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lisbeth-kk · 7 months ago
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May prompts
Today's prompt: familiar.
The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 3)
Summary: A trip to the seaside leaves a vivid memory, forever etched into Rosie's mind palace.
Three Years Old
My first memory I remember vividly, occurred when we were at the seaside. I do recall bits and bobs from before this particular memory, but it’s a bit of a blur, not crystal clear like the one at the seaside near Brighton.
The pebbles fascinated me endlessly. How they sounded when we walked on them, the different shades of colour, their shape, the salty and stony taste. 
I was trying to find flat pebbles to build a tower, and that’s when I heard Dad speaking. He uttered the same words to me on a daily basis, but not in that tone of voice.
“I love you.”
It was hushed, sincere, and I felt a warmth set in my chest. I was about to turn my head to reciprocate, when Sherlock spoke. His voice was deeper than normal.
“I love you too, John.”
Can a three-year-old be as considerate as I picture me in my mind? If my memory serves me right, the answer is yes.
Dad and Sherlock didn’t realise that I turned carefully to watch them, and when they came back to reality, I had continued my tower creation.
What I saw, is forever etched in my mind, and sometimes that, by now familiar image, brings tears to my eyes. It always makes me happy, so yes, the tears are the happy kind, or sentimental if you will.
Dad was sitting on the blanket and had his arm slung around Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock’s hand cupped Dad’s face and the look in his eyes was so soft. It was reminiscent of how he looked at me, but there was more to it. Another kind of love, I realised later. He closed his eyes when his lips met Dad’s in what looked like a soft kiss, but there was nothing chaste about it. 
Somehow my instincts told me that this was a private moment, so I turned around to give them privacy. I managed to stack six pebbles before the tower fell. My cry of frustration made the two men in my life come to the rescue. 
We walked down to the water to throw pebbles, and Dad managed to make his pebble bounce five times before it sunk. He was quite proud of that. Particularly because Sherlock only managed three.
I think I had decided to keep my mouth shut about catching Dad and Sherlock kissing, but can a three-year-old keep a secret? Clearly not me. Evidently, subtlety wasn’t quite my forte either. Every single person in the train carriage learned that I, Rosie Watson, had caught the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, kissing my dad, Doctor John Watson.
“But that’s ok. Because they love each other!” I exclaimed with a flourish, not unlike one of Sherlock’s gestures.
“It’s the West End next for you, young lady,” Sherlock stated dryly, seemingly undeterred, while Dad blushed profusely.
“What is West End?” I asked, curious about my next destination in life.
“Antics and escapades,” Sherlock murmured, which left me none the wiser.
Also available on AO3
Taggings in the replies, for reasons...
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stephensmithuk · 1 month ago
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The Valley of Fear: Sherlock Holmes Discourses
Camberwell is an area 2 3/4 miles SE of Charing Cross, being in Surrey until the 1889 creation of the London County Council. As a rapidly expanding area, it would have been hard to find trace 'Porlock'.
The French franc throughout its history from 1795 (when it replaced the livre) to 2002 (France completing its move to the euro) had several periods of rapid inflation and government devaluation, resulting in some exchange rates with other currencies that were at joke level. In 1960, the currency was revalued with the "new franc" being equivalent to 100 of the old ones, but the franc was one of the weaker currencies in Europe in the 1990s, although not quite as bad as the Italian or Turkish lira.
Jonathan Wild was a man who ran a major criminal empire who posing as a thief-taker:
The wage for the Prime Minister was £5,000 a year from 1830 to 1930. Sir Keir Starmer is entitled to £172,153, but doesn't take all of it:
Regular MPs were not paid at all until 1911; which basically limited the Commons to those were already wealthy or had support from a trade union.
Trespass is not in itself a criminal offence in England, merely a civil wrong, but picking a lock to get into a place would make it a criminal matter.
Deutsche Bank, the largest bank in Germany, was formed in 1870 - it today has two of Frankfurt-am-Main's 20 skyscrapers (Germany has 21 in total).
London Victoria is connected to Sussex by the Oxted line, then part of the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway. It is today in the Southern network. I will cover more on this later.
"Milk train" was a term for a very early train, these would carry churns of milk in the guard's van and/or (I guess) in dedicated freight wagons, as well as passenger loads. Milk would move from the 1930s onwards to being carried in dedicated tanks, until road transport replaced them, with the last milk trains running in 1981.
While the Pinkerton Detective Agency had adopted an eye as its logo by this time - after an operation to escort Abraham Lincoln to his inauguration where the world's first female detective, Kate Warne, likely pulled an all-nighter - the use of the term "private eye" to refer to someone like Holmes originates in the 1930s. Here it is referring to the fact the message is for Inspector MacDonald's personal reading.
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rockislandadultreads · 11 months ago
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Read-Alike Friday: The Lace Widow by Mollie Ann Cox
The Lace Widow by Mollie Ann Cox
New York, 1804. America’s beloved Alexander Hamilton lies dead after a duel with Aaron Burr. Meanwhile, Eliza Hamilton’s eighteen-year-old son, Alexander Jr., was seen fighting with a man in a tavern the night before his father’s duel and quickly comes under suspicion for murder when the man turns up dead.
Eliza searches for ways to clear her son’s name, even as she is grieving, but as she combs through her late husband’s papers, she finds evidence of a plot to steal money from the government during his tenure as secretary of state. Hamilton was accused of stealing that money, and it was a scandal that almost broke the family—but is Eliza now holding proof of Alexander’s innocence?
Deep in debt and despair, with eight children to support, Eliza turns to selling her handmade lace—and is drawn into a mysterious network of widow lacemakers who are intimately connected to New York’s high-society families. They know their dead husbands’ secrets—and soon, Eliza begins to piece together the truth.
There’s a dark plot connected with the duel, as one by one, witnesses to the bout are being killed. Now, Eliza must not only clear her husband’s and son’s names but keep herself out of the killer’s sights.
Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Amanda Flower
January 1855: Willa Noble knew it was bad luck when it was pouring rain on the day of her ever-important job interview at the Dickinson home in Amherst, Massachusetts. When she arrived late, disheveled with her skirts sodden and filthy, she'd lost all hope of being hired for the position. As the housekeeper politely told her they'd be in touch, Willa started toward the door of the stately home only to be called back by the soft but strong voice of Emily Dickinson. What begins as tenuous employment turns to friendship as the reclusive poet takes Willa under her wing.
Tragedy soon strikes and Willa's beloved brother, Henry, is killed in a tragic accident at the town stables. With no other family and nowhere else to turn, Willa tells Emily about her brother's death and why she believes it was no accident. Willa is convinced it was murder. Henry had been very secretive of late, only hinting to Willa that he'd found a way to earn money to take care of them both. Viewing it first as a puzzle to piece together, Emily offers to help, only to realize that she and Willa are caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse that reveals corruption in Amherst that is generations deep. Some very high-powered people will stop at nothing to keep their profitable secrets even if that means forever silencing Willa and her new mistress...
This is the first volume of the "Emily Dickinson Mystery" series.
What the Dead Leave Behind by David Housewright
Once a police detective in St. Paul, Minnesota, Rushmore McKenzie has become not only an unlikely millionaire, but an occasional unlicensed private investigator, doing favors for friends and people in need. When his stepdaughter Erica asks him for just such a favor, McKenzie doesn t have it in him to refuse. Even though it sounds like a very bad idea right from the start.
The father of Malcolm Harris, a college friend of Erica's, was found murdered a year ago in a park in New Brighton, a town just outside the Twin Cities. With no real clues and all the obvious suspects with concrete alibis, the case has long since gone cold. As McKenzie begins poking around, he soon discovers another unsolved murder that's tangentially related to this one. And all connections seem to lead back to a group of friends the victim was close with. But all McKenzie has is a series of odd, even suspicious, coincidences until someone decides to make it all that more serious and personal.
This is the 14th volume of the "Mac McKenzie" series.
A Study in Scarlet Women by Sherry Thomas
With her inquisitive mind, Charlotte Holmes has never felt comfortable with the demureness expected of the fairer sex in upper class society. But even she never thought that she would become a social pariah, an outcast fending for herself on the mean streets of London.
When the city is struck by a trio of unexpected deaths and suspicion falls on her sister and her father, Charlotte is desperate to find the true culprits and clear the family name. She’ll have help from friends new and old—a kind-hearted widow, a police inspector, and a man who has long loved her.
But in the end, it will be up to Charlotte, under the assumed name Sherlock Holmes, to challenge society’s expectations and match wits against an unseen mastermind.
This is the first volume of the "Lady Sherlock" series.
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v-oluntas · 2 years ago
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The Lost Wanderer
“If having a sense of curiosity is a crime, you and I hang side by side.”
— Adrien, to you.
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Adrien Kang (강대정/Kang Daejung) is a 24 years old British (British-Korean by blood), graduated from one of the most prestigious private university in United Kingdom. He studied criminology during college. After graduating, he decided to engage in Initial Police Learning and Development Programme (IPLDP) and spent 2 years of his time there because he wanted to be a Detective Constable to kickstart his career.
He has solved 6 cases assigned to him in total. His 7th case is to investigate the mysterious mansion in Brighton, owned by a local wealthy family whose background information is close to none.
— PROFILE
Korean/Birth Name: Kang Daejung (강대정)
English Name: Adrien Kang
Face & Voice Claim: Dongmin Lee (Eunwoo Cha from ASTRO)
Place, DoB: Yorkshire, March 30 1999 (24 years old in 2023)
Occupation: Detective at MPS
Nationality: British
Blood Type: A
Height: 183 cm
Weight: 74 kg
Sexuality: Heterosexual
IQ: 122 - Superior
MBTI: ISFP
— PERSONALITY
Adrien is agile, preserved, quiet. His attention to detail is not to be doubted over. He might be clever, but he is also clumsy—not often you would even find him tripping over himself. Although he loves to be surrounded by friends and loved ones, he could be a little unexpected and distracted, trapped in his own little world sometimes.
He always takes a small notebook with him, he would write anything down, anything that could help him later particularly in his job. He has a journal book, he is now onto his fourth book. He finds it soothing to write everything down on the papers, letting them know how was his day going and couple of secrets not many people know.
He likes it when the weather is cloudy, humid—like an autumn air, it's pleasing him. He has a cat, a golden little feline named Bubble. He is a fan of sketching, it's not a hobby to him but it's just something he enjoys doing in his spare time—that, if he had any. His current job actually demands a lot of his time but he does enjoy his work. He visits his family whenever he could. He spends his time with his younger sister the most because she is currently studying in the same city where he is working.
— PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
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Adrien has a dark black hair which is very thick, described by his favorite barber as 'very luminous but won't last long in style' because the strands are heavy. He has brown eyes and his eyelashes are rather long. He is tanned skin and has been told to greatly resembles his father. He is muscular and well-built with broad shoulders and he is also quite tall, standing at 6' 0''.
— SKILLS AND ABILITIES
This section is to be updated.
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answersdetective · 1 year ago
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Brighton Private Detective: Our operation in Brighton caters for business, legal and private client needs in West Sussex and East Sussex
Tel: 01273 634748
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piracytheorist · 4 years ago
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A Kiss for Good Luck (10/15)
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Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.
Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)
Word count for this chapter: 4.9k (50k in total) AO3
Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3
~
Chapter 10: Killian Jones, October 19th 2015 – May 19th 2016
Killian only holds back because Emma does; if she gave him any indication, he'd be really reaching into the kiss. She pulls back gently, her cheeks having gone slightly red.
He directs his eyes back into hers to distract himself from the fact that she either enjoyed the kiss a lot, or didn't enjoy it at all. He's about to smile at her when he sees Eloise from the corner of his eye and turns to her. She's looking at them with her typical cold expression that hides a ton of judgement underneath.
He swallows his sigh for Emma's sake; he's so tired of Eloise and her everything. He shrugs at her casually. Did she actually expect something from him?
And if she did, does he care anymore?
He turns back to Emma. “Don't worry,” he says, hoping Eloise's appearance didn't dampen the mood, and a thought jumps into words before he has the time to stop it. "Wanna add me on Facebook? It's Killian Jones, if, if you're interested...” To do what? Find something to tell her, find something! “We can share favourite songs."
Emma snorts, amused. "Like we're in high school?"
He doesn't have the best memories from high school, but he remembers enough about that awkwardness to know he feels similarly now. "I won't stalk you if you don't add me, just saying."
His stomach nearly does a flip when Emma smirks at him. She reaches into her belt bag and takes out her phone, which immediately slips from her fingers.
"Shit," she says. When she picks it up, they both can see that the screen cracked a bit. "Shit!"
"Oh. I feel as if I've caused that." As if he hasn't made things awkward enough.
Emma shakes her head. "It's replaceable. Don't worry. Killian Jones, you said?"
His chest feels warm at the sound of his full name in her voice. He should stop her; even in the slightest chance that she's actually interested, he's not the best person for any kind of connection.
But Emma is quick with her phone and says, "Friend request sent,” and he nearly leans down to kiss her again. “So we can chat about hot, new releases," she adds, still sounding amused.
He's about to ask for her last name. His battery is dying and he probably won't have the time to open the app before his phone turns off, and now that she did add him, his curiosity is skyrocketing.
"Hey," an older woman calls at Emma from the side. The woman looks at him with a slightly cautious glare, and looks a bit alike with Emma.
"Coming," Emma tells her. "So, we'll keep in touch," she tells him, actually pointing at him with her phone.
He just smiles in response, giving her a slight wave goodbye.
Watching them leave, his eye catches Eloise pouting, keeping her arms folded and staring at him from afar. He snorts and takes out his phone, impatient to accept Emma's request and find out her full name.
Instead of the Facebook app, he accidentally opens the camera, just as Klaus Meine walks right by him. He sees Killian, phone in hand, stops walking, and smiles.
"S-Selfie?" is all Killian can say, shocked.
He doesn't even see Eloise walk furiously towards him, his eyes fixed on the perfect selfie he got with the lead singer of the group they just watched perform.
"What was all that about?" Eloise says upon reaching him.
Killian looks at her, retort ready. "That was me taking a selfie with Klaus Fucking Meine."
Eloise scoffs. "You were kissing that bitch."
"Oh, come on,” he taunts her. “You're just jealous you didn't get a selfie."
"I'm serious," she says, her 's' whistling through her teeth.
"Serious? About what? We're just fucking, and you know that. You treat me like a piece of meat and you expect full commitment on my side? Maybe you're thinking of the wrong woman as a 'bitch'."
Eloise is speechless. And he is suddenly feeling powerful.
"You know what? Fuck that. We're done. You drive back to Brighton, I'm not gonna put up with a return trip if you're involved."
"And what are you gonna do?" she spits back at him.
"We're right in the center of town. I can afford to stay in a hotel for one night." He starts leaving.
"It's late! You'll get charged double!" She hasn't even taken a step towards him – she's waiting for him to go back to her.
She can wait all she wants.
He turns towards her, walking backwards. "I don't give a bloody damn," he tells her, then turns forward and leaves.
He leaves her.
How did he forget how calmer his nights are without her? The receptionist doesn't even charge him double – they'd just prepared a room that got cancelled last minute, and providing Killian leaves on time the next morning, it's just the standard price.
The room is nice, yet his mind is still going back to Eloise.
Damn, he left her. He made it.
And all because Emma was bold enough to kiss a damn perfect stranger.
He picks up his phone, now connected to a charger the hotel offered. Emma's friend request is right at the top of his notifications.
He smiles as he accepts.
His first day away from Eloise brings to the forefront how their relationship was way, way more than sex, only in a bad way. How he'd go to sleep some nights, nearly shaking with despair to go buy a bottle and with fear that Eloise wouldn't react well to him doing that. How that bled through to other parts about his life, how he had let her control it, and how she jumped at the chance to do so. He has a full day on his own to reflect on his thoughts and worries with a clear mind.  
It ends on one conclusion; reconciling with family.
Nemo greets him back with open arms, and though Shakespeare keeps a collected face, he embraces Killian warmly too.
He spends the night there, falling asleep at the sight of his old drawings on the wall of his old bedroom. He hasn't picked up a pencil in some time...
Nemo doesn't ask anything the next morning. He's just happy Killian is back and willing to connect, and gets him to try playing chess with him, his new hobby. Killian doesn't even have the nerve to joke about Nemo's apparent mid-life crisis.
Once again, he's being more than Killian deserves. But maybe, once again, Killian can work towards being a man deserving of that love.
Before lunch, he's found himself with a picture of a forest landscape open on his phone, sketching from reference, when he receives a video call from Emma.
His heart speeds up. His hand is shaking slightly as he picks up the phone and looks at the screen, itching to tap “Accept”. He runs to the bathroom, making sure he's presentable, then back at his room, settles on his chair and accepts the call.
Her face fills the screen, and he gives her a cocky smile. She looks fresh from sleep; a different sight from the one in the concert, but what a sight still.
“Good morning,” he says. Is it? “Or afternoon? Have you gone back yet?”
“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling wide, “I arrived last night.”
“How was your trip?”
“A bit more tiring than I'm used to. But safe.”
“Than you're used to? You do it often?”
Emma explains about her extended family in Norway, her visits there a few times a year, and being used to long flights.
He finds himself feeling a little jealous. The only two times he travelled abroad brought years of bad fortune on him.
Emma definitely seems to hold something back, but he pays no mind; his closet has no fewer skeletons. They start chatting about music and end up talking about their plans for the holidays.
Time flies by and it's only when he hears Nemo call for lunch that he realizes they've been talking for an hour.
Bloody hell, he thinks, why do they have to eat so early?
He excuses himself, telling her he'll see her soon, and he can't help noticing how she seems to be holding back something again. He hopes he didn't disappoint her, and ends the call.
He looks at her name on his screen and he nearly taps it to call her again.
He locks his phone and puts it down. Wait a few days, give her time, he thinks.
He goes back to his apartment that same evening, and there's a box of the stuff he kept at Eloise's place. He checks the drawers he kept for her, and they're empty as well. Eloise's spare key is inside the box, with a note for him to not bother with his spare key of her place, as she'll be changing the locks.
He actually feels surprised. That's really mature of her, and he doesn't have to see her again.
Maybe that's what she wants too. Better for both of them.
Before he goes to sleep he starts looking for therapists, and though he doesn't contact anyone yet, he considers it a step towards the right direction. He'll get there.
He calls Emma three days later, and before he's even noticed it, they develop a schedule, chatting two times a week. He wishes to talk to her more often, but he still sees the reserved expression he knows too well on her face, and he knows she needs time. Of course, half the time it's her calling him, and she participates in conversation as much as he does.
She wants it, he knows. She's just taking it slow, and if he's honest, he needs slow too. What he had with Eloise may have led to him meeting Emma, but it still had an impact on him – and not that long after he lost the woman he loved, too.
The same afternoon he makes an appointment with a new therapist – and dreading it, considering the pile of information he'd have to give them – he gets a call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Killian Jones?”
“Who is it?”
“My name is George Rogers, I'm a private detective. Could you confirm your name, please?”
The detective is looking into Milah's murder. He's – lawfully – found suspicious contacts between Gold, his false witnesses and two now convicted criminals in the States, and he's opening her case. Killian's case too, considering he was assaulted as well.
Killian can barely speak. He'd lost all hope that Gold would receive any judgement from anyone but Killian himself. He thought he'd just have to live with the burden that Milah's murderer walks the streets free until he would grow desperate enough to get a gun and kill him himself.
He agrees to meet with the detective at his office and he looks at his phone when he hangs up, catching his shocked expression on the reflection, unable to even close his mouth.
When Killian opens the door to Rogers' office, he freezes as he sees the man.
Rogers just gives him a warm smile. “Mr. Jones.” Then he nods at Killian's stunned silence. “I know.”
The resemblance is uncanny; Rogers has a few grey streaks and more wrinkles, so Killian feels as if he's looking into what he'll look like about ten years from now. Physically, at least.
Rogers has acquired the testimony Killian gave when he was still at the hospital, and is trying to piece the crime together and prove the two convicted criminals are the two bodyguards Gold had hired that fateful day. With a bit of luck and skill, he can lead them to a confession. They're already in prison and it seems that Gold's finances haven't been going well lately. If he hasn't been keeping his false witnesses content, they may not be hard to persuade.
Rogers excuses himself for a moment, and Killian looks dumbfounded at the chessboard Rogers has set on his desk. Nemo didn't pick the habit up, but Killian did. He starts playing on his own, trying to distract himself from the pile of questions for Rogers and the anxiety that is building up. He doesn't want to let himself hope for Gold's arrest; he won't be able to deal with the result of the case going cold again.
“Do you play?” Rogers asks, nodding at the board.
Killian shrugs. “I started a few weeks ago. I play a bit online to...” He looks up at him, still a bit shocked at their physical resemblance. “You said you opened this case. Why?”
Rogers sits down at his desk. “It's my job. I was hired to look into it.”
“By whom?”
“Confidentiality, mate. I was looking Gold up, and after some digging I found out you had accused him for murder and assault.”
“I tried.”
Rogers shakes his head. “That bastard's a few million pounds away from starting a bloody mob. Hiring a few false witnesses is a piece of cake for him. Unfortunately for him, he can't cover all his sources and expenses. Questions start piling; where did he get all that money, and where are they going to? Especially now that his businesses are supposed to be failing.”
Rogers can't promise anything, but he looks determined to do his best. Killian doesn't allow himself any hope. He focuses on his life; going back to work with Shakespeare, finding a new AA group, starting therapy again, and talking to Emma.
He doesn't realize how much he's changing his own life until Emma points out that he told her once he's an early bird, yet there he is at two in the morning his time, chatting with her. And indeed, Shakespeare was willing to give him a late shift, but Killian didn't mind it that much either. He shifts the conversation to her choice of snack, making a sour face at the pop-tart in her hand.
“How can you eat that thing? It's like sugar-coated sugar,” he teases her.
Emma laughs, saying it's European candies that need a good dose of sugar instead.
With Christmas approaching, Rogers takes time off officially but keeps doing some work from home, and he calls Killian one evening to discuss some details about his testimony.
Killian finds a taxi fast, which manages to avoid all traffic and red lights and he arrives early at Rogers'. He's in a bathrobe and his hair is wet when he opens his door.
“You're early,” he says. “Come in.”
Killian steps in, immediately noticing the girl sitting cross-legged in front of a coffee table, playing chess.
“That's my daughter, Alice. Perhaps she can teach you a couple tricks,” Rogers says, smiling. “I'll be back in a minute.” He disappears behind a door.
“Wow,” Alice says, looking at him. “You do look like papa. He told me so but I didn't believe him.” She turns innocently to her chessboard.
A lump forms in Killian's throat; neither he nor Rogers commented much on their resemblance, but with another person so close to Rogers pointing it out, he can't help the possibilities that fill his thoughts. His deadbeat father had already left two children; what would one more before them change anything?
Could it really be?
“Can I ask you something?” Killian asks when Rogers is done with his questions. “How old are you?”
Rogers looks a bit taken aback. “Forty-five. Why?”
Thirteen years older than him. Which means his father would've been fourteen when Rogers was born. Unlikely, but still...
“Were you born here?”
Rogers sits back in his chair, his eyebrow raised. “Actually, I was born in Seattle, but my folks moved us back to Plymouth when I was five.” He pauses. “Are you curious...” he points between their faces.
Killian shrugs, but relaxes. The possibility of his father, at thirteen years old, travelling to Seattle and impregnating a woman are downright impossible.
“I was also curious, when I found your file and saw your picture. But I see a lot of people in my line of work, and trust me, there is a notable number of almost twins out there.”
Feeling comforted, but still vulnerable, Killian confesses. “It's just... my father was not much of a parent. I wouldn't put it past him to have another child he never mentioned to us.”
“I understand. I can assure you, though, it's just a coincidence.”
“It's also that... my mother's name was Alice.” He smiles at that, though.
“Oh. That is peculiar. But I simply liked the name for my daughter, and it's not like it's a super rare name.” He then turns to look at the clock as a thunder rumbles somewhere not too far. “I'll be making some dinner, would you like to stay?”
“No, it's alright.”
“You can either help, if you want, or keep Alice company as she teaches you tricks.” Rogers rubs at Alice's back, who has come to stand next to her father.
“How long has she been playing?”
“Since before I could read,” she says, proudly crossing her arms.
Killian smiles at her.
“For real,” Rogers says. “She was still in preschool when I started teaching her. That's more than six years of experience.”
“Which is why I always beat you,” Alice tells him.
Killian stands up. “Then I have no hope against you. Thanks for the offer, but you've already done enough.”
“Come on, mate, it's pouring rain outside.”
Killian smiles a little wider. “I have a good feeling about it.”
Indeed, the rain slows to a drizzle and the taxi he calls arrives quickly.
Most of his nights for the past four years have been plagued by the thought that he'd never see Gold pay for his crimes. He had a few nights of blissful calm, either brought by alcohol or the occasional good time the last couple months, but this is the first night that he feels at least relieved. Not confident or hopeful, yet; he knows better than that.
Emma confesses to him that she won't be spending Christmas with her extended family and that she lied to her friends so that they wouldn't cancel their plans for her sake.
He sneakily looks into flights for Boston while he's still on chat with Emma; a cold dread spreads in him when he's reminded of what both his trips to the States caused him.
He goes to bed very late that night, hating himself. Emma needs someone to spend the holidays with, she wants someone, and he's too afraid of his own superstitions to be that someone for her. And the worst part is, he used to be lucky. He knows what's it like to throw caution to the wind and still everything coming out fine. It's the first time in four years that he's started to feel that things have started going well. He's too afraid to push his luck.
He resorts to sending her a collection of his favourite seashells that he's gathered over the years as a gift. He's happy to hear it arrives in time, and he has a celebratory video chat with Emma on Christmas day, going along with her and her pop-tarts.
He regrets not going to Boston, or at least offering to help pay her tickets so she could come visit him, when it's New Years Eve and he has to show a happy face for his family while he knows Emma is all alone.
Just two hours before midnight his time, he takes Nemo's car and manages to find an open toy store. The owner says Killian is the luckiest bastard of the year, as he was about to close for the night. Killian buys a confetti cannon, thanks him, and wishes him a happy new year.
He allows himself exactly two hours of celebrating with his family before he goes to bed. He wakes up at half past four and sets everything up for a surprise celebration for Emma, checking at least three times that he's got his timezones right and it's still before midnight in Boston.
He starts calling her at quarter to five, but she's not online. Then again at ten to five. When she doesn't answer at five to five, he sends her an SMS to turn her WiFi on. As he waits for her to become active, he prepares to tease her for falling asleep on the one night most people want to stay up. He sets into a smug face and calls her immediately after her dot turns green.
His face falls when she accepts his call and he sees her tear-stained face, broken by a sorrowful expression.
“Oh, Swan,” he says.
Emma bursts into sobs. He waits for her, he doesn't give a damn if they miss the countdown, they can do one of their own. As long as Emma is alright.
As her sobs slow down, he feels tears in his own eyes. How he wishes he could reach over and hold her.
What a coward he was. When she wipes away her tears, he gives a silent promise to never let her experience anything like that again.
“Thank you,” Emma says.
Killian looks at the clock he's set up. “It's thirty seconds now. Do you want me to count with you?”
“Yes, please.”
He sees the smile on his preview turn more cheerful.
Emma looks at him, her smile widening as the seconds go down, contrasting her red and puffy eyes.
Killian pops the confetti cannon, but his eyes never leave her reflection. “Happy New Year!” he says.
“You stayed up,” she says.
“I... woke up,” he admits. “I mean, I went to sleep a bit early, and even I would say two is early for New Year's, so I snuck in a few hours of sleep before the alarm went off.”
Her face is so vulnerable, and the wish to hold her overwhelms him.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she says.
“I wouldn't forgive myself if I let you change the year alone.” Nor if I let it happen again. “Especially after you told me what you didn't tell your friends. Losing a bit of sleep is nothing.”
He has a whole array of snacks prepared for his late night with her, but he sets it aside when she says that all she has is the few pop-tarts left from Christmas.
She seems to love them so much. “Perhaps I chose the wrong flavor,” he says. “If I visit Boston one day you'll get me all kinds and I'll taste them all.”
He almost says 'when' instead of 'if'. But he has to be rational; financially he cannot yet support a trip, and he owes Emma an honest promise only when it's possible.
There's not much he's wanted from life; and by now he's learned to not push for more than he has. But is it too much to think that he's in love with her? That he's reminded what it feels like, to feel his heart full of love and not thirsty for revenge?
Is it too much to hope he can have something with her?
He makes himself some coffee, determined to stay with her until she falls asleep. Her eyes are drooping closed when he takes the phone to the window, to show her the lighter blue streak of the early sunrise. Her eyes are already closed when he sits back and sings Auld Lang Syne to her. When the song ends, he lets a few seconds go by before he calls her name once.
When there's no response, he ends the call and sends her “Happy new year, love,” in text.
The new year arrives promising. Only three days in, Rogers calls him to tell him one of Gold's fake witnesses confessed.
Killian needs to attend two sets of trials; one for Milah's murder, and one for the assault against him. Both are draining, but Nemo is beside him, and Killian bursts into tears when Gold gets life sentence.
He thinks about Milah's boy, Jack; he's barely fifteen years old, and he's dealing with what Killian had hoped he never would; seeing one – or in his case, probably both – of his parents as a monster. Gold had remarried; right after divorcing him, Belle, his now second ex-wife, was the one who had hired Rogers to look into Gold. She attested against Gold in the trial, but she seemed to care a lot for the boy.
Three weeks later he hears that Belle took custody of Jack. Killian is sure the boy hates him already; all he can do is hope his stepmother will care and provide for him.
His heart had stopped aching for revenge, but that doesn't mean it's not relieved that a murderer who chose to ruin him is now behind bars.
And with Emma, it soars. Through those emotionally taxing months, talking to her is his one constant.
Before either he or Emma realize it, their chats become a daily habit, even when there's little to say. Sometimes they just synchronize their Netflix to watch something together. Sometimes just each other's presence there on the phone screen is enough while doing housework.
Killian has completely switched to late shift at Shakespeare's boat rental, so that he can stay up late and talk with Emma after she's done with her shift.
For years, his mind was consumed with thoughts of revenge. His consciousness felt lighter, but his heart still felt empty after Gold was convicted. With Emma, he remembers how it feels like to care for someone that way, the way he did before Gold took that away from him.
Emma is in no way a replacement for Milah; but he knows it's time he moved on, and he can see in her someone he can do that with. Someone he can be happy with. Milah would want him to be happy, as he would want that for her.
Killian shares the story of his family slowly coming apart; his mother dying, his father leaving, and the final straw when his brother died. He tells her how he was nearly lost himself, how he has no idea where he'd be if Nemo hadn't, quite literally, saved him.
Emma shares her story of growing up an orphan, of being adopted and finally feeling she belonged, until her adopted mother was deported and she had to fend for herself, resorting to trusting the wrong person.
It's yet another time that Killian wishes he could reach into the screen and hold her. It could've been him, the one who trusted the wrong person and lost everything. And Emma is still standing on her feet.
He tells her about Eloise, she tells him about having done time – which makes her current standing even more admirable. Where would he be if his lawyer hadn't managed to get him on probation for breaking and entering on that stupid, desperate night?
He tells her about staying off of alcohol. How he'd thought he'd never stay clean for good. What he doesn't tell her is that it happened to be that he got the strength to keep up his sobriety just after he met her.
He loves her, he knows that. And he doesn't think lightly of their kiss at the concert, but he's not sure she's ready to hear she's had such a positive impact in his life.
And all because he was cheerful enough to hum a song and Emma happened to hear it.
With his emotions muddled by the trial, the stress, the anticipation for the results, and eventually the worry for Milah's son, he is surprised to realize it's late April and he can afford much, much more than a trip to Boston, thanks to the eighty thousand pounds he got from Gold as compensation for losing his hand.
He chooses to not wait too long for Emma. He wants her, and he wants to be good enough for her. Even though he'll need time for that, and he feels she's not ready for anything too quick either, he feels excited to meet her again.
When he tells her he's thinking of visiting her in May, she immediately offers her place for him to stay at.
His heart soars, he smiles widely – and Emma's connection cuts off.
When she comes back in, her smile reflects his. It's a relieving conversation that night, to tell each other that they want something more, but that they both need to take things slow. And one first visit can clear the path, so to speak.
He's still slightly nervous to get on the plane; he treated himself to a first class seat, however – not provoking karma by sneaking into someone else's unclaimed seats this time – and he's surprised to be awaken by a flight attendant when they've already landed at Logan Airport. There were apparently disturbances that delayed landing for an hour, and he slept peacefully through it all.
He turns on his phone and he feels a little relieved seeing Emma's message that she would have to be late. At least she wasn't left to wait for him.
He spots her as soon as the automatic doors leading out of arrivals open. She smiles and waves at him.
When they embrace, his chest feels lighter than it's felt in years. He pulls back and looks at her calm, happy face, then his gaze drops to her lips.
She closes her eyes when she pulls up to give him a peck.
~
(A/N: Finally, things start happening! And not just with them getting together at last!)
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bodhimohan · 7 months ago
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Bodhi smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said. He did think he didn’t have it in him to be a Joe, nobody would believe him if he entered the room as Joe. They’d think he had really weird parents. Sadly, he did. Weird in a bad way they were. He wished he could forget them, at least his father. That he could read news from Brighton without being reminded of how his father had a part in all of that. He took a deep breath. He felt bad, lying. It had never come natural, not even when he’d been forced to do it so many times under his father’s guise. “Neither would I. Though I figure… that previous version of me didn’t have it so good, after all, I was found all by myself, beaten down, and nobody claimed me.” 
He chuckled. “I luckily am not heading for a stake-out, just asking some questions. Getting some information. My job isn’t all fun and games, more often it’s listening to people and waiting around. And the best private detectives are the best listeners, in my opinion.” And it wasn’t just a front he put up, though he’d been bad at it when he was younger, except when his sister was explaining her plans to him, then he listened too well. 
His face showed genuine happiness, looking at Sofia and her found joy, he felt like it was a story worthy of a book, or perhaps a movie. He found it refreshing to hear: someone who chooses happiness over staying in a relationship that was not having a good effect. Making a decision. “And he has been, I take it, else you wouldn’t be here. Well, I for one, am glad you found him, and that you raced after him, else we wouldn’t have met. Though perhaps your experience of Fenrir’s Wood could’ve been spared.” He paused. “Do you still have those dreams you were battling with?” he asked. 
Bodhi chuckled soundlessly. A hottie. He wasn’t so sure he actually had her, or if he was just convincing himself that he did. There wasn’t a lot of stalking involved either, they just tended to end up in the same place. “I have…” he took a deep breath. “Let’s call it a crush.”
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Bodhi chuckled. Happy that she participated on the joke, but also that she offered the information regardless. "He/him," he said in return. It wasn't often that that question actually helped him out - and he found that it was most often with people younger than him - but it did feel right to ask.
"It would probably draw very confused faces, though I could be a Joe, I'd feel weird but I think it would've suited me. Doe feels weird though." He had to joke about it, even if talking about it was in a lot of cases a lie too. He wasn't truly an amnesiac, but it was in his favour to try and forget, to pretend he didn't know. If anyone connected to his father came looking for him - or recognised him - he could lie easily. He shook his head. It felt wrong lying to her, but he waved that guilt away because he lied to everyone about it. It simply wasn't save to know the truth. "I haven't," he said.
He chuckled. "I would not mind that," he said genuinely. Then he shook his head. If only it would be as simple as a stake out, he hated those, but at least they served a clear purpose, they usually had a definite outcome. "Taking a break from running after leads," he explained. "I need the caffeine." He frowned, though still with a smile on his face. "Are you offering to help with a track and trace?" he asked.
Bodhi knew she had a boyfriend, after all, she'd mentioned him, but he had to admit he found her 'stalking' to sound more like she followed him out of love. Or that she had been a groupie. "Just for clarification, he was your boyfriend before you stalked him here, right?" he asked, his voice filled with jest. He looked at the picture she showed. "He is very handsome, and I take it he's a musician of some sorts? Or a performer?"
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ageofxail · 5 years ago
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An updated version of Noel’s Timeline can be found under the cut. 
Summary of changes: Now officially intro’d as England in 1735 (instead of 1907), personally supports American Revolution, Punished by Transportation to Australia (Brisbane) 1815-1829, Obtained medical degree, inspired ACD’s Sherlock Holmes, use of cane in early 50s, now relying on cane again as Eyepatch grows old and prepares to retire as Noel’s Assistance Dog. 
1648 - Birth. Near Liverpool in a village called New Brighton.
1662 - Enlists as a crewman on a Ship-of-the-line with the Royal Navy.
1669 - Promoted to Midshipman.
1671 - Attempts and fails the Lieutenant’s exam.
1673 - Attempts and passes the Lieutenant’s exam.
1688 - Promoted to Captain.
1694 - When formal questioning is raised as to the nature of Noelle’s being, he fakes his death to keep his immortality secret.
1711 - Re-enlists with the Navy, this time immediately the rank of Midshipman, having “forged” a Letter of Recommendation from himself, and claiming to be the son of Captain Noelle Mercier, though now assuming the more-English sounding “Noel Mercer.”
1713 - Attempts and passes the Lieutenant’s exam
1719 - Promoted to Captain.
1732 - Declines promotion to Admiral, which raises official brows. and brings attention from higher ranking officers, which prompts an investigation. A malignment of dates is found, as well as inconsistencies - rather too many consistencies within the files on Noel and Captain Mercier. Noel is brought before the Admiralty for questioning.
Parliament is notified of the existence of a possible immortal, but before Noel can be brought to London for interview, he manages to run for France where he hides in Calais for about two years.
1734 - Returns to London, attempts to re-enlist due to homesickness for the sea, but before his application can get very far he is arrested. However, not brought to the Tower or gaol, he is brought before a small cabinet of Parliamentary officials who inform him that he is, in fact, the Representative of England and for such reasons he cannot be allowed to enlist at this moment.
1735 - Noel is officially indunated as the Representative of England, and formally introduced to foreign Representatives.
1775 - Noel quietly supports the American Revolution, though does not take action to express this support, nor does he actively speak for or against. He keeps his mouth closed. Until, however, he is offered in exchange for speaking formally against the rebellion permission to enlist in the Navy once more.
1815 - Shortly after the close of the War of 1812, Noel is taking a personal tour of London and finds himself increasingly appalled by the state of his country's labour force. Eventually, this, pent up temper, and extreme empathy cause him to react poorly to a particular witnessing of child labour in action, resulting in the sabotage of factory equipment and public protest of labour issues - both of which are crimes Punishable for Transportation. Being unwilling to call upon his relatively protected diplomatic status for help, he submits to the immediate charge and finds himself bound for Australia, where he settles in and helps found the City of Brisbane.
1829 - Homesickness for England eventually calls him to return to his home country, where he attempts to quietly re-enter the fold of London without raising Parliamentary attention. This works to a degree, though not to his knowledge. He is observed quietly while he seeks out odd jobs and works in various coal mines, chemical processing plants and factories for the next several decades.
1845 - Obtains a medical degree from Cambridge, inspired by the curiosity fuelled by reading the reports and writings of Jon Snow following the Cholera Epidemic in the late 1830s.
1880s - Begins indulging in the practice of private detective work, where he becomes one of the inspirations for Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes novels in the role of incredibly observant and socially obtuse detective. It is speculated but uncomfirmable whether or not Noel is responsible for crimes commited in this time frame, but it is suspected enough that he may have also been an inspiration for Sherlock's famously opposing villain, Professor Moriarty.
1891 - On his own attempts to reestablish contact with Parliament, seeking to regain his former position on condition that he be allowed to continue seeking work elsewhere and only serving Parliament to the degree of occasional advisory consultations.
1909 - Becomes an officer again in the Navy, this time with Parliament’s permission and a more official status.
1912 - Serves as Navy officer aboard the HMS Titanic, though miraculously survives the sinking. Continues to suffer PTSD not from the sinking, but from failure to find survivors among the wreckage.
1914, Spring - Panics while on a casual yachting outing, jumps ship and swims to shore. He was not allowed by Parliament to re-enlist with the Navy when WWI began.
1951 - Health begins to noticably decline.
1953 - Collapses due to severe lung damage and can no longer hide his medical impairments. He is now considered a disabled man, and requires an arm cane to move freely.
1957 - Adopts Eyepatch, a Dalmatian, through an Assistance Dog program trained to help with Noel's mobility issues. With her assistance, once grown, he is able to suspend use of the cane over time. He does on occasion leave home with the cane instead of her, though it becomes less and less frequent as time goes on.
Modern Day - As Eyepatch grows old - even the extended lifespan of an immortal's companion cannot delay her aging forever - Noel begins relying on his cane once more, and unable to bear the eventuality of his flat being alone once more soon, he purchases a Shiba Inu puppy from a reputable breeder and names him Brighton Bay Bard, call name Bard.
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bodhimohan · 1 year ago
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Bodhi grinned. "Oh, you're not wrong," he said in response. "They're very similar, but the British will tell you they can't understand each other sometimes. Which may be the case if you run into a Welsh speaking Brit, but accents…" He shrugged. "I can understand it if English is not your first language, but if it is, it's all about patience and listening." He had a Brighton accent, southern, raspy, salty as his father used to say. But he'd done his best to exile the real give-aways from his vocabulary, choosing instead something more general. He nodded, let out a small laugh at the right intervals, and still frowned. It did not explain Fenrir's Wood, but for some people it would never be something easily explained. He had met plenty of Supernaturals who had simply come upon this place and settled down. "Sounds like an adventure right out of one of those heist movies, what was her name?" He asked. He had never been fond of the art-world, but perhaps her name would ring a bell. That was the type of thing that drew a certain private detective, the one who had wanted to become a painter but couldn't do art well.
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"Everyone sounds da same to me over here," he really didn't have an ear for accents. The only thing he knew well enough was neither did Dick Van Dyke because no one sounded like that. "Oh well, it started out as a whim, yanno, holiday to da Maldives, beaches an' all dat 'er den I met a bombshell of a lady an' cue up a whirlwind romance, but get dis, she's actually an international art thief. Course I dunno dat part yet, all I know is how her back arches, yanno," a wicked grin before he continued, "Anyways, holiday in da Maldives turns into a trip to a bunch of dese galleries, 'er showings 'er somethin' an' one of dem was a set up an' we're dere but shit goes haywire. Cops 'er everywhere an' she split, I dunno where she ended up, still don't." At this time, he had started to chew on one of his nails, a bad habit from his youth that just stuck with him into adulthood no matter how much he tried to stop. Nail caught between the blunt of his teeth, voice a little muffled, "Anyway now 'm here. Funny how life works, eh?"
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youareaservant · 6 years ago
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@boundbyhonour​
Unabashed snicker snatches away any semblance of silence once coating Runaan, yet it punctuates the snatching and downing of the fresh glass of whiskey placed in front of him minutes prior. Pause had before seemed prudent; best to stop and take note of just how inebriated he was – but apparently tonight, he was a little easier to goad into drinking than typical. That’s what supportive friends did, right? Got shit-faced drunk alongside their partner the night said partner’s divorce was announced?
“Please. The day I tolerate so little alcohol is the day they bury me.” Yet, eyes remained – if ever so subtly – upon Viren, taking note of how well the man was handling everything. Buzzed, approaching drunk as he was, he was still the same concerned friend as always.
“Question is… You aren’t going to leave me drinking by myself are you?” Not that time enough to answer came before another round was ordered and placed before them – though this time, some forethought had gone into it, and whiskey was replaced with a pina coloda. Idly plucking off his drink’s fruity decor, it became quite the palate-pleasing snack, if expression were anything to judge by.
It was a mild comfort, actually--to know that there was no one waiting for him at home tonight. They had sent Claudia and Soren to stay with his--well, he supposed as of today, former in-laws out in Brighton. His ex-wife had been the one to suggest it, and it had been perhaps the one thing they’d agreed on in months. Tense as things were at the house, both of them finishing up separate moves, it seemed easier and less painful to send the children away for a few weeks. This was hard enough on them without subjecting them to the sight of the home they’d grown up in, packed up and hollowed out. 
It would be an adjustment for them regardless, when he picked them up next week. Viren was satisfied enough with the apartment he’d found--close to the precinct, a reasonable drive to Soren and Claudia’s school, and priced... decently enough. Still, it was certainly different from their home in the suburbs. Smaller, for one. No backyard for Soren to sprint around in, swinging a stick like a sword, attacking Viren’s legs and declaring him a vanquished dragon. No more evenings spent in the quiet nook in their living room, the one Claudia had adored, when she would sit in his lap and drift off to sleep as he read to her from whatever magical theory text he’d been studying from. 
It was what it was. They would grow accustomed to it in time. 
For now, Viren didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the long drive to his ex-wife’s parents’ house next Saturday (they’d never liked him), didn’t want to think about Claudia’s sullen expression or Soren’s brave smile and attempts to cheer his sister up, didn’t want to think about the legal bills he still had to pay, or the strain a three-bedroom apartment in the city along with private school tuition for two children would be on his salary, definitely did not want to think about Harrow’s warm, sympathetic hand on his shoulder, his unprompted and discreet assurances that “I’ll see what I can do about that promotion--you two would’ve probably made detective by next year anyway.” 
He’d only wanted the relentless spin of the world to stop--for a day, for an hour, for a moment--that he might regain his bearings. And it had stopped here, at this bar, the lights low, the drinks strong, and his partner on the stool beside him. 
It was genuinely the most relaxed he’d been all week.
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“Straight hard liquor to that?” he asked with a subdued smirk and a raised eyebrow, glancing pointedly at Runaan’s very fruity choice in libations. “I do know a spell or two to cure hangovers. I imagine you’ll need it in the morning.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his scotch on the rocks--his third of the night. “Though I don’t know if we’ll have much luck tracking down bat livers at this hour.” 
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larryfanfiction · 6 years ago
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 BriaMaria  @briannamarguerite
💙 where your lips land (12k)
A love story told through Louis’ tattoos.
… or the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.
From the poem: “I put new ink where your lips have landed/I cover your kisses with reminders” – TKG
💙 The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion (40k)
“So there’s a sense of humor buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.
“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”
Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”
“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.
Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.
“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.
Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them. — Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.
💙 and marshmallows (10k)
Louis Tomlinson’s ass was wet. Well the whole back of him was wet, but it was really, really seeping through the thin jeggings that he swore to Lottie were jeans. In this moment, though, lying spread eagle in the snow bank that was his front yard he admitted that they were indeed some kind of useless fabric that wasn’t denim.
“Ummm.” The voice was deep, hesitant and came from the little walk leading up to Louis’ house. Fucking fantastic. Someone to witness his misery. “Are you alright?”
Louis squeezed his eyes shut hoping that the person would just go away. – The one where Harry has a personal attachment to Louis’ house, and Louis can’t stop picturing the beautiful stranger dancing in his kitchen.
💙 We’re What’s Right In This World (48k)
“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”
“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.
The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”
Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”
“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”
“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” —- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.
💙 Talk Dirty To Me (13k)
They were both naked. And that seemed, again, like a catastrophically bad idea, but here they were anyway. Naked. In the dark. Only a few feet apart.
It hadn’t even been a discussion. The minute Harry flipped the lights off, they’d both shucked out of their clothes as if they’d been on fire.
“Alright darling,” Louis said, his hand wrapped loosely around his own cock. “Just remember, start slow. Lots of descriptions. Light on the hygiene, heavy on the compliments. You’ve got this.”
As if Harry were about to compete in some kind of athletic game. __
Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it’s a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway. 
💙 In All Its Imperfections (15k)
From: Louis Tomlinson To: Undisclosed Recipients
Hello!
I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!
Cheers!
“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”
The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.
“What happened, mate?” Liam asked.
Harry just pointed to his computer.
Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”
“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”
“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”
Harry nodded.
There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”
💙 Be with me so happily (42k)
Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated.
From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes.
Or … the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn’t so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them.
[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn’t want to babysit his funder’s spoiled lay-about son for two months]
💙 When The Stars Come Out (30k)
Louis was about to reassure Harry further when Gemma bounded back over to him, slipping a hand around Louis’ waist. Harry’s eyes followed the movement. And then that lip gnaw again. Christ. How was he supposed to survive this weekend?
He turned his attention to Gemma as her palm came to rest right above his heart. Laying it on a bit thick, dear. Or at least that’s what he hoped he’d conveyed with the simple tilt of an eyebrow.
In response, she went up on tiptoes and laid a noisy kiss on the hollow beneath his cheekbone. Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry, who watched the scene play out with a blank expression. Once Gemma dropped back to the ground, Harry shifted away from them, his gaze dropping to his feet.
[Or the one where Louis pretends to be Gemma’s boyfriend for her horrid cousin’s wedding but fate is a nasty jerk and throws Harry in his way.]
let us know who to feature next!
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boneymoo · 6 years ago
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22 January 2019
Just had a very informative and reassuring meeting with my oncologist. What a lovely knowledgeable man! He talked to me like a colleague as opposed to a patient because of my connection to the Medical School via the Universities of Brighton and Sussex.
Well, the outcome of the consultation is NO CHEMO ... for now. I am having the Oncotype test to help determine whether chemo is required. This is due to the following factors:
I have early stage cancer
The tumour is small
My cancer is oestrogen receptor positive
I will be on Tamoxifen which is a hormone suppressing drug.
Being on Tamoxifen means there is a 5% chance of the cancer returning
Having chemo only reduces the likelihood of the cancer returning by 2% i.e. the benefit is minimal.
If I don’t have chemo there is an 8% chance of the cancer coming back
As I want to be certain that chemo is of little benefit, I have opted for the Oncotype test to help me make an informed decision regarding my treatment.
The Oncotype test is ‘a unique diagnostic breast cancer test that looks at the activity of 21 different genes in a woman’s breast tumour tissue. The test measures the chances of your breast cancer returning and the likelihood of your benefiting from chemotherapy treatment.’
The test is not available to NHS patients who are lymph node positive (cancer was detected in one of my nodes). So I am paying for it as a private patient (it’s about £2.5k). The test is carried out in the States so there is now a three week wait to find out if I will be having chemo.
Regardless of the outcome of the test I will still be having Tamoxifen and radiotherapy. Both treatments will start after the test result.
PHEW!! I think that’s everything.
I feel more reassured and positive after talking to the oncologist. But I am now EXHAUSTED!! Apologies if you haven’t had a direct response to your message I simply do not the energy for individual responses at the moment.
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anoseforrottenapples · 2 years ago
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While Jane is quite comfortable doing all the sleuthing on her own when she needs too, she has no qualms handing clues over to younger and more energetic detectives, or Private Investigators as Nancy has christened herself. She is at an age now where she is content to focus her abilities on gossiping over cups of tea, observing her neighbors from her garden, and making seemingly random small talk at parties. Nancy, on the other hand, has all the pep, vigor, and resilience of youth. There are few places she will not go to follow her clues, and the more physically active a case is then the more excited she becomes. She would delight in the confrontation with Grinch becoming almost physical, considering such a reaction as proof positive to the theories the women have developed. “Three more?” Jane rose both eyebrows and eagerly set her saucer back down on the table. “Now of course I knew about him hiding all of that money he stole under Mrs. Wilmer’s lovely hyacinths, and I was quite sure he had hidden his late wife’s jewelry nearby, most likely mixed in with the iris bulbs. Hiding the jewelry off his own property was the only way to ensure the police would not find it on accident, thus supporting the claims that it was stolen. This would also allow him to collect the insurance money… and jewels like that are always insured for a tidy sum. Of course, I always suspected he had had a hand in his poor wife’s passing as well… but what was the other crime?” Jane knew Grinch to be a dirty little thief, taking advantage of his position as treasurer to rob his church of a tidy sum of money. He had skimmed all of it off the top of the collection plate, doing it steady and slowly enough that he amassed quite a tidy pile before the poor vicar noticed. The idea that he was committing insurance fraud over his wife’s expensive jewelry tied into the idea that he had murdered the poor woman for her life insurance. Just like stealing from the church, he had committed these crimes so slowly and methodically so that no one would suspect anything to be amiss.   Except that it is rarely just ill fate that allows a man to be surrounded by so many tragedies in such a short span of time. To lose his wife in her sleep after a gradual decline of health is a seemingly natural outcome… but there is nothing natural about all of her jewelry going missing a few days after the funeral, and for the vicar at Mr. Grinch’s church to suddenly find a steady pattern of discrepancies in the donations. The latter two events also happened against the background of Mr. Grinch abruptly announcing that he is selling his home in River Heights, and moving to the Caribbean to ‘really get away from it all’. Nancy’s request for an explanation brings a smile to Jane’s lips. “Well… it was several things I suppose. Firstly, Mr. Grinch has had far too many things shake his world in the last few weeks, and they all seem to be connected. You’ve heard the old saying, ‘when it rains, it pours?’” She prompts Nancy to remember. “Well, when they say that, they generally mean a whole collection of unconnected events all happening at the same time. You know, your car gets a flat tire, your father abruptly announces he has to take a business trip to London, and your favorite dress gets a tear in the skirt all in the same morning. All surprising, and somewhat irking but clearly unconnected.” Needing to moisten her throat, Jane retrieves her teacup and takes a sip. “In Mr. Grinch’s case, though, everything was a bit too connected. His wife’s jewelry is stolen right after her funeral? He is filing for multiple kinds of insurance at once, the vicar at his church finds a large amount of money missing, and he is planning on leaving the country very soon after his wife’s passing? That is far too much to be mere coincidences, Nancy.” Taking another sip of tea, she thoughtfully adds. “It reminds me of young Silvas Martins, back in Saint Mary’s Mead. He was a slick young man from Brighton, and convinced many of the villagers to invest in a resort he planned to build on one of the near-by lakes. Right when people began to suspect his resort would never materialize, Silvas announced he needed to travel to Glasgow so he would be gone for a few days. The police caught him in Liverpool, trying to get work on a cargo ship that would take him out of the country.”
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“As for knowing what he was doing in the neighbor’s yard on Saturday… well… that was simply because Mr. Grinch did not know his plants. I saw him in Mrs. Wilmer’s garden on Saturday evening, and casually mentioned it when I ran into him at the post office on Monday morning. He told me that he was helping Mrs. Wilmer plant some new hydrangeas, hence why he needed the shovel. That’s how I knew he was lying. Firstly, one plants new hydrangeas either in the fall, or earlier in the spring… and it is now the middle of July. Secondly, one never goes digging around in a garden at night unless you are a boy looking for nightcrawlers. To garden at night is quite risky—one could end up digging into roots or otherwise damaging healthy plants. To claim he was planting new flowers in a bed at night is really quite silly to anyone who knows anything about gardening!” Of course, that means this information might have gone over Nancy’s head. While Nancy has many skills, interests, and hobbies, she has never displayed much of a green thumb that Jane has ever seen. She can appreciate flowers, and admire a lovely garden, but the process of turning a patch of dirt into said lovely garden is an unsolvable mystery to Nancy. Mr. Grinch’s comments might have struck the girl as peculiar, but Jane doubts Nancy would have been able to read much more into them.
Nancy Drew & Miss Marple: @anoseforrottenapples
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"It would seem your theory holds some credence, Miss Marple." Comes Nancy's poised response. "Would you believe Josiah Grinch just about bowled over the sheriff in an attempt to evacuate the premises?" A near-wicked grin curls across her lips. "And it's all because I alluded to the fact that you knew what he'd been up to last Saturday? With his shovel in neighbors yard--"
The teen detective eagerly leans forward in her chair. "He confessed to at least three other crimes with how fast he was speaking." She pauses. "So Miss Marple, how was it that you figured he was the guilty party so quickly?" Nancy presses. If only so that she may make note of the other woman's methods.
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robin-bring-the-snow · 6 years ago
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You’re my home
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Song: Brighton — Forest Fire.
Summary:You are an agent of SWAT, you felt something for Gavin,you started to hang out one week after you arrived. His partner Rk900 when the virus of deviancy spread in the Detroit City, he started to feel somenthing for you and isolated itself.
A/N:Two part. (1-2)
Parting: Rk900 x reader (Past| Gavin x reader)
Warning: Violence, Comfort, Post Revolution (Pacifist Ending).
~~
1.
You walk to the Gabriel Richard park, looking the lights, before another turn start.
You feel peacefully and relaxed, because it was a quiet night, as there was not too much traffic and the waters were calm. In addition, at that time there were not many people in the park, so you could easily walk and enjoy the little nature that was still there in Detroit.
You you had been transferred to Detroit for a couple of years ago, but the first time you entered the police department, it was unforgettable.
You‘d beaten a man in his late thirties who was probably arguing with someone.
“Hey! Look where you go!”the man shouted looking his black shirt. He had a grey eyes, brown short hair and beard.
“I search the Captain Allen. Is this his division?”you claimed looking at him from high to down, like you analyzed him.
“Wrong, unit darling! But you can have me. I’m Gavin Reed, Detective Gavin Reed and this is my plastic partner Richard.”he introduced himself and the android near him. His light blue eyes put you in awe, but recomposed you when you blinked and looked at Detective Reed.
“You should stop to flirt with the agent Y/S, it isn’t unfair and impolite. I’m really sorry for my human partner’s behavior. I’m Rk900, the android sent by Cyberlife to assist the Detective Reed in the investigation.”he told looking at you holding out my hand to tighten it, you gave him a handshake.
You smiled lightly and he remained serious and cold, while the detective Reed turned around looking at you from head to toe and you ignored him.
At one point Richard moved and moved you to the office of Captain Folwer, where Allen was also inside.
That morning was the strangest one, but the mornings after were a little different.
“Good morning Agent Y/S.”Reed greeted while you were with in the elevator.
“Morning Detective Reed, I’m glad to see that someone instead me are happy today.”you declared looking at him.
“Oh well. You can call me Gavin, darling.”he said with a smile on his face.
“Y/N.”you said taking his cup of coffee and taking a sip. He was about to take it back when the elevator reached your destination and you got off it.
He was nice that day, and the day after and the following day. You and Gavin started dating you a week after you arrived. He was something you had never had before, previous relationships had been a disappointment from the high school boy who was one with football and the Academy guy who secretly was a presumptuous narcissist.
“Ah fuck.”he moaned in your ear, your arms are crossed behind his back, he pushed in you gently, even if you told him he could increase his pace when he wanted to. He showed you respect for your body, since he had pushed you into his bed when he had teased you, during the foreplays.
He came after pushing inside for half an hour until you came too, right after him.
“I told you that I came only after my partner.”you revealed looking at him and his face after sex. You made your fingers walk on his chest once he lay down next to you, he looked at you and after taking your hand, he bring her to the mouth and kissed her.
“Oh, you are so romantic Gavin.”you yelled approached your face to his and gently kissed him.
“I love you.”he confessed.
“I love you too”you answered back.
Immediately you touch your lips reminding that night, so far and so close at the same time. 
The day after you talked about Gavin with Richard that he had been momentarily entrusted in a case where there was a hostage. He does not seem surprised, he reacted like any android would react.
“Good for you, Y/N. You know it's going up for you humans to do it sometimes, then I know that the pleasure of doing it with those you love is immense.”he commented, while he was walking with you after the case.
“Richard, do you never feel anything like love?”you asked curiously.
“No, I’m not program to do it, but Connor became a deviant for showing empathy.”he answered looking at you. He never smiled and he never felt anything. How could Gavin work with him?-you thought looking him.
“Anyway, thank you for today.”you concluded before you kissed his cheek.
Software instability: ^^
You’ve many occasion to speak with Richard and you noticed that he started to change. You noticed from his expression, you felt good for him. At last he could understand us (maybe).
After some months that you worked here, you worked together with Richard and Gavin. One morning you had a gun battle with some deviants, Richard and Gavin were well protected, but at one point Richard disobeyed Gavin and ran to the deviant.
“Come here Richard.”Gavin screamed shooting at the deviants.
“No”he answered running to the deviants.
Software instability:^^
“I saw you different, Richard.”you noticed, watching his face completely scared.
“I’m okay. I didn’t see that he’s coming.”he answered watched the deviant body, death in front of you.
Software instability: ^^
“It’s okay, this is fear. Richard is normal to feel it.”you reassured him. He walked away from you, his LED changed every minute from yellow to red, from red to yellow.
He could have a panic attack, you walked close to him and you took his hand.
“Richard.”you called calm and smiling at him. He looked you and smiling back, his LED became finally blue and returned himself.
The things became more complicated with Gavin, he needed a person completely different from you and in the end you broke up two year after you hanged out, but you kept being good friends. Because it is children’s things to keep didn’t talk because your relationship did not work.
“We should broke up, it isn’t healthy for you and for me.”he said taking your hand.
“Okay, but we still friend.”you confirmed looking at him with brighter smile.
You showed yourself in agreement with him, because you did not want your emotions and your private influences too much on the work, obviously gave it the right emotion, but without exaggerating.
You‘ve stopped to remember about the morning before, when your phone rang. You asked to yourself what does he want now.
You watched and red the name:Allen.
What does he want? Jesus Christ it’s the 22 pm, who the hell are in the trouble or in danger?-you thought looking the screen.
You swiped your finger across the screen to answer and brought the phone close to your ear, while you were starting to walk to your car.
“Hello. We have a problem with Richard.”
Part 2
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butitdidntmake · 6 years ago
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Paedophile driven to court in hospital gown to be jailed
Shocked this story didn’t make. Roy Whiting’s crimes led to massive changes in newspapers, the law and society. This man could well have been involved in making him into the child killer who ruined many lives. Disappointed for Green’s brave victims and the diligent police who worked so hard to return him to prison this didn’t get a good show.
A convicted paedophile was driven to court in his hospital gown when doctors passed him fit to go back to prison for another 12 years following a second conviction for abusing young boys.
In a dramatic end to his trial, former sports coach Michael Green - described as child killer Roy Whiting’s mentor and idol - was hospitalised with a suspected stroke.
Police who investigated Green, drove him to court as soon as he was discharged from hospital by doctors in Brighton.
Green, 75, abused boys as young as nine, the court heard, while coaching ice hockey and when he worked as a cricket coach at an exclusive private school.
He befriended Whiting who went on to rape and murder eight-year-old Sarah Payne when they were both involved in motorcycle speedway racing in Sussex.
Green was found collapsed in his flat by police after he failed to appear in court to hear closing speeches at the end of his two week trial.
The judge ruled the trial should carry on without him.
After spending nearly five days under the care of doctors in Brighton, Green was discharged and driven straight to court knowing he would be jailed for a second time.
Still wearing his hospital gown, Green was led into the court building by the same police officers who investigated his crimes.
After a meeting with his barrister, Green shambled the last few metres down the corridor still wearing his hospital wristband to the public entrance using a walking frame, complaining of the pain he was feeling.
Prison officers in blue surgical gloves sat either side of the convicted paedophile who listened with his head bowed as Recorder Elliott QC told him she had considered the possibility he will die in prison.
One of his victims watched from the public gallery overlooking the court as Green was jailed for a second time for abusing boys in his care.
Green, 75, conducted a serious, repeated and widespread campaign of abuse, the judge told him.Green was already convicted of abusing two boys in Hampshire in the early 1980s and jailed for nine-and-a-half years in 2001.
He was freed on licence when more allegations against him were brought to police.
As the new allegations did not involve abuse after his previous conviction, he was not taken back into custody.
The 75-year-old was terrified of being attacked as he walked in and out of Lewes Crown Court each day of his trial fearing his victims or their families could try to take their revenge.
Child killer Roy Whiting idolised Green and worshiped him as a God, it was claimed.
Whiting was jailed for life in 2001 for the rape and murder of eight-year-old Sarah Payne.
His crime shocked the nation and let to the passing of Sarah’s Law which allows parent to know if a convicted sex offender could have contact with their children.
The two men met while Green was a coach with the Crawley Tigers speedway team.Green made Whiting captain of the team as they grew closer.
He was described as the future child murderer’s mentor.
Green went on to be a sports coach at Windlesham House boarding school in West Sussex where he abused boys in the cricket team.
Recorder Sarah Elliott QC said Green was guilty of abusing seven boys aged between ten and 15-years-old.In each case, he was their sports coach.
"The seriousness, harm caused and culpability of the offender are the main considerations I must apply.
“The delay in bringing these matters to trial is in part down to the shame and confusion the victims felt at what they had suffered through you.
"You used your popularity and position as their sports coach in a gross abuse of trust.
"You befriended your victims and their families for your sexual purposes.
"In relation to the offences at the school, they were borders with you looking after them in the evenings and weekends, so they were effectively trapped with you.”
Green used pornography, gifts and trips to the cinema to see racy films to groom his victims, the Recorder said.
“With some, you simply got into bed with them,” she said.
The hours Green spent as a sports coach gave him the opportunity to abuse boys for his own deviant sexual pleasure, he judge said.
“This was a serious, repeated and widespread set of offences,” the judge said.
Green shook his head as the Recorder detailed his offences and jailed him for a total of 12 years for a total of 18 offences.
Green was convicted of 17 after already admitting one offence.
Green’s successful prosecution was down to the hard work of Sussex police and in particular DC Dawn Robertson, the Recorder added.
Detective Constable Dawn Robertson, who was involved with both investigations, said; "Green's 2014 sentence received considerable publicity and as a result these seven further victims came forward to us over the ensuing months.
"We have great admiration for their readiness to help see justice done, and for giving evidence at Green's trial where he denied the allegations throughout and continues to do so even after conviction, as he did in 2014.
"It is clear that throughout that period of the eighties and nineties he was actively involving himself in different types of sports coaching, all of which had one thing in common - they gave him access to young and often vulnerable young boys who he systematically abused under the guise of helping them.
"Reports of this type will always be taken seriously and investigated wherever possible.”
The Recorder also made a Sexual Harm Prevention Order preventing Green from having unsupervised contact with any child under the age of 18.
In a heartbreaking impact statement, one of Green’s victims said his life had been blighted by the abuse he suffered.
“All my life this has haunted me and has been a dark demon I’ve had to deal with.
"The mental scars are sometimes unbearable to live with."
The court heard Green, who had also worked as an insurance agent. used his position as a trusted sports coach to attack seven more boys across Sussex between 1980 and 1994.
He was described as a sexual predator would take boys back to his home where he would then climb into bed with them.
One victim said he came forward after reading reports of another child abuse case.
“He’s the scum of the earth,” the man told police after coming forward in 2015.
"I saw something on the news and thought, he’s going to get away with it.
"I wanted to get my point across.”
He told police he had been sexually assaulted after meeting Mr Green when he was 11-years-old.
The man, now in his 40s described Michael Green as having a musky smell.
"Like a dirty person sort of smell,” the man said.
“I was scared to say anything.
"I didn’t know what to think.
"I didn’t know what would happen to me, so I let him carry on do it.
"I just blocked it out of my mind for years,” the man said.
“I was disgusted with it, but I was only young so I tried to put it to the back of my mind.”
Green even abused schoolboys in the cinema as they watch Madonna in A League of Their own and Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard.
Another man, also now in his 40s, who asked not to be named said Green was notorious as a Nonce when he coached boys in the ice hockey team.
"Everybody knew what he was up to.
"When I heard he had got the job at the school, I felt sorry for those boys.
"He would stand around naked in the showers with boys aged ten and 11.
"People would just tell him to get away from the boys.
"He was just known as a nonce.
"He was a horrible bastard.
"If I saw him now, I'd knock him out.
"We just knew him as Mick the Nonce.”
The jury were told of Green's previous conviction at the start of the trial but not about his connection to Whiting.
Prosecutor Richard Cherrill said new charges were brought when other men started to come forward after reading press coverage of the case, and from the high profile coverage surrounding other historic sex abuse cases.
He said: “We say his previous conviction is relevant.
“That is because it shows his propensity and desire to abuse young boys in his care."
Mr Cherrill told Lewes Crown Court how Green performed sex acts on boys as young as nine.
He would tell boys that they were special and he loved them and would beg for cuddles for his own sick desires.
One reported the boys felt “mystified and repulsed” when Mr Green told them to sit on his knee while he licked and nibbled their ears.
In a dramatic end to the trial, Green suffered a suspected stroke at home over the final weekend break.
Police were sent to his home after he failed to appear at court on Monday morning.
As he was waiting to be assessed by a neurology specialist, the judge ruled the case against Green could go ahead.
The jury heard closing arguments with an empty dock.
Mr Cherrill told the jury: “The defendant is ill.
"He’s not done a runner, he cannot be here.”Green was discharged and driven from hospital an hour before his sentencing.
ends
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twopoppies · 7 years ago
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Historical AU Fic Recs
I was asked by @zsolounamanzana to recommend some historical fics (sorry love, I accidentally deleted your ask!). I don’t actually read historical AUs that often, so I will probably end up recommending ones you already know, but here’s a bunch I really liked. I hope there’s some here for you:
Threadbare by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou
Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill.
He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.
Howls Like A Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by @indiaalphawhiskey
France, 1754. Château de Versailles.
“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.
“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.
Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.
“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.
To Honor by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites
#46. It's Getting a Little Hard
Ech day me comëth tydinges thre, For wel swithë sore ben he: The on is that Ich shal hennë, That other that Ich not whennë, The thriddë is my mestë carë, That Ich not whider Ich shal farë.
**** Each Very grievous are they One must go hence Do not know when Greatest grief Do not know whither I must go
-Unknown, Medieval English lyrics
Commander Styles leads his men to victory, but at what cost?
And down the long and silent street by whimsicule
The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.
Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.
Atlas At Last by @louisandthealien
He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.
Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.
It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.
No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow
Dear Niall,
I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.
Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.
Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.
Are you up for a trip to France?
Sincerely, Liam Payne
Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.
The Man Who Saw The Devil by @metal-eye
"The Devil was staring at him.
"Louis shifted slightly in his seat and scratched the back of his neck, picking up his program and reading the title of the play again: L’homme qui a vu le Diable.
"He was wearing a satin red suit, one that certainly stood out amongst the usual greys and blacks of other Paris theatres, and instead of merely appearing the two times that the main character summoned him, this Devil followed the other men around on stage as they spoke and played cards. He kept looking over their shoulders and mocking their awkward movements, jerks and twitches compared to his own lithe prowl. The theatre audience, most readily impressed by gruesome effects and sensationalism, couldn’t take their eyes off him.
"Neither could Louis."
Paris, 1912. Louis is a frequent patron of the Theatre du Grand Guignol. Harry is a performer. Tonight he's playing the Devil.
The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion by Anonymous
“So there’s a sense of humor buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.
“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”
Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”
“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.
Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.
“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.
Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them.
---
Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.
Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics
For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.
The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.
We’re What’s Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite
“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”
“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.
The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”
Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”
“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”
“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.
Paint The Sky With Stars by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou
On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.
Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.
By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.
Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.
Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.
Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight  by @alivingfire
Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.
Louis has been alive since life was a mere concept; he watched the summoning of Man into existence, he was there when Eve took the apple. He’s seen seas break the world into separate pieces, he’s watched empires crumble into dust. He’s seen wildfire consume cities, he’s seen the world painted white with snow. He has known the most beautiful humans to walk the planet, he has watched the most powerful mortals gather their riches and influence around them and then die just like the poorest, weakest humans do. He’s met humans whose motives defy explanation, people who use their lives as battering rams, as tools, as weapons, as chess pieces.
None of that stopped Louis in his tracks.
But Harry did.
If you haven’t read Butterfly Gun and you can find someone who has it downloaded (it’s been deleted), read that...it’s set in the 1940′s if I recall correctly and it’s beautifully written. 
I haven’t read this one yet, but it was highly recommended to me. It’s a WIP, but the writing is apparently is finished: 
Victorian Boy by DonnaHaywardsHead
Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.
This is another I haven’t had a chance to read but friends told me is wonderful:
Back To You And Tennesee by rippedgloves 
Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.
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OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter
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