look at these curly haired detectives

Journey To Remember- Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

@itsallavengers Here ya go.

______

The first thing Clint did when he got off the train was to knock a boy’s glasses off. Tony would call it an accident but in the past five hours he had spent with Clint, he’d learned that accident was just another name for Clint as a person. If tripping over one’s own feet were a skill, Clint would be an expert in it. So when Clint tripped over nothing and grabbed the first person in front of him, knocking him down - Tony wasn’t really surprised.


“It’s cracked,” Jane observed as she picked up the glasses that had fallen near her feet, testing the frame and wincing, “The frame is bent too.”

“Let’s hope he’s not cracked,” Bucky pulled the fallen boy up and peered at him as his face looked pinched, “Are you alright?”

The boy shifted away when Bucky looked to lay a hand on his shoulder and nodded tightly, blinking hard as he stretched out a hand to ask his glasses back. Tony saw a scrape on his palm but the boy changed his hand immediately, like he had detected Tony’s gaze.

“My - my glasses,” he asked and Jane held on to it as she placed it in his hand.

“It’s broken,” she told him, a small frown appearing and smoothing out on her face, “You shouldn’t put this on, the frame is going to hurt you, see there, it’s bent and out of -”

“My glasses,” the curly brown-haired boy snapped, his voice getting tighter and Tony could see his other hand flexing, trying not to clench up in a fist. He quickly looked over the boy and could see the hints in the hunched shoulders, darting eyes, a slightly swollen cheekbone, and the shifting feet. He knew, he just knew that this boy was used to being pushed, used to having things broken, and definitely not used to anyone fixing things for him.

Tony’s eyes cut over the brunet and met Steve’s, only mildly surprised when he found the blond boy looking back at him before glancing at Bruce speakingly. Steve was different, unlike Tony in so many ways, but he had the same sharp glance for reading people; something Tony had understood when he had watched Steve interact with Clint during the train ride. He was also not from the best of backgrounds, Tony had gathered when he had found out their initial plan to go nick some food from the cart if money fell short. The fact that it was for Clint and not Steve himself made Tony feel confused but also impressed; he didn’t have many friends of his own but he did silently know that he would love to have one like Steve.

Tony’s eyes went back to the brunet boy who was now putting his glasses back on carefully and he made a quick decision.

“Hey, they’re calling for the first-years,” he said, pointing at the large man around whom all the kids were gathering, “We should get going. You’re a first-year too, right?”

The boy jerked and frowned but nodded. Tony grinned, shuffling closer and angling himself towards him.

“Great, you can come with us then”

“I can go alone,” the boy shot back and Tony’s face fell but then he noticed Clint casually slinging an arm around the boy.

“Well, you can but we’re good company, mate,” he grinned, not pausing when the boy froze up and then relaxed, “C’mon, I’ll fix the glasses too.”

“I don’t need - I can do it.”

“Sure, but I’m the one with the uncoordinated feet and hands,” Clint shrugged and steered the boy along as they started moving towards the man who was calling for them, “Where I come from, there’s only one rule: You break it, you fix it. I’m Clint, by the way, just in case you were wondering who your charming new fixer was.”

“Is that what we’re calling the Human Accident now?” Bucky snorted and Tony walked beside Clint, resisting the urge to tug on his robes.

“What, Clint? It’s what I was always called, Bucky” Clint shot back.

“Do you really know to fix it?” Tony asked with a curious frown and Clint shot him a look, easily letting the new brunet slip from under his arm.

“I’m great at fixing, Stark,” he informed Tony imperiously.

Turned out, Clint was terrible at fixing.

“How are you so terrible at it?” Steve asked in an incredulous tone as Tony took the now deformed glasses from Clint and sat beside Bruce, the brunet.

“It’s a new spell! It just needs tweaking!” Clint retorted with fake indignation and Tony let the others bicker as he set pulled out his mini-tool kit from his pocket.

He set to work, carefully pulling and twisting at the metal, narrowed eyes focused as he unscrewed and screwed the joints with precision. 

“That’s a nice kit,” someone commented quietly and Tony knew that it was Bruce, but he kept his eyes on the glasses.

“I like fixing things,” he shrugged with one shoulder and lifted the glasses to eye-level to see the balance, “And I break a lot of things, so it comes in use.”

“It’s a Muggle tool kit though,” Bruce observed and Tony blew at the glasses before smoothing out the straightened frame.

“Sometimes,” he said with a small smile, “it’s good to use your hands instead of magic.”

He looked up and saw Bruce regarding him with a curious but friendly look and pulled out his wand with a wink.

“But sometimes,” he said as he pointed it at the glasses, “it’s also good to use magic to give things a good finish. Reparo.”

The cracked glass healed with a quiet snick and Tony passed it over to Bruce with a smile.

“Thanks,” Bruce said softly and smiled back before they settled down to watch as the Hogwarts Castle came closer.

The first thing Tony noticed as he walked up the stairs to the entrance of the Great Hall was the painting of a young boy and his mother, lowest in the wall near the door. The boy was running around his sighing mother and winked at Tony when he caught his sight. Tony blinked and looked away.

The second thing he noticed was Professor Margaret Carter. The Head of Gryffindor who took them inside the Hall with a quick look at them. His godmother. Aunt Peggy. The urge to wave was high but Tony managed to swallow it and bumped his shoulder against Bruce lightly as they walked.

The third thing he noticed was that Steve was really good at finding fights.

“That’s not true,” Steve grit his jaw and cooly glared at the blond boy who was loudly arguing with his brother over the Houses, “You’re wrong.”

“Come now, friend,” the new blond snorted and waved around at the Gryffindor side of decoration, “Everybody knows that Gryffindor is the best House there is. And everyone knows that Slytherin is the House where wizards go wrong the most.”

“Thor,” the boy’s dark-haired brother warned in a soft low voice, bright green eyes eyeing Steve with tight suspicion but the blond brother didn’t pay mind.

Slytherin,” Steve argued with his hands clenching for a second at his sides but his head held high, “is a House, an honourable House of this school. Just as every House, it had students of all kinds.”

“Yes, but do you not see the prejudiced and condescending history of theirs?” the boy, Thor, asked with an amused expression and raised eyebrow, and Tony watched Steve’s face smooth out into a cold mask.

“The only prejudice I see right now is from someone condemning an entire House because of a condescending belief,” Steve said and would have continued if Professor Carter hadn’t clinked her glass at the High Table.

Thor was pulled away by his brother to the front and Steve exhaled sharply, staring resolutely ahead.

“He’s the prince of Asgard,” a red haired girl commented and everyone turned to see her standing beside Clint, sharp jade eyes flicking towards them before gazing at the High Table, “Thor Odinson, and the other one is his adopted brother, Loki. They’re the first generation of their family to come to Hogwarts. They’re usually home-schooled but this time, Odin decided to widen their knowledge.”

“Who’re you?” Bucky asked, “And where did you come from? I didn’t even see you standing here before.”

“They have regular eye-checkups here, maybe that’ll help,” she replied and smiled slightly when Clint choked on a guffaw, “Natasha Romanoff, I heard golden boy argue with the prince and thought I’d see how that goes.”

“Well, it went well,” Clint shook his head and looked at Steve, who was staring up at the professors, “Was that really necessary? Not that it wasn’t awesome, but just -”

“I don’t like bullies,” Steve cut in with a quiet strength to his voice, “I don’t care where they’re from.”

Tony exchanged a look with Bruce and Bucky eyed his best friend but then Natasha spoke up, a thoughtful look smoothing into a smirk on her face.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s time to see where we go now,” she gestured to the front where Professor Carter stood up to begin the Sorting, “It’s time, boys.”

Tony breathed in and felt his heart beat faster as the first name was read out. 

“Banner, Bruce,” Professor Carter read out and Bruce breathed out hard, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow before he walked forward on stiff legs. 

“Ravenclaw,” Jane bet and Tony nodded in agreement, because he had seen Bruce eye the blue banners as they had entered the Hall.

The hat was silent for a while before it toppled a little and yelled.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Bruce straightened his robes and glasses with a shaky smile, slinking into the assigned table where people greeted him with polite nods and handshakes. 

“Barnes, James” she read out after three students were welcomed into Slytherin and Gryffindor. Tony felt Steve stiffen next to him and risked a quick squeeze to his hand as they watched Bucky breath in deep before walking towards the stool.

“My bet’s on Hufflepuff,” Clint whispered and Steve shook his head as they watched the hat being placed on Bucky’s head.

“Gryffindor,” Steve quipped and Tony didn’t look back to see if Clint had nodded or was making a face because the hat opened its mouth.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The long table with red and gold decorations hanging above it exploded into cheers as Bucky grinned wide and got off the stool with shaky legs, shooting Steve a wave before he joined his new House amid back-slaps and exuberant handshakes.

“Barton, Clinton”

“This sucks,” Clint muttered and almost tripped on his way to the stool, shooting out a peace sign when some students laughed. 

“Gryffindor,” Jane bet as soon as Clint plopped onto the seat with a wink at Professor Carter.

“Hufflepuff,” Steve and Tony disagreed simultaneously, shooting each other small looks before looking back at Clint.

“Looks deceive,” Natasha commented and hummed, “I bet on the raven.”

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat yelled and all of them turned to stare at Natasha, who shrugged with a small smile.

Clint definitely tripped on his way to the table and hugged Bruce with a yell that got them more laughs before settling down next to him.

“Rhodes, James,” the Professor called out and Tony was busy remembering that Steve would come first, and then Natasha, and then him.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind him and Tony turned to see a dark eyed boy with a cropped fuzz and sharp jaw, “I have to go.”

“Ah, sure, good luck” Tony shuffled and moved aside to let the boy go, and stifled a yelp when the boy, James Rhodes, stepped on his foot in his hurry.

“Sorry,” the boy called out over his shoulder with a wince that smoothed over quickly before walking calmly to the stool. 

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat yelled after a few minutes of silence and Tony blinked when the boy nodded at him as he walked towards the Slytherin table, a courteous smile on his face as he sat down.

When Steve’s name was called, Tony heard him mutter something under his breath but the boy didn’t look nervous, walking confidently towards the stool, his head held high and eyes calm.

Tony waited with bated breath as the hat took the longest time with him.

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Natasha asked from beside him and Tony paused before shaking his head.

“I think it’s finding the perfect House for him,” he whispered, “I bet it’s Gryffindor.”

“Could be,” Natasha agreed and watched as the hat opened its mouth wide, ready to yell out the name.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Tony heard a gasp from somewhere in the Gryffindor’s side and knew it was Bucky. There was a choking sound from the Ravenclaw’s table and he definitely knew that it was Clint.

“I’ll be damned,” Natasha whistled low and Tony could only watch with awe as Steve thanked the professor before calmly walking towards the Slytherin table, one look spared in the Gryffindor table’s direction before he settled down near Rhodes.

Somehow, Tony knew that the look wasn’t meant for Bucky. It was meant for another blond boy, a prince, who had already been sorted into Gryffindor.

Tony didn’t know if he should laugh hysterically or curse out loud; of course, Steve had purposefully chosen a House that was always looked down on by people who stuck to the legends and myths of the past. Of course, he had chosen the House where he would have to prove himself to the other Houses constantly, but maybe not much to his own housemates.

His eyes met Bucky’s and he saw the boy’s incredulous expression. He knew that it was mirroring his own.

“Romanoff, Natasha,” the professor called out and Tony watched her walk with confident steps.

She kept her eyes trained on no-one as the hat sat on her head for a minute before declaring its verdict.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Tony would have bet on Slytherin but as he watched Natasha slip into the Ravenclaw table, nudging Clint and sitting between him and Bruce, he wondered if he was holding on to ideas too hard. 

“Stark, Anthony,” Professor Carter read out and Tony saw her eyes catch his gaze; a small flicker of a smile graced her lips before it vanished. He swallowed the lump in his throat and walked, the way Jarvis had taught him to when people were watching him. He didn’t flinch when the hat was placed on his head and trained his eyes at a distant wall.

So,” he heard the hat speak, “Another Stark. It’s always interesting to see one of your minds.”

“Pick the right House, pick the right House…” Tony chanted under his breath and heard the hat chuckle.

And what is the right House for you, hmm, Stark?” it asked, “Will it be Slytherin, where you will learn to achieve more than people expect you to? Or Gryffindor, where your need for adventure will always be welcomed? Or should you be a  Ravenclaw, with the brains of yours, I suspect you’ll find it quite useful.”

Tony’s tongue lingered on Gryffindor, where his father would be proud of him. Or Ravenclaw, where he could be with Bruce and Clint, and could be called smart because of his colours.

But then an image flashed in his mind, the face of Jarvis talking to him through a train’s window.

Your House does not define your pride, Tony. You make your House proud. 

Tony thought about the praise people showered on Gryffindor for its bravery. On Ravenclaw for its intelligence. The grudging respect for Slytherin’s ambition and shrewdness.

He thought about the way the hat had mentioned three Houses.

He thought about his mother, who was from the fourth House. Who loved him and told him so whenever she could.

He thought about Ana, who was from the House that was always talked about with a vague shrug. Ana, who was kind, protective, loyal, and good.

He thought about his deepest desire to be accepted and do good.

He breathed out and told his answer to the hat.

Are you sure, young Stark?” the hat asked, “You will be accepted there, and find friends, but you will not find what your family has always sought.”

“I’m sure,” Tony said and the hat hummed in mild approval before it yelled and Tony felt his ears ring.

HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table with black and yellow decorations hanging above it exploded into cheers and Tony heard a cheer from the professors’ table. He stood up and turned slightly to see the Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Janet Van Dyne, cheer with a broad smile, winking at him when he smiled back. 

Tony walked on numb legs and shook hands with a horde of strangers who would become his housemates and even friends for the rest of his time in Hogwarts. 

He sat down between a redhead girl who was busy talking to a pudgy boy beside her and a dark boy who moved to give Tony space.

“Hi, I’m Sam Wilson,” he said and extended a hand with a grin, “We’re gonna be friends and make Hogwarts cooler.”

“Tony,” Tony shook the boy’s hand and laughed involuntarily, “And, uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Stop guessing, Tony,” Sam clapped his back once and pointed at the food that begun appearing on the tables, “And start eating. My Uncle Holt says that the chicken is always good here. Don’t slack off, or you’re not gonna get the good parts, come on.”

Tony nodded and listened as Sam began rattling off about his uncle and family while they helped themselves to the food that kept refilling.

He felt himself laugh louder than he had before over the conversations that flew over the table and let his nerves die as he settled into the House he had chosen.

He figured that his journey had begun quite well after all.


People grow up, friendships happen, House talks come up, and the classes start. Who’s up for a continuation? :D

Body Positivity Headcanons

-Betas with large noses being considered very attractive because it shows off their superior sense of smell

-Omegas with large scars being admired because they must be really tough and that’s an attractive quality to an Alpha because they think it’ll help them be a good mother for their future children

-Alphas with large ears being highly sought after by Omegas because it’s said that Alphas with large ears have better hearing and will be able to detect trouble sooner and protect their family better

-An Alpha with incredibly curly hair being self conscious of it until they hear a cluster of Omegas talking about how lovely it was and how the Alpha’s future children will surely be very beautiful if they inherit those curls

-Chubby Omegas being very desirable because they look strong and healthy and well suited for carrying strong and healthy pups

-Skinny Alphas being loved by Omegas who have had problems with very muscular and imposing Alphas in the past, because the skinny Alphas are still very dominant and Alpha-like but much less intimidating to the often anxious Omegas

-Alphas absolutely adoring the stretch marks on their mate’s tummy after having a baby, loving how each mark was a product of their strong Omega nurturing and growing their child for nine long months

-Some Alphas loving tall Omegas more than petite ones because they think their children will be more likely to turn out as Alphas if they have such a strong looking Omega parent

-Betas with large teeth being seen as attractive because their teeth would help keep their loved one’s safe if they had to fight

-Short Alphas being adores by Omegas who are bitter about their own height, they love having an Alpha that is closer to their own height

hyperioxx  asked:

I randomly stumbled upon the anniversary comic and was so confused for a second, but once I got my bearings, I realised I had come upon my favourite Persona Headcanon. (and this coming from a hardcore Hamuko/Shinjiro fan!) The comic was superbly adorable! I never really connected Makoto's cop dad as being Akihiko, how did you come into this headcanon?

anniversary comic? do u mean the birthday stuff i drew for akihiko with his p5 kids? :o aaaaaa but nevertheless i’m glad u liked it ;v;!!! it’s not really a headcanon (bc we all know it’s impossible anyway bc… we all know what happens to hamuko on endgame LOL) but an au! and i haven’t finished p5 yet but the connections i made so far i made are these

  • in p4a, akihiko talks about becoming a cop and in trinity soul, akihiko is a detective, so that lines up a lot with sae & makoto’s father who is a detective
  • the sisters’ hair colors matches with akiham, their eye colors matches with hamuko’s. sae’s features, (eyes, expressions) look like a mirror of akihiko’s while makoto looks like a mixture of both. sae’s hairpin reminds me of hamuko’s barrettes and the way her hair is all shaggy instead of curly makes me think of hamuko’s wild hair too!
  • fighting style. the sisters do aikido/kickboxing and i don’t even need to say why that lines up with akihiko lmfao… it’s self explanatory. the sport involves the requirement of having strong legs too!! which is great bc i’ve always thought hamuko has them bc, have you seen her jump in her critical hits? she has a spring in her step and she does tennis/volleyball which we all know is very exasperating with all that chasing and running so she really has a good pair of kicks!! i like to think akiham trained them both for self defense!
  • outfits. makoto’s swimsuit is so similar to hamuko’s!!! so is her winter outfit too. i like how she wears leggings and boots bc that’s how hamuko dresses as well
  • makoto has an interest to cute things even as she grows older and she isn’t ashamed abt it, which is totally a hamuko trait!!
  • i don’t even know where to begin when it comes to makoto’s personality bc… she is just like akiham, akihiko especially. she’s stubborn, steadfast, impulsive (lmfao that time when she runs off to chase after kaneshiro… that’s a big akihiko thing), dignified, yet childish in her own way it’s just. akihiko all over. her compassionate and gentle nature too… i can’t NOT see akiham in her. in her social link she admits that she “has a habit of getting her emotion get the best of her” and THAT’S AKIHIKO. SHE’S AN AKIHIKO OFFSPRING. and to add on, she says that her father was the same in that area! she’s also awkward and dorky like akihiko ;v; 
  • in makoto’s sl, she talks about her dad….. A Lot. she says he had a rough exterior but extremely gentle inside (akihiko) and even the thing she says about the hand lotion or whatever she uses, she uses bc her dad used to use it and it just makes me think abt akihiko tending to his worn out hands. she says he had a keen sense of justice and to correct what is wrong, she said she once wanted to be a policeman like he was but he said that he doesn’t want her to do dangerous things… it all just lines up perfectly with akihiko.
  • have you heard makoto yell “fist of justice?” do i need to even explain this… it’s… him.
  • i really like how makoto is stern not in a “i’m better than you” way but more of a “i’m telling you off bc care about you” way. it’s how i imagine hamuko would be when she’s serious!! sae is definitely more stern than she is but i can’t say much about sae bc i haven’t progressed that much in my playthrough;; i’m only at the part where she’s extremely stressed so i don’t wanna judge her that much for her behavior yet. but from what i’ve seen from sae, her temperamental nature can somewhat stem from hamuko too. i imagine hamuko to be really good at hiding her stress but due to that, she tends to blow up all in one go. ah, sae also has this habit of overworking ofc, smth akihiko also tends to do.
  • the sisters live in a very simple home, which is how i’d imagine akiham would live like if they got together!
  • makoto admitted that she is a health freak and makes sure there is proper balance in diets and is also a kind of thing akihiko does. i imagine hamuko to be the same but a little less strict about it.
  • the sisters’ deduction skills! definitely an akihiko thing. akihiko figured out most of the dark hour mysteries through his own observation and the sisters definitely have the same talent which they utilize in their own departments.
  • makoto’s strategic skills, from hamuko of course!!! hamuko’s the leader of a gang climbing an endless death tower, her skills is surely on point to manage that many people through all that.
  • makoto loves watching action movies (SHE WATCHES YAKUZAS) and who else is into that shit… akihiko! i imagine hamuko would like those kind of stuff too just bc she’s wild like that.
  • and this isn’t really smth that should count but i just find it funny how you have to have high leveled charm to rank up with makoto at some point and it just reminded me of how you can’t talk to akihiko if you don’t have high leveled charm either

uhhh i think that’s about it…. i think!?? haha it’s 3am rn and i haven’t slept so i probably missed some other things i connected between this family but yeah!! thanks for ur interest in my au!! im rly glad that u like it!

Oh, What a Night

Originally posted by holmeswatsoned

Summary: It wouldn’t be the wedding of John and Mary Watson if everything went smoothly. Especially with Sherlock Holmes as a best man. 

Sherlock x Reader, John Watson x Mary Morstan

A/N: 1) cookies for whoever gets my What’s Your Number reference. 2) Lines from the episode The Sign of Three are in bold. 3) listen while you read here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDxhugRKZ8g


Oh, what a night

Late December, back in ‘63

What a very special time for me

As I remember, what a night


Every married couple has a wedding nightmare story. A drunk aunt getting a little to groovy on the dance floor and needing a new hip. Rather colorful pollen from the bouquet getting on the bride’s very white dress. The violinist doesn’t show so the wedding planner plays ‘Here Comes the Bride’ on a tuba.

John and Mary Watson could top them all. The nightmares started almost from the very moment John asked the one and only Sherlock Holmes to be his best man. If you think about it, no one should have been really surprised when there was a murder attempt at the reception.

Y/N, Mary’s bridesmaid and Sherlock’s current flatmate (since John and Mary moved in together) was sat to Mary’s right, next to the maid of honor, Janine. Y/N straightened up in her seat as Sherlock stood to do his toast.

Though the young woman was incredibly happy for her friends, she had been waiting for months to hear this toast. Anytime Y/N asked the detective to practice the speech on her, she was met with a decisive ‘no.’

Y/N could see that Sherlock was concealing his nerves. Only someone with a lot of practice looking past his masked emotions could see the anxiety deep in his eyes.

The tall handsome man locked eyes with Y/N. She gave him an encouraging smile and mimed taking a deep breath. The side of Sherlock’s mouth twitched upwards a bit and he turned back to the ballroom of people before him.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Family and friends. And…um…others…”


Oh, what a night

You know, I didn’t even know her name

But I was never gonna be the same

What a lady, what a night


When Sherlock abandoned the telegrams, Y/N knew it would be quite the show. While other guests watched in confusion and slight horror, Y/N could only look to the curly haired detective with adoration.

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Summary: You are sitting on a bench when you make a deduction about a certain curly haired detective

A/n: I started writing something, then this happened so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You were sitting on a worn down bench in a park. You, like Sherlock, could deduce people, and you also, like Sherlock, got bored in between cases. So, you came to this park to silently deduce people. Little did you know that Sherlock had been searching for you.
“Y/n! What are you doing here? I’ve been trying to find you for ages!”
You looked up and saw Sherlock standing over you. He looked as if he’d been running.
“I’m just sitting here Sherlock, relax. Why were you so worried?”
Sherlock awkwardly stood there, his hands fidgeting.
“I just thought something happened to you.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. Suddenly, you stood up and stood right in front of Sherlock. He looked up, shocked by your sudden movement.
“What are you doing, y/n?” He asked.
You grabbed his wrist, taking his pulse while staring in his eyes. You smirked and walked back to the bench.
“You want to know what I just deduced, Sherlock?”
Sherlock, still confused and suddenly a bit nervous, walked over and sat next to you.
“What, y/n?”
You turned and stared into his eyes.
“That you, mister sociopath, are in love with me.”
He didn’t move. So you said, “When I got up and grabbed your wrists, your pulse was elevated. When I looked into your eyes your pupils were dilated. And it would explain why you were so worried about me.”
Sherlock looked down, afraid of your reaction to what you had deduced. You stood up.
“And guess what, Sherlock?”
“…”
“I guess your a lucky guy to love a girl/guy that loves you back.”
You then walked away, leaving Sherlock dumbfounded.

Waiting Turns

Literally could not get this out of my head….. I’m sorry.

Let me know if you want on/off my tag list :) (or if after you read this you never want to talk to my crazy ass again… I’ll understand)

~*~Master List~*~

 

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Teenage Thoughts (Stoizer)

| Stoizer | Words: a lot | I know this is an underrated ship, but let me live | Warning: Homophobia, mention of pills and depression (Stan’s mom), also little angst | They’re Juniors in highschool

———

Stan was walking home from school, silently counting his steps as he did. He enjoyed walking in the Winter, he liked the feeling of coldness crawling up his spine, how his nose would turn pink after being outside for to long, and how his breath could be seen in the cold air. It was just simple things.
“Yo Stanny! Wait up!” Stanley’s thoughts were interrupted by the and only…Richie Tozier.
Stanley turned to face Rich, his ears turned red. Richie ran up to him with black hair that shined. He was smiling as he ran up to Stan.
Richie had been an old friend of Stan’s, they’ve been friends since the 3rd grade. Before the Loser Club they were inseparable. 
Richie pulled out a cigarette and lit it, “We’re going to the movies later today…care to join Stan the Man?” Stan hated that nickname almost as much and he hated cigarettes.
“You’re basically killing yourself.” Stan said balntly, “..but I’ll to the movies 
“What?” 
“I said you’re going to kill yourself if you keep smoking, these cause cancer you know…” Stanley grabbed the cigarette from him and threw down the storm drain they were passing

you’ll float too

Stanley shook the thought out of his head and went back to listening while Richie rambled about how cigarettes are almost as good as sex, but Stan wouldn’t know that because he’s an innocent virgin.
Eventually, Stan zoned out and went back to his own mind. Until Richie punched him in the shoulder. Instinctively, Stanley punched back and Richie yelped.
“Jesus, do you maserbate with that hand?” He rubbed his arm gently, Stanley watched as Rich’s fingers grazed over his skin, “..I was asking if you wanted to go get some dinner before the movie?”
“With the others?” Stanley ignored the other comment, like always.
“Uh, no…just the two of us?” Richie walked slowly now, Stann did the same. He was surprised by Rich’s reply.
“O-Oh sure. Kinda like the old times in Middle School…” Stanley thought back to middle school and shuddered, “Like when we would go get a milkshake together?”
Richie nodded, “…yeah..” He was more quiet now, he wanted to say something. Yet he couldn’t find the words.
Rich had always had a crush on Stan, in fact…he thinks he loves him, ever since the third grade when Stan fixed his glasses (that Henry Bowers had broken) and placed them on Richie’s face then kissed his forehead. It was just childhood innocence, Stanley didn’t really know what that meant and had probably forgotten about it. Rich never would never admit his feelings out loud though.
Stanley quickly got out some pills and dry swallowed them. He was beginning to have thoughs again, he had stolen the pills from his mother, they were antidepressants and they always helped him.
Rich looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Is everything ok?” Stanley nodded and looked back at him.
The medicine didn’t help though, Richie was still beautiful as ever maybe even more now. Stanley couldn’t help but to blush profusely.
Once they were at the diner, Stanley and Richie hurried to the back booth by the window, it’s where they always sat as kids.
They shared fries and a chocolate milkshake (Stanley’s favorite) as they talked about meaningless things. Richie’s foot gently grazed over Stanley’s leg. Stanley didn’t think anything of it, until he continued doing it.
Stanley looked up and him, Richie was looking out the window as cars and people passed. He blushed and took sip of their milkshake. Stan hesitantly started doing the same thing back to Rich.
Their eyes met, both had a small blush on their faces.

They noticed how some people staring at them, so Stan insisted on paying and they left. Everyone knows that Derry wasn’t the most ‘accepting’ town to homosexuals. Posters hung on windows and walls that said ‘God hates faggots’ and ‘Gays go to hell’ which didn’t make Rich or Stan feel too hot.

“I never noticed these posters before..” Stan lied, they effected him everyday when he would pass by.

“Yeah same.” Richie lied as well, he knew he was gay and it made him feel…gross, “Are you..uh..you know..”

“Gay?” Stan finished his sentence.

“Y-Yeah, are you gay? Like kissing dudes and stuff…” Rich wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

“O-Oh, well uh, actually well..” Stanley looked down at his feet, “I mean…yeah..I guess.” He said quietly.

There was an awkward silence. Was Stanley really gay? He’s never had feelings for anyone before, maybe Bill. He’d only felt the feeling of having a crush around Richie. The way when Rich smiled Stan couldn’t help but to smiled back, when he would look at Richie and his ears would turn red, and when Richie touched him he would get butterflies in his stomach.

“…Are you?” Stan said in a low tone that was almost impossible to hear, but Richie did hear.

Rich thought back to 8th grade, Henry Bowers would push him into lockers, calling him faggot. He remembered Henry spiting on Rich’s shoes. He felt like crying when he thought about it, but choked back the tears.

He adjusted his glasses, “Uh..yeah..”

There were silent and cold, it was freezing outside. Eventually, they were at the movies. The gang was already there and had all decided to watch Nightmare on Elem Street, well except Eddie and Mike.

“I’m telling you, there’s too much fucking blood! It’s fucking disgusting, do you know how hard it is to get rid of a blood stain?” They all said yes, “..well you know that it’s super hard to get rid of. Plus the bacteria multiplies every minute..” Eddie continued and eventually no one was listening.

“I bet it’s not as much blood as the blood that comes out of your mom on her period.” Rich grinned.

“Well anyway..you guys are ok with the movie right?” Bill asked them and Stanley nodded.

Rich hesitantly nodded, “Fuck yeah, I love horror movies!” He put on a smile and followed the others inside.

The truth is, Richie hates scary movies. He had always hate them ever since he was a kid. Yet, he won’t tell anyone because he’ll be called a chicken.

All of them got snacks, Eddie and Mike got M&Ms, Ben and Beverly shared a popcorn, Richie got Twizzlers, Bill got Twix, and Stan got Snickers.

The movie was okay, Stanley wasn’t a huge fan and Richie absolutely hated it even before they sat in the movie theater.

Rich felt like electricity passed through him everytime Stan’s arm would brush against his, so that was nice.

Stan thought about making a move, but before he could there was a jump scare and Richie clutched his hand. Both of their faces turned red and they stared into eachother’s eyes that were faintly visible due to the movie. Beverly, who was sitting next to Richie, snickered and turned her attention back to the movie.

They held hands the rest of the time, even though Richie’s hand was a little sweaty. Afterwards, everyone said goodbye and went their own way, Ben walked Beverly home and Eddie, Mike, and Bill rode away together on their bikes.

That left Stan and Rich. They live rather close together, so Rich offered to walk him home since they were going the same way.

Stanley shrugged, “Sure, why not..”

They walked in utter silence, Richie’s fingers lingered over Stan’s. They’re fingers intertwined like it was meant to be.

“…I didn’t know that you didn’t like horror movies.” Stanley smiled and Richie flushed.

“W-What do you mean? They’re m-m-my favorite!” His favorite cracked.

“Cut the shit trashmouth, you sound like Bill.” Richie wasn’t surprised at this comment, the others might have had an actual stroke if they heard that come out of Stan’s mouth, “It was obvious, your palms were sweaty and you weren’t talking the whole time.”

“Ah the great detective Stanny had solved the case once again! You caught me, I hate horror films.” Stan laughed.

There was a moment when they just stared at each other. Richie studied his pale skin in the moonlight, the way his unruly curly hair covered some of his forehead. Stanley observed Richie’s chocolate eyes as they looked up at him they were big and round because of his glasses which Stanley loved.

They moved closer and closer till they’re lips were so close if they moved anymore their lips would be touching. Quickly, they moved away as a car drove by slowly.

This isn’t normal..Stanley thought to himself. Richie was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t normal to want to kiss other boys.

But Richie did what he usually did before he talked, he told himself “Fuck it, we all die anyway.” He pulled Stan into a deserted ally and kissed him.

Stan put his hands up reflexively before slowly melting into the surprised kiss. Their lips moved together in sync like they were always supposed to be this way. Richie had his arms wrapped around Stan and Stan had his hands in Richie’s hair. They felt as if they could see their future, a first date, smiling together, skin against skin (Stan blushed more at that thought), moving into together, laughter, and maybe even marriage (Of course they both doubted getting married since it was illegal, but the thought made their hearts flutter). Maybe it was okay to like boys, Stan thought to himself.

Richie pulled away, “Oh my god that was so fucking gay.”

“Shut up you’re ruining to moment.” Stanley whispered and quickly kissed him again, “My curfew is in a couple minutes, so if you’re actually going to walk me..we need to hurry up.”

They walked with their hands together, giggling about the face that they actually kissed. Eventually, they were at Stan’s house.

He kissed Richie’s cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He ran inside his house.

Richie’s face was probably as red as a tomato, he slowly touched his lips and smiled brightly. He basically ran home from all the excitement.

Stan ran up to his mother’s bathroom after taking off his shoes at the door and placing the pills where he found them before running to his room and shutting the door. He laid in bed and smiled dumbly.

It was definitely okay to like boys.

————

The end!

Please give me suggestions if you want.

Sorry if there is any grammar errors.

Sherlock x reader

Oh Gosh, my first Sherlock one shot… I’m awful at this…it’s my first time, so it’s gonna suck.. 😫😩 I hope you enjoy anyway ❤ ____________________________________

 It was normal night in 221B, as normal as it could get with Sherlock laying on his couch, his fingers steepled under his chin as he thought. John went out an hour ago on another errand, leaving Sherlock and Y/n alone in the flat. One thing was on Sherlock’s mind at the moment: Why. Why was he feeling this way? Sherlock is a man who would use his mind for everything, never once listened to the trivial thing called a heart. Besides, caring is a disadvantage. He doesn’t have the ability to care–to love for that matter. But here he was, wondering why he cared so much for her. She was intriguing yes, interesting too. He knows so little about her, and for Sherlock Holmes, that’s saying something. He knows her likes, her dislikes, what ticks her off. He knows why she spends so little time with her family, but he couldn’t deduce her, he just can’t. It’s like every time he tried, there’s a wall, blocking him from view. There was just something about Y/n L/n, something he just can’t put his finger on. But maybe, it wasn’t her, maybe it was him. Maybe he wants her around, for the sake of just being there. That every time he’d try to deduce, his mind would block him from doing so, to try to get to know the girl like a normal man would, not by a glance. Maybe he– No. Not the time Sherlock. Remember what Mycroft said. 

Caring is a disadvantage.

 Remember what you told yourself. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. Nothing to gain from caring for someone, he preferred to be alone, alone protects. When you’re alone, there’s no one to worry and fuss over, you have no one’s back to watch but your own. Sherlock’s eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, taking a breath as the girl herself walks into the room from the kitchen, two cups of tea in her hand. She came back from work a while ago and had already changed into one of John’s old jumpers and a pair of comfortable sweat pants, her hair tossed up in mess of a bun. “Oh, Welcome back Holmes.” she muses, putting one of the cups down on the table close to him, “Thought you were gonna stay in there forever.” Y/n smiles at him, and Sherlock didn’t know why, but he smiled back. Sitting up, running a hand through his curly mop of dark hair, he takes the cup off the table, taking a sip of the liquid. “You brought new tea in.” He states, Y/n looks up from her book that was propped on her knees, eyebrows raised, “Oh, yeah. I noticed you ran out.” Sherlock takes another sip of the soothing Earl Grey, not his usual choice of tea, but this’ll have to do. “Sherlock.”                                     “Hmm?” The detective hums, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at Y/n, her brown eyes boring into his. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Sherlock sits up straight at the question, opting to lie to her, but that’ll be useless, he could lie with a straight face,no problem, but she always knows. “Three days ago. Why?”                                                                              “Three days……” Y/n trails off, closing her eyes in frustration, sighing she looks back at him, “You know, eventually your body is going to shut down on you because you’re not taking care of yourself.” He does that a lot, he doesn’t eat much, neither does he sleep much because he usually on a case and too busy thinking to focus on those normal important human things. “I take care of myself.” Sherlock scoffs, watching her get up from the armchair, walking to him to pull him up by his hand. “ C'mon We’re going out.” Sherlock reluctantly follows the girl out the flat, the two head up to Northumberland street to  Tierra Brindisa because Y/n was hell bent on Angelo’s best pasta.Upon getting there, the two walk to a table by the window, getting a clear view of the street and the people passing by. Y/n sighs sitting down as Sherlock does the same, resting his chin on his hand, staring out the window. Y/n starts eating when the food came, and to her surprise Sherlock did too. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself Sherlock, you’re gonna get sick.”                                                                   “Not like I haven’t done this before you know, I’m fine.” Sherlock counters, and Y/n fixes him with a look that makes him continue eating his food silently. The two had a light conversation, as light as it could get with Sherlock Holmes, Y/n is quite used to the man’s sarcastic nature by now, so it doesn’t bother her when he blatantly point out that she looked half dead with her lack of sleep. Between the times she works and bouncing around at any ungodly hour with Sherlock and John, she was way past insomniac. She stares at Sherlock, watching the way he rolls his blue green eyes at something she said the morning earlier. Reminding her of the time they got drunk and tried to solve a case. It was utterly embarrassing, and by far the most ridiculous thing she’s ever done with the boys. She was stone drunk, so was Sherlock and John, and she never got over the fact that John had spiked the drinks, and that they were drinking from measuring cylinders and no one said a word. Only to end up in custody, and a very long lecture from her uncle Lestrade, on the safety of drinking, blah blah blah. Y/n laughs, covering her mouth with her hand, Sherlock looking at her confused as he sip from his water. “What?” he asks, smirking slightly. “Oh, nothing. Just that you were practically kissing the floor rug.” The detective catches on, his smirk fading into a half glare. “That experience was utterly embarrassing, I made a fool out of myself.”              “You? I started crying because found one side of that lady’s shoe at the club.” Sherlock and Y/n share a laugh at the memory of her crying over the lost shoe of a woman she didn’t even know. Sherlock suddenly becomes serious, studying her, her smile, the way she’d laugh and sometimes snort somewhere in between. The way her eyes would always light up when he speaks to her, there was never a dull moment with her. She was always there, always caring, putting up with his shit. No matter what it is, though it did take her awhile to get over that time he faked his death. She welcomed him back with opened arms, it took a while, but eventually everything went back to normal. He being his arrogant and obnoxious self and she sassing him every time she’d get. And Sherlock had to admit, he cares for this girl–too much– he would go far enough and say he… loved her. Y/n sat and waited for him to stop thinking, smiling at him. He blinks a few times, “Why do I care for you so much?” he asks, tilting his head, looking much like a confused puppy. “Because that’s what friends do Sherlock, they care for each other. You are human you know, you have feelings.” she says, smiling still, taking his hand that was resting on the table, giving a gentle squeeze. While Sherlock tried to figure out a way to tell her, to even begin to tell her. Everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve done, all the time she’s been there. Yes, He loved her, very much too. Sherlock has the ability to care,to love. “Y/n… I-” he stops himself, furrowing his dark eyebrow as the words in his head just seem to jumble up. “Don’t worry Sherlock. I know. I love you too.”

Originally posted by highfunctioningosociopath-221b

Valuable: Part 4

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: Reader has spent the last few years living among the First Order after being taken along with other women to be used as breeders for a new generation of soldiers. Reader begins to wonder when her time will come to be used to produce children, until she has an interesting encounter with Kylo Ren himself.

Words: 2967

Warnings: angst, blood, injury, minor mental breakdown(?), a pinch of fluff

A/N: I wouldn’t usually leave a note in a chapter but I felt a little disconnected and I also wanted to let you know that the tags are open, after having it brought to my attention by another reader. It didn’t even occur to me but if you are interested then message me or reblog asking to be tagged and I’ll be sure to make it happen :)

               You spent the next few days walking the halls even more, particularly the part of the ship where you would sometimes see Kylo. The two of you would pass in the halls, him giving you a curt nod of acknowledgement. Your stomach would flutter whenever you saw him, making you nod with a twitch of the mouth. But he was a busy man, often leaving you alone with your guard in the halls when you sometimes expected to run into him.

               One day, however, you were approached by Kylo in an unexpected manner. It was just after the loud alarms began blaring all over the ship, your guard grabbing your arm and pulling you to the side of the hall as a mass of stormtroopers ran past. Red flaring lights flashed in the upper corners of the walls.

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Relationships PART THREE // [Sherlock x Avengers x Reader]

Part one. Part Two.

You were in the middle of telling Tony how you and Sherlock had started dating when the latter walked into the cabin with Bruce at his heel.

“Ah, Sherlock, we were just talking about you and Y/N,” Tony said, smiling at the curly-haired detective.

“Oh,” Sherlock said, taking a seat next to you. This time, he put an arm around you.

Bruce’s eyes followed the movement and then flitted to you. They lingered on you for a second before moving on to look at Tony. His gaze threw you back in time for a while before you shook out of it because it got too much.

Tony had now switched over to talk about the new S.H.I.E.L.D. initiative while Sherlock listened carefully and provided a few inputs.

“S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t compromise on matters like these, Sherlock,” Tony said, shaking his head.

“I understand, Mr. Stark but in this situation I personally think that a compromise would benefit both parties,” Sherlock retorted.

A discussion that challenged his wits would definitely take his mind of the fact that he had to behave himself in front of your brother. You didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

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Much Better

I don’t even remember where this originally came from, but I saved the prompt in a draft. I had said that was going to finish Sweetness before I wrote this, but I couldn’t get Magnus out of my head. Here you go @angelsseb :)

Prompt: Captain James Conrad (or one of Tom’s characters, or … Tom), a bar situation, a fight of some sort, and then …other things… in the bar.

Warnings: Violence and sexual situations

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What Do You Know About Babies? (Sherlock x Reader)

A/N: My first ever Sherlock fic!! I’ve loved Sherlock for a very long time and just recently finished Season 4!! I love the idea of Sherlock taking care of Rosie for John! A quick warning though, SPOILERS!!! This does kinda take place between the events of The Lying Detective and The Final Problem! I wanted Rosie to still kinda be a baby instead of a toddler like she is at the end of The Final Problem. I hope you enjoy it!! xx

Warnings: SPOILERS, flustered Sherlock!, protective Dad!John

Notes: Words in italics are flashbacks.

Originally posted by whenisayrunrun

You hadn’t known Sherlock Holmes for very long. You met him when he came to interrogate you about the murder of one of your colleagues. ‘A Deadly Lesson’ Dr. Watson had called it. A rather funny name for the case of the dead professor. You were a professor as well, a professor of English Literature. 

You remember meeting Sherlock Holmes all right. You caught his attention fast. He’d met people like himself before. Typically they were criminal masterminds or a sibling, but never someone who “teaches books” as he put it.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” the gray-haired detective inspector said warmly, sticking out a calloused hand. You shook it and smiled kindly at him. “I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade, and this is Sherlock Holmes, the other detective I mentioned on the phone.”

“Yes, I’m Sherlock Holmes, pleasure to meet you Miss…” the tall, curly-haired companion of Lestrade’s said, also sticking out a hand.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), but (Y/N) is just fine, Mr. Holmes,” you responded, shaking his hand in turn. He looked taken aback by the title of doctor but whipped out his cellphone and began to text. “Coffee, Detective Inspector?” You reached for the pot of coffee behind you.

“Oh, no, I already…” he began to say before you cut him off.

“I know you already had some. You had some black coffee at the office hoping to wash away the bitter taste of last night’s one night stand with something even more bitter. Clearly, it didn’t work. So how about some good coffee to replace the bitterness?” Lestrade stood stunned and out of the corner of your eye you could see Sherlock smirk, never taking his eyes off of his phone. 

That was the first and last time you met Sherlock Holmes. He was very kind, rather attractive, and undoubtedly clever. He solved the murder that day. You were impressed. You had read the blog but to see it happen in person was very impressive. He reminded you of a detective novel you had read when you were younger. Who was it by? Sir Aaron… Andrew Conan… Oh, it doesn’t matter. 

You met Sherlock Holmes two weeks ago. You never expected to get a text from him of all things. Perhaps a call to your office but how he got your cell number was beyond even someone as clever as you. 

It was about 7:30 PM on Friday night. You were settling down into your comfy chair with a cup of tea and Hemingway. Your phone lit up on the end table. That was odd. You had just moved to London at the beginning of this school year and hadn’t made any friends close enough to text you on a Friday night. 

You placed a slip of paper in your book and picked up your phone. 

Help me. SH

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The Case of the Phantom Part 1

 A/N: Here you go guys. I received more likes than I thought. So I upload the first part. I hope you like it as much as I do.
Also Ereena Valenza is an OC of a friend of mine and besides the known characters of Sherlock every other perso mentioned in it is imagined by me.

Word count: 2140 (sorry for mistakes you may find)
Warnings: None (I think)

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)  = Your Name Your Last Name
(Y/H/S) = Your Hair Style
(Y/H/L) = Your Hair Legnth
(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color
(Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

GIF IS NOT MINE

Preview
_______________________________________________________________

A cold wind blew in the air of Paris. It was in the early evening of October 1929. Cars were driving in the muddy roads of the French city, a few horses here and there were also seen, rare in this time when you had the money for one of this useful vehicles.

One of these vehicles drove near the old Opera House, which held an auction of all the reminding items in the old building. Out came a Lady in her 40‘s with blond hair that already had a few little grey strands in it. She wore a green coat that ended by hear knees and had brown fur at the end of it. Together with a Nurse she helped an elder men out of the car and helped him into a Wheelchair. „Thank you love.“ the man said in a gruff voice. The blond Lady smiled to the man. „But of course Father. It is time for me to return what you gave me all your life.“ With that the Woman walked first to the Opera followed by the nurse who pulled the wheelchair.

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Safety in a Dark Trenchcoat (Sherlock Holmes)

Pairing: Sherlock/Reader
Words: 1280+
Warning(s): Abuse, abuse mention, depression
A/N: sorry this took 5 ever. i hope you enjoy! Also sorry my writing sucks here orx
Request: sorry if this seems dark you dont have to write it! can you do a sherlock x reader where she is abused by her boyfriend? her, sherlock and john were best friends before he started keeping her away/locked in her flat except for work or shopping until she finally calls sherlock, wanting him to help but her boyfriend catches her. end it with some fluff pls!


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Alternate First Kiss #4: CPR Lessons

this is a total crack!fic lol enjoy!


               “Have you seen Molly?” Mary asked her new husband as they danced at their reception.

               “She was with Tom wasn’t she?” he asked in return.

               “Mm, can’t find Tom either…hey, where’s Sherlock?” she noticed. They looked around and finally decided to walk outside for some fresh air and to search for their friends. A man with curly hair had Molly up against the wall of the building, snogging her senselessly. With a moment to adjust their eyes, they found it to be…

               “Sherlock!?” both Watsons shouted; one with total shock and the other with a hint of pride in her voice. The consulting detective stepped away, revealing a flushed Molly Hooper.

               “It was a CPR lesson!” Sherlock and Molly both shouted frantically.

               “Sure it was,” Mary smirked.  “And where’s Tom?”

               “Um, well, I didn’t really want CPR lessons from him…anymore,” Molly answered nervously. She had broken up with him earlier in the reception before going after Sherlock.

               “Right,” John commented, getting the picture.

               “Come on, husband, let the kids have their moment,” Mary teased, leading John back inside the reception hall.

               “Do you think they bought it?” Sherlock asked.

               “Seriously, Sherlock? Highly doubtful,” Molly laughed. The silence was a bit awkward, as Sherlock actually seemed nervous.

               “May I kiss you again?” he inquired, his voice soft.

               “Get over here and kiss me, you silly man,” she smiled, pulling him to her by the collar of his coat, their lips meeting once more.


fanfiction.net | ao3

The Younger Donovan

Characters: Reader (Donovan’s litter sister), Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, lil bit of OCs

Pairings: a lil bit of ReaderxSherlock

Warnings: None? Some mentions of murder but c’mon its a Sherlock imagine like its kinda expected

Word count: 2439


It is rare that you visit your sister at your work for any reason. It’s never necessary - expect the occasional time she forgot something back at her flat and calls you to bring it over to her, which has happened a total of five times over ten years. But today your parents are in town so once she gets off the two of you are going out to dinner with them.

Since you got off at two - thankful for flexible hours and a chill boss - you decide to head over to Scotland Yard. See the station in action, the excitement they always deal with. She’s told you plenty of stories of her co-workers (and you’ve heard plenty of the one she pretends she isn’t hooking up with) and some detective that always pisses her off.

As you walk into the Scotland Yard, someone you don’t recognize rushes past and nearly bumps into you, at least three boxes worth of documents in their arms. But you let it slide, they probably couldn’t even see you. Pushing forward into Scotland Yard and past all the desk towards the back, where you see your sister, you pass people who glance to you with peering eyes. Some you recognize, others you don’t. Which means some recognize you and others don’t.

“Sally!” you say as you get closer to where your sister, Anderson, and Lestrade stand discussing.

“Hey, didn’t think you were coming today,” she smiles, turning around to face you.

“Got off early, decided to come by to see you all in action!”

“Well, (Y/N), maybe you can be of assistance if you are anything like your sister. We are bit stuck on a few pieces of evidence, c’mon, I’ll show you,” Lestrade sighs. He turns around and starts walking off towards his office.

You follow behind him, your sister behind you. While you haven’t ever worked on a case, your sister has shown you plenty of evidence inadvertently before, causing you to help her on accident. So in all reality, it’s not anything new to you.

Lestrade opens his office door for you, allowing you and your sister to walk in. The DI walks over to the table opposite his desk to pick up and open a few of the evidence bags.

“A triple homicide - but the bodies were moved after they were shot to the different levels of the home - the three levels excluding the basement. Each person was redressed afterwards too, stuff placed around the. Very ritualistic and we can’t quite figure out what.”

“Lemme see,” you hum, grabbing the first set of photos from Lestrade.

As a librarian while you search for a job in the world of editing - you’ve read up on loads of lore and mythology and religions since it is so fascinating. Unless it is something the murderer created, you should be able to identify it quickly.

The first set, and therefore the first person, is wearing a black dress. Sets of symbols are carved into the woman’s forearm, cascading down in nearly perfect scrawl - done postmortem. It’s Enchain - language developed by John Dee, a Renaissance magician and mathematician. He supposedly contacted spirits. Originally named Adamic as John Dee called it, named Enochian after the prophet Enoch and eventually the supposed language of the angels.

“This is Enochian. Renaissance language from a mathematician guy, eventually became language of the angels because the prophet Enoch made it big and Biblical. Her right arm says ‘God is alive’ and the left says ‘I’m not worthy’.”

“Oh shit, really?” Lestrade grins. “So most likely someone with a God complex.”

“No. More likely someone who is a heavy believer in the devil. Not a Satanist, they believe in peace and equality, actually. But someone who is a true devil worshipper. They are on the hunt for this supposed alive God. If you look on the forehead, on the other postmortem cut, there are more small scrawl that says ‘Not this vessel’.”

“Are you sure it isn’t just someone thinking they are God looking for a vessel or whatever?”

“Highly unlikely. I would need to see the body in person though. True devil worshippers have very specific ways of handling bodies.”

“Oh my god, Lestrade, did you phone the freak?” Sally groans, her eyes glanced to outside the office.

“Well, yeah, this is a tough case,” he shrugs.

“The freak? That detective guy you always bitch about?” you confirm, placing the pictures down a moment to follow their eyes.

He’s tall, curly black hair, sharp cheekbones, blue eyes you can already see clearly with a black coat that has hints of dark blue. Behind him is a short fellow, blond hair, a more worn face. They walk quickly together, the taller one is long strides and the shorter one just as fast as he can. With no regard to what is already happening in the room, the two burst in.

“Hello freak,” Sally grits.

“Hello Donovan,” he states, voice deep. A nice deep voice. His attention quickly turns to Lestrade. “You didn’t give me much information, what is this case about? And who is…” he pauses, withdrawing one hand from his pocket to gesture towards you, “this?”

“Well, this is (Y/N) Donovan, Sally’s younger sister and she actually figured it out for us right before you got here,” he shrugs.

“Unlikely, she’s related to Sergeant Donovan, hand me the photos. I’ll be needing to go to the crime scene too,” the ‘freak’ says, snatching the photos out of your hand.

“It’s Enochian. Right arm ‘God is alive’, left ‘I’m not worthy’. Forehead says ‘Not this vessel’. I think we are looking for a Devil worshipper or at someone who thinks they are the devil looking for God.”

The freak stops looking at the photos, looking at you. “How long did that take you?”

“To figure out the language or what?”

“The whole thing.”

“Well about a minute and a half to figure out the language, another minute to figure out what it said, and another to figure out who we were looking for.”

“Impressive. The name’s Sherlock Holmes since I’m assuming your sister only ever called me freak. Would you care to come with me to the crime scene? A librarian with a near infinite knowledge of rare and unknown languages and symbols and an understanding of religion and cults could really help me on this case.”

“I-”

“She’s not interested, freak,” your sister interrupts. She pushes herself in front of him a little, making a small barrier between you two.

Sherlock turns his head to your sister. “I believe I was talking to your sister, not you, Donovan, I’m sure Anderson is free for a few minutes.”

Your sister looks at you over her shoulder, a hint of anger hanging in them. Sherlock’s blue eyes look at you curiously.

“I would love to but Sally and I have dinner with our parents in a few hours. Maybe another time. I hope my information gives you a jump start.”

“Donovan, if you want to leave early, go ahead,” Lestrade tells the sergeant as she fumes off to the side.

“Let’s go (Y/N),” Sally groans, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you out.

Keep reading

The Inquest


by mrs momona writing under the pseudonym “A.B.” © 2017

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.


The headline of the article on the front page of the newspaper that warm July morning proclaimed: “Coroner’s Inquest to be Held Today in College Professor’s Death”.  Some of the people clustered at the entrance to the courthouse in the Illinois college town were reading the newspaper while waiting for the building to open.

Promptly at 8:00 a.m. the janitor unlocked the front door to the stately building and the people filed in, patiently waiting to pass through the security screening. They were all directed to a meeting room on the first floor which was identified by a handmade cardboard sign on the door: “CORONER’S JURY MEETS HERE TODAY’.

There were four long tables in the meeting room arranged in a square. Eight folding chairs were arranged along each of the sides of the square. In addition, there were 30 folding chairs set up along the perimeter of the room for spectators. Today, all those chairs were occupied.  Rumors about the mysterious death of the professor had spread throughout the community.

The crowd talked quietly among themselves while waiting for the procedure to start.

At 9:00 a.m. on the dot, a tall, middle-aged, portly distinguished-looking black man, dressed in a gray suit, walked into the room and took his place in front of a wooden chair placed at one side of the square.  He was known to most of the people in the room and returned the smiles and nods of the spectators.

“Thank you all for being here today. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Dr. Rufus Potts. In addition to being a physician here in our town, I am also coroner for this county. The purpose of the proceeding today is to determine the circumstances of deaths  of people  who have recently passed away without a physician being present. The coroner’s jury, who are the six men and women seated to my right…” here Dr. Potts turned and nodded to the six people listening intently to him “…will hear evidence to determine if the death was accidental, suicide, homicide, or unknown.”

“As you can see, the coroner’s jury represents a cross-section of our community, chosen from the list of registered voters similar to how juries in court cases are chosen.  However, in this proceeding, the jurors and I, as well as anyone here in the room may ask questions of people who will give evidence. After hearing all the evidence, the jurors will retire to decide on their verdict. If the decision of the jury is that a death was the result of homicide, the county Prosecuting Attorney will pick up the case and legal action will follow. These proceedings are being recorded and a transcript will be available for public review in a week or so. The actual deliberations of our jury are private, however.””

Dr. Potts continued. “This is a judicial proceeding but as I said it is much more informal than a trial or grand jury investigation. Once proceedings begin, if anyone would like to ask a question of the any of the witnesses, please raise your hand and I will call on you.  Now, are there any questions before we get started?” No one responded.

As Dr. Potts had stated, the six jurors were a cross-section of the mid-size rural Illinois college town. The oldest juror was a elderly stout blue-haired white lady  wearing a print dress and small hat. Next to her sat a middle-aged black  lady dressed in business attire with a silk scarf at her neck. The final female was a twenty-something pencil-thin white girl, dressed casually. A heavy-set Latino looking man who seemed to be about 30, dressed in work clothes, sat closest to Dr. Potts. Next to him sat a 40-ish white man. He was dressed in a denim short-sleeved work shirt and denim farmer’s overalls. He was very heavy, definitely more than 350 pounds, and anyone who looked closely could see that he was sitting on two folding chairs placed next to each other. The final male member of the jury was an older slim gray-haired Asian man, dressed in a business suit.

“The first death we are to consider today is that of Professor Gerald DiGioia. Is everyone present who needs to be to discuss this matter?”

A tall paunchy man dressed in a sport jacket and tie seated at the table across from the jurors spoke up, “Dr. Potts, I believe the person who reported the death of Professor DiGioia is not here yet. I personally notified him yesterday of the time and location of this inquest.”

Dr. Potts, well-known in the community for his courtly manner, replied, “Thank you, Detective. We’ll give this person just a few more minutes. Oh, and let me state for the record that Detective Robert Van Buik of our local police department is the person who just spoke….”

Detective Van Buik smiled at Dr. Potts and the spectators, most of whom he knew by name. Just at that minute, the entrance doors to the meeting room seemed to fly open. Standing the doorway, chest heaving because he was short of breath and sweat pouring down his face from the exertion of walking to the meeting room, was a massively obese young man. To everyone in the room, he appeared to be wider than he was tall. His gigantic  lovehandles and even wider hips seemed to brush against the sides of the doorway as he waddled in.

Detective Van Buik spoke up again, “Dr. Potts, here is the young man we were just speaking about.” Everyone on the room was listening to the detective but their eyes were riveted on the new arrival.

He had blonde curly hair and bright blue eyes and his round cheeks dimpled as he forced a smile while breathing heavily. He was clean shaven. Below plump pink lips, his padded cleft chin protruded from a thick roll of flab which merged into hefty jowls. He was wearing a bright blue polo shirt, tan chinos, and expensive-looking brown leather slip-on shoes.  His shirt and trousers were as tight as lycra on his mammoth body.

From head to toe, he was huge. Every square inch on his body was padded with a thick layer of lard. His round ballooning belly, two massive manbreasts and giant protruding mega-rumpcheeks were set off by other rolls, bulges, and curves, each separated by deep creases in the lard. The blue polo shirt appeared to be painted on his massive upper body. The sleevebands on his polo shirt cut deeply in the lard which smothered his biceps and triceps. His forearms were so fat that his expensive watch sunk into his thick wrist. His fingers were as thick as plump hotdogs.

His skin tight chinos had been belted around the young behemoth’s waist so that his enormous  belly was cut in half by the belt. The belt and waistband had slid down so that the giant cavernous navel of the young man was obvious through the skintight polo shirt. Below the belt, the lower half of his belly strained the front of his trousers so that his zipper struggled to stay halfway up his fly. His pockets gapped open allowing the white lining to be seen. As he waddled by, one huge thigh and leg moved in an outward motion to brush past the other enormous leg causing the cloth to brush together in a soft whooshing sound. His enormous arms, each protruding far from his sides, forced by the saddlebags of boob flab wrapping under his armpits, swung back and forth as if helping to propel him along.

The man’s massive protruding backside came into view. His enormous buttcheeks tightly packed the rear of the trousers and merged at the top into enormous lovehandles bisected by his belt. Rolls of fat climbed up his back like a ladder above the handles. Three rolls of fat sat on the back of his neck beneath his curly blond hair. With each waddling step, every square millimeter of the man’s thick padding of lard jiggled, quivered and wobbled.

As the young man slowly waddled toward the table, Dr. Potts leaned over and whispered to Detective Van Buik. The detective quietly stood up and quickly gathered three folding chairs and placed them side by side at the far end of the table to await the blonde young super-heavyweight.

As the blond man reached the three folding chairs Detective Van Buik had arranged for him, he gingerly lowered his massive rump and tentatively settled onto the seats. Clearly he was used to have things collapse under his bulk. He squirmed into a comfortable position. Those spectators seated behind him noticed how the spread of his enormous buttcheeks and thighs, tightly constrained by his overstretched trousers,  hung over the sides of the chairs and oozed over the back of the seats.

Dr. Potts spoke and addressed the young man. “You are Kyle Tiefnabel, is that correct?” The young man looked at the doctor and glumly replied “Yes, sir.”

“Since everyone is now present, let the record show that this coroner’s inquest is being called to order. Our first witness is the head of the EMT staff which responded to the 9-1-1 call.” The doctor turned and smiled at a plump, pony-tailed woman seated at the tables near him. She was dressed in the uniform of the local emergency medical technicians.

She spoke matter-of-factly: “My name is Erin Hill and my EMT team responded to a 9-1-1 call last week Monday, July 12. The call was made at 6:35 a.m. and we arrived at the home of Professor Gerald DiGioia five minutes later. We were met at the front door to the home by Mr. Tiefnabel,” she glanced at him for a moment, “..who took us to the master bedroom. We found the nude body of Professor DiGioia lying face up on a king sized bed. He was not breathing at the time we arrived and did not respond to our attempts to resuscitate him over the next twenty minutes.”

The middle aged businesswoman juror asked, “Ms. Hill, did anyone say anything to you while you were at the DiGioia home?”

“No ma’am,” replied the EMT, “the police officer who responded to the call at the same time as us handled that.”

Dr. Potts spoke up. “Patrolman Danny Forest is here this morning, and if there are no further questions for Ms. Hill, I’ll ask Officer Forest to describe what happened at the Professor’s home.” No one said anything. The coroner continued, “Thank you, Ms. Hill. Would you please remain here until this proceeding is completed in case there are more questions for you.” She nodded agreement, and turned to face the police officer, interested in what he would say.

Officer Forest, a brown-haired brown eyed late-20ish man, cleared his throat and flipped the pages of his police notebook. He was an intelligent young man, one of the rising stars on the local police force. His dark blue police uniform was stretched tight to cover his bulk. He had the build of a college football tackle gone-to-fat, with wide bulky shoulders, massive biceps and arms, a deep chest, a large round jiggly pot belly ballooning over his wide black belt, and wide lovehandles and hips supported by two heavy-thighed legs. It had been six years since he had graduated from the county community college and immediately joined the police force.  Six years of donuts and containers of coffee with triple sugar and cream, bacon triple cheeseburgers and fries, and heaping helpings of his wife’s home cooking had caused his steady weight gain since he joined the force. His wide globular jutting asscheeks were parked on two folding chairs and he silently observed that he was the biggest person in the room after Kyle Tiefnabel.

The officer cleared his throat again and proceeded to speak slowly. “When the EMT’s and I arrived at the Professor’s home, I followed them and Mr. Tiefnabel here into the master bedroom of the DiGioia home. While Ms. Hill and her crew worked on the professor, I observed the scene and spoke with Mr. Tiefnabel.  He told me that he had awakened at 6:15 a.m. and sensed there was something wrong with the professor, that he wasn’t breathing, and so he called 9-1-1.”

“Mr. Tiefnabel told me that he and the professor had gone to sleep about midnight and that he had slept soundly. He usually awoke first and then would awaken the Professor so that he could go to his job at the college. During the time between midnight and 6:15, Mr. Tiefnabel said he heard no unusual sounds and sensed nothing out of the ordinary. He also told me he is usually a very sound sleeper.” The hefty police officer stooped speaking and looked at the jurors, as if expecting questions.

The elderly Asian juror spoke first, “Officer, did you notice anything out of the ordinary in the Professor’s residence?”

“No, sir. The bed appeared to have been slept in by two people but there were no signs of a struggle. The same was true for the bedroom itself and the rest of the house. The house appeared neatly kept with nothing out of order.”

The slim young female juror spoke next. “Officer, how did Mr. Tiefnabel appear to you? I mean, I’m not trying to put words in your mouth or anything, but did he appear sad or happy or did…”

At this point Officer Forest smiled slightly, causing dimples in his plump round cheeks, and interrupted her diplomatically, “No ma’am, Mr. Tiefnabel appeared shocked and solemn. He did not cry, but he definitely was feeling the seriousness of the situation. We spoke for a while about the Professor and Mr. Tiefnabel responded to all my questions.”

As the hefty corn-fed police officer spoke, he thought back to that morning. Mr. Tiefnabel  had responded appropriately, he felt, serious but no tears. It was not often that men cried in situations like this. He thought back to that morning and remembered some things he wouldn’t share with the jury or, in fact, with anyone else.

Officer Forest had been  stunned by the sight of Kyle Tiefnabel from the time he entered the professor’s home until he left about an hour later. Kyle had answered the door wearing only  a massive pair of drawstring shorts. As he and the officer spoke, the cop was amazed at the Kyle’s physique.

Massive rolls, bulges, and swags of fat hung from the frame of the young man. His massive arms with creased with lard, his man boobs were the size of sandbags and extended under the massive arms to merge into the rolls of fat on the young man’s back. Each of his pink nipples was stretched bigger than a silver dollar and sat on a cantaloupe size ballooning mound of quivering breast flab which in turn merged into the enormous man boob. It looked like each one of the young man’s massive tits had another boob swelling from it. Rolls of fat hung from the young man’s dimpled thighs and his calves were big and round. As he sat to answer Officer Forest’s questions,  he spread his legs wide to accommodate the massive belly which hung in between his thighs.  With some effort, Mr. Tiefnabel stood up to show the officer around the house, and as he followed the young man he was stunned by the size of the young man’s massive wide lovehandles and enormous mega-rump, each cheek a mass of rolls, lumps and bulges, jiggling, wobbling and bouncing.

The day before, Officer Forest had been kidded by his shift mates when he stepped on a scale  at a convenience store and he found he weighed 377 lbs. He had halfway decided to try to cut some weight and drop fifty or so pounds, but as he left the Professor’s house that morning, he thought to himself that he wasn’t so big after all. He had a long way to go before he became really fat, as obese as Kyle Tiefnabel. He decided his diet could wait as he entered his patrolcar to head to the donut shop for a snack.

The elderly blue-haired juror spoke next, bringing Officer Forest’s thoughts back to the inquest. “Could you tell us the results of the autopsy, young man?”

Officer Forest quickly spoke. “Ma’am, my boss, Detective Van Buik here, will present that information to you all.”

Dr. Potts nodded at Detective Van Buik, who started to speak. “Ladies and gentleman, my role in these situations is to investigate the big picture, you might say.  The professor was unmarried and had no close family aside from a sister who lives in New York City. He had no criminal record and people I spoke to at our local Cadwallader College described him as well-liked without any enemies who would want to harm him. At the time of his death, he had a will, leaving his entire estate to the local Humane Society. I also spoke with the doctor at County Hospital who performed the autopsy on Professor DiGioia.”

“What were the autopsy results?” asked the juror dressed in farmer’s overalls.

“The Professor was 48 years old at the time of death. No evidence of chronic disease was found. No evidence of drugs or alcohol was found in the professor’s blood. He was in good overall health.  The autopsy determined that cause of death was compression asphyxiation.”

“Doesn’t asphyxiation mean that he was smothered?” asked the juror dressed in work clothes.

“That’s one meaning, sir. Asphyxiation means that air is cut off from the lungs. Oxygen cannot get into the bloodstream and the patient dies.”

“Compression asphyxiation means that the person is unable to breathe due to pressure on the chest cavity and the lungs themselves. This is a similar situation to people who are crushed in a stampede. Someone trips and falls, bodies pile up and the victims at the bottom of the pile die. Because of weight on the victims’ chests, the lungs are unable to expand, and air cannot enter the lungs. The oxygen levels in the blood drop, and the victims die. It was the same with Professor DiGioia. The professor’s upper body was compressed under a heavy weight, he was unable to breathe, and he died.”

The juror dressed in farm overalls spoke. “Detective, I remember years ago a friend of mine passed away. He was working on the exhaust of his car when the car slipped off the jacks and he was crushed. Is this what you’re talking about here?”

“Exactly.” The detective looked at the jurors and noticed that the jurors all seemed to look at Kyle Tiefnabel at the same time. Kyle looked downwards and didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

The detective continued, “immediately after the autopsy, I again spoke with Mr. Tiefnabel here. He told me that during the night he must have rolled over onto the Professor. He was a sound sleeper and didn’t realize what had happened.”

Dr. Potts next asked a question to the Detective. “How big was Professor DiGioia?”

The answer came quickly. “At the autopsy, the professor’s height was determined to be 5 feet 6 inches and his weight was 132 pounds.”

Dr. Potts next turned to Kyle and said, “Mr. Tiefnabel, I don’t mean to embarrass you, but could you tell us your height and weight?”

Kyle blushed and looked downwards, seeming to stare at the massive mounds of his man boobs and his gigantic jiggling  belly which rose and fell with every breath he took. “I’m 5’9” and when I went to my doctor’s for a check-up last month I weighed 680 pounds.” His soft pink jowls quivered with every word.

There were murmurs and a few gasps in the crowd of spectators. “Now folks,” said Dr. Potts, “lets have none of that.”

Dr. Potts continued. “Detective Van Buik, do you have any reason to believe that the death of Professor DiGioia was not an accident?”

The paunchy detective looked serious. “No. Neighbors in the houses near that of the professor described him and Kyle Tiefnabel as quiet individuals. There were never any loud arguments or partying. Furthermore, a check of the financial situation of both the professor and Mr. Tiefnabel showed that the home they occupied is actually owned by Mr. Tiefnabel, not the professor. The home was purchased five years ago for cash with money from a trust fund established for Mr. Tiefnabel by his late parents. Professor DiGioia’s will left his personal effects to his sister and the beneficiary of his life-insurance and 401(k) is the local Humane Society. This shows that Mr. Tiefnabel would not benefit financially from the death of the professor.”

“Also, the autopsy of Professor DiGioia showed no marks, bruises, abrasions, or other injuries which would indicate a struggle had taken place.” Detective Smith finished reading from his notebook.

“Sir, did anyone examine Mr. Tiefnabel to see if he has any marks like that. When I watch CSI, they do that all the time. I mean…” It was the young blonde juror again.

Detective Van Buik and Officer Forest glanced at each other and traces of smiles appeared on both their faces.  Every television watcher was an expert in forensics because of CSI!

Officer Forest answered this time. “Yes ma’am. When I was at the home of the Professor and Mr. Tiefnabel the morning the death was reported, I took Mr. Tiefnabel into the master bathroom, asked him to take off his shorts, and visually did an examination. He had no scratches, cuts, abrasions, bruises or other injuries that would indicate that he had been involved in a struggle.”

Kyle Tiefnabel tilted his head downwards, at least as far as he could with his thick double chin in the way, and blushed.  He remembered how he felt while the hefty cop visually checked his body for signs of a struggle.  At the time he was embarrassed and yet felt himself wondering if Officer Forest might be as turned on by Kyle’s size as Kyle was by his.

Coroner Potts spoke again. “Mr. Tiefnabel, could you please tell us about your relationship with Gerald DiGioia?”

Kyle looked at the Coroner and spoke softly but clearly. “I met Professor DiGioia seven   years ago when I was 19 and a student in his class at Cadwallader College. We became…ah….very good friends after the semester finished.  I moved from the dorm into his apartment and lived with him there. When I graduated from college four years ago, I purchased my house here and Gerry moved in with me. Even though Gerry was twenty-two years older than me, we had many interests in common.” He stopped here and his eyes became teary.   “Cooking, watching sports, and animals. We both love…loved, I mean, cats and dogs. He even had the same taste as me in music.”

Kyle paused, wiped his eyes, and shifted his mammoth bulk so that the three folding chairs supporting his double-extra-wide mega-asscheeks creaked. He began to speak again. “You see, my parents passed away in an accident when I was a junior in high school, and I just…just…felt so alone. Gerry became such a good friend, sort of like a mentor, someone who valued me for myself.”

The elderly blue-haired juror asked quietly, “Did you love him?”

“Yes, I did”, replied Kyle softly. The meeting room was quiet.

The blue-haired lady looked directly at Kyle and said, “I’m sorry for your loss, young man.”

The juror whose denim overalls were stretched to contain his large belly asked,
”Did anything like this ever happen before? I mean, did you usually roll around in your sleep?”

“Well, sir, Gerry used to joke with me that I’d roll around in bed and pull all the covers off him. Last year, a neighbor’s house caught fire and I slept through all the noise and alarms. Gerry told me the next morning that I was dead to the world once I fell asleep. All I can think of is that I accidentally rolled over on him while we were sleeping next to each other…” Kyle stopped suddenly.

Dr. Potts spoke next. “I think we have a thorough picture of the events surrounding the passing of Professor Gerald DiGioia. Does anyone on the jury or among the spectators have any questions for anyone who has spoken here this morning?”

The room was silent. No matter what anyone in the room may have thought about the relationship between the obese young man and the professor, they sympathized with his sorrow.

“Well, then,” the deep resonant tones of Dr. Potts filled the room, “the members of the Coroner’s Jury will now retire to the next room and deliberate the circumstances of the death. The jury has four options: they are accidental death, homicide, suicide, or unknown. We will reconvene after the jury has reached a decision.”

The six jurors stood and filed out. Dr. Potts announced that there would be a break while the coroner’s jury deliberated.

Kyle Tiefnabel remained seated at the table and considered what to do. He was hungry. Breakfast had been a few hours ago. He considered whether he should head for the Burger King located across the street from the Courthouse or just go to the vendor’s stand he had noticed in the lobby.

Dr. Potts turned to Kyle and told him, “Mr. Tiefnabel, I’d suggest you don’t go far. The jury usually takes only half an hour at most in situations like these.”

It actually took the jurors only twenty minutes to decide on their verdict.  It seemed obvious to them all that there could be only one verdict—there were no signs of a struggle and Kyle Tiefnabel had no reason to expect to gain financially from the death of his partner.

Because the jury decided their verdict so quickly there were few spectators in the meeting room when the Coroner called the inquest to order—the people who testified at the inquest, the jury, the coroner and Kyle.

Kyle looked downwards as the elderly blue-haired lady arose at the request of Dr. Piotts and read the verdict from a piece of paper. “We the Coroner’s Jury have decided unanimously that the circumstances of the death of Professor Gerald DiGioia last July 12 were accidental.” There were murmurs of discussion among the few spectators.  Kyle continued to look downwards. He had a blank expression on his face.

Dr. Potts glanced at Kyle as the verdict was read. He turned to the young superchub and said quietly, “You may leave now if you’d like, Mr. Tiefnabel. If you need a copy of Pressor DiGioia’s death certificate to help settle his estate, it will be available here at the courthouse in a day or so.”

Kyle heaved himself up from the three folding chairs and turned, heading for the door. As he waddled out of the room, he glumly looked straight ahead. It took some minutes, but he finally reached his Cadillac Eldorado in the parking lot. He opened the door, turned his bulk to face away from the door, and backed in. The car sunk more than a foot under Kyle’s tonnage. He squirmed himself into the seat setting off more jiggles and wobbles on his lard. The driver’s seat was shoved back as far as it could go but the steering wheel cut deeply into Kyle’s belly.

As he drove home, he considered where to get lunch. Someplace with a drive thru. He went to a nearby Jack in the Box, ordered, paid his $40 and change, was handed the bags of hot fragrant sandwiches, burgers, and curly fries, and headed for home.

Kyle went inside his house, changed into a comfortable pair of voluminous drawstring shorts, and went to the couch. He was surrounded by the bags of food and started to eat. He used the top of his ballooning belly as a shelf to hold the fries as he dipped them into the quart size bowl of savory aioli-pesto-sun dried tomato mayonnaise. Not for nothing did he watch the Food Channel while Gerry was at work!

Well, Gerry wouldn’t be coming home now.  As Kyle ate, he thought back over the past seven years and his relationship with Professor Gerald DiGioia,

Kyle was a first-semester sophomore when he enrolled in the professor’s class. It seemed hard for even him to believe now, given his size, that back then he was 5’9” and 185 pounds. At the start of his freshman year the year before, he was 165 with rock-hard abs, pecs, biceps, and glutes. The “freshman fifteen plus”,  caused by lots of tasty dorm food plus pizza and beer with his dorm buddies,  meant that he had a small roll of flab around his waist and some bulk to his butt. The blond cleft-chinned good looks which had served him well since he was young were still there.

A few weeks before the end of the semester, he had gone to Professor DiGioia’s office. It was obvious to Kyle while they discussed the latest lecture that the Professor was “interested” in him. The day of the final exam, the Professor gave Kyle a note when he turned in his final. “How about meeting me for lunch tomorrow— what about the Café di Roma at noon? Please call me to confirm”.

That was the start. The professor swept Kyle off his feet. He was just so interested in Kyle, his dreams, his ideas. Eating was part of every date. Gerry always ordered. Kyle was amazed at first at the amount that Gerry ordered. It was much more than Kyle thought he could eat, but Gerry always urged  him to eat everything. “Gee, you still look hungry.” “C’mon Kyle, there’s just a little bit left.”  Gerry always ordered much more for himself than he could eat, and always shoved his leftovers to Kyle. No matter how full Kyle was, Gerry would say, “Here Kyle, you like this. It’s a shame to let it go to waste.” Kyle, just so pleased at the attention Gerry paid him, always complied.

After two weeks of getting together for meals and conversation, Gerry invited Kyle to his apartment on a Friday night for a home-cooked meal, “Much better than that institutional dorm food” in Gerry’s words. Gerry cooked a massive Italian meal. Kyle, urged on by Gerry, stuffed himself. It was just so great that someone cared enough to treat him so well.  While both relaxed on the sofa after the meal, Gerry and Kyle shard their first deep kiss. Within a short time, they were in Gerry’s bedroom. After sex, Kyle contentedly dozed and was awakened by Gerry walking in with huge bowls of ice cream for both of them. “Just something to restore your energy, babe”, smiled Gerry. Kyle was so bloated after the snack he could barely move, but Gerry, who had only eaten a few spoonfuls before giving the rest to Kyle., fed him spoonful after spoonful while massaging his gut and giving his prick a handjob.

Kyle  always went along with Gerry’s requests. Gerry seemed fascinated by Kyle’s physique. Weekly pictures, front, back, and side, were taken by Gerry, “just because you’re so freaking hot, babe.” Every week, Gerry got out the tape measure and measured him like he was a tailor measuring a customer for a suit—neck, chest, biceps, gut, waist, hips, thighs, and calves. When Kyle questioned this, Gerry responded with a smile, “I just love everything about you and it’s a way for me to just…, just get to know you better” as he gave Kyle a deep kiss, massaged his pecs, then his gut, and ended up with some hot sex followed by a tasty calorie-rich snack. Kyle was a little self-conscious at first about the weight he was rapidly putting on, but Gerry made no direct comments about it. Every time he embraced Kyle, his hands always seemed to go to Kyle’s softening pecs, widening midriff, growing pot belly, deepening bellybutton, expanding  lovehandles, and globular jiggly buttcheeks before heading for his erect dick.

By the end of the school year, Kyle had grown from 185 to 237. When the dorms closed, Kyle moved into Gerry’s apartment for the summer. He lived in sweats, drawstring shorts and t-shirts. He really didn’t need to work because of the income he received from his parents’ trust fund, and it didn’t take much for Gerry to persuade Kyle to “house sit” during the day while Gerry was teaching summer session. Gerry cooked up a storm on weekends and evenings so that Kyle was well-fed during the weekdays that Gerry wasn’t around. He played x-box, watched videos, walked the dogs, and lazed at the apartment pool, tons of food, snacks, and beer always close by.

By the start of his junior year Kyle weighed 260 with a ballooning pot belly he could no longer suck in even if he had wanted to. Gerry urged Kyle to stay with him and not move back to the dorms. In fact, his urging sometimes bordered on nagging, but Gerry had a masterful way of cutting off the nagging just before it would bug Kyle.

Kyle and the Professor went shopping for clothes, since even his sweats were way too tight on Kyle’s quickly expanding physique. Gerry preferred that Kyle wear his jeans slung low so that his belly stuck out—“C’mon Kyle, having a gut on you means you’re a man now, not a kid any longer”—“Hey Kyle, don’t be self-conscious of your gut. You’re turning into the man you were meant to be”. In bed, Gerry worshipped Kyle’s growing belly and man tits. One of his favorite things was fucking Kyle’s deep bellybutton. Afterwards, they spooned side-by-side while snacking . It was always the same—Gerry had a few bites while Kyle consumed 99% of whatever calorie-rich treat it was Gerry had prepared.

Kyle went to class and got good grades. He noticed that as his weight grew, he was hungry all the time. Even without Gerry encouraging him to eat, Kyle  got into the habit of stopping at  the campus snack bars during the day to ease the hunger pangs that came from having to walk to class. He kept up his old friendships with his buddies from the dorm and would often meet them for some brews and pizzas at the end of the school day. All of them were putting on weight, although Kyle was packing on the pounds the fastest. He gradually stopped being embarrassed about his rapidly growing size and realized his liked the bulk. He really did feel more “manly” with his growing paunch, just like Gerry said he would.

Early in Kyle’s junior year, Gerry started using words like “gainer” and “encourager”. This came about when Kyle suggested to Gerry that he’d look hot with some extra pounds on him, too. Gerry declined, saying he didn’t want to be “big” himself—he was turned on by Kyle’s “sexy, hot size”.  “It’s just me, Kyle—it’s no use for me to overeat because I just can’t gain. It’s just my fate to be an encourager”, “The more there is of you to love, babe, the hotter you are.” Kyle loved it. He was in love with being in love and being pampered by Gerry.

Kyle’s senior year continued the same way. With Gerry’s skillful encouragement, Kyle’s weight zoomed upwards. By the time he graduated in June, Kyle was tipping the scales at 362 pounds of blubber. The largest size graduation gown fit snugly across Kyle’s ballooning waist and outlined his wide protruding rear end.

Kyle felt good about his size. He just liked the feeling of being “big”—how when he sat on a sofa, he could feel it “give” under his bulk. When shopping at the mall, he often admired his reflection in store windows. He loved the size of his belly and chest and hefty arms and admired the impressive mass his hips, rear end, and thighs were developing. He had always enjoyed watching football, and here he was, looking like the biggest offensive lineman he could imagine.

There were times though when Gerry seemed disappointed in some aspects of Kyle’s weight. He loved Kyle’s belly but at times seemed  almost contemptuous of the size of his hips and rump. “Jellyass”, “Lardbutt”, “Balloonbuns” were some of the terms he used when “joking” with Kyle about how his ever-bigger butt and hips tightly packed whatever trousers he was wearing. On the other hand, Kyle’s belly, which steadily grew rounder and rounder, wider and wider, flabbier and flabbier, and sagged lower and lower, was always “hot” or “sexy” to Gerry.  One night, after another huge home-cooked Italian dinner accompanied by a bottle of red wine (as usual, Kyle ate 99% of the food while Gerry drank 99% of the wine), Gerry slurred to Kyle, “Babe, you’re so freaking hot. If only there was some way I could get you on the treadmill so you’d be able to tighten up that blubberass but keep your sexy belly nice and big and round…” Gerry noticed that Kyle gave him a quizzical frown at this remark and quickly shut up.

After Kyle graduated, he and Gerry agreed that they’d remain a couple. Kyle tapped his trust fund to buy a house in an up-scale part of town. His monthly income meant that he didn’t have to work, but he had majored in business and so he used the most-up-to-date computer equipment to play the stock market.  Gerry continued teaching at college and was away all day. Kyle stayed home at the computer and continued to eat. He left the house sometimes to go shopping, or to visit local fast food places, restaurants, buffets, and bakeries, but it was really no fun doing that alone without Gerry, and Gerry really didn’t like it if Kyle went out without him. Besides, thanks to deliveries, the house was always kept full of food. All Kyle had to do was take a few steps to the custom-built kitchen and whatever made his mouth water was soon ready.

So, Kyle’s weight ballooned, much more quickly than when he was in college and needed to walk all over campus to class. One year after graduation, he weighed 449, two years after, 520, three years after, 598, and now four years on at age 26 Kyle found he was carrying 680 pounds on his frame.

Over the past six months or so, since Christmas, Kyle began to sense a change in Gerry—subtle, but still a change. Sex became less frequent although Gerry still seemed turned on by Kyle’s belly and Kyle definitely still loved it when Gerry took the initiative. Gerry  made  fewer suggestions to Kyle about eating—he had always suggested tasty, calorie-heavy snacks which Kyle should try. That stopped now.

As Kyle continued to grow, he decided to have some changes made in the house—doorways were widened, the bathroom renovated to accommodate an extra-large walk-in shower and double large bidet with an oversized seat.  Kyle had to sit to pee for the past couple of years, and the reinforced extra wide seat made things more comfortable for the superporker. The guest bedroom on the first floor was remade into the master-bedroom suite and became Kyle and Gerry’s bedroom. Kyle explained to Gerry that he just found it too tiring now to climb the stairs to their bedroom. Gerry had no reaction to this—which surprised Kyle. He thought his lover would be thrilled that he was getting so huge he had to make these accommodations.

Kyle frequently found himself asking Gerry for help with things. After a shower, he needed Gerry’s help to powder all the folds and creases in his lard to avoid chafing as everything shifted and rubbed together when he took even a few steps. Even getting into slip-on shoes was difficult sometimes. Kyle just couldn’t see his feet below the mass of his protruding man boobs and huge  belly. At first, Gerry seemed turned on by the need to help Kyle. After a short while, he seemed to feel imposed-upon. Kyle knew Gerry well enough to sense his feelings even though the older man said nothing.

Toward the end of the school year in early June, big Kyle felt extra energetic one morning and decided to make an excursion to the college campus and surprise Gerry at his office. Kyle planned the trip taking his size into consideration. It was remarkably cool for early June, so Kyle wouldn’t perspire too much from the exertion. He packed a knapsack full of snacks to sustain himself in case he got hungry. It had been almost four years since he had visited the campus, but he mentally charted his way from the parking lot to Gerry’s office so that there were benches he could rest at and vending machines and the snack bar on the way in case he needed to sustain himself.

Kyle slowly waddled from the parking lot to Gerry’s office. He finally reached the office and opened the door without knocking. Inside, Gerry was deep in conversation with a college kid, about 19 or 20, medium height, good looking, with a round flabby pot belly filling his tight tee shirt and bulging over his low-slung jeans. “Gee, professor, I can’t believe I put on 30 pounds since last fall…” he was saying to Gerry. Neither Gerry  nor the kid realized that Kyle had opened the door.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” puffed Kyle, still breathing heavily from the exertion,

Gerry quickly said, “Oh, Kyle, good to see you. Great to see you again. Tim, this is Kyle, one of my former students who keeps in touch with me. Kyle, this is Tim, who’s been taking classes from me since last fall.”

Kyle nodded speechless to the two. Tim, the kid with the new pot-belly, stared with his mouth open at Kyle and finally stammered out, “Good to meet you.”

Kyle quickly said, “well, I just stopped by to say hello, Professor DiGioia. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll talk to you later.” He closed the door, waddled back to his car and drove home via the bakery.  Gerry would have a logical explanation for him.

At home that evening, Gerry calmly explained that he introduced Kyle the way he did to Tim was because “on campus I want to keep my life with you private, babe. Besides, you came in during my office hours and I sure wasn’t expecting you.”

This explanation made sense to Kyle. The suoerchub, whose life had been so wrapped up with Gerry for the past seven years, didn’t question anything Gerry told him.

For the next month, their agreeable life seemed to continue. Kyle was eating practically non-stop, Gerry and him were having sex less frequently but still enough to make Kyle happy, but he noticed that Gerry seemed more distant.

Sunday night, July 11. Gerry had made a pan of lasagna for dinner with butter-soaked garlic bread and a cherry cheesecake for dessert. As usual, Kyle ate 99.9% of the food while Gerry nibbled. At the end of the meal, Kyle grinned and said, “you know, Gerry, that was so great. Next time though you should make two pans. I could still go for some more.” Kyle was pleased that he was still hungry and thought Gerry would be too. In the old days, that remark would have caused an overjoyed Gerry to lead Kyle to the bedroom for some great sex. Kyle rubbed his massive paunch, setting off jiggles all over his body and smiled.

Gerry didn’t say anything.

Later that evening, Kyle waddled into the kitchen for a snack—a mixing bowl of ice cream, butterscotch sauce, and whipped cream. He called out to Gerry, “Hey, Gerry, want some ice cream?”

Gerry silently came into the kitchen. Kyle was sitting at the table, belly scrunched up against it, massive man boobs  sagging so low they almost rested on the wooden tabletop,  the creases in his lard-encased arms opening and recreasing with each movement of spoon from bowl to Kyle’s eager mouth.

“Kyle, I need to talk to you. Just listen to me, hear me out. I’m going to leave tomorrow. You…you….just don’t meet my needs any more. I’ve made up my mind…..” The words came from Gerry’s unsmiling lips slowly and deliberately.

Kyle was stunned, so stunned he put the spoon down. “Leave me? Why? We’ve been together seven years…”

“Kyle, it’s just that you’re so…big now. When I fell for you, you were a hot young stud putting on some pounds. All my life, that’s what I’ve found hot. Encouraging a young guy to let go and gain weight.”

Kyle quietly replied, “Yeah, Gerry, that’s what I did. I gained weight at first because you liked it and yeah, I came to like it too. You really turned me on to food and the joys of eating, and the results…” Kyle’s left hand grabbed his massive right man breast and he shook the boob fat violently. “This is what I always thought you wanted.”

“Kyle, you need to take a look at yourself. You’re fatter than I ever imagined a man could be and I can’t deal with what’s going to happen if you continue. Believe me, I don’t see my future life as wiping the butt and powdering the creases of an immobile super piggy. What turns me on is a young guy just starting to chunk up. I realize that now after seeing what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Done to myself?” Kyle spoke softly. “Gerry, I’m this big because this is what you wanted. I admit I love it, but do you think that seven years ago when I was 185 and just met you I would have gotten this big if it wasn’t for you? Why didn’t you say something back when I was 350 or 400?”

The professor looked grimmer. “Well, Kyle, your offer to have me live with you was something that had never happened to me before and I admit, I’ve enjoyed having a free place to live…”

“…with me paying all the bills. Right?” Kyle asked grimly, his voice still soft.

“Well, Kyle, I don’t want to discuss this any further. I’m leaving tomorrow.” At that, the professor left the kitchen and went to the bedroom.

Kyle sat at the kitchen table, stunned. He finished the ice cream and then made some sandwiches which he ate dejectedly while replaying in his mind what the Professor had told him.

He was stunned. “You’re not meeting my needs anymore”. The sentence repeated and repeated itself.

What could he do to keep Gerry? He needed him. Seven years with Gerry—what would he do if Gerry left? Sure, he was independently wealthy, but there’s much more to life than money. Love. How would he find someone to love? There had been no one in his life but Gerry for the past seven years. After graduation, he hadn’t kept up his friendships with his old dorm buddies and he realized that Gerry was the only person he felt close to now.

Finally, about 3:00 a.m., he went to the bedroom and got into bed next to Gerry Kyle couldn’t fall asleep, though. . Gerry didn’t seem concerned. Lying next to Kyle, he slept soundly with a slight smile on his face. Kyle looked at him and wondered if Gerry was already thinking of his next encouragee—maybe it would be that kid Tim.

About 5:30 a.m., the rising summer sun streamed in the bedroom window. Kyle hit upon what he’d do to keep Gerry. For years, ever since Kyle had become really big, Gerry loved it when Kyle did one particular thing. He more than loved it…it drove him nuts. He came and came and came each time Kyle did it. Gerry would realize how much Kyle meant to him and he’d decide to stay. Kyle thought of a plan….

Kyle gently awakened Gerry. “Gerry, I understand what you want. I’ve thought about it all night, and I know you have to move on. But, just to show you how much  you’ve meant to me, and how much I’ve loved you…”

Gerry was lying on his back and smiled at Kyle’s words, sleepily saying, “OK, Kyle once more for old time’s sake.”

Kyle kissed Gerry deeply, and then slowly positioned himself so that he was on his hands and knees, straddling Gerry. Kyle moved a little forward so that he massive man breasts were hanging down, brushing Gerry’s face. At the same time, his enormous belly hung down so that it rested on Gerry’s lean abdomen and flaccid dick.

“Oh babe, you know what I like…”, murmured Gerry. He began to work Kyle’s massive nipples, swollen at the tip of each ballooning udder of blubbery  man breast. Licking, biting, and sucking while Kyle’s boob flab shivered and  quivered, Gerry couldn’t get enough. At the same time, Kyle shifted backwards and forwards so that his  hanging belly blubber massaged Gerry’s skinny abdomen and cock. “Shit, babe, if I’d known you were going to give me this farewell gift, I’d have taken my Viagra”, murmured Gerry.

Suddenly Kyle felt faint, dazed somehow. Seven years, seven years together. Seven years, seven years…..

Suddenly Kyle’s arms and legs felt weak. They seemed to lose their ability to hold him up. Oof! He felt himself plop down on top of Gerry, setting off ripples in the blubber which thickly padded his whale-size torso. He went from straddling Gerry to lying directly on top of him. Gerry seemed to gasp and squirm a little. Kyle really couldn’t tell, His massive body, the results of seven years of encouragement, completely covered Gerry. Kyle just lay there in a daze The squirming beneath Kyle stopped after a while.

Seven years, seven years. Kyle had lost track of the time. The early morning sun streaming through the bedroom window was a little stronger now. With some effort, Kyle rolled over onto his back and looked at the alarm clock. 6:10 a.m. He turned and tried to arouse Gerry. There was no reaction. Kyle hoisted himself out of bed, waddled over to the bedside chair where he had left his drawstring shorts the night before, and tugged them up over his huge thighs and wide ballooning soft hips. He tied them so that his massive belly hung over the waistband. He slowly waddled to the phone, belly flab slapping into his thighs with each labored step. He was in shock. What had happened? He hadn’t meant to hurt Gerry. Gerry had been his life….

Kyle picked up the telephone and pressed 9-1-1. A voice answered, “What is your emergency?”

“Ah, ah…I just woke up and discovered that my partner…something’s wrong…something…something…ah…must have happened to him during the night….”

The Case of the Phantom Preview

A/N: I wrote some Sherlock x  Reader with a mix of ‘Phantom of the Opera‘ because I love it! It takes place between 1889 and 1929 (I swtich a little in time). It will have more parts and let me know what you think about it.So here you have a little preview of what comes up to you.
And remeber English is not my nativ language so please bare with me if you see any mistakes.
GIF IS NOT MINE
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The carriage ride to Paris was unbearable for John Watson and his Friend the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. „Why are we again travelling to Paris?“ John asked annoyed when the carriage again drove over a big rock sending both men out of their seats. „Because“ Sherlock Holmes started to sit in his right spot again  and fixing his top hat. „Mycrofts friends her in France bought a Opera House a few months ago, stupid if you ask me, but this so called friend meant there were ghosts.“ The Doctor rose an eyebrow. Holmes shook his head before his friend could say something. „Like I said before. Stupid. But something or more like someone is killing people in this Opera House and we my dear Watson will find out who.“ With that the conversation was settled.

Just five minutes later they arrived at the infamous Opera House. When the British men walked out of the carriage and paid the driver, they were greeted by a man, Sherlock assumed to be the new owner and the friend of his brother. „Mr. Holmes I‘m so glad that you are here.“ The man took Sherlocks hand and shook it. The Detective could easily see that this man was afraid. His whole body shook, he was paler than the moon and he had dark circles under his eyes due to lack of sleep he had. „Monsieur Rousseau I assume than. You already know me.“ The dark haired man turned to his bearded friend. „Monsieur Rousseau this is Doctor John Watson. He will accompany me through this case.“ Both men shook hands and even John could sense the uneasiness that hung in there near the big, old looking building.

Monsieur Rousseau lead the men into the house. His curly red hair shine in the golden light of the Operas impressive crystallise Chandeliers. „Welcome to the Opera House ‚Maison de Muse‘. If you need anything please let me know. Ereen Valenza and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will show you around. I have to attend some business. Good day Gentlemen.“ With these Words he left and after mere minutes two young ladies came into view. One had long shining black hair pulled back into a half ponytail and with icy grey eyes but with a heart warming smile. The other Woman had (Y/H/S) (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) and (Y/E/C) that came out just perfect into the golden lighting of the Chandeliers. Both wore some kind of ballet dresses.

Both of them came to a stand in front of the men. „Bonjour Monsieurs.“ the black haired girl started with a friendly smile. „I‘m Ereena Valenza. But please just call me Ereena. My Mother Nicoline Valenza she is the concierge here. And this“ she pointed to the Girl beside her. „This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). The greatest singer in whole France.“ she laughed and (Y/N) punched her shoulder a little. „I just dance in the background.“ she corrected her friend. John smiled at both of them. „Wonderful to meet the both of you. I‘m Doctor John Watson and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.“
Sherlock was still the whole time. Examining both Women with his deducing skills. Ereen was easy to deduce. A only child but still loved by her Mother, has great talent in her and is a very friendly Girl. But this (Y/N) was a true mysterious to him.