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erule · 3 years

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The frat party | t.h.

Title: The frat party

Pairing: Frat boy!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1823

Warnings: frat boy Tom, angst, nakedness (nothing sexual though, no smut in this chapter), mention of sex, implied smut, cliffhanger at the end, jealous Tom, language, OC Oliver, violence (one punch), blood, plot twists.

Summary: Tom and the reader met at a frat party, but a year later they broke up because of some reason. Now, rumor has it that the reader is dating one of Tom’s friends and he gets jealous.

A/N: Hello hello, I’m back! Have you seen Tom’s recent pics in Monaco?? He looked amazing! Anyway, I don’t know why, but I just had to write a fic with frat boy!Tom, so enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged in my Tom Holland fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer!

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Chapter 1

Break up with my ex girlfriend

Frat parties. Am I right? Worst part of college life. A lot of people drink to forget about their grades and how their lives went wrong, while someone’s just hoping to have some fun with them (if you know what I mean). For the first year, I hated them with passion, but it was before I met him. At a frat party. Oh, the irony! And then, frat parties were the only chance I had to actually talk to him. It didn’t take us long enough to start dating. I think that adults tell you fairy tales to make you grow up with a hope, the hope to find your real happy ending, your true love. Well, I wasn’t used to believe in them, but the year I spent with Tom… that was close to the definition of happy ending. The problem with happy endings? They don’t tell you what happens after them. And that’s because they’re a nightmare.

“Tell me that now or you’re not gonna find me in this bed tomorrow”, he says and there’s a part of me that wants to die right here and right now. I shake my head. I don’t want to do that. Not because I don’t feel anything for him, but I’m scared that this will complicate things between us and it’s the last thing I want. “Are you serious, Y/N? You really think that saying something like that during sex doesn’t count? Calling someone on the phone means something, even if you’re drunk as Hell. So tell me what you really feel about me right now or I swear, I’m out of this room. I’m out of this kind of weird relationship that’s going on between us for years,” Tom says and the veins on his arms draw a beautiful map on his body, in which the moles are cities and his eyes are volcanoes. They’re burning, unlike my skin, that is freezing because I’m not wearing anything at the moment. Except for my shame, perhaps. My insecurities, that never leave me. Even in front of Tom.

“You don’t mean that,” I try to say, my mouth dry. But he’s insanely angry. In another situation, it would be hot.

“I do, Y/N,” he replies. I swallow. His expression softens, like he’s in pain. He comes closer to me, brushing my cheeks with his hands. My eyes are full of tears. His words feel like a prayer on my skin. “Please, tell me”.

And even if I don’t wanna do that, my hands are tied. Even if that’s a lie. I remain in silence. One second after that, he’s gone. Tom always keeps his promises, after all.

2 months before

Harrison sat down with a strange look on his face. It only meant one thing for Tom: trouble. He sighed, throwing away the third cigarette of the day. Jacob raised an eyebrow, trying to get rid of the stench of smoke with one hand.

“I thought you wanted to quit smoking,” Jacob said.

“Relax, I only smoke before finals now,” Tom said. “What’s up, mate? Come on, talk”.

Harrison raised a corner of his lips in a smirk.

“Rumor has it, that Oliver’s got a girlfriend,” he said.

“No way!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tom said, laying on the grass with his hands behind his neck, glancing at a couple of girls who were passing by.

“I haven’t said the best part yet, though,” Harrison continued. Jacob urged him to speak further. “He’s gonna throw a party for his birthday and he’ll introduce her to his friends. But since we’re his friends, I was wondering why I haven’t told us anything about this gal in weeks. So I played Sherlock Holmes for a couple of hours and I found out that… we actually know this girl,” he said.

“I bet she’s someone of the campus,” Tom joked, as if it was obvious.

“I bet she’s someone’s ex girlfriend,” Jacob replied.

Harrison remained quiet, but he was smiling.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Tom said, astonished, while sitting on the grass again.

“I won!” Jacob yelled.

“Who’s she? I hooked up with…”

“Ex girlfriend, Tom. It’s not some random girl you hooked up with. She’s someone you remember very well,” Harrison said.

“So we’re talking about me, uh? Well, let’s see… is it Janine? We lasted two weeks, I wouldn’t be mad about her,” he shrugged. Harrison swallowed.

“It’s someone you would be mad about,” Jacob guessed. “And there’s just one person that you would be mad about”.

Tom’s eyes widened at the realization.

“He’s fucking dead”.

Two days after that conversation, here they were: the three of them were laying with their backs on the wall like they were sustaining it from falling down. Tom had threatened Oliver with a Dare to explain, mate?, but his answer was just an I’m sorry Tom, but she’s just your ex. I don’t have to ask for your permission. Or does this mean that you’re still not over her? So, since Tom values too much his pride, he said that he was over her and that Oliver was right, he didn’t have to ask for his permission. Oliver apologized for not telling him that before and then walked away, leaving Tom to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes. Tom was watching Oliver talking with Elizabeth, one of your friends, when he saw you and Zendaya arrive at the party. In his opinion, you were stunning. You immediately caught his gaze. You just never failed to amaze him, even after a year. His heart ached at the view, but it ached even more when you greeted Oliver. You gave him a kiss on his cheek, clenching your hand in a fist. It seemed like you were uncomfortable. So, he came up with a plan to save you.

“Wait for me here,” he said to his friends, then he walked fast to reach you. “Hey mate, happy birthday!” Tom said to Oliver, who hugged him.

“Thanks, Tom. I think that you already know Y/N, Lizzie and Z,” he said and you smiled along with your friends, even if you looked more surprised than happy.

“Of course, I do,” Tom said, looking directly at you. You looked down. “Could I please talk to Y/N? We haven’t been in touch for quite some time and I’d like to catch up with her,” he asked.

“Sure!” Oliver said, while Zendaya seemed looking at you with a concerned expression. You winked at her.

Tom made you move away from Oliver by brushing your back, walking to the next exit. He lowered his voice in order to talk with you only, speaking to your hear: “You look ravishing, darling”.

He noticed that you closed your eyes for a very long second, but you didn’t say a word about that.

“Are you here to show that you still own me or something?”

“I don’t own you, darling. You’re absolutely free to do anything you like,” he said, lighting a cigarette outside the building.

“Z said you wanted to quit smoking,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I only smoke before finals”.

“Finals were yesterday,” you replied.

“Are we here to talk about me or you? I noticed that you were uncomfortable with Oliver, but I thought that you were his girlfriend. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

You smirked.

“Oh, now I get it. You’re jealous”.

“Nah, If I’d be jealous, you would know, trust me,” Tom said, with a playful tone.

“What would you do?” You asked, curiousity eating you alive. You wanted to know so bad if he still had feelings for you.

“Don’t play with fire, darling. You’re gonna burn your pretty hands, otherwise,” he replied, running a finger over his lip. Shivers ran through your spine, but you hoped that Tom didn’t notice it.

“Don’t try to seduce me, Holland. You’re not gonna win this time,” you said, chuckling. “And for the record, we’re not dating. He’s just insistent,” you explained.

Tom looked inside and saw Oliver staring at the two of you. An idea came up into his mind and he couldn’t quite get rid of it. It was smart, but also terrifying. It was very dangerous, yet he had to try.

“We could be in a fake relationship. It could fool everyone,” he proposed.

You turned to look at him, astonished.

“Even after what happened?”

Tom’s eyes were locked with yours, but his facial muscles didn’t move at all. If he still was hurt by the reason that made you two break up, he didn’t show it to you.

“He’s coming here,” he said instead, glancing at Oliver.

“Tom, this is insane,” you kept going. “You said you couldn’t forgive me after…”

It happened all too fast. All the lights went out at the same time. Tom's lips were on yours in an instant. Everything was on fire, every inch of your body. Every cell your flash was made of exploded like a dying supernova. A moment later, someone snatched him from your hands, leaving you in the cold.

Oliver hit him. Tom laughed, nervously, but then he grabbed the collar of Oliver’s shirt and slammed him against the wall, angrily. You pounced on Tom, trying to pull him away from Oliver. At first, Tom looked at you confused, thinking that you just wanted to keep Oliver safe from him, but your eyes told him another story: you prevented him to be kicked out from the campus.

“I told you, you’d know,” he said, while wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, pretending to be the tough guy he wasn’t.

“Guys, I think we should leave,” Jacob said, while Harrison was taking Tom away from Oliver by his arm.

“I thought we were friends, Tom,” Oliver said, an inch of hurting in his voice tone.

“That was before you came after the only thing I care about,” he said harshly. And then, he left with Harrison and Jacob.

That night, while Tom was cleaning himself of blood in the bathroom, Jacob was staring at him worried, while standing with one arm against the door jamb.

“You never told me what happened, you know, with Y/N last year. Haz doesn’t want to tell me, he thinks it’s up to you. You said that you were over her, but I don’t think you are, since what you did tonight,” he said. Tom kept wiping away the blood from his shirt, ignoring Jacob’s words. “Why have you broken up with her, Tom? It seems pretty obvious that you’re still in love with her”.

Tom gulped, while looking at himself in the mirror. He had tried to bury all of his memories deep down, but it seemed that now the demons wanted to come back and play with him once again. Maybe it had finally come the time to confront them.

When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse: “Because she cheated on me”.

Read chapter 2 here!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland fanfiction #frat boy tom holland #fratboy!tom holland #frat boy tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland ff #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland hc #erule's masterlist #peter parker x reader #tom holland

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starks-hero · 3 years

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His Last Vow

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Request: Hey! I just adore your writings, thank you for existing. ❤ I watched Sherlock 4x01 yesterday, and I just can't get over what happened there. I'm truly afraid what will happen next... So I thought if you could write a fic about this episode. I mean something like this: after all what happened in the Aquarium, S. goes home to Y/N, his girlfriend, totally fallen apart, trembling, then he starts like... and destroying everything at home, and Y/N tries to soothe him, crying, fluff etc. THANK YOUUU <3 - anonymous

Summary: You can't stop Sherlock from falling apart, but you can certainly help pick up the pieces.

Word Count: 1,725

Warnings: lots of angst with some compensating fluff, a very brief mention of Sherlock's drug use, Spoilers for 4x01

“Come on, pick up!” You yelled as Sherlock's phone once again went straight to voicemail. You'd been trying to get through to him for over an hour and your worry was slowly melting into frustration.

It had been a few hours since he'd left the flat to ‘think without any distractions’, but you didn't take into account that he'd be gone this long. You knew this case meant more to him than most, especially considering it concerned Mary, which made you all the more worried.

You tried calling him once more, but when you were greeted with the same blunt voicemail, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Grabbing your coat, you pulled Mary's number up on your phone. You attempted to calm your anxious mind by telling yourself that Sherlock had probably just dragged John off on some side case. And if anyone was going to know where the boys were, it was Mary.

Just as you pressed ‘call’ and opened the door to leave, you were greeted by the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs. You sighed in relief.

“Where have you been? I was starting to get-,” Your voice died down in your throat when Sherlock entered the flat.

His chest was heaving and his body trembled, his cheeks were stained with tears and his eyes resembled those of a scared child. He looked completely distraught.

“Sherlock?” Your voice was timid as he entered the flat. You studied him carefully before reaching out for his hand. You stopped a few inches short. Sherlock's gloved hand, along with the once white sleeve of his shirt was now stained in a dark crimson red. Your heart fell out of your chest when you realised what it was. Blood.

“Sherlock,” your voice wavered. “What happened?”

You didn't receive a reply. Sherlock's back was to you, but you could still clearly see his struggle to breathe as his shoulders tensed. He pulled off his gloves slowly, hands shaking.

The room was deathly quiet. And then it wasn't. Whatever had happened, whatever Sherlock was feeling, whatever he had pent up inside came out all at once in a blind rage.

One sweep of his arm sent several books and heaps of paper flying from the desk, he brought his fist down on the tables top so hard you swore you heard the wood splinter. Several more books were pulled from the bookcase and not even the sentiment Sherlock held for his skull was enough to stop the youngest Holmes from picking up the human remain and chucking it across the room. His rage continued to the kitchen as the table was completely overturned, any unfortunate glass or cutlery that had been left on its surface shattering into ceramic shards as they met the cold floor. One of the cupboards was almost completely taken off its hinges. And through all of this, Sherlock cried.

You watched on in shock, frozen to the spot as you watched Sherlock destroy anything he came in contact with. No matter how much your mind yelled at you to do something, to move and comfort the man you loved, the horror kept you glued to the spot. Whatever had happened, had destroyed Sherlock entirely. You weren't entirely sure you'd be capable of dealing with it.

You were pulled from your frozen state as Sherlock turned his anger to the flat door. His fist connected with the wood. Once, twice, over and over. The timber was splintering and Sherlock's knuckles were bloodied, but he didn't stop. He just kept going, his strangled shouts tearing at your heart.

“Sherlock,” You approached him slowly but with unfaltering trust. Despite the violence you'd just witnessed unfold in the flat, you weren't afraid of Sherlock, not for a second.

“Hey, hey-,” Your hand brushed his shoulder but it didn't lessen his assault on the door. “Sherlock, stop it.”

Blood was flowing freely from his knuckles down his fingers in bright crimson lines.

“Stop it!”

Grabbing hold of his shoulder and forcibly pulling him away from the abused piece of wood. He struggled against you, attempting to push you away, but despite being taller and stronger than you, you managed to hold your ground against him. (The bloodied hand, sprained wrist and potentially broken fingers weren't playing in his favour.)

“Let me go!” Sherlock's tone was heart-wrenching, his voice hoarse from the shouting he'd done moments before. His vocal cords were spent. “Let me go!” He continued to struggle against you. His voice no longer resembled that of the stoic, detective you'd fallen for, but of a terrified child that had witnessed something they shouldn't have. “Let me-”

Sherlock's harrowing shouts broke into distressed sobs. He stopped fighting and allowed himself to collapse against you. The tears dampened your skin as Sherlock buried himself into the crook of your neck.

Sherlock's legs gave way and he was sent to the ground, you went with him. He clutched onto you for dear life, fingers clutching at your shoulders so tightly you could feel his nails digging into your skin. He was holding you so closely against him it was beginning to constrict your ability to breathe. But you didn't complain. You just kept running your hand through his hair and doing your best to soothe him.

You had never seen him in such a state. In fact, you'd never seen anyone in such a state. Everything you'd been through with Sherlock, the cases, the drugs, all of it and you'd never seen an outburst that could even begin to compare to the magnitude of the one you'd just witnessed.

“Sherlock,” you managed after a while, your own voice trembling slightly. “What happened?”

His voice wavered, sobs wracking his body. You ran your hand through his hair again.

“Hey, look at me,” your hand gently caressed his cheek and wiped away stray tears, your thumb catching them as they continued to fall. “It's okay, whatever happened, it's okay. Just talk to me, Sherlock.” You masterfully hid your worry beneath a gentle tone as you urged him to continue.

Sherlock swallowed down a rising sob and managed to choke out a somewhat coherent answer.

“Mary,” he cried. “She's dead.”

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Tears formed in your eyes as the world shattered around you at the revelation. When you finally exhaled, reality hit.

Sherlock broke again and this time, you broke with him.

You cried into Sherlock's shoulder. You cried for Mary, your best friend. You cried for John, who'd lost his wife and for little Rosie, who'd lost her mother. You weren't quite sure just how long you spent weeping, all you could hear was the same two words playing on repeat in your mind. ‘She’s dead’.

You were only pulled back to what was left of your reality by the sound of Sherlock's distraught voice.

“It's-It's my fault!” Sherlock cried and you swore you'd never heard anyone sound so broken. “I killed her.”

“Sherlock,” you tried, expression falling when he flinched away from your touch. “Sherlock, please.” You carefully slipped your hand into his and he grasped onto it like a lifeline. “Listen to me. You didn't kill her. Mary, she-” you couldn't find the words to finish.

You knew Sherlock was lying, you may not have known the whole story yet but you knew Sherlock hadn't killed Mary. But he was blaming himself, and you couldn't allow him carry that kind of weight.

“It's going to be okay, I promise. We'll- we'll figure it out.”

You knew your words were empty. Mary was dead. The life you'd known yesterday was gone. It wasn't going to be okay, not for a long time if ever. But you needed to say something, anything, to help ease the heartache you were both feeling. You had to be strong, for him.

“I promised,” Sherlock's voice had been reduced to a whimper. “I- I promised I'd keep her safe.”

Having no other empty promises to offer, you did the only thing your distressed mind would allow. You pulled Sherlock against you and held him close. He sobbed into your shoulder, completely inconsolable.

“It's okay,” you comforted, holding the pieces together as Sherlock broke in your arms. “It's okay, I'm here.”

You glanced around the wreckage of the flat. Both your belongings were strewn along the floor, mostly in pieces. But none of that mattered, not now. At the moment there was only one broken thing you were focused on fixing.

Wordlessly, you stood. Sherlock's hold on you tightened, almost as if he feared you were leaving him. But a comforting hand grasping his own eased his worries. You pulled him to his feet and together, navigated across the treacherous kitchen floor that was covered in broken glass.

You pulled the first aid kit from the cupboard and Sherlock caught on, obediently seating himself in one of the chairs that had remained standing during his outburst.

Your fingers gently caught Sherlock's wrist and drew his hand close to you. First, you washed away the blood and then pressed the disinfectant wipe to his knuckles. Sherlock didn't react.

You sniffled as you worked, wiping at your eyes. Sherlock made no comment, his own tears were yet to stop. Focusing on Sherlock's injury and the task at hand was currently the only thing stopping you from breaking again.

You dried the wound and bandaged it up, not that it was necessarily needed, but it was something to focus on.

When you finished tending to the injury, you didn't let go of Sherlock's hand. You sat together for a moment, the silence deafening.

You glanced at him through blurred vision. His eyes reflected what you were both feeling. You were both broken. Mary, your best friend, was gone and the family you'd both found had been torn apart.

Sherlock pulled you into him, his strong hold suggesting that he didn't plan on letting go anytime soon. You held him just as tightly.

You sat together amidst the wreckage, mourning both Mary and the life you'd both had just hours earlier. You'd both lost your best friend and you knew the fallout would be unimaginable. But for now, you had each other, and you hoped that would be enough to make it through what was to come.

~~~~~~

Forever tag list: @miraclesoflove @bakerstreethound @kealohilani-tepise

Sherlock tag list: @fanfictionsilove @quentawewe @andreasworlsboring101 @starrykitn @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @Jellyfishbeansontoast @Xhz17x

#bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x reader angst #his last vow #4x01

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renegadewangs · 3 years

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Van Zieks - the Examination, part 7

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Back to the second game we go for The Return of the Great Departed Soul! (Part one, this is another two-parter case)

Episode 2-3: The Return of the Great Departed Soul

So now, chronologically, six months have passed since The Unspeakable Story. Susato returned to Japan at the end of the first game and hasn't returned yet. Ryu was reprimanded for all the perjury and the questionable McGilded defense, so he had his right to stand in court revoked for now and instead had to focus on studying English law some more. He's done so quite patiently and now he feels he's ready to return. He just needs to get Stronghart's permission first. Meanwhile, the Great Exhibition is happening in Hyde Park, pulling in visitors and scientists from all over the world. Exciting! (S)Holmes hands Ryu a newspaper with an article on the exhibition, talking about how the brighter things shine, the darker the shadows cast behind them. By now, Ryu is fluent enough in (S)Holmes speak to know this means he should flip over the newspaper. There, we find an article of an entirely different sort.

So not only was Van Zieks apparently attacked, Ryu shows horror and concern at the notion. No hard feelings from our wholesome boy! (S)Holmes explains that London's finest criminals often find ways to get acquittals from trials through bribery, threats, sham witnesses... We saw this in McGilded, of course, so we know all too well how dangerous that can get. But since the Reaper and his curse are immune to such tactics, when a ringleader or fellow ends up being 'taken' by the curse, retaliation can occur. So it's established that this isn't the first time Van Zieks has been attacked by a group of thugs. Fortunately, Van Zieks is an “accomplished combatant” who doesn't take these attacks lying down. Unfortunately, the thugs were carrying guns this time. Uhoh.

This warms my heart, it really does. Van Zieks has been a terrible scumbag, but Ryu doesn't think he's gotten his comeuppance at all. He's genuinely concerned for this man and intends to find out more about his condition. So since he was planning to meet with Stronghart and ask for attorney permission anyway, it's the perfect opportunity to also ask about Van Zieks! Iris decides to tag along because she wants to visit the Great Exhibition. Let's shove the newspaper in Stronghart's face as soon as the game allows it.

The phrasing of “number one prosecutor” is interesting, but then... We never learn of any other (living) veteran prosecutors in this country, so of course Van Zieks would be number one. Stronghart says there's no need for concern; Van Zieks would not be so easily dispatched. Street ruffians are no match for him, since he's a very capable fighter. Seems like that sword he carries around isn't just for show after all. As for why he was attacked this time... Well, a month ago Van Zieks prosecuted a leader of a criminal organization. Nice to know he didn't just return to retirement and instead got back to work like a normal person without cherrypicking his cases based on what Ryu's doing. The defendant was acquitted, no doubt thanks to large sums of money being shifted around behind the scenes, but he still met a dramatic end just yesterday during an accident at the Great Exhibition. The man in question was Odie Asman, and the one now being detained on suspicion of murder without a defense attorney is Professor Albert Harebrayne. Albert's case has just been assigned to Ryu, so we're sure to find out more about Asman as we go. As as final touch, Ryu asks Stronghart why he continues to use Van Zieks as a prosecutor. Since the criminals are becoming fearful of the curse and attacking him, it's dangerous to Van Zieks himself. Stronghart explains that he has two reasons: Firstly, Van Zieks is the best prosecutor in the capital, bar none. And secondly, any deaths that have occurred outside the courtrooms after his trials have nothing to do with him. (S)Holmes alluded to the same thing, saying that Van Zieks had a rock-hard alibi for each and every mysterious death.

“So he will continue to prosecute on behalf of the Crown. ...Unless he wishes otherwise, of course.” With that, Stronghart admits he needs to get going since he's already 11 hours late to his next appointment (fsdkjfls). Ryu asks where he might be able to find Van Zieks and is told to head to his office. So even after being told that Van Zieks is just fine, Ryu is still concerned and wants to discuss the matter with the man himself. Let's gooo! Naturally, the first thing out of Van Zieks's mouth when he catches Ryu and Iris in his office is to wonder what the heck they're doing here.

So there's several things of interest in the office, with the game automatically addressing the biggest one: Van Zieks has an apprentice now! It's a mysterious, rigid dude wearing a hood and a mask who is absolutely not familiar to us, nope. We don't know him. Gosh, what a mystery. Van Zieks doesn't seem to know who he is either, instead just referring to him as his apprentice and nothing more.

Ryu sees this as an opening to ask about the attack on the Reaper that was in the newspaper. Van Zieks admits that he too is very interested in the true identity of the Reaper. “Assuming, that is, such a fabled fiend genuinely inhabits our great courtrooms.” The conversation halts for a moment so we can examine the office and this is the best opportunity for humanizing traits we've gotten so far, so LET'S DO IT! The enormous portrait in the back is the first thing to peek at.

Iris says whoever painted it exaggerated the subject's handsomeness, which in turn is reminiscent of Napoleon ordering the painter to make him look more attractive. That's super vain and not an attractive quality in a person at all. I laughed the whole way through that bit of dialogue and Van Zieks, who was in earshot the entire time, gets his feathers ruffled.

When Ryu asks who it is then, Van Zieks doesn't reply. BACKSTORY ALERT! Examining the chalices and bottles on the left leads to Van Zieks explaining the hallowed bottles are filled with the finest grapes from the finest vineyards he visits (so it is grape juice!!!) and he personally oversees the chalices being made by the finest crystal craftsmen in the world. Right, so not only is he filthy stinkin' rich, he's a perfectionist. Iris points out that Van Zieks throws the chalices and bottles around like they're worthless, to which Van Zieks says:

“Before you open your mouth next time, you should consider the poor artisans whose work you defile.”

As it turns out, passive aggression is contagious now. Ryu replies with a “So it's my fault? Silly me! How could I ever have thought otherwise?” and honestly I love that he's got enough guts to say this out loud. Our boy is growing a spine. Examining the wine casks has Ryu and Iris theorize about how there might be dead bodies in there, which once again ruffles Van Zieks's feathers.

Snrk. Examining the big diorama in the middle of the room has Ryu and Iris wonder whether Van Zieks can't go to the Exhibition in person and this is his way of dealing with that, which has Van Zieks snap that it's obviously an investigative aid. He even has pets of sorts in his office, in the form of a couple of bats hanging from the curtains. Alright, so the game's definitely humanizing this poor man now. No matter how many crazy stories Iris and Ryu come up with about him, there's usually a very innocent explanation to debunk the eerie myths. Something particularly interesting happens when Ryu shows Van Zieks his defense attorney armband. Van Zieks asks what the reason is for showing it to a British prosecutor, to which Ryu admits that he doesn't quite know. Van Zieks is silent for a bit, then says that he understands. “There's merit in reminding yourself of who helped you become what you are today.”

As he says it, he reaches for his prosecutor's badge and if you're aware of the backstory, you'll know he's thinking of Klint. More importantly, this conversation puts Ryu and Van Zieks on the same level. Ryu is always thinking of Kazuma, who 'helped him become who he is today' and the armband signifies this, along with the sword. Similarly, Van Zieks lost someone very close to him and he's walking the path of prosecutor in his brother's memory. Ryu thanks Van Zieks for understanding and it's very significant that Van Zieks understands in the first place. Remember, in the first game he was under the impression that a Japanese person could never understand a British person and vice versa.

Showing Van Zieks the newspaper article has him looking a bit embarrassed, pointing out that a reporter must've been nearby and he'd been careless to let himself get photographed. Either way, all the thugs responsible have already been apprehended. The investigation into Odie Asman's activities meant that their arrests were already imminent anyway, and some hoped to kill Van Zieks before that happened. Much like McGilded, Asman used his wealth to buy his way towards an acquittal in court, but “he got his comeuppance in the end.” Which is strange, right? Very suspicious. Van Zieks asks whether Ryu believes he has some sort of divine ability to make an accident like that happen. Ryu admits that would be far-fetched, and thinks to himself that even if Van Zieks were the Reaper, he'd have to be innocent of this particular death. We also learn that Van Zieks is familiar with Professor Harebrayne, the suspect in the Asman incident. When told that Ryu will be taking on the defense, Van Zieks is shocked.

Van Zieks goes on to explain that he knows Albert quite well. They were at university together. While he's lived in Germany for quite a few years, Albert is actually from a respectable British family. And despite Albert being in the science faculty and Van Zieks in law, they got along quite well. Now he's in pretty hot water for that Asman accident.

Hm. I don't quite know what to make of this reaction. I think what's going on here isn't that Van Zieks is rattled because Albert is being defended by a Japanese person, but because he's being defended by a rookie attorney who was just disbarred for six months for accidentally encouraging perjury, false witness and crime scene tampering in a court of law. Yes, Ryu has won his trials every single time, but it came at a price. Aside from this, there's one other thing Van Zieks knows about Ryu: he'll pursue the truth, no matter what. This means that if Albert indeed didn't succeed at inventing teleportation, it'll be revealed in court because exposing shams is Ryu's whole deal.

We learn that Van Zieks will be the one to prosecute Albert tomorrow, which is curious to say the least. Ryu wants to know why he'd do something like that, with Iris pointing out that so long as the Reaper is the prosecutor, Albert is doomed. Van Zieks replies that he's a Crown prosecutor and a mortal like any other; he's no demigod. In other words, he doesn't believe the curse to be a real curse. Iris points out that everyone who's been prosecuted by Van Zieks has died (which is already objectively wrong), to which Van Zieks replies that he usually prosecutes the vilest wretches of society.

… Harsh. Ryu points out that Soseki wasn't a vile wretch though, with Iris chiming in that Gina's also turned her life around and she's working very hard now. Van Zieks admits that things have changed ever since meeting Ryu- which of course has to do with Van Zieks's need to face Ryu in court even in mediocre trials rather than pursue his usual corrupted targets- but the point is that if any of those vile wretches died in mysterious circumstances, it was “at the hand of their own kind”, not Van Zieks's. So basically, he believes that they were killed because they were dubious people engaged with dubious activities, not because of the Reaper's curse. Not only that, but ever since the rumors of the Reaper began, the number of serious crimes in London has decreased significantly. Even the most hardened criminals can be made fearful of their lives. Therefore, if his pseudonym of the Reaper can serve a useful purpose, he'll “adopt it gladly and with honour”. Ryu repeats that which he already told Stronghart; that it's putting Van Zieks in danger.

He really is a prosecutor on the edge with nothing to lose, huh. So what Van Zieks is basically saying is that he doesn't care if he dies, so long as he spends the rest of his life serving the 'useful purpose' of carrying the Reaper moniker to intimidate the vilest of society. But is that really all there is to it? (Spoilers: It's not)

There's a bit more talk about the mysterious apprentice here, with Van Zieks explaining the man was placed in his care under Stronghart's orders. He's wearing a mask on Stronghart's orders and also doesn't speak to anyone from outside the office on Stronghart's orders. HM. Van Zieks claims that Stronghart isn't one for “meaningless follies”, therefore he must have a good reason. This implies that Van Zieks believes in Stronghart's judgment almost blindly. To round up the conversation, Van Zieks asks about “that Nipponese man. The one arrested twice in succession six months ago. With the stoop. And the moustache. And the jitters.” Looks super offensive at first glance, but I gotta admit, after six months I wouldn't remember Soseki's name either. Better to describe him than to guess the name and get it wrong. Still though, just because it's not super offensive doesn't mean it's not offensive. Just saying “the one you defended six months ago” would've done the trick. Either way, Ryu says he's doing just fine and a letter from him arrived by post just the other day.

So this is interesting. Earlier, Van Zieks claimed in his own words that he doesn't believe in the curse and those who died had it coming to them, but he's still inquiring after Soseki. Perhaps not so much because he's worried about Soseki himself, but because he's curious whether this man has successfully escaped the curse so far. He would know that for a fact about Gina, but the only way to verify Soseki's status is to ask Ryu about it.

Time to leave this glass cage of exposition and meet the defendant in person! Albert spouts a whole lot of dialogue about how his machine is treated differently depending on whether the case is treated as an accident or as murder. If it's murder, it can be examined up close and that's what Albert doesn't want. It has to be treated as an accident so that it'll be protected from prying eyes through The Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act (wow that's a mouthful). Of course, that's not entirely what we're interested in. Let's ask about his friendship with Van Zieks! Ryu asks what he was like back in his university days and the answer surprises him.

HAH, wonderfully written exchange, this one. Albert goes to describe him as “the little darling of the Van Zieks family, with all its great aristocratic origins”. So Van Zieks has some very noble blood in him. We could've already guessed this from his title of Lord, but apparently it's a bit more serious. I could derail here with wild theories about his family originating from the Netherlands and having migrated to the UK around the time the first king of the Netherlands, Willem I van Oranje Nassau, rose to power in 1813. Willem changed the way nobility works to some degree in the country and not all noble families would've agreed with his way of doing things. But anyway, point is, Van Zieks is a big shot. Albert says that it was kind of a shock to him when he came back to Britain and discovered 'what Van Zieks had become'. He heard that there was 'a very big event' that completely changed Van Zieks after his graduation, but doesn't know what it was because he was already in Germany at the time. So here we have some more traces of that backstory and we have enough pieces to start sticking some things together. We know Van Zieks was once betrayed by a friend and we now know he was a very modest, pleasant gentleman when he was young. Whatever happened must've been very harsh indeed to turn him into such a sour lemon. Either way, Albert doesn't seem to know yet that Van Zieks will be the prosecutor and Ryu doesn't have the heart to tell him.

So let's investigate the crime scene! Here, it's confirmed that Gina Lestrade is indeed just fine and now in training to become a detective with Gregson. Cute! So eventually we get to talk to Gregson about Van Zieks and how he's acquainted with Albert. Gregson is overdramatically shocked to find out that the two of them are old buddies.

Remember when Van Zieks took a five year hiatus and nobody had to mysteriously die from the Reaper's curse? Those were the days, eh Gregson? Now he's even prosecuting his own friends willy-nilly. Gregson states he has no idea what goes on in Van Zieks's head (a sentiment we've heard before in 1-4) and goes on to bring up the newspaper article about Van Zieks being attacked. When told that our good old pal the Reaper is just fine, Gregson utters a very uncomfortable “glad to hear it” which honestly had me wondering whether he'd preferred Van Zieks to die.

Up until a certain someone gets killed and stuffed into a suitcase, I'd reckon. Gregson says that Van Zieks is a top class prosecutor, but not even he can always push the right verdict through. “Sometimes justice can't win.” Gregson explains that naturally, Scotland Yard suspected Van Zieks at first and assumed he was taking matters into his own hands. There was a very thorough investigation and the outcome was that Van Zieks was in no way related to the mysterious deaths. So that's three people now who all insist Van Zieks couldn't possibly have committed the murders. Gregson says he's willing to stake his reputation on it, even. Of course, Gregson would know for sure, wouldn't he? But the narrative is telling us over and over that Van Zieks himself isn't the Reaper, with even Van Zieks himself implying he'd like to know just who the Reaper is. There's a conspiracy happening that Van Zieks is the centerpiece of, with the narrative really pushing the mystery aspect of it. The writers want us to care about the truth of the Reaper for sure.

OOOH that's meta! Ryu, being nosy and overly invested in Van Zieks's life, asks Gregson whether he knows about the 'incident' which changed Van Zieks after graduation.

Okay he clearly knows. Even a first time player can tell from this single reaction that Gregson's lying. The mystery thickens! At the end of the conversation, when Gregson's gone off, Iris recommends asking (S)Holmes about it instead. Safe bet, since (S)Holmes continuously knows more than he's letting on. To the house of wax we go! When asked about it, it's clear that he does know something (and is described as suddenly clamming up), but before he can explain there's a distraction in the form of Madam Tusspells and we have to sit through a mostly-unrelated Joint Reasoning segment. It leads into a conversation about a mass murderer known as the Professor. Ten years ago, there was a series of murders which rocked the capital right around the time Van Zieks graduated from university. Five people were killed before the man was caught and executed. This fifth victim was Klint van Zieks, Barok's older brother.

I really, really dislike this phrasing because Van Zieks was already studying law to begin with. He'd just graduated as a prosecutor; his brother's death had nothing to do with him pursuing that path. Anyway...

OOOH that's meta! So remember way back in the first essay when I said the backstory is optional? Well, here it is. The Great Ace Attorney is going all in for it. It's being tied to the ongoing plot, just as pretty much all the main prosecutor backstories are. Edgeworth's backstory is tied to Von Karma being the final boss, Godot's backstory is tied to the Fey lineage, Klavier's backstory (I say this lightly) is tied to Phoenix's disgrace... Now Van Zieks's story is tied to the serial killer who ruined so many lives a decade ago. And technically, we already have all the puzzle pieces we need for the next twist; we know Van Zieks was betrayed by a Japanese person who was his friend. So really, we can now say with absolutely certainty that the man arrested and executed back then was a Japanese buddy of Van Zieks.

The investigation segment is pretty much over, but the game has one more scene for us. This is something Ryunosuke won't witness, but the scriptwriters deemed it so important that we're ignoring Ryu to focus solely on the two characters involved. And cutting away from our main character is something that usually doesn't happen in Ace Attorney. Even when characters like Phoenix or Ryu are out of commission for whatever reason, a new 'main character' takes over for a second and we see everything from their point of view. I can think of only one other scene viewed without Ryu there, which happened in 1-5 just before Susato had to leave London. So what we have here is a very private moment between Van Zieks and Albert.

AWWW... The scenes in the office were great and all, but this right here is perhaps the most humanizing exchange we'll ever see with Barok. The reason for that, I think, is precisely because Ryu isn't there. He's alone with an old friend now, which means he can let his guard down more than he usually would. Even so, it's worth noting here that he doesn't look directly at Albert. He stands with his back to him the entire time and I'm certain this is intentional, because they could just as easily have rotated him into that sideways view that's often used in dialogue and courtroom scenes. He made his way down to the gaol to speak with his friend after ten long years, but is reluctant to look right at him. The conversation itself feels rather distant as well. Albert is delighted to see Van Zieks, but the sentiment isn't returned vocally. Van Zieks points out that they're meeting again “in prison of all places” and that the court will decide Albert's fate tomorrow. When Van Zieks raises a warning, Albert says he already knows his friend will be prosecuting and doesn't appear bothered at all at first. He does try to raise a question in the form of “Are you really...?”, but ultimately drops it and says that he knows Van Zieks has his best interests at heart. Van Zieks says he wouldn't entrust the trial of his friend to anyone else, and Albert thanks him for that. So my first guess upon taking in that dialogue is that Albert wonders for a brief moment whether Van Zieks really is the Reaper/really is cursed, only to shake it off because he considers the man his friend. Van Zieks seems to know it's risky to prosecute Albert, but deems it more important to handle the case himself than to let someone else do it. This, as we learn later, has to do with the Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act and the protection of Albert's scientific secrets.

Next day, we're at the Old Bailey! In the defendant lobby, Ryu is once again told by Albert that the true goal to aim for in this trial is to protect his scientific hypothesis. So hypothetically speaking, the ideal outcome here would be to prove the death was accidental and that the kinesis was a success at the same time. (S)Holmes and Iris don't believe Albert's theory to be sound though, instead saying it couldn't possibly be done. In the courtroom, Ryu faces off against Van Zieks once more for the first time in six months! The judge is quick to point out that Odie Asman is a name familiar to him; a man who was prosecuted only a month ago by Van Zieks. When he asks whether this death is the work of the Reaper, Van Zieks instead describes it as “divine retribution”, but also “a direct result of the actions of the accused, Professor Albert Harebrayne”. The prosecution asserts that the instantaneous kinesis demonstration was a success. He himself can't say for certain whether it's a sound theory, but it's being investigated by the British government since it was deemed to have potential and the prosecution's case aligns with the notion that there was indeed instantaneous- You know what? Let's just call it teleportation. That's easier to type.

Unfortunately, Van Zieks doesn't want to follow the accident angle. Instead, he outright accuses his old friend of murdering Asman using the totally-functional-teleportation-machine-which-totally-worked to be the sole benefactor of a scientific grant. Harsh. Very harsh. I don't entirely understand why he didn't pursue the accident angle instead, but then, I don't quite know enough about law. My guess is that as the prosecution, he's not allowed to. Scotland Yard found enough evidence at the scene to substantiate a murder plot, especially that damning screwdriver that Ryu so graciously handed to Gregson, so that's what the prosecution has to go with, maybe? It's up to the defense attorney to debunk that down to an accident, then, so in essence Van Zieks is counting on Ryu to 'defeat him' and prove the murder aspect wrong. It would align with the conversation Albert had with Van Zieks in prison, where he said that 'it was a terrible accident and the young Eastern man acting as his defence assured him that he can prove it'.

So speaking of that screwdriver, Albert tries to discredit it himself by saying that if he had stabbed Asman on the stage, there would've been a whole lot of blood. Van Zieks pours himself a glass of wine and 'congratulates' his friend on a good rebuttal.

“Here's to you, Albert!”

Albert laughs it off sheepishly, saying he's nothing compared to “Barok” (awww, first name basis), but a chalice is immediately flung. Van Zieks says Albert neglected to mention one crucial possibility, which is that the lack of blood is explained by the notion that the screwdriver remained in the victim's chest to plug the wound. Therefore, since the demonstration was totally a success, the screwdriver was teleported along with the victim. Ryu thinks to himself that he had no idea the victim had been stabbed and wonders whether Van Zieks kept that information to himself to keep the upper hand on purpose. This whole thing jars me a little, because the screwdriver is brought up relatively early in the trial during the very first cross-examination. Is not mentioning it during the opening statement and waiting for Gregson to bring it up three minutes later really the same as 'keeping it to himself to gain the upper hand'?

Either way, Ryu counters, saying that the screwdriver was found at the stage and therefore didn't teleport at all, with Gregson serving as an official witness to this location. It's pretty clear from the next dialogue that Gregson never told Van Zieks where that screwdriver was found.

“That you contravened the Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act?”

Gregson is immediately up in arms, but it's fine. There was no investigation needed to find a screwdriver lying in plain sight. So now Ryu decides to tighten the screws. He claims that if the prosecution can't explain the inconsistency (the screwdriver being found on the stage but no blood being there so clearly it must've plugged the wound), the testimony is unreliable. Van Zieks doesn't reply and Ryu thinks to himself that he looks stumped, but uh...

He just looks annoyed to me. The person to object next is not Van Zieks, it's Albert. He says that metal can't be teleported with the machine, so it only makes sense the screwdriver stayed behind and there's no inconsistency at all. Van Zieks suggests: “Clearly we should hear the accused's explanation. … Or should I say, this brilliant scientist's explanation?” And I think here in these two sentences we have the crux of the issue. Albert wants to be treated as a legitimate scientist above all else. Even if that means he's branded a murderer, so long as his hypothesis is protected and the confidentiality stands, it makes no difference to him. This was likely discussed with Van Zieks the night before as well. Albert is apparently willing to die for the sake of his scientific principles and... Well. I'm sure Van Zieks can understand. He's willing to die for the sake of serving the Reaper purpose. In a way, this means the defendant and the prosecution are in cahoots together, which is another first in Ace Attorney history. The two of them are fighting to keep the hypothesis of teleportation intact and if Ryu manages to prove that it was an accidental death, then great! Unfortunately, the second that screwdriver was discovered, the chances of that became slim to none. It was murder, plain and simple. On a sidenote, I found this little gem:

I'm counting this as humanization, because the underlying sentiment here is that despite his haughty better-than-thou attitude, Van Zieks is still friends with someone so very scatterbrained, his name is forgotten sometimes. Even Ryu is taken aback by the purity of the friendship.

Heh heh... Time to cause some more havoc by informing the court that Asman's metal-rimmed glasses were still on his face and since Albert already said metal can't be teleported, his hypothesis is a load of tosh. The jurors go up in arms about it, saying the machine should be stripped down and examined. The game gives Ryu the option to either raise an objection or 'wait and see', but this is another one of those fake choices. Waiting and seeing just leads to a bit more dialogue between the jurors before Ryu steps in of his own accord. He says Albert would have no reason to build such an elaborate fake machine and put on a public display for murder, but Van Zieks counters with the very good reason: Money. The jurors are even more outraged, calling him a fake scientist who's only in it for the guineas, and Albert begs them to believe that his science is built upon a sound hypothesis. Van Zieks comes in to 'save the day' (sort of).

“The fact remains that the victim was transported instantly to the Crystal Tower. Which means that the experiment... was a success.”

And I gotta say, this next bit is just very enjoyable to me. The way it's written is so great.

HEH HEH.... Van Zieks has some more witnesses to summon who saw the incident from some 'very special seats', but let's end the essay here for now and pick it back up next time!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks

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ibelieveinharrystyles · 3 years

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Chapter Eight: Spaces Between Us

Life for Ashley was weird, although they were keeping their distance from each other, Harry insisted that a car came to pick Ashley up for work each morning, he was fearful that she would end up in a situation out of her control, and her safety was ultimately his main priority. Since Ashley ended things they had tried to remain as civil as possible, if they were going to be co-parenting a baby, they needed to at least be on good terms. She sat in the back of the car as it drove through the streets of London, the city that once felt like another world, had become the place she called home. The streets she once feared were now the places that held some of her fondest memories.

Roman greeted Ashley with open arms as she entered the studio for her last day at work, “Morning Ash, how are you feeling about today?” He asked.

“Scared, but I’m ready, I’m excited to focus all my time on my little ones, well Daisy isn’t so little anymore, she starts big school on Monday, it feels like yesterday I was standing in that kitchen with you when my waters broke.” Ashley reminded him.

“It’s been incredible working with you for the past few years, I know you’ve gone through a lot of shit since you’ve been here, but if you ever need anything, you can call me. I think of you like my younger sister, and that’s a bond for life.” Roman smiled.

“You’re a soft bugger Ro.” Her heart skipped a beat, that’s what she once called Harry, before life got all kinds of complicated. “We best get the show on the road then.” Ashley declared, taking a seat at the studio desk and putting on her chunky headphones for the final time.

“Good Morning! You’re listening to the breakfast show on Capital with me Roman Kemp, and for the final time Ash Hanson.” Roman told the listeners, “Seeing as it’s her last day on the radio, Ash has complete control of today’s tracks, so Ash what’s your first song going to be?” Roman asked.

“It’s a personal favourite of mine, and I think the lyrics are something we could all do with a little bit more of in our lives, this is New Rules by Dua Lipa.” Ashley announced just before the track began to play.

“That wouldn’t be a bit of shade thrown at a certain boyband member would it?” Roman whispered, now that they weren’t on air.

“Maybe.” Ashley smirked.

Flatpack furniture had always confused Harry, even though it was supposedly extremely simple to assemble, he found the instruction manuals no help at all, he had spent the first part of the morning trying to construct a crib for the baby. Although he wouldn’t have full custody of the baby, Harry felt that it was right for his future child to have a bedroom in his house. So here he was, random pieces of wood scattered across the floor, he had no clue what went where, or how to assemble it properly, he was losing his mind. The sound of the radio made up for the lack of silence in his house, since Ashley let him go, Harry had been listening to the breakfast show every morning, simply so he could hear her voice. He was meant to be meeting her at the hospital for an appointment at 11am, and wanting an excuse to abandon his flat pack furniture endeavours, he decided it would be best to pick Ashley up from work instead.

Ashley left the Capital offices for the last time armed with several bouquets of flowers and gift bags, making her way to the underground car park where the Addison Lee usually waits for her, “Let me help you with that,” She looked up to see Harry smiling warmly at her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as Harry took a couple of the bags from her.

“We have that hospital appointment, and I didn’t like the thought of you getting the tube there.” Harry explained as they climbed into his car.

“I am a fully capable woman Harry, just because I’m pregnant it doesn’t mean I can’t get myself to the other side of London.” Ashley told him as Harry pulled out of the car park.

“I know that love, but if anything ever happened to you or the baby I could never forgive myself, I don’t want the press finding out and swarming you, especially when I’m not here to look after you.” Harry replied.

“What does that mean?” Ashley asked.

“I won’t be in the country when the baby arrives, I’m going to be in another film, I won’t be back until December.” Harry told her.

“It’s like that is it?” Ashley sighed, she had hoped Harry would be there when the baby came, she desperately wanted him there when Daisy was born, but that never happened.

“There’s nothing I can do about it Ash, I can’t ask you to come to America with me, Daisy starts school next week, I don’t want her to miss vital months of her education.” Harry explained as they pulled into the hospital car park, still overly concerned about Ashley’s safety, Harry was paying for her to go to a private maternity hospital, meaning details of her pregnancy were much less likely to be leaked.

“Hello you two, how’s everything going today?” Kirstie, the midwife asked as she entered the consultation room where Ashley and Harry were waiting.

“Wonderful.” Ashley answered bluntly in response to Harry’s previous revelation.

“So we’re here to talk through the birth plan, have you decided what’s happening? Mr Styles you’re most welcome to be there.” She explained.

“He’s out of the country when the baby’s due.” Ashley said bitterly.

“That's okay, is there anyone you want there with you?” Kirstie asked.

“It’ll probably have to be Lou or Harry’s sister Gemma.” Ashley replied.

“That's good, as long as you have someone who can be by your side, that's all that matters.” She assured her, “If you hop onto the bed, we’ll do that scan we talked about.” Ashley climbed onto the bed, pulling up her top to reveal a perfectly round bump, Harry moved his chair to sit beside her as Kirstie squeezed the cold gel onto Ashley’s stomach. She slowly moved the scanner across her stomach, the baby appeared on the screen, the sound of it’s heartbeat echoing through the room. “That’s your baby, there's it’s hands and feet, I’ll give you two a minute alone while I go and print that scan for you.”

Ashley turned from where her gaze was transfixed on the screen displaying her baby to where Harry was sat on the other side of her, his eyes glossed over, “You alright?” She whispered, wiping the gel from her stomach.

“That’s our beautiful baby, a beautiful little person who is going to be loved not just by its family, but by thousands of people across the world, in the same way they love Bear and Freddie.” Tears began rolling down his cheeks, “I let you down Ash, I need to be someone you can depend on, whether we’re bringing up our child in a relationship or not, I promise you, with every inch of my existence, that I will always be beside you.”

When they made it back to Ashley��s house, Harry insisted on helping her take her things inside, she put her key in the door and dumped all her stuff in the hallway, “Do you want a cup of tea?” Ashley asked in an attempt to offer a lifeline.

“I’ll make them, you go and sit yourself down and get comfy.” Harry smiled.

Harry walked down the corridor to the hallway, so Ashley proceeded into the living room, “Surprise!” All her favourite people were gathered in her living room, the One Direction boys and their respective partners, Harry’s band, Gemma, Lou, Lottie and Lux. Roman and Nick had also come along, as did both Anne and Linda who had made the trip down from Holmes Chapel. The living room was decorated with various decorations in pastel shades of yellow, green and lilac, pictures of both Ashley and Harry when they were babies scattered the room.

“Did you know about this?” She asked Harry as he returned from the kitchen.

“I’m legally not obliged to say.” Harry chuckled.

“Mummy!” Daisy ran over from where she had been sitting on Gemma’s lap.

“Hello princess, how are you?” Ashley asked, crouching down to look her in the eye.

“I helped Auntie Gem and Lou get it ready, and I made you something, Harry has it.” Daisy took her by the hand, leading her into the kitchen where Harry was waiting. Harry handed Daisy a box which she gave to Ashley. Ashley opened the box, inside it were four homemade bracelets, Daisy had made a blue one for Harry, a purple one for Ashley, a pink one for herself, and yellow for the new baby. “It’s for our little family.” Daisy smiled as she sat in Harry’s arms, bringing Ashley to tears.

“You are the most precious little lady I could ever ask for Daisy Darling,” Ashley held her tight, as both Harry and Daisy wrapped their arms around her, none of them ever wanting to let go.

The party had died down and only Niall, Gemma, Sarah and Mitch were left, the group were sat together in Ashley’s living room, scrolling through old instagram posts, filling Sarah and Mitch in on the One Direction days. Ashley sat beside Niall, her head resting on his shoulder, and although Harry knew it was completely platonic, he wished it were his shoulder instead. Niall clicked onto Twitter briefly, intending to reply to a fan’s tweet about his latest golf project. “Hey what’s that?” Ashley tapped on a tweet from The Sun, ‘HARRY’S NEW BABY MAMA?’ flashed up on Niall’s screen. “No, no this can’t be happening.” Ashley rested her head in her hands.

“Ash what is it?” Harry asked, taking the phone from Niall, “Hey love come here,” Niall stood up allowing Harry to comfort Ashley, “Gem can you take Dais up to bed, I don’t want this to worry her.”

“Of course, come on Dais, shall we go and find one of those pretty bath bombs and get you ready for bed?” Gemma asked, taking Daisy’s hand and leading her upstairs.

“I’ll call Jeff and ask if there’s anything he can do.” Sarah told Harry.

“What does it actually say?” Harry asked Niall.

“It just says a source close to the pair exclusively revealed the news of Ash Hanson’s pregnancy.” Niall replied.

“Who is it Harry? Who have I wrongly put my trust in? It could’ve been someone who was here today, someone we’ve had in the house?” Ashley panicked as her breathing quickened.

“Hey, Ash, look at me darling,” Harry whispered as he cupped her cheeks, “We’re going to sort this out, but I need you to slow your breathing, it’s not good for you or the baby, breathe with me angel.” Harry soothed, demonstrating to Ashley how to breathe calmly. “That’s better baby, much better.” He assured her, holding her head close to his chest and stroking her hair gently, knowing that it always made her feel calm.

“Your PR person is working on a statement at the moment Harry, they’ll send it to Jeff and he’s going to have it circulated, he says not to worry.” Sarah explained.

“I’ll make sure you have extra security Ash, so they can’t get close to the house, we’re going to do it together.” Harry told her, not daring to let her slip from his embrace. He wanted to protect her more than anything in the world, but he didn’t have the power to stop people selling stories and spinning lies, so for now, his only power was to hold her and promise he’ll never let go.

#BEST FRIEND HARRY #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #sign of the times #harry styles one shot #one direction #one #fanfiction #one direction memes

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mr-cactisold · 3 years

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Back to Life

Hello darlings! Well, this is my first fanfic on this fandom and it is a project that I have been wanting to do for some time. I don't speak english, so I used the google translator. Yes, I know that the translation is not 100% accurate, but it is what we have hahah.

This fic will be posted on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Some warnings:

-This fanfic has a great chance of being 'canceled' for several reasons.

-May have continuity errors (I am not experienced in creating a story: p)

-This story will be translated by Google, since it was originally written in Portuguese and the author does not know English haha -This fanfic will have a Sherlock Holmes style.

-Strong inspiration in Zeragii fanfic's (Link at the end of the notes)

----------------------------------------------------

Visit this fanfic on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382928/chapters/69543276#main

At first it was hard to believe, but it was there, right in front of him, he was not dead as they thought .... Well, as Panchito had thought.

It was him, Francisco knew. He knew very well those extravagant green feathers, in addition to his bright red and blue tail, that same smug look, and of course, his damn cigar that he carried around with him (he broke his promise, right?). And besides, he knew the bird beside him in the photo, Nestor Rodrigues de Amaral, a young and very kind vulture he met when he first visited Vila Xurupita, not only him, but also Pedro Silvia dos Santos, Afonso Celso Garcia Reis and the beautiful girl Maria Vaz, although these last three are not in the photo (were they involved in this?)

Now his mind was full of doubts to the top, but they could be summed up in a single word: HOW?

He remembered, he was there, in the mahogany coffin, very expensive by the way (courtesy of Rocha Vaz, perhaps the only thing he was proud to buy for the parrot). He owes flowers, songs, cries and speeches. He saw José Henrique Oliveira Lima inside the coffin, in his yellow suit and Panama hat. That was 10 years ago, it was when the THREE CABALLEROS separated, for paths so different that it would be difficult to convince them that they were like brothers, of different mothers, of different fathers and of different countries (and many other differences)

At that time, Donald had gained nephews (Della Duck, why did you leave?) And took care of them alone for many years, but a year ago he had reconciled with his uncle, Scrooge McDuck and managed a small part of the richest duck companies in the world. world. Her nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie had grown up strong, healthy and were very intelligent, not counting little Webby, a little girl of many talents.

Panchito himself had gone his way, took a high position at the USM Border Secret Service after a lot of effort (despite having a lot of skills, being the son of Miguel and Maria ended up helping a little, but he doesn't like to think about it), it is now, it had a good patent on both the Mexican and the American side of the border. Yes, he was happy, his brother was going to get married a month away and everything looked so good, so perfect!

Until that morning ...

The moment he was summoned to Colonel Hawkin's office, everything seemed to sense something bad, but Francisco stood firm, entered through the dark wooden door, removed his huge umbrella and looked at Beagle behind the huge mahogany table.

-Mr Colonel? Antonio said he wanted to talk to me, did something happen? Do any cities along the border need help? Seizure of a drug or fugitive? Does the American government need help? Again? -And before he knew it, he was chattering and didn't even notice the arrival of another person in the room.

-Am I disturbing something? - The rooster stopped talking and turned so that he could see the owner of the voice: Paola, Colonel's daughter.

-Paola! My daughter, did something happen? - Panchito noticed that he was a little hoarse.

-No, no! I just came to see if you were all right. - The girl looked at the sombrero, her eye half closed - Hello, Panchie! ~

The rooster smiled, but maybe it came out more like a grimace, because the Mexican soon turned to her father:

-Back later, you guys look busy. Watch your throat, my father! Avoid talking so much- She turned, her light yellow dress patting Panchito's leg. - See you, boys! - And with a wink directed at Rooster, she slammed the door, making the pictures on the walls shudder.

-Well ... Senhor Francisco- Yes, she kept calling him by name

-Panchito is already good, Colonel.- He offers, with a bright smile.

-I like to keep the formalities. -He sighs and points to one of the two leather chairs in front of him. - You can sit down.

-Thank you, but I like to stand, I don't want to be sedentary- Hawkins was going to object, but he gave up.- What did you want to talk to me about?

-Well ... About that, yesterday a letter came from McDuck domains ...- The Mexican's eyes lit up, but before he could say anything, the Colonel continued- Ricardo said it was urgent.

Then he took a letter, closed by a bright red seal, and also a small yellow folder and handed it to the reddish brown cock, which he took in a hurry.

-Oh? A letter from Donald? Strange, I could have sent a quick message.- he asked, as he quickly opened the envelope, his eyes landed on the cursive letters.

At all times, he tried to stay positive. Yes Yes! He was Mr. Think Positive, right? But now, at the end of the letter, his head was turbulent.

He quickly took the yellow envelope, tearing the hem and taking the contents: A photo

If the letter itself had made him turbulent, the photo itself, oh heavens, only God knew how the great Panchito Pistoles, who had already participated in so many secret missions, in matters of life and death, which was still going on despite everything , but that now ....

He didn't realize how quickly the Colonel came to his side to trim him ...

Now, there he was, sitting in the leather chair he had refused to sit on.

-Paco? Paco! Look, how many fingers do you have here? ”It was Paola, waving her hand in front of her. She cast a look at Hawkins- Dad! I'll leave you for 5 minutes, and look what happens! -Now with a fan, she was shaking the cock.

-What did you see, Francisco? Is Donald in trouble? ”The beagle ignored his daughter, bending down to pick up the photo that Panchito had dropped. - What is it ..? - He looked at the photo

-H-He .... He's alive ...- babbled

-Who? Who's alive? -Paola shouted

-José ..... José Carioca is alive!

#josé carioca #panchito pistoles #donald duck #ducktales #fanfic #the three caballeros #los tres caballeros #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #Zé Carioca #oc's

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mojofun · 4 years

Text

How to chat up pretty gals - A manual by Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Hello there. This is for @summer-writes; the prompt was “I’m not an assassin, but I want to take you out” “After that, I kinda wish you were”. It’s part of my small celebration for hitting 100 followers, which I’m still thrilled about; I met so many nice people here on Tumblr.

That being said, the request thing is still on if anyone wants to participate.

This story is fluff

(He’s making sure he looks good before his date with Y/N :3)

Enjoy :)

_________________________________

<<So, what do we have here?>>

<<A man, found dead this morning by->>

<<Yes Anderson, thank you for your valuable contribution. I’ll see for myself now>> Sherlock dismissed the other man, pushing past him and walking toward the body on the bed. John did not even try to apologise for him: both he and Anderson himself knew it would be pointless, a mere pretence.

The detective crushed beside the corpse, pulling out his lens to examine the scene up close. His inseparable companion slowly approached to give the body a once over

<<Livid complexion, yellowish scleras, rigidity in the sims… All telltale signs of->>

<<Poisoning>> A female voice interrupted the army doctor.

Everyone in the room turned to look at the newcomer.

It was a young woman dressed in semi-formal clothes, a Tyvek sterile suit in her hand; she had H/L H/C hair, E/C eyes and S/C skin. The smirk on her lips alone told them she was sure of her deduction.

John agreed immediately

<<Precisely. And you are?>>

<<This is Y/N Y/S>> Lestrade answered for her while she donned the protective covering <<She is the district’s rookie, fresh out of college with a degree in Criminology>>

<<Nice to meet you>> John greeted. She gave a curt wave and immediately got down to business, squatting beside Sherlock to inspect the victim

<<Damn,>> John murmured <<she already behaves like Sherlock>>

It was Sherlock who was not behaving like Sherlock.

Much to the amazement of everybody else, he simply observed Y/N do what she had to, admiring her concentration and her no-nonsense attitude.

When she was done she stood up, dusting off her knees

<<Sherlock?>> Lestrade called <<Don’t you have anything to say?>>

<<Uh? Oh, yes, of course. John, did you notice anything unusual?>>

<<Well, from my first check I can say that the cause of death is snakebi->>

<<It’s not a snakebite>> Y/N interrupted with a monotone voice.

The curly detective glanced at her in a strange mix of amazement and pride: he was expecting her to correct John, but part of him didn’t think she would notice

<<What?>>

<<It is not a snakebite, Dr Watson. Your colleague did not allow you to look very close, but if you did you would have noticed the disposition of the two punctures.

The discolouration around the wounds is not very different, meaning the second one was inflicted almost immediately after the first>> The girl beckoned him closer, pointing at one of the small holes in the victim’s neck <<What do you see?>>

<<The one on the left is deeper, more scraped than the other>>

<<So?>>

<<It was made before>>

<<Precisely. The victim probably put up resistance, hence the greater damage.

I think we have to go through the list of people invited to the party, see if there is anyone whose profession or hobbies entail knowledge of snakes and poison. Speaking of which, where are the animals kept now?>>

<<You mean the victim’s collections of reptiles?>> Anderson asked

<<Obviously>> She huffed

<<They’re at the police station; Sherlock suggested they could be evidence>>

Y/N grinned, looking at the lanky man

<<Excellent. I’m going to pay them a visit now. See you later!>>

<<Wait, Y/N! Aren’t you going to tell us anything?>>

The woman smirked

<<Oh, I think Mr Holmes may have an inkling of what is going on. Bye!>>

That said she ran out of the building, leaving them all in awe.

Lestrade, like everybody else, turned to look at Sherlock, silently begging him for answers

<<The victim likely knew the assassin, or they wouldn’t have ended up in his room.

We have to examine the list of guests and staff from yesterday’s party, see if we find someone experienced with poisonous animals, as Y/N said>>

He had a hard time saying those words; he just couldn’t believe that someone could have reasoned brilliantly and rapidly enough to be at his same level

<<So… She was right?>> John questioned, half smug half incredulous

<<Yes, she was>>

It was the first time something like that happened to Sherlock, and he was incredibly fascinated by the most talented newbie in the Yard.

_________________________________

Months passed.

The case was solved in a couple of days thanks to the combined brains of the Baker Street sleuth and Y/N. Sherlock and John found themselves crossing paths with her more and more often, but they were both far from displeased about it. The doctor was intrigued by her talent, like his roommate, but he also considerably enjoyed seeing her keeping Sherlock on his toes.

Much to the famed detective’s annoyance, he’d grown smitten with the H/C-officer: she had beauty, brains and a tongue sharp enough to cut him. On top of that, she was well-versed in many subjects, and she kept up with him spewing theories with no difficulty.

He was stumped.

He’d tried talking to her, even flirting -just the thought made him cringe- with her, but he had no idea what he was doing.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat, was reduced to a teenage boy with a major crush, and he hated it.

That was how he ended up hiding in the living room at three in the morning, praying that John wouldn’t catch him red-handed while he looked up some tips on how to “chat up pretty gals”, according to the page he was currently scrolling through.

The brunette had winced violently when he first read that title. Nevertheless, that was how he went about things: research. He was treating it like a case, and he wanted to be prepared when he met Y/N again for a new case- which, according to the clock, would be in less than four hours.

He would need coffee. The website said a nice gesture would help his case, so maybe he could get one for her, too.

He already knew how she liked it.

_________________________________

<<It was the babysitter?>>

<<Yes>>

<<With a knife>>

<<Obviously>>

<<In the living room>>

<<What, are we playing Cluedo?>> Y/N cried out.

They had solved another case in a matter of hours, and he was now accompanying her to the police station to write the report

<<John never wants to play that game with me>> He mumbled

<> The girl snickered.

He couldn’t help but notice she looked adorable when she smiled.

Suddenly, he stopped walking

<<Sherlock?>>

Yes, they’d somehow gotten to a first-name basis, which was a huge success- as far as he knew

<<Y/N, I have to tell you something>>

<<What’s wrong? You are making me worry>>

<<Nothing is wrong, doll>>

The woman’s eyes widened

<<Doll?>>

<<Do you prefer darling? Honey? Babe?>>

<<B- Ba- Babe?!>> She sputtered.

The detective went on with his tirade

<>

<<When you- Like- P- Pet names!?>>

<<And use pickup lines>>

<<Pickup lines? What the->>

<<Yes, so I chose one. Y/N?>>

The poor girl was extremely puzzled, but she went along with it

<<Yes, Sherlock?>>

<<I’m not an assassin, but I want to take you out>>

For a few moments, all was silent.

Sherlock was anxiously awaiting her reaction, even a small sign.

Then, out of the blue, she began giggling; it soon turned into a belly laugh, with tears streaming from her eyes as she held her stomach

<<Oh- Oh my- Oh my gosh!>>

The brown-haired man stood beside her, patiently waiting for her to calm down; it took more than he expected, but he did not complain.

When her laughter finally dwindled and eventually stopped, she wiped her cheeks and looked at him, shaking her head in amusement

<<Oh, Sherlock… After that, I kinda wish you were>>

<<What? It wasn’t good?>>

He frowned. The girl moved closer to him, taking his hands in hers

<<Listen, you brilliant fool… You don’t need all that to impress me>>

<>

<<Not at all. I’m already impressed by how smart you are, the way you solve cases>>

The man finally smiled, lightly squeezing her hands, but then he furrowed his brow again

<<Y/N?>>

<<Yes?>>

<<If that’s not the right way to “chat up pretty gals”->> They both cringed, and she barely suppressed a snort <<how should I do it?>>

Y/N blushed, but she did not lose her smile

<<Well, Mr Holmes… Bringing me coffee was a good move, and this… This was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, I have to admit, however cringe-worthy it may have been>>

Sherlock’s grin broadened

<<However, do you know what I would like even more?>>

<<What is it, doll?>>

<<Mh, doll… I could get used to that>>

Without warning, she grabbed the lapels of his inseparable coat and pulled him closer, cementing their lips together; Sherlock’s eyes widened, but he relaxed almost instantly and tightened his arms around her.

He found it surprisingly enjoyable, and she was not complaining so he assumed she did, too.

When they pulled away Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks even redder

<<Mh, doll… I could get used to that>> She giggled

<>

<<Far be it from me to deny a pretty dame her desire>>

<<Sherlock?>>

<<Yes, doll?>>

<<Stop with the dumb nicknames and kiss me again>>

<<Gladly>>

After another kiss, he gave her a wicked grin

<<Mh, it becomes more pleasant the more we do it>>

<<Then I suggest we keep experimenting>>

<>

Their lips met again, and their arms wrapped around the other in a vice-like grip.

_________________________________

A few feet away, sitting at a table outside a café, Lestrade slid a tenner toward John, who pocketed it smugly

<<It’s a pleasure to do business with you>>

<<Bloody hell, there’s three of them now>>

#sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fic

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

[KISS] Monday 18 May 1835

7 ¼

10 55

goodish little kiss last night ready in 35 minutes very fine morning and F55° at 7 55 am - out with Charles H- and Robert Schofield and Holt and the Manns seeing the line of the new water drift - gave 10/. (customary) to foot the gin - then breakfast (in 20 minutes) at 8 ¾ - then had Booth the mason - Mr Bradley to be here at 10 am to see the centres of the quadrant arch [struck] - waited indoors and out till 11 ½ - then took Booth to Hopkins’ - they want the present mistall pulling down to be replaced by another for 5 cows and a barn - I quite against taking the present building down what new building I put up - shewed Booth the arch I want removed to Trough of Bolland wood - thinks £25 or less would put it up as I want and £5 would put up the old arch near Breakneck cottage over the brook between Parson’s and Sown holme and Tilley holme -returned along the walk and home at 1 ½ - left Booth to get his dinner here and stood talking to Marian - she thought Mr Waterhouse did quite right to stay yesterday with my father - it was to talk quietly to her and make up for what had gone before (his incivility to Marian’s intended) - she would have Mr Alexander the barrister requested to stand for Halifax - I said any good conservative who could concentrate the interest of the borough in his favour would do - I should certainly do all I could to further the election of such a candidate in the place the present whig-radical of Mr Wood - then went to Booth - took him into the little north dining room and left him to make a plan and estimate of barn for Hopkin - then with Marian again - talk as before - I very quietly and conciliatory to all sides - she expects her friend tonight -on returning to Booth found the estimate of his job £55.19.6 for an oblong building 10 yards x 6 ½ (inside) and 5 yards high above ground up to the roof - distributed into a mistall for 5 cows with floor over them and 17ft. divided into 8ft. 6in. of barn, and 7ft. 6in. of place for hay - the joiners’ shop would be done (finding everything) for £30 .:. whole cost of barn = £85.19.6 - annoyed about Mr. Bradley’s not coming - told Booth to come on Wednesday morning if fine, and whether Mr. B- here or not -

SH:7/ML/E/18/0037

Booth went at a few minutes before 5 - then Holt here a few minutes to shew me how he had settled to stop the Spiggs loose - I sent him down with the Manns this morning about it, determined to have it stopped as soon as possible - settled that it is to be done on Wednesday - from 5 to 5 20 wrote the above of today - Booth also made a calculation of the expense of the Ice house amounting to £44.10.0 instead of £25 as stated by Mr Bradley - out at 5 25 dawdling about till A- came home at 6 - dinner at 6 ½ - coffee - A- had called this afternoon on Mrs Carter and sat an hour with her - A- had hardly swallowed her coffee when she came because unwell - her face swelling, particularly the lips, and a sort of redness almost amounting to rash with great itching coming on - gave her 2 or 3 glasses of hot water and put her to bed at 8 - sat by her - she fell asleep and into a perspiration about 9 or after and seemed better- then sat dozing in the great chair by her till had my hair curled at 9 ½ - and ¼ hour with my aunt till 10 at which hour F58° - very fine day - note from Mr Bradley this evening to say he could not come today but would come tomorrow A- had letter directed to ‘Walker Esquire Crownest near Halifax Yorkshire’ from Oxford, a bill of £1 against her brother in 1825

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

Forbidden Games: Chapter 1

T/N: Takes place after Chapter 31 of the manga (”The Adventure of the One Student”).

An educational institution with culture and refinement befitting the nobility of England, for young people whose futures are brimming with light — Durham University.

Along the corridor of a campus building filled with an air of wisdom, two men were walking side by side. One of them was a genius who became a mathematics professor at Durham at the young age of 21: William James Moriarty. The other man was a famous detective whom everyone in England knew by name: Sherlock Holmes.

The two of them had discovered the incomparably rare mathematical ability of the printing shop’s delivery boy, Bill Hunting, recommended his admission to the university chancellor, and succeeded admirably in their negotiations. Enthused at having welcomed a rising star into the world of academia, William was walking toward the campus entrance with Sherlock in order to see him off.

“—Now that I think about it, there’s one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

Sherlock’s abrupt comment made William tilt his head in puzzlement.

“A request?”

Sherlock continued to look straight ahead as he elaborated.

“It’s not a big thing. Because of my detective work, I was hoping you could write me a letter of introduction or something to a certain club.”

“An introduction letter, I see. May I ask what the exact contents should be?”

Sherlock responded with a “Right” and explained.

“Just yesterday, a job came in to investigate the disappearance of a noble’s son. Since I got hold of some information that the son’s been involved a mysterious club, I thought I’d look into it.”

William nodded, humming in acknowledgement.

“—However, if an unfamiliar face were to show up in a club frequented by the upper classes, a cold reception may be in order. Hence you thought that as a noble, I may be able to get some connections to it, am I right?

With a slight smile, William readily took over the rest of the explanation. Sherlock could not help but smile wryly at the quick comprehension of the young university professor.

“As always, you’re quick on the uptake. ……It doesn’t feel right to ask you to use your position like this, but it would be a big help if you could arrange for me to enter this club.”

Just as Sherlock had said this with a somewhat pained expression, William came to a halt. He turned to Sherlock, who had also stopped in his tracks, and asked a single question.

“……Could it be, Mr Holmes, that the club you wish to enter is one located near Durham, where people who wish to entertain themselves with various ‘games’ gather?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You already knew about this place, Liam?”

“Yes, lately I’ve overheard my students talking among themselves about such a club.”

“It’s common knowledge to the point that playful students are gossiping about it, huh.”

Hearing that, William gave a troubled sigh.

“However, I’ve also heard them comparing how much they’d won or lost, among other things. As an educator, this is not something I’m particularly impressed with.”

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter.

“These must be some truly exciting ‘games’. They’re a great way for university students to relax after a long day of studying.”

Saying that, his expression immediately turned serious.

“……But if it’s as you say, then it’s not difficult to imagine why my client’s son has gone missing.”

A mysterious club where matches involving money are carried out. A young noble flush with cash. By linking these two points, the answer naturally reveals itself.

William knit his brows in concern.

“Just as you were thinking, Mr Holmes, this person may have been absorbed in playing with fire, and perhaps lost a large sum of money. After that, he may have chosen to disappear on his own to avoid facing his parents, or gotten himself involved in a dangerous situation…… If it’s the former, it would be no different from a child running away from home, and hence little cause for concern. But if it’s the latter, then this would be something we cannot overlook.”

“That’s right. It would be fine and dandy if it’s just a case of youthful indiscretion, but if crime is involved, then I can’t simply let this go.”

The detective appeared to have renewed his enthusiasm. To which, William asked, “Mr Holmes. Would you allow me to accompany you on this investigation?”

The unexpected request left Sherlock bewildered.

“I don’t really mind, but…… what’s come over you?”

“It’s not as if the situation is past the point of no return but…… it would be less of a worry if the club practised a level of moderation with regards to its gambling. However, if it was engaged in unlawful activities, I fear my students may also come to harm. As such, just to be sure, I believe it’s necessary for me to assess the situation with my own eyes.”

Seeing how William was thinking of his students, Sherlock understood.

“I see. Not just hearing me out about the Lord of Crime, but even helping me out with my work — I really owe you one.”

Seeing Sherlock’s wry smile, William shook his head.

“If anything, I’m honoured to assist London’s most famous detective. You could also say it’s for our mutual benefit, seeing how this case could rid the university of some concerning elements in the future.”

William gave a refreshing smile as he said this, and Sherlock grinned back competitively without hesitation.

“In that case, I should be thanking you instead of apologising.…… We had a contest of deduction when we met on the train, didn’t we? And this time we’re working together. Interesting, innit?”

Saying that, the detective’s blue eyes gazed straight into the other’s red ones.

“Fine by me, Liam. Let’s figure out this mystery together.”

Hearing Sherlock’s response filled with conviction, William replied, still with a smile on his face.

“Indeed. I’ll do my utmost to uphold the Moriarty family name.”

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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specialagentlokitty · 4 years

Text

Mycroft x reader - In the rain

It was the first of December, you were stood in the busy centre of London just gazing up at the sky, a small frown on your face.

“Everything okay?” John asked.

Shrugging, you lowered your head to face him, eyes connecting with his before you glanced away into a shop window.

“I already have a present for you, and one for Mrs Hudson, Molly, Greg and Sherlock. But I don’t know what to get Mycroft...”

“I’m sure whatever you get him, he’ll love.”

John places a comforting hand on your arm, and you let out a heavy sigh, turning your eyes to the ground instead.

“He doesn’t even like me...”

“Don’t think like that! Sherlock and Mycroft just have weird ways of expressing themselves.”

You simply nodded and carried on walking through the town with John, walking in and out of the shops until you found something that caught your eye. Rushing in, you quickly brought it and asked the cashier to wrap it up, before you started to head back home.

“He’s going to love it (Y/N).” John smiled.

“I really hope so.”

The rest of the walk was silent, and you often kept looking to the starry sky, not minding the cool air as it nipped at your skin, and soon enough you found your way back home.

Just upahead, you could see Mycroft walking down the street, and in a burst of confidence you turned to John.

“I’ll be in soon.”

With that, you jogged down the street and sucked a small breath of air to steel your nerves.

“Mycroft!” You called softly.

The man stopped and turned around, and you found that you couldn’t meet his peircing gaze.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Uhm.. I know it’s early... but... I got you something..”

You held the bag tightly in your hands and waited. You could feel Mycroft sting up the bag.

“It’s a small dog teddy bear with an umbrella, isn’t that something for a child?”

Tears burned your eyes and you nodded sadly.

“Why on earth would you pick something like that? What possibly went on in that small mind of yours that made this seem like a good idea?”

Shoving the bag into his chest, you let your tears fall as you glared up at him. Anger built up inside of you.

“You’ve been having a hard time! I thought it was cute and maybe you’d like it! I just wanted you to smile!” You yelled.

Shock flashed over Mycrofts face, but before he could do anything you were already running back home, all the way to your room and slammed the door shut, locking it.

For whole night you avoided everyone, but as the following day came by, rain was pouring down and you didn’t want to be inside any longer.

“My ghastly brother came looking for you today.” Sherlock mused.

“I don’t care...” you grumbled pulling your coat on.

“You’ll get sick.” He sighed.

“Don’t care...”

Sherlock huffed and stalked over, grabbing your hat and scarf, you put them on you and pulled up your hood, handing you your headphones.

“You shouldn’t let Mycroft get to you, his an idiot for not seeing how much you love him.”

You smiled a little at the younger Holmes and pecked his cheek.

“Thanks Sherlock. I won’t take too long, maybe an hour or two.”

Heading out into the rain, you blasted music and begun to make your way down the empty streets, letting the coldness wash over and relax you, though it didn’t last long because Mycroft was walking towards you.

He promptly turned on his heel and begun to walk with you, so you turned down your music just a little so you could hear if he started to talk.

“I know you can hear my (Y/N), it’s pouring it down with rain, please go back home, you’ll get sick.”

You continued to ignore him, and he sighed heavily.

“I hurt you, and I know it’s not the first time I’ve done so. I apologise, it was never my intention to hurt you. I’m aware that sometimes I’m rude, but never did I ever want to be rude to you, I just wasn’t sure what to do, I... I like you, more then I thought I would ever possibly like someone.”

You stopped, paused your music and took your headphones out.

“Stop lying..” you muttered.

“I’m not lying to you dear, I swear.”

Shaking your head, glanced up.

“You don’t like me... and takes okay Mycroft... I’m sorry I got you a toy... you’re right, it was a stupid idea...”

Mycroft placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up, so you could see him shake his head sadly.

“I do like you (Y/N), I care for you very deeply, and I’m so sorry I hurt you, yesterday and all the days before, I should’ve never treated you like that.”

Eyes darting away, you refused to say anything more and Mycroft sighed again, this time leaning closer so he was only inches away.

“Some would say that I love you (Y/N).” He whispered.

“D.. do you...?” You asked shyly.

Connecting eyes with him, you stared into the usually cold eyes you had fallen for, but this time they were nothing but warm.

“Very much so.” He replied.

In the blink of an eye, you wrapped your arms around Mycroft’s neck and pressed your lips to his, standing on your tiptoes for height.

Mycroft braced his hands on your waist and took no time in responding, eagerly kissing you back before you both broke away, your head falling against his, eyes still closed.

“I love you a lot Mycroft...”

“And I, you, my dear.”

Smiling softly, you held him closely, completely forgetting about the world around you, Mycroft pulled you flush against him, and you could feel the warmth he gave off battling with the cold air and rain.

“Come along then love, we wouldn’t want you to get sick.” He said gently

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #mycroft x you #mycroft imagine #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes

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heyyyharry · 5 years

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Chapter 12: Ex’s And Oh’s

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Be My Only)

…in which their relationship is no longer a secret.

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Chapter 11: When The Morning Comes - Harry has a special surprise for his girl.

Wattpad link

A/N: I was going to include some flashbacks, but I thought they would fit the next chapter more so I decided to save them for the next chapter. Enjoy!

Y/N still couldn't believe this was real. It seemed like it'd only been yesterday that she and Celine had been two little girls dreaming of growing up, now here they were, at Celine's wedding. Twelve years had passed like a beautiful daydream.

The ceremony was held by the lake behind their secondary school. On that sultry day in mid-July, the lake was as flat as a giant mirror and the air was pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. The last time Y/N had been here was with Harry for their first date, so now she was trying not to think about the events of that night while being surrounded by Celine's and Amala's family.

Before the ceremony, Celine had insisted that she and Y/N got ready together. They'd done each other's makeup and put flowers in each other's hair like when they were little. And Y/N had cried a lot despite having told herself not to shed a tear before the 'I do's. Celine had tried to comfort her, but in the end, both of them were crying.

Nine-year-old Celine had wanted to become an actress, and nine-year-old Y/N had wanted to marry the boy next door. Even though that dream didn't come true for Celine, she had found her new dream in Amala. Now Y/N couldn't help but wonder if it would be the same for her. She hoped she was a different case, because she couldn't imagine standing at the altar with anyone else but the boy next door named Harry.

With wind in her hair and a smile on her face, she looked around, at the dresses and the suits and the faces of the attentive guests. If Harry had been there, he would've been watching her instead of the brides, and she would've motioned him to stop staring, knowing for certain that he wouldn't.

But Harry wasn't there. Instead, she spotted another familiar face at the third row across the aisle. Isaac pressed his lips into a small smile and waved at her as she did the same. With his golden hair pushed back, he shone among the guests, and she thought that blue suit looked great on him. It was a shade darker than the color of his eyes but it helped brighten them, and even from this distance, she could see those eyes sparkle in the last pink light of the day.

It was hard to tell if he'd been watching her this whole time, or they had just made eye contact by accident. However, she didn't allow herself to overthink. She was just glad that he'd decided to come.

"...with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I now pronounce you, partners for life."

All the guests got up for a standing ovation, and petals were tossed in the air as everyone was cheering for them. Breaking the kiss, Celine enthusiastically told all the bridesmaids to take a couple of steps back. This was definitely Y/N's favorite part of a wedding. Although she wasn't going to participate, she still wanted to see the single ladies fighting each other for a chance to be the next bride. It would be hilarious.

On the count to three, the bouquet was thrown above them, and all the bridesmaids except for Y/N rushed forward, attempting to grab it. Ironically, it flew straight toward Y/N. She caught it with reflexes so fast that she didn't realize she'd had it in her hand, until one of the girls said, "Y/N is next!" And everyone was clapping and whistling for her.

Holding the flowers and smiling from ear to ear, she turned around, once again, making eye contact with Isaac. Both of them shared another awkward smile before looking away, and didn't exchange a word until the wedding reception.

The night was falling, but the guests hadn't lost their energy. The room which held the wedding reception buzzed with the excited chatter of adults and the laughter of little children running between tables. Soft music was playing while couples were slow dancing near the stage, as were Celine and Amala, who had got lost in their own world with their heads on each other's shoulders. Y/N was one of the few who stayed seated, for she didn't have to be on the dance floor to have fun. She was fine here, with a drink in her hand, observing the others and mumbling the lyrics of the song she knew by heart.

Beauty queen of only eighteen She had some trouble with herself He was always there to help her She always belonged to someone else

"Hey."

The voice grabbed her attention. She looked up, blinking fast as Isaac towered over her and offered his hand.

"Dance with me?"

"Only if you don't mind me stepping on your feet." She beamed.

Shaking his head, the man chuckled. "Let's step on each other's feet then."

I drove for miles and miles And wound up at your door I've had you so many times But somehow, I want more

The last time they had slow-danced together had been at her father's wedding a year ago. Neither of them was good at it, but they had gotten much better since. In the middle of the room, they swayed lightly, not skillfully, but at least they knew what they were doing. Her hands were placed on his shoulders, and his on her waist.

"I love this song," he spoke, breaking the silence between them.

"You know this song?"

"Of course I do."

As if he feared she would not believe him, he started singing along with the wedding singer. His voice was low and soft, almost similar to Harry's singing voice, but at the same time, very distinct. It was strange that she'd never heard it before.

"I love Maroon 5," he confessed with a bashful grin. Y/N should've known that already, but sadly, she didn't. He had never mentioned it until tonight.

So now it was clearer why they hadn't worked out. They didn't know each other as much as they thought they did.

I don't mind spending every day Out on your corner in the pouring rain Look for the girl with the broken smile Ask her if she wants to stay a while And she will be loved And she will be loved

"You've gotten so good, Smiley."

The comment made her chuckle. "At dancing?" she gasped. "God no! I think it's you who's gotten so good that you think it's me. I'm not even comfortable in these heels."

"Oh." The man tilted his head to look at her feet, his brows arching when he saw the Christian Louboutin shoes. He must've known how expensive they were from the first glance since he worked for fashion magazines, with A-list models. A student like her could barely afford her own rent, let alone these shoes. She was glad he didn't ask her how she'd got them.

"If they hurt you, you could just take them off," he said, making her giggle.

"Then I'd be too short for you and it'd probably strain my neck."

Isaac laughed as the girl scrunched up her face. If she'd been honest though, she would've said Harry had bought these for her, and it wouldn't feel right to promise to wear them and then discard them halfway through the wedding reception. She couldn't bring up Harry without making this awkward for them both.

"Are they a gift?"

"From a friend, yeah."

Isaac didn't comment on her vague answer and went on, "they're probably in the wrong size."

"No, they fit perfectly." She shook her head, trying not to sound so defensive. "It's psychological, I think. I'm probably not used to wearing such expensive shoes."

Isaac snorted, saying he understood and then added, "it might be difficult to walk in them now, but as long as the shoes fit you and you love them, you will get used to them."

She knew he was still talking about her shoes, but her mind instantly linked his remark to something else. And now she couldn't stop thinking about it as they kept on dancing, using the music to fill the missing conversations.

And she will be loved...

Meanwhile, dusk was slowly falling in the city of Paris.

As the street lights clicked on, Harry crossed the Seine and walked right down the centre of the street, not far away laid The Eiffel Tower. Every time he came to Paris, he would just wait until sunset to stroll around the city. Paris looked magnificent at night and he always enjoyed the evening chill more than the warmth of the day.

He used to date a French model, and this was Ruby's second home, so he knew pretty much everything about Paris. But this time, the city of love felt like a stranger. Whenever he was missing someone, all the places he knew so well would become unfamiliar. No matter if it was Paris, London, or even his hometown Holmes Chapel. Without her, everywhere would be foreign.

Walking past a crowd of tourists, he turned up the music playing through his earphones, quickened his pace and a corner of his mouth quirked up as Love Song by Lana Del Rey came on. Before he left, Y/N had made him a playlist so that every time he listened to it, he would think of her. They didn't share the same music taste, but slowly and strangely, these songs began to grow on him, and now he knew all the lyrics and some of them had become his favorites.

What was she doing now? He wondered while waiting for the green pedestrian traffic light. He hoped she was laughing and drinking with her high school friends, and for once didn't have to worry about anything or anyone, even him. But then again, his possessiveness took over, and he couldn't help but fear that she would have too much fun with Isaac. Friends or not, he didn't like to see them together, and that was something he could and had only admitted to himself.

He and Ruby had been a mistake from the start. Isaac and Y/N, were different. Isaac had (maybe still) truly loved Y/N, and she could always go back to him if it didn't work out with Harry. The thought frightened Harry, making him feel like their relationship was hanging by a thread, especially now that a photo of them kissing had got out. It was always the things he couldn't control that hurt him the most. So what if his love wasn't enough to keep her? What if they had to say goodbye when they still had so much love for each other? What would he do with all that love if she was no longer there to receive it? There was no way he could give it to someone else. It would always be her. It had always been her.

He snapped back to reality when a taxi driver cursed him for crossing the road a few seconds too soon. Quickly, he apologized and dashed forward before he got run over. It wouldn't have been right to get through a day in Paris without coming across a grumpy taxi driver. Welcome to France, he thought.

Fifteen minutes later and he was back to his hotel. He had to be on set at 6 AM, therefore, he should go to bed early. The wedding reception would keep Y/N busy, so he might as well have some alone time for himself, even though he'd rather see her face and hear her voice.

But right as he entered his room and shrugged off his jacket, the loud ringtone made his steps falter. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and heaved a long heavy sigh at the name.

Ruby.

He should've blocked her number a long time ago, but then again, he remembered that he'd tried and he couldn't. So he hesitated, staring at the screen while the ringtone kept on playing. Half of him wanted to ignore it, the other half was worried that she might be in trouble.

It had been that way from the start. Her seeking help and him coming for the rescue. He had gone through hell and back for this woman but when would he ever learn?

With a sigh, he picked up, and she greeted him with the breathy sound of his name. "Harry..." she sniffled. He guessed she was three sheets to the wind now. "I need to talk to you. I know I shouldn't be calling you when I'm like this but...fuck...I'm sorry...I just—What does she have that I don't?"

"You're drunk, Rubes," his voice was strained and his eyes squeezed shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hang up the phone and go to sleep."

"Can't..." She chuckled wryly. But right before he could scold at her, she hung up, leaving him startled. Then, there was a knock on his door.

"Harry."

It was Ruby. She was right outside. Harry was agitated as she knocked louder and the called his name more desperately.

When he opened the door, she lost her balance and stumbled forward, thank God he was there to catch her. His arm came circled around her waist and pulled her up before she hit the floor. Kicking the door closed, he helped her stand with her back against it, but she moved closer, attempting to kiss him. He reared back from her in an instant, grabbing her wrist and pushing her away.

"God, you're a fucking psycho," He murmured, taking her upper arm. "Let's go. I'm driving you back to your hotel."

"No!" she screamed, shoving his chest back. Anger crossed his face as he caught her arm again. The helpless look in her bloodshot eyes instantly brought him back to their first night together. In only a matter of seconds, the memories flashed before his eyes, freezing him to the spot.

He saw them sitting in a bar. It was 3 AM, and she refused to go home. Her boyfriend at the time had never hurt her the way her stepfather had when she was sixteen, but his words had hit like a fist. As someone who had been physically abused since she was so young, she'd grown used to physical pain. There had been a period when she'd been addicted to inflicting pain on herself. People would call her brave for surviving, but little did they knew, it was the unseeable wounds caused by those painful memories that killed her every day. She'd seen a few different therapists, but eventually found better comfort in the wrong places — in the drinks and cigarette smoke.

That night a few years back, she had been crying, and he had held her in his arms, and the next thing they knew, they were fucking in his hotel room. For them, sex had never been sensual and slow, it had always been hot, hard and intense. He had thought that if he couldn't have her love, mind-numbing sex would do. But he regretted it now. All of it.

He knew when she came here, she had expected a different ending to their story. But it had begun with alcohol, a distraught Ruby, and sex, so it would just end the same. Only this time with her being drunk and heartbroken. He couldn't give her that one last thing she needed.

"You don't love her...you...you can't..." She shrugged his hand off to claw at her throat and sink to the floor, sitting with her knees to her chest.

"Yes, I do," he said. He hated that he hurt her, but those were the words she needed to hear right now. He just couldn't figure out how to make her understand them.

"You're lying," she trembled, shaking her head nonstop. "You can't love her...She just...She'd been missing from your life for years and then came back out of nowhere and suddenly she's the love of your life?! It doesn't make sense."

"Stop," he warned, still she kept going.

"What does she have that I don't?"

"Don't talk about her."

"She's a fucking child. She doesn't know how to handle you."

"Fuck you! What did I just say?" he finally snapped, his eyes darkened with rage, but it didn't scare Ruby as she pushed herself off the ground and stepped toward him.

"We were perfect together."

She attempted to touch his face, but this time, he grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the wall. As he looked into her eyes, he felt...nothing. Where there used to be love, which turned to hate, which turned to guilt, then pity, now was just a void. From the consternation swimming in her eyes, he thought she was gradually seeing it through, and if he let go, she might just collapse.

"Being with you was like waiting for a bomb to go off," he began, his voice was brittle and lifeless. "I always felt like I loved you more than you loved me. I loved you so much, so fucking much that I would've died for you, Rubes. I would...I would've died for you..."

"Har—"

"You had a choice and you chose to leave. So now it's time for me to choose. And I choose her."

When Harry finished, he stepped back, letting her go as his arms came down to his sides. Although she managed to stay on her feet, she looked no better than a corpse as she gave him a quivery smile. "So would you die for her?"

"I would live for her," he said. "She saved me."

Ruby couldn't have expected that response, so she just stared at him open-mouthed, stuttering, pallid. She looked at her toes before glancing back up to catch his eye. "I'll go now," was all she could say.

"I could give you a ride."

"No, thank you." She waved him off. "I'll call my chauffeur."

Just like that, she was gone, and he felt a sense of relief as the door fell shut.

That night, Harry could barely sleep.

He knew he'd done the right thing, and there couldn't have been a better way to cut Ruby off for good. But now that it was over, he was even more alarmed than before. Lying awake and staring at the ceiling, he imagined dark clouds forming above his head, and his intuition told him something bad was about to happen. It was only a matter of time before it did.

And it did.

One of the guests at Celine's wedding had posted a photo of Isaac and Y/N slow dancing at the wedding reception. The person had tagged Isaac because she or he had easily recognized 'the famous photographer'. Isaac had fans, many of which were Harry's too. And one should never underestimate the power of social media. It took only one second to share a post and ruin someone's life. By morning, the photo and many theories had surfaced the internet as some people had discovered that Y/N was the same girl he'd kissed at his birthday party.

It was during his lunch break that his manager texted him about 'the new photos'. He hadn't gone on the Internet for two days so he didn't know what Jeff was talking about. But now it finally dawned on him that 'the new photos' was the reason his co-stars had been treating him differently. They had been nicer than usual, and he had been too ignorant to notice.

Scanning his eyes around the room, he began to feel on edge as if all the surrounding whisperings were about him. The many disembodied voices were penetrating in his ears, so he snuck through the fire exit door and found himself sitting on the staircase, checking his phone. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so afraid to go online, for he wasn't new to the toxicity of the internet. Still, it wasn't just him this time. He'd also dragged Y/N into this mess.

There wasn't just one, but five different photos of them at his birthday party, taken from the same angle as the one that got leaked a while ago. But these were in much better quality. Harry could only scroll down to the fifth comment on the post of the update account, when he began to feel dizzy. Some assumed Y/N was cheating on Isaac with him. Some suspected that Y/N was just another one-night stand. But the majority believed that she was using him.

For them, Harry Styles, the man who had stolen somebody else's fiancée and never had a relationship that lasted more than a couple of months, was incapable of committing to someone who loved him as much as he loved her. Years of media training had prepared him for worse scenarios than this, and normally, the women he'd been with would've been used to this too.

But his Bambi wasn't like them, or him. She was the little girl next door he'd grown up with. The same girl who wore dark clothes so she wouldn't stand out in the crowd. The same girl who kept a journal because she wasn't comfortable sharing her thoughts and feelings with just anyone. The same girl who enjoyed midnight car rides because she found solace in being alone and invisible. That was why he'd been doing everything in his power to keep her safe, and he'd thought she'd be the safest when she was home with her father and her friends. These photos, unfortunately, had proven him wrong.

Holding the phone at his ear, he shoved his other hand into his messy curls and kept on muttering "pick up, pick up, pick up", until she did.

"Harry." Her wheezy voice almost made him cry.

"Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, but with a sigh. "Celine showed me the photos, but I haven't read anything people say."

She sounded calmer than he'd expected, which was worse. If only she'd burst into tears or got angry and blamed this all on him. At least then he would've been able to tell what she really felt. "I'm so sorry, love..." he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I'll figure something out. I just...God...I wish I could be there with you."

There was a long pause, yet he knew she was still there because he could hear her breathing. She just needed a bit of time to think before speaking up. "It must be the same person who posted the first photo. They were just waiting for an opportunity to release these..."

"I think I know who it is..." He was out of breath, and he could imagine the look on her face as she murmured cautiously, "who?"

His girl would hate to hear this as much as he hated to say it. But secrets had hurt them more than the truth had, so he didn't see the point of keeping one from her now. Especially now.

"Ruby came to my hotel room last night," he blurted. His shoulders were tight and his hands were clammy as he rambled on, "she was pretty unstable so maybe it was her, but I don't know for sure...She's not here today for me to ask but—She was drunk, and she tried to k-kiss me and...and I told her I loved you...and asked her to leave, I just—God, I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Did she kiss you?"

"No, love..."

"Did you...want...to kiss her?"

Y/N had remained calm since the moment she answered his call, but for this question, she sounded disheartened. Her voice was taut and feeble, and he wouldn't have been able to hear it if it hadn't been dead silent here.

Harry felt a lump in his throat as he pondered her question. "How could you ask me that? Don't you trust me?"

"I do, I do...but...I don't know...Nevermind."

"No, do not do this right now, Bambi!" he snarled with fear that she might hang up. "You either talk to me or I'm catching another flight home tonight!"

He knew she was still unsure when she took another deep breath, but he also knew she wouldn't risk having him fly back just to get an answer out of her.

"You..you loved her a lot," she said. Those simple words were enough to break his heart. He felt sick in his stomach as he pictured her smile falter and slowly fade.

With hesitation, she continued, "last year, on the night I left, I heard you say to her you'd always love her. And sometimes, just...randomly, I would think about it and...it would make me sad. I know you love me, and I know you mean it. But it hurts to think that the reason she keeps holding onto you is that she knows she'll always have you."

"That's not true, Bambi," he almost choked on the words. "She doesn't have me, baby, you do..."

"I've been telling myself that but, well..." she trailed off and laughed wryly. "Would you have come to her last night? I mean, if she hadn't come to see you."

"No."

"Would you have wanted to?" The left side of his chest pained as she began to sound like she could cry. "Fuck, why am I like this? You're the one dealing with those photos of us and I—God, I'm so fucking petty."

"No, don't—don't say that. Just...don't say that about yourself. Do you understand?" He exhaled, gripping his phone with one hand and his hair with the other. "Today, I love you, and only you. Tomorrow, I'll love you, and only you. Same goes for all the days after that until forever. Yes, I loved Ruby. And last night, she was in my room, asking me to take her back. But when I looked into her eyes, I felt nothing. I could never feel anything with her again now that I have you, and you have me. All of me. I promised that I wouldn't run to her again, and I didn't, and I wouldn't have done it last night."

Silence.

"Are you still there, baby?"

"Yes."

"Are we...okay?"

"Yeah, we're okay...Sorry, I'm just—" she stuttered, and the next thing she blurted out wasn't something he would ever expect to hear, "Harry, I'm scared."

The last time he'd heard her say those two words were almost ten years ago, when she nearly broke her neck from falling off the ladder of their treehouse. Being scared was one thing, but it took a lot of anxiety and distress for her to admit it. And to think that the last time she'd been this scared was when she almost lost her life, really tore him apart. Why did he have to be so far away when this happened?

"I'm here, kid. I'm here with you..." His jaw tightened as he rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. "Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl, and no one else. Remember?"

"Yes." Though she sounded subdued, he could hear the faint smile in her voice. "It'd be so nice if...if we could just go back to the other night in your backyard and stay there forever. In our world."

"I would love that." He chuckled, attempting to keep his voice light. "Don't be scared, my love. I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

#my girl series #actor!harry #older!harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles writing #harry styles series

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biglittlesshop · 3 years

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Yesterday was a busy day of meetings and airplane travel for peter and connor but last night peter took some time to share his thoughts on the passing of the great christopher lee christopher lee was the tallest actor I ever knew he was also by far the most literate when we first met in a los angeles studio where he was recording his lines as king haggard in the last unicorn he had just recorded haggard’s speech about his first sight of unicorns and I mentioned that it was probably my favorite speech in the book he immediately wanted to know well did I do it properly we can always redo it right here of course he’d handled the lines perfectly but writers and writers’ opinions about their work mattered intensely to christopher that same afternoon we discovered that between the two of us we we could call to mind just about all the lines of g k chesterton’s poem the rolling english road we also discovered a mutual need to hit the men’s room and my son dan in his mid teens at the time still has a very clear memory of christopher simultaneously peeing while declaiming in that voice which no one could ever keep from imitating after fifteen minutes with him before the roman came to rye or out to severn strode the rolling english drunkard made the rolling english road a reeling road a rolling road that rambled round the shire and after him the parson ran the sexton and the squire I leave it to the reader to imagine that voice in the tiled acoustics of a hollywood bathroom we met a second time in munich where the last unicorn was being dubbed into german most of my memories of that time and of chris lee have to do with books and authors he had known both j r r tolkien and a writer who mattered more to me t h white we had a long ongoing argument in munich about a chapter of the sword in the stone that appears in the english edition of the book but not in the american one he turned out to be right he usually was he never failed to mention the last unicorn as one of his very favorite books and as one of the movies he was most proud of having made indeed he left my whopperjawed as mark twain would have put it when we were being interviewed together on austrian television and he announced oh yes I simply couldn’t resist a chance to play king haggard one more time even in another language after all and he looked straight into the camera it’s the closest they’ll ever let me get to playing king lear the camera swung toward me to catch my stunned reaction and chris looked across the studio at me and winked but my most vivid memory chilling as it remains to this day has to do with the day that I and michael chase walker associate producer of the last unicorn and the one who really got the film made in the first place somehow found our way out to dachau I can’t now recall how we managed it considering that neither one of us spoke german and that you had to take both a subway and a bus to get there from the hotel where the crew were staying but we got there somehow and spent a good half of the day roaming with other tourists around a legendary concentration camp peering blindly into the huge crematoriums but staring with equal horror and fascination at the endless rows of filing cabinets containing every record of every human being who was ever imprisoned starved gassed or simply worked to death in this place michael and I grew quieter and quieter that afternoon until by the time we started back to munich we weren’t speaking at all I think we both felt that we might say anything in words again the first person we met in the hotel lobby was christopher he took one look at us and announced you’ve been to dachau we nodded without answering chris strode toward us looked all the way down from his six foot five inch altitude lowered his voice and inquired still smells doesn’t it with the end of world war ii christopher as a member of the special forces and whose five or six languages included fluent german had been assigned to hunt down and interrogate nazi war crminals and had been present at the liberation of dachau and yes the smell of death had undoubtedly faded somewhat since 1945 but it was still as real as michael and me wandering dazedly between the ovens and the filing system we just didn’t know what it was but christopher did and i’d know it again I never saw him again after munich though we spoke on the telephone a few times on the last occasion when I had called to wish him a happy 90th birthday I remember him assuring me that if by the time you come to make your live action version of your movie I have passed on do not let it concern you I have risen from the dead several times I know how it’s done he worked almost to the last as the real artists of every kind do they work to be working because that’s what they do and they die when they stop I always regarded him as the last of the great 19th century actors that bravura larger than life style went with him no modern rada trained performer would ever attempt it today nor should they it would inevitably come out parody however earnestly meant yet there was always more to christopher lee as an actor than dracula or the mummy or saruman or sherlock holmes for that matter though he was very proud of having played not only both holmes and watson but sherlock’s brother mycroft as well lord summerisle of the original the wicker man probably his favorite of his own movies is most likely closer to chris’s dark benignity than any other role he ever inhabited I believe this because lord summerisle sings a surprising amount in that movie and chris passionately loved singing if there is any such thing as an afterlife or reincarnation I truly hope no believe that christopher lee will return as a wagnerian opera singer if he hadn’t been considered too old in his 30s to be accepted for formal vocal training he might have been in his own eyes at least a happier more fulfilled man but we would have been deeply poorer for it and never have known See Other related 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#Great #Dane #5 #Things #You #Should #Know #About #This #Woman

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

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About a boy (Part-7)

Word count: 3.4K

Warning: Suspense, feels, physical abuse, child-trafficking and bullying

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: I know I am repeating, but I truly live for the reblogs <3

All my love to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this story <3

About a boy masterlist

“Don’t do this!” Cas said for what felt like the hundredth time in an anguished voice.

For the hundredth time, Dean ignored, shrugging on a jacket and wincing all the same.

“What do you have to prove by going in?” Cas asked, a hint of anger clear in his voice now.

Dean turned and smiled at his friend, hiding the wince at the pain in his shoulders. His body was screaming with it, muscles rebelling against any movement. Dean suspected the thrashing of the night before might have ended up in at least one cracked bone in his rib cage. At least.

“I have nothing to prove,” he said, “But I ain’t sticking around here alone all day.”

He could technically take the day off, roll around in bed all day, but Dean didn’t know how last night was going to affect everyone. After all the smoke, there had been chaos and screaming, and after an hour of bated breath wait, blaring fire trucks. It was all too much; the light, the sounds… especially for the little kids. Dean felt bad about it. After all, the whole thing had been staged for him, so he could get away from Michael’s goons. The thought both made his stomach lurch, and his heart light.

Will.

That kid had done something. And whatever it was, it had saved Dean and Cas. The warmth he felt in his heart was settling in when Cas huffed.

“You’re a stubborn piece of work,” Cas said, but extended his hand nevertheless. “Come, let me help you with the stairs.”

Dean grinned. He knew he was forgiven, at least for now.

Cas was patient, letting Dean take his time with them. Dean, meanwhile observed Cas. The right side of his face was swollen and busted, and he had a black eye. Despite having arrived at the scene quite late, Cas looked pretty bad, too.

“You didn’t have to come looking for me yesterday,” Dean said quietly.

Cas gave him a disbelieving look. “How can you even say that?”

“They’re like your family. Michael’s like your older brother, isn’t he?”

“That doesn’t make him immune to being a jerk,” Cas said as a matter of fact. He looked at Dean intently. “And isn’t that what friends do? Help each other.”

Just like that Dean’s argument went out of the window. Cas smiled knowingly.

Dean swallowed through a thick throat, silently letting Cas help him through the rest of the way to school.

It was sad how easy it was to recognise the kids from the orphanage in the campus. They made up a good percentage of the population, and today, they were all tired and sleepy and restless. Staying up till 4 in the morning would do that to anybody, and these were just kids. It had been the early hours of morning when the SWOT team, after assessing the condition, had let the kids in after declaring that the building had, in fact, never been set on fire. While climbing up the stairs then, Dean had noticed a very harassed Andy answering questions from the fire officers. Dean would be lying if he said that it hadn’t given him satisfaction to see Andy in a tight spot like that. It’s what he deserved for locking up kids like that. Words like ‘escape plan’ and ‘enquiry’ had been thrown around. Dean had grinned to himself.

The day was slower than usual, and that was saying something. Cas had already fallen asleep twice. Once in Literature and once in their history class. Dean didn’t blame him. Learning about war indemnity in America for the 40th time was enough to put anyone to sleep even on their best day, let alone after a sleepless night full of thrashing. So, it was with sluggish feet that they made their way towards the canteen in the break.

Dean passed Gary in the hall, and with immense satisfaction noted the band aids across his nose and cheek. A muscle twitched in Gary’s jaw as he took in Dean’s smug expression.

“Cut it!” Cas said under his breath and Dean looked away.

They fell into a line in front of the counter and instinctively Dean glanced around the room, as he had done everyday since he’d walked into this school. For a kid about 11 years of age, someone who looked like him…. For Sam. Instead, his gaze landed at the far end of the canteen, where one hunched over person cut a solitary figure. Benny.

Dean could never make out how he really looked. Whether he was thin or buffed up, what color his eyes were, or even the exact color of his skin. He always seemed so elusive, that it was hard to grasp a clear image. The multiple layers of clothes and the low slung cap made him into a mysterious wannabe Sherlock Holmes. The sort who’d sell drugs under the bleachers and never get caught.

Dean caught hold of Cas’s sleeve and tugged, “What’s the deal with this Benny dude?”

Cas looked straight ahead, purposely avoiding Dean’s eye. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s something up with him. Don’t try to deny it,” Dean warned, before Cas could open his mouth. “I know you know something.”

Cas sighed. Under all the bruises, he looked tired. Not just in the obvious way, like he hadn’t slept much the night before… which he hadn’t. But like he had been fighting against something for a long time and that it was finally getting to him. Dean felt a spike of empathy. It can’t be easy questioning all your loyalties, seeing your family in a bad light. Cas was fighting a battle with himself, Dean realised. He wanted to put his arms around his friend.

Presently, Cas simply sighed once more. “It’s hard, Dean.”

With a jolt Dean realised that Cas wasn’t talking about himself but about Benny.

“It’s not been easy for him,” Cas said. “He was friendly enough once. In fact, he had a really close friend, Diego, who was transferred. Those two were attached at the hip. Kinda like-”

“- like you and me?” Dean smirked.

Cas smiled, one tired tug of his lips, but it touched his eyes. “Since Diego, he’s not been the same.” He frowned.

Dean mirrored his friend’s expression, wondering whether Cas was thinking the same thing. Transferred.

They finished the rest of their lunch in silence, though neither was any good at it. Cas was peeling his badgel absentmindedly and Dean could barely open his mouth, much less chew thanks to the swollen lips and bruised jaw.

“You think we might be able to bail on Spanish and sneak back?” Dean asked as they dragged their feet across the cafeteria after dumping the almost full trays.

“And then what? Go back to Andy’s scrutinising gaze? Especially after last night?” Cas asked.

Dean was about to reply that at least lying face down in a bed might mean he wasn’t dragging his aching body all over the place, when a crashing sound made him stop in his tracks.

They were walking along an open corridor between the cafeteria and the main building, which ran along the side of a patch of ground fenced on the other side. Along the chain linked fence were a few long benches, which Dean assumed was for when the crowd in the cafeteria spilled over. The crash had been made by flingin one of the tables across the patch on the fence. The long wooden table lay lopsided along the fence, with one leg splintered and next to it, a huge boy was standing with a wide stance. He was dressed in an overly large striped T-shirt and shorts. It was hard to tell what color his hair was because of the dirty blue caps, but his neck was definitely red. He seemed to be shaking with anger.

“Hey, what’s the deal with him, Ca-” But before he could complete the sentence, he noticed a small mousy boy with brown hair cowering in the shadows of the huge boy, shivering against the broken side of the upturned table.

“How dare you eat it?” Thundered the big guy, and the kid folded himself further, his eyes and tiny nose red were watering. The round glasses resting against his nose were sliding down.

“But D- Dirk, it was m-my sandwich,” he sniffed.

Dirk bellowed, and the kid cowered further, closing his eyes and crying out, raising his hands to cover his face.

Without thinking, Dean moved forward. A crowd had gathered to witness what was happening and it was making it hard to get to the boy. Dean’s aching ribs, and bruised body was protesting at the contact with other bodies, but he still trudged on.

“Dean. Dean, wait!” Cas’s voice trailed from behind, but Dean wasn’t going to just stand there.

On the ground, still quite away from Dean, Dirk yelled and raised his hand. Seeing this, Dean doubled his struggle to get through the crowd, wincing when someone’s arm or elbow hit a sore spot. But clearly it was too late as Dirk’s hand sailed down in an arc. Dean braced for the kid’s scream, but it didn’t come.

Instead, another loud bellow echoed in the opening. Dean pushed the guy in front of him almost roughly to reach the front line. The scene that met his eyes was almost unbelievable.

The bespectacled little kid was still crying on the ground, and Dirk’s strike had been blocked midblow. A boy was standing in between them, facing Dirk, gripping his arm. “Leave Barry alone, Dirk,” he said in a calm, restrained voice, spitting out the last word. Chills ran up Dean’s arm.

The boy was about 11 or 12 years of age; tall and lanky… almost to the point of skinny. He had long brown hair that fell into his warm brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to be blazing.

“Move aside, you pest.” Dirk shoved the boy, and because of the sheer force of Dirk’s mass, he was flung to the side next to Barry.

“No,” Dean whispered, starting to move again, but the boy moved expertly, anticipating Dirk’s next slam and slid from underneath, even though his knee hit the side of the table, as he parried. Dirk hissed completely ignoring Barry and roaring at his new target. Dean watched as the boy quickly dodged all of Dirk’s attempts at kicks, although he was still scrambling on the ground. He was quick and sure footed as he got up. When Dirk charged, the boy ducked low and swiped his foot across the ground, knocking Dirk down on his ass.

A cheer went up from the onlooking crowd as the boy turned and helped a still crying Barry on his feet. He spoke something to Barry that Dean couldn’t quite hear what.

Barry let out another dry sob and then flung his arms around the boys thin shoulders, who placed a hand on Barry’s back.

In all the noise, Dirk was getting up, red faced and angrier than ever. He fisted his hand and aimed a punch, but this time Dean was right there. He reached for Dirk’s arm and yanked him back with all the strength he could muster. Then pushed him aside.

“Don’t ever attack from behind the back,” Dean spat, “You coward!”

Dirk, who couldn’t have been more than 13, paled. He threw another furious look towards the two boys and hurried away from the onlooking crowd.

Dean turned to look at the two of them. Barry seemed to have quieted a little, the other boy was staring at Dean intently. Up close, Dean could see that his hair wasn’t the usual dank brown, but it had a sheen to it, just slightly reddish. And his eyes; up close, his eyes weren’t just a soft brown, there were flecks of dark green and sea blue.

He wore a dark green hoodie, much too large for him. Even the sleeves ended so further below that he had had to fold it over twice so his fingers were visible and the seam of the shoulders fell down to his upper arm. The jeans he wore were grey, now mud splattered from having fallen down. In fact, his lip was split and there was an evident scratch on his cheekbone which was getting bloodier every passing second.

“Thanks,” said the boy, his voice melodious and quiet, and Dean felt a jolt of familiarity.

Acting on an instinct, Dean asked, “Why did you do it? That idiot is twice your size!”

“Barry is my friend,” said the boy. “Besides, I hate bullies.”

A memory from long ago came to Dean, same words, spoken in the same voice in the thick of the night from across a rusted grill.

“Will?” Dean asked, his eyes widening.

A slow grin spread across the boy’s face, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Dean!” he said, “Dean, is that really you?”

As recognition came in, the smile slid, the wonder in Will’s eyes dimming as the anger returned, “What did they do to your face?”

“Hush,” Dean whispered, looking around, then ushered Will away from the crowd, Barry following in his wake.

Noticing, Will stopped around the corner of the building, under the awning. “Dean, this is Barry. Barry,” he turned to the boy, “This is Dean. He’s from the orphanage, too.”

“Thank you,” said Barry, through dry heaves.

“Dean!” It was Cas, coming up from behind. “Where did you disappear?”

“Cas?” Will asked, the smile back in his voice. “It’s Will!”

Cas looked from Will to Dean and back again. “Weren’t you just on the ground getting your ass kicked?”

“Oh no,” said Will genially. “I was doing the ass kicking.”

After another round of introductions that left Barry thoroughly confused, Will whispered some words of assurance and sent Barry to the classrooms. The moment he rounded the corner, Will’s sharp gaze was back to assessing the outwardly damage done to Dean and Cas.

“I was late, wasn’t I?” Will groaned in despair. “I should have set that alarm off sooner. Look at you guys!” He sounded absolutely miserable.

And despite everything, it made Dean smile. He shared a look with Cas who was gazing down at Will kindly, then said. “You did more than we could have asked of you.” Dean clasped a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Thank you. You might have saved us from getting punctured for life.”

“I still wanna punch Gary in the face though,” Will muttered petulantly and Dean laughed.

“C’mere,” he said, beckoning to Will, “Let me look at your face, you got a split lip there and there’s a cut on your cheek there.” Dean gestured.

“Won’t be the first time.”

“I know you hate bullies, but you can’t charge into every fight Han Solo style,” Dean said, taking a look at Will’s bloodied chin. “Chicks stop digging the scar face look after a while.”

Will smirked. “You talk like you’ve had a lot of chicks dump you for the same reason.”

Dean laughed. “C’mon smartass, let’s head back. I think between the three of us, we’re busted up enough to make up a bull story and ditch the rest of the day.”

The school nurse was surprisingly kind. She’d heard about the ‘fire’ at the orphanage and her grey eyes were round with worry as she fretted over them all. Dean got most of her attention, since he looked in the worse shape.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clucked her tongue in disapproval as she dabbed a yellow tincture over Dean’s black eye. “I shouldn't be saying anything, but the way they treat you boys up there.” she pursed her lips.

“Look at how your face is swollen,” she said, the corners of her mouth pulling down.

Dean was grateful. It was obvious that he’d been beaten up a while ago and not in school that day. A recent bruise wouldn’t look that black. But she bandaged him all the same. If it had been Dean’s earlier school, such abuse would have warranted counsellors, child services and police complaints. But no one really cared for orphans, did they? He felt sickened at the possibility of Sam having been beat up like this with no one care or look after him.

“There you go, sweetie,” she said briskly patting Dean’s arm. “You,” she gestured to Cas, next worst in line. “You’re next.”

Cas moved forward reluctantly, taking Dean’s place on the chair and Dean shuffled over to Will who was standing awkwardly in the corner. Blood from the scratch on his cheek bone had dripped down on the fabric of his hoodie.

The nurse was fussing over Cas, busy muttering more angry words. She didn’t pay attention as Dean grabbed a piece of the antiseptic soaked cotton and dabbed it over Will’s cheek. He winced, startled. And as he jerked back, the long fringes of his hair fell into his eyes.

“Ouch! What’d you do that for?”

“So you don’t get an infection out of it, dumbass.”

“It burns,” Will muttered, touching his face.

Dean smiled. Will, who had tripped the fire system of the whole building yesterday; Will, who had thoughtlessly jumped to his friend’s defence was mad about an antiseptic burn.

He didn’t say anything, though. Rather, he beckoned Will forward, “Here. let me help you with a bandaid at least. It’s not deep, so that should do.”

Will went on, and let Dean help him. There was something about the boy’s face Dean thought. Something so inherently familiar that his chest ached. With tenderness and longing. A needy want, but want of what, he didn’t know.

“There you go, you’re all fixed now,” Dean said.

Will stared, an odd expression on his face. His eyes darted from Dean’s hand bloodied with his blood, to Dean’s face.

Dean jerked his chin, a questioning look in his eyes, as if to ask what he was thinking, but Will simply shook his head, then turned away.

It was beyond easy to slip out of school. The nurse had been more than forthcoming and had given them the permission without batting an eye. God bless her soul, Dean thought. It did, admittedly, take a long time to walk even with both Cas and Will supporting his weight. At least they had some prescribed painkillers with them that would let him support his own weight once they kicked in. There was so much Dean wanted to ask Will. About how he had achieved what he had achieved the night before, about that jerk who was beating up Barry, even about the freaking Olympiad, but his lungs couldn’t produce sound as he walked. Most of his effort just went into putting one feet in front of another.

At long last, they reached the gates of the orphanage. Dean withdrew his arm from over Will’s shoulder. Cas adjusted his stance, bracing for more weight, but Dean stood upright, withdrawing all support.

“Will…” he started through a thick throat, suddenly recalling the panic from the night before, when standing right here in the front lawn, his eyes had been racking to crowd to find the unknown face of this very boy. A face that wasn’t unknown anymore.

Will raised his hand, palm facing Dean, then smiled. “Save it; whatever you’re gonna say. Cause if you’re gonna thank me, don’t.”

“But…” Dean started to say again, and he could see Cas nodding in vehement agreement on the side.

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me,” Will challenged. “And then you can thank me all you want.”

For once Dean was speechless. Will grinned conspiratorially, first at Dean and then at Cas. “I’ll see guys at dinner. Better check on what Barry is up to,” he said before running up the stairs. At the last minute, at the top, he turned and winked at them, then ducked inside.

“That kid is something else,” Cas whistled. Dean said nothing. He just grabbed on to Cas’s hand moving forward, still rankled by Will’s words.

Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me.

But more than Will’s challenge, his own thoughts rankled him. He would have gone ahead and beyond to help, to protect this strange, brave boy.

******************************

A/N 2: Is this what you guys had been waiting for? Finally Dean met Will!. Please tell me what you thought of the chapter?

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