#DAY ELEVEN (11): i have come to the likely conclusion -- as i suspected i would -- that NOT having another reblogging blog is for the best

[mertronus]

Secret Mission

Chapter 2

Read it on AO3 or FFN

Oh! M for language.... This is Ron we're talking about.

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Harry found Ron later that evening looking out over the makeshift pitch at the Burrow deep in thought.  Dinner was over and Ron knew that soon his siblings would begin to head to their homes.  Sundays at the Burrow were a treat, but Mondays meant back to lives and work.  Bill at Gringotts, Harry, Percy, Audrey, and Arthur at the Ministry, Fred and George at their famous joke shop, Katie to school (she was training to become a healer Ron learned earlier that afternoon) and Ginny and Angelina to practice with their team, the Holyhead Harpies.  Ron was chuffed to find out that while he was away, Ginny joined Angelina as starting chasers for the team.

For now, everyone was enjoying the last joyful moments of a relaxed Sunday evening.

As they stood together overlooking the pitch, Harry asked Ron more about the extended mission he was on.

"I can't tell you much yet, not until it's conclusion anyway, but I can say thus far it's been a success.  Almost all the suspects for the case have been caught, and no aurors on my team were too injured."

"You were injured at one point, right?"

"Yeah, but it was a minor injury.  I had to sit out a couple days...no biggie."

Harry nodded.  "Yes the report noted it was extremely minor so I didn't say anything to the family.  Didn't see the point in worrying them unnecessarily."

"Thanks for that."

"Were you leading?" Harry asked.  He always egged Ron on about his leadership skills.  Ron, however, still felt them mediocre at best.

"I was, yeah, for most of it.  Captain Ledwig had the final say for all decisions but he pretty much let me call the shots."

"That's amazing Ron."

"Yeah...I mean, we had help.  Amazing help."  A small wistful smile appeared on his lips and he looked away just enough so Harry wouldn't see it.

"Right," Harry said in a way that told the tall redhead that he wasn't fooled.  "So...staying with the team tonight huh?"

Arse, Ron thought to himself.  "Oh, erm..."

"Where are you really staying?"

Ron blew out his exhale and groaned.  "At the Leaky.  I have a room there for a bit."  Harry opened his mouth to say something but Ron cut him off.  "I just need some space, y'know?  To come back from a mission and stay here is just...I just...well, at least for now - a couple days maybe - "

"Ron," the dark-haired wizard said putting his hand on his shoulder.  "You don't have to explain.  I know."

Panic shot through Ron as he turned to him.  "Y-you know?"

"Yeah, of course you need space.  We see and deal with a lot out on these missions, and I don't even know half of what you dealt with wherever you were in France.  Take a few days and decompress, definitely."  Ron sighed in relief, thankful that his brilliant best mate could also be extremely daft.  "Just don't be a  stranger.  Your mum will want to see plenty of you.  Gin too."  Ron nodded, telling himself he would at the least come to the burrow each day for breakfast or dinner...and not just for the food.  "And feel free to pop by Grimmauld too.  You're always welcome.  You can still apparate right in, that hasn't changed.  And your room is always ready.  Sirius saw to that before he handed it over and I definitely didn't change it."  

A smile grew on Ron's face as he thought about Harry's godfather, who gifted his London home to Harry upon his engagement opting to live in a small flat of his own just a few blocks away.  He was always extremely generous to his best friend's son and once Harry and Ron met on the train to Hogwarts all those years ago, Sirius practically adopted Ron as his second godson much like Harry's parents adopted Ron and Ron's parents adopted Harry.  As Ron didn't officially have a godfather of his own - none of his siblings did to his knowledge - he developed his own special relationship with the eccentric and carefree older man.  He would absolutely have to get to London to see Sirius Black.

After a short silence, Ron finally spoke up.  "Harry?  What if I didn't come back?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"What if I didn't come back?  Or the mission took longer than we thought?  You and Ginny love each other.  Why wait for me?  It's been a year and a half since you proposed."

Harry shrugged.  "I just...I can't picture my wedding day without you there.  Gin feels the same.  We're happy to wait.  Pretty sure we would have had a longer engagement anyway.  But..I don't think we'll be waiting much longer."

"Oh?"  Ron raised an eyebrow turning to Harry.

"Your brothers and I slipped out of the kitchen as the witches we all love started on wedding talk.  From the looks of it, Molly is ready to pull a wedding together very, very soon, in case you get sent off again."  Harry ran his hand through his hair making it stick out on all ends.  "I think I'm getting married Ron.  Will you stand beside me?"

"I wouldn't stand anywhere else mate."

As Harry head down the hill leaving Ron after his promise to follow him in a minute, Ron watched with trepidation.

Guilt.  Complete and all consuming guilt.  "Shit," Ron cursed to himself.  "Bloody fucking fuck."  He rubbed the back of his neck.  "M'sorry Hermione," he said out loud.  "I'm so sorry.  I can't tell them today."  He took a deep breath then started the walk back to his family to bid them goodnight so he could apparate back to the Leaky...back to the bollocking he'd no doubt receive...from his new wife.

----

Hermione Granger-Weasley paced room 14 at the Leaky Cauldron, just on the boundaries of muggle London and Diagon Alley, which she learned was Wizarding London.  Ron should have been back by now.  

She knew that his return to his family would be an all day affair, and truth be told she was excited to explore Diagon Alley a bit on her own.  Being a muggleborn witch, she was not privy to England's wizarding community before her parents moved her to Paris, France shortly before she turned 11.  On her eleventh birthday, she received the news that she was a witch ("That explains so much!", her parents had both exclaimed.) and two letters - one inviting her to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and one to study at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.  Her desires to both stay close to her parents - her only family - and to become fluent in French drove her to accept the invitation to Beauxbatons.  She often wondered, however, how different her life would have been had she chosen Hogwarts, and was thrilled to finally get acquainted with London as a witch.

And so, she spent Sunday, her first day in years back in London, busying herself by exploring the shops of Diagon Alley, and was delighted to discover Flourish & Botts.  She spent a better part of the day perusing the wide array of books the store had to offer before finally heading back to the Leaky Cauldron with her purchases for a quiet dinner in the room.  

She expected Ron shortly after dinner, but now it was nearing half nine and he still had not returned.

As she sat up in bed with one of her newest purchases open in front of her, she found herself unable to focus on reading for once.  She closed the book softly and ran her small ink-stained fingers along the books cover.  When she stumbled upon "Hogwarts: A History" in Flourish & Botts, she knew she had to have it.  Having read "L'Histoire Complète de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbatons" (The Complete History of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic) several times during her attendance, she was happy to find a similar book about Hogwarts.  She would be able to learn all she could about the school she turned down...the school Ron attended and talked so much about.

When she told Ron that she was in the house Bellefuille at Beauxbaton and explained what that meant, he told her she very well may have been in Gryffindor with him and his best mate Harry.  "Either that or Ravenclaw," Ron had laughed that evening as they stole away to the back gardens of Le Chateau Cache, which had become their favorite spot to be alone.  "Given your obsession with reading everything under the sun you very well may have been."

Hermione and Ron would have been in the same year.  And if she was sorted into Gryffindor...

Would they have been friends? she wondered.  Unlikely.  I was such a bossy know-it-all as a child.  Ron is so laid-back.

It wasn't until she befriended Luc deBlanc and Isabelle L'Amet that she began to settle and relax.  I would have driven Ron mad if he knew the eleven year old me.  He would have called me a nightmare.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to the first time she met Ronald Weasley, just 15 months ago at the start of their mission just outside of Paris.  

A team of British Aurors had just portkeyed in to a secret location in the French Ministry.  They were met by head of the French aurors, Mathieu Besson and herself.  As an intern for the Office of Magical Law Enforcement in Paris, she was to serve as a translator and guide for the team.  She was instructed to be with them every step of the way and even required special combat & protective training as she would be considered part of the team on the mission.

As the team filed into the conference room where they would meet and debrief, the tallest of them all immediately caught her eye.  Perhaps it was his formidable height, or his blazing red hair.  When he glanced her way from across the room, she thought maybe it was his piercing blue eyes.  And when he smiled at the crude joke of one of his team, she noticed the sweetest lopsided grin.  As he grinned he glanced at her again and she couldn't help notice the way his ears turned the most adorable shade of red.  Her cheeks responded with their own pink tint.

It was more than just his looks for Hermione though.  After all, Hermione was surrounded by very good looking French wizards (and muggles for that matter thanks to her parentage) on a daily basis and, if she was being completely honest, the team of nine or so British aurors included seven wizards who were all quite stunning in their own way.  If she was being honest, however, she never took a considerable notice in men.  She dated extremely sparingly and none of those dates went on to be anything significant...she just was not interested.  But there was something about this one auror...Auror Ronald Weasley, she soon learned he was called.  She also quickly gathered that among the British aurors, he was considered one of the best.

Hermione Granger quite liked the best.

In the coming days she began to work closely with the team.  They were brought in to gather up a gang of French wizards who were once aurors and thus, knew the inner workings of the French Auror Department, as well as the identities and secret identities of those that remained.  That's when the Ministry decided to bring in fresh faces from the outside to get the job done, with their secret weapon being the unknown, quiet, plain-jane intern who knew the inner workings of the French Ministry, the country - both wizarding and muggle - and the language, and would guide the outsiders to their targets.

The British Aurors' Captain, a stocky wizard named Captain Ledwig, seemed to give auror Weasley the reigns for the mission, so Hermione found herself working with him directly, much to her excitement.  After several days the excitement drained from her.

Auror Ronald Weasley was the most insufferable, crude, ill-mannered, insensitive prat Hermione had ever met.

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I won't keep y'all waiting... Chapter 3 will post tomorrow! How does Ron change Hermione's opinion of him? Thanks for reading 😁

#Ron Weasley #auror ron weasley #ron and hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #hermione granger #au harry potter #auror harry potter

[inevitably-johnlocked]

CHRISTMAS FICS 2019 Pt. 2

(PART 1: Bookmarked Fics HERE)

Happy holidays everyone!! Here’s the promised Part 2 list for y’all!!! This one is all the fics I have RECORDED (not necessarily all the fic I have) on my To Read list (which I only started recently so I wouldn’t have to keep copy-pasting stuff from old Tumblr posts), and I would LOVE for y’all to add your own winter holiday themed fic recs onto this list if it’s not already here!! <3 This is the community gift to the community, and the more fics the better! Any holiday / observance welcome!! <3

Happy holidays, guys!! I hope these two lists help get you into the holiday spirit!! <3

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MARKED FOR LATER FICS

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

He's an Angry Elf by Ewebie (T, 2,168 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Crack, Frosty, The Gingerbread Man) – Sherlock as a bad mall Santa and John as an elf... I make no apologies for this.

Santa Claus Is Going To Town by stravaganza (E, 2,253 w., 1 Ch. || Santa!John / Elf!Sherlock Costumes, Rimming, Rutting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Sex in Costumes, PWP, Humour/Crack, Christmas) – herlock and John are invited to a Christmas party at the Yard. In costume! Sounds legit, right? Riiiight...

Impossible Things by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 2,413 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Christmas, Fluff) – He'd promised himself he'd do it before Christmas, because otherwise Mummy WILL ask, probably in front of John.

John Likes Christmas by Arcwin (G, 2,638 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Kid Sherlock / John, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Nostalgia, Sherlock Holmes POV) – John likes Christmas. I fail to see why. This is where we find ourselves on this dreary, December evening in 221B. “Sherlock, but, it’s Christmas!” I sigh. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

The Biscuits May Look Terrible But At Least We’re Satisfied (E, 2,745 w., 1 Ch. ||  Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Christmas Cookies, Jealous Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Voice Kink, Dirty Talk) – The whole baking craze had started two days ago when Sherlock had casually mentioned that he hadn’t eaten his mother’s famous homemade Christmas cookies in years. Ordinarily such a comment wouldn’t have stuck with John, he knew Sherlock wasn’t close to his parents, but the touch of wistfulness in Sherlock’s voice had John calling Mrs. Holmes as soon as Sherlock was in the shower. An attempt at a Christmas surprise and a flirtatious client all lead to some loving Christmas smut.

The Case of the Frog Murder and the Disembodied Dog's Head by a_different_equation (T, 2,794 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Christmas, Est. Rel., Hound of Baskervilles, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Fluff and Humour, Miscommunication) – The true story behind the Baskerville case, and its strange and rather queer conclusion via Christmas Cards.

The Old Town by a_different_equation (T, 3,573 w., 1 Ch. || Hans Christian Anderson Fusion || Magical Realism, Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Love Stories, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Museums, Sweet Sherlock) – Once upon a time there were two boys. This is the story how once upon December, they found the missing Christmas Spirit, true love and new beginnings. A Queer fairytale for all seasons.

New Memories by WhouffleLover24 (T, 4,072 w, 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays) – “We all have memories. This is so you can capture new ones.”

i read your book, you magnificent bastard by a_different_equation (M, 4,145 w., 1 Ch. || Writer Sherlock AU || Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Alternate First Meeting, Epistolary, Love at First Sight, Romantic Comedy, Metafiction, Falling in Love, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Gay John, Matchmaker Mike, Storytelling, Christmas) – In which John Watson, recently returned from the war, buys a book in Mike Stamford's bookshop and Sherlock Holmes is a famous, openly gay, crime fiction writer whose hero is in need of a partner. Part 1 of the Magnificent Bastard!AU series

Knit Two Together by shinychimera (G, 4,726 w., 2 Ch. || Platonics/Friendship, Best Friends, Knitting, Christmas) – Sherlock Holmes can master any skill to which he sets his mind -- why should knitting a jumper for his best friend be any different?

Oh, Holy Night by sussexbound (E, 5,311 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Fluff) – Sherlock manoeuvres them towards the bedroom and then lowers John carefully onto the bed. “Take off your shirt and trousers. We should wash the shirt, just to be on the safe side with the poison, and you’ll want the ice directly on the bruise, I assume.” John winces and rolls onto his uninjured side. “You just want me to get my kit off.” “Mmm, well it is Christmas Eve, and I have been a very good boy this year.” John’s eyes widen a little, as a smile teases the corner of his mouth. “True.” Part 6 of Home is Not a Place

Winter Ficlets by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 6,239 w., 11 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Jealous John, First Kiss / Time, Marriage Proposal, BJ’s, Suit Porn, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling, Snowball Fight, Winter, Sherlock Cooking, Bed Sharing) – A collection of winter and holiday stand-alone ficlets.

It's Cold Outside by Salambo06 (E, 7,357 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Cuddling, Snuggling, Frottage, First Kiss / Time, Bed Sharing, Miscommunications, Love Confessions) – John and Sherlock, Christmas night, the heat broke, add some shared body heat and (not so) accidental erections mixed with some miscommunication and awkwardness and, you guessed it, they’re sharing a bed.

if you like him so much then why don't you marry him by zigostia (T, 7,750 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock, Oblivious John, Christmas) – Am I going to regret this? SH Not one bit. JW I’m going to regret this. SH

You Don't Need Wings to Fly by Laiquilasse (T, 11,326 w., 11 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Bullying, Angels, Suicidal Ideation, Christmas) – John, an angel, is sent from Heaven to help a desperate Sherlock Holmes by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed.

2017 by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier (T, 11,466 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Case Fic, Est. Rel., Angst, Mental Health Issues, Autism, Anxiety, Family) – Sherlock takes on a case that raises unexpected challenges, both professional and personal. Memories of times before John complicate matters. Part 9 of On Pins And Needles

Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't by love_in_mind_palace (M, 11,685 w., 6 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Domestics, Est. Rel., 5 and 1′s, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) – John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.

Snowed In by Salambo06, WhatIfIAmInsane (E, 15,687 w., 5 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Unilock, Alternate First Meeting, Anal, Bottomlock, Army!John, BJ’s) – Sherlock had everything planned out for months now. Today he would finally put an end to this case. Even if that meant keeping an eye on his suspect in a crowded, german airport on Christmas Eve. The same crowded airport John was waiting in for his final flight back home from his first deployment to Afghanistan, not at all thrilled by the prospect of spending Christmas with his possibly drunk sister. Although the airport was stuffed to the brim with holiday travelers and tacky decorations, he was enjoying his time alone, mostly. But then, snow began to fall.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

On the Table (Eventually John Watson's Favorite Christmas Story) by emmagrant01, numberthescars (E, 18,135 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Mild Angst, Fluff, Masturbation, Anal, Rimming, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Christmas) – Set after TRF. Someone's leaving John strange little gifts in the weeks before Christmas. But who could it be?

All I Want For Christmas by Mssmithlove (E, 19,508 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Mystrade, Christmas, Holmes Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining) – Taking Sherlock's platonic university flatmate home with him for Christmas can be a tricky business. Especially when he wishes their relationship wasn't platonic at all. Part 18 of Happiness Awaits

Home for Christmas by SilentAuror (E, 19,499 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Doctor John, Christmas, Glasses, Domestic, First Time, Slow Burn, Rosie) – It's been eleven months since Eurus Holmes happened, and just one since John and Rosie moved back into Baker Street at last. With Christmas just around the corner, both Sherlock and John are slightly baffled when Mrs Hudson decides to give them a slow cooker as a "house-warming present"...

Advent Calendar 2017 by Hotaru_Tomoe (E,  41,952 w., 25 Ch. || Not S4 Compliant, Fluff, Humour, Smut, Light Angst, First Kiss/Time, Est. Rel., Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, Christmas Party, Lingerie, Various Universes, Advent Calendar Fic) – My Advent Calendar, 25 one shots from 1st to 25th December, Christmas-ish themed.  Each story has its own rating. Part 23 of The English job

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

Raison d'être by AmphigoricSymphony and DemonicSymphony (M, 148,721 w., 21 Ch. || S3 Compliant, Sick Fic, Sherlock Whump, Protective John, Major Injury/Illness, Mentions of Past Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation) – The missing months of His Last Vow, starting from Sherlock dropping in John's arms at 221B and carrying through the months of Hospital he endured. This is a study in emotional and physical trauma, striving to stick as close to the canon plot as possible. At Christmas Dinner, Mycroft asks why they are even celebrating. His mother's answer, 'Sherlock is home from hospital,' leads us to believe Sherlock was in hospital the majority of the time frame of his fall from shock at Baker Street, to nearly Christmas itself. We have no explanation for what John was doing all that time, so this is an effort to fill the gap. Part 2 of the Word Play series, Part 1 of the Reason and Ashes series

Extricate—An Ex Files Special by 7PercentSolution (E, 231,432 w., 41 Ch. || Not Johnlock, Sherlock/Victor Trevor, Unilock, Multiple POV’s, Drug Use, Classical Music, Chemistry, Slow Burn, Serious Injuries, Autism Spectrum, Bullying, Rugby, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sherlock Whump, Friends to Lovers, Protective Mycroft, Psychological Trauma, Christmas, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sherlock’s Violin, Sulking, Late Nights, Sexual Identity, Social Awkwardness, Suicide, Homophobia, Clubbing, Big Brother Mycroft) –  When Sherlock met Victor, and what happened next. A backstory that explains why caring truly may not be an advantage. This follows ACD canon and ignores BBC season 4, allowing the two of them to meet while at University.

MFL WIPs

First Christmas by PipMer (T, 4,199+ w., 19/31 Ch. || WIP || Est. Rel., Friendship, Fluff, Humour) – It's Sherlock and John's first Christmas together as a couple. Written as an interconnected set of 221b's for the Sherlock December Ficlet Challenge.

John Watson's Twelve Days of Hiccups by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (E, 8,394+w., 11/12 Ch. || WiP || Hiccups, Experimental Cures, Digital Rectal Massage, Orgasm as a Cure for Hiccups, First Time, Humour, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Christmas) – For John Watson, being afflicted with an intractable case of hiccups was a source of intense irritation. For Sherlock Holmes — his mad scientist of a flatmate — it was a golden opportunity for experimentation.

Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.

"Merry Christmas" I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying "I love you" by starrysummernights (E, 135,132+ w., 30/31 Ch. || WIP, chapter missing? || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again...and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

The Good Morrow Series by greywash (E, 216,513 +w. across 5 works || WiP || Post-TRF Divergence, Horny John, Smut, Feelings, Negotiations, Christmas/Advent, Sherlock is a Mess, Relationships, Addiction Issues, PTSD, Therapy, Injury, Aging, Loneliness, Marriage, Family, Friendship, POV Second Person, Travel, Character Studies) – A post-S2 series where everyone has a lot of feels about everything and plausibility is stretched unto breaking. Also: fucking.

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AGAIN, PLEASE suggest your own or your favourite holiday fics!! The more, the merrier!!! <3

#johnlock fic recs #to read #christmas fics #marked for later #my fic recs #long post

[kaypeace21]

Byler hints in the background of s1-3

Honestly, this should just be called- ‘my autistic brain casually (and without even trying) notices shit in the background, but never mentioned it- because I thought it sounded too crazy to talk about’ XD. But the symbolism and Easter eggs give my byler-shipping heart so much life. So I thought, since you guys prob. didn’t notice it- I’ll mention it anyways.  So here goes.

Drawings/rainbows

There has been a theme in s3 about how Mike equates ‘falling for girls’ as a part of growing up, and his feelings for Will as something childish that he has to has to grow out of. 

- confessing to El : “A feeling … yeah, like, something… like OLD PEOPLE say it sometimes”.

- “And Will too. I was thinking we could all have new presents to play with and *scoffs* Sorry, that made me sound like a 7 year old... (apologizing to El)

- Mike getting in a fight with Will (after d&d), and saying they can’t be close anymore: 

Mike says, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”, and then he tries to ½ apologize only to say, “I’m not trying to be a jerk. Ok? But We’re not kids anymore.” Explaining, this is just the way things are-boys fall in love with girls, get girlfriends, and this is just a part of growing up (heteronormativity).  He tells Will “I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? We were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?” And poor Will who is probably more aware of his feelings just responds. “Yeah, I guess I did. I really did.” And of course Mike immediately apologizes for being an “ asshole”, after this.

But here’s the thing! Mike actually does wish he didn’t have to grow up and that he could play games with Will (without girlfriends) for the rest of their lives. His room, in s3, SCREAMS that he’s trying to grow up/act straight... but he can’t let go of his feelings for Will. 

He literally takes down his old childhood poster from s1-2 for a more mature/adult poster. But on the same wall (where the old poster used to be) he hasn’t removed a single d&d drawing Will has given him. He’s pretending that he’s grown out of d&d when Lucas is around- because he’s emulating how (the straight) Lucas acted, all season. But Mike has it BAD (and is seriously pinning) for Will! Like, I love Will but his art at 11 years old isn’t so great to justify it still be on Mike’s wall at age 14.  He’s just that whipped (and literally can’t part with a single drawing Will has ever given him) XD

Like... it’s cannon that Mike caresses Will’s drawings 

He’s that ‘ dumbass blinded by love’ who thinks anything Will’s draws is a perfect- masterpiece. Mike could literally see Will draw scribbles and think it’s amazing! Like in s2 he just guides his hands through the scribbles he drew on the wall- no joke! XD

However, what’s interesting though is the one other things he took down from his wall. In S1 Mike (before he even met El)  has a heart sign, with a red heart being propelled by a rainbow. Yet in s3 , the season where he’s ‘obsessing’ about El- it mysteriously disappears. However, in the first ep of s3 when Mike is making-out with El we see a emergence of the heart being propelled by a rainbow (in El’s room) as a drawing. Probably signifying Mike participating in compulsory-heterosexuality and that no matter how hard he tries- he’s not straight!

So given the fact he can’t part with any of the pictures on the wall...you better believe Mike still has that giant binder filled with every drawing Will has given him . And he’s probably hidden it away , with the rainbow heart sign (because he knows it would look suspicious to have laying around). 

-Also, Mike literally has more rainbow symbolism than Will (and has had it through every season) XD

-the s2 ref being the most on the nose) Forbidden fruit + rainbow = queer forbidden romance. And during the 80s, that rainbow-apple poster in the AV Club was suspected to be in reference to Alan Turning (the gay ‘father of computers’).

Animal easter eggs that relate to byler and the upside down/supernatural-plot .

tigers- Mike keeps a tiger poster (which was right next to that rainbow-heart sign) in his basement through s1-3. In s1 we see Will also has a tiger drawing, which is later put on the wall (like a poster) in s2.  Sara Hopper (like Will ) had her death faked by the government (and had a tiger plushie in s1)- and Kali probably had something to do with it since in the prequel novel ‘suspicious minds’ had Kali talk non stop about her fav animal , tigers.  Theory  here. But again, Jancy is also connected to tigers as a romantic symbol (just like byler).

sharks- The Duffer brothers themselves said they based the s1 demorgorgan off of sharks, which Nancy even references in s1. Mike and Will have shark iconography in their room/basement. Will has a jaws poster shown in s1-2, and Mike has shark toys visible in s2. The shark (and bear) symbolism hint at the fact that Will created the upside down/demorgorgans/mind-flayer using his powers- theory here.

bears- Will since s1 has had bear symbolism around him. Bears symbolically represent  “wisdom” like ‘Will the wise’ and were associated with the demorgorgan/upside down in s1 and 2 as well . Max and Nancy compared demogorgans to bears- and Nancy and Jonathan used a bear-trap to capture a demorgorgan in s1 . 

But s3 made bears a romantic symbol- Mike was going to buy a golden teddy bear for El as a romantic gesture. The golden bear had a bowtie (it’s male). And the gray bear that Mike gives to her, was originally Will’s (as shown in s1 &2). This gray bear is coming right in between Mike and El (at the end of s3). They even kiss , while El presses the bear right in between them.  In conclusion these romantic bears represent Will. * I mean that whole awkward kiss (where Mike’s eyes are open and he doesn’t kiss back- happens in Will’s room, in front of Will’s open closet,  with Will’s bear smushed between them (pretty blatant foreshadowing).

dinosaurs- This one is probably a stretch but we see this boy has tons of dinosaurs (at least 6). He starts to info-dump on El about how much he loves them. But, she has no interest. And if the wtf look didn’t make this obvious.

She even gets up and walks away, ignoring his tangent about dinosaurs. 

She literally couldn’t care less about his interest in them. 

But in spite of this, we see Mike gave her Rory in s3 (since it’s in her bedroom). And in s2 we see him sadly look at Rory, with 2 other dinosaurs in frame. This, along with s1 implies he has a huge collection of various dinosaurs .But his collection is missing one of the most popular dinosaur species... the brachiosaurus (the long necked dinosaur).

And right after this scene in s2 scene, we go to Will’s room. And he has a huge brachiosaurus! This boy couldn’t even afford a halloween costume and had to have his hand-made by his mom... but he could afford this huge -fancy dinosaur replica? I bet Mike bragged about his dinosaur collection to Will (like he did with El). But Will being a nerd, was actually impressed. So Mike actually gave him his best/fav toy in his collection- kind of like what he did with Rory.

frogs- This is the most hilarious thing to me. I laughed for like 20 minutes on my rewatch. In s1 Will has a GIANT stuffed plushie of a frog next to his jaws poster and teddy bear. I’m dead! Will doesn’t even disagree with the “frog face“ insult. 

He’s just like ‘well, he’s my frog face’ . Time to snuggle with this frog that looks just like Mike . Will is so in love but also low key savage dragging Mike like that. I can only imagine Dustin and Lucas saying “nah, you don’t look like a frog”. And poor baby-Mike asking Will what he thinks, and Will not being able to lie, just saying “ Well... some people like frogs.”  XD

We also see that in s2 the frog is missing but the Jaws-poster, coin jar, and the bear (we later see El holding in s3) remain .Probably to indicate this is when Will started to subconsciously suppress his feelings for Mike. Although @theclericwill pointed out -that , instead, Mike may have used the frog-plushie as a pillow... for his frog-face XD

Throwing shade at Mileven/mileven shippers in s2 

In the Montauk pitch (later named Stranger things) they describe the Mike and El dynamic by saying “ If Mike is the Eliot of our show,Eleven is our Et.” (AKA they’re from different planets)

-In s2 , Erica  is forcing He-man and barbie to make out. Lucas angrily separates the two. And then this discussion happens.

Erica: “Hey , They’re in love!”

Lucas (livid- and standing right next to a rainbow): “No, actually,  they’re not. They don’t even exist on the same planet.”

Not to mention I doubt it was a coincident they had a (bratty) pre-pubescent girl be the proxy for most mileven shippers.Like not all mileven shippers are bad, but almost all the toxic ones (that the Duffers have to deal with) are tween girls. And to the Duffers, only a child could think 2 people are ‘in love’ after a week of knowing each other. Or that El could understand such things like romance- given the fact that her and Mike are from different planets (given how El has no experience with the outside world).Mike even says in s2,  he can’t hate Max because he ‘doesn’t know’ her (despite knowing her as long as he knew El). Meaning he doesn’t love El since he doesn’t know her. 

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” Being a  blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Mileven was also compared to that  of family members. In s1, right before they kissed, she asks “will you be like my brother?” (while wearing Nancy’s dress). And Mike also referred to her as his ‘cousin’ . Not to mention, El loved ted’s laz-eboy chair (and Nancy said Karen and Ted “never loved each other” ). And right before Karen is about to cheat on Ted - she looks at him sleeping in the chair (and the lyrics are ‘I should have walked away’). 

It’s pretty hilarious, since so many people try to ‘no-homo’ byler by saying Mike thinks of Will as a brother/or family- yet, their relationship has never been directly compared to a sibling (unlike mileven).

People also seem to not realize Mike lied in s2 (just like he did in s3). He thought El was dead in s2. He told Max it “got her like it did bob” and then he made a spectacle in front of everyone saying “I never gave up on you”. Which was a blatant lie (since he just told Max a few minutes earlier, she was dead -_-). Mike simply blamed himself for her death (he said they needed her to save Will and even referred to her as a “weapon”). So when she died he felt the most responsible- and was hoping she was alive (and would answer his call) to alleviate his own guilt. Not because he loved her (that was an act). When he saw Will’s dead body, but heard his voice, he went on a rescue mission to save Will (from another dimension). But, Mike didn’t even bother going into the woods after seeing El outside his window (something he did for Will in ep 1, during a storm). And then in s3 Mike couldn’t even bother to call El and apologize- but ran to apologize to Will in the woods during a storm (bringing that whole parallel -full circle).

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” A blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Bob and Mike parallels- the Rubik cube

Both are unathletic, smart, love comics, the only 2 to not treat Will ‘different’- and would do anything to protect their loved ones. And they also had crushes on Byers in childhood, and tried to give their Byers normalcy (despite them not being a ‘normal family’). They purposely display, and have Will -mirror Joyce- and Mike -mirror Bob- in multiple shots, throughout s2.

And both Mike and Bob are AV club leaders. Bob mentioned in one of the  earlier episodes  that he founded the Hawkins Middle AV club . And Mike later grabs Bob’s Rubik cube, and mentions this after his death (to solidify the connection- even if subconscious in our minds. He even proclaims after this “we can’t let him die in vain” . And this is when Mike makes the plan to help Will (before El shows up). 

gif credit: cath-avery, dailystrangerthings

#byler #byeler

[keywestlou]

A FATAL SHOOTING OF ANOTHER KIND

One police shooting after another. We forget the other kind. Ordinary people killing ordinary people. Lay persons shooting in schools and churches. Random street shootings.

This one is sick. Sick, sick. I don’t know how else to describe it.

The shooting death of an 11 month old baby girl Dior. Her shooting inexplicable.

Sunday night in Syracuse, New York. Three children in the back seat of a car. Eleven month old Dior and two other children 8 and 3 years old.

Dior’s mother Desiree. Not in the car. The car was being driven by her cousin Shakema.

Shakema reported a car pulled up along side her. The window on the the car’s passenger side rolled down. She could see a man look back into her car between the front and back seats.

The man suddenly began firing a gun into the back seat.

Eleven month old Dior was shot 3 times. She died. The other two children were also shot. They are expected t0 survive.

The car then drove away.

Dior’s mother Desiree is expecting May 11. She passed out three times upon being made aware of her baby daughter’s death. Desiree would have been one year old in 18 days.

A suspect has been arrested. A 23 year old man. No further details available at this time.

We are a sick society. Alleged good people like police officers shooting good non police citizens. Persons going on a rampage and shooting wildly inside schools and churches. Incomprehensible killings such as 11 month old Dior’s.

It’s only getting worse. Will it ever stop? Not soon, I fear. Perhaps, never.

A police officer not knowing the difference between a taser and a gun. How can it be? Not an infrequent occurrence as it turns out. News reports this morning indicate such.

The most recent such shooting occurred in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota. Ten miles from where the Chauvin police killing is being tried.

In another stupid traffic stop involving excessive police force, Daunte Wright was killed. The police officer saying she thought she was tasering him.

I am coming to the conclusion that a bad cop is being equated to the saying there is always a bad apple in every basket. My thought process is there may be only one good cop in the basket.

The police traffic stop in Windsor,Virginia late December. Recently came to light because the Army Lieutenant involved has brought a federal case against the police officers involved.

Carson Nazario is a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He was driving a new SUV. Cardboard plates on the vehicle. The rear one taped to the back window.The Lieutenant was waiting for the metal ones to arrive.

He was in uniform.

Two police officers spotted him. They claim they went after him because of “no tags.” Erroneous based on the facts.

The Lieutenant I suspect was “Black smart.” It was dark where the police were trying to get him to stop. He put on his emergency lights and drove 1 1/2 miles till he came to a brightly lit gasoline station.

While there, he was pepper sprayed and held at gun point. Cops screaming at him. Later the police officers said they considered the situation a “high risk traffic stop.” Covering their asses.

The facts suggest it was 2 white police officers chasing a vehicle which had a black person operating it. When finally stopped, the police treated the Second Lieutenant in uniform as they did other black drivers.

No ticket given nor an arrest made. The police advised the Lieutenant not to make any trouble, etc. or they would charge him with something and ruin his military record in the process.

Police excessive force a story which has become part of the American landscape in the last 20 years.

The island of St. Vincent has experienced several volcanic eruptions this past week. People have been told to evacuate. Cruise ships are arriving to take them off the island.

The Prime Minister advised that those who have not received the coronavirus vaccine will not be evacuated. Some were those who did not consider the vaccine safe or for some other odd ball reason refused to be vaccinated.

Which means those not vaccinated will be left to fend for themselves. Not a welcoming thought when poisonous smoke, hot ash and even hotter lava is feared will cover the island

Nora O’Donnell on CBS Evening News reported: “We went from vaccine passports being a conspiracy theory to ‘fuck you die’ so fast.”

A message to those in the U.S. who refuse to be vaccinated. If an emergency situation as has arisen on St. Vincent occurs here, you will be left on the ocean in a row boat without a paddle.

On this day in 1992, The Bridges of Madison County was published. A modern day Romeo and Juliet with its lovers older people. A big seller!

A movie followed. Starring Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep.

A massive power outage yesterday. 3.5 hours in late morning into early afternoon. Another one around dinner time for 1.5 hours.

I had nothing. I hate it when that happens. Especially when the computer is down. I am one of those who is constantly on the internet.

A friend cell phoned me from New York. Hey, understand you have a big power failure. Thirty thousand affected. Covers the lower half of the Keys.

He was not aware as to the cause. It had not been reported.

I told him the problem arose because of one of two reasons. Either a car or truck on U.S. 1 had driven into some power facility. Or, a boat got screwed up in the power wires under or near the Seven Mile Bridge. Both happen frequently.

Turned out a sail boat got caught up in the power wires at the Seven Mile Bridge. Live in the Keys long enough and you know about such things. Their frequency makes you aware.

It was reported the winds and waters were a bit rough and the sailboat could not be removed yesterday. Winds 40 mph. Whipped up the ocean a bit.

Being out sunday must have been too much for me. Never got out yesterday.

My game plan was to go out at 5. A few stops downtown. Drinks and dinner. Meet interesting people to chat with.

What happened is I laid down at 3 for a nap. Never woke till 7. Still had to shave, etc. and drive to Duval. I would not be there till 8:30.

I am early to bed and early to rise. Would not have worked for me.

Today is tuesday. My blog talk radio show tonight. I will be working on it from about 2 this afternoon till 8 in the evening. I never go out on a tuesday.

Join me for the show. Tuesday Talk with Key West Lou. www.blogtalkradio.com/key-west-lou. Love doing the show which I am proud to say has an excellent following.

Enjoy your day!

    A FATAL SHOOTING OF ANOTHER KIND was originally published on Key West Lou

[tweedpawn]

Chapter 1: The Papers

Spring’s End, 15th day, 11,920th year

 The rain had been falling for days during the beginnings of a hot summer on a tiny planet so far away. This little home of many creatures that rose and fell in its rhythm drifted as a gentle little pebble in a vast ocean it did not know or understand. It was a blue planet, with a great Pangaea across her side and smaller freckles of land on her back.

The oceans were wild and already turned from their welcoming blue, to a cold rough green glass that shifted and churned under the heavy winds. The great coastal capital, Skagrit, illuminated the dark waves, inviting last minute fishermen to hurry home.

She was a great city. Echoes of the ocean’s bounty and color were built into her skyscrapers and art. The city of Blue Glass. The finest capital on the planet of I’na. Her people were the most brilliant, and each shined their own glittering scattered light. The great economic powerhouses resided there, and their darker “patrons of the underworld” made their fortunes.

Thousands of polished glass medallions decorated the sides of her buildings. They looked like great sunken structures with magical fish that stayed warm and dry inside. Their interiors cutting through the night with gold. Lights dusted the outside streets like seafoam.

A lamp shined through a tinted window, granting a green halo in the glass. Shimmery

letters flickered like fish scales:

                                      Sansarc Private Investigation

                                           Independently Owned

                                           1977 N. Reynolds St.

The tenant of the business, and its loft, was Minisala Sansarc. He preferred to be addressed by his last name. Sansarc felt that his first name was ominous. He lived an easy life, he overworked himself out of passion. At his temples, one could see spreading wings of silver. His hair was always tidy, though his clothes were often wrinkled with a tiny stain spot either on the sleeve or collar. Like the rest of his kind, He had lovely, sable colored, rabbit ears.

Tonight, the particular combination of a warm radiator, soft lighting, and melodic rain had caused Detective Sansarc to drift asleep over the work on his desk. His face balanced on his wrist, his mouth hung open. Brief lucid moments danced in his fluttering dreams, before they shattered by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Sansarc saw a young boy enter into his office freely, and then drop off a paper. The child was in a great hurry. The more papers he delivered, the better he got paid. Sansarc cursed the hour, wishing that he would have just gone to bed.  He thought nothing of the newspaper, for until that day there had been very little that he desired to know about immediately. 

The Papers had a very different opinion on the matter. They had found an unprecedented story with stereotype, secret, and possibly murder. The reptilian minds of those who profited from the stories hoped it was murder.

  Because near trees very much like the ones that now bled ink and letter, there had been a great tragedy in the western settlements of I’na. Those were feral places. Death happened, frequently from farming machinery and swift animals. The settlers had to be paid to move out there.

It was a land of open spaces, cozy burrows, and “quaint” matters. They had large families out there. Homes were spaced out. But there wasn’t exactly an effort to push for innovation or commerce. The only ones who did were the Iron Chiefs who took great pride in their “company towns”. 

Now, the communities were five fewer. Five youngsters, between the ages of 11 to 15 vanished in the night like from a folk story. There had been a few other vanishings up until that point, but Sansarc would be unaware of them until a month from today. For this particular case, there had been witnesses: 

13 year old Claude Chatan, 16 Year old Tadoka Grey Ears, Fern only 8, and finally the fortunate son of the local bank owner, Bipkin Red barely past the age of 11. 

They recalled seeing three men in the fields that evening, according to the papers.  Those men had come with glaring eyes, strange weapons, and black cloaks. The children were mostly unreliable, as they were the ones who escaped had fled to the river or the nearby forest. 

At first, there was barely a whisper about it in the presses. Then a few juicy details came up that the reporters just could not resist biting into:

Arn Chatan, age 13, cousin of Claude Chatan. Head of the Engineering Club in Skagrit’s Prepatory Academy of the Arts and Sciences. A True Son of the Capital. Now Gone.

Della Frey, age 15, broke speed records for her age group in 100 meter, 200 meter, and 400 meter dashes. Set to compete in the international games as the first athlete from the settlement of River’s Bend. Was her disappearance related to the Mob?

The other three had been farmhands, barely important in the eyes of Skagrit, but that did not stop the papers from wailing and moaning about their innocent lives suddenly in jeopardy and won’t someone please step forward with any information on their whereabouts? There was blood in the water, and the sharks were already making calls for their portions. 

Indeed, had Detective Sansarc, independently owned and operated, known what would happen later in the day, he would have not glossed over the details and then tossed the paper into his kindling pile to fuel the oven for his morning tea. He would have given the writing a more discerning gaze. 

It was hard to feel connected to strangers, even little ones. Sansarc thought little more about the news of the day, going back to analyzing the books of a local textile factory that was suspected of money laundering and the recently divorced wife of the owner wanted to know if the bills went to that little hussy that wrecked her home. 

The rains never let up for that day. Leaving papers soaked and damaged from the damp. This fueled more sales, and the ink jockeys just could not keep up with the demand. The paper boys were going to be sick for days from this one. A new boy stepped in, carrying his bag full of papers. 

“Ya got ya pape’ today, Sir?” He asked, a gangly lad of barely eleven. He looked the type who bullied a kid or two for his “cut” of the sales. Sansarc waved the kid out, surprised when the lad insisted that the Detective had not gotten his paper and that he’d better buy one. 

Sansarc did not like the way this was going to spill into his day. Breaking News usually affected his clients somehow. Someone sees a new article about some murder, robbery, or jealous lover and they start jumping to wild conclusions. 

Like Aliens. Boy, I bet a silver I’ll hear that one today. Aliens, Star Children, the luck-damned badger-man were going to show up by the end of it. Grieved patrons usually went after the most exotic solution, especially if it was easier to accept than the fact that personal negligence was the reason Aunt Sally took a tumble grabbing her can of peas. 

The phone rang, it was an Editor from StarBurst News asking if he was busy for the afternoon and if he would be interested in being hired in an investigation of sorts. All Expenses Paid. 

Sansarc set up an appointment, he always preferred meeting clients in person first. And it took only an hour before a suited up, sharp-faced, broad with in a pair of pants that looked like a dress and a soaked blouse that had the pungent burnt scent of hot ink came through his door. Her ears were stained black, possibly permanently, and flecks of black splatters danced across her face like - blood? No, they were clearly more like stars. 

“Detective Sansarc, I assume? Senior Editor, Mason Antho, from the StarBurst News. I had one of my editors contact you.” her rich voice was like an expensive tonic sweetened with honey, but heavy on the oak. It spoke with authority and confidence.   

“ Are you the one who is officially hiring me?” asked Sansarc, his dark eyebrows pressed together. Please not another runaround with too many hands in the case. 

“I am. I heard you were the best at traveling for the job.” Mason strutted to one of the chairs, but did not sit. She moved like one of those long legged hunting dogs the rich kept on leashes made of gemstones. Her face even had a graceful longness to it, and the way her ears held made her look like one of the stylized print ads for the latest in dresswear. She looked like a living sales pitch for glamor. 

“This must be quite the job if the Senior Editor of a paper is asking me to travel on an expense paid gig.” Sansarc said carefully. He did not want to seem like he was officially committing. Jobs that involved the higher ups on the social ladder usually were death traps filled with pissed off mob bosses and rampaging husbands. 

“You better believe it, Champ. I heard you can travel anywhere, faster than anyone else. Hell, you can get visas to White Stone. And they never let anyone in.” replied Mason. 

More like they don’t want anyone out. Sansarc thought grimly. Fast travel? Oh please don’t this be what he thought it was going to be. 

“Now here’s the deal, I want an exclusive on the story out in the papers. I want interviews, some dirt dug up, maybe find a body if you can manage it.” Mason started speaking quickly and aggressively.

“So, send your reporters.” Sansarc frowned at the job description. 

“My reporters are idiots. They throw the cameras in everyone’s face and then they trample the flowerbeds while they’re at. We got a bunch of grieving mothers out there and the last thing I need is one of my people making everyone clam up. I want those people talking out there. Only to us, of course.” replied Mason. 

“Vulture.” Sansarc felt a horrible taste in his mouth. It was like the acid from his stomach was creeping up to have its share of insults to hurl at this woman. 

“Takes one to know one.” Mason said cooly with a smirk. Classy.

“I ain’t doing it.” said Sansarc. He started to get a pounding headache from this woman. He got up to grab a decanter of firebreather, a drink made from the fire-hot fermented roots of the Firra plant. He poured himself a drink and began to chew on the side of his mouth. 

“$300.” barked Mason. 

“I’m busy.” replied Sansarc. 

“ Yeah? Who you working far? I’ll double them.”

“You already have.”

“ $500, or I’ll bury you in the papers.” 

“You gotta be kidding.” Sansarc balked. He nearly dropped his shot glass. What could they dig up on him? He had no spouses or lovers. He lived alone. Oh, there was that incident that got him kicked out of law enforcement. Sansarc never took care to conceal the matter. 

“I’ll figure you out and rip you to pieces. You think I’m gonna be the only one calling you? When those morons at the Bugle get the idea in their heads , they’ll be all over your ears like flies on haraka.” Mason was growling now. Her nose twitched like a hound’s. She was now merely inches from Sansarc face, possessing the greater height on the man. 

“Well, maybe I’ll work for them!” Sansarc bared his teeth at Mason. The woman scoffed. 

“They won’t pay you.” She grinned a predatory smile. She had him by the throat now. No wonder she was the senior editor. Working for this lady must be like working under a knife chandelier. “Fine. $500. All Expense Paid. I’ll be there when I can” he replied, his dark eyes shooting daggers at the broad.   “You’ll be there tomorrow.” She said.

Sansarc was glad that he had yet to burn the paper he had placed into the kindling. He stuffed the print into a weatherproof bag, fuming to himself about how much he wished he could have shoved that damn woman into the mud. He could have at least thrown his drink at her and ruined that expensive outfit she had. 

He was able to secure a ticket easily. No visa needed. The frontier was considered “Skagrit operated”, but not necessarily its responsibility. The government gave out a hundred dollar stipend to head out and “reclaim your heritage”. The Banks took about 25 and that was the way of progress. 

Sansarc hailed a taxi to the train station. It was going to be a long ride, 27 hours to be exact. No wonder Mason wanted him out by tomorrow. One less opportunity for the rivals to pick him up him for their research. Sansarc hated that woman, but had to admit that she knew how to keep herself ahead of the pack.

Lights shined through evening fog.  They were golden halos guiding late-night wanderers. There was a slow rhythm to the town tonight. Sansarc could feel it in the meandering shuffling of passengers as they said farewells and brought their luggage to the platform. 

It was romantic, in that silver screen sort of way. The rehearsed entrances and scripted farewells going for their final takes. Dames getting reassured that their bucks weren’t going to get too lonely out there in them company towns. Bucks telling the does that things were gonna get better real soon. 

Sansarc hoped that at this hour, the lounge car would be open. He boarded the train early and sought out his cabin. The bright side about working for the wealthy was an upgrade or two. If he was going to have to suffer a red eye train ride through the boonies, he was going to do it in comfort. 

The lounge car was not taking drink orders just yet, but already it was filled to the brim with tobacco smoke and chatter. Not much raucous. It was dusk, after all, and there was a little bit of respect given for the twilight. Sansarc took an early spot on a barstool. 

He brought out a notepad and started to write down a few things to keep in mind. Don’t allow broads from the paper into your office for starters. Sansarc smirked to himself. He thought about what sort of men would be wandering out in the wilds snatching little ones like a nightmare.

The tobacco was spiced and smoky. Intoxicating. Sansarc was writing into a flow of thoughts when a bar keep walked up.

“May I interest you in a pack?” he asked. Sansarc scarcely looked up, only to avoid being called arrogant. He barely saw above the barkeep’s name tag. 

“I don’t smoke.” he replied. 

“No? But it’s traditional to have a little tobacco before the start of a journey. To insure a safe trip?” the bar keep replied. It was a voice with a bit of a haze to it. An accent that couldn’t entirely be placed. The inflections purely intentional and less of habit. 

“ I’m not into that kind of thing.” Sansarc frowned. His head was starting to feel fuzzy in an odd way. Was it the booze from earlier? He had a drink before heading out to the station. 

“What a shame. Safe journey, I look forward to seeing you at the end of it.” the bar keep stepped away. Sansarc grimaced. He hoped that he wouldn’t regret coming to the lounge car. He felt a chilled draft. I didn’t know an air-cooling system was installed. 

The final announcement for boarding was made. More long goodbyes. Sansarc thought on his last relationship. A pretty little dame who loved lilac perfume and ruby lipstick. She always carried a black lacquer mirror, and enough money to pay for her lunch. Sansarc had just started his business. So worked up in his first case, he barely missed her when she walked out. 

   It’s better if they don’t cry. Anything, but the crying. Sansarc looked at the windows as the train began to leave the station. The wrought iron and steam gave way to distant lights of homes and advertisements. The booze came heavy as the last of sunlight faded and all that could be seen was the black outlines of houses, trees, and telegraph poles against a navy sky. 

The city left a fading red haze on the horizon, and Sansarc pretended that it was the sun being stopped by the cops for packing heat. They’d get their money from anything. When he was younger, the haze on the skyline used to mean that the sun never set. Now, it seemed to never rise. 

There was a lingering feeling in the air. It felt like the mad buzzing of insects. Sansarc looked around him. He took a moment to observe the patrons. They felted staged and artificial. The first barkeep had been replaced by another fellow who lacked that complex quality the first one possessed effortlessly. 

They all moved back and forth between stations. Tick-tock. Sansarc had thrown away the belief of spirits and sentient lands long ago. Still, the habit of assuming their permanence lingered. He would occasionally have a moment of icy clarity to the world around him and it would terrify him. Because in those moments, came the doubt.

Disembark at Sandhill, Came the call. He originally had no intention of doing so. It was the largest city in the frontier. It made its fortune by centralizing the routes and shipping everything by ferry or rail. Home of the original Stock Market. 

But why there? It then dawned on Sansarc. Of course, they actually have a police presence. Yes! That was something he hadn’t considered before. He was finally smiling to himself.

The frontier towns were known for loose laws and lackluster enforcement of proper order. Their idea of order came from the nomadic rangers that were loosely organized to make sure the people stayed safe from wandering predators, and to help lost travelers. The story was that they lived the “old fashioned” way of bison-skin tents, and were considered the first on the scene if there was a risk to a town. A risk like kidnapping.

Sansarc thought the idea of a random bumpkin roaming at night on horseback, with no proper management, was the type of hare-brained, olde-timeyism, that allowed five children to go missing in the first place. 

And all it takes is one sick bastard to...No, it was three, according to the witnesses. And who else goes wandering the fields at night? 

Sansarc gritted his teeth. He was now glad he was going to a proper town to get started on this. Mason had wanted him in that tiny little frontier community. But if Sansarc was going to uncover some secrets, he would need a trail. There might be a connecting disappearance. 

“Hey mista’, wou’ ya moind lightin’ me? I wanna have a last leaf before I go in.” asked a pretty little thing. She had a fashionable little black bob of hair. Her face was adorned with far too much blush. Her ears, however, were dyed a particular shade of red, almost the same color as her lipstick. 

Sansarc grabbed a box of matches from the counter and obliged. Right when the flame kissed his fingertips, he killed the little flicker and pressed its charcoal stub into a glass dish. 

“Thanks guy. So, you going out to the iron towns? Me? I’m gonna see my mama. You know, you never know who ya gonna miss…” the girl started to ramble. Sansarc wanted to slink into his stool and escape this cockleburr of a conversationalist.  In thirty minutes, Jane Winterstaff revealed her entire family history, the latest in telecommunications, and exactly what brand of chartreuse contained arsenic.   

There were times when Sansarc cursed his particular brand of introversion.

The Daily Sandhill Fall Harvest, 10th day, 11919 Boy Missing in Silver Lake Local authorities have reported that Sandusky Martin, Age 8, is missing. His parents called the local sheriff after the boy did not return home from corn shucking. He is described as short-eared, at 3’4, with 46 lbs to him. Sandusky Martin has 2 siblings of similar appearance, and was last seen wearing his brother’s blue coat, a pair of loose brown pants, penny loafers, and carrying a locket with his grandparents’ hair in it. Police do not believe that the disappearance is related to incidents in Sandhill. No signs of predators were found in the area.    

#Sansarc #DellaFrey #Skagrit #Rabbits #original #fiction #writing #sci-fi & fantasy #science fiction #tweedpawn #sfw

[davidchill]

The Last Day

I’ve always been told that moving home is more stressful than divorce, but having never experienced the latter then I couldn’t possibly draw parallels. Although I suspect a lot would depend on the circumstances, and who you were divorcing…

As for moving, up until quite recently I would have never described moving as stressful. My move to Stanstead Abbotts was child’s play, simply because I was moving from my parents home and having all my new furniture delivered. So it can’t be classed as a real move as there was no faffing around with a removal company, or trying to find burly friends who were willing to sacrifice their Saturday afternoon.

However, my final days in Stanstead Abbotts were possibly the most stressful I’ve ever experienced (and I’ve had some belters over the last few years). The sale of my flat had now been dragging on for longer than an ill-conceived soap opera storyline, and the prospect of it falling through at any moment was all too real. Well, maybe that was never going to happen, but my anxiety was now at unprecedented levels, and anxiety thrives on worst case scenarios, like a dog rolling around in fox poo. So with that in mind I did everything in my power to wrap things up, post haste.

After eleven weeks of what should have been a “straightforward, chain free sale”, I still had no idea of when we were exchanging contracts, and with another mortgage payment looming (that I simply couldn’t afford to pay) I didn’t have the luxury of exchanging contracts and then waiting another week or two to complete. I couldn’t even think about looking for anywhere to live until I had money for a deposit, so I needed the money from the sale as soon as humanly possible.

“I’ve not known anything like it” said the estate agent, when asked if it was normal for such a sale to be so excruciatingly painful.

I don’t have the words to describe my conveyancers. They’d ask me for documents that I’d send immediately, and two weeks later they’re asking me for the same documents. There was question after question from the buyer’s solicitor, and the freeholders of my flat were taking a dog’s age to respond. “Is there anything I can do to expedite things?” I asked. Yes, I used the word “expedite” because I thought solicitors used words like that, and I needed to be speaking their language. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help” said a member of the conveyancing team with a great degree of certainty.

I glanced at Luna, and I think all the hope had left my eyes, because she looked back at me, as if to say; “You need to get it together, because if this goes tits up I’m going back to the animal shelter”

They say that if you want a job done properly then you need to do it yourself, so I rummaged through all my paperwork and unearthed invoices sent to me from the freeholders, dating back three years. This was conclusive proof that I’d paid all my ground rent right up until February 2017, and didn’t have any arrears. I knew they’d question my most recent invoice, and in the absence of a receipt I just sent a copy of my bank statement and hoped for the best.

So would this information satisfy the buyer’s solicitor?

Yes. Yes it did. In fact it “expedited” proceedings quite dramatically.

In fact my “meddling” (like one of those pesky kids in Scooby-Doo) meant that we no longer needed to wait countless more days/weeks for this information to come from the freeholders, and before I knew it my estate agent was “hollering” me into the office as I was en route home from the co-op with my beans and bread. “We’re looking at exchange and completion on the same day, so get ready to move on Friday!” He  said, gleefully… on Tuesday afternoon. I now had a couple of days to pack everything and book a removal van. Yet, the seed of doubt in my head remained… “What exactly would happen if this all fell through on Friday, right before we exchanged? On a scale of 1 to 10 how screwed would I be?”

That scale should have really gone up to 11.

As I arrived home, Luna gave me a look, as if she knew something had hit the fan, or something was en route to the fan at very high speed.

A phone call to the removal company assured me that they could help me at short notice, but the move needed to happen on Thursday, one day earlier than exchange and completion, which gave me even less time to pack and make arrangements for Luna to be elsewhere…

I’ve tried to imagine what moving day would have been like with Luna running around, and the images in my head get really, really ugly. I can’t actually process this scenario, but needless to say it would have been absolute bedlam.

I probably managed to get around 70% of my stuff prepared for the removal men in a very short space of time. The rest would have to go into another storage unit on Friday, and I’d need to rope my dad into helping me.

That’s when everything went pear shaped.

On Friday July 21st, prior to exchanging contracts, the buyer sent in two professional “end of tenancy” cleaners at 9:30am. Now I understand that she was a first time buyer, and probably didn’t know how the process worked, but bearing in mind this was still my property I thought that was a rather bold, and somewhat cheeky, move. She’d already sent people round to measure up for a sofa without letting me know, and on that occasion I told them to come back another time. “Just let them get on with it” said the estate agent. “If it doesn’t complete on Friday then you’ll just have a really clean flat!” He chuckled.

Well, I’m not sure if he actually chuckled, but I imagine he cracked a smirk when he sent that e-mail.

In a nutshell; it was absolute chaos.

As I was trying to pack the cleaners were trying to clean around me. I was getting in their way, and they were most certainly getting in my way.

My “happy” veil slipped slightly, when I got a bit irate with one of them and asked who thought this would be a good idea. I was incredibly peeved to return from dumping my mattress to find that things had been removed from my wall, and my landline had been unplugged.

Yes, I was well within my right to tell them to go away and come back another day, but if there was even a 0.5% chance that the buyer would get offended and pull out of the sale then that was a risk I wasn’t prepared to take. In the end I just got a bin liner and chucked the contents of the kitchen in there, before dumping everything out in the garden. There was cutlery mixed with rubbish, laundry, and all sorts of junk that I’d not had time to organise.

At around 3pm I made my way to the office of the estate agent to let off some steam, where I was reliably informed that the sale had now completed, and I needed to get everything out of there pretty sharpish as it was no longer my property. I’m not entirely sure when my conveyancers were going to tell me this bit of news, but a phone call merely “expedited” my rage.

Quite simply, yes, the sale had completed a couple of hours previously, and I wasn’t going to see any of my money that day.

That’s usually how it works, right? You sell a property and on completion you get your money. If not immediately then certainly a few hours later?

No, these guys were going to hold my money over the weekend and then transfer it into my account on Monday.

I had no words.

Apparently because I was only a co-owner I had to write a note saying that I was happy for 50% of the money to be paid to the other owner… and I then had to take a photo of that note and send it to them. That’s all fair enough, but I asked why I wasn’t given this handy bit of information weeks previously, when I specifically asked if there was anything they needed from me to avoid such delays.

They had no answers.

So after a really messy/hasty exit, I was happy to see the back of that flat. My home that I loved, that I had so many plans for, had become my prison. When you reach a point when you can no longer afford to feed or clothe yourself, then you know something has to give. Sadly, I just didn’t have enough breathing space to get my finances in order and reboot. The demon of debt had just done too much irreversible damage and, barring a miracle, there was just no other way out.

Thankfully, I finally received my money on the Monday morning, as I’d demanded it reached my account by noon. I’m not sure why I chose noon as the deadline, but I watched a lot of westerns as a child and that always seemed to be the best time for a showdown.

After spending that weekend at my parents, it was now time to look for a new home… but not before a very long-awaited (and much needed) holiday to Southwold.

I’d just had two pretty miserable years battling poverty, depression, and anxiety, which seemed to be going on forever… but then, suddenly, it was all over.

Finally, I was free.