James Cook - Tumblr Posts
I was completely in love with him. If he’d told me to jump off a bridge, I would have. We were so young and going through so much, it was a strange togetherness we had. It was intense and magical and horrible.
“Skins is a show that defined a generation. That generation is growing up.”
A man died last night. Not a man I liked, or who liked me, but he didn’t deserve what he got. It wasn’t good. He wasn’t surrounded by his nearest and dearest. He didn’t pass away peacefully in his sleep. And they say it’s a small country, but we drove all night and didn’t see the end of it.
You think you know death, but you don’t. Not till you’ve seen it, really seen it. And it gets under your skin, and lives inside you. You also think you know life. You stand on the edge of things and watch it go by, but you’re not living it, not really. You’re just a tourist. A ghost. And then you see it, really see it. And it gets under your skin and lives inside you, and there’s no escape. There’s nothing to be done, and you know what? It’s good. It’s a good thing. And that’s all I’ve got to say about it.
James cook (skins rise part 2)
You are granted a time machine and the ability to prevent one birth (or commit a murder up to you), don't worry about the butterfly effect, we want the butterfly effect that's part of the point. Your actions will prevent them from ever rising to prominence. No he's not here, because it'd be too much of a sweep, pick your second choice if you're wondering where he is
𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐤'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: after all these years, I still hold a place for James Cook in my heart … I sort of jump between hypothetical talk and immersive: “he would” and “he does”. I do apologise. I hope you enjoy x
Warnings: mentions of drugs, violence … ya know, normal skins stuff -
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ
Keep reading
prologue…
the sound of the underground made the flick of a lighter almost indistinguishable, heels clacking and echoing through the tiled tunnels. you exhale raggedly, spliff in one hand, everything you own in the other. some would say it’s pathetic all you had could fit into a carry-on, you’d say it’s convenient. you come to a halt underneath the staircase to the streets above, you take another drag and shiver as a gust of cold wind from outside weasels it’s way past you.
bristol, a town of memories, of happy families torn apart, of gangs and violence and posh kids getting cars and shoes and everything they desire while the children around them make do with what they can; sex, drugs, and alcohol. the town of roundview college, the town where your brother died.
dropping what’s left of the spliff you begin your trek up the stairs, every step making more hairs on your arms stand upright. you wrap them around yourself in a hug, trying to fight off the cold. the short denim skirt you decided to wear feels like a worse choice every step you take, but you ignore it and keep going. the lights on the streets give the town a lively feel, no matter the time, and make you feel more welcomed.
you knew the way, even if you didn’t know the destination quite yet, your big leaps across the streets of bristol could convince any bloke around that you knew exactly where you were going. you walked in a trance for what felt like hours and just minutes all in one before you stopped in front of a house with a chipped green wooden door.
you looked at it for a while, sizing it up, before changing the direction you were walking towards to the front door of number three of whatever this street’s name was. you softly placed your right ear on the door, closing your eyes and holding your breath, listening. when the quiet was all that talked back to you, you pushed against it softly, and it clicked open.
you didn’t care to check any of the rest of the house, just made your way upstairs with a sudden drowsiness behind your irises. the door adjacent to the end of the staircase at the end of the hall was peeped open, and you took your time getting to it, knocking it open with your boot’s toe to see what’s inside.
a mix of gray and white dotted and striped wallpapers hits your eyes, the street lamps outside illuminating pictures of half-naked women and a messy desk with moldy plates stacked atop each other. the bed is stripped of any sheets and shows a stained mattress with a lone pillow laying sadly in the middle.
letting your bag drop to the floor with a thud and wobbly on your knees you let yourself fall on top of it and lose consciousness. drifting off into a dark abyss of nothingness to swallow up the bleak room and let you rest from the travels you’d made the day before.
series masterlist
Tony, I need a bit of... Can you help me? I've ask some more where we are, but if you come, you have to promise me you're not doing anything to him, okay? You've got to email me back and promise me you won't do anything. Cause Cook's not... He's only the half of it, right? He's only the half of it. And don't shout at me on the phone again, ok? Anyway, we're in this place...
Unseen Skins, Effy's Video Diary