#hammersmith and city line

[travelling-my-little-pony]

Sweet Notes is sitting on a seat on a tube train on the Hammersmith and City line.

In London, England.

[quehaylondres]

Hombre atropellado por tren después de 'intentar lanzar a una mujer a las vías' en King's Cross

Hombre atropellado por tren después de ‘intentar lanzar a una mujer a las vías’ en King’s Cross

El día de ayer un hombre fue atropellado por un tren después de que supuestamente intentara llevar a una mujer a las vías en la estación de King’s Cross, en el centro de Londres. Por suerte, la mujer resultó ilesa, mientras que el hombre fue llevado al hospital por heridas en la cabeza. Un portavoz de la Policía de Transporte británica dijo que los servicios de emergencia fueron llamados a…

[jackbatchelor3]

Ballum-related spoilers from Digital Spy

👬🏳️‍🌈 TW: Rape

(3/3)

On the plus side, George Street’s back onscreen next week.

🥳🚇

[haxanbroker]

Bow Road station. East London, March 2017.

[124daisies]

150 Years of the Hammersmith and City Line, 2014

[stephensmithuk]

The Red-Headed League

This is the second published short story, after "A Scandal in Bohemia"

A massive slam on tradesmen from out of nowhere!

Arthur Conan Doyle was himself an on-and-off Freemason, but only got as far as the third degree. Being involved in the movement seems to have been common in middle and high society, with no less than the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII) as Grand Master at the time of publication. The current Grand Master is Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, first cousin once removed to the King and 40th in line to the throne.

Fleet Street is a London street that was - and still is - synonymous with the newspaper industry, although they have all gone from the area now. It's also associated with Sweeney Todd.

With around 4.2 million people living within the then-boundaries of London at the time, there would have been quite a few redheaded men.

Snuff is snorting tobacco. It was used in the House of Commons as smoking has been banned in there since 1693 (the place was dimly lit enough until the TV cameras went in without cigarette smoke making it worse!) and the boxes for it remain, but it is little used now. However, you can still buy it without paying tobacco taxes.

A gold sovereign was a gold coin with a nominal value of £1; today, partly because the gold content, it is worth far more than that. The Royal Mint still make them and are now selling Charles III ones. It was common for gentlemen to have one on a watch-chain; Jabez Wilson has a Chinese equivalent instead.

The Encyclopedia Brittanica at this point was 25 volumes long.

Aldersgate Underground station is now called Barbican and is on the Hammersmith & City, Circle and Metropolitan Lines, also being an "open-air" station. It contains some disused tracks that were used by Thameslink services until 2009, when the branch line from Farringdon to Moorgate was shut due to platform extensions at the former severing the line.

A good part of the Aldersgate area was destroyed in the Second World War, resulting in the construction of the Barbican Estate and associated arts centre. The brutalist construction of both has resulted in it becoming a popular location for filmmakers; it has recently played Coruscant in Andor.

St. James's Hall was a concert hall in Regent Street; it was the principal venue for concerts in the city at the time until the 1900s, when it was supplanted by Queen's Hall, closed, and demolished.

Royal Dukes trump regular Dukes; the titles are given to members of the royal family, generally either when they turn 21 or when they marry. The title enables the hold to call themselves a Prince if not already one. Historically they were hereditary but ceased being royal once passing beyond the grandsons of a monarch, so the Duke of Kent's son, George Windsor, will not be a prince once he inherits the dukedom. The recent fourth creation of Duke of Edinburgh for the other Prince Edward is lifetime only though.

Napoleons were French gold coins with a nominal value of 20 francs. While the nickname comes from Bonaparte, they were minted under successor governments (the Third Republic by this time) until 1914 and remain collector's items.

[thedirectorscuts]

"Over 114 million passenger journeys are made each year on the Hammersmith & City and Circle lines." Wikipedia

[betweendoctorsanddetectives]

just saw the hammersmith and city line referred to as "ham and city" which is just so fantastic and fun

[onceupon]

London Boy

summary: Y/n finds herself all the way across the pond, trying to escape OBX. But much to her surprise, a certain someone might get in the way.

pairing: Rafe x reader (just an intro in this part, we’ll get there dw)

warnings: swearing, drinking, some mentions of anxiety?

word count: 3.2k

a/n: if you’re a sucker for a slow burn like me, buckle up and enjoy the ride. I plan on this being multiple parts and this is also my first time posting so please be gentle with me lol :’-) (not canon Rafe)

You huffed as you dragged your extra large and definitely overweight luggage down to the pickup area at Heathrow airport. You had just landed in London where you’d be going to school until the holidays.  You had decided to apply for, and actually got accepted into, your high school’s British exchange program. Every year Kildare Academy gave the option for 15 seniors to study for half the school year at Westheath Academy in London, a private boarding school, while 15 kids from their school came to yours. Normally, you wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving your friends and family for that long, not to mention missing out on half of senior year at home. But ever since the drama that erupted during the summer after your junior year that ended with you being shunned by your “friend group” (where they really ever your friends to begin with?), you practically jumped at the opportunity to get as far away from the Outer Banks as possible, albeit for a little while.

You didn’t know at all what to expect at Westheath, you had skipped the predeparture orientation at Kildare a few weeks ago, but you didn’t care - didn’t care who was going or what Westheath was like, all that mattered was that for the next few months you could finally breath. It was the clean slate you desperately needed, a chance to finally be around people and places you hadn’t known since birth. Sure there were going to be 14 other kids from Kildare there as well, but you had zero intentions of sticking with your OBX peers over the next few months. You weren’t going to let your small town suffocate you for a second longer if you could help it.

You double checked the license plate on your phone screen as the Uber you ordered pulled up.

“Y/N?” the driver called out from the front-right window (god that was going to take some getting used to.)

“Yep!” you smiled, huffing as you tried to pick up your luggage and step off the curb. Thankfully the uber driver was quick to your rescue, effortlessly lifting your suitcase into the trunk of the car. Leave it to you to overpack without even thinking to leave room for all of the clothes and souvenirs you were certain to accumulate - oh well, an excuse for a new suitcase you supposed.

Not in the mood for small talk, you were relieved that the Uber driver silently read your mind, playing a pop station as you both respectfully ignored each other’s presence. You anxiously tapped your thumb on your phone, eyes flicking between the screen where you watched your route progress and the view out your window of townhomes, pubs, and countless strangers passing by.

You hadn’t felt anxious about leaving for London the entire first half of junior year, so why was your stomach and head simultaneously churning now? You were so excited to experience a version of life that was the opposite of everything you were trying to get away from - a version of life that involved British accents, buzzing city life, and endless possibilities. But it was all of a sudden dawning on you how unfamiliar it all was. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, no matter how far you ran, you would never be able to fully separate yourself from OBX. That damned small beach-town would always be a part of you, an inextricable thread in the fabric of your life.

The Uber pulled up to a halt in front of your destination. You hesitantly glanced out your window as you double checked the silver number on the building. Yep, 25 Brampton Rd - you were here. The Uber driver graciously lifted your suitcase out of the trunk for you and as he pulled away you let out a long breath - your fresh start was waiting behind the doors in front of you.

You rang the doorbell to the lobby, the security here no joke. You were soon buzzed into the building and you shakily pulled your suitcase in behind you, desperately trying to calm your nerves to no avail.

“Hi,” you croaked out as you approached the man seated at the front desk. “I’m- uhh here to check in to my apartment- uh I mean flat… I think… I’m with the Kildare Academy exchange,” you rambled, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Despite your best efforts, your anxiety was taking over.

The man gave you a sympathetic smile. “Name please?”

“Y/n L/n,” you replied, pulling your lips into a sheepish straight-lined smile as you mindlessly tapped your fingers on the handle of your suit case.

“L/n, L/n, L/n,” the man quietly muttered under his breath as his pen traced over a list of names. “Ahh here you are. Alright Miss L/n, here is a fob, this lets you into the building, now this key lets you into your flat, you’ll be on the second floor - apartment 2C, and this key is for your individual room,” he began to fire off at you as he rounded the desk and came to grab your suitcase, beginning to walk as you hastily followed suit. “This packet will tell you everything you need to know about our building here - wifi, laundry, trash days,” he shoved some papers in your hand as you both entered the elevator, him pressing the button for the second floor.

You emerged on to your floor and a few steps later you two were at the door of your new home, which the man quickly unlocked gesturing for you to step inside. “And this, Miss L/n, is your flat for the next few months with us here at Westheath. Your room is the second right down the hall there and I believe you’re the first here. Two of your flatmates who are yet to check in are from Kildare, such as yourself, and the other two are students of our own here at Westheath. You know I’m surprised how early you are, classes don’t start until next week! But nevertheless I’ll let you get settled,” you stood staring blankly at your new surroundings, more or less registering the words this man was firing off at you.

“I’m Richard by the way, if you ever need anything you know where to find me,” the man extended his hand toward you.

“Thank you,” you smiled, accepting his handshake.

“Welcome to Westheath,” he smiled back and just as quickly was turning on his heel and back out the door before you could get in another word, leaving you in your new flat by yourself.

You slowly walked through the empty place, meandering through the kitchen and living area, down the hall, peaking into the bathroom, and then finding your way to your room. It certainly wasn’t the type of living arrangement you were used to back home - your family lived on Figure 8 in the Outer Banks meaning you had grown up surrounded by mansions and luxuries. This place was small, simple, and yet it was cozy and well… perfect. It was the exact opposite of your Figure 8 life and that alone was enough to make you love it. You smiled, content, as you sank on to your empty bed, taking in your new room. You had a nice sized desk, a decent shelf, and a wardrobe. Simple and sufficient. You could get used to this. The room was starkly barren, but since school wasn’t set to start for another week and no one was here yet you made a mental note to go on a little mission to find some plants and decorations to bring the white box that was your room a bit more to life.

——-

Three days had passed and still your other flat mates had yet to show. You were starting to wonder if they ever would or if you’d end up living in this flat all by yourself. Your room was now decorated, you had found some cute posters in a shop you had wandered into, some plants in another, and string lights in a third. You had acquainted yourself with the grocery store around the corner and the drug store down the street and you’d even gone on the tube all by yourself.

Being on your own these last few days had been decidedly therapeutic, leaving you unable to contain a cheesy grin every time it hit you that you were actually here, in London, far far away from OBX. But you couldn’t help feeling a little lonely, with a passing hello to Richard every time you left and returned to the building being your main source of human interaction these last few days.

You laid on your bed as you debated the decision you were about to make - you would’ve never dared to use Tinder back home. You knew virtually everyone on the island and would’ve been absolutely mortified to match with anybody there. But hey - you were in London baby! This was a fresh start and nothing was off limits. You sighed and gave in, downloading the app and quickly making a profile. You must’ve rearranged the order of your pictures at least a dozen times before you finally decided it was good enough. You started to swipe, an endless supply of British boys at your finger tips. You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at how funny the whole concept was, your inbox already flooding with cheesy pick up lines from your matches. You spent the next hour going back and forth with these boys, silly, meaningless, flirty conversations - god it was so much easier being a flirt through a screen, you would be positively flushed in the face in person, unless you were drunk of course (your drunk self was a dangerously confident flirt for sure).

Liam: are you free tonight? Down to grab a drink and chat?

Oh wow. Straight to the point wasn’t he. You knew the point of the app was to eventually get off it and meet up with someone, but now that you were met with the opportunity, your stomach was flipping upside down. Fuck it, what do you have to lose?

Y/n: yeah that sounds great, I’m in Hammersmith if you wanted to go somewhere there?

Liam: perfect so am I (: 8pm at The Ladle. See you there xx

Pure adrenaline coursed through your body as you started doing your hair and makeup, throwing clothes all around your small room to find the perfect outfit that was cute but simultaneously made it seem like you weren’t trying too hard. You threw your wallet and keys in your purse, chugged the glass of wine you had been casually sipping on by yourself, and quickly headed out the door before you could overthink it and change your mind.

——

You nervously approached the bar that Google Maps had directed to you, not sure what you were getting yourself into, but you had already walked all the way here so you’d be damned if you didn’t see it through.

“Y/n?” a voice called out to you. God, hearing your name in that accent sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah that’s me, Liam?” you questioned back, staring up at the fluffy browned-hair boy approaching you.

“That’s me,” he winked, extending his arm out to you which you nervously grabbed, as he led you into The Ladle, spotting an empty table for the two of you.

“So Y/n, what are you doing here in London. Something tells me you’re not from here?”the boy across from you smiled as you two got settled in your seats.

“Hmmm I wonder what could’ve ever given it away,” you replied with a sarcastic smile, American accent in full force. “But I’m here for school, on an exchange at Westheath Academy.”

“Oh shit, that means we’ll see each other around. I’m finishing up my last year actually. And somehow you’re the first American I’ve had the pleasure of being on a date with,” he smiled with a devilish grin that felt like it was burning into you, you hoping the flush on your cheeks wasn’t too obvious with the dim lighting.

“Lucky me,” you smiled back, faking a sly confidence as best you could despite the fact that you were all nerves on the inside. Dating was not something you were familiar with, having maybe gone on two back home, if those even counted.

“First round on me, what are you drinking tonight Y/n?”

“Umm a vodka cran is fine,” you replied to which you were immediately met with a scoff.

“No way babe, you’re in a pub in England now. Should’ve figured as much coming from an American like you,” he chuckled with a shake of his head, his fluffy hair bouncing with it. “I’m getting you a pint,” he asserted, walking over to the bar and giving you a moment to breath and collect yourself. You hated beer but weren’t about to put up a fight, at this point you would down just about any alcohol in order to get some more liquid courage in your system.

He quickly returned, placing the tall glass of golden-colored liquid in front of you.

“Cheers, to new school mates,” he winked extending his glass up to yours.

“To new school mates,” you smiled back, bringing your glass to clink with his, taking a long swig and trying not to grimace at the taste of the liquid going down your throat.

——

The night passed by quickly, you and Liam going through three rounds of drinks as you both laughed and bantered with one another, your nerves all but dissipated by the alcohol now coursing through your bloodstream. Heck, the beer was even starting to taste… good? God you barely recognized yourself anymore, but in the best possible way. One by one you were letting the closely guarded walls you had built up over the years in OBX fall, and you were feeling better than ever before - you felt free.

You and Liam stumbled back arms linked to the building you found out you were both living in, Liam on the fourth floor. You rummaged for the fob in your purse and you both got on the elevator, Liam instinctively pressing both your floor numbers. The elevator dinged opening to your floor, Liam turning to you with a cheeky smile.

“See you around, Y/n,” he winked. Why did you find that so attractive, or maybe it’s just because you were slightly drunk.

“Goodnight Liam,” you smirked back, blowing him a kiss as you walked out the elevator, the doors closing behind you.

You couldn’t help but smile like an idiot as you unlocked your flat and stumbled into your room, immediately collapsing on your bed. London. It was definitely going to be an adventure.

——

You were woken up the next day by the sun peaking through your window. You yawned and let out a big stretch, still giddy from last night’s date. It’s not like you thought you had just met your soulmate or something, you both kept the evening light, mainly joking and flirting as you downed drinks. But god you couldn’t remember the last time you had that much fun or ended a night feeling so confident and carefree. You were embracing every ounce of the euphoria you were getting from your new life.

You slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, still rubbing the morning crust out of your eyes. Just as you got a pot of coffee going, you heard the distinct sound of a key turning, startling you as you realized it was coming from outside of your flat’s door. You cursed at the fact that you were about to meet a new flatmate while in your flannel pajamas and messy bun hanging halfway off your head, but mainly you were excited to finally have some company.

“Dude it’s no Figure 8 living but fuck it I’ll live anywhere to not have my parents breathing down my neck these next few months,” you heard a voice say, now in the hallway of your flat.

You immediately freeze. That was a male voice, definitely a male. Of course it makes sense now that you think of it, everyone in the flat gets their own room so what does it matter if the flat is co-ed. The thought just hadn’t crossed your mind, you automatically assumed you’d be living with all girls.

“Yeah man, anywhere that’s 1,000 miles away from Ward sounds like the perfect place to me,” another male voice laughed in return. Ward? Ward Cameron? That couldn’t possibly be who the voice was referring to because that would mean you were living with- and before you could even finish your thought you were standing jaw slightly parted staring at Rafe Cameron and Topper Thornton  in front of you. Two of the most popular guys at school.

You weren’t really friends but your families knew each other so you inevitably saw one another at kook events every now and then. You couldn’t help but feel intimidated by them. You always told yourself you didn’t care about boys like Rafe and Topper or about fitting in with their crowd, yet you always became nervous in their presence.  They were cool. They partied a lot, were athletes, and had girls tripping over them, which you couldn’t fault considering anyone with eyes could tell they were attractive, but you’d never have the confidence to be so bold with guys like that. Unless you were drunk of course. And unless you were the new confident and carefree version of yourself that you had been on your date last night with Liam.

“Yo Y/n, no fucking way, I didn’t know we’d get to live with girl,” Topper smiled at you with a teasing grin.

You were suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled you look and how you weren’t wearing a bra under your thin pajama top.

“Uh hey w-what are you guys doing here,” you managed to choke out. That confident girl from last night had disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, leaving you now feeling winded in front of the two boys from your hometown. Why were you getting so flustered?

“Just on a little exchange program from Kildare, maybe you’ve heard of it,” teased Rafe sarcastically, a smile tugging at his lips, holding back a laugh at how caught off guard you looked.

“Yeah no yeah of course,” you stuttered, “I guess I just wasn’t expecting you two to want to sign up for it.”

That’s when you realized the obvious. Every year there was always a number of spots reserved on the exchange for athletes, and Rafe and Topper were two of Kildare’s star soccer players.

“What and get to miss an opportunity to play at Westheath and go to Premier League games all semester? No shot,” laughed Topper.

“Maybe you should’ve gone to orientation after all, roomie,” joked Rafe as he picked up his bag following Topper down the hall to their rooms. Rafe Cameron noticed I didn’t go to orientation?

You let your face fall in your hands with a groan only audible to you. You quickly picked up your head and shook yourself off, pouring yourself a cup of coffee as you tried to ground yourself from your frazzled state. Looks like escaping OBX was going to be harder than you thought.

---

Part 2

[hojbjerg]

girl what is up with the victoria line?? pls paint a picture for me bc it sounds like Actual Hell

first of all gm my love hope u slept well 🥰💘 second of all the victoria line is the rankest nastiest ugliest bitch of an underground there is i say this with no affection. every day i descend down into the boiling hot depths of the vic line and walk out onto the dim platform that’s so fucking dirty you can see dust and grime like floating in the air and not only that but there are also like a million other miserable bastards also on the platform squished together waiting for the tube that ROARS in from the giant pitch black hole and then once you’re actually on the tube…… jesus christ you are nose to nose with people holding on for dear life as you literally whizz around at like 50 miles per hour as it makes the loudest noise you’ve ever fucking heard in your life its so noisy you can’t even talk to people (not that londoners do that anyways GOD FORBID) and then if you’re lucky (i use this term lightly) enough to get a seat then you’re practically knee to knee with the people opposite because unlike the hammersmith and city line aka the line of dreams you’re given basically NO room it’s like a theme park ride down there the way we’re all bobbing about so closely together. and then last but not least even though i mentioned the heat on the platform i must also mention it now we’re actually on the tube because it could be snowing outside it could be -17 degrees out there but the second you step onto a vic line train it’s over for you. whip out the suncream deadass you need it. the saddest thing about this is i have to go back on it later today im going to kill myself anyways hope this paints a clear enough pic for you i love you and hope you never have to experience this xxxxxxx

[carebearcody]

i was tagged by the lovely @lfclesbian and @agoldensky <333

nicknames: lexi, lex

zodiac: leo 🌞

height: 5’6

last thing you googled: hammersmith & city line stops

followers: 872

song stuck in my head: killing me softly with his song by the fugees & lauryn hill

how much sleep: like 2hrs, deadline season is not fun 🥲

lucky number: 4 nd 7

aesthetic: winter mornings, just as it turns light nd everything is still 😌

dream job: human rights consultant for an NGO/ academic researcher

wearing: oversized nike top & old football shorts aka my pjs

favourite instrument: to listen to is saxophone, to play is piano

favourite song: the mourning after by mac miller

favourite animal noise: cat purrs

something random: had to do a covid test today cos i think i’m getting ill :(((

i tag: @robbhoe @drivefast-fallhard & @preachingdoll xxxx

[jackbatchelor3]

Ben Gets NASTY 🚊 EastEnders

[leggy-pop]

new aesthetic: niall horan singing sad songs on a bakerloo line train

[gospeloak]

one time i met someone who legitimately loved the highrise business look of canary wharf and la défense which like no disrespect given what i'm into but dear lord. please tell us about transit oriented developments i'd love to hear more !!!!

SO SORRY I NEVER GOT ROUND TO ANSWERING THIS I FORGOT ABOUT IT! basically 2 me I like the fact you can mould both the buildings around the network and even potentially the other way round, creating the opportunity for a better experience for everyone because people, in the majority, like being able to get places easily. so if it is easier for them to hop on a train or tram to get somewhere instead of a car, then the air is better and people are happier because being stuck in your car in traffic is more enraging than being stuck in a train or tram but moving.

outside of residential developments, those for business can actually help the public sector. For example, at Shepherd's Bush, 2 infill stations were put on the West London line and Hammersmith and City line to serve Westfield. fundamentally, people use the stations and the network more = more fare money = more money to keep the trains going AND ALSO incentivises the operators to try it elsewhere also (this idea brought loads of passengers over there, it will probably do that here too). As well, the obvious knock-on effect of people being brought in in increased numbers inevitably stimulating the local economy.

so ya that's all I can think of for now about it

P.S. I know La Défense and Canary Wharf are depressingly Thatcherite I'm just slightly enamoured with the whole retrofuturist aspect of their look

[frienderbender]

hey frienderbender is it ok to ask for some lore/information on your magpickles 🥺 I’m very invested in those goods ( off the topic but can I just say I am in LOVE with the way you draw Skwisgaar my heart is just fluttering to fast when I see him 🥺💞 Anyways muah you’re wonderful artist thank you have a lovely day/evening )

oh sure! first off thank you so much for the sweet message! that made my night :'] i love drawing skwisgaar and im glad you like how he looks in my style haha

anyways im assuming youre talking about my general lore for them in the canon timeline, so ill talk about that under the cut

i think they first met some time in the late 80s while pickles was still with snb. they met after a show specifically. magnus introduced himself as a fan, and that was true! but (quick tangent for some general mag thoughts) it brings up something that ive always thought about when i look at mag. magnus definitely gives off the vibe of being the guy who was always just Around in the music scene, especially in the rock and metal scene of this era. like, hes a mysterious dude but he has connections. he will play with random bands sometimes. he knows so many fucking people in this industry (not saying hes friends with all of them though); what im trying to say is. Everyone Has A Magnus Hammersmith Story. hes the type of guy that gets talked about in podcasts decades down the line. ok all that to say he was able to get backstage because he just Knows People. and he introduces himself as a fan blah blah pickles and magnus drink and do some drugs and honestly i wouldnt be surprised if they at the very least made out with each other the first night they met.

so pickles is like, pretty into him right off the bat. magnus was too, but i think on his end INITIALLY he was more just interested in hooking up but they exchange info and keep in touch and all that. so. this is RIGHT before snb implodes. and theyre still meeting up fairly regularly and becoming closer and doing a lot of drugs and drinking a bunch. typical rockstar stuff.

but pickles had been on a steady downward spiral at this point (he was already like this before he met magnus), and in one night snb is no more. having burned all those bridges in his band (for now), pickles turns to his only friend left: magnus. and i think its at this point, when pickles comes to him, wrecked by the dissolution of his band, that magnus kinda starts to realize he might actually feel something for him too? seeing him like this, seeing pickles from fucking snakes n barrels, so raw and real and not at all like the fiery redhead he met that night after their show...it just feels different somehow. like yeah he was attracted to pickles from snakes n barrels, but he realized he had grown to care about pickles from tomahawk wisconsin. he liked that one better, there was no bullshit. no hiding beneath layers of glam makeup and hairspray.

so its the two of them against the world. its the early 90s at this point. on a whim, pickles decides they should leave LA and just drive. wherever. just away from the city because LA fucking sucks. he takes all his money and he and magnus get in his car and just start driving. they end up in florida eventually, because its the other side of the country. or something. they get an apartment, and for a couple of months they live together and its. kinda nice. its different, for sure. but not bad. magnus and pickles both always kinda skirted around the topic of their relationship. they never called the other their boyfriend. but i feel strongly that they did tell each other that they loved the other, once. and they meant it.

so heres where things get tricky for me. how did dethklok form? what was the order? who met who first? i dont know!! i wish i knew! its something i have a million scenarios for and i wish we got a canon order of the members joining at the very least so i can model my headcanons around it haha

with that in mind though, i do think magnus and pickles were a bit of a package deal. like, whoever joined first was able to get the other in. so. yeah. they joined dethklok some time in the early to mid 90s now.

they have a pretty decent few years. theyre still.......something....even in their new band. like they arent open about it and hook up when the other guys arent around and all that.

its around this time though that i think magnus is really starting to go through it. combination of feeling frustrated because of the bands status at this point, general untreated mental health, etc. anyways i think the stabbing incident occurred some time in the mid 90s, probably like '95 or '96 or something. so.....he gets kicked out. obviously. and those are the terms they end on for awhile.........

but uh. you see. pickles never completely cut ties with the dude because. well. what do you do when this happens to someone you care so deeply about. and i think probably a month or so later, magnus actually contacts him for the first time since the stabbing incident. and maybe i have a comic script and thumbnails about this encounter what about it. magnus tells him he wants to see him, so pickles slips out that night to meet up at an old bar they used to go to a lot. may or may not be the depths of humanity uhhh anyway. theyre talking for awhile but it just kinda devolves into honestly more one-sided arguing on pickles end. hes frustrated and sad and confused because fuck! magnus! why would you do that? why, when the bands just starting to take off? it becomes this whole like. you arent the same guy i knew. and in that moment it quietly hits them both that like. we arent who we were, and we dont know what to do about that. magnus asks if pickles would want to join him and leave the band, and pickles tells him to go fuck himself. and thats the last thing he ever said to him.

and thats where the magpickles lore/relationship timeline ends. i realize it really did kinda turn into a timeline but also i did write a timeline during a slow day at work once like two months ago but. anyways. this is basically that.

but uh. yes. i love them. they make me sad but in a good way yknow. its like. its one of those situations where i feel like under different circumstances, they probably couldve made it work in their own weird way. they have such a specific dynamic, whether in their background together in the canon timeline or just me fucking around with AUs and being like hmm what if i actually gave them a scenario where they could have the time to develop AS an actual couple. im rambling but i just love these two so much. this is so long.

i feel strongly they wouldnt get back together in any sort of canon capacity, but i do think they still have feelings for each other in that way you do when you remember people you loved in the past. old friendships that dissolved with no resolution. the person you still have things you want to tell them, even though you know you will never get the chance.

[bumbershots]

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER ONE: JUEVES

Author’s note: Hello! I’ve decided to give it a go, this is my first chaptered fic in this website. This story just occurred to me a while ago and I’ve tried my best to make some sense out of the concept which honestly is forever changing on my mind. I hope you don’t find many grammar mistakes, if you do please let me know. Enjoy! (:

Story masterlist ** Word count: 2.3K ** 

It's been years since Harry last had to use the tube, but it's not as hard as he thinks, buying the ticket was fairly simple and soon enough he was sitting on the train comfortably. The northern line wasn't too busy, no delays were announced through the speakers, his journey to Ladbroke Grove station was going to last around thirty six minutes. He suddenly can't remember how long the ride would be on a car. Maybe it's time to start using the London Underground a bit more, contributing to saving the planet, lessen his carbon footprint. With all the aeroplanes he takes a year, he should use it from now onto the rest of his life, he thinks with a bit of guilt.

He changes to the Hammersmith and city line with ease, passing by lots of people, no one truly pays attention to him. The school girls that would usually come up to him and ask for a picture are too busy gossiping among themselves, the grown up adults that are more fond of his solo work are too immersed into their own thoughts about annoying bosses. Harry likes to blend into the crowd that's gathered now at the station and awaits for the train. In the eyes of the others, he's just another guy patiently waiting for the train to hop on and get to his destination. Even though he was on his way to meet with the team that will take care of his house renovation, a property valued approximately on £4.175 million.

The train arrives and he follows the multitude that pile into the wagon, he isn't lucky to find a seat this time but doesn't mind as he finds a good spot to lean against, the doors close just as he skips the ABBA song he doesn't feel like listening at the moment and settles for Hanson instead. He bops his head along the tune before slipping back the mobile in his pocket, eyes traveling along the passengers' faces, trying to guess what they're up to.

A group of lads wearing the Tottenham jersey discuss the latest game, one of them praising Kane's goal and regretting him missing the next match. Harry knows a thing or two about football, he even plays it regularly with his friends not so far away from his home, but he doesn't keep up with Manchester United, perhaps he can do that from now on he thinks before letting his gaze fall upon the pack getting down on Baker Street and the few ones hopping on. Most of them are tourists chatting about the Sherlock Holmes museum, the singer smiles, remembering the first time he visited it with his family, many years ago. Sometimes he longs for those days to be back, so he can do the typical touristy things with the people he loves the most once in a while or have a date without a good amount of lenses focused on his every move.

Not that he regrets being a well known musician, actor, model. It comes with a lot of perks. But he's just moving on from a breakup that might have been his fault. He's a workaholic for sure, even though he's supposed to be taking it easy, his mind can't help but keep throwing song ideas for the next album. That is why Jeff suggested the home renovation, knowing that the project will keep him busy for about three months, maybe more if the contractors up sell their ideas.

Harry makes his way out of the station in one piece and without being spotted, he checks the address again on his phone, confirming the place where the meeting will be held is within walking distance and makes his way before choosing a Pink Floyd song for the six minute walk. He pulls his coat tighter around him, relishing in the forever changing weather of the city, this time he will stay and enjoy it in full, maybe even delight in the autumn too, have his mum over for a couple of weeks, maybe he'll even stay longer and take her to the ice rink.

Just as Harry plots on where to go when his favourite person pays him a visit, he reaches the private front garden off a beautiful car-free garden square. He remembers to text Jack, who doesn't take long to appear in the distance and unlock the gate for his friend.

"You're impossibly early mate," the man greets with an amused chuckle.

"Sorry, had to take the tube because of what you said about car-free development, probably miscalculated the time." Harry admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as Jack leads the way through the garden. "Is this where they filmed Notting Hill?" He wonders with another look around.

"Couple of scenes that didn't make the cut, our neighbour Mrs. Black will tell you all about it, if you happen to run into her around Hugh Grant's birthday." Harry laughs as they reach a private entrance with a well-maintained front garden adorning the forepart of the property, he follows Jack inside the home where a strong coffee scent greets them both.

The musician quickly scans the large open plan kitchen/reception room with large glass sliding patio doors to a delightful independent garden where a round table is surrounded by four mismatching chairs. He doesn't remember Jack's old place, but it certainly didn't look as the dream home they're standing in right now.

"Thanks for agreeing to do the meeting here mate," Harry's words are sincere his companion can tell, he tries to shove it off as if it's nothing, handing him the mug with coffee while he pours another one for himself, "I know it can be a handful, the NDAs too." Now he's almost blushing.

"We should be thanking you H, work from home for the next couple of months, my dream come true." Jack manages to make him laugh and feel at ease again, just before the steps of a third party come from the stairs and grow closer towards them. "Just in time, Harry this is Fernando Gonzalez, my housemate and architect of the team." He introduces the tall man to his friend and watches them shake each other's hand, "Fernando this is our client, Harry Styles."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Styles," his voice is soft and melodic, like an aerophone instrument.

"Please call me H, all my friends do," the musician knows this is business, but he wants to have fun too, like Jeff suggested. And the guy looks way too young to be calling him Mister Styles.

"I warned you Fer, he likes to keep it easy, breezy." Jack says motioning both of them to follow his lead and sit down in their dining table that is covered with house design magazines, floor plans of Harry's home and a couple of what the pop star assumes are sketch notebooks. "Alright, tell us about your vision for this project." In all honesty, Harry doesn't know how to answer that.

He fights the urge to say that he had purchased the property knowing that not much is needed to be done to the décor. The style and the flow of the house is already lovely. After a quick glance at the plan he thinks that maybe, more room is needed and, most importantly, a new kitchen-dining-living space that would be grand enough to entertain in, but cosy enough to be the central 'hub' of his home.

"The windows, for starters, have to be replaced." He begins with a tone so confident that the pair before him don't suspect he's improvising the whole thing. "New bathrooms, perhaps from Lusso Stone, demolish an existing rear extension from the top and design and build an entirely new expansive ultra-modern one, like the one at Lou's home." Jack nods understanding what he means, "I also want a kitchen diner extension, pink granite worktops, if possible." Harry finishes before grabbing one of the magazines and starts flipping pages just to look busy.

The whole project can take six months, they let him know, through the summer and autumn. He's elated at achieving double the time he hoped for in the beginning.

"We'll send the paperwork to your team and see you next week to sign it once they approve it," Jack concludes the meeting as they all finish their coffee. "Are you busy on the nineteenth?" His friend's voice is warmer now that he's not on business mode, it makes Harry smile.

"I don't think I am, why?"

"It's Freddie's birthday, you should come, catch up with the lads," Harry nods while thinking about it, a bit unsure because it has been a while since he's seen the rest of the pack, he's not sure they'll welcome him just like that. "They're always asking about you, could be like old times, lads doing laddy stuff," the green eyed musician chuckles at that, not sure if he wants to go back to those activities of their youth.

"Sure I'll go, text me the address a few days before," his friend nods in approval to his request, "I better get going, I have to pick up my sister for dinner, see you both next week." The youngest nods and shakes Harry's hand before Jack leads the way out the house and square. The sun is setting now and the sky is a mix of pink and purple hues just as the two men bid their goodbyes until they meet again in a week's time.

Harry scolds himself for buying a one way ticket earlier instead of sorting out an Oyster card, he'll do that next time, he thinks before stepping into the train and finding a seat in the middle section of it. Led Zeppelin is a good soundtrack for his journey back home, for some reason he is craving the powerful, noisy, speedy rebellion that came with the band's songs, he loved to get so lost in the music that whatever activity he did came in second, every single time. Which is why he almost didn't get off at the King's cross stop, he hurried out of the vehicle, laughing to himself for being so immersed into the music.

The way back to the northern line was now familiar, but not as busy, he decided not to walk too fast after confirming that he had enough time to go home and take a shower before going over to Gemma's. Waiting at the platform he decides to change his playlist, again. Just as he's about to settle for Wings, out of the corner of his eye he spies what the person next to him is listening to and he stops from hitting play on his own device.

The who.

It's been ages since he heard them, three years if he is being honest. The train arrives and the girl next to him puts her phone in her coat pocket as she prepares to board the wagon, Harry does the same, but instead of training his eyes on the descending passengers, he lets them focus on her. She's wearing a nice burgundy coat, a black newsboy cap, high-waisted jeans with a blue polka dot blouse tucked underneath them. She's much shorter than he is, probably about Helene's height, he thinks as they make their way inside.

Without meaning to, he follows her and leans on the wall, across from her. She doesn't seem to notice how his stare is burning holes into her face, he's itching to ask her where did she buy the red boots she's wearing. Harry knows the moment he speaks to her, it will all go to shit. Some of the school girls sitting nearby might recognise his voice, his dimple could pop out to play and give him away too. She might also think he's a creep and kick him in the shin, leaving a nasty bruise that would heal in about a week, unlike the invisible one in his ego.

"Are you telling me, you developed a ten feet tall crush on someone you saw on the tube?" Gemma asks later that night, her fork full of linguine was stopped mid-air, making her brother roll his eyes but nod bashfully. "I'm speechless." The fork resumes its trajectory and she chews her pasta slowly.

"It happens to everyone, only because you both know that there's almost no chance to see each other again." Harry shrugs and bites a piece of bread, still feeling weird about the situation.

"Did she make eyes at you?"

"What?" He's completely taken off guard by his sister's question, his northern accent coming out and making him drop the 't' at the end.

"Yes, did you flirt with each other making eyes," Gemma's eyelashes flutter as if she was a Disney princess meeting her love interest for the first time, Harry shakes his head in denial, "what was it then?"

"I don't know! It was weird, couldn't take my eyes off of her but... she didn't even notice, I sound like a dirty man," he does, his sister agrees but the pink spots on his cheekbones tell a different story.

"I once had a crush like that, with a cashier at Waitrose," she remembers before sipping her wine, "he was nice to look at, one day he wasn't there anymore, just like that." Gemma sighed and took her younger sibling's hand on hers before adding. "If our lives were a Nicholas Sparks novel, perhaps we would be getting ready to have a date with those lovely people but..." Harry laughed and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"How's the sunnies collaboration going?" He asked before taking the last of his gnocchi. Listening to his sister talk about things that she enjoyed was the highlight of his days, he managed to push his silly underground crush to the back of his mind.

But there was the truth of what Harry couldn't see, or say. He'd probably like to have a shot with a girl like that and if Gemma could only see her, she would agree. Agree that there might be a story around there.

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