#currently studying for accounting and a certain chapter is giving me trouble

[destinyimage]

Alien Encounter: First Hand Account of A Demonic Alien Presence

Those who are carried off by fairy tales often wish to be. Let me explain.

Those who desire spiritual experiences, above everything else, are destined for problematic encounters. Much like drug addicts, they need something to give them a fix.

When seeking encounters and experiences, there appears to be what I consider an “x-files” type of fascination with the unseen. This fascination, without the Word of God mixed with faith, is a groundwork for error.

This includes scenarios that are legitimate, at least to individuals who claim to have encountered them, such as the UFO narratives, obsession with a variety of conspiracies, and those who have seen these types of things. This is not to discount some of the things people say or even some conspiracies, as they are sometimes true! However, my grandfather would often say, “The main thing is that we keep the main thing, the main thing.” This is the issue with many Christians who so desperately desire to escape the confines of this natural experience that they come to a place where truth is secondary to experiences. If something is mysterious and they have encountered it, new phrases and titles for a thing seem to arrive on the scene. Thus the saying, “Metaphors reign where mysteries reside.” It is my hope to simply cause a love for the Word of God in this chapter, as there are many things taking place around the world with a variety of unique manifestations, and we should be looking at them only from the perspective of the Word of God and keeping our focus on the Lordship of Jesus Christ.

Do Not Allow Conspiracies to Hijack Your Faith

Do not say, “A conspiracy,” concerning all that this people call a conspiracy, nor be afraid of their threats, nor be troubled (Isaiah 8:12).

Above is a great scripture to consider when dealing with conspiracies and unique issues. Notice it says, “Do not say ‘A conspiracy’ concerning all that this people call a conspiracy.” In other words, do not run along with everything that is labeled a conspiracy—keep your head on straight! The follow-up exhortation in that same verse is also helpful: “Nor be afraid of their threats, nor be troubled.”

Now, this doesn’t mean that some conspiracies might not be true. As a matter of fact, it would seem that in our current world there are issues that only a few years ago were considered conspiracies but are now known information.

When people told us that our cellphones were listening to us and tracking our whereabouts, that was a conspiracy only a few short years ago; however, today it is normal and true. Things are so far down the road and advanced that we don’t have just cellphones doing this! Now we have music devices in our homes that companies fully admit are recording us. This is simply an example, but it does show that not all conspiracies are false.

We must return to the firm foundation of the Word of God, no matter what comes our way. This generation will be exposed to more strange and weird phenomena than any generation before it. Christians who are prone to conspiracies and prone to the sensational, without having the reins of the Word of God governing their hearts, will fall prey to much of what is coming.

The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church explains the topic of mysticism by referencing mystical theology. This is interesting, as it sheds light on what many believers in Jesus Christ venture into.

“Mysticism” generally refers to claims of immediate knowledge of Ultimate Reality (whether or not this is called “God”) by direct personal experience; “mystical theology” is used to mean the study of mystical phenomena or the science of the mystical life. It has sometimes been suggested that such experience is the goal of all religion, and that there are certain experiences or patterns of experience which are common to believers in different religions or even in none, but this suggestion has been challenged on both philosophical and theological grounds. Paranormal phenomena, such as trances, visions and locutions, are often regarded as “mystical,” though their value and significance is assessed differently by different thinkers; they are usually not regarded as essential.

Christian mystics are those who will most likely fall for every wind of doctrine or new theory out there. The troubling issue regarding new theories and experiences is that without the Word of God many will be swept away into progressive deception.

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Alien Encounter

Here is an example from our lives. One evening while my wife and I were staying high up in the mountains, Heather was woken up to a strange and somewhat horrific experience. She woke up to a voice speaking to her; she described it as if it was projected into her mind. The voice was saying, “Come out here.” It was at this moment that our English mastiff began whining and crying outside the bedroom door. Heather got up and walked out of the bedroom, with this voice still speaking, and noticed our dog was hiding on the stairway facing the sliding doors to the front deck. She walked out to check on the dog and looked outside on the deck.

Now, it was about 3:00 am and the only light that was on was our deck light because it was pretty remote in the wilderness. When she looked outside on the deck, something was standing there. It was the source of this projecting voice that had been saying, “Come out here.” She described what she saw as a small humanoid creature with big, black eyes and gray skin, with the texture of a seal. It stood looking at her with its arms somewhat out from its sides, remaining very still and staring at her as it kept projecting the words, “Come out here.” Heather was faced with a tremendous amount of fear; our dog, which was known to fight off bears and coyotes, was completely terrified while looking at this creature. Heather, who doesn’t have much tolerance for fear, rose up in faith, with a hatred for the evil she was experiencing, and sat down next to our mastiff and began praying in the Holy Spirit. The next thing that happened as she glared back at it in faith was—it was gone.

I share this story only for the purpose of saying that we believe there are all kinds of wild things happening in our world at this time. However, we are not subject to any of them. Rather, we know that “greater is He that is in us than he that is in the world” (see 1 John 4:4). That little gray fella came knocking on the wrong door! How many other people might have played along with an entity like that?

In the last days, it is my personal opinion that things will begin to manifest more and more leading to an ultimate deception. The UFO alien phenomena will be a major player in that. The following scriptures from the book of Revelation may very well be speaking of alien-type creatures that will come upon the earth to deceive.

And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs coming out of the mouth of the dragon, out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet. For they are spirits of demons, performing signs, which go out to the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty (Revelation 16:13-14).

The following scriptures could be applied to several things, including the false alien phenomena.

And there will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars; and on the earth distress of nations, with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts failing them from fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken (Luke 21:25-26).

Notice how it says that men’s hearts will fail them from fear and expectation of things which are coming on the earth. Then it reads further, saying, “The powers of the heavens will be shaken.” The Bible doesn’t specify what exactly it is that is coming upon the earth, but whatever it is will be observable and expected. Fear, to the point of heart attack, will be the result of such events. One could be a falsified alien invasion or visitation.

All paranormal encounters and the hysteria around them have a spirit of deception attached to them. This does not mean that what is coming will not be real; it simply means we must deal with it according to Isaiah 8:12, which says, “Nor be afraid of their threats, nor be troubled.”

Application of the Word and prayer should be made to build your faith, not build conspiracies. For as the world gets stranger and stranger, many things will manifest. The alien scenario is simply one example.

The Humanistic Lie

Every out-of-order experience and supernatural falsehood is a result of a humanistic lie. Humanism is a point of view that places man over the things of God. A deception that says, “We don’t need You, God.” Humanism is also evil when it comes to deciphering spiritual encounters through the lens of your humanity rather than the Word of God.

When venturing into the supernatural, there is a protocol! Running after the unseen, without proper access, can cause catastrophic things to unfold in your life and affect many around you. This is the cause of many haunted houses, family curses, and other demonic points of entry. The worst thing is when foolish people try to communicate with the unseen realm, and like brute beasts become conduits for these dark celestial beings, allowing them permission and access to society. There is only one prescribed way we are to access the realm of the spirit and that is through the blood of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit.

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[arah-fren]

I had back pain the whole day and I’m not helping my case with how slouched I am rn trying to study. I have fantastic posture YEP

[deathbyvalentine]

Regency Werewolves Chapter 2

The grounds were suitable. The social season could commence.

Of course, there were preparations to be made that had little to do with tooth or claw. There were dresses to be made, ribbon to be pinned and plaited, pocket watches to be wound and shoes to be polished. Not to mention the small stack of calling cards that was beginning to lean a little in the stack. Everyone was curious and the family had been particularly elusive. But now, glimpses could be caught. The women were glimpsed moving from a haberdashery, servant laden with fabrics. The men had waved a greeting to some passing gentleman from some local land known for its good hunting. They had managed to escape the title of 'snobs', instead becoming 'mysterious'.

The first ball of the season, was of course, themed. Lady Robin in all her finery and extensive powder had announced it with a hint of smugness, the type that was unfortunately entirely backed up with ability. Her parties were lavish while still being respectable, decadent without being wasted. Wine would be drank but not quaffed, food served but not scoffed. This was a line many struggled to toe (poor Earl Sussex) but she did to with aplomb.

Obviously, the Williamson house was in uproar, even as Lady Williamson sought to contain it. Elise was of no help whatsoever, stirring the girls up with tales from her youth and recollections of flirting. Even Alice, usually resentful at being squashed into dresses and her hair being brushed within an inch of her life, showed little complaint at her dress and chattered excitedly about the dark woods on the ground, despite her lady mother reminding her there would be no chance for her to explore. Sybil had managed to contain her own excitement but there was a certain tremble in her hands when she spoke of ribbons. Kingsley suffered in stoic silence, his dread of social occasions easy enough to read on his face. His father's face mirrored his own.

Kingsley was often a rather put upon creature. He had not the wild bravery of Alice nor the social graces of Sybil. He found social situations not merely a chore, but much more of a minefield. He was at ease in precisely two situations - looking over his father's accounts and when he shrugged off his human skin and ran under the full moon. He found himself wishing for the moon to come more often - the rules of being a wolf were so much clearer than the rules of being a human.

Meanwhile, Sybil would happily give up her teeth and claws for the gift of a normal life. She fretted over how she would handle her little 'condition' when the time came for a husband, seemingly unaware of the fact her mother had managed it.

Alice was much more a wolf than her a girl - her shape had little to do with it all in her view. She was a wolf when she was in dresses and she was a wolf when she was in fur. Civilisation was a cruel joke.

And what was more civilised than a soiree? From the drinks in clear glass flutes to the steps of a dance, all of it was manufactured. Therefore the children must be manufactured too. They had to blend in, had to look like this was their first or second nature. Tears in dresses had to be prepared, quick tempers soothed before they turned violent, the correct amount of food to eat imparted. Lady Williamson made it look natural and her three progeny strived to imitate that ease.

*

The day came and the evening followed. The evening was summer tones of pink, fading to purple, becoming blue. The drive to Lady Robin's house was packed full of carriages, warm young ladies hanging out of windows and fanning themselves furiously. The only reason why Alice was not among them was because Sybil had hooked her by the back of the dress and pulled her back into her seat with one fluid moment. Alice responded by panting behind her fan.

Even the sisters petty bickering fell silent once the turn on the drive slipped past. The entrance was flung open wide, revealing the light of what must have been hundreds of candles, some lining the meticulously swept stone steps. Garlands of white flowers hung in long strips, attracting the attention of a few lazy bees. Kingsley couldn't help sniffing the air, the smell of perfume, lillies and food almost too much to resist. The entire family took a moment to look and to see and to scent. Alice fidgeted, eager to explore. Her mother shot her a warning look - each of the older women were taking one of the girls to be chaperoned and Alice had drawn the short straw. Selene might have let her have a little fun (Sybil, ironically, was equally as unhappy at her chaperone's identity).

They entered as a procession, with Lord and Lady at the front, the children and their aunt tidily following behind them like ducklings. Curtseys were liberally distributed, as were bows and handshakes. The girls were complimented, the boys were given approving nods. A few of the prouder invitees attempted to be above the buzz of the throng eager to meet the new family, but even they couldn't resist side-long glances their way, measuring up the cut of their dresses and smoothness of their manner.

The dancefloor was currently clear, the band only just beginning to settled down in their chairs, taking up positions and instruments. Alice couldn't help but wince as the tuning up began, the sharp notes of a violin particularly harsh to her sensitive ears. Sybil, though she didn't show it, was having similar trouble with an overpowering perfume an old duchess was wearing. These events were often overwhelming to humans, with werewolves it was a hundred times more stimulating, for better or worse. There was another scent on the air, that made the Lady turn her head. It was there and gone in a quick breath, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. It was surely nothing.

Kingsley made a beeline for the refreshments, as teenage boys usually do. It also carried the dual purpose of delaying the need to ask young ladies for their hands to dance. Kingsley rather despised dancing. Though naturally graceful, he never seemed to know the correct steps for the popular dances of the day and tread on toes with impunity. Later Lord Gordon would gently prod him to do his social duty, but for the moment he took pity on the lad and let him dodge the dance cards thrust towards him.

Lord Gordon took a moment to take in the room. It had been a hot summer night much like this one where he had met his darling wife. Fairytale like he had seen her, diamonds looking like starshine in her hair, both dimmed by the force of her smile and strength of her scent. He recognised in her what he had in himself, the howling beast that resided in their chest, making them just a little bit wild. It was love at first sight and the love blossomed between them over the years, making infatuation into the kind of deep fondness on which empires could be built. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leant into it, thinking of the same memory. Alice pulled a face at the romance, since when were parents allowed such luxuries as romance?

Her grimace didn't last long. As her mother was brushing off her dress and making noises about finding some wine, a young man approached. He was tall and slender, with a bright spray of freckles across an elegant nose. His hair had the unmistakable bearing of curls squashed and soothed into submission, but nothing could dim the brightness of the orange it was. This distracted Alice so thoroughly it was only after a moment she remembered to curtsey. He was introduced and she too was, albeit via her mother.

His name was Leopold, though his friends called him Leo. He was a cousin of the family who owned this place, although slightly distantly. He was studying at Oxford and had came up especially for the season as his younger sister was coming out and he wanted to support her. He liked history and art. All of this Alice found out very rapidly. He spoke like a train rattling down a track and in trying to take it all in, she offered little about herself. He was nervous, she realised, trying to cover up his unease with words. Eventually, he got to the point.

"Miss Williamson. Would you do me the honour of a dance?" His eyes flickered towards the empty dance card at her wrist. At first, she thought it was out of pity. But then, she became aware of all the young men in the room and how many were hovering close by, waiting. It was not pity, rather, eagerness. This shocked her so very much she gave her consent.

A moment later after Leopold had departed, Sybil appeared at her elbow like a horrid specter. "You must attend to me at once Alice. You must not tread on his toes or turn too soon. Don't laugh without covering your mouth and smile like you have a secret. Don't fiddle with your gloves - " "It is only a dance Sybil." "To begin with, yes. But Leopold is one of the most eligible men in this room and it won't be a bad thing to impress him." "He asked me to dance, shouldn't he be impressing me?" Sybil gave her a long look which informed her exactly how foolish an opinion that was to have. Alice flushed, finished her glass of champagne and braced herself.

Across the room, Kingsley had watched the exchange with an academic interest. He was about to go and join his sisters, to gossip and discuss the already rather interesting turn of events, when he realised someone was beside him, also gazing out into the room.

It was a man a little older than himself. He had dark eyes and dark hair that was teased into dreadlocks. He had sharp cheekbones but a soft mouth. Kingsley looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

"I prefer to stay on the sidelines too, don't worry." A small chuckle passed between them and Kingsley relaxed his shoulders a little, recognising a kindred spirit. "Are you here alone?" "No, my entire family are here." He nodded towards Alice and Sybil. "They're my sisters." "I'm here with a niece, though where exactly she has gotten to is a mystery." He held out a hand. "Michael." "Kingsley." His hand was warm and gentle. He turned back to the room and in companionable silence they observed.

Alice had made her way onto the dance floor, trying desperately to remember every tip that Sybil had forced into her mind two minutes prior. It was hopeless, as was she. Ladyship didn't come easily to her. Selene squeezed her arm in passing, hoping to pass on a little of her courage.

Leopold stood opposite her and gave a most ungentlemanly grin, like he was not in a room full of rules and looks, but somewhere else, perhaps a park or school. Inevitably, she found herself grinning back before she remembered the rule and covered her mouth with her hand. The music started, a light tune with much work on the fiddle and violin. It reminded her somehow of spring, of waking up to flowers and birdsong. Much better than the droll solemnity often trotted out in these occasions.

The dance begun. Kingsley, watching from slightly above, thought not for the first time of how much it looked like certain creatures from the animal kingdom, bees in the summer tracing their endless ritual paths. The formality was stifling. All of them would be feeling it, the moment of feeling trapped within stays and lacing, rules and regulations. But he chose to cling to them, using them to retain his humanity. What was more human than this party?

Alice kept her eyes on Leopold, and he kept her gaze evenly. The grins slipped away, giving way to an expression that she could not name. She was acutely aware of every touch between them, despite the layers of gloves and the swapping of partners. She began to be able to differentiate his scent from those around him - there was something earthy there, like standing in a woodland after rain or digging. It felt familiar and welcoming in this place full of artificial perfume.

Lady Williamson and Selene watched from the sidelines, their dancing days mostly done. A respite from the work of courting. Selene lamented it but Elise felt a sense of relief. She had found and kept her husband, and even loved him. No more performing, pretending or showing off. She could be as she was. Well, almost. Some things were not for public consumption. Selene, scandalous as always, made no secret of the fact she was looking for a second husband, much to Elise's dismay and amusement. The two women stood side by side and watched their girls dancing.

[whatisthiscontentyouspeakof]

Guardian of Light

Being anxious about post the last chapter and how well you guys would receive it has resulted in me not looking at any of the notes this account has gotten because anxiety, so if you asked to be tagged, I haven’t see it yet and thus you haven’t been added to the tag list. I promise to have you added for the next post though.

AO3  First  Previous Next

Chapter 3: Friends

(Age 12)

Marinette looked at the girl in front of her. She was pale, caucasian, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her hair was straight with a slight wave to the ends of it, with half of it pulled up in a ponytail with the rest staying down along with two strands at the front to frame her face. She wore a canary yellow aline dress with a black bow along the waist seam, with black cuban heeled boots and a black wide brim hat. And most importantly, she was staring at Marinette as if she was looking at an alien.

“Can I help you?” she asked the blond politely.

“Marinette,” her birth name came out of the girls mouth like a whimper, as if saying the name pained her.

“Yes?” she said.

Tears formed in the girl's eyes and she brought one of her hands up to cover her mouth, revealing her french manicure. “I-” the girl had to stop as her voice cracked. She took a few calming breaths before speaking again. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, god we were so young. We used to be in the same class back before you were taken. If I hadn’t been such a brat back then, maybe you never would have gone missing.”

That clicked something in her mind as she flashed back to one of the few memories she had before becoming Niu. “You’re the girl in the park.” She whispered. “The one throwing a tantrum.”

That didn’t seem like the best thing to say as the girl full on started to cry, not the kind of crying that came with sobs and screams but the kind where tears leaked from your eyes uncontrollably. After a moment of silence the girl laughed. “I'm sorry, I’m such a mess. I’m Chloe by the way, not sure if you remember that much.”

“I would say I’m Marinette, but I think you already know that,” Marinette said, not sure how to continue. Was she supposed to get angry at the girl since she obviously blamed herself or was she supposed to say it was nothing and the past is in the past. When in doubt, go with nice. “Hey, it’s fine, okay. I really don’t remember much about that day. We were three, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault I was taken. And it’s not like you were the one who took me.”

“I know I’m being ridiculous just so you know,” The girl, Chloe said. “It’s just, I was such a brat and I threw the fit and that’s why none of the teachers were watching when you were grabbed. It was a bit of a wake up call for me, that not everything revolved around me and I spent all this time thinking I got you killed, that you were dead in a forest somewhere but then I heard you’d been found and I couldn’t believe it.”

Marinette studied the girl before coming up with an idea. She took a step back and turned her back to the girl. She could feel the girls confusion as her crying slowed down. Once she was sure the girl was calm she turned back around. “Hello,” she said with a wide smile. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. When I was three I was forced to live with some people who weren’t the nicest; I don’t want to talk about it so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask any questions. I’ve been living with my parents again for the last two months after being in a year long coma. I’m going to be going into Sixieme at College Francoise Dupont. And you are?”

The girl hesitated for a moment before wiping her tears away. “I am Chloe Bourgeois. I used to be a spoiled brat, having two rich parents can do that to a kid but when a kid in my class disappeared I got realized that other people mattered and tried my hardest to do better. I still have my moments in which I’m a bitch and materialistic but that’s not all I am. My mom is Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois and my dad is the current Mayor of Paris Andre Bourgeois. I’m also about to enter Sixieme at College Francoise Dupont, and I’d like to be the first to offer to show you around Paris again since you’ve been gone for so long.”

Marinette smiled. “Why not.”

Afterall, if she was going to be in Paris for a while, who better to have as a friend then a socialite and daughter of the mayor?

Marinette followed Chloe up to her bedroom, having an off feeling about the blond. So far she’d been nothing but nice to Marinette, showing her all the ‘hip’ hang outs and catching her up on all the students that would be in their year, all useful information, but the girl had something planned and it was putting Marinette on edge. She doubted it was anything to cause her harm, the blond had yet to give off any signals to suggest such, but her training refused to allow her to let her guard down. You never knew who was just pretending to be your friend after all and who knew, maybe Chloe had been trained by someone similar to how Marinette had been with the Order.

Chloe showed her around the room when suddenly three people walked into the room, one was a blond boy, another was a stern looking woman with black hair that had some bits dyed red, and the last was a large, buff man who stood looming over the boy with a protective air about him. She’d seen enough bodyguards and personal guards in her life to know what one looked like. The question was why did the boy need one.

“Ms. Bourgeois, I thought Mr. Agreste made it quite clear that Adrien was to spend today hanging out with you, per your request, and no one else.” The stern woman said when she caught sight of Marinette. She seemed like a personal assistant or other hired worker of whoever this ‘Mr. Agreste was’.

“I can leave if you want,” Marinette said, not wanting to step on any toes quite yet. She needed a better understanding of Paris, and who would be useful and not useful to play nice with, and pissing off someone who obviously had money and potentially influence, would go against that.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re my friend Marinette and so is Adrien. If I want to hang out with both of you then I should be able to. Tell Mr. Agreste to shove his over protectiveness . Marinette isn’t going to hurt Adrien and my floor is one of the safest places in Paris.” Chloe snapped. “Adrien is going to grow up and become an adult eventually. Mr. Agreste should be careful not to push and push until Adrien resents him.”

“Chloe,” the blond boy, Adrien, said He looked more and more uncomfortable the longer she spoke.

“Chloe, it’s fine. Mr. Agreste obviously has certain rules in place and I would hate to break them.” Marinette said, her voice firm. She turned to the assistant. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused. While it would be nice to make more friends here in Paris, I can understand a parent not wanting their child to hang out with someone they do not know. I am however friends with Chloe,” something she wouldn’t have personally called them, especially not so soon, but Marinette was willing to go along with it, “and as such, there could be more situations in which she tries to hang out with both of us. As such I’d be willing to meet with Mr. Agreste so he could decide for himself whether I am someone he wants around his son, and I am sure my parents would agree with a meeting as well.”

The assistant looked at her, trying to see if she meant what she said, before nodding. “If you wish to give me your number I can talk with Mr. Agreste and see what he has to say. I will call if he is willing to have a meeting with you and your parents. Until then, I ask that you stay away from Adrien and leave if Chloe tries getting the three of you to hang out together.”

“Of course,” Marinette said.

A week later Marinette found herself with her parents, that was still a weird word to her, sitting in an office waiting for Mr. Agreste to arrive. Her parents seem impressed by the Agreste Mansion though Marinette found it to be an arbitrary display of wealth. The rooms were too large, the white and black theme of everything in the house was old and overused. The giant portrait of Agreste’s wife was an obvious rip off of the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, commonly known as The Women (or Lady) in Gold, which was just weird. At least be original with your art instead of ripping off a piece of stolen Jewish art.

From her research Gabriel Agreste was a famous fashion designer of the brand Gabriel in which his son, Adrien, was the main model and face for. Mr. Agreste had been a fashion designer since high school, designing and making clothing for his schools theater program. He eventually studied at the Royal College of Art in London where he graduated top of the class and worked for Alexander McQueen in London. He met his wife a few months before graduation, probably one of the reasons he stayed in London instead of moving back to Paris. He stayed with McQueen for a year before leaving to head back to Paris to start his own fashion company, with his now wife, then girlfriend, Emilie following. Around a year or two later he caught the attention of Chloe’s mother, Audrey Bourgeois, aka The Style Queen, skyrocketing him to fame. Within another year he was the Paris designer to watch, married and expecting a child. When his son was five, someone attacked him and his mother to try and ramson them for Gabriel's wealth. Since then the man has been quite the recluse.

Emilie Graham de Vanily grew up with money and wealth in London. Unlike her sister Amelie, it appeared from school reports and interviews that her upbringing didn’t go to her head, keeping a kind and compassionate heart even while surrounded by greed and vanity. She found a love of acting while in College. It was during a dress rehearsal for a small time play she was in that she met the designer behind the costumes, Gabriel Agreste and quickly fell in love. She supported his passion for fashion, encouraging him to start his own fashion house, resulting with her moving to his hometown of Paris. Once his career picked up, following the praise of Audrey Bourgeois, Emilie found herself agreeing to marry the man who had stolen her heart, the two starting a family not long after. During this time Emilie continued to act, mostly in smaller productions, happy to be the supporting partner in her relationship. Not long after giving birth to her son, she starred in the movie Solitude which became the film she was most well known for. When she and her son were attacked, she agreed with her husband to take a step out of the limelight, and while she was seen more than her husband, she still got the title of recluse added to her.

Marinette sat up straighter as she heard approaching footsteps. She gave her parents a pointed look causing the two to stop their conversation as they became aware of the approaching footsteps. They all stood as Gabriel and Emilie Agreste entered the room, Nathalie Sancoeur, who was Gabriel's personal assistant, followed a few steps behind them, staying by the exit, an ipad in her hand.

Her parents politely shook the other two parents hands, introducing themselves and Marinette before any of them sat again. Marinette took note of the fact that Emilie stayed standing behind her husband's chair, suggesting a submissive nature and that she was fine with following Gabriels lead. Her parents on the other hand, generally stood side by side unless one was better equipped to handle a topic, suggesting an equality between them. That did not suggest that there was anything wrong with having a more submissive and dominant relationship, it could offer just as much balance as an equal one giving the right conditions and a respect for all parties involved.

“I understand you wish to interact with my son.” Gabriel Agreste said, skipping over the niceties.

“Yes sir.” Marinette spoke before her parents could try and speak for her. “I befriended Chloe Bourgeois not that long ago and she is insisting that she spends time both with me and Adrien. I will be honest, I don’t mind the idea of making more friends,” it would help her fit in more, “but I understand that you have rules and I’ll understand if you don’t want me hanging out with Adrien after this meeting is over. I’ll even make sure Chloe doesn’t try to set anything up like she had tried to do last week.”

Mr. Agreste studied her, as if trying to see if she was lying. As if he’d be able to tell even if she had been. “I am glad you understand Ms. Dupain-Cheng. I take Adrien’s safety very seriously and do not wish to have any bad influences getting him in dangerous situations.”

Marinette smiled up at the man softly. “I understand. The world is a dangerous place. I have to say, I don’t know what I could say that would make you trust me.”

“I’m surprised to hear you admit that the world is a dangerous place.” Mr. Agreste told her. “Most children your age, my son included, seem to think themselves invincible.”

Marinette allowed her smile to become more rueful, “I’m can assure you Mr. Agreste, I am not ‘most child’.”

“What our Marinette means to say,” Tom Dupain spoke up. “She has had a bit of a rough childhood, and knows better than most that the world can be dangerous.”

“I assume you're alluding to the fact that she had been kidnapped as a young child.” Mr. Agreste said boldly. Someone wasn’t worried about upsetting people's feelings. He smiled at her parents' surprise. “I do background checks on every person my son comes into contact with. Marinette’s missing person file is the top result upon looking up her name. I assume congratulations are in order, since, while there are no news articles speaking of her miraculous return, that return still seems to be recent.”

“I was found collapsed in a park over a year ago,” Marinette explained to him. “I was rushed to a hospital where I was checked over and the doctors realized I had fallen into a coma. When I eventually awoke it was to discover that I was in my hometown, which I had no true memory of, and was reunited with my parents. I am still settling in, but it’s one of the reasons I wouldn’t mind more friends. I’ve never really  had the chance to make some before.”

“That still doesn’t explain where you’ve been all this time.” Mr. Agreste pointed out.

Her mom spoke up for her when she refused to answer. “Marinette refuses to speak of her time away. The therapist that the police directed up to said it is likely the trauma she faced that makes her refuse to say anything and that we shouldn’t push her. I ask that you don’t either.”

Mr. Agreste looked at her curiously. “Don’t you wish to put the people who took you behind bars.”

Marinette kept with her act of saying nothing, refusing to react to what Mr. Agreste said to her. Not that she had one, no police force in the world would be able to take the Temple or the Order down, especially not with the League of Shadows hadding their own protection.

“As we said, Marinette does not speak of what happened to her.” Sabine repeated. “The police believe, after hearing everything the therapist got from reading Marinette’s body language and listening to what she would speak of, that the people who took her are the type of people who kidnap young children to raise as their own only to get rid of them once they start to get too old. That they likely abandoned her where they found her and left her to survive on her own. That she wouldn’t actually know any real facts or details that could help the police find them since they likely lived under fake names in a different part of France if not in a different country.”

“Do you agree with what your therapist and the police believe?” Mr. Agreste asked her.

She just continued to look at him. While having a friend and making a larger friend group in general would help her fit in more, she wasn’t about to tell them what actually happened or confirm any speculation when it could get any one of them killed and bring her unwanted attention.

Mr. Agreste just gave a little nod of his head. “That will be all. My assistant, Nathalie, will escort you out. You’ll be informed of our decision soon.”

The dismissal was clear. The trio left the house behind, her parents insuring her that Mr. Agreste  was a [asshole] (not their words) and that she would make other friends in time. To not let that get her down.

Marinette just sighed internally, a part of her wishing she could go back to being Min, being Tianshi, encased in darkness with Nuri as her only company. At least then everything around her made sense.

Three days later, Marinette was once again in Chloe’s room when Adrien bust through the door, his bodyguard behind him.

“Chloe,” Marinette chided.

“I didn’t invite him,” Chloe insisted.

Adrien smiled widely at her as he handed her a note.

She opened it to see a note, typed not handwritten, stating:

Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I have come to a decision.

You shall be allowed to hand out with Adrien from this point forward.

Gabriel Agreste

Marinette looked back up to see a hand in front of her. Adrien was smiling widely at her, his hand stuck out for her to shake. She slowly reached her hand out and placed it in his.

“Hi!” he said excitedly. “My name is Adrien Agreste. I can’t wait for us to become friends.”

Next

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[holidaysat221b]

2017′s Halloween at 221b - A Sherlolly Celebration Master List

To help get you in the Fall/Halloween spirit, here are all the submissions we received during the 2017 Halloween Fest.  Please give them another look, leave a comment or a kudo (or both!), and show a little love to the creators who took the time to participate in 2017.

We’ve listed where the works are archived, mult-chapter or not, complete or not, and rating.  In progress fics are marked in bold as a reminder for a mod to periodically check for updates.  Tumblr accounts have been tagged where possible, some could only be linked to, and some are completely unknown to the mods.  As always, the complete Master List for all years can be found here.

All Hallow’s Eve 1896 - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock Holmes begrudgingly attends John and Mary’s annual Halloween party for the first time, but he is immediately enchanted by Mary’s cousin, Miss Margaret Hooper.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Alone -  Created by @cumbercougars   (On Tumblr, Complete)

Bite Me - Written by @willsherjohnkhan Sherlock is prepared to do anything to help Molly with her current predicament…This is my contribution to Sherlolly Halloween at 221B 2017 Challenge. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Blood Born - Written by @mizjoely “Vampires that couldn’t control their bloodlust are to blame,” Molly argued. “They’re the ones who didn’t care if they killed the humans they fed from or not. They’re the ones who didn’t notice when those humans didn’t stay dead. They’re the ones who killed so many people in such a short period of time that the contamination spread too quickly to contain.”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

Deep Down Below - Written by @hobbitsdoitbetter In the aftermath of The Sherrinford Incident, Sherlock Holmes has slowly put himself back together; he has his friends, his family and his Molly, with whom he’s expecting a new arrival. But the past is not so easily left behind, and happiness not so easy to justify. The nearer Molly’s due date comes, the more Sherlock starts to feel as if something dark is dogging his path… Post Season 4  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated T)

Don’t Be Scared, I’ve Got Your Back -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Foggy Night in London - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock and Molly spend Halloween night together at 221B…what could possibly go wrong? Post-TFP.   (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

From Her to Eternity - Written by @thehiddenlawyer Molly Hooper has been feeling strange lately, and when she’s plagued by visions of dark figures watching her through the shadows, she wonders whether she’s losing her mind, or if something sinister is haunting her.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated E)

From Thy Own Lip - Written by @forthegenuine In the autumn of 1808, Sherlock Holmes–known to many as the world’s only consulting detective–caused a stir when he announced that he had taken up the profession of a magician. Regency AU. Written for Halloween at 221B.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Costume for Rosie - Written by @katfevre BBC Sherlock Trick-or-Treat Halloween Gift Exchange Prompt:  John, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs.Hudson are all trying to come up with a Halloween costume idea for little Rosamund Watson. It starts out as just brainstorming, but quickly becomes competitive. What does Baby (or toddler? or kid?) Watson end up dressed as? and who had the final say? (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Edit -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

A Halloween Party Edit -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo  (On Tumblr, Complete)

History Repeats Until Stopped - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) When Merlin tells Sherlock and Molly that another one of his descendants is living in a village under a curse and could be in danger, Sherlock and Molly go to the shore to try and break the curse and change history from here forward.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 parts, Rated T)

How the Ghosts Stole Halloween -  Written by @sundance201 Sherlock and Molly go searching for a serial killer on Halloween. Or go ghost hunting. It depends on who you ask.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated M)

In the Blood - Written by @darnedchild Some secrets are better left buried. Especially in the Holmes family.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated M)

Magic in the Moonlight - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) Every year since they began uni, Sherlock and Molly have gone to the university’s Monster Ball and competed in the couples costume contest, as friends. But this year it’s different. Molly has a boyfriend and Sherlock is jealous. Still…there might be a little magic in the moonlight at the Monster Ball for Sherlock and Molly, if they’re lucky. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 4 Parts, Rated G)

Missed Connections - Written by @katerbees Three years of Halloweens following Sherlock and Molly throughout the series.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Molly Hooper - (Assistant) Reanimator - Written by @darnedchild Sherlock Holmes learns the shocking secrets of Molly Hooper’s past.  *Cue dramatic music and an evil laugh*   With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft - A modern retelling of Herbert West - Reanimator.  Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 Parts, Rated T)

Mummy Troubles -  Written by @katerbees Sherlock enlists his favorite pathologist for a case in Egypt. What could possibly await them!!?  (On Ao3 Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated M)

Perish the Thought - Written by osmia_avosetta (Tumblr unknown) (Removed By Author)

Pumpkin Carvings and the Wolf  - Written by LadySolitaire83 @ladysolitaire Sherlock carves something on a pumpkin that shocks and worries Molly. In which Molly is a werewolf, and Sherlock doesn’t know about it… yet. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Pumpkin Faces -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Only Lovers - Written by phoebe_snow (@greenfleeze) Molly realises just how deeply Sherlock loves her. (Includes a link to cover art created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo)  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Rapture -  Created by @cumbercougars  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served (Magically) Cold - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) For some time now Sherlock has suspected Molly of sleepwalking. But when Lestrade calls him with a case that involves a vampire victim one evening when Molly appears to have been out, he starts to wonder if her sleepwalking may be having homicidal effects. But there is more to the whole story than it seems…  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 6 parts, Rated T)

The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - Written by ‘P’ (and posted by @lilsherlockian1975) For those of you who don’t know, my youngest son likes to write Sherlolly stories. This is his contribution to the Halloween celebration.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

An illustration for The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - The artwork was commissioned by @mizjoely, drawn by @o0katiekins0o, and submitted by @lilsherlockian1975 to be included in Halloween at 221b. (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlock and Molly Halloween -  Created by @rebka18  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlollyween Treats - Created by @mel-loves-all A collection of Sherlolly Halloween Photoshop edits for the 13 days of Sherlolly Halloween.  I’ll post an edit every day for the duration of the 13 days. Hope you enjoy them!  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated T)

Silence Pressing in - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) The night is too quiet tonight. Molly needs…something…to soothe her tonight. But not sex. Something else.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Something in 221b - Written by @escaily A 221b ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Spellbound - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock’s a werewolf detective who falls for the enchanting Molly Hooper, a beautiful young witch. She is a pathologist who momentarily brings corpses back to life to find out their cause of death.  (On Ao3, Mulit-chapter, Complete in 10 Parts, Rated T)

A companion edit for “Spellbound” - Created by @mrsfrankensteinwinchester  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Studies of Morbidity - Written by Yusabi (Tumblr Unknown) Molly has achieved the best she could ask for– a fulfilling job, a safe home of her own, an exciting and enriched life, and best of all, a steady source of food. Food is everywhere, but options are scant, and a young Ghoul can’t wish for better than a morgue, where body parts can come in without ever coming back out. It only makes sense that the smartest oaf in the world would nearly ruin everything for her just to be petty. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated E)

Tragedy at Hand -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo A Sherlolly fanvid featuring “Sally’s Song” from “The Nightmare Before Christmas”.  (Link leads to the video on Youtube, the initial Tumblr post is here.)   (On Tumblr/Youtube, Complete)

The Vanishing Hitchhiker - Written by @escaily A ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Vampire’s Votary - Written by @lilsherlockian1975 Votary: a devoted follower or admirer It’s been a year since Sherlock confessed that his desire for Molly was about much more than her blood. She asked him to sire her; he asked her to wait for six months. Then… he made her wait six more! Much has happened in those 365 days but on their anniversary, Molly makes a request that he simply can no longer refuse. My followup to “The Vampire’s Vice”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated E)

Your Remedy - Written by LadySolitaire83 (@ladysolitaire) When Sherlock gets stabbed while dismantling Moriarty’s network, Mycroft and Anthea bring him to Molly for medical treatment. She is forced to use her magical skills to save him from certain death. What happens when Sherlock finds out exactly how she healed him?  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24​ is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page. 

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,566! 

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST

NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!! >> ! << 

Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme. 

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been. 

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. 

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case. 

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri. 

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her. 

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account. 

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems. 

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians. 

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him. 

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes. 

Their children are equally unattractive. 

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet. 

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children. 

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward. 

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.” 

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out. 

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls. 

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green. 

The makeup can’t be a popular trend. 

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga. 

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it. 

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short. 

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri. 

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked. 

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief. 

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core. 

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital. 

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact. 

 Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy. 

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun. 

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here. 

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in. 

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father. 

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner. 

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier. 

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them. 

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself. 

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.” 

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach. 

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed. 

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently. 

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint. 

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles. 

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair. 

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!” 

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off. 

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love. 

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents. 

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins. 

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers. 

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin. 

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare.  “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away. 

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day. 

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first. 

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty. 

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off. 

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock  while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand. 

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness. 

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags. 

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?” 

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second. 

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction. 

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees. 

“Emelea,”a voice booms. 

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down. 

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another. 

Emelea broke it off with a nod. 

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see. 

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster. 

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade. 

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.” 

What the fuck? Din thinks. 

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?” 

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him. 

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king. 

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain. 

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge. 

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain. 

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead. 

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried. 

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse. 

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace. 

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members. 

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike. 

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name. 

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass. 

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before. 

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you. 

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again. 

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom. 

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough. 

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice. 

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship. 

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit. 

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed. 

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you. 

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain. 

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened. 

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own. 

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle. 

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind. 

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles. 

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship. 

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety. 

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe. 

You stay hidden until your legs hurt. 

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat. 

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone. 

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior. 

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet. 

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings. 

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you. 

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way. 

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door. 

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them? 

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete. 

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger. 

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy. 

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you. 

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you. 

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. 

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find. 

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you. 

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired. 

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed. 

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands. 

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy. 

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance. 

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way. 

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means. 

"Bathe," Din corrects himself. 

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety. 

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward. 

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm. 

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint. 

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water. 

It's amazing. 

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again. 

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself. 

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying. 

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes. 

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth. 

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you. 

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you. 

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm. 

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs. 

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror. 

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with. 

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out. 

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name. 

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit. 

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included. 

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur. 

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking. 

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind. 

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter. 

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?" 

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary. 

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as  pressing as what’s happening tomorrow. 

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer. 

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question. 

“I’ll be here if you need me.” 

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket. 

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed. 

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him. 

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes. 

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type. 

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old. 

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short. 

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit. 

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute. 

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick. 

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet. 

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would. 

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing. 

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in. 

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else? 

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest. 

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?” 

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs? 

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been. 

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair. 

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent. 

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked. 

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked. 

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night. 

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you. 

You have never been cared for. 

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him. 

>> next chapter! 

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 4

Chapter 4

They were in the conference room gazing at their usual murder board. Malcolm had kept the roof of Isabella’s stroller covered so she didn’t have to see anything. Based on the fact that she had just been changed, fed and was currently taking a nap, everything seemed to be alright.

“So have we found out anything unusual about Arianna?” Malcolm asked as he studied the board.

He still couldn’t quite understand how a woman like Arianna could have gotten herself put on this particular sequential killer’s radar. The first two victims had been both been very different. One had been a waitress in a beat down diner and the other had been a mechanic in a downtown auto shop. By all accounts, she lived a relatively different life. Being a teacher in uptown and living in an apartment that had cleaning services and all.

However, that was the peculiar thing.

“Other than the fact that she was living in a brand new uptown apartment on a fourth grade teacher’s salary, not much, not even how she got the apartment.” Dani replied, “All the documents say is that the apartment was bought in her name and the buyer bought it with cash.”

“Could it have been from a boyfriend?” JT inquired.

Malcolm shook his head, “She didn’t have one. Barely anything in that apartment other than Isabella’s nursery suggested the personal touch.”

“Bright’s right.” Gil nodded his head, “Judging by ads for the apartment complex, Arianna hasn’t changed much about the decor inside. Save for a few pictures of her parents and Isabella over the fireplace.”

“No way she could have afforded a place like that.” JT said as he flipped through an old ad brochure of the apartment, “Even if we didn’t have the twins, there’s no way me and Tally would be able to afford this place.”

Dani raised her eyebrows, “Are these places really that expensive?”

Malcolm nodded, “Oh yes, I remember Mother tried to bribe me with one of those apartments. Never saw the appeal; it was too... clean cut.”

Dani smirked, “I’m guessing it didn’t work.”

He smirked back, “Do you see me living in that building? Instead I live in an apartment that my mother threatens to turn into a Panera every other day.” He looked back to the board, “You know... she may not have had a boyfriend but if we can figure out who bought her that apartment then we might be able to figure out if there’s a connection between the apartment and the killer.”

“Good call.” JT nodded in agreement, “There has to be connection there but what about the whole corset thing?”

“First we need to find the corset that killed her.”

“Luckily for us, that apartment building gets its trash taken every other Friday so we can go check their dumpster.”

Just then, they heard tiny sobs and hiccups coming from them. Their heads all turned to the stroller as Malcolm walked over and lifted the roof of the stroller slightly as Gil flipped the board to hide the gruesome photos of Arianna.

“Hey...” Malcolm whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Isabella just hiccupped again as she held out her arms to Malcolm. He picked her up out of her seat as her tiny hands grasped the fabric of his suit jacket. However it wasn’t long until Isabella started hitting him and kicking her legs. Her sobs only got louder as tears started streaming down her face again.

“Isabella-” Malcolm was only cut off by her crying and that she started hitting his face. If she wasn’t so tiny, it might have hurt him.

He tried gently shushing the baby and Dani was the first to notice the look of panic that slowly crept onto Malcolm’s face, “Bright-”

“I don’t know what I did wrong!” Malcolm started with worry in his voice, “I-I fed her right a-and she doesn’t need to be changed. She was just taking a nap-”

“Hey.” Dani interjected, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the cries that just kept getting louder, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s probably just the same thing that happened this morning.” She walked over and tried to help him keep Isabella from falling out of his arms, “She’s somewhere she doesn’t really recognize. She’s probably just scared.”

Then it hit him, “Do we have any of Arianna’s personal effects?” Malcolm asked over Isabella’s screaming.

Dani furrowed her brows, “What?”

“A jacket, a shirt, something soft that belonged to her.”

“We have a scarf.” JT said, holding up a light blue scarf with pastel pink flowers embroidered on it.

“That’ll do!” Malcolm exclaimed as he snatched the scarf out of the detective’s hands. He looked down at Isabella as he held the scarf close to her and gently tried to shush her.

She kept crying and Malcolm silently wondered if this had been a dumb idea until he felt Isabella move to reach for the piece of clothing. Her screaming cries began to subside into quiet sobs as she held the scarf close. Her tiny fist gripped the soft garment as she began to whimper and settle down.

That’s when it clicked for Malcolm as he let out a defeated sigh. She just wanted her mother but her mother wasn’t coming back. What’s worse is that there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. He just let the little girl rest her head on his shoulder as she began to calm down.

“She’s starting to realize that her mom’s not around, isn’t she?” JT asked, seemingly the only one who could bring himself to speak after Isabella’s little scene.

Before Malcolm could respond, he heard a shrill voice coming from outside the conference room. “Malcolm! You have some explaining to do!”

He cringed at the sound of his mother’s voice. He looked down at Isabella who had stuffed part of the scarf along with her own hand in her mouth and was chewing on it, “You don’t think she noticed the crib, do you?” Isabella just used her other arm and patted his head, “Yeah, it was dumb to think she wouldn’t.”

He gave an apologetic look to Gil but the older man just waved his hand, “Go explain things to your mother. The quicker she understands, the quicker we can get back to work.”

Malcolm nodded as he walked out of the boardroom.

JT then turned his head to Dani with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk, “So... you were at Bright’s place this morning?”

“Shut up.”Dani glared.

“I’m just surprised. Bright doesn’t really seem like your type.”JT chuckled, “Didn’t think you even liked his skinny ass.”

Dani turned her head to Gil who seemed a little too amused by this, “Gil, if I killed JT right now, would you still arrest me?”

“I don’t know Powell,” The older man grinned, “He is just asking an innocent question.”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Malcolm found his mother waiting by a desk, tapping her designer heel on the floor. Her brows were furrowed in annoyance and her arms were crossed across her chest. Malcolm sighed and tried to put on a fake smile, “Mother-”

“Malcolm, you lied to me.”

“Now Mother-”

“You say that you’re not hiding anything from me but when I went to your apartment, there was a crib, baby supplies and stuffed animals which I am certain were not there a few days ago.”

“Mother-”

“I’ve been trying to give you your space but keeping something,” She gestured to Isabella, “Like this from me-”

“Mother! Will you listen?”

Jessica let out an exasperated sigh, “Go ahead.”

Malcolm adjusted the way he was holding Isabella when she started kicking her feet, “I wasn’t lying when I told you Isabella isn’t my daughter.” Jessica opened to mouth to respond but when she saw the scarf Isabella was chewing on and that her little face was a little puffy, the older woman stayed quiet. “There wasn’t any room for Isabella in any nearby foster homes so I was volunteered to take care of her.”

“You didn’t refuse?”

“I was hesitant...” Malcolm smiled when the baby girl started grinning through the floral scarf she was gripping with her tiny hands, “But other than a few minor hiccups, she hasn’t been much trouble.”

Jessica’s face softened. She may have come off a bit harsh but she had been genuinely offended thinking that Malcolm would hide a grandchild from her. She noticed the baby blinking at her with her wide blue eyes for a moment when suddenly, Isabella shot out an arm in Jessica’s direction. The older woman froze for a moment.

Isabella started to whine when she wasn’t able to get closer. Malcolm chuckled as he held out the baby to his mother, “I think Isabella would like to say hi.”

Jessica gingerly took Isabella in her arms, keeping a hand on the baby’s back to keep her upright. Isabella giggled as she lightly patted the older woman’s face with one hand and kept a death grip on Arianna’s scarf with the other.

“Hello...” Jessica cooed as the baby gurgled at her. She noticed the baby’s red face and tear-stained cheeks, “Have you been crying?”

Malcolm nodded, “We’re guessing that she’s becoming aware of her mother not being around.”

“Oh dear...” She continued to gush over the little girl who suddenly found Jessica’s sparkling gold necklace very interesting, “A lady as beautiful as you should not be crying. It’s not worth the headache you get afterwards.”

An idea occurred to Malcolm, “Would you be willing to look after her for the day?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Gil said as he walked out of the conference room with a slight grin. “I was wondering why it was taking so long.”

Malcolm gave a sheepish grin, “Gil, I-”

“No worries. I could tell that you were explaining our little predicament.” The older man looked to Jessica, “It actually would be a big help if you could watch Isabella for a few hours so we can go out into the field. Talk to some suspects and it’s probably best we don’t have a baby with us.”

Jessica looked down at the baby in her arms and when Isabella looked up at her with her big blue eyes and toothless grin... she just couldn’t find it in herself to hand her back. “Alright...” She adjusted the baby so Isabella was sitting on her hip, “But only if I’m allowed to take this little angel on a shopping spree.”

Malcolm raised his hands in defense as Gil went to get Isabella’s stroller, “As long as she’s fed and changed when she needs it, you can have her until we’re done for the day.”

Gil returned with the stroller, “We need to figure out who bought Arianna that apartment.”

“What apartment?” Jessica asked as she placed Isabella into the stroller.

“That apartment complex you tried to bribe me with a few years ago. Isabella’s mother lived in that building but it’s more than likely someone bought it for her.” Malcolm responded.

“The apartment complex uptown? Every home fully furnished?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah...” Gil furrowed his brows.

“I know exactly who bought the apartments there.”

So... I’m back... *awkwardly waves* Hi guys.

I had writer’s block for the longest time and I’m sorry this chapter is kind of short but this is one of those chapters I kind of had to get through in order to get to the good stuff.

I hope I did the characters justice and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.

Please let me know what you thought and even you have any ideas on where the story might be going because I may or may not live off of attention.

I promise it won’t take so long for the next chapter to come out and I hope you guys are still interested in seeing where this story goes <3

[snicketstrange]

Crossover theory: Miss K Enigma 2.0 X The Beatrice Letters Theory X Prufrock Prep Puzzle

This is part 11 of the Strange Interpretation of Jean Lúcio from Brazil

To understand this text, it is necessary to read some of my previous texts.

Part 10

Miss k Enimga 2.0

The creation of the "Miss K Enigma 2.0" Theory has created so many possibilities that I am still digesting everything. I am currently developing the Prufrock Prep Puzzle theory, and will now present the initial results of the research.

The first question is what is the function of Prufrock Prep from the point of view of VFD?

I believe I found the answer in the minutes of the meeting in Chapter 3 of the UA. Observe the following excerpts:

 “R: R's right. We are entering people's homes -

J: We get permission first.

L: Let her finish.

R: I will finish. We are entering people's homes, taking young children who show exceptional observational and/or notetaking skills, and isolating them, for long periods at least, from people they know. We assign them to strangers and scatter them across the globe, PERFORMING ERRANDS THAT ARE PERPELXING TO THEM, UNTIL THEIR ANKLES HAVE HEALED, UNTIL WE KNOW THEY CAN BE TRUSTED, AND UNTIL WE KNOW THAT NO ONE IS SEARCHING FOR THEM ANY LONGER. THEN, FINALY, WE BRING THEM TO HEADQUARTERS SO THEY CAN LEARN THE SKILLS THEY NEED BEFORE THEY ARE INTRODUCED BACK INTO SOCIETY, IN ORDER TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD RMAINS, AS WE SAY, QUIET. ... As we know from S's report on Prufrock Preparatory School, if young people do not get enough sleep, their work is likely to suffer. “

 “Exceptional observational and/or notetaking skills.” Have you noticed that classes and exams from Remora and Bass teachers test exactly those students' abilities? In addition, at the time of this meeting, there were VFD informants inside the school.

I believe Prufrock Prep is viewed by VFD as a great recruiting site.

On page 189 of TUA, we look at some methods used by VFD to recruit people after Schism.

“Perhaps a waiter said something strange to you in a restaurant. Perhaps a librarian asked you a question concerning your mother, or your mother asked you a question concerning your librarian. Perhaps your techer gave you a list of books that had coded messages inside, or perhaps you detected a message in a newspaper you found blowing around your neighborhood.”

So Miss K went to Prufrock Prep to recruit students for VFD. She took a list of books. In addition, according to Carmelita Spats' autobiography, the Prufrock Prep librarian asked about her mother. (The UA pag. 171) This shows that VFD faced Prufrock Prep as an excellent source of volunteer recruitment. The two orphans captured by Miss K evidently received a more direct invitation to join VFD because they were orphans.

The next question is: Where are the people recruited by VFD taken?

The minutes of the meeting explained: "isolating them, for long periods at least, from people they know."

It is good to know that this is a practice on the "noble" side of the split. Isolating the neophytes should mean that these youngsters caught by VFD are taken to some kind of boarding school. Interestingly, since the VFD Great Schism, children do not get tattoos on their ankles. Still, VFD does something that hurts their ankle the moment they are captured. Perhaps the literal act of holding the neophytes by the ankle could hurt their ankles in some way. Therefore it is necessary to spend some time, until their ankles are healed. This means that some people who were already studying in a boarding school were taken to another boarding school when they were captured by VFD. What happened to Olaf seems to have been this. Olaf studied at the Wade Academy. Like Prufrock Prep, Wade Academy should be considered by VFD as a good place to recruit neophytes. Of course, schools were not the only sources of neophytes. But it is good to know that Mr. Remora does not seem to be a member of VFD. Note this scene, which occurred at the Hotel Denouement (chpter 6, TPP). Hal was the waiter:

"Can I help you?" - Nero mimicked. "Of course you can help us! We're starving! "

"I did not realize this was a sad occasion," said Hal, squinting through his glasses.

"It will not be a sad occasion if you feed us," Mr. Remora said.

Hal frowned, as if Mr. Remora had given the wrong response, but he quickly used the three guests to a wooden table in the otherwise deserted restaurant."

If Mr. Remora were a member of the Noble side of VFD, he would know the answer should be: "The world is quiet here."

This is evidence that "vocational" classes for a young man who will become a VFD agent were not taught at Prufrock Prep.

This also explains the secret number 5 and 6 of the pamphlet "13 Shocking Secrets":

# 5 - Lemony Snicket grew up with a terrible villain.

# 6 - "Lemony Snicket attended boarding school."

Lemony grew up along with Olaf, because Olaf studied in the VFD boarding school together with Lemony.

This also helps us understand the letters from BB to LS # 4 and # 5.

In the letter from BB to LS # 4, Beatrice states:

"I'm in my Business Letter Writing Class, wich is taught by a flat-footed man so sa and inaware that I am certain he will give me an A on this assignment without reading anything but the firt sentence of each paragraph. I could say anything here at all. For instance: A "baticeer" is a person who trains bats. I learned that in a poem I watched you read....

…That was me, knocking on your following information. That was mr, knocking on your office door yesterday evening. I know you were inside, because I followed you from the library, where you stood for nearly an hour staring into a glass case containing old documents on display for the “Staged Poetry: Sonnets by actors & Actresses” exhibit….

Why didn’t you answer? Why won’t you answer any of my questions? I must have at least twelve.

In closing, please do not hesitate to contact me at your earliest convenience. Just one letter can change everything. The three Baudelaires my be long gone, but there is a fourth Baudelaires here, waiting for you to untie “My silence Knot” and help me find the end of a story that began with you – in the very room where I sit now, about to hand this letter to my business letter writing instructor so he will grade it and mail it.”

In this letter, Beatrice claims that she is in some kind of school. This school was the same one Lemony was studying at VFD when she was 11 or 12 years old. The teacher in question is not Mr Remora, because it is not the Prufrock Prep school.

In the letter from LS to BB # 2, Lemony wrote:

”I’m writing you this letter, as usual, for no particular reason, and I’ll try to have R. deliver it to you so you can read it before we meet for fencing practice. It’s easy to write letters during Code Class, as the tedious, flat-footed instructor simply mutters the same lessons about business letter writing over and over. He’ll probably drone on for years and years to come.”

Note that Beatrice chose the same adjective Lemony had chosen many years earlier to describe the same teacher: "flat-footed." I believe this is another indication that the letter from BB to LS # 4 comes from the mother of the Baudelaire siblings. Using the same phraseology that Lemony had used in an old letter is a way for Beatrice to show Lemony that she was Beatrice herself who had read these letters before. But besides, it is evident that Beatrice was studying with the same teacher and in the same classroom in which years before Lemony had studied. And as I explained, it was not Prufrock Prep. Another detail is the reference to the letter from LS to BB # 5. Beatrice had asked 13 questions, of which Lemony was able to answer 12. Probably this response letter never reached Beatrice's hands.

Already in the letter BB to LS # 5, Beatrice explained how she got to be admitted to VFD school. She basically studied first in Prufrock Prep, and then waited until she was recruited by VFD, then went to VFD school, the one Lemony had studied years before. She had already studied at the same institution. But Beatrice had faked her own death. So now she thought that in order to be reunited with Lemony, it would be necessary to go back to studying in VFD, like a neophyte again. Note this section:

“Violet told me once that I saved her life, and Klaus claimed that I had not died in despair not long ago the destruction of the Denoument Hotel. Even Sunny said she could not have survived without me. But I don’t have to tell you how brave and resourceful, hoe loyal and well-read those three people are. It is I who would have been lost without them. Without Violet’s emergency repairwork, I never would have found my way to the city to search for you. Without Klau’s notes on mountain climbing, I never would have left the city to search for you again. Without Sunny’s extensive knowledge of making snacks from wildflowers and weeds, I Never would have found the strength to return once more, first by yak, then by foot, and then yak-fot, to wind my way back to the city in the hopes of finally meeting you face-to-face. And without the stories all three siblings told me of their troubles – which in some cases differs wildly from your accounts –I never would have found the secretarial school, where I wrote my previous letter to you. It was not a secretarial school, of course – not really – but I had to sit through that tedious business letter writing class before they would believe the name I gave the vice principal upon my arrival. Without Violet, Klaus and Sunny I never would have continued my studies with these last few volunteers, and become the “baticeer” I am today. I owe my life to them, and now that we have been separated, I will not rest until I find them again.”

I ask you to pay attention to the following detail. In the letter from BB to LS # 2, Kit's daughter informs Lemony that she is separated from Klaus, Sunny and Violet for many years. Not at all seems Kit's daughter first came to the City with Violet's help. She wrote: “I am heading for the hills, so that I might find, after all these years, the three siblings who are the only Family I have. Without Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, I am an orphan…”

And according to Kit's daughter in the letter from BB to LS # 3, the time she had spent away from the Baudelaires siblings was so much that even most of her memories about them had disappeared. She wrote:

“As time goes on, many memories fade. Violet tying her hair up in a ribbon, to keep it out of her eyes, Klaus squiting at a book through his glasses, Sunny appearing on the radio to discuss he recipes – I don’t want these to be the only things I remember of the three most important people in my life.”  

The mother of the Baudelaire siblings met with her children, and apparently they spent a good time together. They told her mother about Prufrock Prep, so she went there, gave the vice principal a false name, and went through a student. She stayed there until being recruited by VFD, and transferred to the "Secretarial School", in fact the same VFD school that Lemony had studied years before. She did all this to try to reunite with Lemony, the person she loved very much. Lemony found the photo of Beatrice along with other students in Prufrock Prep. This photo was taken after Miss K was fired, and Lemony made it clear from the remark he wrote in the photo that at that time he wanted to find his beloved Beatrice again.

But evidently something happened, and changed Lemony's view of Beatrice. For some reason, Lemony did not even want to meet Beatrice face-to-face. In the next text I will begin to discuss what this might have been.

[alo-piss-trancy]

Hello, you have been identified as An Awesome Writer™! Congrats, you rock! So that all of your readers can shower you with some extra love today, please tell us your favorite five (or as many as you want) stories of yours and why you like them and then send this to another five fic authors you think deserve this title! ❤

Gee, I wonder who this could be from? c; (Thank you so much I love you!)

Okay so I’m doing seven because as you all know from my zillion ships and characters I’ve written for/screamed about, I’m incapable of picking a specific favourite lmao. But it’s still less than half my fics so it’s fine. Also none of these are ranked, I enjoyed them all equally tbh. (Forgive my lack of heart emojis RIP, I’m on desktop for this one)The Troubles Rain Can Bring (Pers/ona 5) : Of course I have to bring this one up, since it’s the one I consider my first legit omo fic (Jade was my first foray, but since it’s unfinished and I picked a dead fandom specifically so I had less chances of getting mean comments, I consider it more of a practice run). This was my first time writing for a very active and current fandom, so it was really intimidating, but I was also really excited to participate in creating for a game I was so passionate about! Also that fic was just a total labour of self-indulgence and love (excuse for fluff with my otp? combining all my fav tropes? Gratuitous Akira Suffering? Including the others for fun towards the end? I was in hog heaven!) While I definitely can find parts where I could improve the writing now, I still love it for all of the effort I put into it, and I got such a lovely response that made me feel really welcome on ao3, the omo tag on tumblr, and in the p/5 fandom! It’s kind of nostalgic for me, even if it was only written like a year and a half ago, haha.All Bottled Up (Dang/anRonpa: THH) : I’m just really proud of this fic, and I had so much fun writing it! I think it’s probably one of the few fics I’ve written that was a completely smooth ride of inspiration and fun from start to finish, without any hitches in the writing process or me getting bogged down with other projects. Seriously I think I hammered the entire thing out in like a week or two lmao. I love Naegiri so much, and the idea was a treat to work with even if it’s some of the most cliché omo scenarios, it was just a nice relaxing bit of indulgence! Also I got to dig into Kirigiri’s character, which I didn’t get to do in my other fic of her (since that one was so short and oddly styled). My favourite bit was probably getting to mess with the drawbacks of her gloves/hand injuries, and of course those fluffy bits with Naegi! Getting Your Feet Wet (Pers/ona 5) : This one, hoo boy. Definitely one of my longest fics, and while at the time when I posted it I kind of hated half the stuff in it (just because I had been nitpicking it for so long lmao), now that time has gone by I can genuinely say I love it and it’s probably one I’m proudest of. Not only was it my first full dive into snut (and I’d like to think it isn’t too shabby), but I got to work with a rarepair that I’ve been intrigued by, with two of my fav npcs from the game! So fun times all around! It was great to imagine how Sae might have changed and opened up since the game’s ending, and what Tae could do to help draw her out of that strict shell while still making her feel secure and comfortable. Also I got to include pet/p.lay which is something I’d been dying to write since I started that account, so bonus points for that! And I got a way better response than I was expecting, so that was nice!A Sinking Ship (Pers/ona 5) : ((Okay I swear I still plan to update the other half of this one someday soon, I literally have the draft halfway done I just haven’t been able to get it finished to the level I want.)) Anyways, I have a soft spot for this one because 1. It’s Makoto, and you all know how much I adore her, 2. I finally got to write some legit palace battling and shenanigans, which I really enjoyed and want to include more of in future projects, 3. I literally put so much detail into this one, from the setting descriptions to the dialogue and going out of my way to include the entire team interacting with her instead of just one or two chars, and I’m giving myself a fat pat on the back for that. And then throwing in actual anxiety and plot issues instead of just making her desperate for the sake of it, which may have been ambitious (hence why it’s kind of on a cliffhanger right now while I finish the comfort half), but I really just wanted her to have one of my best fics possible because Makoto deserves the best (of the worst suffering oops sorry bby). Also did I mention The Shumako Bridal Carry scene? That was absolutely necessary to include okay? Also there’s gonna be quality Shumako bonding in the second chapter so I’m biased to love this in advance. Basically I love this one specifically because it’s my own self-indulgent bullshit, which is kind of every fic I write but this is definitely one of The Most Indulgent. I also consider this one my very best omo fic in terms of the actual omo writing/content, even if it’s long AF, because at least you’re getting desperation and wetting for pretty much the entire thing, even when other stuff’s going on around it. So yeah I guess if you don’t mind a cliffhanger ending (for now) and have a decent knowledge of p/5, this is the one I recommend reading!Conundrums Lead to Collapse (Doc/tor Who - 13th Doc/tor) : I really liked writing this one because of the whump, actually. I rarely have excuses to injure characters for Even Worse Omo Suffering/Comfort, so the fact that I could write based on a canon injury was the perfect excuse! Also I’m just weak for the 13th Doctor so I’m always down for omo of her, but it was also a fun excuse to explore her character. We hadn’t gotten to see her angry or broken down at the time it aired, so I enjoyed getting to play around with how things affect her when she does finally lose the positive attitude and confidence, and bringing a character as powerful (and semi immortal I guess) as The Doctor to the floor was just a fun exercise. Also it’s kind of hard to find whump fics focused on female characters that don’t involve a certain kind of violence (or just female whump in general actually), so I just really enjoyed using all of the fandom tropes I’ve read over the years in those fics to create something for those of us who wanted it the other way around! I would also like to say this one gave me the excuse for Found Family Coddling, everyone comforts and helps her towards the end which is perfect for my fluff-craving heart after all of the angst.Holding More than Cards (Ka/kegurui Compulsive Gambler) : Oh boy, I’ll be honest the reason I love this is purely because it’s pretty much the only fic for this pairing that I’ve found for my tastes and I had to make it myself dang it (They basically had a whole two episodes where Midari creamed herself for Yumeko and they had that scene where they held each other’s faces staring into their eyes, HOW is no one jumping on this ship??? There’s literally 5 fics total on ao3 I’m not joking). I really enjoyed getting to dig into Midari’s characterization for this one, especially since I had such a tiny bit of canon to go off of and had to set it after the anime’s s1 developments. I got to write Yumeko being a dom and dropping her cheerful attitude too, which was really satisfying. Also while this doesn’t have full on snut in it, it was the closest I’d come at the time, so that was an interesting challenge. This was a rare chance to indulge in unhealthy ships too (bc literally every ship in that show is unhealthy on some level lmao) so that was entertaining to try and navigate.Capture the Fly with Nectar Sweet (The Ch/illing Adventures of Sabrin/a) : I just posted this one recently but I’m adding it anyways, because I had an absolute blast working on it. It’s so starkly different from anything I usually write, because you all know I love close friendships and found family and all that quality fluff and caring. But instead this one was me staring at my laptop thinking of how I want to tell this character to go to hell, except that would be pointless because that’s literally where she came from. I really got to stretch my wings outside my comfort zone and dig around in the dark, manipulative side for a while, and it was so much fun to study one of my favourite villains (anti-hero? she’s such a mysterious mess idk how to classify her) and her relationship with Sabrina. I also got to attempt writing desperation from the outsider’s perspective instead of the victim’s, and while I feel like I definitely still have room to improve with that, it was a nice break from the way I usually write my omo fics. I also got to shift around my writing style for this one, using words like ‘betwixt’ (which I love but never get to use lol) and using a bunch of metaphors and similes to showcase how Madam views Sabrina. This is probably the fic that makes it obvious that Language Arts was my favourite subject in school and that I’m Extra when it comes to predator/prey comparisons lmao. (Note: Please read the tags on this one, the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning applies here.)

I actually don’t know who else to send this to that I haven’t already, since like half the omo tag has vanished and I’m blanking on usernames, so if any of y'all are reading this post and you write fics: consider this me asking you to do it so I can hear about your fics! :D

[bunnerz-lalonde]

"Who are your OCs?"

Good question, nobody! Let me fill you in! They can easily be broken up into the following simple categories:

The Stealy Bois

No official name for this grouping, but it consists of:

Devlin Hoss, orphaned thief with a secret heart of gold. Wiry, irritable, surprisingly skilled thief, can't bring himself to cause harm to folks once he gets to know them. Has a nasty habit of getting to know his marks. Will absolutely go to prison to defend his adopted brother.

Winston Grimsley, aka Grom or Grommit. Nobody knows where the nickname came from, Hoss just started calling him that from day one. Dim, but sweet. Because of his lacking intelligence, he was deemed a burden by his family and sent to live with his grandmother. When she died, he ended up in an orphanage. This left him confused and angry as he struggled with the concept of death. Eventually, he got in a fight and ran away to avoid punishment. Ended up as a patsy for a few folks before meeting Hoss.

Skylar Finch, an all-around terrible person who can, will, and probably has robbed his own grandma. Has all of Hoss' skill with none of the scruples. Often taunts Hoss, but does get along well with Grom, which he in turn uses to aggravate Hoss even more. While Hoss and Grom barely scrape by and are constantly running, Finch lives in a mansion and bribes his way out of trouble all the time.

Laurent Manneux, right hand man of "Doctor" Barnaby Tennenbaum. Has zero interest in actual thievery, but he's a passable con man. Unfortunately, he's also a womanizing jackass who makes a habit of crossing powerful people. In particular, after getting caught with the daughter of a wealthy and totally legitimate businessman, he was forced to burn down his house, fake his death, and run away. Now goes by Lawrence, because he's handsome, not creative.

"Doctor" Barnaby Tennenbaum is a totally legitimate doctor who sells totally effective medicine. He uses Lawrence as both part of his show, for product testimonies, and also as an enforcer. Barnaby is utterly useless in a fight or as a mechanic, but Lawrence is skilled in both.

The Adventurers

Parties and solo folks, mostly made for D&D.

Tog, the last human in orc territory. Set out with his hammer, Ilsa, to destroy the orc tribes. Ended up catching the attention of dwarven cleric and orcish prisoner Bernard Greaves when his hammer turned the orc chief's skull into chunky ketchup.

Bernard Greaves, human-raised dwarven cleric. Doesn't know much about his family or heritage, so he set out to discover what he could about dwarves. Not a violent man by any means, but won't stop Tog from knocking a few skulls.

Shalira, an elvish druid cursed by her father. Her life was, until recently, endless torture. Her mind is broken, leaving her unable to truly process fear, sadness, or anger. Instead, she sees the best in everything and everyone at all times, even when there's nothing there to see. Has a tendency to cry without realizing it.

Gossamer, real name unknown. Shalira's half-sister. She is a competent rogue who joined the party to secure an escape after a bar fight went south. After spending time with Shalira, she became curious about why the elf acted the way she did. The two performed an elvish ritual, allowing her to experience several lifetimes of torture in an instant. She refuses to speak about what she saw, but is now consumed by the desire to find and murder her sister's father.

Maribeth Steelbelt, human artificer raised by a dwarf and a gnome, formerly bitter rivals. Despite being a human and thus shorter-lived than the curriculum would account for, she was allowed to attend the College of Artifice. Despite the school focusing on quality of life improvements, Maribeth was obsessed with warfare and weaponry. Her siege weapons showed promise, but the school worried her designs could fall into the wrong hands, so she set out to find a kingdom to sponsor her work instead.

Bak Zekir, the corrupted shell of a man whose desire to study arcana resulted in a near apocalypse. What he thought was an angel bound to a spellbook turned out to be a fragment of a manipulative demon prince. It drove him mad, eventually leading him to found a cult and perform mass sacrifice to make the demon whole again. Something else bound to the book used his weakened mind to convince him to build wards against the demon, binding it to the portal and buying him time to escape. He now seeks to banish the demon and redeem himself, but after a decade and a half as a murderous cult leader, he finds it difficult to be nice.

The Heroes of Breywind

King Archibald Godwynn VII, reigning monarch of Breywind. Fancies himself a king of the people, but is actually probably just an inept king. He constantly abandons his throne to join the front lines under the logic that his god wouldn't let him die. To be fair, he hasn't died yet.

Lewann Cross, knight of Breywind and one of Archibald's generals. He is missing a combined three and a half limbs. Lost his arms to a fight with a slime and his legs in combat. The arcane energy powering his armored prosthetics gives him the ability to cast magic without needing to spend years studying. Due to his impulsive nature, there is a demon trapped inside his mind.

Murdoch, a mysterious creature from across the sea. Nobody is certain where he came from, as he washed ashore with no memory of his past. He has taken Breywind as an adopted homeland and proven himself a faithful ally. He is also nearly immune to toxins and bleeds profusely when subjected to healing magic.

Elise Godwynn, the disowned princess and former heir to the throne of Breywind. Her behavior led her father to publicly disown her, although privately she is still recognized as a member of the royal family. After earning the title of hero, Archibald made use of her status as an excuse to call her to Godwynn Manor without raising suspicion that she may still be his successor. When her father abandons his position, she steps in to rule in his place as part of a council with Lewann and Murdoch.

The Flagbearers

Superheroes! There are a lot of these, so I'll try to keep it short.

Titanium (Original), a super soldier revived using experimental technology during WWI. Over time, he was upgraded until he was more machine than man. Use of Soviet technology turned him rogue in the 80's, where he became briefly known as Iron Fist.

Mister Bold, a propaganda tool turned hero during WWII. Possesses super strength, super speed, and near-invulnerability. Died in the 70's, "returned" briefly in the 90's when a man was hypnotised to think he was Mister Bold.

Shadow, the first openly gay superhero. He was the center of a lot of controversy, resulting in limitations to how many people can sit on the Flagbearers' council. In response, Titanium created a sub council for chapters of the Flagbearers, placing Shadow as the head of national affairs and granting him functionally the same powers as a member of the council. Died in the 80's, name was subsequently retired out of respect.

Vim & Vigor, a married couple consisting of a retired hero (Vim) and reformed villain (Vigor) who lobby for heroic reform, placing an emphasis on reforming villains rather than imprisoning them.

Moxie, a rightfully spiteful vigilante who only uses the name "Moxie" because newspapers named her that as a cutesy way of downplaying her achievements. She was one of the first female heroes, has turned down leadership of the Flagbearers twice, and disappeared without a trace when heroism became a government sanctioned thing. May have returned as a vigilante named Stiletto, but there's no proof.

Titanium (Current), following the retirement of Titanium, a student of Flagbearers Academy took the name, much to the general offense of everyone. He was allowed to keep it after proving himself a competent leader.

220, a super genius who mysteriously appeared in the Flagbearers' system one day among their hero records and was immediately accepted as a student at the Academy. Has since gone on to share leadership with Titanium.

Inkwell, easily the strongest hero in history. She possesses an ancient artifact, which molds itself to the will of its wielder. With it, she is able to bend reality to her will and do as she pleases. Each time she uses this power, she risks being sucked into a gap in reality where former wielders are compelled to battle for sole command over all of time and space. In other dimensions, however, this artifact has no power whatsoever.

Flyby (Original) and Flyby (Current) are basically the same, they're heroes on jetpacks, one just got old and retired.

[mysticdelphox97]

Never Say Goodbye: Chapter Two

It took about three days to write this chapter, but I managed to finish it! It's longer than the first one, and would've been much longer if I hadn't made some cuts and rearranged where I wanted certain events to take place.

I'm going to shoot for an update about once a week, especially since I'm going back to college for the spring semester, and I'll have less time to dedicate to writing this. My goal IS to complete this fanfic, however, so I'm definitely going to make some time to write whenever I can.

In the meantime, enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO

Mairin didn’t know what to expect as she unfolded the papers from the envelope. She couldn’t figure out why Alain would bother giving this to her, unless it was important. After everything that had happened at the bus stop, she had absolutely no reason to read the envelope’s contents like he would have wanted her to. But despite that, she still opened it.

And what she read nearly caused her heart to stop.

She combed through the words of the letter numerous times, mostly because she could hardly believe it. But the truth was written right there. A hand made its way to cover her mouth, a cry threatening to spill out.

This… this can’t be happening… she thought fearfully.

The last time Alain had left her, had cut off all his ties with the people he cared for, had purposely hurt her… was to protect the ones he loved. And he’d done that when… when…

Mairin’s chest tightened uncomfortably as she recalled what Cilan had said to her just before their meeting with Alain.

“Something may have happened to push him to do this.”

Oh, no. No. No no nononononononono—

Mairin wasted no time grabbing her cellphone and scrolling through her contacts until Cilan’s name showed up. She immediately pressed to call him and put the phone to her ear, waiting as it tried to connect to him. It didn’t take long for him to pick up.

“Mairin? It’s hardly been ten minutes, what’s wrong?” Cilan asked.

“C-Cilan,” Mairin stuttered. “I—it’s—it’s Alain—he’s—I think he’s—”

“Breathe, Mairin. Just breathe,” Cilan instructed her as soothingly as he could. Mairin nodded, swallowing before she focused on controlling her breathing. After a few seconds, she felt a bit calmer, but her worry was still prominent.

“How are you feeling?”

Mairin sighed. “I… I’m a bit better,” she responded.

“Good, that’s good. Now, try telling me again what it is you’re calling me about,” Cilan told her.

“Cilan, I… I think you need to come over. You need to see this for yourself,” Mairin explained. Her hand grasped her cellphone tightly, and she could feel her fingers turning cold. “Are… are you too busy, or…?”

There was a pause. She heard a small hum from Cilan’s end, and then the sound of typing before he finally replied. “I have no other meetings until late tonight, so I’ve got time to come. I should be there in… half an hour, perhaps? There’s just a bit of paperwork for me to look at, and then I’ll be all set.”

“Thank you, thank you so much Cilan. I’ll tell you everything once you’re over, I promise,” she said.

“It’s no trouble at all, Mairin. I’ll see you soon.”

A wave of relief washed over her as Cilan ended the call. She returned her phone to her pocket, and turned her attention back to Alain’s letter. She picked up the documents once more, shuffling through them to look for the bank account information that he had mentioned in the letter. She finally came upon it, and gave it a read. The account was in her name, and it had a considerable amount of money already in it. She didn’t know how Alain had gotten the money, but it was more than enough to support her and Faith.

Mairin stopped reading for a moment. She put the bank account papers down and picked up the letter once more, scanning it until she came to a certain spot.

I want you to know that I have never stopped loving you.

Her lips curled and trembled as a knot formed in the back of her throat. She reread that paragraph until hot tears left her vision blurry, and stained the pages in her hands.

Alain still loved her. He never stopped. The divorce, leaving them behind, giving up Faith… oh, why didn’t she see this sooner? Why did she even think that Alain had wanted this—had wanted any of this? Of course he wouldn’t have! He was probably suffering as much as she had been, and… there was absolutely no way he had gone through this willingly!

She had been wrong. Oh, Arceus, she had been so, so very wrong.

“Mommy?”

Mairin snapped her head back up and saw Faith standing by the doorway to her room, where Mairin was currently sitting on her bed. She hastily wiped her tear-stained cheeks, hoping that her daughter hadn’t seen her crying.

“Y-yes, honey?”

Faith said nothing as she walked across the room towards her mother. She stood in front of Mairin, looking at her face, then looking down at the papers she was still holding in her lap. Then, with Greninja-like reflexes, she swiped them out of her hands and started to read their contents.

“Faith, no!” Mairin panicked, getting up from the bed and reaching for the papers. Faith was much faster, however, and quickly dashed out of the room.

“Faith! Come back!” Mairin called as she sprinted after her daughter. Although Faith had gotten a head start, Mairin could still hear the sounds of her feet trampling on the floor.

Mairin ran through the hallway, glancing briefly into the kitchen for any signs of Faith before heading into the living room. The sliding glass door that connected the living room to the back patio was slightly ajar, meaning that Faith had slipped outside. Mairin pushed the door open more so she could get through, then shut it behind her. She took a few steps onto the deck, looking around the backyard for her daughter.

It didn’t take long for Mairin to find her. She saw Faith huddled against the small dogwood tree that resided at the corner of the fenced yard. Chespie and Bebe were crouched on either side of the young girl, who clutched the papers in her hands like Mairin had just a few moments ago.

With a solemn sigh, Mairin began to walk towards them. There wasn’t any need to run after her at this point; she knew that Faith would’ve read the letter in its entirety by now. Which also meant that Faith would have numerous questions for her.

Questions that Mairin did not have the answers to.

When Mairin finally reached her daughter, she could hear faint whimpers emitting from her, and tears were falling freely from her amber eyes. The sight of Faith so visibly upset pained Mairin greatly, like knives were being twisted into her chest. Chespie made room for his beloved trainer as she sat down besides Faith, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. Faith sniffled and leaned into her mother’s embrace, holding the letter close to her torso.

“I’m so sorry, Faith.” That was all Mairin managed to say before her voice began to crack on her.

Faith looked up at her with tearful eyes. “I-is Daddy really g-gone f-for-forever?” she asked.

Mairin swallowed in an attempt to remove the knot that was reforming in her throat. “I… I don’t know, honey…” she said.

“H-he wrote that he still loved you, Mommy… and—and he didn’t want to leave you at all! B-but… why did he leave? What—what happened to Daddy, Mommy?”

Mairin opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She looked away from the sad gaze of her daughter, with her own tears threatening to spill once more. What was she supposed to say? That she had no idea what was happening with Alain? Or should she try to reassure her that everything will be alright, that Alain will be perfectly fine? Mairin’s head was practically spinning, and she had no way to answer Faith.

Some mother she was.

Suddenly, she sensed movement behind her. Mairin snapped her head back up to see Chespie shuffling over so he was sitting behind her and Faith. In a single motion, he wrapped his arms around them and pulled them close. Bebe followed his actions by kneeling closer to Faith and placing her hands on her shoulders, cooing reassuringly as she did so. Chespie faced his trainer and nuzzled his cheek against hers as he rumbled comfortingly.

A small smile broke out on Mairin’s lips. She reached her free hand up to stroke her partner’s head, and Chespie leaned into her touch.

“Thanks, Chespie,” she said gratefully. The loyal Chesnaught grinned happily, knowing that he managed to cheer up his trainer, even just a little bit.

With that, Mairin turned her gaze back to Faith. The little girl stared at her mother, her eyes a bit puffy but no longer tearful. Mairin closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. She gathered Faith into her arms and settled her onto her lap, while she still clung to the now-wrinkled letter.

“Faith…” Mairin began to say. She was a little surprised with how calm she sounded right now, but nevertheless continued. “When Daddy left, I… I was confused, and sad. I didn’t know why he decided to leave, and it hurt to watch him go.”

Faith nodded. “I remember, Mommy. You were sad for a long time. I was sad, too. I didn’t want Daddy to go away,” she replied.

Mairin agreed with a melancholy hum. “But… even though Daddy and I were no longer together… I didn’t want to keep you away from him. I still wanted you to have him in your life.” She paused, taking another deep breath to keep herself calm. “But… hearing that he wasn’t spending much time with you… I thought he was letting his work take priority. That’s why I talked to him, to try harder to make time for you.

“When I found out he took you camping, I was… a bit mad, at first. I didn’t know where he was taking you, and I let the thought of losing you get the best of me. But… when I heard how much fun you had with him… I thought that maybe he had a change of heart.” Another pause. “…but he did it because… because it was the last time he’d get to be with you… and I thought he’d just given up.”

Mairin stopped there. She studied Faith, who was listening intently. Her eyes wandered down towards the letter in Faith’s little hands.

“But this letter…” Mairin resumed talking, pointing towards the papers, “if this letter proves anything… it’s that Daddy still cares very much about you… about us. The reason he left in the first place was to keep us safe. From what that might be… I don’t know exactly. But I do know that everything Daddy is doing is to protect us… because he still loves us.”

Faith was quiet, appearing to be processing everything Mairin had just told her. She wouldn’t be surprised if Faith still had questions—Mairin did tell her quite a lot, after all. Faith pulled the letter away from her chest, looking at it once more.

“…Daddy still loves us…” she repeated, her voice just above a whisper. Mairin couldn’t help but smile as she ran her fingers through Faith’s hair, which was the same dark color as Alain’s.

Upon this contact, Faith lifted her head up to look at her mother. “What’s gonna happen now, Mommy? What’s gonna happen to Daddy?” she asked.

Mairin removed her hand from her daughter’s head and placed it on her cheek. “Cilan’s coming over to take a look at the papers that Daddy left. We’ll figure out where to go from there,” she told her.

Faith beamed happily. She leaned forward, resting against Mairin and wrapping her arms around her. Mairin returned the embrace, holding Faith close.

“I love you, Mommy,” Faith said, her voice muffled by Mairin’s shirt.

“I love you too, honey,” Mairin replied, brushing a lock of Faith’s hair to the side and giving her a tender kiss on her forehead.

Chespie and Bebe made noises of contentment at the sight of their trainer and her child in better spirits. Not wanting to be left out, the Florges and Chesnaught joined them in an enormous hug. Faith and Mairin both laughed, and together, the four of them enjoyed a moment of mirth before breaking apart to head back inside for dinner.

Cilan came knocking on the door just as Mairin and Faith had finished eating supper. Mairin sent Faith to her room to play with Bebe and Chespie so she and Cilan could chat in private. As the two Pokémon led Faith away, Mairin showed Cilan to the kitchen.

“I just need to wash these dishes, and then we can talk,” Mairin told him as she began to fill the sink with warm, soapy water. “If you need something to drink, there should be some iced tea in the fridge.”

Cilan smiled warmly and thanked her as he helped himself to a glass of the cool drink. He seated himself to a stool at the kitchen island and pulled out a tablet from his leather satchel. After a few moments, Mairin finished washing the last of the dishes and placed them on the drying rack. She wiped her hands on a clean towel before dipping out of the kitchen briefly. When she returned, she had the envelope, the letter, and the bank account documents.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Mairin explained as she sat down in the other stool. She placed the papers next to Cilan’s tablet.

“Is this from Alain?” Cilan inquired as he pushed the tablet aside.

Mairin nodded. “I… I think it’s better if you read it first.”

Cilan merely hummed in response. He pulled out a glasses case from the satchel and opened it, revealing a pair of reading glasses. He slipped them onto his face before grabbing the letter gingerly, holding it in both hands as he began to read it.

Mairin fiddled with her hands nervously as she watched Cilan read the letter. There was an unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach, and it weighed heavy like a stone. She couldn’t identify any changes in his expression, but a little over halfway through the letter, she saw Cilan remove one of his hands from the paper and place his thumb and index finger across his chin.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Cilan let out a long exhale and put the letter down.

“…This has quite the disturbing flavor…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Mairin raised an eyebrow in confusion. “A disturbing… what?” she asked.

“It’s just an expression that Pokémon connoisseurs use sometimes,” Cilan clarified. Mairin still didn’t understand it exactly, but they had more important matters to worry about. “He mentioned something about a bank account in this letter… do you happen to have…?”

Mairin wordlessly passed the documents in question to him. He took them from her and carefully looked through their contents.

“Oh my,” Cilan commented once he had finished reading.

“What are you thinking?” Mairin asked cautiously.

“I’m thinking,” Cilan began, turning in the stool so he was facing Mairin, “that Alain wouldn’t have gone through all of this trouble if he didn’t believe you and Faith were in danger.”

It was one thing for Mairin to realize the meaning of Alain’s letter. But to hear Cilan confirm her fears… it was almost too much for her to take in.

Mairin leaned forward to rest her elbows on the marble surface of the kitchen island, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” she whimpered.

“Again?” Cilan narrowed his eyes, studying her. “You mean… he’s done this before?”

Mairin pulled her face away from her hands, lacing her fingers together and pressing her knuckles against her chin. She closed her eyes, remembering the events that transpired so many years ago.

“When I met Alain, he was working for a man. A man… named Lysandre,” Mairin recalled, grimacing at the mention of the former Team Flare boss. “Though, he was hardly a man and more of a monster, if you ask me.”

“Lysandre… that’s the same person responsible for the Kalos Crisis all those years ago, right?” Cilan asked.

Mairin nodded in confirmation. “Yes. But, Alain… nobody knew of Lysandre’s true intentions. As far as Alain knew, he was keeping the people he cared about safe by helping Lysandre with his research.” She groaned, rubbing her temples. “Lysandre was controlling Alain… he convinced him to distance himself from Professor Sycamore for the sake of protecting him… but it was all to isolate Alain, so he could continue to use him.

“And the things he had Alain do… he didn’t have any regards for his safely. For Xerneas’s sake, he had Alain and Charizard battle against two legendary Pokémon in their most powerful forms!” she exasperated, her hands slamming on the surface of the kitchen island. “And what did he have Alain go through after that? A gauntlet against ten mega evolution users, without stopping! All just to prove that he was strong enough!”

Mairin ended her rant, finding herself breathing rather heavily, and her skin was heated. Cilan said nothing, taking a moment to process the information.

“Do you think Lysandre is the cause of this?” Cilan questioned her.

Mairin sighed. “I don’t know… maybe he somehow survived from all those years ago, maybe it’s someone else this time,” she admitted. “But I know, I absolutely know that Alain is not doing this of his own free will,” she said. To herself, she added, “and I didn’t see it in time.”

Cilan placed a hand tenderly on her shoulder, a sympathetic look on his visage. “Mairin, please try not to blame yourself. He kept this well-hidden from you, prioritizing yours and Faith’s safety over his own,” he tried to reassure her. “Even if that meant enduring the pain of pushing you away.”

Mairin sniffled, grimacing as she felt the all-too familiar stinging in her eyes. She blinked several times, trying to keep the tears from falling. Cilan’s hand trailed down from her shoulder to her back, and rubbed small circles in an attempt to comfort her.

“I still don’t like how handled this, and the hurt he inflicted on you,” he remarked darkly, “and I hope you don’t plan on forgiving him so easily for this.”

“I know…” Mairin muttered.

“But… if he’s mixed up in something dangerous, then I cannot simply look the other way.”

A small gasp escaped Mairin’s lips as she jerked her head to face Cilan. “Y-you mean that? You’re gonna help him?”

Cilan said nothing as he pulled his tablet back towards him and turned it on. Using the detachable keyboard, he typed several keystrokes in order to find what he was looking for. Once he was satisfied, he turned the tablet slightly so Mairin could see what was displayed on the screen.

“This is Detective Emma Looker from the Looker Bureau in Lumiose City,” Cilan explained. He had pulled up the image of a woman with violet eyes, tanned skin, and dark hair that was tied back in a messy braid. “She was trained under Agent Looker from the international police, and usually tackles private investigation cases.”

Mairin looked from Emma’s picture to Cilan. “And you think she can help us?” she asked him.

“There is a high possibility that she can,” he agreed. “I’ll contact her about the situation and see where things go from there. I may also need a copy of the papers that were in the envelope for her to look at, in case she picks up on anything that we missed.”

Mairin nodded eagerly. “I have a scanner that I can use to make digital copies of them,” she told him. “I’ll scan them in and send them to you when I can.”

Cilan hummed approvingly. “Excellent. In the meantime, it’s best that you and Faith leave Kalos for a short time.”

Mairin furrowed her eyebrows. “Leave? Cilan, I can’t just leave! Not with Alain—” she retorted, but Cilan cut her off before she could continue.

“Mairin, Alain specifically stated in his letter that Kalos was no longer a safe place for you to be,” Cilan reminded her. “And you have a daughter to look out for now.”

Mairin opened her mouth to reply, but quickly shut it and frowned. Cilan was right, like he usually was. In different circumstances, Mairin wouldn’t have hesitated to track down Alain and bring him back. Hearing Faith’s laughter echoing from her bedroom brought her back to reality. She couldn’t afford to act on her own feelings, not while Faith needed her now more than ever.

“…Okay,” Mairin said after a brief moment of silence. “You’re right, Cilan. I have to put Faith’s wellbeing first.” She straightened her posture, a newfound determination lighting a fire in her eyes. “I’ll book a flight out of Kalos first thing tomorrow. Someplace where Faith will be safe.”

Cilan nodded with a smile. “Good thinking, Mairin. Do you have a particular place in mind? Perhaps where there’s people who could help you?”

Mairin pondered this. Did she know of a such a place…?

A grin formed on her lips. Ah, she did know a place. She and Alain had visited this region many years ago, when they first began their journey to look for Mega Stones. It was there that Mairin met a certain Champion, although he had retired from his position since then.

But if anyone could help them, it was that person.

“Yes, Cilan,” Mairin said with confidence. “I know the perfect place to go.”

END OF CHAPTER TWO.

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teasers: WASTE OF SPACE by Gina Damico

WASTE OF SPACE by Gina Damico is unlike any book you’ve ever read. It involves: an intern whistleblower, a government conspiracy, reality TV, NASA, and the 10 teenagers at the center of it all. Told in epistolary format—that means records, documents, journal entries, phone and video transcripts, and more—the book follows each angle of the story as the reader, and the teenagers, get closer and closer to the truth about what really happened behind the scenes of the viral hit TV show Waste of Space...and why the government tried to cover up the truth. 

You can read the first few chapters of WASTE OF SPACE below!

                                                   DV8

                                                   2375 Wilshire Boulevard

                                                   Los Angeles, CA 91523

 National Center for Missing & Exploited Children

Charles B. Wang International Children’s Building

699 Prince St.

Alexandria, VA 22314

May 7, 2017

 To Who It Might Concern:

 As per your request, enclosed are all relevant transcripts of recorded meetings, phone calls, email correspondence, raw video footage, edited-for-broadcast video footage, and confessional interviews used in the production (from development up until the glitch) of the reality television show Waste of Space. We apologize for the admittedly substandard quality of the transcripts; since you insisted on a rushed—some would say unreasonable—deadline, the task to type them up fell to an untrained intern who seems to have inserted personal commentary and conjecture in certain places. A more objective compilation is forthcoming.

 We hope these documents will help you guys with your investigation, though we would be remiss if we did not insist yet again that we officially disavow any responsibility for the incident currently under investigation. Waivers were signed. Parents were informed, or so we thought.

 This isn’t on us.

 Sincerely,

Chazz Young

CEO, DV8 Productions

Author’s Note

Untrained intern here.

       Shortly after my boss wrote the above letter, he instructed me to go down to the post office and mail it, along with the thick packet of documents that accompanied it. On the way, I was to ask his personal courier, Boris, to deliver to the office enough recreational drugs to “stop the heart of an elephant,” as the DV8 team was “super stressed.” Then it was suggested that, in honor of the people who were giving our company so much trouble, I stop by an Edible Arrangements store to buy a symbolic bouquet of “fruits with sticks up their asses.”

       I did none of those things. The packet was not mailed. Fruit was not purchased, sarcastically or otherwise. I spoke to Boris, but about a different matter altogether. Drugs were acquired—but only for me, and only in the form of caffeine. The decision to become a whistleblower is not an easy one, and faced with the daunting task of tearing into that packet of documents and learning things I could not unlearn, I needed a pot of freshly brewed courage.

       The account that follows is my attempt to ascertain what really happened in January and February of the year 2017—not what was reported in the news, not what was claimed afterward in the statements from all parties involved. The evidence I will present is composed of the files found in the aforementioned packet, plus several additional records unearthed over the course of my investigation (some of which were obtained through measures that were not, I admit, strictly legal). All documents are presented in their original states and are labeled with as much information as I could ascertain.

       The full body of evidence calls to mind a jigsaw puzzle at a yard sale—some pieces are missing, some are bent out of shape, and some don’t make sense unless one can see the full picture. The truth may be out there, but I doubt anyone will ever be able to irrefutably prove what it is. All I can hope for is that my version is the closest.

       Full disclaimer: Because I personally knew and/or met most of the witnesses, and as I was watching and listening from behind the scenes throughout many of the events described herein, it’s inevitable that some of my own judgments and criticisms will leak into this report. But I’ll do my best to keep my perspective to a minimum and to interpret the events in an unbiased manner. To that end, I will refrain from telling this story from my point of view, as it is not meant to be a tell-all. From this point forth I’ll let the evidence speak for itself.

       I am not the story here. I, like each of you, was only a helpless witness.

 When I accepted an internship at DV8, I knew it wasn’t going to lead to a Pulitzer. The network isn’t what you’d call “prestigious” or “groundbreaking” or “staffed by literate individuals,” but the road to a degree in journalism is fraught with despair, douchebags, and dead ends, and I was aware of and prepared for that. In today’s competitive job market (especially in an allegedly dying profession), I was ecstatic to land any internship at all. I vowed to throw myself into the inane, unending errands. I’d cheerfully fire off meaningless tweets, retweets, and “impactful hashtags.” I’d withstand indignities and humiliations galore, and after all that, I’d be on my way with six full credits and nary a look back at the eight months of hell I’d had to endure, all in the name of my education.

       But then came Waste of Space.

       And a different type of education presented itself.

         —An Intern

       July 11, 2017

***

Part I

Preproduction

Development

The year is 2017.

       Things aren’t looking good for the future of space exploration. Things aren’t looking good for the state of reality programming, either. It is at this intersection of earnestness and stupidity that the idea for Waste of Space is born.

       Naturally, it involves teenagers.

       And so it comes to pass that in the midst of a rare Los Angeles thunderstorm, a dozen shadowy figures meet in the small hours of the morning at a secret and nefarious location: the Denny’s off Wilshire Boulevard. They take up two tables, eight urns of coffee, and five carafes of orange juice. The astrophysicists wittily order Moons Over My Hammy. The television executives order nothing.

       The following meeting ensues.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Development meeting

Date: January 2, 2017

  [Note: Due to the difficulty in identifying multiple voices, most speakers have been labeled with their organizations rather than as individuals; this format will be employed in several instances throughout this report.]

     DV8: You’re okay with us recording this, right?

   NASAW: We don’t know what “this” is yet.

   Waiter: [off-mike] Who ordered extra hash browns?

   [thirty seconds of unintelligible chatter, rustling, sound of plates being placed on table and silverware clanging]

   DV8: All right. Now that you’ve got your breakfasts—

   NASAW: Aren’t you going to eat?

   DV8: We don’t have time to eat.

   NASAW: Not even a bagel?

   DV8: Especially not a bagel, Paleo doesn’t—forget it. Back to the matter at hand: our proposal. Chazz?

   [sound of a throat clearing, then a chair scraping across the floor as Chazz Young, CEO of DV8, stands up to address the group]

   Chazz: Ladies and gentlemen of science, I hate to break it to you, but astrophysics isn’t cool anymore. Sure, people embrace technology when it allows them to post photos of epic bacon-wrapped food items, but drag them into a planetarium and you’ll end up with desperate scratch marks on the walls. Funds have been cut, the man on the moon is several decades in the rearview mirror, and the youth of America continue to respond to the vast and impossibly boundless possibilities of outer space with an emphatic yawn.

   NASAW: What about Cosmic Crusades? Cosmic Crusades is cool.

   Chazz: Science fiction is cool. Science is not.

   NASAW: But—

   Chazz: Example: two different panels at Comic Con, one with the cast of a space movie franchise and one with genuine astronauts. Which do you think will be better attended?

   NASAW: [unintelligible grumbling]

   Chazz: Exactly. Likewise, we admit, people have grown bored with the repetitive nature of reality television. They can watch only so many bar fighters, spurned lovers, table flippers, bug eaters, bad singers, and cat hoarders before it all seems like stuff they’ve already seen before. The world is clamoring for something new! Otherwise they’ll have to turn off their devices and go read a book, and we simply can’t have that.

   NASAW: Books aren’t bad!

   Chazz: Books are the worst.

   NASAW: [unintelligible grumbling]

   Chazz: So. You need to drum up interest in the space program, and we need more eyes on more screens. Luckily, we’ve come up with a solution that we feel will be mutually beneficial to both of us.

   NASAW: And that is?

   Chazz: We want to take a bunch of teenagers and shoot them into space.

   [choking noises]

   Chazz: And put it on television.

   NASAW: That’s—er—not possible.

   Chazz: Why not?

   NASAW: Aside from reasons that should be apparent to anyone with a functioning brain stem, it’s a logistical nightmare. They’d need to undergo months of training and health assessments. You’d need a ship big enough to accommodate a cast, crew, equipment—

   Chazz: Oh, we’ll be faking it. The whole thing will be shot on a soundstage. You really think The Real Housewives of Atlantis was filmed at the bottom of the ocean? Please. Those women were so full of silicone they would have floated straight to the surface.

   NASAW: But we thought this would be a purely educational endeavor. Didn’t you say you were from PBS?

   Chazz: Yes! We lied. We’re from DV8.

   NASAW: DV .º.º. 8?

   Chazz: It’s a cable television network with several blocks of programming across multiple platforms, including streaming services, our own website, and every social media outlet there is. We’d like to cram all of them full of this.

   [sound of coffee urns shakily hitting the rims of coffee mugs]

   Chazz: Which is why we need you! Our first choice was obviously NASA, but they not so politely declined. So the low-rent version of NASA it is!

   NASAW: I beg your pardon. We are the National Association for the Study of Astronomy and Weightlessness. We are not some piddling little administration—

   Chazz: Which is exactly why we’d like you to be consultants. We’ll take care of the casting, the production, everything on that end. You, meanwhile, design a convincing space plane—

   NASAW: [overlapping] Spaceship.

   Chazz: —you tell us what all the rumbles and beeps and boops are supposed to sound like, and we’ll bring in the best special effects team money can buy.

   NASAW: But won’t this seem like one big joke? With all due respect to your special effects, not even the major Hollywood movies can get it a hundred percent right. It’s going to look silly.

   Chazz: People believe what they want to believe. Remember America’s Next Top Murderer? Viewers thought that victims were actually being picked off by a serial killer. The network had to start airing a disclaimer before each episode,saying, “No one’s really dying, you morons.”

   NASAW: Are you serious?

   Chazz: Well, I’m paraphrasing.

   NASAW: I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. It just doesn’t seem necessary. We’ve got a bunch of new initiatives in the works—

   Chazz: Snore. Yawn. Coma. Let’s be real. Space is passé, and everyone knows it. But you still need a new generation to carry on that galaxy research gobbledygook, or your life’s work will be nothing more than a sham, right? [hearty laughter] So let’s get them excited. Let’s take a bunch of young, gullible, energetic, absurdly good-looking teenagers, stuff them into a space plane—

   NASAW: [overlapping] Spaceship.

   Chazz: —give them some bullshit training, and tell them they’ll be the first ones ever to set foot on Jupiter!

   NASAW: You can’t set foot on Jupiter. Jupiter is a gas giant.

   Chazz: You’re a gas giant! [sound of high-fiving] That’s what they’ll say. That’s what the kids will say. Comedy gold like that.

   NASAW: But—

   Chazz: Point is, this’ll get the youth of America high on space again. Audiences will watch those beautiful idiots floating out there in zero G and want to be just like them. They’ll buy space suits. They’ll buy that astronaut ice cream that tastes and looks and feels like Styrofoam. The merchandising possibilities alone are astronomical. Pun intended! [sound of more high-fives]

   NASAW: Now, you listen here. I’ve raised teenagers, and if there’s one thing I can tell you about them, it’s that they do nothing but talk. All day long. On the phone, on the computer, to themselves. How do you expect to get a group of high schoolers in on a secret like this and not blab thirty seconds later about how lame and fake it is?

   Chazz: Easy. We tell them it’s real.

   [pause]

   NASAW: You want to trick a group of kids into thinking that they’re actually being launched into space?

   Chazz: Yes.

   NASAW: You want them to think that they’re actually being torn away from their friends and family for months, undertaking a dangerous mission from which they actually might not return?

   Chazz: Yes. Drama.

   NASAW: But isn’t that cruel?

   Chazz: “Cruel” is such a subjective word .º.º.

   NASAW: Not in this case! The entire proposition is morally questionable! I’m sorry, but we—we can’t sign on to do something like this.

   Chazz: Fine. Continue your recruiting efforts in the same way you have been. How’s that going for you?

   [silence]

   Chazz: Envision with us, for a moment: Plucky kids. Touching backstories. Plaintive piano music. They first set foot in the space plane. Their eyes light up. Our intrepit explorers are—

   NASAW: Intrepid.

   Chazz: Huh?

   NASAW: The word you’re attempting to use is “intrepid.”

   Chazz: Pretty sure it’s intrepit. Anyway, the mission commences. Lifelong friendships are formed. Bitter fights erupt. Maybe a slap or two. A slap in zero gravity—that’s never been done before! [sound of a pen scribbling in a notebook] Every eye in America will tune in to check on their new cosmic sweethearts. We’ll edit it down to a half hour each week, plus a live segment tacked on at the end of the show so the cast can wave to their furiously jealous friends in real time. We’ll air it online, too. Live stream, 24/7. Shove it into viewers’ faces until they can’t help but get swept up into it. And before you know it, their impressionable young minds will be putty in your hands. They’ll sign up in droves to join the Cosmic Crusades!

   NASAW: That is a fictional movie featuring fictional space heroes.

   Chazz: All the more reason to bolster their ranks! Point is, once this show airs, you’ll have an entire generation of walking, talking, floating space zombies begging to be a part of it, ready to do your bidding.

   [sound of chairs scraping]

   Chazz: We’ll give you some privacy to discuss.

   [rustling]

   NASAW #1: Has it really come to this?

   NASAW #2: The worst part is, they’re right. We’ve tried so hard, reached out as much as we can, but we still haven’t connected with the voice of today’s youth. These .º.º. people, horrible as they are, do have the kids’ attention.

   NASAW #3: It pisses me off! Sitting here across from these plastic, vapid nincompoops, having to listen to this claptrap. We’re scientists, for Galileo’s sake! People should be looking to us as golden gods of knowledge, worshiping us for our big brains and thick glasses! Why can’t anyone see that?

   NASAW #4: I don’t know. But something has to be done. Something drastic.

   [commotion]

   Chazz: All right, time’s up. What do you say, nerds?

   [long pause]

   NASAW: [dejected] When do we get started?

   Chazz: Casting begins next week!

Casting

Despite the assumed glamour of it all, the logistics of organizing a nationwide audition are tedious, daunting, and involve more screaming fits than one might think. Hundreds of phone calls, emails, contracts, and location deposits go into the organization of the Waste of Space Star Search (pun intended!), and within one breakneck week, all necessary casting and administrative personnel are marshaled and five lucky shopping malls across America are chosen as casting locations.

       Thousands of teenagers show up. Each is photographed, given an applicant number, and paraded before a panel of network representatives. Those deemed attractive enough are admitted through to the interview phase, where casting directors interrogate them on the spot.

       Not a single interview is recorded. DV8’s casting procedures are unconventional at best and impulsive at worst; this is by design, as will be described in the pages ahead. But this particular lack of content may be for the best. Many applicants are desperate, depressed, lonely, and/or starving for attention, the sorts of kids for whom the opportunity to be shot into space would be an improvement in their lives rather than a calamity. The fact that their audition interviews will never see the light of day will be, for many of the applicants in the years to come, a blessing in disguise.

       Besides, the evidence that’s left is, in some ways, far more enlightening.

 ***

The following is a small compendium of documents featuring the applicants hat are eventually chosen as cast members on Waste of Space. Not all final cast members are represented in this selection, and not all documents are particularly relevant to the troubles that befall the show, but they are provided here to offer a bit of insight into the curious mindsets of those who would endeavor to audition for this particular reality program in the first place.

Item: Email

From: jamarkuscurbeam@gmail.com

To: a.evans@mit.edu

Date: December 18, 2016

     Dear Mr. Evans,

   You probably don’t remember me, but we met last month at the “Leaders of Tomorrow” luncheon. I’m the one who lost out on the scholarship. No hard feelings, though! For the chair of the MIT Aerospace Engineering program to take note of my academic achievements and flight simulation skills and even go so far as to label me a “future astronaut”—that was reward enough. I am humbled and honored to have met you, and your vote of confidence means more to me than you can ever know.

   Thank you again for your consideration. I hope our paths cross again one day—in space!

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phone voicemail

Date Recorded: January 12, 2017

 Hey Uncle Turd,

   It’s me again. I know you think you can keep blowing me off, but guess what? Circumstances have changed. I think you’ll want to pay attention to me this time.

   But first, let’s talk about how you declined to cast me last summer in Pantsing with the Stars—an egregious oversight, I think it’s now clear. I wept for the unwatchable drivel that you doomed yourself to produce without my tour de force personality in the mix. I can only assume that your foul, idiotic casting directors were felled by the brain-altering effects of a chlamydia outbreak. How else to explain their insistence on my absence? My appeal is boundless. My charisma is unmatched. My pores are impeccable.

   And my middle finger is extended in their direction.

   But you’ve got a chance to make it up to me. I heard about your new show. I want in.

   And this time, I think you want me in too. Would be a shame if that video of you and Mom were to end up in Dad’s inbox.

   Tell me when and where I should show up. Peace OUT.

Item: Post on Cosmic Crusades online forum

Username: LadyBalwayGalway

Posted: January 6, 2017

   [excerpt from page 3 of 5]

   .º.º. and if you freeze the frame at exactly eighty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, you can see that the gamma-ray missile that Fekawa Gooe sets up is NOT in fact aimed at the Intragalactic Senate, in fact it’s cocked at an angle of 52.6 degrees, which would in fact point it directly at Lord Balway Galway, WHO, if you’ll RECALL, stated during the Transnebula Peace Talks that his home planet of Gavinjia was sure to escape the conflict unscathed, so OBVIOUSLY the bombing mission was intended as a wake-up call to prove him wrong and send a TELEKINETIC message that .º.º.

Item: Online video

Username: the_entropy_within

Posted: January 8, 2017

   [IMAGE: hands strumming a mandolin while words are spoken over the tuneless chords]

   looking up at the sky /

   and a thought floats by /

   what if the galaxy /

   is just a strawberry /

   and all the stars we see /

   are only flecks of seeds /

   that get stuck in your teeth /

   and increase carbon emissions /

   and line the pockets of corporate America

Item: Social media account

Username: @BacardiParti

     [collection of more than 2,000 photos, half of which are unprintable because they are blurry, the other half of which are unprintable because they feature underage nudity]

 Informative as these documents are, there are two cast members in particular who warrant closer attention. They will emerge as the most crucial players in this chronicle for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that they personally provide a substantial volume of information about what occurs during production—both of them by way of personal video diary entries, also known in reality television parlance as “confessionals.” A small window into their pre-shooting mental states is provided in the following two documents.

       (It’s also worth pointing out that both cast members choose to express themselves in the form of dispatches to their parents—symbolically in one case, and literally in the other. This is nothing more than a coincidence, but as their body of work will come to show, the bond between children and their absent parents is a complicated one, to put it mildly.)

       The first is a clip from Nico’s personal GoPro video camera. Nico rarely captures himself in the frame of these videos; rather, he uses his words as a soundtrack for the often mundane images he is recording, which are mostly of wherever he happens to be at the time.

Item: Transcript of video recording

Source: Nico’s camera

Battery charge: 100%

Date: January 14, 2017

   [IMAGE: Nondescript room. From the angle of the camera, it seems that Nico is seated at a large table at the center.]

   Nico: [voiceover] Hi Mom. Hi Dad.

   Um.

   I did something stupid.

   [The camera pans downward under the table, now pointing at his feet. They are rested on a skateboard, which he rolls back and forth.]

   I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know how I did it. A lot of systems had to come together to make it happen. My legs had to push me here, my mouth had to say things, my eyes had to make contact with other eyes, my brain had to formulate thoughts, my hamster-size soul had to blow up to ten times its size and pretend to be a lion. And I can honestly say I don’t know how all those things worked in tandem to do what I did.

   I auditioned for a reality show.

   [pause]

   Shit.

   Saying it out loud makes me feel like throwing up.

   [Nico gets up from the chair. Camera pans to window and holds steady on people walking down the sidewalk—a couple, then a woman pushing a stroller, then two men smoking cigarettes.]

   It was like .º.º. like I couldn’t help myself. I’d heard that they were holding auditions at the Queens Center mall, so I told Diego that I was going there to see a movie with some friends—which he didn’t buy, by the way. “What’s wrong with movie theaters in the Bronx? Since when do you have friends in Queens? Why ride the subway for an hour for no reason? Are you out of your mind?”

   All fair questions. Especially that last one.

   But it was the weekend, and I pointed out that I can do whatever I want with my free time, and he washed his hands of me like he always does, so I went. Just to watch. Just to film the people in line. Figured they’d be an interesting crowd. When I got there, I saw the DV8 banner hanging across the entrance, and I thought, obviously I would never audition, obviously that is something for the otherninety-nine percent of the teenage population to embarrass themselves with, but when I went inside .º.º. I got in line.

   Okay, in my defense:

   You know how rough I’ve had it.

   You know how miserable I’ve been.

   (I know you don’t really know. But let’s pretend that you actually watch these videos. That for the past couple of years I have not been pouring the contents of my heart into a digital cache that I’d rather chuck under the B train than let anyone see. Let us pretend that the phrase “pathetic delusion” does not figure into any of this.

   Because the thought of college feels like a five-ton block of concrete pressing on my back, and the thought of getting a job instead feels like the floor is rushing up to squish me against the ceiling. Like I’m trapped in a dungeon in a video game, with all these moving contraptions of torture trying to flatten me into a splat of pixels. Like no matter what I do, the future is going to crush me.

   I wish you were still here. Diego’s all right, but legal guardian-slash-older brother is not the same as parent. And I don’t know why I thought that this show was the answer, but it was something different, a change, an honest-to-God decision in a haze of fuzzy, unknowable .º.º.)

   [Camera pans away from window and focuses on a pair of vending machines in the corner of the room.]

   Anyway. Back to the mall.

   The line was so long, it wrapped all the way past the escalators and ended near Macy’s. I thought, obviously I’m not going to give them my name, obviously I’m not going to forge Diego’s signature on the waiver, obviously I’m not going to stand in that ridiculous line—

   But the line moved fast, and before I could change my mind, my name was called. They brought me into a vacant store where they had set up screens to make little cubicles, like the kind they use in blood drives. There was a cameraman and an interviewer, a woman with a blouse that was cut so low I could see her bra.

   (Sorry for that detail, Mom, but I couldn’t not notice. It was staring me in the face, and I’m a healthy adolescent boy.)

   (Dad, it was bright turquoise with little rhinestones. You get what I’m saying.)

   She asked me all sorts of awful questions, and I answered them. Told her my age, where I’m from, that I’m into skateboarding and shooting videos. To be honest, I don’t remember most of what I said, because it all went by so fast, and she kept nodding, so I kept talking—and also, you know, the bra. All I remember is that her face lit up like Yankee Stadium when I told her you were dead, and after that, it all felt like a done deal. That’s when the dread started, the feeling that this might actually happen. Like I’d stepped into a pool of sticky tar and it wasn’t going to let me go.

   I mean that literally. They wouldn’t let me go.

   They brought me into this break room, told me to wait, and closed the door.

   [Camera pans to door handle. Hand reaches out to jiggle it.]

   Locked.

   They ducked their heads in about fifteen minutes ago and said that it shouldn’t be much longer, they’ll be reaching a decision soon.

   Shit. Shit shit.

   I mean, even if I do get cast, it’s not like I have no choice in the matter, right?

   Obviously I can say no.

   Obviously I’m not going to do it.

 The final pre-taping document is another video, this time featuring cast member Titania. She is in a public restroom, aiming her phone camera at the mirror. She looks straight into the lens.

Item: Transcript of video recording

Source: Titania’s cell phone

Date: January 15, 2017

     Titania: Remember Trackleton’s Guide to the Big Outdoors?

   Cute little picture book that you bought for three ninety-nine at the ranger’s station. The pages were held together with a plastic coil. It had maps of Washington’s hiking regions. And it followed Trackleton, that charming, bearded outdoorsman, as he went on adventures.

   His catchphrase was “Keep moving. Keep exploring.” Advice so good it became our family motto.

   You read it every time we went camping, which added up to a lot of readings over the years. We used to snuggle into our sleeping bags, and you would read it aloud to us by the lantern light, as little black specks of bugs giving a shadow puppet performance against the walls of our tent.

   [Titania’s reflection smiles.]

   We loved that book. Patrick liked the colorful maps. Nathan liked to chew on the coil. Lily made up songs to go along with the words—remember how you used to tell her to sing quietly so the rest of us could still hear you read? As if that girl would ever stop singing.

   [Her smile fades.]

   I’ve been thinking a lot about that book lately. About Trackleton’s cheery optimism and can-do attitude. I hadn’t for years, not since it slipped out of Dad’s pack during the hike through the Columbia River Gorge. But after our last trip—the trip—it all came rushing back to me. I can’t get it out of my head. And I finally realized why.

   It had only two rules: Keep moving. Keep exploring. Hard and fast, with no room for error. Don’t overthink them, don’t second-guess them, and everything will work out.

   But life isn’t like that at all. Keep moving, and maybe you’ll succeed. Or not. Keep exploring, and maybe you’ll be happy. Or not. Do both, and they could lead to the best possible outcome.

   Or do both, and they could ruin everything.

   Keep moving, keep exploring.

   I’d always thought it was good advice. The best advice.

   But I’m not so sure anymore.

 The applicants are impressive enough to warrant this response from Chazz Young, the CEO of DV8, delivered via an all-staff conference call.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phoneDate: January 16, 2017

   Chazz Young: Hey guys! Chazz here.

   So I’d like to bring the entire DV8 family up to speed on our new project. As mentioned at the companywide meeting last week, this project is going to be groundbreaking. It’s going to break, like, every ground that’s been put there since television started.

   So over the past week we’ve been holding casting sessions in cities around the country, and—hang on a sec, before I go any further, we all need to give up some mad, mad props to the publicity department. Thanks to your commercials, press releases, and social media efforts, over ten thousand kids came out to audition! That’s a lot of hormones to shoot into orbit!

   So as usual, we’re implementing the classic smash-and-grab casting technique our network has become famous for. Any of you out there who are new to the DV8 family, allow me to elaborate on our patented selection process. Back when we were a tiny fledgling network that didn’t know any better, we dragged out the audition process for weeks. We left no stones unturned, no cell phones untapped. We were thoroughly exhaustive in our attempts to pinpoint what potential castmates might do to one another.

   But let us recall the season four finale of Alaskan Sex Igloo. We had thought, based on Saffron’s tendency to fly off the handle and start stabbing things, that she would break one of the icicles off the ceiling and use it to stab Khaleesi. We spent all season leading up to it, right? With foreboding music? And tasteful close-ups of the icicles? And Saffron’s confessional, where she talked about “getting her stab on”? It’s why we cast her. But for all of our efforts, look what happened—she and Khaleesi hugged and cried and shared a snow cone. With Jared. Jared was the one who was supposed to be so lonely and ignored that he left the safety of the igloo to seek the loving embrace of a grizzly bear!

   But the bears never came. And no one got stabbed.

   From that point forward, we decided to take a more hands-off approach. Now, rather than have the whittled-down pool of applicants come in for a final round of casting, we simply go with our gut reactions and finalize the cast based on their original, uncut interviews. In fact, we whisk them directly out of the auditions as soon as their parents or guardians sign the waiver! (Reminder to all employees: any questions from the press that contain the word “kidnapping” should be forwarded straight to the PR department.) And so we are proud to announce that we have already chosen the final ten cast members—only one week after auditions!

   We’ve still applied the standard network reality casting percentages: fifty percent male, fifty percent female; sixty percent white, thirty percent ethnic, ten percent undetermined; balanced dispersal of ages from fourteen to eighteen; plus the four Golden Tokens: gay, foreigner, disabled, and orphan. And as per usual, we’ll be throwing all sorts of plot bombs and crazy situations at the poor bastards—with the new added twist of a live segment at the end of each episode.

   Of course, we’ll still leave some things up to chance. Fifteen percent of the editing will be done on the fly, based solely on the relationships and developments that we’ll be monitoring closely over the course of each week. Who knows how it’ll unfold? Who knows where it’ll lead? Who knows what those hyperactive, questionably sane caricatures will throw at us?

   I do: Drama.

 A brief word about Chazz Young, CEO of DV8, walking innuendo, and overall trash barge of a human being.

       The word that pops up most often when people attempt to describe Chazz is “exceedingly.” He is exceedingly tanned. His teeth are exceedingly white. He is exceedingly self-centered, as evidenced by his initiative to move the human resources department to the basement of DV8 headquarters so his twin puggles could have their own corner office. He is exceedingly arrogant, treating everyone involved in his television productions—cast members, crew, staff, and, yes, interns—as insignificant specks who exist solely to make his star shine more brightly. And he is exceedingly cocky, given the fact that he unilaterally declared himself to be the best candidate for on-air talent. Plenty of talented hosts have presented themselves to DV8 over the years, and although a lucky few manage to grab a sliver of airtime now and then, it’s Chazz’s vinyl face that you’re most likely to see whenever you tune in. Especially when it comes to something as high-profile as Waste of Space.

       Which calls to mind another of Chazz’s qualities: he is exceedingly lazy. He thought that Waste of Space was going to be a home run no matter what, and that all he had to do was plug in the numbers to a tried-and-true formula that hadn’t failed him yet. But when someone as oblivious as Chazz Young stops seeing people as human beings, he might also stop noticing other details. Smaller details.

       Important details.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phone

Date: January 9, 2017

 Chazz: You nerds there? Ready to get this conference call party started?

   NASAW: We’re here.

   Chazz: Great. So let’s—[doorbell rings in background] oh, hang on a sec, everyone. Rock climbing wall delivery.

   NASAW: You have your own rock climbing wall?

   Chazz: Two rock climbing walls. LA’s an earthquake town, it’s important to always have a backup—listen, just talk amongst yourselves for a few minutes. I'll be right back.

       [beat]

NASAW #1: I can’t believe we agreed to this. [sound of papers sifting] These people are certifiable.

   NASAW #2: And irresponsible.

   NASAW #3: Don’t forget soulless.

   NASAW #4: [sighing] Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We signed the papers. We’re in this whether we like it or not.

   NASAW #2: But look at these emails! They are hurling money at this thing. We’ve been trying to get this sort of funding from the government for years and received nothing—because apparently the money’s all wrapped up in television! I called to double-check the budget because I figured it couldn’t possibly be correct, but it is. The girl on the phone offered to throw in an extra million just because I asked how her day was going!

   NASAW #4: How do they have so much money? They’re a television network!

   NASAW #2: Two words: Chazz Young. I did some research on this guy. Got rich off his daddy’s trust fund, then used it to buy a struggling sports channel. He did an extensive overhaul, switched all its programming to trashy reality television, bumped up its online presence, and installed his own in-house production company to develop his own projects.

   NASAW #4: What does that mean?

   NASAW #2: It means that whenever a ridiculous idea pops into Chazz Young’s mind, he has the unlimited budget and power to make it into a show, air it on television, and spread it all over the internet, just like that.

   NASAW #3: Let me see those figures. [sound of coffee being spit across the table] Jesus Christ! We could buy a brand-new shuttle for that kind of money! Plus fuel!

   NASAW #4: I say we round up the lot of these dolts and send them into space.

   NASAW #2: And I quote: “We will spare no expense on the visuals. None whatsoever.” They’re teaming up with a company called ImmerseFX—it makes video games or virtual reality or theme park rides, I don’t know what the heck it is—to handle the special effects. Which we’re supposed to keep quiet about, by the way, since they’re trying to pass this thing off as real.

   NASAW #4: Psfff. Good luck.

   NASAW #2: They’ve reserved the largest soundstage in the New Mexico desert, and they’re handing it over to us, keys and all. “Build a space plane inside!” they said. “Bounce it up and down! Make as much noise as you want!” The effects people will be out here for a few days to build the thing based on our designs—then after that, it’s up to us. All for the purpose of torturing these poor kids with ridiculous pre-written plot points—

   NASAW #3: Pre-written? I thought this was a reality show.

   NASAW #2: Ha! Reality, my ass. The only thing that’s real is the team of video editors they’ve got on call, ready to craft it into whatever they need it to be while we get to sit around with our thumbs up our posteriors, shaking a tin can with of a bunch of spoiled little fame whores sealed inside.

   NASAW #4: But there’s a host onboard with them, right? Some form of adult supervision?

   NASAW #2: Nope! [slightly hysterical laughter] The network people aren’t even going to be on set! They said they’d, quote, “rather be shot into the sun than spend three months in that shithole of a desert,” so they’ll be monitoring everything via live feeds, safe and cool in their air-conditioned offices in Los Angeles, and sending us their instructions. Instructions that, I might add, would be hilarious if they weren’t so blisteringly idiotic.

   NASAW #4: [papers sifting] “Week number one: Asteroid Attack. Will require impacts against the walls of the space plane. Week number two: Spinning Out of Control. Will require a rotating video animation to be displayed in the space plane’s window.”

   NASAW #2: And there’ll be more where that came from! The cameras onboard the ship will record six hours at a time, upload the video files to the main server we’ll have on-site, then automatically wipe the memory cards and begin recording again. It’s a process that can sustain itself indefinitely without any manual upkeep, which frees up even more time for them to dream up even more foolishness. And then there’s the list—the twenty-three-point list!—of consultants who are only a phone call away should we wish to contact them. Industrial Light and Magic, Pixar, a charter helicopter company, the Jim Henson workshop—

   NASAW #3: Are you kidding me? Puppets? Do they want aliens?

   NASAW #2: They might! They might want aliens!

   NASAW #1: Enough. [sound of a coffee mug pounding the table] There is a clear path through all this.

   NASAW #2: Yeah, right through to the unemployment office. Better get in line.

   NASAW #1: You’re looking at this from the wrong angle. What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is an opportunity. A golden opportunity.

   [pause]

   NASAW #2: What are you proposing?

   [sound of coffee being poured]

   NASAW #1: We make their spaceship.

   [sip]

   NASAW #1: We make their show.

   [sip]

       NASAW #1: And then we make history.

                                                      ***

WASTE OF SPACE is available on 7/11, but if you liked this teaser, pre-order it today by clicking the links below!

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

[keywordssearchtooluibg463-blog]

Increase Your SEO With Good Key Phrase Research

Cambridge SEO https://t.co/e4jB7X9zjT

— Iexus Professional Network (@iexus_network) February 7, 2018" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen>

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[holidaysat221b]

2017′s Halloween at 221b - A Sherlolly Celebration Master List

To help get you in the Fall/Halloween spirit, here are all the submissions we received during the 2017 Halloween Fest.  Please give them another look, leave a comment or a kudo (or both!), and show a little love to the creators who took the time to participate in 2017.

We’ve listed where the works are archived, mult-chapter or not, complete or not, and rating.  In progress fics are marked in bold as a reminder for a mod to periodically check for updates.  Tumblr accounts have been tagged where possible, some could only be linked to, and some are completely unknown to the mods.  As always, the complete Master List for all years can be found here.

All Hallow’s Eve 1896 - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock Holmes begrudgingly attends John and Mary’s annual Halloween party for the first time, but he is immediately enchanted by Mary’s cousin, Miss Margaret Hooper.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Alone -  Created by @cumbercougars   (On Tumblr, Complete)

Bite Me - Written by @willsherjohnkhan Sherlock is prepared to do anything to help Molly with her current predicament…This is my contribution to Sherlolly Halloween at 221B 2017 Challenge. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Blood Born - Written by @mizjoely “Vampires that couldn’t control their bloodlust are to blame,” Molly argued. “They’re the ones who didn’t care if they killed the humans they fed from or not. They’re the ones who didn’t notice when those humans didn’t stay dead. They’re the ones who killed so many people in such a short period of time that the contamination spread too quickly to contain.”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

Deep Down Below - Written by @hobbitsdoitbetter In the aftermath of The Sherrinford Incident, Sherlock Holmes has slowly put himself back together; he has his friends, his family and his Molly, with whom he’s expecting a new arrival. But the past is not so easily left behind, and happiness not so easy to justify. The nearer Molly’s due date comes, the more Sherlock starts to feel as if something dark is dogging his path… Post Season 4  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated T)

Don’t Be Scared, I’ve Got Your Back -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Foggy Night in London - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock and Molly spend Halloween night together at 221B…what could possibly go wrong? Post-TFP.   (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

From Her to Eternity - Written by @thehiddenlawyer Molly Hooper has been feeling strange lately, and when she’s plagued by visions of dark figures watching her through the shadows, she wonders whether she’s losing her mind, or if something sinister is haunting her.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated E)

From Thy Own Lip - Written by @forthegenuine In the autumn of 1808, Sherlock Holmes–known to many as the world’s only consulting detective–caused a stir when he announced that he had taken up the profession of a magician. Regency AU. Written for Halloween at 221B.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Costume for Rosie - Written by @katfevre BBC Sherlock Trick-or-Treat Halloween Gift Exchange Prompt:  John, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs.Hudson are all trying to come up with a Halloween costume idea for little Rosamund Watson. It starts out as just brainstorming, but quickly becomes competitive. What does Baby (or toddler? or kid?) Watson end up dressed as? and who had the final say? (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Edit -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

A Halloween Party Edit -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo  (On Tumblr, Complete)

History Repeats Until Stopped - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) When Merlin tells Sherlock and Molly that another one of his descendants is living in a village under a curse and could be in danger, Sherlock and Molly go to the shore to try and break the curse and change history from here forward.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 parts, Rated T)

How the Ghosts Stole Halloween -  Written by @sundance201 Sherlock and Molly go searching for a serial killer on Halloween. Or go ghost hunting. It depends on who you ask.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated M)

In the Blood - Written by @darnedchild Some secrets are better left buried. Especially in the Holmes family.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated M)

Magic in the Moonlight - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) Every year since they began uni, Sherlock and Molly have gone to the university’s Monster Ball and competed in the couples costume contest, as friends. But this year it’s different. Molly has a boyfriend and Sherlock is jealous. Still…there might be a little magic in the moonlight at the Monster Ball for Sherlock and Molly, if they’re lucky. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 4 Parts, Rated G)

Missed Connections - Written by @katerbees Three years of Halloweens following Sherlock and Molly throughout the series.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Molly Hooper - (Assistant) Reanimator - Written by @darnedchild Sherlock Holmes learns the shocking secrets of Molly Hooper’s past.  *Cue dramatic music and an evil laugh*   With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft - A modern retelling of Herbert West - Reanimator.  Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 Parts, Rated T)

Mummy Troubles -  Written by @katerbees Sherlock enlists his favorite pathologist for a case in Egypt. What could possibly await them!!?  (On Ao3 Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated M)

Perish the Thought - Written by osmia_avosetta (Tumblr unknown) (Removed By Author)

Pumpkin Carvings and the Wolf  - Written by LadySolitaire83 @ladysolitaire Sherlock carves something on a pumpkin that shocks and worries Molly. In which Molly is a werewolf, and Sherlock doesn’t know about it… yet. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Pumpkin Faces -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Only Lovers - Written by phoebe_snow (@greenfleeze) Molly realises just how deeply Sherlock loves her. (Includes a link to cover art created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo)  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Rapture -  Created by @cumbercougars  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served (Magically) Cold - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) For some time now Sherlock has suspected Molly of sleepwalking. But when Lestrade calls him with a case that involves a vampire victim one evening when Molly appears to have been out, he starts to wonder if her sleepwalking may be having homicidal effects. But there is more to the whole story than it seems…  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 6 parts, Rated T)

The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - Written by ‘P’ (and posted by @lilsherlockian1975) For those of you who don’t know, my youngest son likes to write Sherlolly stories. This is his contribution to the Halloween celebration.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

An illustration for The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - The artwork was commissioned by @mizjoely, drawn by @o0katiekins0o, and submitted by @lilsherlockian1975 to be included in Halloween at 221b. (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlock and Molly Halloween -  Created by @rebka18  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlollyween Treats - Created by @mel-loves-all A collection of Sherlolly Halloween Photoshop edits for the 13 days of Sherlolly Halloween.  I’ll post an edit every day for the duration of the 13 days. Hope you enjoy them!  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated T)

Silence Pressing in - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) The night is too quiet tonight. Molly needs…something…to soothe her tonight. But not sex. Something else.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Something in 221b - Written by @escaily A 221b ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Spellbound - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock’s a werewolf detective who falls for the enchanting Molly Hooper, a beautiful young witch. She is a pathologist who momentarily brings corpses back to life to find out their cause of death.  (On Ao3, Mulit-chapter, Complete in 10 Parts, Rated T)

A companion edit for “Spellbound” - Created by @mrsfrankensteinwinchester  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Studies of Morbidity - Written by Yusabi (Tumblr Unknown) Molly has achieved the best she could ask for– a fulfilling job, a safe home of her own, an exciting and enriched life, and best of all, a steady source of food. Food is everywhere, but options are scant, and a young Ghoul can’t wish for better than a morgue, where body parts can come in without ever coming back out. It only makes sense that the smartest oaf in the world would nearly ruin everything for her just to be petty. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated E)

Tragedy at Hand -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo A Sherlolly fanvid featuring “Sally’s Song” from “The Nightmare Before Christmas”.  (Link leads to the video on Youtube, the initial Tumblr post is here.)   (On Tumblr/Youtube, Complete)

The Vanishing Hitchhiker - Written by @escaily A ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Vampire’s Votary - Written by @lilsherlockian1975 Votary: a devoted follower or admirer It’s been a year since Sherlock confessed that his desire for Molly was about much more than her blood. She asked him to sire her; he asked her to wait for six months. Then… he made her wait six more! Much has happened in those 365 days but on their anniversary, Molly makes a request that he simply can no longer refuse. My followup to “The Vampire’s Vice”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated E)

Your Remedy - Written by LadySolitaire83 (@ladysolitaire) When Sherlock gets stabbed while dismantling Moriarty’s network, Mycroft and Anthea bring him to Molly for medical treatment. She is forced to use her magical skills to save him from certain death. What happens when Sherlock finds out exactly how she healed him?  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

[mybible]

Jude 1:1-4

  Hello! I have started this ‘blog’ just for me... if you happen upon the scribblings of this deranged and currently, rather deluded mind then I will say a quick prayer for you... you need it.

If you stumble onto the blog with no prior knowledge of the Bible or anything therein, or if you have knowledge but want to see my pov, Please note the following:   1: I hope this is, before anything else, enlightening! Not in the cheesy, gooey, zen sort of way, but in the sense that you will seek to learn more and, in that exploration, find God, or at least see him. For I believe that once you see him, you cannot ‘unsee’ him... I dare you to prove me wrong.   2: I would like to note that I will be using the King James Version of the bible. Bible versions work under two categories. The first (I forget the academic name of which) directly translates literal meanings from the original language (Hebrew). The second translates the idea that the scripture try to bring across. As a firm believer in unscathed scripture I hold fast to the former idea of the literal meaning. The King James Version, to put it simply, is the one that has all of the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ (As opposed to those that modernize the text). I find this version/translation to be the most poetic, and in cases, accurate.   3: I know that there are problems with the culture of Christianity today and I have many issues with them myself. I do not claim to be perfect, and I do not condone all of the actions taken by this culture. I might write a blog posting about my personal beliefs and issues with the system eventually but for now I wish to do nothing but study the bible, and see what it has to say - because that’s where my faith lies. The purity and undeniability of the word of God is all the faith should orbit around.

I have decided that I should start with Jude. This is a book that I have never read before AND it’s only 25 verses long! It is the second to last book in the bible. I will most likely not do the entire chapter here and now but rather intermittently... Let’s get started :0)

   /1 Jude, The servant of Jesus Christ, and brother of James, to them that are sanctified by God the Father, and preserved in Jesus Christ, and called:   /2 Mercy unto you, and peace, and love, be multiplied.

  This first verse is simply an introduction. Jude is the brother of James. They are both the half brothers of Jesus Christ (Half brother because their father was Joseph, wheras Jesus’ father was, well, THE father, God). This is a letter to those believers. To those who are sanctified by the father, and preserved in Jesus Christ, and Called. I think this means that they are called to His service. If you fit this category (meaning, if you’re any believer who is serious about their faith), then this message is for you!

  The first thing he says is hello! Mercy unto you, and peace, and love be multiplied! That is very polite :-) If only people were still so courteous! My bible has footnotes. The footnote for V one clarifies that, in the days and culture this was written, being a servant was a lifelong commitment. Somewhat like a slave. Referring to yourself as a slave of Jesus Christ was (and is) a statement of humility saying that all of you belongs to all of Him.

  3/ Beloved, when I gave all diligence to write unto you of the common salvation, it was needful for me to write unto you, and exhort you that ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.

  First, he refers to the Christians as beloved! Very nice of him :-)   What I think he is saying here is this (ish) 

“When I decided to write you I felt the need to urge you overcome, for the faith (or sake) that was delivered to the saints.” 

  My footnotes inform me that this indeed turned from a casual letter saying “How ya doin” to something more serious due to the problem of false doctorine being introduced into the community. What that means is someone spreading false ideas, lies, and even scriptures among Christians, saying that it’s true.

  Three verses in and I already see parallels with our modern society. And, if you’re an outsider to the religion, what I mean is the hate you see. Every day the internet blows up with more hate coming from “Christians” regarding issues. Whether or not we believe in whatever issue is being brought up, we MUST, as Christians, show love!    To the believers here: I feel I must say this. The bible speaks plainly some ways (Love your neighbor as yourself [Mark 12:30-31]), and plainly other ways, ways that we don’t always like (I will not give an example here as every conceivable idea would open an entirely new case that I would like to dedicate to, I will hopefully discuss each case in depth in the future). No matter what the bible says, it is always right (excepting some of the laws from Leviticus - That’s where you get rules like not eating bacon - which has justifications that are, again, too deep to get into here). The real test of your faith is not having a week with just $30  dollars in your bank account (as a college student I see this a lot!), The real test is how you obey God. How you stick to your ‘religion.’

That was a packed verse!

4/ For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation, ungodly men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and denying the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ. [cref - Galations 2:4] <- This means that there is a particularly interesting, related verse.

  These men are those who would sabatoge Christianity. The latter part of the first sentance simply means those who were not saved. It could mean that these men, in the old order (Before Jesus died on the cross and raised up three days later), would be condemned to hell. In the new order they have a chance for salvation (I myself do not know much about how the old order ticked).   These men turn the sacred gift of Grace of God into doctrine glorifying sin.

I think that this is a good stopping place for today! Every bible verse is this packed and I love unloading and examining it!

Edited to include Prayer Requests!  - Friend from school who is having a lot of trouble with a move. The house seems to be falling apart just as she tries to sell it.  - Obviously all those who seem to be struggling in the midst or wake of all the recent natural disasters, Hurricanes, Earthquakes, Etc... I do NOT think that it has to do with the world ending.  - Help in school! I am struggling, like usual.

[holidaysat221b]

2017′s Halloween at 221b - A Sherlolly Celebration Master List

To help get you in the Fall/Halloween spirit, here are all the submissions we received during the 2017 Halloween Fest.  Please give them another look, leave a comment or a kudo (or both!), and show a little love to the creators who took the time to participate in 2017.

We’ve listed where the works are archived, mult-chapter or not, complete or not, and rating.  In progress fics are marked in bold as a reminder for a mod to periodically check for updates.  Tumblr accounts have been tagged where possible, some could only be linked to, and some are completely unknown to the mods.  As always, the complete Master List for all years can be found here.

All Hallow’s Eve 1896 - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock Holmes begrudgingly attends John and Mary’s annual Halloween party for the first time, but he is immediately enchanted by Mary’s cousin, Miss Margaret Hooper.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Alone -  Created by @cumbercougars   (On Tumblr, Complete)

Bite Me - Written by @willsherjohnkhan Sherlock is prepared to do anything to help Molly with her current predicament…This is my contribution to Sherlolly Halloween at 221B 2017 Challenge. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Blood Born - Written by @mizjoely “Vampires that couldn’t control their bloodlust are to blame,” Molly argued. “They’re the ones who didn’t care if they killed the humans they fed from or not. They’re the ones who didn’t notice when those humans didn’t stay dead. They’re the ones who killed so many people in such a short period of time that the contamination spread too quickly to contain.”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

Deep Down Below - Written by @hobbitsdoitbetter In the aftermath of The Sherrinford Incident, Sherlock Holmes has slowly put himself back together; he has his friends, his family and his Molly, with whom he’s expecting a new arrival. But the past is not so easily left behind, and happiness not so easy to justify. The nearer Molly’s due date comes, the more Sherlock starts to feel as if something dark is dogging his path… Post Season 4  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated T)

Don’t Be Scared, I’ve Got Your Back -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Foggy Night in London - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock and Molly spend Halloween night together at 221B…what could possibly go wrong? Post-TFP.   (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated T)

From Her to Eternity - Written by @thehiddenlawyer Molly Hooper has been feeling strange lately, and when she’s plagued by visions of dark figures watching her through the shadows, she wonders whether she’s losing her mind, or if something sinister is haunting her.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated E)

From Thy Own Lip - Written by @forthegenuine In the autumn of 1808, Sherlock Holmes–known to many as the world’s only consulting detective–caused a stir when he announced that he had taken up the profession of a magician. Regency AU. Written for Halloween at 221B.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Costume for Rosie - Written by @katfevre BBC Sherlock Trick-or-Treat Halloween Gift Exchange Prompt:  John, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs.Hudson are all trying to come up with a Halloween costume idea for little Rosamund Watson. It starts out as just brainstorming, but quickly becomes competitive. What does Baby (or toddler? or kid?) Watson end up dressed as? and who had the final say? (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Halloween Edit -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

A Halloween Party Edit -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo  (On Tumblr, Complete)

History Repeats Until Stopped - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) When Merlin tells Sherlock and Molly that another one of his descendants is living in a village under a curse and could be in danger, Sherlock and Molly go to the shore to try and break the curse and change history from here forward.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 parts, Rated T)

How the Ghosts Stole Halloween -  Written by @sundance201 Sherlock and Molly go searching for a serial killer on Halloween. Or go ghost hunting. It depends on who you ask.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated M)

In the Blood - Written by @darnedchild Some secrets are better left buried. Especially in the Holmes family.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated M)

Magic in the Moonlight - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) Every year since they began uni, Sherlock and Molly have gone to the university’s Monster Ball and competed in the couples costume contest, as friends. But this year it’s different. Molly has a boyfriend and Sherlock is jealous. Still…there might be a little magic in the moonlight at the Monster Ball for Sherlock and Molly, if they’re lucky. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 4 Parts, Rated G)

Missed Connections - Written by @katerbees Three years of Halloweens following Sherlock and Molly throughout the series.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Molly Hooper - (Assistant) Reanimator - Written by @darnedchild Sherlock Holmes learns the shocking secrets of Molly Hooper’s past.  *Cue dramatic music and an evil laugh*   With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft - A modern retelling of Herbert West - Reanimator.  Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 8 Parts, Rated T)

Mummy Troubles -  Written by @katerbees Sherlock enlists his favorite pathologist for a case in Egypt. What could possibly await them!!?  (On Ao3 Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated M)

Perish the Thought - Written by osmia_avosetta (Tumblr unknown) (Removed By Author)

Pumpkin Carvings and the Wolf  - Written by LadySolitaire83 @ladysolitaire Sherlock carves something on a pumpkin that shocks and worries Molly. In which Molly is a werewolf, and Sherlock doesn’t know about it… yet. (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Pumpkin Faces -  Created by @eastwindiscomming  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Only Lovers - Written by phoebe_snow (@greenfleeze) Molly realises just how deeply Sherlock loves her. (Includes a link to cover art created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo)  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Rapture -  Created by @cumbercougars  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served (Magically) Cold - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) For some time now Sherlock has suspected Molly of sleepwalking. But when Lestrade calls him with a case that involves a vampire victim one evening when Molly appears to have been out, he starts to wonder if her sleepwalking may be having homicidal effects. But there is more to the whole story than it seems…  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 6 parts, Rated T)

The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - Written by ‘P’ (and posted by @lilsherlockian1975) For those of you who don’t know, my youngest son likes to write Sherlolly stories. This is his contribution to the Halloween celebration.  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

An illustration for The Scary Haunted House (But It Turned Out To Be Really Nice) - The artwork was commissioned by @mizjoely, drawn by @o0katiekins0o, and submitted by @lilsherlockian1975 to be included in Halloween at 221b. (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlock and Molly Halloween -  Created by @rebka18  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Sherlollyween Treats - Created by @mel-loves-all A collection of Sherlolly Halloween Photoshop edits for the 13 days of Sherlolly Halloween.  I’ll post an edit every day for the duration of the 13 days. Hope you enjoy them!  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 13 Parts, Rated T)

Silence Pressing in - Written by afteriwake (@pennywaltzy) The night is too quiet tonight. Molly needs…something…to soothe her tonight. But not sex. Something else.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

Something in 221b - Written by @escaily A 221b ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Spellbound - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock’s a werewolf detective who falls for the enchanting Molly Hooper, a beautiful young witch. She is a pathologist who momentarily brings corpses back to life to find out their cause of death.  (On Ao3, Mulit-chapter, Complete in 10 Parts, Rated T)

A companion edit for “Spellbound” - Created by @mrsfrankensteinwinchester  (On Tumblr, Complete)

Studies of Morbidity - Written by Yusabi (Tumblr Unknown) Molly has achieved the best she could ask for– a fulfilling job, a safe home of her own, an exciting and enriched life, and best of all, a steady source of food. Food is everywhere, but options are scant, and a young Ghoul can’t wish for better than a morgue, where body parts can come in without ever coming back out. It only makes sense that the smartest oaf in the world would nearly ruin everything for her just to be petty. (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, In Progress, Rated E)

Tragedy at Hand -  Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo A Sherlolly fanvid featuring “Sally’s Song” from “The Nightmare Before Christmas”.  (Link leads to the video on Youtube, the initial Tumblr post is here.)   (On Tumblr/Youtube, Complete)

The Vanishing Hitchhiker - Written by @escaily A ghost story, complete with a photo edit.  (On Tumblr, Complete)

The Vampire’s Votary - Written by @lilsherlockian1975 Votary: a devoted follower or admirer It’s been a year since Sherlock confessed that his desire for Molly was about much more than her blood. She asked him to sire her; he asked her to wait for six months. Then… he made her wait six more! Much has happened in those 365 days but on their anniversary, Molly makes a request that he simply can no longer refuse. My followup to “The Vampire’s Vice”  (On Ao3, Multi-chapter, Complete in 3 Parts, Rated E)

Your Remedy  - Written by LadySolitaire83 (@ladysolitaire) When Sherlock gets stabbed while dismantling Moriarty’s network, Mycroft and Anthea bring him to Molly for medical treatment. She is forced to use her magical skills to save him from certain death. What happens when Sherlock finds out exactly how she healed him?  (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)