meant to hurt you.” You reached for his hand and he pulled away but you reached over more and took it. “You. You are who I want my future to be with, I don’t want to be anywhere else than with you.” You squeezed his hand. “Fuck.” You looked down.

He was watching you, “I wouldn’t take back what I did, because I would never had met you properly or gotten to know you.” You explained, “but I would’ve explained things to you a lot earlier on.” You looked up. “Please, Joe. I love you. It was just a stupid bet that turned into the best thing thats ever happened to me.” You kept your focus on him.

“Do you mean that?” He asked seriously and you swiftly nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Marry me.” He said after some silence. “What?” You let go of his hand, in shock. “If you love me like you say you do, you’ll want to marry me. Because I know I wanna marry you.” He kept watching you and your expression lightened. “Okay, I mean – yes?” You agreed. “Really?” He let out a breathless laugh. “I love you, I want to spend my life with you. Marrying you would be the second best thing in my life.” You nodded and watched a confusion over come him. “What’s the first?” He wondered.

“The day I walked onto the football field and said 'hey.’.” You admitted with a smile.


End.

run/a/way

I run.

I can pack a suitcase in three minutes flat -
last month I left for London
with a roll of ten pound notes,
slept with a girl who stole my clothes,
and made it home for finals.

Last month I kissed a boy a Spain
who called himself Oh-No
and slipped me the address
to his Amsterdam apartment.

Last month I told someone I couldn’t love her because
–I will cheat
because
–You’re too good for me
because
–I just can’t do this.

Last month I maxed out my credit cards
and had no one to share
the stories, so
I asked a Scottish girl to marry me.
Last month she poured Innis Ale on my head.

I can’t keep running.

My sister got her driver’s license
and my mom completed chemo and I haven’t
seen them
in twenty-four weeks.  I’m too scared
to watch my family age,
the same way I’m too scared
to nurse a relationship long enough to watch it fall apart.
I write about love but I’m terrified of feeling it,
so I spend money at the airport.

I’m supposed to leave for California
but I just want to sleep.
I just want to hold my sister.
I just want to kiss a woman
and know I’ll be there to fix her breakfast.
So, yes:

I can pack a suitcase in three minutes flat,
but when I do
–when I run
–when I kiss
–when I leave
I always leave something behind.

Flower Boy C.H

Summary: Calum meets y/n in a florists. Y/n’s in love with Calum and finds it hard to tell him because her best friend likes him too.

She liked a lot of things about him, almost everything about him left her in wonderment. But there was a part of him she adored beyond belief, it was his eyes. He had a pair of brown eyes, a pair of eyes that were so beautiful she found it hard to describe them. They were like pools of melted chocolate and when caught in the sun they become filled with specks of golden honey. They were like cups of coffee, warm, comforting, with a dark ring around the iris, like a wall or fence containing the art like structure that was his eyes.  They were like gates to an unworldly portal, like the window to a different reality, like globes of an unknown beauty.

When she looked into them she was instantly hypnotized, completely unattached from her body and absorbed by him. His eyes alone were enough to make her wilt like the petals of a barely alive flower, him as a whole was an entity she found angelic.

She had known him for a little over a year. They had met during the month of May. She was working at a florists for her part time job, the idea of spending several hours in a room surrounded by flowers of different kinds, in its own was appealing yet after a few months of working at the small shop she had found it to become rather tedious and slow, minutes felt like hours and the sound of the bell that hung on the door had become a sound she despised, it had become a sickening ring and was something she often found hard to get out of her head.

Then he walked in on May 13th, a day she swore was supposed to be unlucky. She couldn’t quite remember specific details of their first encounter seeing as it was over a year old and a rather blurry memory. But she remembered how long he took to find a bouquet, how he carefully examined every flower as if it were an irreplaceable artifact, how his index finger gently touched the petals and leaves of different flowers, how he would decide on a bouquet and change his mind during the short period it took him to walk to the counter and proceed to put them back, carefully in their original place.

He was the only customer in the shop at that time, it was 6-something o'clock and a couple minutes till closing time. She was watching him intently, she wasn’t sure as to whether he was aware he was being followed by her eyes but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it if he knew. She felt like telling him to hurry it up, that it was almost closing time and seeing at she couldn’t close up until he was out of there she would have probably labeled him as a nuisance if he hadn’t of been so satisfying to watch. His tall figure and the way he handled the flowers, his dark clothing yet his surrounding being nothing but colourful petals, it was like watching a scene out of a movie in y/n’s eyes.

He had finally decided on a small cluster of paperwhite’s, by that time it was 7:06 and just past closing time yet y/n wished he would continue to search a little longer, she wished to drink in his beauty for a few more moments.

He placed the bunch of flowers on the counter, a small smile on his face as he did so. The moment he was close enough to her, she began to properly examine him. She started from his hands, they were large and his palms looked so soft, his fingernails looked like they had been bitten, the pads of his fingers were a little pink and he had letters tattooed on one of his hands. Her friends had said you can tell a lot about someone from their hands.

Then she looked up and that’s when she looked into his eyes for the first time. She found herself staring into them for a little too long, they were telling her a story, they were like a book and she found herself gripped by the plot. She didn’t want to look away from them, afraid that if she did they would turn out to be just a figment of her over active imagination.

She had managed to snap out of it before seconds turned into minutes and she lost a customer. She looked at the flowers, proceeding to do her job and scanning the barcode on the tag, checking how much it cost.

“5.29 please.” She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the flowers as she feared if she looked up she would once again get lost in his eyes. He then took out a small, leather wallet, her eyes shifting from the flowers to his hands, his fingers pulled out a ten pound note. She thought their encounter was about to come to an end, her heart sinking when she realized that he probably had somewhere to be and in a few seconds she would hear the irritating ring of the bell secured to the door as he left.

“Your girlfriend must be really lovely.” She mumbled. She suddenly wanted to retrieve every word she had just uttered, realizing a stranger commenting on his relationship that he may or may not have with a girl that may or may not be real was rather invasive.

“What?"He said. He didn’t sound angry or upset, just confused. It was only one word he said yet y/n found herself instantly infatuated with his voice. It was warm and calm, soft, not harsh or loud. He had such an intimidating exterior yet his voice was so sweet.

"It’s just, um,” she began to explain herself, “you spent maybe half an hour searching for flowers, I haven’t seen many people do that. I just assumed they were for your partner or something I don’t know.” She rushed out.

“Oh, no, I’m drawing these, they aren’t for anyone.” He said, chuckling as he spoke.

“Drawing them?” She inquired, questioning herself as to whether she heard him right.

“Yeah.” He said as he placed the note on the counter, putting his wallet back in his jacket.

“Couldn’t you just get a photo or something?” She asked, realizing that her question was a little too nosey and she shouldn’t be questioning the actions of someone she didn’t know. He was a stranger after all, a man who she had never seen before and was causing her to spend more minutes at work than she was required to.

“But pictures aren’t the real thing, a picture is just the real thing captured at a specific moment in time.” He said. He didn’t seem to be irritated, at least from what she could tell. She couldn’t deduct much from his tone, he sounded calm, relaxed, content with telling her information most would feel odd about revealing to a stranger who worked at a florists. He didn’t seem to be in a rush either, he was okay with participating in small talk on a Friday evening during the last month of spring. He was in a state that made y/n feel like the need to be on edge was unnecessary.

“But if you keep the flowers in one place, aren’t they only being capture in one specific moment as well?” She said. Due to his previous answer she had began to found him rather intriguing, the little glimpse of his persona she had been exposed to. She presumed he wasn’t a shy person, if he was he would have been in and out of the shop in seconds due to the fear of confrontation about him taking his time. The way he spoke to her showed a lot as well, his voice was gentle but not at all mousy or sheepish, he was able to convey his thoughts into words with ease. He was the sort of boy she knew had a way with words and was unaware of his natural charm.

“Oh, no, no, no.” He said, letting out a chuckle for half a second before proceeding to explain. “Time never stops moving, the positions of the sun changes, therefore so do shadows, weather can flicker between sunny and gloomy, I can change the position of a flower in the middle of sketching. Drawings can take hours, a photo is taken in an instant, depending on the camera of course, but with both mediums an artist can manipulate the image to suit their own vision.”  He said, drumming his fingers against the top of the counter.

Y/N couldn’t quiet fully understand why but what he had said drew her to him like a moth to a flame. He was something else, not quite the abnormally different boys she had read about in books or seen in movies, he didn’t give off more than someone who had a lot of experience with art and found it easy to speak about it, yet his ability to do so seemed so attractive to y/n on that Friday evening in the middle of May. He was normal yet she couldn’t dare to say he was just another face in the crowd. He stood out, he was the acceptation to the rule, the rule that for people to become intrigued by you, you must have a personality that was difficult to forget. He was normal but special, she could tell, maybe it was because he had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen or maybe it was due to the fact that such a gentle voice could emit from a boy that looked like an utter brute, or maybe she didn’t have a reason, maybe he wasn’t in actual fact special at all but only special to her.

“I’m y/n, just so you know.” She said, looking up at him, rather than making the fatal mistake of looking into his eyes she looked at the tip of his nose instead. He smiled at her, a smile that she swore stopped time, being unconventionally beautiful but probably the prettiest sight she had seen in a while.

“Calum.” He said.

Keep reading

There is a bench on Byres Road which is usually occupied by old men, and I’ve found that, whenever I have half an hour to kill in the area for whatever reason, sitting and listening to them talk is a worthwhile way to spend it.

Tommy’s stories were largely of his time in the army and his memories of the war.

“I’m not just a hairy face, you know. I’ve seen me sitting here and people coming over and putting a ten pound note in my hand, like I’m a beggar! … History is my subject, I did my degree in it. I’ve studied it. I’ve lived it! I was born on the day that Lenin died (that makes him 86 in 2011). Everything you see around us now, it’s all history to me.”

“I’ve travelled all over the world, over eighty countries. But that’s all past me now. Of course, I’d love to travel still, see all the beautiful chicks, but I can barely raise my little finger these days, let alone my… well, that’s all done now. Maybe a boat to Orkney or something.”

We were for a time joined by another old chap whose breath smelt like alcohol and vanilla. I must have looked out of place, sat quietly between them while they waved their canes and argued loudly about history and politics, and certainly some passing pedestrians and drivers stuck in traffic seemed to find the spectacle amusing. When the other man left - “I’ve got to get to this fucking bank” - Tommy remarked “Oh, here we go! A bank! He’s one of Maggie Thatcher’s men.”

This photograph is really more an exercise in postprocessing than anything else: I was photographing into direct sunlight, and so to bring out the tones and the detail here was a hell of a task. Perhaps I’ve overcooked it, but it’s the best I could do.

Glasgow, 2011.

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apart from such great heights, i doubt i’ll be posting any new fics for a while because i actually need to finish something, but in the mean time i just wanted to share a long preview of another niall thing i’ve low key been working on because i love niall hehe so enjoy

Nora sits herself down at a table just inside the cafe, dumping her duffle bag down on the floor beside her. She grumbles under her breath as she pulls her phone from her pocket, only to find she’s got merely five percent battery left. Fucking great.

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You're Alright you.

• What if … on the day of her release from the mental hospital Rae doesnt see Chloe and the gang on the bikes…

It had been eight whole days since I had been free from the mental ward.

Eight entire days of being stuck in this house with Mum and Karim. 

It was hell.

The only chance I had really gotten out was to my first appointment with Kester, the new therapist.

And even then as soon as it had been over she had rushed home as quick as possible to avoid seeing anyone from school or those goons in the green lane gang.

There was no way I was ready to explain my absence, to anyone.

Her Mum had only gone and told everyone that she had been in France for two months, who does that?

Why not say I had glandular fever or something.

I know about as much as France as the pope does about sex positions.

…………

“For the love of god Rae stop tapping will you” Her Mum shouted from her spot of sofa with Kariem’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sorry” I mumbled and shoved my hands away from the glass I had, without knowing it, tapping my none existent finger nails against and into my lap.

“Why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air”

I rolled my eyes at this.
If I wanted some bloody fresh air I could just go into the back garden for fuck sake.

“RAE!” my mum shouted once again after I didn’t say anything to her.

“What?” rolling my eyes I looked at her with nothing but a blank face. What did she expect me to do? go for a run? As if!

“Go out side and make some friends or something, its not good for you to be cooped up in here all day and night”

“Its the Summer Mum” was the only thing I could come up with saying.

“Here” her mum pulled herself up from the sofa and reached for her bag.

“Take this and go and buy some tunes” Tunes? fucking hell. 

She watched as her mum held out three ten pound notes to her.

“Jesus, did you win the lottery or something?” normally it took a good few hours of begging to get a couple of quid out of her, let alone thirty!

“Take the bloody money Rae”

She didn’t risk speaking again and snatched the notes from her mothers hand, who was she to tell her it was too much.

Quicker than she thought she could of moved she had her black leather jacket on and her backpack clutched in her hands.

It was time to go outside.

…………………………

By some kind of miracle I made it to the record shop in town without seeing anyone that I knew.

Of course there where the usual stares, always was and always will be. Those I could just about cope with. Because with those people I could tell myself that I would never have to see them again.

It was the people I knew, those where the ones that bothered me more. Knowing that they knew.

Thats what killed me.

……

As soon as I stepped through the door I felt all of the bad thoughts and feelings leave my body.

There was just something about being around music that drowned all of the crap out.

It made everything better.
There was a handful of people in the shop but none of them paid her any attention and carried on in their own little worlds.

It was kind of perfect really.

…………………

It had been a good thirty minutes and Rae found herself sat on the floor surround by some boxes of old records that where on sale when the bell rang signaling someone else coming into the store.

Out of the corner of her eye a pair of black doc martins appeared to her right.

Looking up she was faced with one of the fittest lads she had ever seen around here.

Jesus fucking christ.

Quickly I cast my eyes back down the the records in my hands and tried to act normal. Pffftt. Well normal for me, in public? I don’t even fucking know.

All that I did know was that I didn’t want him to see me starring.

The store door opened again and as it did she swore she heard the adonis who had moved a little closer mumble ‘Oh Fucking hell’.

Girls.

These giggly girly poppy voices began getting louder and louder and she knew that they would be going to the pop section. Or as I liked to call it the ‘everything wrong with music’ section.

Those people, well those are the ones who should be locked up in mental wards. Not people like delicate little Tixie.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled “They should have there own shop six miles down the road, not a section” to herself.

But, it had apparently not been at all a quiet mumble or to herself as the fit lad let out a snigger which caused her to look up at him.

Jesus his fucking face was even hotter. Fuck me. Please.

“Your on to something there” with a awkward giggle at the end. She starred at him with wide eyes.

Did he just agree with her?

Wait. WHAT?

He was watching her closely and it was making her a little uncomfortable.

Say something Rae. SAY SOMETHING.

“Well….” but she got cut of as the back street boys song started playing really loudly through the store speakers.

Are you fucking kidding me.

Her head whipped around so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash and she glared over in the general direction of the giggly girls “They are everything wrong with music”

At this the fit lad laughed, really loudly.

“Your alright you” he said with a nod of his head and a smile on his lips that made her want to kiss them.

Oh how she wanted to kiss them.

“Thanks?” it even sounded liked a bloody question to her own ears.

Another laugh escaped his perfect mouth before he sat down next to her on the floor.

“I’m Finn” he introduced himself.

“Rae” she smiled at him.

Long after those girls had gone and Oasis had replaced the plastic pop the two of them where still sat on the floor going throught the records and debating over which album by each band was the best.