#I feel like the puzzle where two almost identical pictures are beside each other and you have to spot the difference lol

[glassicgames]

Thank you to the Tumblr person who noticed my original DDR had an arrow in the wrong spot!! 😂 I have no idea why my mind blanked on that one! Here is the one I did after with the correct arrows. I guess my subconscious noticed as well?? 🤣

#commission #ddr #dance dance revolution #glassic games #stained glass #the bottom red arrow is just spinning around I swear! #I feel like the puzzle where two almost identical pictures are beside each other and you have to spot the difference lol

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #2

A/N: Chapter 2, here you go. I can’t believe how much I missed writing, let me tell you :D Also, looking at my draft and at how high the word counts for every chapter I’ve written so far turned out… we’re in for a long one, hope you’ll stay with me through it. Enjoy!

Warning: mild swearing, use of alcohol

 Word Count: ~ 2.700

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 2: Secrets Spilt

Orion leaned back contently, supporting his weight on the bench with his hands and let his gaze wander through the Great Hall. It was looking magnificent as ever, packed to the brim with students new and old, chatting excitedly, the air humming with positive energy. They had just finished their welcome feast and waited for the new first years to be escorted to their common rooms, so the older students could follow up.

He felt a smile spread on his face. As much as he appreciated the summer break to reset and focus on himself, there was nothing quite like coming back to what was home to him. He looked at each of his friends around him, grateful for having found so many people over the last years he considered his family.

A group of newly sorted Gryffindors walked past, being ushered along by Gryffindor’s newest prefect. Charlie Weasley, star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Orion eyed him up curiously. He was undeniably gifted when it came to playing seeker. As a matter of fact, Orion wouldn’t put a professional career past his abilities. If they wanted to have a chance to win the House Cup once again, they had better watch out for him.

When he passed where Lizzie was sitting, he nonchalantly saluted her with two fingers put to his forehead and grinned. Lizzie stuck her tongue out to him before she started laughing and waved back. Charlie gave her a wink and continued along after his brother Bill and their charges. Orion noticed Skye giving Lizzie a glum look.

“Stop that, Jameson, this is competition you’re flirting with.”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was waving at a friend. Get a grip, Skye,” Lizzie snapped at her, clearly exasperated.

Skye only snorted at that. “Whatever. He’s in another house and on top on another team. You can be nice to him all you want, once we’ve shown Gryffindor the ropes on the pitch.”

“What if we’re playing them last, do you expect me not to talk to one of my best friends for the whole year or what?” Lizzie shot her an angry glance. “Besides, if you weren’t so consumed with seeing everyone as competition, you could actually benefit from me being friends with him. He is excellent on his broom. I bet he could even show you a trick or two.”

Skye bristled up at that and Orion felt resignation set in. He had hoped Lizzie and Skye would last at least a week until their inevitable bickering commenced. Although they had been playing on the same team for so many years, their different approach to the sport they both loved so much invariably led to tensions. Tensions that were his responsibility as the team’s captain to resolve.

“Everyone has their strengths as well as their weaknesses. We should not concentrate on others but focus on how we can overcome our weak sides to rise stronger than before.” He leaned over the table pushing the two girls glaring at each other gently apart. “It is no use to fight amongst ourselves when we have a common goal to achieve.”

“He’s right, you know,” Penny agreed happily. “I’ve had enough of the Cup being dressed in blue and bronze already. You two be nice to each other and take it back for us.”

Much to his surprise, Skye actually let it rest at that, only muttering a stubborn “They could show me shit, Jameson, as if…” but Lizzie wasn’t listening to her anymore. Rowan was walking past with their new housemates in tow and Lizzie jumped up, walking over to her. Though Orion couldn’t hear what they said, he saw Lizzie return of few moments later, looking puzzled and Rowan leaving with the first years.

He opened his mouth to ask what was bothering her but was cut short by McNully announcing Hufflepuff’s first years to have been the last of them and it being high time they left for their common room as well.

*

Saying he was relieved to finally be able to get out of his school uniform would have been an understatement. He shrugged into his battered coat, running his hand over the worn fabric. It had been with him for so long it almost felt part of his identity. Orion felt himself relaxing more and more. Laying back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, he closed his eyes and let the familiar smell of warm wood and the fire from the common room wash over him.

This was home.

The other boys sharing the dorm with him were still gathered around the giant fireplace, but he didn’t mind. Although they were about to start their sixth year together, he didn’t really feel connected to them. The only exception was McNully, who shared his passion about Quidditch, albeit in quite a different way.

He propped himself up on his side and reached over to his nightstand, where he had put up pictures of his team he had collected over the course of the years. Picking up the first one he could reach, he fell back again, letting his mind wander back to the glaringly hot day the photograph had been taken. It was a snapshot of the team celebrating a last-minute win against Ravenclaw two years ago. He could almost feel the heat of the sun on his skin as he looked at the exhilarated faces of his friends. The sudden burst of joy mixed with relief of not being shot out of the race for the Cup had even let Skye forget the fight she had had with Lizzie at the time, both girls having one arm around the other’s shoulder, grinning like mad up at him.

A soft sigh escaped him. As much as he valued his friendship with both of them, Skye and Lizzie could both be a handful, especially when disagreeing with each other. Where Skye was peculiar with her subordinating every aspect of her life to Quidditch and expecting everybody else to do the same, Lizzie was extremely prickly when she felt herself or one of her friends being attacked. Most of the times their quarrel was nothing more than that and they quickly returned to being friends, but every so often it would turn into a downright fight.

Orion looked up when he heard the door opening and the soft noise of McNully’s wheelchair approaching him.

“Taking a trip down memory lane?” McNully came to a halt next to him, looking curiously at the picture Orion was holding in his hands.

“Yes, setting my mind for all the things that need to be done for the new season.”

McNully leaned closer, eyes shining excitedly. “And there are a lot of these! You need to find a new beater, scout out what the other teams are up to, assess their strengths and weaknesses- “

“Good to see you have already worked out my whole schedule,” Orion interrupted him flatly.

McNully gracefully ignored the rare sarcasm in his friend’s voice. “What did you expect, I had the whole summer to think about this. And if you want to know, I do think Gryffindor will be your hardest contender for the top. Contrary to us, their team remains unchanged and they only lost to us last year due to circumstances that are highly improbable to repeat themselves.”

Fading his voice out, Orion’s mind went back to what had happened in the Great Hall earlier. McNully was right. None of the other houses should be underestimated, but he had a feeling Gryffindor maybe deserved the closest look out of all of them. Although he really wouldn’t like to admit it out loud, in some way Skye had a point.

He looked over at McNully, lost in thought. “Do you think Lizzie and Charlie being so close could be a problem for us? Got any statistics for me on inter-house friendships influencing performance? Or was Skye overreacting earlier?”

The blond wizard only laughed. “Hey, don’t ask me about inter-personal relationships, especially regarding your teammates. After all,” and he rolled over to his own bed, smiling innocently, “I’m just your ever impartial commentator.”

 ***

 Lizzie’s face hurt from laughing. She leaned back against her bed post and wiped a tear from her eye while Tonks stopped her impersonation of Professor McGonagall, turning her face back into its original state. She reached for the bottle of cherry liquor they had been passing around. Shaking it gently she listened to the remainders of the liquid slosh inside.

“Uh-oh, girls, we’re almost done.” She set the bottle to her lips, emptying it in one big gulp.

“Oi, Tonks, let us in on the fun!” Skye protested but Tonks only grinned and burped before tossing her the empty bottle.

Lizzie felt herself giggling again, giddy from the alcohol coursing through her body.

Penny, who sat next to her, leaned forward and snatched the bottle out of Skye’s hands. Her cheeks were flushed and her voice already had slight slur to it. “To mark the occasion of me having my favourite girls ever back, how about a round of good old truth-and-dare?”

Everybody groaned but got up anyway and sat down in a circle on the floor. Penny placed the bottle in the middle and got her wand out.

“Remember, everyone not telling the truth or chickening out on the dare gets to live with neon green hair for the rest of the week. Except for Tonks who has to go with a boring colour of her choice.”

To emphasise the stakes, Tonks let her hair change colour, showcasing such a bright green it actually hurt to look at her.

Lizzie felt the familiar tingling on her skin as Penny cast the spell on them. She glanced sideways at Rowan, who didn’t look to keen on the prospect of the game, but said nothing. Maybe it would loosen her up a bit.

Penny spun the bottle. It came to rest on Tonks, who confidently chose a dare. Penny thought about it for a second. “I dare you to prank Madam Pince before the end of the week. “

Tonks laughed out loud. “Consider it done. And here was me thinking this was about something I don’t want to do.” She spun the bottle again, this time it stopped pointing at Lizzie. She tensed a little bit.

“Alright, Lizzie, truth or dare?”

Lizzie remembered the last time she had chosen the dare vividly. They had made her lecture Snape on every detail about her hair care routine, complete with a recommendation of her favourite shampoo. It had cost her ten house points, detention and a good chunk of her dignity.

Considering that, she really had no choice. “Truth, I guess. I’m too scared of you, Tonks.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you, we’re only on warm up. Have you been kissed before?”

Lizzie felt a blush creep up her face. Avoiding her friends’ curious faces she looked up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“What?!” Penny shrieked, gripping her arm. “Who? When? Don’t be a buzzkill, tell us everything!”

Lizzie shook her head. “Not a chance.”

“You have to tell us!” Tonks complained. “You have to answer my question!”

“I know. I did. You didn’t ask for any details, so I have to tell you bugger all.” Ignoring Tonks’ pout, she grabbed the bottle and quickly spun it. She could feel Rowan’s eyes resting on her and felt a little guilty. She hadn’t even told her best friend about her first kiss.

She could still feel Rowan watching her while she dared Skye walking into the Great Hall at breakfast like a chicken but when she looked over, Rowan quickly dropped her gaze.

“Well, Lizzie, looks like it’s you again.”

She looked back to the middle of the circle where the bottle pointed at her for the second time.

Brilliant. She already pictured herself giving Snape an additional lecture on conditioner. She sighed. “Dare.”

Skye blinked innocently at her. “Smashing. I dare you to tell us who your first kiss was with.”

Lizzie looked at her dumbfounded. Tonks and Skye high-fived, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

“This is not how his game is working,” Lizzie protested helplessly.

“Yes, it is. Now spill the beans!” Skye replied smugly.

For a second, Lizzie contemplated how she would look with green hair, but with another glance at Tonks’s radiantly glowing head, she gave in to the inevitable.

Covering her face with her hands, she mumbled something incomprehensible.

Skye put a hand to her hear. “Sorry, can’t hear you!”

Exasperated, Lizzie threw her head back and exclaimed, “Alright, it was Charlie Weasley! There you have it!”

Her friends’ reactions came all at once. Penny was squealing, whereas Skye was glaring at her, yelling “Jameson, seriously?!”. Tonks was laughing her head off.

“I can’t believe it, Dragon Boy got himself a girlfriend!” she roared.

Lizzie fiercely shook her head. “Merlin, no, don’t you get any ideas! It was just that one kiss, nothing more. It was Christmas, there was a mistletoe and that is it! End of story!”

Penny couldn’t contain herself with excitement. “You two spent Christmas together? How come I never knew? Lizzie, you have to tell me everything. Right. Now.”

Again, Lizzie buried her face in her hands. Suddenly the prospect of lecturing Snape didn’t sound so bad.

Suddenly Rowan spoke up next to her. “You heard what she said. It was nothing serious and the dare is fulfilled. Leave her alone.”

Surprised, Lizzie looked over to her. For the first time that evening, Rowan smiled at her, albeit it was somewhat restrained.

She got up. “In fact, I think we’ve all had enough. Let’s call it a day, shall we?” With that, she snatched the bottle from the floor, grabbed her things from her bed and left the room.

*

Lizzie had been tossing and turning for over an hour now, listening to Skye softly snoring in the bed to her right. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through Mouse’s thick fur, who was rolled into a tight ball against her stomach. After returning from home, it always took her a few nights to get accustomed to sharing her room with other people again.

When she heard Rowan getting out of bed on her other side, she propped herself up onto her elbows. She could see her friend tiptoeing over to the dresser at the far end of the room, pouring herself a glass of water.

Lizzie watched her silhouette quietly. Better get this over with now.

She waited until her friend returned before turning to her side.

“Rowan?” she whispered quietly.

She could see the other girl looking up, although her features were indiscernible in the darkness.

“Lizzie? Can’t sleep, can you?”

“Yeah.” Rowan knew she always had trouble falling asleep for the first few nights. “Can I ask you something?”

Rowan didn’t answer immediately. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were made a prefect?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Charlie?” she retorted. Lizzie could hear the hurt in her best friend’s voice.

She sighed softly. “I’m sorry, I know should have. We just thought, keeping this between ourselves would prevent stupid rumours from spreading. It was just for fun.”

Rowan didn’t reply at first. Then, “It’s alright.”

“Now you. Why didn’t you tell me about the prefect thing?”

“This has nothing to do with you personally, really. It’s just… you have gotten so absorbed into this whole Quidditch world; I feel like I can’t keep up. Sometimes it’s like I’m not that big a part of your life anymore, Liz.”

Lizzie felt a punch of sadness at her words. And a tad guilty as well. “You could have told me anytime. You are my best friend, Rowan, you are part of everything I do.”

Although she couldn’t see her face, she heard the smile in Rowan’s voice. “That’s good to know.”

They were both silent for a bit.

“Rowan?”

“Hm?” she replied sleepily.

“Thanks for helping me out earlier.”

“Sure. Good night, Lizzie.”

“Good night.”

Lizzie snuggled herself into her blanket, moving Mouse a little bit to make herself more comfortable. She couldn’t shake the feeling there was something Rowan had not told her. But before she could think on it any further, she had already drifted off to sleep.

#harry potter #hogwarts mystery #hphm #orion amari #orion amari x mc #orion x mc #lizzie jameson #skye parkin #penny haywood #rowan khanna #murphy mcnully #charlie weasley #quidditch squad #the quidditch squad #art of balance

[buck-nialled]

Two Million Minutes (3) - N. Horan

NOTE: THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE ASKS AND MESSAGES TO CONTINUE THIS STORY! AS REQUESTED, HERE IS PART THREE! IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS OR PARTICULAR SCENES YOU’D LIKE TO SEE HAPPEN FEEL FREE TO ASK OR MESSAGE ME!

PLAYLIST // PART ONE // PART TWO

The following day, Bobby drove Niall home from the hospital once he was discharged. Veronica spent an hour moving all of her belongings from Niall’s old bedroom and into the guest room so as not to leave any traces she was there. The woman even went as far as to remake the bed and switch out the sheets so the scent of her perfume would not disturb him. All while doing this, Maura was preparing dinner for the night to distract herself from hovering over her and making sure she was okay. She knew she was not. Maura knew it too, along with everybody but Niall. And for now, the unspoken plan between Veronica and his family was to keep it that way.

When Niall entered the house with Bobby and Jake close behind him, his eyes caught sight of his mother in front of the steaming pot of roast.

“Hey, mum.” The boy grinned widely, being engulfed by his mother’s arms only a moment later.

“Finally, you’re home.” She breathed out in relief.

“Yeah, the tour really drags on when you’re homesick.” Maura and Bobby meet eyes, sharing a wary glance.

“About that, honey. There are some things we need to catch you up on.” Maura begins, grabbing Niall’s broad shoulders and leading him to the table. Veronica observed the sweats and tee-shirt donning Niall's build. Bobby waltzed into the room earlier while Veronica was cleaning it, trying to be unobtrusive while he gathered some fresh clothes for the man. Since the previous night, his “On the Loose” hoodie remained on her top half. He surely would not remember it belonged to him if he recognized it, she concluded. He could hardly remember the person wearing it.

“Yeah…the doctor said I forgot some things...how much?” He locked eyes with everybody in the room as he spoke, including Veronica. The desperation in his voice made her heart twist and she had to glue her eyes to the floor to avoid any more tears.

“Five years…that’s what we’re estimating, at least.” Jake answers, voice steady as he spoke. Niall blows out a breath, looking as though a strong wind knocked him down into the dining room chair.

“F-five years?” And the blows just kept coming at him, one after the other. It made Veronica wince each time his lips curled down when an answer was given to one of his endless questions. When dinner was laid out on the table, Veronica’s fingers twitched to graze the back of the chair beside Niall’s, but the screeching of a different one on the tiled floor made her eyes flick up.

“Here, love.” Jake nodded down at the chair his hands were rested upon. Veronica felt Niall’s head turn and stare at her profile while she stood frozen momentarily. After surrendering the chair beside Niall with a nod, she shuffled around to the other side of the table and sat, completely adjacent to the man and right beside Jake. Veronica and Niall could not be further apart at this point.

“So, the band broke up…and now we’re all doing our own thing?” Niall looks across the table with raised bows. He noticed him and Veronica were the only two picking at their plate, rather than engorging themselves with everything off of it.

“Yep. You’re a solo artist now but me, Gerry, Lou, and John all play as your band.”

“Really? How many…songs—albums—do we have out?”

“Two. Heartbreak Weather just dropped at the beginning of the year.” Niall nods, yet his brows stay furrowed. It was an odd thing to embrace, and like. At this moment, he felt like a child in a grown man’s body and not just because of his bad knee. In five years, he had grown to be an act of his own, with two albums, which--judging by the titles--seemed way more complex than the bubblegum pop he had grown used to singing.

“You have them on your phone. If you ever want ta give em’ a listen. Might help jog the memory back.” Greg suggests.

“Uncle Niall!” A small cheer and succession of thumps are heard tumbling down the stairs before a small boy who captured Niall and his brother’s features stood before him with a smile. It almost stunned the man, how tall his nephew had grown, and how he was speaking in full sentences.

“Theo?” He whispers, almost in disbelief. The young boy hands him over a folded piece of paper eagerly, which Niall took. The front is labeled in red crayon that it was meant for Niall and from Theo.

“I made it myself!” The child boasts as Niall flips open the paper to see a picture of two figures—one short and labeled with ‘me’, and a taller stick figure labeled with an identical arrow and ‘you’ beside it. It made Niall clear his throat and his vision began blurring the words “GET WELL SOON” on the other side of the card as a glossy sheen overcame his eyes.

“Thank you, bud.” Niall brought the boy to his chest and dug his face against his small shoulder to wipe his eyes against Theo’s shirt. His fists clenched into the back of the cloth and gripped them tight.

“Please feel better. Auntie V is sad.” Theo attempts to whisper, but it still manages to reach every person sitting at the dinner table, including Veronica. Niall’s eyes shift up to find her looking down at the cloth napkin in her lap, refusing to meet anybody’s eyes. He only nods and sets Theo down, his small gift resting by his plate.

When dinner concluded, Veronica offered to clean the dishes with no hesitation. Maura, of course, refused she clean every plate herself.

“I’ll help.” Jake raised a hand and scooted out from his chair.

“Actually, Niall, why don’t you?” The woman suggests, giving her son a glance fueled by fire. It was a look Niall would not dare fight against, whether he is six or sixty.

“Mum, he just got home from the hospital. He’s probably got a lot to mull over.” Greg cuts in. Veronica is still staring down at her hands as she twiddles her thumbs and can feel a few pairs of eyes burning into her profile. Like a target, Niall’s eyes were focused right on the woman’s forehead.

“Well, I’m sure Veronica could help him with that, also.” She insists, sending her other son the same look she had delivered to Niall. Slowly, the table clears of people with Greg, Denise, Theo, and Jake all bidding goodbyes. Jake's arms stay wrapped around Veronica the longest and leave Niall questioning why he only got a pat on the back and “feel better, buddy” from a person he was supposedly close with. The duo removed all glassware and cutlery from the table and traversed into the kitchen with stacks of cups and place.

“I’ll wash—”

“You wash—”

For the first time since Niall was brought into the hospital, both of them laughed. Their chuckles swirled and bounced across the kitchen while Veronica situated herself in front of the sink. Niall stood close by, but still further than he normally would be. Just the other night both volunteered to be on cleaning duty and Niall could not keep his hands off of her. Rather than drying—which Niall will whine to do anything but—his arms slid around the girl’s middle and pressed their bodies against one another. Lowly, he serenaded her to the Elvis song emanating from her phone, voice husky.

She shivered at the memory and felt moisture grown in between her legs. A small frown droops on her face, knowing it would be a while until that itch of hers could be scratched. Niall pretended her smile was just washed away before him and continued the conversation.

“I only like drying.”

“Yeah…I know.” Veronica murmurs as she twists the faucet, filling the basin with warm, soapy water.

“Do we clean dishes together often?” Niall asks, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips. A slight laugh passes through her mouth as she journeys to a drawer containing clean rags.

“Yeah, back in…” The woman pauses upon grabbing a dry washcloth.

“Back in…” Niall presses.

“L.A.”

“Los Angeles?” He questions. “I live there?” Veronica hums and grabs another washcloth, handing him one on her way back to the sink. For the first time that night, the lock eyes.

“We both do.”

“Oh…” Niall thinks for a moment, trying to puzzle things together in his head. But there were so many pieces absent, so many unanswered questions and suspicious claims, Niall is unsure what to think of his current life. “So we’re roommates,” Niall concludes. It comes out sounding like more of a fact than a question, so much so that Veronica felt hopeless to correct him. It was better than a family-friend, the girl thought, she was getting closer.

“Yeah.” She begins scrubbing at the first plate, wiping away any crumbs or stubborn sauces, before passing it to Niall. The continued this process during their conversation.

“How long have we lived together?”

“Awhile.” She responds, trying to solve the math in her head. “We met in 2016, you bought a house out there, but I didn’t move in until about two years ago.” This part of the act was all truth and the one thing she had said to him with her voice unwavering.

“Why?” Niall wonders aloud. “Where did ya live two years ago?”

“There. But leasing was up at my apartment and I didn’t like the place too much. Your place was also closer to where I worked.” She shrugs. This was also true, but Niall being closer was the real reason Veronica said yes when he asked her. Because he wanted her close too. The man hummed as they continued cleaning the dishes in silence, but in only a few moments it was his broken with his chuckles filling the room.

Veronica turns her head up from the pile of bubbles to look at him laughing to himself and shaking his head. Like usual, she did not question the sound, and simply enjoyed the sight of the man and the beautiful sound his body created in front of her.

“Sorry, I just…I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.” Veronica’s mouth spoke before her mind could, and the wet slapping of her hand colliding with her mouth was all that resided between the two for a few seconds.

“I-I’m sorry, that just slipped—”

“It’s okay, love. I agree with you.”

“Care to explain?”

“I thought…earlier at dinner when Jake pulled ya chair out and sat next to you. It kinda looked like…you two—”

“Oh, no. No, no, no…” Veronica repeats through many giggles, not even letting Niall finish his explanation.

“Wow,” Niall snorts, “you must really not like the guy.”

“No, I mean, I do. He’s nice and all but…he’s just…” Not you, she could hear herself saying it in her mind so simply, but her mouth clamped itself shut instead.

“It’s alright, I get it.” She was thankful Niall could read between the lines (somewhat). Veronica only ever saw Jake like a brother, and she does not think that could ever change. Even beneath the current circumstances. Now up close, Niall's eyes cannot stop themselves from traveling down her attire while her eyes stayed focused on the sink. The small letters on her vanilla hoodie make his throat tighten once he realized they spelled out his name. Below lies a graphic of a woman's face surrounded by flowers and holding a heart which reads "On The Loose". His mind started to wander, but eventually, he decided not to say anything, no matter how familiar the hoodie appeared and how he somehow knew it belonged to him.

“So you don’t get anybody tyin’ you down?” From his tone, Veronica knew it was playful curiosity. There was no “move” he was playing or flirtatious wink after he asked it. As much as she did not want to, the woman forced herself to shake her head back and forth. This was her new normal. She had to learn to live with Niall not remembering just as much as he needed to himself.

“Nobody.”

“What? Ya joking! With a top dishwasher like yourself?”

“Hard to believe, right?” Veronica rolls her eyes at her sarcastic mutter, grabbing one of the final few dishes that need cleaning.

“No, not at all. Hell, I’m still single.” Niall pauses at this before his eyes flick up to his forehead. “At least, I think I am.” He murmurs before he’s laughing to himself once more.

"You are." Veronica murmurs through tight lips. She wishes immediately for the words to fly back into her but it was too late.

"Good," Niall mutters. "A relationship is the last thing I need right now."

#nh #njh #niallhoran #nialljameshoran #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan imagine #niall horan imagines #niall horan blurb #niall horan onehot #niall horan preferences #Niall Horan story #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan angst #Niall Horan x ofc #niall horan gif #onedirection #one direction imagines #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fluff #one direction blurb #one direction story #one direction oneshot #one direction smut #one direction angst #one direction preferences

[ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife]

MAG 018 - The Man Upstairs

Summary: Jonathan reads the statement of Christof Rudenko, regarding “his interactions with a first-floor resident of Welbeck House, Wandsworth.”

Obligatory confession of American confusion: This episode is about 23 minutes long, and it took me until somewhere around the 20-minute mark before I had my light-bulb moment about Toby Carlisle being a “first-floor resident”. By “first floor” he means “SECOND floor” in American speak. Yes, that’s right - I spent almost the entire episode confused about which floor this guy really lived on. (For anyone not in the know, in the U.S. the “first floor” is the floor that you walk into a building on, that you don’t use any steps or stairs to access. It is also called the ground floor - they are the same thing. If you go up one flight of stairs, you are now on the second floor, not the first.)

The first-floor-second-floor thing was pretty much the only mystery I solved this episode though. I definitely enjoyed the episode (despite feeling like throwing up myself at some of the descriptions), but as with most of the episodes, I’m left with far more questions and tantalizing clues than actual answers.

Christof describes the odd, unpleasant odor around Toby Carlisle as “halfway between the smell of the pavement after a rain on a hot day and chicken that’s starting to turn”. The second part of that makes sense, given the state of Toby’s apartment when Christof enters it at the end, but I’m having trouble placing what exactly that first part is supposed to smell like. More interesting to me though is the fact that the smell was already there when Christof moved in, even though the banging from Toby’s apartment didn’t start until almost two years later. It seems reasonable to assume the banging was Toby nailing the various meats to the walls, floor, ceiling, etc., but if that’s the case, then where was that smell coming from for the years prior to that? Did it originate with Toby himself, or did his excess meat problem cause the smell long before he actually started nailing them to the walls?

When Christof returned the incorrectly delivered package to Toby’s apartment, we get possibly the most detailed description of any part of Toby in the entire episode: “The hand was thin and pale, with long, filthy yellow fingernails. On the back, I saw a single dark red mark that might have been a cut or a lesion, but it was gone before I had a chance to see it in more detail.” The “single dark red mark” is likely the beginning of the “puckered, septic lesions and holes” Christof sees in Toby’s dead face at the end of the episode (some part of me wants to say it reminds me of Jared Key’s eye tattoos from episode 12...but I’m trying to ignore that possibility), but the fingernails are what really piqued my interest. Christof tells himself for most of the episode that Toby just has a severe hygiene issue, but if it was straight-up uncleanliness, his fingernails would be primarily brown or black, caked with dirt or grime, that sort of thing. Instead, they are yellow more than anything else. This is the first of five mentions of the color yellow in this episode - the second is the color of the growing stain on Christof’s dining room ceiling, the third is the color of the liquid that oozes out of the hole in the ceiling after it collapses, the fourth is the color of the rotting meat covering Toby’s apartment, and the fifth is the color of the “fluid” that “oozed” from the creepy af pile of meat in Toby’s kitchen. The similarity in the colors indicates a direct connection between Toby himself (that is, his body) and the rotten meat. But the pieces of meat that lined his apartment were, in Christof’s estimation, pieces of various non-human animals - so if we take him at his word, the rotten meat wasn’t literally from Toby, so something external caused both Toby and the meat to excrete that sickly yellow rot.

So what made it target or infect Toby? No clue, since we don’t have any background on him, but I sure hope it wasn’t done by touch alone: Christof got some of that yellow slime on his jacket sleeve when Toby snatched the package from him. He said he couldn’t get rid of the smell and eventually threw the jacket out - but then he accidentally touched the stuff while fumbling for the light switch in Toby’s apartment at the end. When they followed up with him, he said “he had had no further experiences he believed to be linked to these events” and I don’t have any specific reason to disbelieve that - except that that means Toby wasn’t infected by just touching the wrong thing (or person). This isn’t a Jane Prentiss-type infection. So what’s Toby’s story?

And just what was in that package? “The envelope was thick and soft - it must have been mainly full of bubble wrap or other packing material.” So...it wasn’t meat? Because that would have been two puzzle pieces fitting together quite nicely, canceling each other out, and I’m more than a little irked that that wasn’t the case. It’s like Jonathan said at the end: “Where was he getting the meat?” At first, the sheer quantity of meat reminded me, vaguely, of the bag of teeth from episode 5. Both were a multitude of body parts. But those teeth were human and the meat is (apparently) from animals, and all the teeth were identical, whereas these meats are all different cuts from different animals. Notably, they’re all animals that are typically eaten by humans - Christof mentions steaks, chicken, and lamb among them. This seems to be more of that theme of rotten food, although in this case I think the “rotten” is more important than the “food”.

Despite all these questions I have, none of these things are directly harmful. Sure, Christof’s ceiling caves in, but no one besides Toby dies or gets hurt (that we know of). But that pile at the end...I got some Seriously Bad Vibes from that. To recap, Christof found in Toby’s kitchen “a pile of discarded meat and bone stacked almost as high as a person. It seemed almost less decayed than the rest of it, though that foul yellow fluid oozed from it, and…when I looked at that heaped pile of meat…it moved. I don’t know how - I don’t know quite how to explain it, other than it opened its eyes. It opened all its eyes. The next thing I remember is the police’s arrival” - and then suddenly the pile of meat was gone. There are two things here - inherently connected, I’m sure - that I’d like to point out.

First is the eyes. Creepy or out-of-place eyes have been mentioned every few episodes so far in the series: in the painting on Mary Key’s wall in episode 4, in Wilfred Owen’s death in episode 7, in the eye pendants in episode 9, in Jared Key’s eye tattoos in episode 12 (as well as the eye in the security camera in that same episode). And with each new appearance (particularly the one in this episode) I’m starting to get more and more worried about whatever being or creature or presence the eyes belong to.

Which brings me to the second thing. One of the recurring themes in these stories has been what I’ve taken to calling “altered reality” - when things appear one way but, we find out later, were actually quite different. When Graham is confused by Amy mentioning his nonexistent window box in episode 3. When Laura tries to reverse out of the squeeze in the cave in episode 15 and her foot hits solid rock. When the pile of meat straight-up disappears in this very episode. I want to be clear - those examples of “altered reality” are not what I’m talking about when I discuss a new (to me) theme: the incomprehensible. This pile of...whatever...in Toby’s kitchen is literally incomprehensible to Christof. He can’t even put into words what he saw. It’s like either the words don’t exist to describe what he saw or his brain can’t comprehend it - or possibly both. He says, “when I looked at that heaped pile of meat…it moved. I don’t know how - I don’t know quite how to explain it, other than it opened its eyes. It opened all its eyes.” Being unable to trust your senses due to some “altered reality” is terrifying, but to experience something that is literally incomprehensible and indescribable is just another level of terrifying. And the one thing most clearly intertwined with this incomprehensibility Christof experiences? The eyes. Specifically, the eyes opening.

We’ve seen this incomprehensibility before, albeit in slightly less terrifying (IMO) situations. In episode 3, Amy describes the creature entering Graham’s window: “When I say it moved, that’s not quite right - it shifted. Like when you stare at one of those old magic eye paintings and you change from seeing one picture into seeing another.” But much more blatantly and recently, in episode 17 Sebastian describes reading an excerpt from The Boneturner’s Tale: the Boneturner “crept up to the Miller while he slept. It described him silently reaching inside him and…it’s a bit hazy. All I remember clearly is the line ‘and from his rib a flute to play that merry tune of marrow took’. And as for the rest, I don’t recall in detail.” The second example concerns me much more than the first. I feel bad for Graham, of course, and I really want to know what that creature was...but The Boneturner’s Tale was a Leitner and seemed to have the power to deform anyone who touched it.

By themselves, it doesn’t appear that the eyes are doing anything. They’re just eyes, after all. No limbs, no body. But I don’t know if they really are just watching, or if their form and actions are so incomprehensible to humans that the people in these stories essentially can’t perceive it. And if they are just watching...what are they watching for, and what’s going to happen when they see it?

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

#personal #liveblogging #is this liveblogging? #The Magnus Archives #this is some serious Eldritch horror crap starting guys and I Do Not Like #(I mean I actually do but it freaks me right the fuck out for sure)

[honeyyoni]

Welcome to the last part of my mini series about the Qmx Star Trek figures.

Qmx launched in 2016 a series of high-quality action figures to celebrate the 50th anniversary of TOS. I am lucky to own a little collection of them and introduce them to you.

From the first time I watched TOS, I was crazy about one pointy eared scientist. I was a little girl and always sat totally confused in front of the TV, puzzling why all the weekly changing and barely dressed Ladies (almost) always ignored the most handsome half human being I've ever seen and looked instead at this honey blonde guy beside him. Today, decades later, I know that this was the concept of the show and the honey blonde guy who got at least in the show the majority of the female attention, represented the classical hero.

I'm sure you already know who the honey blonde guy is I'm talking about:

Today we will boldly got to complete the holy trinity of Star Trek with the amazing Captain James T. Kirk. Sorry but I had to put him in such a heroic pose.

The gentleman you see in front of his box is the re-issue version of Kirk that Qmx released quite lately.

I don't own first issue Kirk because I became aware of this marvelous figures very late in 2017 or so and only bought Spock and later Bones. So I was very delighted to hear that Qmx would do a re-issue of Kirk and Spock.

So without any further due, let's check out our favorite Star Fleet Captain and start with his box.

From the release of Scotty on, they changed the design of the boxes. On the right you see first release Spock's box as a reference, because first release Kirk's box looks the same.

I like this first release boxes especially because they open and close like a book, very unboxing friendly. The new boxes show a picture of the figure on the front and slide open and close. And, as I already mentioned in another review, I'd like it better if they kept one design for all but it is as it is, so let us have a look at the most important thing: the figure itself.

Re-issue Kirk has a good quality body with a very good articulation that allows him to strike very lifelike poses just like his first release crew mates. Although when I hold Kirk and Spock in my hands I have the feeling Spock's body is slightly heavier.

Coming to his uniform, from the release of Scotty on, Qmx improved the fit of the shirts.

Kirk's shirt is better fitted than those of his two favorite senior officers and also the sleeves are a bit longer, good to hide joints in dynamic poses.

And of course, just like first issue Kirk, re-issue Kirk has a soft little pad around the tummy area sewn into the underwear - yes, I'm not kidding, to make this figure as accurate as possible to the real captain, he has a tummy.

The pants of all gentlemen are similar to each other and also the boots seem very similar to me although I heard that some people say the boots of the re-issued version would be glossier.

The insignia on the chest are quite identical except for Kirk's appear slightly bigger (so slightly that it is not really visible in this picture).

Looking at the insignia on the sleeves instead you will notice a big difference. While Bones and Spock's look very detailed and dimensional, re-issue Kirk's look more like painted on the cuff. But they are accurate for each of the gentlemen's different ranks.

You may also notice that re-issue Kirk's relaxed hands are different from Spock and Bones, but I will come to the hands later and continue with Kirk's accessories first:

A Captain has not only very curious officers but also a lot of paperwork to do! Or let's better say: virtual paperwork.

Yes, Kirk comes with the kind of tablet he sometimes used in the show, mainly in the early episodes if I remember correctly.

To me it's a funny piece, I just think it would look better if the pad would show something and not be blank.

Apart from this pad and pen, Kirk comes with a Communicator and Phaser as well as hands to hold this accessories and a very funny pointing hand as well as a hand to knock down somebody annoying.

Re-issue Kirk is only available with this accessories. First issue Kirk instead was available as a standard version just with the same accessories and as an exclusive version that included a Phaser Riffle. However I don't remember if he ever used this in the show, I just remember it from some early promo pictures.

Kirk's relaxed hands are just like Scotty's a bit out of scale compared to the hands of the first issue figures. But it is not too bad.

They still put a lot of love to the detail into thise figures, they gave Kirk his (in?)famous little tummy and even considered the height of the real actors. Just like in the show, Kirk is shorter than his Vulcan First Officer.

And the head sculpt is a real master piece from the lifelike eyes to the kind of slightly smirking facial expression that is very character like IMO.

There you have all the gentlemen together and ready to boldly go where no action figure has gone before!

If you are interested in the review of the other gentlemen, you can find it here.

#1/6 scale #kirk #captain kirk #captain james t. kirk #qmx #quantum mechanix #Qmx Kirk #Qmx Star Trek #Star Trek #star trek the original series #st:tos #Spock #Bones #Scotty #triumvirate #toy photography

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 23 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

"I think this is the best date we've ever been on," Barry says.

Len, who's tugging at the blanket currently covering both their legs so as to get it into a more optimal cuddling position, pauses, blinking. That was - random.

"We're not doing anything special," he points out. "We're just going to watch some TV and eat some take-out, whenever it arrives."

"Exactly!"

Len looks at Barry, awaiting an explanation.

"It's normal," Barry explains, grinning. "Just two slobs, hanging out and planning to stuff their faces with Thai food while watching some dumb sci-fi - because someone vetoed mysteries -"

"I hate mysteries," Len says stubbornly.

"They're fun! Figuring out the puzzle out of the clues -"

"Real life doesn't have convenient clues."

"You're not wrong, but that's why we're watching TV."

Len rolls his eyes. "You agreed to watch sci-fi tonight, so stop whining. We can watch a mystery next time."

Barry beams. "See, that's why this is the best date ever. There's going to be a next time."

"I feel like there was going to be a next time as soon as we had that first date," Len says dryly. "You remember, with me talking myself into investigating you for corruption and you carefully omitting anything about being the Flash?"

Then he winces.

He still feels bad about what he did, back in Iron Heights - making the cold, rational decision to risk Barry's life and to strip his powers away if it meant defeating Wells and saving their city. Yes, both Mick and Barry have told him that he's being ridiculous - well, Barry's told him he's being ridiculous, Mick just asked where the hell he'd gotten an overdeveloped conscience from and told him to check whether they had a valid return policy - but he can't quite help it.

His decision robbed Barry of his powers. Len’s very aware that by that point, they’d already become a major part of Barry’s identity, and Len just made that decision for him.

He’s still grateful it wasn’t Barry’s life.

He’s painfully aware that he would have made the same decision even if that had been the cost – a speedster like Wells could have murdered an army and would’ve had time to slaughter civilians by the dozen before anyone even got close enough to stop him – but he’s desperately, pathetically grateful that he still has Barry here, by his side.

In his – well, couch.

"It's okay," Barry says, noticing the wince. "You know that I'd rather be sitting on a couch at regular speed with you than have both of us still be lying to each other at super-speed."

"Smooth," Len tells him fondly, "except for the way that metaphor got away from you towards the end there."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure how to bring it back from a plural to a singular. You know what I meant, though."

"You get points for effort." Len leans over and kisses him, just to make sure that message sticks.

Also because he can do that now.

He can just kiss Barry, any time he likes - well, anytime he likes as long as Barry isn't buried in one of his cases, anyway; Len's discovered, to his amusement, that Barry gets just as cranky as Len does when his train of thought is interrupted by nonsense like affection from a loved one.

It's apparently a tendency shared by all CSIs, no matter how usually cheerful - Barry's been having regular study groups with his CSI friends in his little on-site nook at the CCP, and even the perkiest among them growls like an angry terrier if Len’s decision to meander by to see if Barry is free for lunch disturbs a time-sensitive experiment.

But when Barry (or Len, for that matter) isn't busy, it's free season for stealing kisses.

Len’s a very good thief.

But it’s okay, because Barry steals just as many.

Because they're officially boyfriends now.

Len spends about half his time terrified that he's going to screw this up and the other half deliriously happy with how things are going.

They’ve had several long, in-depth conversations about telling each other the truth, several even longer discussions about various facts about their respective lives that might be useful for the other to know about, and finally, even longer than that, several make-out sessions to prove that they did, in fact, still want to go forward with this relationship.

Very important part of the truth-telling process, that.

(Really, the only downside of this is that Barry has now officially joined the group of people who can’t stand Charlie; Len has no idea what’s wrong with the way he’s explaining the guy that this keeps happening – Charlie’s harmless! Really! – but it does.)

But it’s not just their relationship that’s going well.

For what may be the first time in Len’s life, everything seems to be going well.

After all, he’s somehow managed to keep his current job, which he actually really likes, and, with Kara's much-faster-than-normal help, he's actually finished the gigantic mound of paperwork that resulted from him getting both the blame and the credit for the quelling of the Election Day Riots, as they're now being called by the local media.

The national media keeps trying to call them the Primary Day Riots. Shows what they know.

To be perfectly honest, though, Len is just relieved that he narrowly missed getting elected mayor by write-in, and that only because people didn’t have time to agree on what position they wanted him to be serving in, which – no.

Just…no.

They can’t make him take a political job.

...he thinks, anyway. Good thing he didn't win.

At any rate, Len is pretty sure that the roomful of paperwork was meant to be an informal punishment from a governor, who was also awarding him a medal of some sort in recognition of his role in helping save the city. Joke's on her; she wasn’t aware that he had superheroic help.

Though it would've been nice to have Barry's help as well...

"Cisco says they're probably coming back, you know," Barry says, observing Len's expression and correctly figuring out where his thoughts are going. "My powers, I mean. Mardon's did, remember?"

"Nah," Len says. "The fact that we're having 20 degree weather in July's totally escaped me."

"Hey, the team at Mercury Labs swears they've almost got his powers back under his control..."

"Poor guy," Len says, not without real sympathy. He likes Mardon; he liked him from the beginning, and the free grief therapy the guy is getting while sitting around Mercury Labs is only helping improve his personality. Clyde was always the more obnoxious of the two, anyway. "Weather control powers are one thing, a pretty awesome thing, but weather control powers that respond to your mood is just a curse. Not to mention the whole celibacy aspect..."

"Celibacy?" Barry asks, blinking; he’d clearly not thought about that. "Because he's being watched at all times by scientists and it’d be awkward?"

"Doubt that'd stop him," Len says dryly. According to Ramon, who watched over the prisoners in the Accelerator, it never did before. Not that Len has any sympathy – every time Ramon tries to complain, Len just reminds him that he's whining about that time he illegally imprisoned people and Ramon shuts right up. "No, I was thinking more about how the whole of Central City'd notice if his ‘cold wintery weather’ gloom gets abruptly interrupted by a sudden bout of nice weather, if you know what I mean..."

"Oooh, ouch. I hadn't thought of that. Poor guy. I hope Cisco and the others find him a fix soon."

"I'm sure they will," Len says. Rathaway and Ramon working together is exactly as terrifying as one would expect, and when you added Christine McGee to the picture...well. Len has no doubt that Mardon's powers will be under control soon.

Not least because Rathaway apparently has a vested personal interest in making sure that Mardon stops being involuntarily celibate as quickly as possible.

(Len really, really hopes Ramon’s offhand comment about there being a 10% possibility that everyone else involved in the Iron Heights battle would eventually develop powers over time turns out wrong. Ten to one are not odds he likes when it potentially comes to turning into an icicle or something irritatingly thematic like that.)

"Besides," Barry continues, "I don’t mind waiting for my powers to come back. It's not like I don't appreciate taking a few weeks off -"

"It's been nearly two months."

"- a few months off of the superhero stuff. It's like having summer vacation again. Especially since I can rest assured that Kara is keeping an eye on the city -"

"You mean Iris West is keeping an eye on the city," Len interrupts, rolling his eyes. "And Danvers is helping her enforce what she sees with her all-seeing eyes."

"And Mick," Barry adds mischievously. "Don't forget Mick."

Len rolls his eyes again, this time less at Barry than at his partner's antics.

Sure, it came as no surprise that Mick felt himself and his beloved heat gun were more suited for supporting Team (Now Licensed and Properly Supervised) Vigilante than the cops.

The surprise, such as it was, came from what he spent the rest of his time doing.

Out of all the possible outcomes Len might have foreseen with Mick waking up and accepting Len's job as police captain, Mick getting a job with the CCPN as Iris West's bodyguard-slash-photographer wasn't anywhere near the list.

Still, Mick seems happy - he likes having an opportunity to bust heads together, he likes Iris, and he apparently has a natural talent for photography, especially photography in high-stress situations. Like, say, investigating one of the few remaining Family outposts while getting shot at by the few remaining Family thugs.

(Mick is well aware that if he gets himself killed, Len will murder him. Iris has also been informed as much. Once that’d been established, though, Len gave them both his blessing to go as crazy as they liked, which both of them appreciated.)

By all accounts, Mick’s really enjoying his new work.

He's even taken up writing again!

Admittedly, he's still writing those weirdly addictive but somewhat embarrassing pulp romance novels, not journalism, but damnit, Len thought Mick was dead or dying: his joy at being forced to beta-read those novels again is inexpressible.

Especially since he's no longer Mick's only go-to proxy character. Len was getting tired of recognizing himself in both the snarky beloved sidekick and the villainous evildoer that shared a murky past with the hero, and he was even more tired of the not-so-subtle hints that said sidekick should consider getting laid because it would make him less tetchy.

Now – to convince Mick to start publishing…

Maybe under a pseudonym?

"He's doing really well," Barry says, sounding genuinely pleased on Mick's behalf, and not just for Len's sake, either. Len's really glad they like each other. "Iris says she's having to keep him from getting poached by other reporters. Well, the few that remain."

Len snorts at the reminder. When the Families put out the call on Election Day, it wasn't just cops that answered; a disturbing number of journalists were found to be involved. Some of them turned back once the amnesty was offered, but not all of them, and even the ones that did turn back are stuck on the non-political beat until they prove that their journalistic integrity can be trusted again.

In its own way, good journalism's ethical rules, however internal, are as strict as the one that govern the police...

Len scowls.

"Uh-oh," Barry laughs. "It’s the patented Leonard Snart vendetta face."

"I don't got a vendetta face," Len sniffs. "It's just..."

He trails off.

Yeah, he has no idea what he’s going to end that with.

It kind of is his vendetta face.

"Your 'no, actually, it wasn't just all about Mick-related trauma, I'm actually really just that personally offended by corruption' face?" Barry offers, his eyes crinkling with barely suppressed laughter.

"...possibly,” Len allows.

"You're already helping re-build the CCPD from the ground up, remember," Barry says, putting his head on Len's shoulder. He’s really good about signaling what he’s about to do in advance, which helps Len relax. Len’s never been great about physical contact, especially over-long contact, but he’s finding more and more that he’s able to get over that hurdle when it’s with Barry, who deeply enjoys occasional cuddling.

Len’s learned to cuddle. Will wonders never cease.

"Like, even putting aside your little purge –”

“It ain’t a purge. It’s an in-depth investigation and interrogation of every current member of the CCPD and the prosecutor’s office to find out if they have any vulnerabilities to blackmail or bribery and/or have experienced either of those recently. Totally different. We only purge ‘em if they’re still being blackmailed or bribed.”

“Yeah, yeah, but putting that aside, you’ve got the CCPD putting in place all those new mandatory ethics trainings, the lessons on improving community engagement, recruiting all those new people - some of them out of the slums, people who might not have had a chance before - even the courts are being cleaned up now that the equivalent of your position has been created to do that -"

"And yet we still have people thinking it's okay to turn a blind eye when it suits their personal prejudices," Len growls.

"This is about Wells," Barry concludes wisely.

"It's about Wells," Len agrees. He’s still pissed about that. He’s always going to be pissed about that. "Eobard Thawne or whatever. Don't get me wrong, we knew he was a serial killer -"

"Multiple murderer, Len, serial killer is a term of art and I know that you know that -"

"Whatever, he killed lots of people, sometimes in a serial aka sequential fashion -"

"I'll accept that.”

"- and I ain’t denying that it would've been hard to do it if we had to risk his powers coming back sometime, too, yeah, but damnit, the bastard still deserved a proper trial! Not to just get murdered in a cell somewhere!"

"Well," Barry says slowly. "And I know I'm biased here, being the son of one of his victims, but personally speaking I'm not all that upset that Wells got ‘accidentally’ locked into Iron Heights with a bunch of pissed-off Family members looking for revenge for the whole Election Day mess."

It was a nasty, ignominious death, stuck in a cell and forgotten about by everyone but the ones he thought he could play like pawns. A death without drama, without grandeur - without Barry, the subject of Wells’ long-running obsession.

Without the powers that made him something to be feared.

Without the Speed Force .

Len can see why Barry's main feeling on the subject is an overwhelming sense of catharsis. Not to mention that this way, Barry won’t have to go to court to testify against a man he once considered a mentor and even a father figure, and who betrayed him so thoroughly.

Still...

"I know," Len says, turning his head and kissing Barry's hair lightly. "And that's why you're going to go through the entire ethics course I've been designing with the criminal justice defenders' guild."

Barry pretends to groan, but Len knows he doesn't really mind. Barry's a good person at heart, but he's got some serious ethics relearning to do.

They all do.

Central City's getting cleaned up at last.

"It's for the best, really," Barry says with a sigh. "I went way closer to the Ralph Dibny Line of No Return than I'm really comfortable with."

Len smirks. Now that's one outcome he's not even slightly upset about.

It turned out Dibny did possess enough fellow-feeling to go assist the cops in keeping the riots down and restoring the peace, and he'd done a pretty decent job helping out. Decent enough, in fact, that Len had agreed for it to be counted in his favor during his sentencing.

"Sentencing?!" Dibny exclaimed when Len had told him as much. "What sentencing?! There was an amnesty!"

"Which applies to everything the Families manipulated or forced people into doing," Len agrees. "Funnily enough, though, according to what you told us earlier, no one was actually forcing you to blackmail the mayor..."

"That's not fair!"

"You'll have a chance to plead your case, same as everyone else," Len assured him. "If you can find a way to argue that the Family made you do it, it'd be covered by the amnesty."

"Oh. Okay. That's not so bad -"

"Of course," Len interrupted, putting on his best toothy smile, "that only applies to stuff within range of Election Day, and not, let's say, to earlier crimes. Like, say, revealing confidential intel about undercover officers..."

"Aw shit."

"You're probably not that bad a guy, Dibny," Len said thoughtfully, reveling a little in Dibny's disgusted expression. "I've seen your record. You started out - well, about as much of a misogynistic asshole as you are now, but at least you were straight. And then you weren't even that. Do the time you always should've done for what you did in the first place, framing that guy and selling me out. Take some ethics courses while you're inside, and maybe when you get out there'll be something worth keeping around."

Yes, most of that little speech had been at one Barry Allen's instigation, but Len wouldn't have said it if he didn't think there was the slightest glimmer of truth there.

"Thanks," Dibny grumbled, not particularly appeased. "Any chance we can do that without the prison time?"

"Lemme think about it - no, wait, already thought about it. Answer’s no. Go to jail, don't pass Go, don't collect two hundred dollars, and next time, don’t out undercover officers to mobsters. Officers, if you would..?"

At least there were enough cops going in at the same time that Dibny wouldn't run the risk of being shivved in his sleep by angry criminals.

Though if he didn't make an effort at improving that charming personality of his...

Yeah, that'd been fun.

Nearly as much fun as having Singh casually swinging by Len’s office to inform him, purely as a professional courtesy, that they'd finished processing one Lewis Snart. Moreover, in the process, they’d happened to find a whole bunch of open warrants, got a judge to put him on an accelerated trial schedule, and, before Len even remembered his dad was still in town, Lewis’d been sentenced and was going away for a very, very long time.

Len still can't really believe it.

(He's getting weekly text messages from the prison warden that re-confirm he's still there. Sometimes time-stamped photographic evidence is included. It hasn't stopped making him happy yet.)

"You know it's not actually called the Ralph Dibny Line of No Return, right?" Len asks, hiding his amusement.

"I'm going to call it what I like and you can't stop me," Barry declares, although the way he's now very comfortably snuggled in against Len's shoulder rather undercuts the forcefulness of it.

Len snorts. "Bearing a grudge, Barry? How un-heroic."

"I'd say something snarky in response, but I'm still awed by your hypocrisy there, Mr. 'All Cops Are Corrupt' Black Pot."

"Whatever you say, my little kettle," Len faux-coos, making Barry wrinkle his nose.

"I don't usually bear grudges -"

"Says the guy still guilt-tripping Joe West?"

"Hey, he's doing a lot better now," Barry protests. "He's talking with Francine through a mediator and going to family counseling with Iris and he's getting to know Wally - he's so proud -"

"I meant about your dad," Len says dryly. "That whole bit where West not believing you led to a good man rotting in jail for fifteen years while a mass-murderer ran around killing more people?"

"In fairness, it was a pretty unbelievable story," Barry says, managing to maintain a straight face for exactly three seconds before he cracks and grins broadly the way he does any time his dad - or his brand new acquittal - gets mentioned. "Yeah, okay, maybe a bit of teasing. For a bit longer."

Len looks at Barry skeptically.

"A bit longer...like maybe the rest of time," Barry allows, still grinning. "Okay, you're right, I'm never letting him live it down, but only because I was totally right, so there."

That's Len's Barry, in all his petty human glory.

Len still can't believe how much he loves him sometimes. It’s like getting punched in the gut every time he looks at him, a feeling that knocks the breath out of him, and yet he keeps looking over and over and over.

And best of all, Barry feels the same, so they’re both going to have many opportunities to keep looking as much as they like going forward.

"How is your dad doing?" Len asks. "That payment for his wrongful incarceration finish coming through yet?"

"Not all of it – some of it’s still tied up given how many of those payments are coming out all at once, since they don’t actually want to bankrupt the whole city – but he's got most of it by now. He's doing really great – he finally closed on that cabin in the woods not far outside Central he was looking at for so long, the one he swears used to belong to our family even though I don’t remember anything like that. He’s already in talks with lots of people to start putting his plan for the place into effect, too…he's turning the whole place into a halfway house for people who were in Iron Heights, did you know that? Anyone still suffering from the aftereffects."

"Yeah, I know," Len says, amused. Doc Allen - he's always going to be Doc Allen, no matter how long it's been since he was a practicing surgeon - came to Len to ask his thoughts on the subject before he started investing real time and money into the plan.

Luckily for the Doc, Mick was also there with Len when he asked, because otherwise Doc Allen might've mistaken Len's overwhelming horror at the thought of rustic rural living as disapproval of his idea, which would’ve been a mistake since Len actually thinks it’s a great idea. Mick, still a farm boy under all those criminal layers, was far more outwardly enthusiastic about the possibility of ex-cons - many of whom trusted Doc Allen after his many years of even-handed and generous provision of medical services - working out their issues and figuring out where they want to go next far away from the harsh public eye.

Len even passed on his personal recommendations for people to go there through the cardboard brigade, though he politely asked that Magpie not pass along his facial expressions at the thought of non-city life while she did so.

Based on what he's heard since, he's pretty sure she declined to grant that request, but apparently a Leonard Snart recommendation that went, "Well...if you want to leave the city...don't know why anyone in their right mind would, but if you wanted to...and you actually liked, y'know, trees and dirt and shit like that...in that case, Doc Allen’s probably the best option you’ve got." was significantly more believable than any more cleaned up version.

(Iris and Danvers and probably Mick all helped Doc Allen with his advertising posters, which is why that particular quote is now plastered verbatim on walls and lampposts all over the slums. Len has vowed to obtain vengeance at some upcoming date.)

"It's nice, you know?" Barry says, interrupting Len's drifting thoughts. "At first I was disappointed that he wasn't planning on staying closer, you know. I'd sort of imagined he'd be around all the time, be my dad again, except then someone convinced him to stick around for a week - I don't know who, other than it wasn't you -"

Len shrugs. Barry's not wrong; Len still barely understands why someone would be disappointed at having fewer father figures in their life.

Personally, Len suspects Iris. What else are best friends for?

"- and, you know, at first it was amazing but then I started to go back to work and it was weird. Like, I love him, don't get me wrong, he’s my dad! We had a few days of just catching up and it being great, but after that, well, I am just way too old to be parented 24/7 – the last time we lived in the same house, I was eleven, and oh boy can you tell – and on his side, he didn't have anything else to do during the day and...yeah. I don't know. Weird. Now we call or skype for a few minutes every night and I go visit him every other weekend and that's so much better."

"Everyone wants to see their dad at their own intervals," Len allows. Reluctantly.

Barry snorts. "Yeah, and yours can be measured in radioactive half-lives of several hundred thousand years."

Again - not wrong.

It’s kind of nice to have someone other than Mick or Danvers who can read Len that well.

It being someone he wants to kiss is really just a pleasant bonus.

"Still, it's nice," Barry says, returning to the subject. "Having all this family around is just the best. There’s Dad up at the cabin; Joe at work - don't make that face, he's gotten much better, especially now that he's dating that DA; Cisco and Caitlin working as scientific liaisons to the CCPD, technically as part of the CSI department – they hit it off fantastically well with Terri, Gila and Andre, you know, so that was awesome; Iris and Eddie moving in together and looking at houses and maybe setting a wedding date; Mick living with Danvers and making all that amazing food -"

That last one is a pretty recent development.

Mick started off living in Len's place, but there'd been a reason they usually stayed in warehouses when they’d been criminals and it wasn't because being innately compatible partners made them innately compatible roommates. They hated being parted, yes, but when living together they tended to fall back on habits developed while being cellmates in prison and that wasn't really great for anyone.

Len hadn’t wanted to trade in his comfortable apartment for a warehouse again. But on the other hand, Len hadn't wanted Mick to move out, either. He couldn't bear to lose Mick again, and it felt like he would if he let Mick out of his sight for too long.

Also not a great situation.

There was a lot of friction, to say the least.

And then Danvers found out that Mick could cook and liked to do so in very large quantities, and immediately (spontaneously) blurted out an offer to be her roommate.

Her current apartment was too small and too distant for that to work out, but with the addition of Mick's nest egg (both the legal one Len's been stockpiling for him and the slightly more illegal results of pawning his stash, which Len carefully opined on only in hypothetical terms) they were able to afford a nice two-bedroom apartment in the same building as Len - albeit on a much higher floor.

(Danvers needs the roof access, for obvious reasons.)

And now, Mick is only ever an elevator ride away.

Of course, now so is Danvers - the fact that she’d previously kept her distance is apparently the only reason he didn't figure out her powers before, because she's a great believer in the idea of "dropping in" by floating down to knock on his window anytime she had an idea or a question or Mick needs some extra eggs - but Len doesn’t really mind that.

He likes Danvers. Not just as an employee, but as a friend.

He’s still never calling her Kara, though. At this point, it’s not because he doesn’t want to get emotionally close to her – that ship’s already sailed – but rather because he’s just gotten so damn used to using ‘Danvers’ and because she thinks it’s hilariously detective noir of him.

He thinks it might be an in-joke. He’s never had in-jokes with anyone but Mick and Lisa before.

So yeah, he’s cool – pun intended – with Danvers living upstairs.

Now to make things absolutely perfect, all he needs to do is to get over himself enough to convince (or even, you know, ask) for Barry to move in...

Yeah. Len’s gotta agree with Barry: having family around is the best.

Actually, now that he thinks about it -

"Speaking of which," Len starts, "there's something -"

The doorbell rings.

"Ooh, hold that thought," Barry says, pulling away and leaving Len significantly colder. Cold puns and fondness for a nice chill aside, Len disapproves. "That must be our Thai food."

"Probably is. Someone should get it." Len gives Barry a pointed look when he doesn’t move. "Maybe someone like you, since I got up to get the blanket."

"But I'm barefoot," Barry whines. The way he’s already starting to unwind himself from the couch suggests that he’s already accepted his fate, though.

"So run," Len says mercilessly.

Barry sticks his tongue out at Len, laughs at Len's resulting expression, leans over to give him a kiss -

The doorbell rings again, somewhat more insistently this time.

Barry breaks the kiss, groaning. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he calls, climbing out of their little blanket nest on the couch while trying to expose as little of Len as possible. Sometimes (definitely not always) considerate, his Barry. "Hold your horses - yowch, this floor is freezing!"

"Run, Barry, run," Len teases.

Barry rolls his eyes at him and does.

In a flash of light and a crackle of lightning.

Well, that was unexpected.

Len's eyebrows shoot straight up, but it's not a bad surprise by any means.

"Something you forgot to tell me?" he calls out, putting on his best lazy drawl to hide his sheer glee. Barry’s powers are finally coming back!

"No," a very unexpected, very familiar, very welcome female voice drawls right back. "Something you forgot to tell me, I think."

"Lisa!" Len exclaims, beaming at her. His beloved baby sister - not so baby, of course, a fully grown woman, but his nonetheless. "I didn't think you were arriving till tomorrow."

"I got bumped onto an earlier flight," she says, coming over - holding a bag of delicious smelling Thai takeout that she must've lifted off the delivery guy - and giving him a brief kiss on the cheek.

Positively effusive, for Lisa; neither she nor Len were all that great at physical contact (Barry apparently excluded, on Len's part). She must've really missed him.

It’s been far, far too long since he’s seen her in person.

She looks as gorgeous as ever – formerly blonde hair gone brown, black leather jacket with gold trim matching black leather pants, make-up as ridiculously sharp as always…

His little baby man-killer.

Len can’t wait to inflict her on everyone he knows now.

"Sorry it took so long for me to finish things up back in Gotham," she adds insincerely.

Len snorts. "You were just waiting to hear that I got my stitches taken out for good this time."

"No lie," Lisa agrees comfortably. She’s utterly shameless when she wants to be, but she wouldn’t be his Lisa if she wasn’t. "Speaking of lies and omissions, though, something you failed to mention about the otherwise famous Barry Allen...?"

"I didn't know myself that his powers came back until just now," Len protests. "And there was no point raising your hopes by telling you about 'em if they never did come back..."

"I didn't know they were coming back either," Barry says dryly. "Or, you know, that your sister was coming to visit."

"I was planning on telling you. Just now, actually!"

"Hopeless, ain't he?" Lisa asks Barry with a smirk, which he returns with a smile. "So, all that about you being a superhero's true, huh? I thought Len'd gotten metaphorical in his old age -"

"Never. Take that back."

"Not in a million years, jerkface."

"Trainwreck."

"Cop."

"Ouch. Right where it hurts."

Barry laughs, his shoulders relaxing. Sibling bickering he knows how to deal with.

"Technically I'm a cop, too, you know," he says mildly. "I work as the on-site CSI for the CCPD, and, now that my powers are coming back, I can finally use that superhero license Len got me."

"He's classified as somewhere between a freelance employee and a tank," Len says proudly. That took some serious rule-smithing to get squeezed through, but the CCPD now has an officially licensed superhero division. Len pushed successfully to get it under Singh’s jurisdiction. Coincidentally, Singh’s precinct ended up being where Len decided the permanent offices of the internal affairs division would go, too. Purely coincidence, really… "Just with extra ethics courses."

Barry hadn't appreciated that very much, and neither had Danvers, but Len is adamant about it. If someone’s going to be acting as a standalone vigilante, even with city approval, then they are damn well going to know the laws of Central City inside and out, and know how to apply them in an ethical fashion to boot.

"Enough about tanks," Lisa says, waving a hand. "Allen, why don't you and I go to the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery for the take-out, and while we're there we can talk a bit more about shovels?"

"Uh. Sure? Len, should I be scared?"

"Terrified," Len cheerfully informs him.

"That's not promising," Barry says, but he follows Lisa towards the kitchen anyway. "It's not fair, you know. By the time we started dating - for real dating, I mean, after the whole blow-up - he was already friends with my best friend, a hero to my other friends, helped rescue my dad from prison and already threw my foster dad in jail once; there wasn't anyone left to give Len a proper shovel talk on my behalf-"

Len starts laughing even as Barry's voice trails off when he walks into the kitchen.

Yes.

Having your family all around you is the best.

#coldflash #barry allen #leonard snart #lisa snart #my fic #an internal affair

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Changeling Loyalties: Chapter 2

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do?

Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

Fanfiction - AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For all of Toby’s fears, the day following Jim’s selection as Trollhunter proved entirely unremarkable. He spent the entire day expecting Stricklander to summon him into his office to demand why he had not been informed of Jim’s new calling, but the older changeling continued to ignore him as usual. Jim on the other hand… was still freaking out…

“They’ll be here any minute now,” Jim said, throwing his arms in the air. “What am I supposed to tell them? Sorry, I can’t be your chosen one, I’ve got homework to do?”

Toby shifted to get more comfortable on the couch as he watched Jim pace back and forth.

“I thought you wanted some more excitement in your life?” He joked trying to calm his friend.

“Yeah! But I meant maybe like a fun contest or going on a date with someone or a roadtrip! Not being hunted down by a killer troll!”

Well that didn’t work. Toby sighed and glanced warily at the window.  On one hand he really wanted to get Jim to relax a bit, on the other Jim needed to be scared. If he underestimated any of his foes he would be dead. The worst part was that Toby knew Jim hadn’t even grasped exactly how much danger he was in yet.

“And what if he does get me? What about…” Jim’s rant was cut off by a flash of blue.

Toby stared with fascination as the armor came into being around Jim. He had been much too freaked out to appreciate it last time. It was actually super cool looking.

“Oh come on!” Jim pried at the amulet on his chest. “What’s it doing now?”

“I believe it’s reacting to your emotional state,” A voice stated from their left.

Toby and Jim both yelped and spun toward the sound just in time to see Blinky coming in through the back door. Toby put a hand to his chest and tried to will his breathing back to normal. Something that big had no right to be so quiet… Toby grimaced, he needed to be more attentive as well. There was no way he was going to be able to keep them safe if a non-combatant like Blinky could sneak up on them.

He glanced at the window again as Aaarrrgghh began to force his way inside. They really needed to keep the curtains closed when there were “guests” over.

His attention was jolted back to the situation at hand when Blinky clasped a hand on Jim’s shoulder with a loud clank.

“Are you prepared to come with us for your training, Master Jim?” The six-eyed troll was asking.

“Not really?” Jim said weakly.

Aaarrrgghh gave him a sympathetic look before wandering over to Toby. The changeling just barely managed to clamp down on his reflexes and avoid flinching away as he sat down next to him.

…

Actually now that he thought about it that probably would have been considered the normal reaction. He hid a grimace. Usually he didn’t even have to think about acting human, it just came naturally.

Before he could dwell on it any farther the large troll turned and smiled at him. It was probably one of the nicest, gentlest smiles he had ever seen. Maybe this is fine after all, Toby decided as he smiled back.

“Right now?” Jim yelped and Toby returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“Well, I assume you want to get started as soon as possible,” Blinky said. “There’s no way to tell how soon it is before Bular starts coming after you.”

There certainly wasn’t, but it was going to be a lot sooner if they started parading him all over town with two trolls, a changeling, and glowing blue armor…

Toby stood up and inserted himself between his friend and Blinky.

“Now, now… I don’t want Jim to get eaten as much as the next tr… person… but we’ve got to maintain our secret identities… you know?”

“No… I don’t know…”

“It’s like Spider-man,” Toby said, making web shooting motions with his hands. “We have to figure out some sort of disguises or else this Bular guy could just follow us home.”

Blinky tapped his chin with one of his hands, expression thoughtful.

“I do not know who this ‘Man of Spiders’ is, but you do have a good point… Your human dwellings are weak and flimsy, certainly no protection against Bular… or even a goblin.”

Toby choked on his own spit and started coughing.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked, slapping his back.

“Great,” Toby said weakly, giving him a thumbs up.

He really needed to figure out a way to make sure the trolls and goblins did not run into each other. There were so many ways that would end badly.

“The amulet can produce a helmet,” Blinky said after a moment. “That should prove sufficient in concealing your identity.”

“It can?” Jim asked.

“Indeed! Almost all of your predecessors wore one.”

“So how do I get it to do that?”

“It’s simple,” Blinky said, pressing two of his hands together. “You merely have to will it.”

“… And I do that how?”

Blinky fumbled for a moment his eyes darting in different directions as if the answer might be written on one of the walls.

“You must try visualizing what you want,” He said after a moment, nodding more to himself than them. “You must picture a helmet appearing.”

“Okaaay,” Jim said slowly, clearly resigned to not getting the answer he wanted.

He closed his eyes and there was a very long moment of silence. Toby glanced around. Blinky was looking at Jim expectantly, all four hands clasped together and Aaarrrgghh was yawning as he observed the Lake house. Toby’s gaze shifted to the window. Still no goblins. He glanced back at Jim. His friend’s face was all scrunched up and starting to turn a brilliant shade of red.

“Hey, Jimbo!”

Blinky shot him a glare, but Jim looked relieved.

“I think you’re trying too hard.”

Jim frowned, shoulders slumping and Toby immediately felt guilty. He shoved the feeling down and shifted his attention back to Blinky.

“Hey, Mr. Blinky! How about you give Jim some time to work on that and in the mean time we figure out how to disguise me.”

“Disguise you?” Blinky frowned. “Are you coming too?”

“Absolutely!” Toby puffed out his chest. “There’s no way I’m letting Jimbo do this solo.”

“Of course,” Blinky said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to see if I can find something.”

“Cool. Cool… So there was one more thing I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Soooooo… Can you trolls smell us? I mean I know most animals have a better sense of smell than humans, but you guys aren’t really animals, so…”

“Yes, we can,” Blinky said, mercifully cutting off Toby’s rambling.

“So is there a way we can disguise that?”

“Possibly…”

“Excellent! How about you guys work on that tonight, and then we’ll meet again tomorrow and go to your secret troll lair.”

“That does sound like a reasonable solution…”

“Great!” Toby said, trying to nudge Blinky toward the door.

Blinky frowned at him, but then the troll’s gaze shifted to Jim and his expression softened.

“Very well… Tomorrow then.”

Toby closed the door behind them. Once the trolls were out of sight he collapsed against it with a groan.

“You owe me big time Jimbo…”

“Thanks…”

Toby glanced over to see Jim glaring at the amulet on his chest.

“Any luck?”

“Nope…”

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Well I’m sure you’ll have it all figured out by tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So how does your mastery of the amulet fair, Master Jim?” Blinky asked as he entered the room the next night.

The two boys were in Tobias’ house this time. Blinky had initially been rather apprehensive on the new Trollhunter bringing another human into this but he was beginning to suspect it was unavoidable given how close they were. Besides Tobias seemed to be a calming influence on Jim… Even if he was a bit paranoid…

His train of thought trailed off as he finally caught sight of the two young humans. Master Jim was currently was leaning back with his foot braced against Tobias’ stomach. Tobias appeared to be attempting to remove the amulet with a short metal bar.

“What in Deya’s name is going on here?” Blinky exclaimed.

Tobias flinched and dropped the bar, while Master Jim gave him a smile that was both guilty and relieved. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“We were trying to remove the armor. I was trying to get the helmet to appear and now it won’t come off.” He gave Blinky a pleading look. “It’s been three hours, please tell me there’s like a magic phrase or something…”

“I’m afraid not,” Blinky said at a loss. “The armor simply responds to its bearer’s will… I’ve never heard of your predecessors having a problem getting it off… Of course you are the first human to wear an amulet designed for trolls, so I suppose we should expect the unexpected to occur.”

Jim grimaced.

“You mentioned you were working on materializing the helmet… Did you have any luck?”

Master Jim’s shoulders hunched and he shook his head. Blinky sighed and tapped his fingers together. He didn’t want to rush the boy, but it was imperative they start training immediately.

“I spoke with our elder Vendel today and he gave me these,” Blinky said, pulling out pendants with amber stones on them. “These will at least mask your scent…”

“Wait… really?” Tobias asked, sounding excited.

Blinky handed one to each of the boys. Jim took his and put it on while Toby immediately held it up toward the light.

“This looks like some sort of amber,” He said rotating it slowly.

“Very astute!” Blinky said, clapping the boy on the back. “Indeed it is! However I can assure you, you won’t be finding this particular type in one of your human museums. It’s exceedingly rare even for trolls.”

“How does it hide our scent,” Toby asked still turning it over in his hands.

“It doesn’t hide your scent, it masks it.”

“What’s the difference?” Jim asked.

“Hiding your scent would make it to where no one was able to smell you, where masking it makes it to where they simply cannot identify your scent.”

Tobias was nodding, but Jim still looked puzzled.

“It’s like wearing a disguise: People can see you, but they won’t be able to identify you by your face.”

“Okay…”

Blinky decided that was about as far as they were going to get.

“With that sorted out let us make haste to Trollmarket!”

“But what about the helmet?”

“Unfortunately I fear we will…”

“Actually I have an idea.”

Everyone turned to look at Toby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rubber werewolf head mask looked so incredibly ridiculous with the Daylight armor that Toby just had to take a picture of it. He’d download it onto a flash drive later.

He adjusted the disguise that Blinky had provided him with; a large cloak with thick ruff of fur around the neck, and a horned mask. It was supposed to make him look like a troll… the irony…

“How long until we get there?” Jim asked.

“Soon,” Blinky said. “We shall be in sight of the canals in a moment.”

“Good, this thing smells… How long has it been since you last washed this, Toby?”

“Hey! You’re supposed to call me Warhammer when we’re out doing hero stuff!” He really needed to drive that point home. He paused for a moment before adding. “…Also …I didn’t think you were supposed to wash masks?”

Jim groaned. The four of them reached to top of the canals and began to navigate their way down. Toby nearly tripped a couple times, unused to wearing a cloak, but that aside they made it without incident.

“Right this way,” Blinky said, guiding them toward the bridge.

“Where…” Jim started to say.

A low threatening snarl cut them off.

Toby’s heart leapt into his throat as a familiar troll dropped down from the bridge.

“So this is the new Trollhunter,” Bular said, stalking toward them. “Pathetic.”

He paused, lip curling as he examined Jim.

“Why do you hide your face, coward?”

Blinky turned to Jim.

“Get out your sword, Master –“

Toby managed to unfreeze and kick him hard in the leg before he could finish his sentence. Blinky shot him a glare before clearly realizing his near slip and putting on an anxious smile. He leaned closer to Jim and spoke in a low voice.

“I know you’re not ready for this, but if you can hold him off for a few minutes we can open the portal to Trollmarket. Can you do that?”

Jim might have nodded… or maybe he was just shaking that hard. It was difficult to tell with the mask. Blinky, however, took it as agreement.

“Excellent!” Blinky said pushing Jim forward slightly. “Aaarrrgghh…”

Before Toby could register what was happening the large troll had picked him up by the collar and deposited him onto his back. Toby automatically grabbed onto his fur. Aaarrrgghh charged forward and Bular ignored him in favor of going after Jim.

“Wait!” Toby yelled.

Bular was going to kill Jim. He had killed Kanjigar not even a week ago and that guy had been the Trollhunter for ages. Toby desperately wanted to go back to help Jim, but neither of the trolls were listening to him and fear held him in place. Besides… what could he do against Bular? He was just one changeling and the Gum-Gum ate changelings. He’d seen it happen once. Back when he first arrived on the surface…

They stopped under the bridge.

Toby slid off Aaarrrgghh’s back and turned toward the fight just in time to see Jim get his sword stuck in Bular’s arm. The troll roared at him and Jim dropped to the ground. He turned and started running toward them at a pace that would have made Coach Lawrence proud.  

“The horngazel!” Blinky yelled and tossed Aaarrrgghh a chunk of glowing orange crystals on a handle. “Open the portal!”

Aaarrrgghh drew an arch on the wall with the horngazel and punched the center of it. The stone with in the arch cracked with a myriad of glowing blue lines and then swirled away. Toby would have taken a moment to stare in awe if they weren’t in mortal peril. Why did all the cool things in Toby’s life have to happen when he was in danger?

“Hurry, Master… Trollhunter!” Blinky yelled

Jim, too busy running for his life, did not respond. Aaarrrgghh retreated through the portal, followed closely by Blinky. Toby stepped half through and paused.

Jim was close, but Bular was quickly gaining on him.

“Come on,” Toby muttered, shaking as adrenaline coursed through his body.

The portal was closing. Jim’s armor vanished in a flash, leaving just his regular clothes and Toby’s stupid Halloween werewolf mask. Jim put on another burst of speed, crossing the final stretch of distance, and lunged forward Bular’s swords slashing through the air just a breath behind him. Toby grabbed his arm and they fell back through the portal just as it closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay! So I am turning this into a full length fic!

I have the outline for the first part written out and am working on part two (that way if I can't finish part two I can still stop it at a good place). I will be attempting to update every third week, but I can make no guarantees, life being as it is.

Thank you for all your thoughtful comments and reviews! I love hearing from you all. (I also accept critiques and constructive criticism on my writing style so let me know if you see something I should work on)

#Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #toby domzalski #Tobias Domzalski #jim lake jr #changeling toby #changeling!Toby #My posts #My writing #Changeling Loyalties #Why won't you let me use the lines tumble????

[looselucy]

- Catch Up -

Harry was crouched down on one knee, his fingers grasping through the cage ahead of him, the tiny puppy licking excitedly at his fingers. I stooped down beside him, reading over the information about the dog before turning to him, literally seeing him fall in love. I blushed, then looked back to the sign. “He’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.” I mumbled. “That’s a mouthful, innit?” Harry had finally reached the stage where he was ready to own a dog again, so when I’d rang him that morning to wish him a Happy Birthday, he’d barely paid me any notice and giddily asked me to go to the shelter with him to pick one out. It was the best start to his birthday.

As heart breaking as it was to walk through the rescue centre, to see all those dogs just waiting to go to good homes, I kept having to remind myself that they were much better there than where they had been beforehand, and lovely people like Harry would come for them soon. There had been a few that had caught his eye, but this beautiful little Spaniel seemed to have stolen his heart, the two of them forming a very quick connection. “Oh my god, Harry!” I gawped. “He’s called Pepper!” “I think that settles it.” He spoke quietly, eyes still searching sweetly over the pup. “Sergeant Pepper.” I placed my hand on my chest, feeling like I was going to cry over just how adorable I found the whole thing, Harry leaning closer to his new companion and whispering sweet greetings, telling little Pepper how excited he was to take him home and love and care for him, and I was so soft over the entire scenario I thought my bones may evaporate and I’d just ooze onto the floor. “Okay, so now what?” I puzzled. “Do you just like… Do you just say I want this one and take it?” “No.” I shook his head, sniggering a little. “Gotta sign some stuff and they’ll ask about where I live and they’ll hate the fact I’m in a flat, so I’ve gotta charm the fuck out of them. I really need to let them know I’m a good owner, and hopefully they’ll be chilled about it.” He had told me that this was where he’d adopted Pinky from, so they were familiar with him and he’d managed to charm them before, so I couldn’t see it being a problem. I imagined it differed in a city, where so many people were bound to be in flats. Eventually, Harry managed to tear himself away from Pepper, bidding him goodbye and promising he’d see him soon, before we headed over to the front desk where Harry filled in the appropriate paperwork, and was told he’d have an answer from them in the next few days. To say Harry had a spring in his step as we made our way back to the centre was an alarming understatement. It was so nice to see him like that, so enthusiastic and maybe a little nervous, but undoubtedly happy. “So, the birthday is off to a good start.” “How can we carry it on?” He bounced. “What we doing?” “Whatever you want. Not like I have a fucking job to go to.” It was the 1st of September, meaning it had been just under a month since I’d lost my job, and he’d taken me home for the weekend and kept me happy and distracted. I’d applied for a variety of things since, and I had a few interviews lined up which I was hoping I would smash, because I was slowly but surely running out of money and patience. Not working was tedious. “Have you got me a present?” He turned to me, eyes wide. “Of course I have! I’ve got you the best present.” “Well where is it?” “It’s at mine. And I think you might have to drive around to collect it, because… it’s heavy. You’ll need to put it in your car, there’s no way you can carry it.” He scowled, clearly very suspicious about the gift I’d gotten him, trying to figure it out in his head but I knew he wouldn’t get it. That made me grin. “I think you underestimate how strong I am.” He defended. “I think you overestimate how strong you are. I think you’re constantly overestimating how strong you are. I think you’re utterly convinced you’re weirdly strong, and you’re just not.” He slung his arm over my shoulder in a second and imprisoned me against his body, my head trapped beneath his arm as he messed with my hair and made walking near impossible. I squealed and protested and tried to escape, but unfortunately he was annoyingly strong after all. I begged him to stop, whelping and screeching and hitting him as hard as I could, my arms flailing and useless. “Tell me I’m strong.” “NEVER!” “Tell me I’m the strongest man alive.” “YOU’RE STRONG, OKAY? YOU’RE THE STRONGEST MAN ALIVE!” “Tell me I’m the strongest and prettiest man alive!” “HARRY?” “TELL ME!” “YOU’RE THE STRONGEST AND PRETTIEST MAN ALIVE!” He finally released me, frustratingly smug about the interaction as I tried to find my feet again and sort my hair out, but he’d done some damage I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fix without taking a brush to it. “I knew you always thought so.” Harry sneered. “You’re such a dick.” I jogged a little to catch up with him. “M’gunna keep your present for myself.” “What the fuck have you got me that’s so heavy?” “You’ll have to wait and see.” I shrugged innocently. I could tell he wasn’t impressed by the lack of information I was passing over, but I refused to tell him what I’d gotten him. We’d exchanged many gifts over our years of friendship, but neither of us had ever really been in a comfortable or thriving financial situation. Gifts were usually small, sweet and unnecessary. This year was different. “I’m not good at surprises.” He complained. “What’re we doing then? What’s the plan?” I ignored him. “Uh… Tell ya what… You’ve never seen Another Place, have ya?” “What?” “The figures, on the beach. You’ve still not been.” Not too far out of the city, there were 100 sculptures on a beach, iron figures facing towards the sea, and despite the fact I’d lived there for so long I still hadn’t made the short journey to go and see the figurines. Harry had been there often, and raved about it often, which made it all the more shocking he hadn’t dragged me there previously. It certainly wasn’t the weather for a trip to the beach, but I would never say no to going to see some art with my best friend. I’d dragged him to The Beatles museum enough times. “Deal! Yes, lets do that!” I practically began skipping alongside him. “Let’s go get your car, drive round, and then you can come pick up your present.” “Can’t we do the present first?” “Nah.” I smirked. “I wanna keep you waiting.”

There was something rather haunting about the art installation on that beach, those figures staring out to sea, spreading what felt like miles. Some were almost withering away, some almost entirely consumed by water whilst others stood proud with nothing but sand beneath their feet. It truly was rather stunning, enough to render me speechless for a while as we searched over the sands, taking pictures with a few of the figures, grasping their texture with the tips of my fingers, trying to ignore the wind and the drizzle. We darted down the beach, smiling and chatting and taking it all in together, Harry always checking over me as though waiting to hear my approval of the spot, smiling sweetly as he watched me work my way around the sands. I took my time. Despite the fact that the figures had once been identical, the way the weather and the sea had changed each individual one meant that they all deserved my attention. Harry had gotten a little further down the beach, and by the time I’d caught up, he was leaning leisurely against one of the statues, arms folded, smirking, impressed with his idea and just how much I was loving it there. I took out my phone, and snapped another picture of him. “What’re you doing?” He sniggered. “You just look good, so I’m taking a picture.” I shrugged, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Little birthday picture.” “You seem happy.” He spoke lowly, still with that smug smile on those plump lips as I stood myself ahead of him, the front of my body almost greeting his. “I’m very happy.” I nodded, tugging at the bottom of his jumper a little. “M’here, with you, learning more and more about Liverpool, the birth place of my boys. What more could I want? In life?” He grinned briefly before biting at his bottom lip, looking down to me, the weak sun seeming like an eternal glow in the way it reflected in his eyes then. I couldn’t tear my vision from them, just staring up at him, and he looked back like it was totally naturally, that intense lock of our gazes. “You’re looking pretty good to say you’re half way to fifty now.” I could barely contain my smile. “Y’know what, Lona, whenever I feel like we’re having a nice little moment, you have to ruin it!” “That was a compliment!” I cried, choking back my giggles. “It was backhanded compliment. I asked you three times yesterday not to mention that I’m half way to fifty!” He complained, shaking his rucksack off his shoulder. “C’mon, lets bloody eat, I’m starving.” Before we’d made our way to the beach, we’d nipped up into Harry’s flat and prepared a very tiny picnic to take with us, consisting of some very basic sandwiches and a few bags of crisps, and Harry had also grabbed a old tattered blanket that he’d had since he was little, one he cuddled up with when he was either hungover or heartbroken. He lay it out on the sand for us, the wind trying to take off with it so we threw ourselves down rather quickly, Harry routing through his bag and passing over the food for me. “Thank you.” I beamed, unwrapping the clingfilm from my butty. “You’re welcome.” He returned, digging into his own. “Y’know… this is the fifth birthday you’ve been lumbered with me now.” “Is it really?” He turned to me, taking a huge bite of his food. “Yup. Twenty-fourteen, we were both working. I’d only been there like… two months, but you’d mentioned it to me like casually a few days earlier, and I made you a little cupcake and you told me you loved me.” I giggled. “Shit! Yeah, I remember. You make good cupcakes.” “I do.” I cooed. “Twenty-fifteen, we were with your mum.” That year seemed a little more solemn compared to the others. It had only been a few weeks since she’d called him that night, and on his birthday that year, she was still very bruised and weak and trying to make sure that bastard was locked up for what he’d done to her. It hadn’t been an easy time, that was why we’d made the effort to go there and see her. Harry simply nodded, so I continued my list. “Twenty-sixteen, you dragged me to Manchester so you could froth at the mouth over The Stone Roses.” “Don’t get smarmy with me, Lona. You have entire life decisions based around The Beatles.” His dimple dug into his cheek, leaning forward slightly, balancing his long arms atop his knees, his butty still gripped in his hand. “And then,” I ignored him, chuckling timidly. “Last year, you were poorly so I brought you soup round and like… petted your hair all day because you’re pathetic. And now here we are again!” I took a bite, staring at the side of his face, watching him with his face forward, but seeming somewhat reflective. I wasn’t sure he’d ever thought about it, really, just how many years it had been, how year after year somehow, we always ended up spending our time together on his birthday. I think it was sometimes easy to forget just how embedded we were in one another’s lives. “Five years.” He sighed, looking out to sea. “Kinda hope… I don’t ever have to do a birthday without you.” “You won’t.” I told him confidently. He dropped his head, nodding slightly, and I really couldn’t tell where his head was at. His mood seemed low, somehow, biting at his bottom lip, like the cold was finally getting to him. I nudged him a little, shooting him a questioning gaze, but he didn’t turn to see it. “You alright?” I tried. “Yeah. M’good.” “Sure?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” I took another bite, trying to believe him. “Where’s Sara today?” “She’s working.” He replied, and then he finally lifted his head, looking back at me. “Got plans to see her tonight.” “Oh yeah. I need to speak to her, actually, see what’s going on.” She’d organised the plan of action for the evening, how we would be celebrating Harry’s birthday, and she’d told me a couple of weeks back that she’d be in touch to let me know what was going on, but I hadn’t heard from her. “I… I think I’m falling in love with her, y’know?” I bolted my head to him, eyes wide, trying not to choke on my food. This is what I’d hoped for! Despite how long they’d been together, he’d been withdrawn and nervous that he hadn’t reached that stage, and I’d sort of worried that he never would! It hadn’t been too long since we’d spoken outside my front door and he told me he’d overthought the whole thing, that he wasn’t fully settling. I knew he’d been feeling a bit better, but that was a leap. “You serious?” I gawped. “Yeah. I… I feel really good. I feel… settled.” “Settled?” “Yeah! Just… calm. And it’s nice! I feel… nice around her.” I wasn’t an expert when it came to love. I was far from it really, but that wasn’t necessarily what I felt I needed love to be. Having someone I believed I could settle with and live my life with sounded incredible, but I always thought of love being this exciting thing, something that kept me on my toes made me want to scream and didn’t just feel like this humdrum or calm part of my life. I wasn’t expecting my life to be this exhilarating force to be reckoned with, but I certainly wanted my love to be. “That’s… That’s good!” I smiled. “Yeah. Feels good.” “Good. Well, I’m glad.” I nudged him again. “I like you happy. It makes me happy. You deserve this.” “Deserve it?” Doubt and queries lined his face. “Yeah! You’re… You’re just amazing, like… Every day, you do something that amazes me and makes me… love you even more. You deserve to be happy and be in love and just… Yeah. I dunno.” I simply shrugged, unsure how to elaborate my point, what else to say. I wished nothing but happiness for him, forever. I didn’t know how to fully describe that feeling, that sensation of wanting nothing but good things for the boy, for him to be thriving, blissful, content, driven and loved. But I couldn’t word it. Nothing seemed to do justice. I bit my tongue, cracking my neck and gazing ahead of myself. “Lona?” “Mm?” “You mean that?” “Of course.” I felt him balancing his chin on my shoulder, a very bashful smile creeping its way upon my lips, still not turning to look at him. He pursed his lips and blew directly onto my neck, to which I spasmed rather dramatically, groaning and then laughing. “Fuck off! Idiot.” I twisted my neck. He still was still resting on me, beaming brightly, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. I leaned in and gave him a big kiss on the forehead, mwah-ing as I did, before leaning my forehead against his, closing my eyes, breathing him in. I was finding it hard to contain my smile. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He whispered. My heart was beating so vigorously I could practically hear it, and maybe he could too, maybe that’s why he smiled so brightly then, pleased with my hearts giddy actions over his words. “All you need is love.” I grinned back. “Typical.” He rolled his eyes, moving his head and returning to his previous position. “Y’know, I think that might be my favourite Beatles song.” I cleared my throat and immediately went back to tucking into my food, thinking over his statement, predicting his next question, and my mind was already going absolutely wild trying to limit my options and reach a decision. “Really?” I blundered. “Hm.” “Not yours then?” “No. I don’t think it would even make the top ten.” I gaped. “But I can’t decide my favourite Beatles song so please don’t ask me. I just can’t. There are too many!” “Okay. Right now. In this very moment.” He encouraged. “I won’t… hold you to it.” He chuckled sweetly, waiting rather eagerly for my answer, so I thought it over. Looking across the Mersey, I felt moved. I felt moved that I was there, moved by the art, moved that I was with my favourite person, so I thought about the song of theirs that moved me the most, too. One that I could fit into that moment and feel utterly overwhelmed. “A Day in the Life.” I answered, nodding confidently. “Why?” “It… It brings out emotions in me that I can’t… understand.” I tried to answer. “I used to be scared of it when I was little. Used to cry and ask my dad to turn it off.” “Really?” “Mhm. But, thankfully I got past it, because that song is pure magic.” “That’s so cute.” “There’s just something special about it.” I continued. “The way the mood changes… The way it’s… sometimes dark and sinister, but then it’s soft and light and fun, and then it’s… heart-breaking. And it’s all in one fucking song, and it’s so… powerful, y’know? And don’t even get me started on the subtle magic of Ringo on the drums in that song.” I grinned, and he laughed lightly. “It’s one of the many reasons he’s my favourite. I mean… I’ve listened to it a million times and it… It moves me every single time.” He'd been staring at me the entire time, and one of the things I liked about Harry was how I could mumble on about the most mundane things and yet he would give me every single ounce of his attention, like I speaking wonders he’d never heard before, like my words immediately shot into his heart and engrained themselves there. But Harry was like that, through and through. “Proud of you for making a decision, Kid.” Harry remarked. “Didn’t really think I’d get an answer out of ya.” “That was a big moment for me. I’ll probably change my mind tomorrow.” “But today, that’s your answer. A Day in the Life of Bellona Brown.” “A fucking brilliant day.” It felt so good to have him smiling like that, so wide I had to question if his cheeks were hurting. I couldn’t wait to make his day even better.

“Lona, hurry the fuck up, I’m too eager.” “You know this door jams all the time. Just… Lemme…” I bit my tongue and squinted my eyes as I attempted to jiggle the key and yank the door in the perfect way, so we could finally get indoors and I could finally give Harry his present. I thought I’d become a bit of an expert at the exact technique over my years living there, but occasionally the damn thing would stick and I would be utterly convinced there was no budging it. I’d once been trapped out there for a good hour before I finally caved and called Harry, who practically kicked the damn thing down to get me inside. I budged it with some force, knocking my shoulder into it, and we were finally indoors. “PRESENT!” Harry screamed, forcing his way past me and running down the corridor. I tittered as I walked in and closed the door gently behind me, loving being home. The hallway was painted pink, and whenever I walked in there I immediately felt calm and at home. It was such a bright and inviting space, and even though I was absolutely sure it would end up costing me my deposit, I didn’t really care. “WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?” He yelled, darting excitedly from my living room and then into my bedroom. “Back in here, you fool.” I shrugged off my bag and my coat as he bounced back into the correct room, so ludicrously excited, but this happened every year. The year before, I’d been so skint from moving jobs that I’d bought him a single banana, but since I’d wrapped it in a bow he acted as though it was the best gift he’d ever received. He’d laughed and hugged me and declared it his favourite present of the year. I thought I could sprinkle glitter on shit and he’d think it was incredible. I walked over to the tiny desk that sat between my sofa and my kitchen area, confidently laying my hand on top of the blanket that covered his gift, watching him try to contain his excitement. “So… I’ve saved up for this.” “What?” “I spotted it months ago. It’s not just… a recent thing, so don’t worry about my finances, okay? I saved for it, and I did it sensibly.” I could see his excitement fading a little bit, but not in a way that suggested he was no longer eager or happy, but just so absorbed by what I could have gotten him that would have actually cost me money, it reduced that giddiness. He was exceptionally intrigued. He took a step forward, eyeing me. “So you have to cherish this… forever, okay?” “Okay.” He whispered. “Ready?” “I think so.” As dramatically and with as much speed as I could muster, I ripped the throw to the side, and revealed the typewriter to him. I’d stumbled across it in this gorgeous antique shop down the road from me almost nine months earlier, and I knew I needed to get it for him. Harry liked to write, from songs to poetry to his most secret and special thoughts. He’d write them down, type them out, printing his words and his poetry and his thoughts onto paper. It was a hobby, a passion, and something that I knew simply helped him filter things and deal with his own emotions. He’d wanted something like this for a while, but I knew it was one of those things he talked about and wished he had, but he’d never actually get around to spending his hard-earned money on it. It was never necessarily a thought come payday, and he didn’t want to get some cheap modern one, or a knock off. This one was perfect. It was clearly ancient, but it had aged beautifully. The black paint was chipped and murky, the gold keys and flowers that had been hand-painted onto the surface were almost withered but still had a shine, scratches and dints making its beauty even more radiant. It was perfect. He stood silently staring down to it, taking one almost hesitant step closer, mouth wide, fingertips already desperate to smooth over its edges. “It’s really old.” I explained. “I think he said from the late eighteen-hundreds, so I took it to this like… special place, and they sorted out like the keyboard for you, so they kept the original pieces but they fixed them, so you can use it like it’s brand new!” He turned to me then for a split second, but then took his eyes back to the machine, but not before I’d spotted the tears in his eyes. “I can’t remember the name. It’s like… Sholes…” “It’s a Sholes and Glidden.” He answered for me, rather breathlessly. “Yes!” I squealed. “How did you know that?” “Lona… I love these things. They’re just… It’s beautiful… I can’t believe… I cannot believe you’ve gotten this for me. I… I dunno what to say.” He gasped. “Oh for fuck sake, I’m gunna cry.” He chuckled breathily, rubbing the back of his wrist over both eyes, trying to shake it off. I knew he was going to love it. I’d been so damn confident about it, but actually seeing his reaction and seeing what it meant to him felt otherworldly. I stepped a little closer to him, with tears in my eyes by that point, watching him finally reach out and feel over it, shaking his head, like he truly couldn’t believe it. “Do you love it?” I asked. “It’s amazing. It’s… I love it. I love it so, so much. Thank you. I…” I slotted myself against his side, letting out a tiny, happy blubber of tears as I nestled against him and hid my face against his body, feeling him turn so he could sufficiently wrap both his arms around me, and hold me. I was overwhelmed because not only had I never really had the money to buy anyone such thoughtful presents, but I didn’t have anyone else in my life who I wanted or felt the need to buy such wonderful gifts for. It was different with family; it felt like it was a given that I’d try my best for them, to try and show how thankful I was for all my parents had done for me. It felt different to have someone in my life who I had been lucky enough to meet who meant so much to me. I wanted to spoil him, to shower him with love and gifts and do everything I could for him, not because he was family but because he meant everything to me. “Why are we both crying over a bloody typewriter?” I huffed, still teary, pulling away slightly. “Because… Because it’s beautiful. And it means a lot to me, that you’d do this for me.” “Mm.” He reached upwards, cupping my pink cheek in his large hand, taking his thumb and steadily wiping some of my tears away, his throat hitching, moving a little closer to me. Cautiously, I looked up to him. “Thank you.” He mumbled. “You’re welcome.” “It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” “You can write a little poem about me now.” I joked. “You’re more than a poem. You’re a fucking novel. You’re a classic. Timeless.” He hadn’t taken my joke, he’d simply hit back with that statement with so much strength and veracity, I had to hold back more tears, shudders shooting like sparks across my skin, feeling as though my tears were going to stop soon and I’d find some equilibrium, but the way he was looking at me then made me feel otherwise. His hand travelled from my cheek to the back of my head, fingers weaving through my thick hair, tears still lingering in his eyes, but I swear he didn’t even blink. He just looked at me, fingertips almost tugging at strands of my hair, as though forcing my chin even higher, like he subconsciously needed to keep my gaze locked with his. The sound of his phone ringing pierced the room in a rather unfriendly way, pulling us from the moment as Harry let out an almost frustrated sigh, stepping away, hand slipping from my hair and reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his phone. “It’s Sara.” He told me once he’d glanced at the screen, voice deep and drained. “Ooh, let me!” I shook off my emotional tears, reaching for his phone. “I need to speak to her about tonight!” “Okay.” He passed it over to me. “M’gunna… stay here and freak out about the present.” “Okay.” I giggled. I darted off back out into the corridor outside my flat as quickly as possible hoping not to miss the call, carefully shutting the door behind myself and praying I’d be able to get back inside. She’d taken charge of the evening, and I knew what she had planned was going to be a surprise for Harry, so I didn’t want him to overhear anything. “Hey, Sara, it’s Lona!” I beamed as soon as I answered. “Oh!” She grumbled. “Hi. Where’s Harry?” “I’ve just given him his present, we’re at mine.” “Um… Okay…” She sounded extremely puzzled by the scenario, though I wasn’t entirely sure why that was. I suppose our day out together had been a little impromptu, so maybe she hadn’t thought we’d be together. “I just wanted to ask you about tonight!” I ignored her tone, remaining chipper. “I know it’s in your hands, and you said you’d be in touch but I never heard from you. What’s the plan?” Her following silence made me immediately uncomfortable. I couldn’t even hear her breathing, which spurred me to check if she’d hung up on me, and then I quickly returned the phone to my ear when I knew she was still there. I didn’t even want to spur her to say more, because I could feel that I was pissed off before she’d even given me an answer, because I knew I wasn’t going to like it. I could fucking tell. I let her stew, let her try to find the right way of wording this to me. In a way, I saw it coming. “I… I’m sorry, Bellona, but you can’t come tonight.” I looked down to the floor, biting my tongue, my jaw tightening. “Why?” “It’s… It’s this thing, right? You book it, and you’re sorted for the evening. Meal, drinks, everything until like three in the morning. I’ve paid upfront, but there’s a headcount and… I couldn’t squeeze you in.” “Are you fucking kidding, Sara? I’m his best mate!” “But I’d already told his uni mates about it! They were so excited and I didn’t wanna let them down. That’s why I didn’t call, I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry.” I was speechless. She’d done well. Her and Harry had been together around seven months, nearly eight, and beforehand I hadn’t really spotted much behaviour from her that I’d seen in previous relationships that both myself and Harry had been in, that jealousy, that bitterness, that misconception. But I knew what this was. I knew what it was, and it was fuck all to do with numbers and she certainly wasn’t sorry. She didn’t want me there. If anything, the amount of time it had taken only made things worse. Both myself and Harry finally felt like he was with someone who was okay with our friendship, and he’d fallen for her. This wasn’t something new that he could turn away from, it wasn’t something that he knew to turn away from because of early warning signs. He loved her. If this had happened six months earlier, I’d have told him and he’d have backed off, I knew it. But it was too late for that. She was turning against me and I knew it. “Sara… is there nothing you can do?” I tried. “Sorry.” Was her simple reply. I felt as though I was going to burst into tears. I liked Sara and I had been so confident that she wouldn’t turn around and be that way with me. It was something I’d experienced more than once, I knew the routine. This was just the start. “Okay.” I grumbled. “It’s alright. Just one night, isn’t it?” “Get Harry to call me, alright?” “Sure. See you soon.” “Yeah, bye.” I hung up, wishing I could throw the fucking phone down the hallway and scream at the top of my lungs, but I stopped myself. I didn’t know how I should feel in that moment. Of course I was still beaming for the fact he had someone who he had fallen for, but maybe that was exactly what had given her the confidence to finally turn on me. Maybe he’d told her he loved her and she knew she was positioned deep enough in his heart to try and push me out of there. I felt sick. It was just one night, but I knew what it meant. Despite the clog in my throat, I made my way back indoors in an attempt to get this following conversation over as quickly as possible. I was utterly endeared when I walked in there, seeing him sat on the arm of my sofa still looking at the typewriter like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. It didn’t help with the overwhelming need I had to burst into tears, but I still loved the image. He felt my presence, turning to see me, eyes bright. “Everything sorted?” He asked hopefully. “Um… I…” Lying to him was awful, before I’d even managed to do it. I never lied to Harry, I never felt any need to. The bullshit clogged up in my throat before I’d even had the fucking chance. He furrowed his brows, standing back upright. “I forgot… I don’t think I can come tonight.” “What?” “It’s just… I’m pretty skint at the minute-” “You know I’ll pay.” “But I don’t want you to pay, Harry. I’m sick of you… having to help me. I don’t want you to pay.” I bit, with more aggression than I’d intended. “Grow up, Lona. I know full well if I’m ever struggling, you’ll help me. Stop overthinking it.” “It’s not even just that, I… I’ve got a job interview in the morning.” I lied. “On a Saturday?” He shrieked. “I know, but, I really like the look of the job.” Another lie. “Then just come for some food with us.” “But… there’s this excel test thing, and I told them I’m experienced on it which I’m not, so I need to scrub up on my knowledge.” Lie after lie after fucking lie. “So… I just think it’s best if I don’t come.” “Lona, it’s my birthday. C’mon. Please?” I think he knew something wasn’t quite right, but thanks to the fact that we didn’t lie to one another, it wasn’t something he expected from me. He absolutely knew that something was off, but it wasn’t adding up to him. But, despite my new negative feelings towards Sara, I didn’t want to tell Harry what she’d done in a blatant attempt to cut me out of the evening, and then work her way from there. He loved her, and I didn’t want to then turn around and tell him that I was absolutely sure that she hated our friendship and wanted to ween me out as much as she physically could. Like I’d told him that day, he deserved that love, he deserved to feel that way and experience that, and Sara was the one he’d fallen for and I didn’t want to fuck that up for him or be an influence in him doubting what they had. I was going to try my absolute best to remain a solid and important part of his life, but I was going to do so without making him distance from a girl he’d been lucky enough to fall in love with. “M'sorry.” I whispered. “I wish I could but… it’s just not gunna work this year.” He let out a large sigh, running his tongue over his teeth but finally nodding, seeming to accept what I was saying, even though he did seem extremely disappointed. “Okay. You’re right, okay, I’m sorry.” He approached me, arms held out so I could once again cuddle against him. “I know you wanna be working again. It’s more important than my birthday, I’m sorry.” I lay my head against his chest and gripped onto his jumper, latching onto him like I was already fucking terrified that at some point soon, he wouldn’t be that close to me, like I could lose him. I gripped on through fear that soon he would slip through my fingers. “I wish I could.” My voice dove through the fabric of his jumper. “I wish you could too. Least I got the full day with you.” “I hope you have fun.” “Mm. Be hard work without you there, but I’ll try.” Safe against his chest, I let a few tears fall, despising the feeling that was crawling around my stomach and telling me that things were going to get hard for us. I stayed at quiet as I could, hoping he wouldn’t notice the fact that I was clearly upset, that my current tears were totally different to the ones I’d experienced during our last embrace. I hated it. I hated that I could almost feel pain. “I’m sorry.” I choked. “Don’t be.” He hushed. “I just wanna support you. I just want what’s best for you.” I wanted the same thing, but the only thing that I could think in that moment was that Harry was what was best for me, and once again, there was someone there trying to rip that apart. And in a way, I was letting her.

#if you wanna google the place they go to #it's Another Place by Antony Gormley #and it's beautiful and if you do get the chance to go DEFINITELY TAKE IT #Anyway #HAPPY SUNDAY #IYS4 #In Your Splendour

[dreamyloverharry]

Go Your Own Way - 3

“He’s an absolute gem, I couldn’t imagine anyone else better suited for the role. I can’t wait for everyone to see the work that he and the rest of our cast and crew have put into this, it’s been such an honor to work with everyone who brought this dream to life with me,” she responds politely to an interviewer outside Radio City. Harry was nearly right, so many people wanted to talk to her, take her picture, and congratulate her for both writing and starring in her own film that she almost didn’t even notice he wasn’t there yet. Except she did notice, because his name was part of every other question, and although she had just seen him a few hours ago, she missed him terribly. Meanwhile, she was also nervous for him to see her all dressed up like she was because she already knows he’s going to compliment her, and this time there’s going to be dozens of cameras to catch her trying not to blush and act casual from multiple angles. 

“So we’ve had the soundtrack for a couple days now, can you tell us why these songs made the final cut for the film?” a woman from Entertainment Tonight asks. 

“These songs are, in general, just such amazing songs on their own. They’re filled with such beautiful songwriting, they’re some of my favorite Fleetwood Mac songs, and each helps tell this story so well in a way you’ll see very, very soon! I know a few members of the band are going to be here tonight, and I really hope they’re impressed and think we did their songs justice, I’m a little star-struck already to be honest and I don’t think any of them are even here yet,” she confesses to the woman and her cameraman. She notices in the middle of her answer the crowd further behind her down the street seems to erupt in cheers and screams, noting the arrival of another one of her cast members, but she politely tries to keep her engagement with her interview and the camera rather than turn around to see who it is. 

The woman talking to her has started asking another question about the filming process, when her attention starts to go from her question she’s asking to slightly behind the person she’s asking it to. As she starts to respond with talking about the rehearsal process and initially meeting the full cast, she feels a hand gently placed on her waist from behind her. Of course who would it be besides Harry, with his charming smile and welcoming arms wrapping her into a short hug before keeping his hand wrapped around her waist as the interviewer now directs a few questions towards him. 

They finish their questions and are called away for a few photos together; inevitable really since they do play the main roles and all. “I thought all the commotion might have been for you,” she says in hushed voice as their attention is called for in every direction from different photographers. “Sorry to interrupt, but I had to keep my promise I’d find you,” he says, gently running his fingers along her waist. They take a few more photos, walking a little further along down the carpet, answering a few more questions along the way. “Where’s your date, I thought you’d be with someone,” she asks timidly, especially since his arm hasn’t left her waist since the moment he arrived. 

“Well, like I said it all depended on a yes or a no,” he starts out. She doesn’t want to pry since someone completely out of their right might must have turned him down, and she didn’t want to bring it up if it was something that upset him. She had to admit, she was a little relieved she didn’t have to share him with anyone else, though, no matter how ridiculous it seemed to her that anyone would ever say no to being Harry’s date anywhere. 

“So would you care to be my date for the evening since it seems like you’re here on your own, too?” he says quietly in her ear while they’re taking another series of photos. She nods a quick yes, melting once again at the sight of his always charming smile. “Whoever told you no to coming with you is out of their mind,” she replies in the same hushed tone while the two walk to the next interviewer. His hand drops from her waist and he laces his fingers in hers, running his thumb along her knuckles. “Don’t know who you think told me no, but thanks for the kind words, love,” he jokes before they reach the interviewer from along the barricaide. “But you said it was all depending on a yes or a no?” she asks with a puzzled look. They’re getting closer and closer to the microphone that’s waiting for them, so they don’t have much of a chance to keep talking about the subject. 

“Yeah, and if I’m not mistaken, you said yes back there, right?” he asks in the last few steps over. 

“Well, yes, but I thought-”

“I was only ever gonna ask you all along, I just wasn’t sure how you’d take it first.”

With just a few steps left before arriving to the next camera, she stops shortly and waits for him to look her in the eyes. 

“Harry, you know I’d do anything for you,” she says a little bashfully, but hoping he overlooks that part but only picks up on the sincerity in her voice. He gives her a gentle smile and wraps his hand back around her waist, reaching the next camera and pulling her a little more closely into his side. 

After a speaking to someone from who knows where and moving along to the final stretch before reaching the doors, she turns to him for just a second. “So what about this surprise you’ve got for me, hm? Thought you could ask me to be your date and I’d forget about it?” she says smugly, and now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Hold out your hand, love,” he instructs with a sigh. 

He lets go of her hand for just a moment and fishes around for something in his suit coat pocket. He pulls out a small velvet bag and wraps your fingers around it, trying to hide the action from the cameras to avoid any questions about it. “Go ahead and open it since you’ve been so worked up about it all day,” he smirks. You discreetly open the bag and pull out a rose ring identical to the one that he has. “Thought it’d be nice for us to match if that’s alright with you,” he starts out shyly as you slip the ring onto your finger behind your back. “Plus, I know you said once that you liked mine, and then I thought it’d be a nice way to remember the movie, like since the band’s name in the film is the Silk Roses and it’s a rose, and I’m sorry if it’s dumb, but I really hope you like it,” he starts rambling, and he might just be starting to blush, as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. She hasn’t seen him bashful like this before, and it’s incredibly endearing. 

She takes his hand again and gives it a gentle squeeze to calm his nerves. “Harry Styles, you’re entirely too much. This is the sweetest thing and I love it, thank you,” she said wishing that all these cameras weren’t around so a kiss on his cheek to thank him wouldn’t spark another seventy-five rumors that they’ve secretly been dating for months now. They weren’t true, but secretly neither of them would be mad if they were. 

They do a couple final interviews and are posing for the last of their pictures before they go inside when Harry abruptly stops tracing his fingers up and down on her waist. “The rose ring wasn’t really my surprise for you, by the way,” he says quietly into her ear. She notices the photographers nearby have started calling out other names that she recognized in the midst of the names of the cast and she feels a chill run down her spine.

  Mick! Christine, over here! John, over to your left! Stevie! Stevie! 

She quickly looks at Harry, her expression a mixture of panic, delight, and pure adoration that he would do something like this for her. “Harry, you didn’t” she starts, a hand flying to her mouth, the trademark smirk she hates to love once again plastered on his face. “Oh, but I did, love,” he says slyly. 

Suddenly the members of Fleetwood Mac are making their way over to the two of them near the entrance to the theater. Harry and the band seem to see each other at the same time, and while she thinks she’s really and truly about to cry, Mick Fleetwood is walking over to give Harry a hug. As mesmerized as she is, she feel like she’s in a trance as Christine McVie walks over to give her a quick hug and a kiss to both cheeks, with a sweet, “Hello, darling!” chimed in her ear. 

Her hand is still joined with Harry’s the only way she knows it’s not a dream, even though being this close to Harry still seems like a dream in itself. “Stevie! So glad you could make it. There’s somebody I’d really like you to meet, I don’t think the two of you have ever been properly introduced,” Harry begins once Stevie Nicks steps out from behind Mick and into her line of sight. Now, she has to hold onto Harry’s hand so she doesn’t nearly pass out. “Ms. Nicks, it’s such an absolute pleasure to finally meet you,” she says reaching out to shake her hand, which Stevie ignores and she pulls her into a hug instead. “Please, darlin’ call me Stevie! Ms. Nicks feels so formal, there’s no need for all that. Harry’s told me all about you, I wouldn’t miss this premiere and the chance to see you two kids for the world.”

“But, Harry, you said-” she starts trying to shake off the initial shock. 

“I know, I know, I just wanted it to be a surprise! Jesus, if I keep this up I don’t think you’ll believe anything I ever tell you,” he jokes, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “So I hear the two of you are gonna be singin’ with us later tonight?” Stevie starts up again as the two of them and the rest of her band all get together for a few photos. 

“I might be shaking so much I can hardly sing, but I plan to try,” she says making a nervous joke to try to distract herself from the fact that she’s actually taking pictures with the very people who inspired this entire project in the first place. 

After a few more photos the two groups parting ways, Harry never letting go of her hand as everyone says their goodbyes, agreeing on the logistics of meeting up for a quick rehearsal before the performance at the after party later. Once they go their separate ways after walking into the lobby of the theater, she takes a moment to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder, wrapping her spare hand around their hands that are still joined together. 

“Harry Styles, I just might owe you the world,” she says, practically with stars in her eyes as she looks up at him. He lifts their joined hands and places a quick kiss to the back of her hand, a satisfied smile at the rose ring that’s on her finger. 

“You don’t owe me a single thing, love,” he says softly as the two of them make their way to their seats at the front row of the theater. 

“You’ve just done so much for me, I just don’t think I could ever properly repay you. There’s got to be something I could do, at least to thank you,” she continues as she leads the way down the aisle to their seats. He stops short in the middle of the aisle other people make their way to their own seats around them. He’s been trying to work himself up to it for months now, and she can tell just by looking at him that he’s got something on his mind, hoping that rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand will coax him into saying what he wants to say. 

“I mean there might be something you could do,” he says taking a steps closer to her, closing the little bit of space between the two of him. She notices him trying not to stare at her lips and feels her heart start to race for what’s probably the fifth time that evening. 

“I’d really like it if you’d go on a real, proper date with me sometime?” he says sheepishly, melting her heart once more. 

“Promise to bring me flowers?” she teases, trying to ease his nerves. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll bring you flowers!” he chuckles. 

She takes both of their intertwined hands and presses them against her cheek, and now it’s her turn to kiss the back of his hand. 

“Then yes, you know I’d love to go on a date with you,” she flirts back with him.

She continues to lead them the rest of the way towards their seats. Once they’re seated and waiting for the rest of the theater to fill in and everyone to get to their seats, he gives a quick tug to her hand in his to draw her attention away from someone who’s speaking to her that’s standing in the aisle. 

“Have I told you exactly how amazing you look tonight?” he says leaning in close to her ear, making her blush. “You know, I haven’t gotten to kiss you properly since we wrapped filming…” he begins. She rests her forehead against his, knowing the two of them have probably looked very coupled up all evening, but at this rate it might not matter soon. 

“You wanna sneak away before the after party and go make out like teenagers at prom?” she suggests. 

“Oh, I’d love to go make out with you later, Ms. Movie Star, it’d be the highlight of my night.”

[massivedrickhead]

Still taking Bechloe prompts? How about SuperChloe with secret identity and normal human beca that has a crush on Chloe's secret Identity?

So I got waaaaaaaaay to into writing this. Hope you enjoy!

—–

Beca looked down at her phone before looking back at Chloe, squinting.

“What?” Chloe asked, confused. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Beca said, still looking puzzled. “It’s just… the Barden Bella really looks like you.” She looked back down at her phone.

“Who?” Chloe asked.

“Are you kidding? The superhero that’s been whizzing around Barden saving people all month? Do you not look at the news? Or Twitter? Or anything?”

“Let me see her,” Chloe said sitting down on Beca’s sofa beside her.

Beca showed her the blurry photo someone had snapped of this new mysterious superhero.

“I don’t see it,” Chloe said, tilting her head.

“I mean, you’re cuter, obviously,” Beca said, zooming in on the photo. “But I think if you took your glasses off and put on one of those masks then maybe…”

“Well without my glasses, I’d be blind,” Chloe said, standing up and returning to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t saying this is you, you just look like her,” Beca said laughing. “I like your glasses anyway.”

Chloe laughed and shook her head. “You’re full of the compliments today.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Hey, chuck me a coke will you?”

“Sure,” Chloe said, tossing Beca a can without thinking.

The sheer force of the throw caused the can to explode all over Beca as soon as it hit her.

“Dude! Did you shake this up?”

“No!” Chloe said, half amused, half terrified. She had to be more careful.

“Well maybe you should stop working out. Jesus, the Hulk would throw gentler than that,” Beca said, standing up. She went into her room to change and Chloe chastised herself for being so careless with her strength.

“You don’t have to look that guilty,” Beca said when she came back into the room. “It was just coke.” She reached into the refrigerator and got her own can, tentatively opening it over the sink. “You okay?” Beca asked.

“Yeah,” Chloe said, smiling. She ran a hand through her hair and it cause her top to ride up, exposing a graze on her hip.

“Dude, what happened?” Beca said, rushing over.

“Oh, I just hit it on a wall,” Chloe said, pulling her shirt down. “No big deal.”

Beca raised an eyebrow to show she didn’t believe her before lifting the shirt up slightly so she could see the scrape again. “Looks like it hurts,” Beca said. She lightly touched the area around it, and Chloe’s breath hitched slightly.

She had gotten the graze when she had been out last night, patrolling the streets. She’d been moving too quickly and caught her foot on something which sent her crashing to the ground. It hadn’t hurt, and she didn’t even notice it until she showered when she’d gotten home. Her knees were also scraped.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said, softly.

They were quiet for a minute, just looking at each other. Beca was still holding the hem of Chloe’s shirt.

“Chlo’?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Beca asked.

Chloe swallowed. She wanted to tell her. So bad. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell anyone.

Chloe shook her head.

“If you say so,” Beca said, letting her shirt go and heading back into the living room.

Chloe let out a breath before joining Beca on the sofa.

“What are you doing tonight?” Beca asked. “Wanna hang out? Watch a movie?”

“I wish I could,” Chloe said. “I’ve got this thing to do tonight.”

“Okay,” Beca said, not quite hiding her disappointment. “Maybe when you’re done with your thing you could come over?”

“Sure,” Chloe said. “I’ll try.”

She hated lying to Beca, but she couldn’t exactly tell her that she was planning to patrol the streets of Barden fighting crime all night.

—–

It was around 11pm when Beca finally left the radio station that night. Since Chloe had had other plans, Beca agreed to take Jesse’s shift at the radio station so he could take his girlfriend out. She locked the doors to the station and began meandering back to her apartment.

It had been so quiet since Stacie had moved out and then in with Aubrey and Chloe. Beca had been secretly hoping that Chloe would want to move in with her but she’d never had the courage to ask. So Beca was alone for now.

If she hadn’t been so preoccupied thinking about Chloe, she would have heard the footsteps rapidly approaching her from behind.

—

Chloe was halfway across town when she got the… feeling.

It was stronger than usual.

She closed her eyes and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from.

Her eyes snapped open.

The University radio station

Beca!

—

Beca groaned as she pulled herself to her feet, leaning against the wall.

She reached up and touched the spot on her forehead where she’d been hit. When she saw the blood on her hand she threw up.

She reached for her bag so she could get her phone and call someone but of course, she no longer had her bag.

She looked around to see if there was anyone about, and she saw something red and blue streak past her. Was that… the Barden Bella?

It felt like seconds later that they were back, carrying her bag.

“Shit,” they said, “you’re hurt.”

“Hey, you got my bag back!” She said happily. Then she looked into the eyes behind the mask and studied them. They were so familiar. “I know you…” She said, before throwing up again, thankfully missing the costumed superhero in front of her.

“You need to go to hospital,” they said, their voice loaded with concern. She knew the voice too, even though they were trying to disguise it. “I’ll take you.”

“Can you call Chloe for me?” Beca asked. She was still feeling dizzy, and stumbled after taking a few steps.

“Sure,” they said before scooping her up, carrying her bridal style.

“Are you going to call her now?”

They laughed. “Not yet. My hands are full.”

She knew that laugh.

“Chloe,” she mumbled, almost drunkenly. “Chloe’s my favourite. I think… I love her.”

“Okay,” they said, their voice faltering slightly. “You need that head injury looking at. Hold on.”

Beca didn’t have time to ask what for before they were speeding in the direction of the hospital.

Beca was placed unsteadily on her feet at the entrance and she managed to make it two steps inside before her legs buckled.

“Shit,” they said, lifting Beca to her feet again. The people in the hospital turned to face them. “Someone take care of her!” They shouted before the shot out of the door again.

—

Beca winced as the final stitch was pulled through the cut in her head.

“Ow,” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said. “It’s all done. Now, have you got someone who can take you home? You really shouldn’t be by yourself tonight.”

“I’ll take her,” a voice said. Beca turned her head and saw Chloe standing at the gap in the curtain which had been pulled around her cubicle.

“Chloe!” Beca said, finally smiling. “Dude, you won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Come on,” Chloe said, holding out her hand. “Let’s get you home.”

“Chloe,” Beca said, after they’d been walking quietly for a while. “Why didn’t you ask me what had happened?”

“I, uh, I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Chloe,” Beca said again. “You don’t have to pretend with me you know. I know who you are.”

Chloe swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

Beca brought them to a stop. She reached up and took off Chloe’s glasses.

“I don’t know how you thought you could fool me with these,” Beca said, placing them on her own face. “They’re just glass. They’ve just been glass for about a month now. Ever since the Barden Bella first turned up.” She handed Chloe her glasses back. “And your eyes. Chloe… I’d be able to pick your eyes out of a line-up. They’re the most beautiful… most perfect eyes I’ve ever seen. When I see them, I feel safe. And not because they’re the eyes of a superhero, but because they’re yours.”

“How long have you known?” Chloe asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Since the first time I saw those pictures online,” Beca said.

“Did you mean what you said to her-” she stopped herself. “To me?”

“Yes,” Beca replied. “I love you. Always have. Always will.”

“I love you too,” Chloe replied, leaning forward and kissing her.

“So,” Beca said, smiling as they broke apart. “Now that it’s all out in the open, how about you speed us back home?”

“Actually, the speed is all part of the suit,” Chloe said, laughing.

“Oh. You’re gonna have to explain this all to me,” Beca said, linking their hands again as they carried on walking.

Chloe smiled. She gently squeezed her hand, fully aware that if she didn’t watch herself, she could easily break Beca’s fingers if she wasn’t careful.

“Well it all started when I was sixteen.”

#bechloe drabble #drabble #bechloe #bechloe au #au #bechloe prompt #bechloe superhero au

[argotmagazine-blog]

Dreaming in Silver

There is a figure at the edge of the playground, standing perfectly still and silent. Were it not for the little tells—the way the October wind teases her hair, ripples her dress—she very well might be part of the architecture, like the benches or the swing set. That’s the trouble with being human. There will always be little clues that reveal our humanity.

There is only one family remaining at the park. The time for visiting parks is nearly over; winter is just around the corner. Yet the children run, shouting and laughing while they skin their knees. At first, they do not pay the figure any mind. After a while, the oldest child, a girl of about ten, stops and stares.

“Holy shit,” she says. Her mother shouts “Young lady!” from the picnic table where she watches, wearily and warily. “Sorry, Momma!” the girl responds.

As she approaches the figure, there is wonder in her eyes. “You’re real,” she says. More a statement of fact, than a question.

The figure does not move, does not respond. She is tall, silver from head to toe, her face hidden behind a masquerade mask. A basket is clutched in her hands, and at her feet, a bowl with a few loose bills inside.

By this point, her three brothers have joined her. They stand in wonder around the figure.

“Move!” says the youngest, his pudgy cheeks flushed with excitement.

“She can’t move,” the sister responds. “She’s one of those statue things.”

“I’m gonna kick her,” says one of the middle children, matter-of-factly and without malice.

The sister shoots an arm out, glaring at her brother. “Don’t you touch her.”

“But she won’t move!”

“That’s her job, dummy!”

They stand around her for a while, debating the finer points of the statue’s existence, with particular focus on what kind of weirdo would go stand in an almost-empty park painted head-to-toe in silver? They lose interest after a while, and they return to the playground. That’s one of the joys of childhood; things may be transient, may hold attention for only a moment, but children lose none of their joy from the friction of brevity.

Soon enough with his siblings distracted, the youngest child approaches. He looks up at the silver woman. There is real wonder on his face.

“She’s a fairy,” he says to no one in particular, his voice painted with awe. His grubby fist unclenches, releasing a handful of pennies and one nickel hitting the bottom of the bowl.

Slowly, the statue lowers herself down to the boy’s level, reaching into her basket. There, on her outstretched palm, is a small scroll tied with a purple ribbon. He takes it in the greedily curious way of children. The statue smiles, putting a finger to her lips, and then returns to the same pose she has held all morning.

Of course, he does not heed her request for secrecy. He runs towards his older siblings, shouting, “She moved, she moved!”

“Bullshit!” says his sister, earning another “Young lady!” from their mother, this one more forceful. “Sorry, Momma, but he’s lyin’ again!”

“I ain’t lyin’, she moved!” he insists. “She gave me this!”

As the siblings gather around to look at the little scroll and she is sure that there are no wandering eyes to witness, the corners of the silver woman’s lips—my lips—turn into a smile once again.

***

When I was a little kid, I went to California for the first time. I remember two things about that trip. The first was I was told I would earn “my wings” on the flight. Three-year-old me was dazzled by visions of getting to run around San Francisco with full-size Buzz Lightyear wings. It was a bit of a blow to discover said “wings” comprised of a little metal pin. Nonetheless, I wore it with pride. Besides, I got to see inside the cockpit and even sit in the pilot’s seat, which was a pretty great consolation prize.

The second thing that I remember was the statue. There standing near a fountain, surrounded by pigeons, was a man. He was painted bronze from the tip of his top hat to the toes of his shoes, and he stood stock-still. One of my parents slid a dollar into my hand and told me to offer it to him.

Timidly, I held out my open palm, and the statue jolted to life. He smiled down at me, performed a robotic dance during which he plucked the dollar from my hand. Then he returned to his stationary pose.

I was enchanted standing there with the statue towering above me, once again silent and still. I was in love.

Love later found me sharing a bed with another woman for nearly five years.  I figured my life was as good as over when I suddenly found myself sleeping on my best friend’s couch instead. A three-year engagement had crumbled nearly overnight. Now I was living out of a backpack and stealing food from Western Michigan University. I had not attended Western in three years, but that didn’t stop me from smuggling gallon freezer bags into their dining halls and walking out with enough spaghetti and stir fry to feed the multitudes outside Bethsaida.

To say I was somewhat despondent for the first few days would be an understatement. But soon after I had a revelation. My life falling apart meant my life no longer had any boundaries. I had nothing to lose. I was free to do all of the stupid, wonderful bullshit I always wanted to do and never been able to due to domestic obligation. So, I ordered a silver wig and makeup online, took a trip to Goodwill for clothes which I then covered in silver spray paint. I was reborn.

I remember the odd looks I got the first day I dressed up; the bus driver looking at me with suspicion as I, silver from top to bottom, sat with a basket full of scrolls in my lap. Kalamazoo, Michigan is a pretty small city so far as cities go. While you see plenty of weird things on the buses—I once saw a woman carrying a stack of no less than five VCRs—my appearance was certainly novel.

For someone who’s always wormed her way into the spotlight, I’ve always had a hard time when it comes to being noticed. I used to hide those insecurities behind eccentricities, things like wearing a top hat casually. Oddness had always been a shield. However as I felt people’s eyes trying to peel back my metallic layers, I realized that this was different. This new face that I had painted on, this new identity, was no shield. It was a shelter. The only difference, I realized, between a bridge and a wall is the angle from which it is built. I was no longer a stranger in a strange land, but part of the architecture of our world. I was humbled.

The first day, I decided to establish myself on Western’s campus. There was a certain kind of cosmic rhyme, I thought, returning to the school I had left. Only this time, I returned not as a student but as part of the campus landscape.

One of the interesting things about standing completely still, your only interaction with the world in your direct line of sight, is that you realize how little other people notice. As I stood by the flagpoles in the center of campus, hundreds of students passed me. Only a handful noticed me. I even saw one of my friends, who passed by less than ten feet away. When I asked him later about the statue, his puzzled response was “What statue?”

There’s something about the lack of acknowledgment that makes any attention or response morph into a holy act, a kind of communion. I stood there on the first day for maybe four or five hours and earned about ten dollars. Each rumpled bill was worth far more than any paycheck I ever received.

On the way back to my friend’s apartment, I was accosted by a group of Jehovah's Witnesses who were apparently delighted by me. They laughed and tried to get me to talk. My silence only seemed to excite them more. They didn’t offer any change, but eventually they did give me some literature. The concern for my mortal soul did not go unappreciated.

When I arrived back at my friend’s apartment, I began to sob, my tears cutting streaks through my silver makeup. They were not the hard, razor-edged tears that I cried every night since the breakup, but a fountain of raw joy. It was, I realized, the first time I had really felt alive in more than a year.

And so she came to be.

The original name I came up with was “The Tarnished Poet.” But after my best friend posted a blurry picture of me walking through her backyard with no context online, the good people of Facebook bestowed upon me a much simpler (and far less pretentious) moniker. “The Silver Lady.”

My first name came from the core of my performance. I would go to the used bookstore in the basement of the library, find poetry books that looked as if they had been there the longest. I especially enjoyed finding local poetry collections that had been printed, and then forgotten, years ago. My favorite was a chapbook of poems by fifth graders that had been published sometime in the early Aughts. I would then gently tear out each poem, roll it into a scroll, and tie it with a ribbon. For everything that was placed in the bowl at my feet, be it a handful of bills or a single penny, I would hand the person a poem. One day, a child gave me a piece of candy. They received a poem in return.

Art does not exist in isolation. It is a metaphysical conversation. Acting as a gateway for these fragments of writing, the little pieces of themselves strangers poured onto paper, made me feel connected to everything around me in a new and humbling way. For as long as I could remember, it had been my dream to change the world. There in those moments handing out scrolls, I realized we change the world every day. It’s not the magnitude of our impact, but the grace with which we move.

On perhaps the second or third day, a girl timidly dropped a dollar into my bowl. She shuffled away quickly as soon as I handed her a poem. About a half hour or so later, she returned. Tears shone in her eyes as she smiled and met my gaze, which she had not done before. She said “thank you” before dropping a five dollar bill at my feet and scuttling off. It was the only money I made that afternoon. I never felt richer than I did that day.

However as nice as it would be to pretend the money didn’t matter at all, we unfortunately live in a reality where that is not the case. My attempts to find an actual job were fruitless. With no steady income, there was no way for me to get an apartment of my own. Ultimately, I ended up in the homeless shelter due to my presence in my best friend’s apartment causing conflicts with her roommate. The details of that stay are a tale for another day. Suffice it to say it was a nightmare. Yet there was a shimmer of hope even then. As I left the shelter each morning, I would don my true refuge, painting my face and putting on my mask and stepping out into the cold. Even as the first winds of winter whipped around me, I felt safe in my silver skin.

My body had long been a source of shame and fear for as far as my memory reaches back; a treacherous scrapyard I needed to navigate with care to avoid slicing myself open against my own sharp edges. The dysphoria flowing through my veins turned my body into a broken down carnival of fear and loathing.

But to stand there, silver, silent and still, my only purpose simply being, was an exercise in existence. I could feel my atoms touch those of everything around me. For the first time I did not feel apart from the world, but a part of it. I felt like a tiny grain of sand somewhere along the shores of time. That smallness did not make me feel worthless or insignificant. It made me feel humbled.

There were no screams of anguish from between my legs, no worries about how much I weighed or how my body occupied space. After all, a statue’s only purpose is to exist, to take up space, to be exactly what it is. For the first time, my body became not a straight-jacket but an instrument. I had been acting and performing since high school, but this was something different. It was a becoming, a transfiguration. I was not playing a statue. I was the statue, a sculpture I carved from my own flesh. I transformed the raw elements of my body into something that made me feel real and beautiful.

After I secured an actual job, I did not stop standing on street corners. When I eventually did, it was due to the weather when it became too frigid to perform safely. I’ll admit there were a few days where I should not have been out in the elements but gave myself freely to them nonetheless. It was my statueing, in conjunction with a fundraiser one of my friends set up, that allowed me to finally escape the shelter. At the shelter, we were required to relinquish our paychecks to the management. So I carefully kept the money I made performing in a folded sock. Eventually, I scraped together enough for a down payment on a place. Hand in hand with my silver lover, we broke free.

We made plans to take the bus to Chicago and perform there, but they were cut short by an accident. I landed in a wheelchair for about four months. As a result, I still walk with a cane, and it has left our future together an uncertain. I do not know if I will ever be able to stand unfettered the way I once did before. But I know that I trust her to guide me where I am supposed to go.

She is a part of me, of course. There is no Silver Lady without a V.F. Thompson. But she is also something far greater than an outward manifestation of myself. She is my savior. She danced my way in a metallic dream and offered her palm. It would be easy to say that she saved my life, but I think that’s only half-true. In many ways she killed me. I am not the woman I was when I first painted my face and stepped out into the world. Nor is the life I am living the life I lived then. She taught me that we live and die a thousand times before we leave this world. It’s how we come back to life that truly defines us.

The first time I dipped a sponge in silver powder and put it to my lips, her mouth pressed against mine and breathed the universe into my lungs. Every beat of my heart sends liquid metal swirling through my veins.

What a joy it is, she whispered to me, to simply be.

V.F. Thompson is a Mid Michigan-based writer of odd curiosities and curious oddities. Though she lives mostly in the realm of fantasy, she occasionally dabbles in real life. When not writing, she enjoys comic books, trying new recipes, and a well-brewed cup of Earl Grey. She currently resides in Kalamazoo, which she assures you is a real place. Follow her on Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook.

#performance #trans experiences #V.F. Thompson #displacement #disability #college

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Truck Airport Parking At Weigh Stations 2 ) Part 2

Have you ever forgotten where you put your car keys? Have you spent time searching for your sunglasses when they were perched on top of your head? Don't laugh. Even I have done that! Today's culture refers to these scenarios as "senior moments". While these senior moments can be quite entertaining they can also point to the possibility that your mind is not as focused as it could be. Your mind can become "dull" if you have been out of school for awhile or engage in the same repetitive tasks each day. In other words, your brain is on cruise control when you should always strive to learn and stretch your mind. I have a grandmother that is 92 years old and is sharp as a tack. She keeps her mind sharp by continually learning new ideas, facts, and solving puzzles. Many ask what activities they can do to keep their mind sharp. Online games and puzzles are perfect activities to sweep the cobwebs out of your brain. You need to keep your brain cells humming. You can work on creativity with visual art puzzles. You can work on logical thought process through number and letter puzzles. Classic crossword puzzles and a competitive game of scrabble are great places to start. You can tune up your observation skills by playing visual oriented games, including the classic jigsaw puzzle. You can complete jigsaw puzzles online and not have to worry about losing a puzzle piece under your couch. Yes, I've done that too. You can also work through puzzles where you have to observe the differences between two pictures that appear identical at first glance. These puzzles are fun and addictive. They also provide a great avenue for focusing your mind. Are you looking for a comprehensive set of mind games? Take a peak at Mind Machine. This game contains different types of activities that will have your mind stretched to its limit. You can adjust the level of difficulty so the entire family can play. The difficulty levels include: easy, normal, hard, and insane. Mind Machine provides ten different games that include: matching, mathematics, repeating patterns, and observation skills. You race against time and try to achieve a high score. This game integrates visual elements with logic, number sequence, and reading skills. The graphics and music are entertaining. It is a complete workout for the mind. One of the games in Mind Machine is called "Totem Pole". You have to place missing pieces on a totem pole by matching color and design. Another fun game involves figuring out the number of cubes in a picture. They change the arrangement and number of cubes to keep you on your toes. Play puzzles and online games to keep your mind fit and healthy. Online games provide stimuli to many of your senses and are an entertaining way to keep your neurons firing in your brain. There are puzzles and online games available for everyone and will suit just about any interest. Have fun exploring the different types of puzzles and games available. Not only will you have fun, but you will ward off "senior moments". Or at least try too... Find tips about growing cantaloupe, growing oregano and other information at the Gardening Central website.

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