#prayer binder

[batsplat]

can we have a conversation about how much ktm is in shambles? cause i’m hearing they’re having so many problems financially and apparently even technically. it seems like they got stuck from the start of the season and they are just not progressing. i get that the last few circuits weren’t stop and go circuits that ktm prefers but the performances were really worrying. now, no offense to binder but he clearly has no backbone, but pedro already scolded them this weekend because they are not working the way they should, is there a chance they finally decide to take a risk and develop a project around him? because i feel like that’s what they need to do, a bit like yamaha or honda did for vale and marc. also i’ve thought about the fact that a lot of ktm engineers are leaving ktm for honda, if honda is actually working on a good project for 2027, is there a chance that perhaps a rider like pedro could get them out of the hole they got stuck into? cause i think that would be very interesting to see. of course only if he decides to leave ktm which i hope he doesn’t cause i’d like to see him become the first motogp wdc winner with a ktm. also i can’t really see where else he could go if one day he decides he’s unsatisfied with ktm

love asks that clearly come from the heart. I've been holding off on being too mean about ktm because in a way I do want to save it for after the NEXT race. we're in austria now!! ktm's home race! which they've actually been remarkably successful at, given they're the only non-ducati manufacturer to ever win in the modern iteration of this race in the premier class - first in that quirky last corner shoot-out courtesy of oliveira in 2020 and then in that bizarre slicks in the wet performance by binder in 2021. which, okay, unusual races and all that, but it's a track they should be doing well at!! binder got two second places here last year. if they flop here, then the alarm bells will really be ringing

I guess we can get into an argument about what 'flopping' would even look like. it's entirely plausible that, hm, the first 4-5 slots at minimum are locked out by ducati again - honestly, at the minute another ducati podium lock out feels like the expected scenario. I have heard there's a decent possibility of rain on sunday, but by this point of the year I've been promised rain quite a few times so I'll believe it when I see it. if it rains, sure, anything's possible. a positive result for ktm right now would probably be... a podium, right, which in itself is pretty damning - how are ktm still this bad at actually winning races? last year, binder got a podium at silverstone, which isn't a massively ktm-friendly track. this year, they didn't get even remotely close to that. the ktm defence argument goes 'well, look at what everyone else is doing'. silverstone is a very aprilia-friendly track and they had a pretty disastrous weekend themselves this year. the less said about the japanese manufacturers, the better. but... well, ktm was kinda supposed to take it to ducati this year. they finished last year on a very promising note, with what really should have been a 1-2 at valencia. (the fact that they didn't convert on that maybe should've gotten some alarm bells ringing about the ultimate potential of that rider line-up, but let's not get into that.) after binder's performance at qatar, ktm surely should have been determined to be in the title hunt. they are extremely not in the title hunt

the thing is, anon, ktm does know that pedro is their title winner. the idea of 'developing a project' around him is tricky - because to the extent that ktm is capable of that, they will do it!! they're not going to develop the bike in a direction that suits binder over him, for instance, or completely disregard his feedback or any of that. manufacturers can struggle with being reactive enough to rider concerns... my sense is that ktm likes to throw a lot of stuff at problems, it likes to flex its muscles and use a lot of data and come up with big update packages and all of that - and for all the progress they've made in their bike development, clearly all is not yet well on the in-season development front. (cf the whole chattering thing that ducati has gotten a handle on and ktm hasn't.) manufacturers do sometimes have a tendency to believe they know best and not listen enough to their riders, especially when there's a disconnect between the riders and 'the factory' that's actually designing the bikes. yamaha is an interesting example of that at the minute, where a lot of their current problems are so long-running that you can find their roots in stuff jorge and valentino were complaining about YEARS and years back. they've become a lot more reactive in recent years and did do a lot to tackle fabio's complaints about the bike's top speed... but by that point, they were in such a hole that just 'fixing the top speed' really wasn't enough to actually make a competitive bike. still, part of the reason why fabio's decided to stick with that project is he feels like yamaha is finally listening to him - and if they'd lost him, they'd really be fucked, so that has to count as at least a little bit of a W

in terms of the valentino and marc comparisons, they are just about different enough that it'll only take you so far. with valentino, the simple truth is that nobody today could do what he did for the yamaha project in 2004. he couldn't do that nowadays; it just isn't possible for a rider and his team to make that sort of instant impact anymore. motogp is so different now, with all the aero and devices and all the other stuff casey hates. the balance of power, if you will, has shifted pretty decisively from riders to engineers. also, valentino by that point was a fair bit more experienced and a lot of the credit has to go to his even more experienced team for what they were able to do with yamaha's carte blanche. a rookie, however gifted, just won't be able to provide quite the same level of direction. with marc... well, the honda was fantastic when he showed up! best bike on the grid! it's not exactly an analogous situation to pedro in that what honda needed to do was 'keep being good'. they did listen to marc's feedback and it did bag them enough titles to make it worth their while, but it also did not send their bike down a particularly happy development route for anyone else riding that thing - which ultimately as a manufacturer is not a situation you should want. honda was already losing the development arms race to ducati in the late 2010s, but giving marc a fast if capricious bike and relying on his natural talent to ride around the issues managed to disguise the problems for a while... or at least make them hurt less. all in all, I'm not really convinced 2010s honda is a model anyone should be particularly interested in copying

what ktm should do is listen to pedro, obviously. I assume they're already treating him as their championship contender elect, but if they're not then, yes, they'd be idiots. and given how long it took for them to actually confirm his place in motogp last year, I am open to the possibility that ktm are being idiots here. whether there's a workable system in place to actually make use of that feedback and continue to progress is more open for debate, and that's kinda what pedro went to the factory to check in on. pedro today was talking up a "big, big step" in the coming few races, in part due to the impact of their two test riders and the more ktm-friendly circuits to come, so it'll be interesting to see if it lives up to that. beyond that, who knows? ktm does have money and resources and a track record of success outside of motogp to give it faith, but of course this year has been a disappointment. (quick note: I have seen the stuff about ktm being in trouble financially and obviously that would massively change all of this, but at this stage it's quite hard to judge how seriously to take that - so the rest of this ask will assume that ktm will continue having a lot of money at its disposal. if they don't, my analysis is that they're probably fucked.) the first bit of the season made everyone doubt whether the bike was actually better than thought and the riders were simply not taking advantage of it - which a few signs last year like 'surely dani shouldn't be this competitive' and the whole valencia thing already pointed to. now, it's definitely less competitive than last year and even their superstar rookie can't do all that much with it, so that's not great. they do have a little time to play with here, but not that much. pedro's signed for 2025-26, but if ktm doesn't start next season more competitive, it won't take long for him to start looking around. and even though you can't do valentino 2004 things in quite the same way anymore, this is clearly going to be a project that needs an alien-level talent to actually get it over the line. they've kinda managed to fail upwards into a very strong set of riders next year and they should be able to extract a lot of them for bike development purposes, but also their rider management has traditionally been godawful so it remains to be seen how that'll work out

that being said, pedro will be fine! I mean, idk if he'll be ktm's first premier class world champion. if I had to put money on it, I'd say it's pretty likely, yeah? but the 'where would he go' thing isn't really a big concern. all the big names have kinda hunkered down (as have the teams who signed them) with two year contracts that take us very neatly to the next rule cycle kicking in, which everyone expects will majorly shake things up. while this whole japanese manufacturer situation is massively annoying, I would be shocked if at least one of them aren't regular race winners again in 2027, and hopefully will already be so before that. most manufacturers except maybe honda have at least one star rider they're intending to be a title contender in 2027, and ducati has two. they probably won't all stay in the same place (even if they all remain reasonably healthy in that time) and there's bound to be at least one manufacturer hunting for a big name. pecco will be in his late prime and possibly grey-haired, god knows what state marc will be in *taps wood*, we have no idea how the whole jorge aprilia situation will work out. maybe yamaha will be so competitive again that they actually decide they want TWO riders fighting it out for a championship and we get a proper throwback in blue to the good old garage cold war days - which is where my imagination sadly fails me because I can't picture fabio putting up a wall or yamaha not sucking. maybe, like you say, pedro is just what honda needs to... well, honestly I don't think he could get them out of this hole - but perhaps in a couple years time when honda is looking healthier again, he's the kind of rider that could make it a title winner again. it'll be a new world! if pedro is as good as we all think he is, then obviously any manufacturer would be thrilled to get their hands on him, not least to deprive the competition of having him. how old will he be in 2026? about nine years old, I think? if I had to guess, I do kinda see him being a title contender around 2026-ish, because I just can't quite picture ktm making the necessary leap by next year so 2026 feels like a good way of hedging my bets and trusting his sickening levels of natural talent to make up the bike difference. one of my big remaining doubts is... well, it's actually been quite a while since a new manufacturer has won a rider's title. the last time was ducati way back in 2007 when they nailed the new regulations cycle and also kinda lucked into signing the casey stoner, but ducati had already been regular race winners for quite a few years before that. capirossi was third in the championship in 2006. I suppose aprilia got vaguely close in 2022, but that was a chaos season we don't have much reason to expect to see a repeat of any time soon, and in the end they also didn't get that close. ktm really needs to be getting into race winning form soon if they want to be thinking about titles. it's ridiculous that it's been over three years since their last win in the dry, and nearly two since their last win full stop. if I were them, I would maybe consider winning some races, instead of continuing to lose them idk. let's see how they do on sunday, eh

[daddy-socrates]

wish me luck everyone, i have to go to the mall today.

[diana-thyme]

The Ultimate Grimoire Guide

So! I have been seeing a ton of grimoire ideas and thought I’d stuff them all together. A lot of ideas are from @manifestationsofasort, @banebite, and @pigeonflavouredcake. Check them out! They have a ton of cool stuff there.

What Do I Use For My Grimoire?

You can use anything for a grimoire! For a physical one, journals, binders, and notebooks are good. For digital ones, Notion, Tumblr, Docs, and even just your file folder are great.

Introduction

A Book Blessing

Table of Contents

About Me

Your Current Path

Your Personal Beliefs

Your Spiritual Journey

Superstitions

Past lives

Favorite Herbs/Crystals/Animals/Etc.

Natal Chart

Craft Name

How You Entered The Craft

Astrology Signs

Birthday Correspondences (birth tarot card, birth stone, etc.)

Goals

Safety

Fire Safety

What Not to Burn

Toxic Plants & Oils (to humans, plants, animals)

Crystals That Shouldn’t Be Put… (in sun, in water, etc.)

Things That Shouldn’t Be In Nature (glass, salt, etc.)

Potion Safety

How to Incorporate Blood in Spells

Smoke Safety

Wound Care

Biohazards

Core Concepts

Intention & How It Works

Directing Energy

Protection

Banishing

Cleansing

Binding

Charging

Shielding

Grounding

Centering

Visualization

Consecration/Blessing

Warding

Enchanting

Manifestation

Meditation

What Makes A Spell Work

Basic Spell Structure

What Not To Do In Spells

Disposing Spell Ingredients

Revitalizing Long Term Spells

How To Cast Spells

What To Put In Spells

Spell Mediums (jars, spoken, candle, sigils)

Spell Timing

Potion Bases

Differentiating Between Magick and Mundane

Common Terms

Common Symbols

Intuition

Elements

Basic Alchemy and Symbols

Ways To Break Spells

Laws and Philosophies

Correspondences

Herbs & Spices

Crystals & Rocks

Colors

Liquids & Drinks

Metals

Numbers

Tarot Cards

Elements

Trees & Woods

Flowers

Days

Months

Seasons

Moon Phases

Zodiacs

Planets

Incense

Teas

Essential Oils

Directions

Animals

Symbology

Bone Correspondences

Different Types of Water

Common Plants

Entities

Deities You Worship

Pantheons

Pantheons & Deities Closed to You

Common Offerings

Epithets

Mythos

Family

Worship vs Work

Prayers & Prayer Template

Altars

Deity Comms

Devotional Acts

Angels

Demons

Ancestors

Spirit Guides

Fae

Familiars

House, Animal, Plant, Etc. Spirits

Folklore Entities

Spirit Etiquette

Graveyard Etiquette

Boundaries

Communication Guide & Etiquette

Spirit Work Safety Guide

How Entities Appear To You

Circle Casting

Common Offerings

Altars

Servitors

Mythological Creatures (dragons, gorgons, etc.)

Utility Pages

Gazing Pages

Sigil Charging Station

Altar Pages

Intent Pages

Getaway Pages

Vision Boards

Dream Pages

Binding Page

Pendulum Board

Crystal Grid

Throwing Bones Page

Divination Pages

Mirror Gazing Page

Invocation Pages

Affirmation/Manifestation Pages

Spirit Board Page

Other Practices

Practices That Are Closed to You (Voodoo, Hoodoo, Santeria, Brujeria, Shamanism, Native Practices)

Wicca and Wiccan Paths

Satanism, Both Theistic and Non-Theistic

Deity Work

Religious Paths (Hellenism, Christianity, Kemeticism, etc.)

Animism

Types of Magic/Spells

Pop Culture Paganism/Magic

Tech Magic

Chaos Magic

Green Magic

Lunar Magic

Solar Magic

Sea Magic

Kitchen Magic

Ceremonial Magic

Hedge Magic

Death Magic

Gray Magic

Eclectic Magic

Elemental Magic

Fae Magic

Spirit Magic

Candle Magic

Crystal Magic

Herbalism

Glamours

Hexes

Jinxes

Curses

Weather Magic

Astral Magic

Shadow Work

Energy Work

Sigils

Art Magic

Knot Magic

Music Magic

Blood Magic

Bath Magic

Affirmations

Divination

Tarot Cards

Oracle Cards

Playing Cards

Card Spreads

Pendulum

Numerology

Scrying

Palmistry

Tasseography

Runes

Shufflemancy

Dice

Bibliomancy

Carromancy

Pyromancy

Psychic Abilities

Astrology

Auras

Lenormand

Sacred Geometry

Angel Numbers

Ornithomancy

Aeromancy

Aleuromancy

Axinomancy

Belomancy

Hydromancy

Lecanomancy

Necromancy

Oneiromancy

Onomancy

Oomancy

Phyllomancy

Psephomancy

Rhabdomancy

Xylomancy

Tools

Crystal grid

Candle grid

Charms

Talismans

Amulets

Taglocks

Wand

Broom

Athame

Boline

Cingulum

Stang

Bells

Drums

Staffs

Chalices

Cauldrons

Witches Ladder

Poppets

Holidays

Yule

Imbolc

Ostara

Beltane

Litha

Lammas

Mabon

Samhain

Esbats

Deity Specific Holidays

Religious Holidays (Christmas, Easter, Dionysia, etc.)

Celestial Events

Altars

Basics of Altars

Travel Altars

Deity Altars

Spirit Altars

Familiar Altars

Ancestor Altars

Self Altars

Working Altars

Self-Care

Burnout Prevention

Aromatherapy

Stress Management

Coping Mechanisms

Theories & History

Witchcraft history

Paganism

New Age Spirituality

Cultural Appropriation

Thelema

Conspiracy Theories

Cults

Satanic Panic

KJV

Witches in History

Cats in History

Transphobia in Witchcraft Circles

Queerness in Witchcraft Circles

Other

Recipes

How to Get Herbs

Foraging

Drying Herbs and Flowers

Chakras

Reiki

Witches Alphabet

Runic Alphabet

Guide to Gardening

Your Witch Tips

Resources

Other Tips

List of Spells

Cryptids and Their Lore

What is a Liminal Space?

[dame-de-pique]

The book of common prayer bound with Holy Bible and Whole book of psalms, Cambridge. Printed by Thomas Buck and Roger Daniel, 1638. The binder of this volume was possibly John Houlden (d.1670)

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for Everyone I Missed Last Time:

Idril: a sculptor. She worked with every kind of stone imaginable, and often went looking for new material in Gondolin’s mines with Maeglin. (Look my Maeglin head canons are complicated but they should get to be friends the narrative has hurt them too much already) She actually preferred not to make elvish figures, instead focusing on strangely beautiful stone landscapes and various animal-like figures. She was actually responsible for Middle-Earth’s version of the gargoyle, having carved several to stand guard over Gondolin. Several elves swore that the statues moved, but she never addressed those rumors. She also liked to paint her work with bright colors, which would’ve been seen as odd back in Valinor, but fit right in in First Age Middle-Earth.

Maeglin: a smith, but his craft was more in-line with Avarin practice than Noldor practice; with much less focus on the idea of making gems and heavier focus on understanding natural geology and the properties of various gems and metals. He knew the mines of Gondolin better than anyone, and wrote plenty about the the earth under the earth. His work also had fairly significant Dwarfish influences. He liked to make mechanically complex pieces, with moving parts or even some internal gear work.

Finduilas: a hunter. Her and her father were both nature people, just in very different ways. She was silent, with all the grace of a dancer, and quick enough to outrun most of what she hunted. She preferred to go after more aggressive animals– wild boar, wolves, bears, even wargs– and leave the deer and rabbits be. She was born in Beleriand, and had never met the Valar, but sometimes, privately, offered up prayers to Orome. She liked to imagine she could’ve been in his hunt, if things had turned out a bit differently.

Celebrimbor: a smith, in the very traditional Noldor sense. Gemworker, specialized in jewelry, made various famously beautiful pieces, etc. Was never quite happy sticking to hairpins and necklaces. Longed to try his hand at imbuing his work with real power, but always talked himself out of it. A whole binder of concepts for works of power sat locked away in a chest in his workshop for centuries. He never talked to anyone about it. He was as ashamed of his feelings for his craft as he was of his feelings for his family. By the end of his life, he’d made peace with only one of those things.

Earendil: a mariner? Alright, he was definitely a mariner, and he loved the ship life– he even built a few boats of his own, in a similar fantastic style to Turgon’s architecture– but he also had a longstanding fascination with the natural world, and filled volumes and volumes of journals with information on various plants, animals, and minerals. But natural lore isn’t a recognized Noldor craft, since it involves learning but doesn’t really produce tangible results. Still, it was a passion he got from afternoons spent learning about geology with “Uncle Mole,” and one he shared with Elrond. Researching the beauty and wonder of nature gave Earendil something to do with his immortal life, and was a big part of the reason Elrond chose to be immortal at all.

Gil-Galad: a king. No, really, he’d been the high-king of the Noldor since he was a child, and hadn’t really had time for trivialities like “finding a life purpose” or “having fun.” He was too busy learning how to stay alive in late stage Beleriand (read: hell) and learning to rule the least cooperative group of elves imaginable. He wanted to be a painter, and while he found enough practice time to get good at his chosen craft; because of how long detailed paintings can take, he almost never had time to actually make anything. He tried not to let it bother him too much. He didn’t always succeed at that.

Elrond: in a bit of a weird spot. Elrond is most associated with lore and healing; but, as discussed, “lore” isn’t considered a craft. And, well. Healing had to be Elrond’s craft, right? He’d been doing it since he was seven, and just about the only person in Amon Ereb who could still use healing powers. And it was good work, and it was rewarding, even if it often left him feeling so burned out and worried that he forgot to eat or sleep. It took him a long time to admit to himself that healing for him was what fighting was to many other elves: a necessity. Truth be told, he’d rather be gardener, working with the earth to create a place of peace and beauty. Also, Elrond is basically a nature spirit. So. It was something he began to explore in the peace of the early Second Age. He found that his Ainuric powers had all sorts of interesting effects on plant life. He also learned how to breed new varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Still, he never really considered that it could be a proper craft for him. At least, not until he first saw the valley that would one day become Rivendell.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the House of Finarfin.

[mybedroomceilingsbored]

hey y'all!

you can call me Mouse! i'm a nerdy, artsy-craftsy, music-loving, socially awkward, incredibly enthusiastic GEEK.

i love chatting with people and making new friends, always feel free to shoot me an ask/dm :)

about me

☼ she/her pronouns are great! ☼ i'm a minor ☼ lesbian (or something like that) ☼ i'm a dancer! (ballet, pointe, modern, jazz, tap, and hip-hop) ☼ i play the piano, flute, and ukulele, and i'm learning trumpet ☼ i love hugs and physical touch ☼ i use a ton of pet names-lmk what you're comfortable with! ☼ pisces sun/moon, scorpio rising ☼ infp-t 2w3 (explanations linked, if you're curious) ☼ one (1) beach completed, on my way to becoming an Official Certified Ken (credit: my very dear @green-binder) ☼ i tend to forget things-please don't take anything i do/don't do personally! chances are it just slipped my mind. ☼ i love interacting with people, but i do sometimes burn out. sometimes i just don't have the energy to reply to something or continue a conversation, please don't take it personally!

not rlly doing chain mail atm, sorry!

i've got a funky lil tma sideblog @consumedbywhatlovesme if you're interested, hyperfixation still going STRONG 💪

things i love...

☼ cavetown!! ☼ the magnus archives ☼ coraline ☼ hozier ☼ plants/gardening ☼ ancient greek mythology and culture ☼ microbiology ☼ slime molds! ☼ mushrooms and other fungi ☼ stranger things ☼ pjo ☼ cats! ☼ good omens ☼ baking ☼ crochet/knitting ☼ long bike rides ☼ sketching and painting ☼ rainy days

... and people i love!

@15millionfireflies, @bleep-bloop-boo, @brains-out-rn, @ch3rry-t0mat0, @currently-becoming-potatoes, @dormienscattus,

@fairyycoffin, @forever-bi-panic, @galaxys-universe, @green-binder, @hugallurfriends,

@i-eat-so-much-grass, @joespookyregardinghappenenings, @margaret-the-duck, @marisolebio, @mossy-stormcloud,

@remithegayshoebill, @sad-girl-shit11, @sagaofa-dying-star, @scatteredraysofhope,

@small-giggle, @that-dam-heartstopper-fan, @the-chaotic-snek, @theladyofpaintedstars, @thestrawberryapologist,

@totheidiot, @trans-lobotomy, @urlocalsadkid-l, @wistfulenchantress, @yelenapines

comfort books...

☼ a psalm for the wild built, a prayer for the crown-shy, coraline, the electric kingdom, the song of achilles, truly devious, a wrinkle in time, inward, heartstopper, the secret garden, severance, they

... movies, tv, and podcasts...

☼ coraline, the magnus archives, heartstopper, spirited away, stranger things, good omens, various concert films, over the garden wall, gravity falls

... and foods

☼ hot cocoa, peach tea, lemon cookies, asparagus, fresh sourdough, grapefruit, chocolate chip cookie dough, berries of any kind

currently listening to

favorite artists

☼ cavetown, hozier, lizzy mcalpine, luz, wallows, girl in red, taylor swift, mother mother, billie eilish, david kushner, madilyn mei, coin, tv girl, fuvk, gregory alan isakov, mxmtoon, boygenius (+ solo work), hayd, maya hawke, pomme, the paper kites, novo amor

songs i try to live by

☼ talk to you (cavetown) ☼ hug all ur friends (cavetown) ☼ carry you (novo amor) ☼ words (gregory alan isakov) ☼ pancakes for dinner (lizzy mcalpine) ☼ let light be light (lizzy mcalpine) ☼ cold (novo amor) ☼ crooked the road (mon rovia)

please send me music recs!! i usually listen to indie pop, indie folk, and indie rock/modern rock, but i'm always happy to listen to something new :)

moodboard by my darling @wistfulenchantress <33

congrats on making it all the way to the end haha!!

have a beautiful day/night sweetheart, love ya :)

(dividers by @/saradika-graphics, their stuff is absolutely gorgeous)

[prettyyoungandbored]

Be Careful

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Reader

Warnings: language, slight fluff, female reader, idk

Author’s Note: I have no business writing this, but I did. So yeah.

NOT MY GIF

The alarm clock read 1:15 A.M. as Y/N exhaled softly.

Her eyes darted back to the television where some black and white movie played. She was half paying attention to it, her mind elsewhere and eyes mostly shifting between the clock and her cell phone.

She was invited to go to the bar with the guys, but she declined, exhausted from spending the day organizing their medical records. She shouldn’t have offered, but considering how frequent the trips to the hospital were, she figured it would be useful for each of them to have a binder that contained important medical documents in the event of an emergency.

Jeff was beyond thankful for it and she was happy to help considering Johnny wouldn’t let her do any stunts lately.

Even though Johnny was a pro at what he did, she still worried. Going through his medical binder was a kick in the stomach for her. His was the most personal considering he was her fiancé. She often worried when she got calls from the guys if it was going to be that “one call.” When they called “action” and she watched Johnny begin, she said a mental prayer begging for him to make it out alive.

The door opened and Johnny appeared, smiling.

“Hey there, cutie,” he greeted her, before bending down to untie his red converse. “Thought you’d be asleep.”

“I tried but just couldn’t seem to keep them closed,” she said, reaching over to turn the light on for him. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Sure did,” he replied, throwing off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair in the corner. “You know how it is. I wish I could say you didn’t miss much, but we spent the night helping get Tyler the PA laid.”

She cracked a smile. “It’s the least you boys could do considering you made him mud wrestle Bam.”

He laughed. “That was the logic.”

He pulled down his jeans before crawling into bed beside her in his boxers and graphic tee. He propped his elbow up, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand.

“I really did miss you tonight,” he said, using his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I was a little bummed you didn’t come out with us.”

“I know.” She exhaled. “Honestly, I just needed to decompress.”

“Seemed like you were having an off day,” he noted. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I know you know what you’re doing and I trust you,” she said. “It’s important to me that you know that. It’s just, going through your medical records was a hard pill for me to swallow. I get worried that one prank will be one that either kills you or leaves you with some permanent injury or that these injuries eventually…”

She paused, realizing how pathetic she sounded. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “I’m fucking serious. Don’t.”

“No but-.”

“No - hey, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her. The same smile that made her weak in the knees when she first saw it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “I know it’s a lot for you, and I can’t thank you enough for standing by me and putting up with this shit even when it’s hard to deal with.”

“It’s not that I deal with it. It’s just me getting worried because I love you.” She gave him a small smile. “I told you I’m not going anywhere and I meant it. No amount of concussions or broken limbs or any other injuries is gonna change that. All I ask that you be careful, ok?”

“I will,” he promised, kissing the top of her head. “But only because I think you’re cute.”

She snorted. “That’s the only reason, huh?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. It’s really the only reason I’m marrying you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I guess it’s ok for me to say I’m only marrying you because the sex is great.”

He shrugged. “Works for me. Now, c’mere.”

He pulled her body under his, peppering her face with quick kisses. “Just one more week then you and I head off to Vegas.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“Never. I’m all in, baby.” He pulled his head back for a sec. “Are you?”

“Not a chance, Clapp. I’m in it for the long haul.” She paused. “Unless, of course, I decide to marry the Elvis impersonator instead. I’ll figure it once we get there.”

[rosemarycovet]

pacifcy her -Edward Cullen x reader

I catch edward staring my way as that basic bitch bella talks about who knows what he seems so bored and annoyed by her

I softly smile at him and sent a small wave

Edward eyes lighten up a bit and smiled a bit widely back at me

the bell rings and I pick up my binder and notebook and hold them up to my chest and walk out

I look back in the hallways to see bella holding Edward hand

Edward clearly doesn’t want to be all pda with her I just roll my eyes at them

and walk into my next class

I sit down at a two person desk next to the window and I see bella following Edward into the door way and I just give her a glare and look away

that basic bitch leaves finally

Edward releases a breathe which looks like he’s been holding in

and looks my way and his eyes brighten as he walks my way

now I can take her man..

Edward takes a seat next to me as he smiles at me

“hey”I say to him as I look up at him as he takes a seat next to me

“hi (y/n/n)”

i’m surprised he called me by my nick name he usually calls me by my actual name

“how has your day been”

I ask him

“a bit stressful actually” he sighs

I give him a pity look knowing damn well the ‘stress’ he has been feeling was bella

“but it’s fine”he looks at me softly and I smile at him class starts but I can’t stop laughing and Edward can’t stop chuckling or smiling at my jokes

the teacher tells us to pair up with the person sitting next to us

me and Edward quickly look at each other

“good thing we’re sitting next to each other”he said to me

“good thing for me cause you’re really smart” I say as I smirk at him

Edward laughs softly at me and playfully rolls his eyes at me and we start working I keep asking him what the problems mean because what the actual fuck I could not process any of this bull crap each time I would write something down or answer the question Edward would admire me ‘thinking’ I didn’t notice

-next period-

I walk into gym class after putting our gym uniform on and sigh realizing that we’re playing volley ball

bella comes up to me and says to me “someone told me stay away from things that aren’t yours”

I give her a blank face and say

“but was he yours if he wanted me so bad”

she just stares at me with a disbelieved look on her face

pacify her

she’s getting on my nerves

and as if my prayers had been heard a volley ball flys out of no where and roughly hits the back of her head and she stumbles a bit

I gasp then start laughing as Jessica comes running over “OH MY GOD BELLA IM SO SORRY” I walk away acting like I didn’t see anything

one of the reasons I dislike bella is because why the hell are you treating Edward so badly playing with his feelings like why do you keep choosing Jacob over him when you have Edward and she’s just so weird always blinking,biting her lower lip,and pushing her hair behind her ear

out of school she always chooses to hang out with Jacob and it’s so obvious Charlie prefers Jacob for bella over Edward.He would choose Jacob in a heart beat since he’s been knowing him since he was a kid

I know Edward feels insecure by Jacob anytime he’s brought up in his relationship with bella

that’s why I always feel bad for him especially that time bella kissed Jacob infront of Edward

-later that night-

I’m laying down on my bed wearing my night as my music plays from my record player and i’m reading

that’s when I hear Knock from the window

‘what the fuck..’

then I hear another knock

I get up and open my window to see Edward I stare at him with wide eyes a bit surprised as Edward smiles widely at me as he slides into my room

“how the fuck..”

I say not being able to process the situation

that’s when Edward explains everything to me

the whole vampire situation

and that he’s only with bella because she’s his blood singer

“until you moved back to forks that’s when stuff changed for me once again. bella might be my blood singer but you’re my mate..my soul mate” I stare at him a bit surprised

“I want you (y/n/n) I really do I just don’t want you getting put into danger because of me and I don’t know how to break it to bella because …I..still..love her”He said that last part in a bit of a disgusted way

I know he did not want to say that last part he was second guessing himself

“You don’t love her.Stop lying with those words”

I say to Edward as he sighs knowing I was right

Edward still really cared for bella he just didn’t love her like that anymore after everything she has put him through shit even his family

“ ‘loving’ her seems tiring so boy,just love me down” I say to Edward as he picks me up and I put my legs around his waist he groans and I softly grab his face kissing his face then lips passionately as Edward kisses me back trying to control himself

he lays me down on my bed carefully climbing on-top of me not wanting to hurt me

“(y/n/n) please tell me if i’m going to far I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable” he says in the most sweetest,reassuring,calmest voice ever I shush him and start running my fingers through his hair as he gives me small soft kisses on my collar I lift his face up and start kissing his lips once again I harshly grab his hair and rub my other hand down his back which causes him to moan so I slip my tongue in his mouth he seems so relax yet trying to control himself so he flips us over so i’m top

after our little make out session

Edward lets me lay on top of him as I lay my head in the crook of his neck as he reads me my book in a gentle soft voice

I try not to fall asleep wanting this moment to last forever. Edward grabs the blanket covering us Edward tells me it’s ok for me to sleep telling me he’s not going anywhere and I shake my head he chuckles at me and holds me tighter then kisses my forehead eventually I fall asleep in his embrace

the next morning I wake up to Edward gently shaking me and saying my name

“(y/n/n) wake up”

I groan as I turn away from him pulling the covers over my face

he sighed and chuckled softly at me picking me up bridal style in his arms

“come on (y/n/n)”

“but we don’t even have school today”

I groan out

“yeah..but im going to break the news to bella” I quickly jump out his arms getting dressed

“how are you going to tell her?” I ask him

“I think i’m going to tell her in the forest we always go to.but you stay here”

I looked at him a bit sad

“I promise i’ll come back and tell you everything that happened”he said in a reassuring tone I smiled softly at him as he gave me a quick hug and kiss on my lips then forehead as he zoomed out my bedroom door

-in the forest-

I cant stand her whining as bella is complaining,crying,and begging Edward not to leave her

where’s her binky now?

“NO bella you listen I am so sick of you always choosing that dog and I know Charlie prefers Jacob over me.

you say you love me yet you keep hurting me…plus I already fell in love with someone else..”

bella looks to stunt to speak

“who..? EDWARD WHO???”

she says in her high pitch annoying voice

as tears formed in her eyes

“it’s (y/n)”

bella stares at him with disbelief as she feels betrayed

Even though she had already done all of this to Edward with Jacob what was she expecting?

“YOU DONT LOVE HER STOP LYING WITH THOSE WORDS” bella screamed at Edward as tears streamed down her face

“…i’m sorry bella..” was the last thing he said to her as he left her in the forest

-back at (y/n’s) house-

I was watching a movie on my bed while eat popcorn when I felt something touch my shoulder I shot my head back so quickly seeing Edward

“jesus christ Edward you gave me a heart attack”

he smiled softly at me

“sorry (y/n/n)”

he said as he gently scooted me over

I laid my head on his shoulder as I munched on my popcorn

Edward had told me everything that had happened part of me felt bad for bella but for most of it I really didn’t

Edward had told me that he felt relief that he ended things with her like a weight lifted of his shoulder at-least now she could be with Jacob.

that night me and Edward had deep long talks he could listen to me speak for hours and still not get bored

-at school-

Edward usually sits with his family at lunch but he wanted to sit with me outside on the bleachers I like sitting there because barely anyone went outside to eat because it was to gloomy and ‘cold’ which the cold part was true for me at least but not for Edward since he’s a vampire so he let me wear his coat as we had my earbuds in listened to my playlist on my I pod

Edward had laid his head on my shoulder closing his eyes that’s when bella walked out the cafeteria seeing me and Edward she glared at me

‘stay away from things that aren’t yours’

‘but was he yours if he wanted me so bad’

I smirked at her as she walked away clearly mad.

still love you bella 😘

[liam-neesons-best-girl]

ღ Love Languages

Summary: The love language of Liam Neeson characters ღ

ICYMI: A love language is the way a person prefers to express their love and or receive it from a partner. There is no one right way to love!

Warnings: f!reader, mdni, 18+

Acts of Service - (Rob Roy)

He loves being the head of the house and the provider for you and your family

He never stifles the chance to do some heavy lifting if it means a happier wife is waiting for him

Pride swells in his chest when he watches the burning logs he chopped hours earlier warm you in the dead of night

Seeing him tend to cattle and use his whip to tame horses stirs something within you

He recognizes the labor you perform in the home and feels like it is only right to take some of that burden off of you

One day he sees you washing pottery and comes up behind you at the water basin to "help" but starts kissing up your hairline

"I'm trying to work here" you giggle out as he wrap his has from around your frame to take the pottery out of your hands to place on the ground

He turns you around to face him, your hands covered in suds, and he looks to you with pure adoration

He thought of the best service he could give you: another child

He wouldn't rest until you were waddling around the house with the swell of your belly serving as a reminder of his love for you - being able to wait on you hand and foot as you make him a father

Quality Time - (Carl Wayne Anderson: Suspect)

You met Carl in the county jail when you were assigned to his case as a public defender

from then on he liked being around you, be it in one on one meetings or by your side during trial

A shy smile is buried under his thick beard when you stay an extra two hours with him to prepare for a hearing the next day

He's learning to write more legibly for trial, for you

You have so much patience, he thinks, never giving up on him when he flips a 'b' to a 'd' or gets made at himself for mistakes and lashes out (never on you)

He feels a warmth that radiates off of you, drawing him closer, feeling less on edge regarding his surroundings and judgmental jurors

You are also one of the only people who keep eye contact with him when speaking. So many people are intimidated by him but you meet his gaze with compassion

When he gets an unexpected visitors notice over the weekend he isn't surprised to see you there with a thick binder of exhibits to go over, takeout food, and a new packet of chalk

Time is always fleeting and delicate, but that pressure was amplified knowing Carl was on trial and risking time in prison

You two never had any short encounters either, always an hour or longer, though he wished you could stay forever

Receiving Gifts - (Capt. Mikhail Polenin: K-19 The Widowmaker)

His long deployments at sea made him yearn for you, day in day out

To serve as a reminder of his faith and his love, he showers you with gifts of all kinds

a necklace with his initial, fragrant perfumes, silky soft nighties, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers when he meets you at the pier

Nothing is too extravagant for a man who didn't know if he would ever see you again

You tell him he is in your thoughts every day and that you have no eyes for anyone else but he wants the world to know he is your shadow, he is your man by your side or 3,000 miles away

He also sends you love letters as often as he can

They are full of poetry and prayers to see you again

You saved each and everyone of them, keeping them safe in your jewelry box until you can hear him say them to you in person

His favorite gift you have given him was a collection of photographs of yourself. Some are headshots, or from home-movies, not to mention the nude photograph of you wearing his dog tags

You are his gift from God. You are his motivation to complete his mission. You are his motivation to live

Physical Touch - (Hannibal: The A-Team)

The man is handsy and his pent up emotions from training and deployment has him eager to touch you any way he can

He has some restraint when he is around new recruits, trying to show composure as an upper level officer with just his hand resting on the small of your back

He is a bit more loose around his team members, knowing he has earned their respect and won't lose it if they see him slightly simping over you

He'll pull you into his lap instead of a folding chair, insisting that you'd be more comfortable on his lap this way instead of the flimsy plastic

He will twirl your hair or tap a beat to your thigh absent mindedly while listening to a mate of his talk, relaxed in knowing you are there, you are actually there with him

When you are finally alone he will worship you for hours until you are overstimulated and a whimpering mess under him

He doesn't half ass any mission either, so once he has made you cum all night, he will give you the best after care, cuddling you and massaging your sore legs

He loves it when you make the first move and interlock you fingers with his on the walk from base to a pub

Feeling 10 feet tall he strides around base knowing only he can touch you, only he can get close enough to smell your hair, caress your skin, taste your desperation and love

Leaving you is like tearing off a limb for him, but he'll squeeze you tight to embed in his memory your edges, your fit in his arms

Words of Affirmation - (Qui-Gon Jinn: Star Wars)

He lives by his comm link so you never are too far away

You are concerned that your calls are annoying but he assures you are music to his ears to hear about your day, a funny story, or to lull him to sleep with a song

He reads constantly to find new words to express his love for you. Deeper, sensual praise that you could never forget about and have only heard Qui-Gon use

There is never a day when he doesn't say good morning and good night, letting you know you are the first and last thing he thinks of each day

Pet names are reserved for you, rarely does he give that affection to outsiders (he still has love for Obi and Ani)

Praise kink!!

His cadence in bed, the tempo his words follow to punctuate his movements are delicious

When he hears you whimper and thank him for being so caring he thinks he could cum in his pants right then and there

You are in ecstasy when he talks you through your high and climax together

He says "I love you" more often then he breathes, since you are his life line

[hunterbunter3000]

Krueger being a seat sniffer isn’t shocking tbh 💀 that man def already picked out the names of his and Sweetheart’s future kids and wedding plans detailed in a binder (is he manifesting or delusional; who knows lol!).

He also def has a shrine dedicated to Sweetheart openly in his room, atleast the other boys have the decency to hide their shrines in their closet 😤😂

LMAOOO STOP THATS SO HIM (AND FUCKING EVERYONE ELSE)

He has like- three binders and two notebooks he has for Sweetheart and his future with her. Like it's just FILLED with where they would live, how many kids they would have, tHEIR NAMES, the colleges they would go to, the house he wants to get when they get married, THE WEDDING

MANS IS EVEN PLANNING FOR THEIR RETIREMENT LIKE-- KRUEGER??? he's delulu and manifesting for this to happen!! Let's cheer him on! ✨️🙏 PFFTT-

And yes. He has a shrine of Sweetheart. OBVIOUSLY. THE MOMENT YOU WALK IN its right there in your face. It's sitting on a small table-like stand and it's FILLED with framed pictures of Sweetheart and heart shaped candles around them. There's a long frame with gold on it, and inside of it is a nail set he got her his first time ever (that was three years ago 💀) She told him it was coming off, and she was so sad because he got it for her (he fell in love with her more because of that) so he helped her get them off, and he told her that he'll throw them away.

S I K E

once she left he threw them in his pocket so fast and ran off to his room 💀💀 and then there's a pedestal on the table, and it has a small, marble bust of Sweetheart he paid someone to do on etsy (HE LOVES ETSY IM NOT CHANGING MY MIND) and what's crazy is that all of its glued down to the table, and there's a button behind it, so he presses that button when Sweetheart comes around and the table top flips, being empty and he places magazines on the clean top 🧍‍♀️ THE MAN HAS A SECRET CONTRAPTION FOR HIS SHRINE

(You can't deny the fact that he prays to it as well. You CANT)

He's down horrifically bad. He wants her sO BADLY

well get tf in line BIG BOY CAUSE SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE

They don't really have shrines like Krueger (because he's delusional) but everyone does have a picture of Sweetheart or some sort of gift she's made them somewhere in their room. Or on them.

Like Alejandro has a small gold locket of Sweetheart he wears around his neck and NEVER TAKES IT OFF-- and when he's about to go on a mission, he kisses the locket, says a small prayer and puts it under his shirt, so he knows that he's protected and has someone to go back to (why am I making myself cry)

Rudy has a picture of Sweetheart framed with a letter she sent him on his desk with the little things she's made him. He reads the letter every time he misses her (WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF)

Ghost wears a braided friendship bracelet Sweetheart made him. (Its black and blue with lil skulls) He hides it on his left wrist with his glove, but he still wears it. When he's not around Sweetheart, he plays with the ties and smiles

Soap has like a little collage of pictures of Sweetheart and him on a corkboard. They take pictures when they're in a new country or state and collect weeds of flowers and give it to each other (SO CUTE I LOVE SOAP) and his sketchbook is FILLED of Sweetheart-- like he remembers what she looks like so much he sketches her from memory. And he uses a separate sketchbook for her, he calls it "Sweet's Looks".

Gaz only has one picture of her, and it's on his phone. It's Sweetheart cuddled up on his side, hand on his chest while watching a movie. It's obviously his home screen wallpaper (not his lock screen he can't handle that) he also has a little basket of different rocks Sweetheart has given him because she has a little basket of rocks he has given her as well (they're birds I tell ya)

Price has a photo of her in his hat. That's why he never lets anyone touch it, and his heart beats a little quicker when Sweetheart wears is hat cause he's nervous she's gonna see the picture (she has, and it's her and Brutus together and she squeals everytime in her mind)

Roach has a picture of Sweetheart taped to a bear. 🧍‍♀️ don't really wanna go into that one--

Alex has like- one of those photo booth type of pictures. Yk the ones that come in threes or fours. They went to a mall and Sweetheart HAD to get some. Alex uses his as a bookmark.

Now Horangi is like Krueger. He DOES have a shrine but it's in his closet. You will NEVER SEE IT.

König would have a shrine in his closet as well, but it's SMALL. Like two pictures and a good luck letter she wrote to him when he was on a mission. He's so soft for her good lord.

Graves has like.... I don't know a paperclip? That Sweetheart gave him? Think he still has that pen that Sweetheart forgot to take back. Still counts.

[diana-thyme]

The Ultimate Deity Journal Guide

Similar to my grimoire guide, this is a guide on deity journals.

What Is A Deity Journal?

A deity journal is a journal dedicated to a deity. It’s filled with information, offerings, devotional pieces, etc. If you like journaling or can’t give other physical offerings (like food, libations, etc.), it’s one of the best offerings out there.

What Do I Use For It?

Usually deity journals are physical journals and notebooks. Binders and folders work as well. I have seen deity journals online, using things like Notion or Google Docs. Those are a little harder to format, but are great if you don’t have a notebook or aren’t a fan of physical journals.

So, What Do I Put In It?

Devotional Artwork

Devotional Playlists

Pressed/Dried Flowers or Herbs

Prayers

Devotional Poems or Stories

Myths

Recipes

Stickers

Experiences or Dreams

Photos

The Basics (Name, Epithets, Domains, Family, Associations, Holidays, Symbols, Sacred Days, Sacred Animals, Etc.)

Spells/Rituals That You Want To Or Have Done With Them

Offerings And Devotional Act Ideas

Journal Prompts

Magazine/Book Cutouts

Hymns

Shopping List (Things You Want To Buy For Them)

Fabric Scraps

Letters To Them

Divination Readings With Them

Coins Or Other Currencies

How You Celebrate (Or Plan To) Holidays Or Sacred Days With Them

UPGs

Altar Plans (Drawings Or Descriptions Of Altar Ideas)

Incense, Herb, And Oil Blends

Drops Of Wax, Wine, Etc.

Seed Packets

Blessings

Charms

Charm/Spell Bags

Travel Plans (Places You Want To Go For Your Deity)

Maps That Remind You of Them

Sigils Dedicates To Them

Superstitions Related To Them

Research On Their Birth Place

Devotional Jewelry Charging Station

Affirmations Dedicated/Influenced By Them

Small Sticks Or Branches

Book Annotations

Divination Techniques Related To Them

Relationship Goals (Better Communication, More Signs, Etc.)

Their Associated Rune/Tarot Card/Etc.

Teas And Tea Blends

Folklore/Mythology Entities Related To Them

Vision Board

Goals

Diary Entries And Rants

Taglocks

Paper/Straw/Etc. Dolls

Doodles

References/Further Reading

[daisychainsandbowties]

actually (i’m not sorry) let’s talk about force-bonded jedi knights Shannon and Mary.

“A Force-bond was a powerful connection between two Force-sensitive individuals that bridged their minds, allowing them to communicate through the Force both visually and emotionally.

The range of the bond was vast; it could span the galaxy, keeping two beings united in a psychic link despite the physical distance between them. As a result, both parties would manifest in each other's location at the same time, making it possible for them to see, hear and feel each other through their bond.”

thinking of Shannon standing in the hallway watching death approach and reaching out, finding that familiar hand, half-memory and half-desire. clutching it even as she raises her saber in the last extreme defense of Ava.

burning her life because she used to dream of holding a blue saber, of going out in glory, but love taught her to long for balance, for harmony, for peace. for green.

and she would have lived in peace, with Mary on some far-flung planet. tinkering with ships and growing too old, too fast. fixing up droids and complaining about the weather and painting the shutters in spring.

but she’s a jedi, so what she has is only an instant of that peace as she feels Mary come awake in a distant place. one last prayer on her lips. “let it be safe. let it be safe and very far away.”

whispering, “i’m sorry. i couldn’t face this part alone.”

distance had never stopped them and it doesn’t stop Shannon from dying with Mary’s arms around her.

they grow up hand-in-hand, youngling Shannon missing a piece of herself until she finds Mary. this odd, thoughtful girl from incredibly far away, who knows about engine specs and torque but not the laws of physics.

telekinetically passing her notes in class, sending them adrift like little white birds. Mary initially dumps them all in the wastepaper bin at the end of their classes, head spinning with physics and math and chemistry and kinetics and protocol and all the myriad things a jedi must know.

but eventually she unfolds them, hiding her blush with her binder of notes. chickenscratch handwriting and little diagrams of a cartoon Shannon (labelled) bonking a cartoon Mary on the head with a saber.

back when Shannon thought hers would be blue.

Mary most at home with a practice blade in her hand, trying to get used to the airy spaces in the jedi temple, quiet courtyards and the soft shuffle of pages in the archives. she sneaks into the hanger bay (as Ava will, in another decade) to look at the ships, to touch them, remembering the desert and the podracers kicking up sand. storms sweeping in to eat the sun.

scowling when Shannon takes her lunch tray over to sit at the far end of Mary’s table, so she can wink at her.

and then, one day, looking up and finding her beautiful.

after that they sit next to each other. binary stars slipping into orbit, trading from tray-to-tray; blue milk for the strawberry one. Mary eating Shannon’s greens when the jedi look away.

Mary growing closer almost against her will to this whirlwind of a girl. how she spars in the early morning with the empty air. she wakes up early to watch, pretending it's the dawn that draws her down, peering around a pillar, stunned at the grace of Shannon pivoting through the air, flipping over imaginary opponents.

asking her, as they perch on a balcony to watch the sunset over the endless cityscape, “why did you bother with me?”

Shannon has her face pressed sleepily into Mary’s shoulder. she plays with the hem of her tank top, “what d’you mean?”

“it just… seemed like you wanted to know me before you even knew me.”

“i did.”

Mary, turns her head, looking at the profile of Shannon curled up against her. warm. “yeah, but why?”

“i don’t know. i just had a feeling.”

they go together to Ilum, to get their kyber crystals, running through the icy cave systems. Shannon helps Mary when they climb and Mary clutches a half-conscious Shannon to her chest when they fall into freezing water. “i got you.”

“i k-k-know.” through chattering teeth, Mary letting Shannon slip her cold hands under her shirt for warmth. a wicked smile in the ice-warped dimness. "s-s-score."

saber fights late at night with blue offshoots of light dancing around their bodies. green sparks shattering against the stars. laying there tangled in their exhaustion, always drawing even. Mary kissing Shannon’s forehead, looking at their lightsabers sitting side-by-side. blue and green.

“we should kiss.” Shannon says this out of nowhere with the air of someone who has been thinking about it for a long time.

she’s half-draped over Mary’s chest, head on her ribs. “i can hear your heart,” she adds, when Mary loses the ability to speak.

Shannon sits up, turns. she’s about to say something when Mary lurches up, takes her by the jaw.

they kiss, and nothing is ever the same again.

[aliypop]

Any Day Now: Chapter 3

Word Count: 3,867

Writers Note: Lost steam on the Tupelo fic,but this one seems to really be coming out better!

Warning: Language, mention of pills, depression

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

NBC Studio's June 27

"Kinda tight, huh..."

"In all the right places..." she mumbled,

"I heard that," he smirked, looking back at her as she blushed a bright red on her tawny-colored skin. Elvis was most certainly back. And she'd remind him in all the right ways that he never left. 

"Five minutes left for the first taping," Midge yelled from the top of her lungs.

"Thank you, five!" Cecelia shouted back, straightening out her black and white mod mini dress. Elvis couldn't help but stare at her figure in it. She was already voluptuous in the '50s, but God, did he love the gifts. That motherhood took to enhance her, even when sometimes Cecelia didn't like it, but that was neither here nor there to Elvis.

"El, you're shakin again..." Cecelia pointed out as she took his hands into her own,

"Just nerves, baby." he kissed her forehead,

"If you get nervous, look for me in the booth beside Binder." she smiled, "And if you can't find me, the twins will be in the audience," Cecelia mentioned as Elvis nodded. This would be the first time his kids ever saw him perform. Now, he was terrified with thoughts of doubt.

"Hey, Presley's, it's time!" Midge poked her head in as Elvis took Cecelia's hand and kissed it.

"Wish me luck," Elvis said,

"You don't need it." She winked, mumbling a prayer for him. 

The first show hadn't gone so smoothly, and Cecelia could tell by his movements. Although Elvis was comfortable and trading jokes with Scotty and everyone, Cecelia could tell in some places he was rushing from nerves and the excitement of being back on a stage performing for a cheering crowd, but my God, was she enjoying the view of him sweating and dancing all over that stage. And the grunts and groans she heard escaped his lips. Elvis was having a grand time. Until something had crossed Cecelia's mind.

 "Wait a minute..." Cecelia mumbled to herself. Either her ears and eyes were playing tricks on her, or the friction of the suit was taking its course on Elvis Presley. She knew that look from anywhere. And those sounds. But she figured she'd handle that later and meet him in his dressing room to help him prep for the second filming. 

"Hey, C, We'll need to add matts for the next show." 

"Got it, B." she gave him a nod. 

"And we'll have to cut him out of the suit."

"Got it, B." Cecelia sighed,

"Oh. And, there's a meeting about the dancers for tomorrow."

"Got it, B." She stood up.

"Mind checking on our star."

"Don't mind at all." Cecelia left, walking towards his dressing room. She had passed Rosa, who was rekindling with Scotty, a man always after that woman's heart. Even when her heart had belonged to another. God. How she felt bad for Jerry, but she was on a mission. Walking towards his dressing room, Cecelia took another big breath and knocked. 

"Mr. Presley, are ya decent?" Cecelia asked, switching up her accent to mess with him. 

"Depends, who's askin?"

"Ms. Dubios." she kept going on with her bit. Sometimes Cecelia: Enjoyed bringing back past movie characters of hers. 

"Ah..." he chuckled, knowing who it was. Opening the door, he had his brightest smile as he kissed Cecelia.

 "You fooled me there, honey."

"How'd you know it was me..." he glanced at her, his eyebrow doing the thing she loved so much, 

"Okay, okay, You got me there." she pulled him in for a kiss, "God, you're sweaty..."

"I was gonna warn ya." he laughed, pulling her into the room. Cecelia blushed, sitting on the couch, watching him get undressed and out of the black suit. 

"I usually charge for a show, you know." he chuckled, watching his wife roll her eyes.

"Well then, I owe you quite a bit of money for the times you've undressed in front of me, huh?" handing him his engraved robe. "Yes, you do." He smirked, responding to his wife as she laughed,

"Speaking of shows, number two is at 8 pm," she mentioned as he kissed her hand and took the robe,

"So I have time to take a beautiful director. Out to lunch..."

"I can't," she sighed, "I have to make sure we get a good head count of audience members for the show, and then there's the schedule for tomorrow, and then I have to stay behind. And get any last minute papers done an-" Elvis pulled her close to him and kissed her, much like he'd do in the movies. Elvis could hear the stress in her voice, but he knew she was doing this all for him. because she loved him so much. Why? He'd never know. 

"You're gonna work yourself to death if you don't take a break." 

"You're one to talk." she stole another kiss from him. 

"Well, at least let me help ya."

"And give you more stress? uh-uh." Cecelia shook her head, "You just sit here, look pretty, and don't worry about me," she looked at the clock, knowing she had to report back to Binder. Elvis knew she had a job to do, but he was missing his best friend. He was missing his wife, "But you can take the twins out to lunch?" Cecelia mentioned as he nodded. Cecelia was halfway out the door until she thought of something else to mention.

"And another thing, sweetheart!"

"Hmm..."

"Try not to cream your pants during the next show..." She smirked as he looked at her with a shocked expression,

"How'd you even-"

"Elvis... I know those grunts and moans." she pulled him by the belt of his robe, "Very... Very well... And I kinda missed them," she whispered in his ear.

"I-I-I- doubt that Cece."She kissed his neck slowly. As a groan rolled from his lips, 

" Damn it, Cece, you tease..."

"Am I teasing, or am I just missing my-"

"Daddy! Elaine and Jessie shouted as Midge cleared her throat. Cecelia pulled away as Elvis blushed, 

"You were amazing daddy." Elaine grinned,

"Thank you, little biscuit."

"No, you were fantastic." Jessie smiled, "I wanna be like you when I get older!"

"Thank you, trouble! Elvis ruffled his son's dark brown hair as he laughed, "Say, how would you two like to have lunch with me?" The twins cheered, taking his hands and running him out of the dressing room. Cecelia watched in pain as she saw her family leave her behind. Lately, that was how she felt. And she didn't like it, of course, it wasn't Elvis's fault, it wasn't anyone's, she was a mother and a wife now, her days as the rock and roll star were fading, and she'd soon accept it. 

Elaine was sitting next to her daddy in the NBC Cafe. She had seen a few of her favorite actresses pass. Elvis noticed how she'd get shy and wave while Jessie would have conversations between his burger and fries. He found it funny how they were similar to him in ways. But so much like their mother, 

"So, Daddy." Jessie started, "I was thinking, since you are on TV, I could be on TV too, and I-I-I could sing!" Elaine cackled at her brother as she snorted, 

"Whatcha gonna sing!" She teased,

"I'll sing one of Mommy's songs..." He stuck his tongue out as Elvis shot them both a glance that they knew. Oh, so well. 

"Sorry, daddy..."

"You know. One day, you two will stop fighting and get along. Guess that'll be the day dogs and cats become friends," Elvis laughed.

"Daddy, can we watch the other show?" Jessie asked as Elvis thought about it. He did want his family in one place, but he also knew they'd fall asleep. Still, he wanted them to see what all it was that he did. 

"Sure."

After the show, Cecelia was sitting on the stage, sighing. She was up deep in stress, swimming in it even. Cecelia now not only understood Binder's stress. But she understood everything her mother went through.

"You will make sure he sings; Here comes Santa Claus, correct..." Oh, how that man's voice made her skin crawl. 

"It's his show, Parker..."

"But you are his wife... aren't you afraid that the... the.. money will run dry, and you'll be a nobody from North Carolina again."

"Nope..." she kept looking over the paperwork, "I was someone before Elvis, and I'm still someone with him. Now, what do you want."

" Him to listen to me..."

"Yeah... That's not gonna happen, but good luck!" she laughed,

"You listen here. He has a reputation to uphold-"

"Elvis Aaron Presley has a reputation that you managed to almost diminish... " she stood up,

"I- I don't know what you mean..."

"Maybe I can spell it out for you, 1958..." she grumbled, "The year his world turned upside down." Cecelia gritted her teeth, "Cutting his hair sending him away... His mama died, and my sugarplum was never the same..." she teared up, 

"But he was an all-American boy that looked-"

"He was a crying, sobbing mess who couldn't get his mama back! H-He was different after the war, lost even. Elvis wouldn't barely eat. He didn't feel like singing anymore-"

"Cause he wanted to act Cecelia!" Tom laughed,

"Cause he barely wanted to live anymore!" tears in her eyes, "You weren't there trying to ease him slowly off his pills between takes. Or-or sleepless nights when the memories got hard to face!" Cecelia shouted, "You didn't have to be there for the nightmares! Between crying children and... And," She tried to walk away as the colonel opened his mouth again, 

"But I was there to comfort him like a father... and like a mother... more than anything you could understand." Tom smiled,

"Then you'd understand that for once in his life... He wants to do things his way again." she looked at him,

"But Singer..."

"It's either his way or Singer can take the fucking highway! GOD DAMNIT!" she screamed as she ran out of the soundstage, " I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" Cecelia shouted as she trailed off into the hallways.

Cecelia and Elvis had been through hell and back together, but there was nothing she wouldn't do for him, and he felt the same for her. She just wanted to see him smile again and love what he did again. Cecelia looked at her reflection as she saw the 19-year-old girl with her guitar in hand and her skin-tight dress on, 

"Even when I'm married and have kids, I doubt I'll stop being me..."

How did that bright-eyed girl manage to slip away? When she looked back up, she saw the twenty-three-year-old woman. Comforting her fiance as he cried endless tears on her shoulder. And crying on his shoulder, scared she'd never see him again. But she was still herself, bold and proud. But now she was thirty-three and wondering when she stopped being so bold, so herself, if only she could get a comeback too.

"Hey, C You're more than welcome to stop for the 

 night," Steve said,

"I think I'll stay for a bit," she heard the music playing from the locker room, "But I'll see you all tomorrow for the big Bordello Scene, right?"

"You got it, C." He smiled,

Looking through the window, she could see Elvis playing his guitar with Scotty, Elaine, and Jessie, who was sleeping while his Memphis Mafia was sitting around listening. It was like Cecelia was back in 1954 on the road again, hoping from hotel to motel, playing guitar together. 

"Hey, E the Mrs.'s is at the door!" Lamar pointed out,

Elvis looked over as he saw her warm smile. Cecelia waved as he ushered for her to come in and join them. She shook her head no until he gave her his infamous pout. Cecelia walked in. She rolled her eyes,

 "Glad you could make it, Mrs. Carolina." Jerry joked,

"Figured I needed the break..." Cecelia sat next to Elvis as she kissed his cheek. Elvis could see her tear-stained cheeks, but he'd ask her about that later, 

"You gone play us something?"Red asked

"Oh, I couldn't. Besides, my Gretsch is at the house and-" Scotty gave her his guitar as Rosa puffed out her cheeks. 

"Well, if you insist..." She laughed, "Uh, you remember the chords to Hey Good Lookin?" she asked,

"Last I remember, you re-recorded that song." Elvis poked fun as he started the song. 

Laughter filled that room at 3 in the morning, and she couldn't be happier to see her Elvis back in action. It made her proud of the sacrifices she made to keep him happy.

"Hey E, we'll take the kids home for ya," Red said as Elvis nodded. Everyone could tell he was worried about Cecelia. She wasn't her usual self, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"So what's this? I hear about you and the colonel ..."

"It's nothing..."

"I could hear ya screamin... and you don't raise your voice unless somethin's really botherin you." 

"I just wanted to defend you," she shrugged, 

"Doll, you don't have to."

"No, I do... Look, I don't want you wearin yourself so thin," she held him by the face, "You don't have to be Elvis Presley when you don't want to." she smiled, "You don't have to be him for anyone, not even me." she said to him, tears pooling in those blue clouds of his that they called eyes. 

"Cecelia..." he was lost for words.

"I just love you too much..." she cried in his chest, "I love you so much it hurts me seeing you not happy..." he held her near,

 "I love you too much, too." he kissed her head, "I know... You worry about me as I worry about you," he took a deep breath, "But baby, you can't wear yourself thin either, not for me or anyone," he laughed, "You do so much for the kids, and you do so much for me, I need you to do something for yourself, baby." He said as if he were commanding her to do so. "You don't have to be Cecelia Presley around me. You can be the Cece I love and remember."

 "Guess we just gotta enjoy the roses together..." Cecelia looked at him as he kissed her nose, 

"Guess so,"

"Hows about I take you out to dinner."

"Elvis, it's 3 am I've got a meeting in the morning..."

"Shit, it's dinner somewhere, ain't it," Elvis said as she remembered what he had said to her,

"Throw in a strawberry Milkshake, and I'll love you forever."

"So you mean I didn't have to buy you a ring?" she began to laugh as he smiled, "There's my beautiful girl."

The two were sitting in the diner, binge-eating on the most greasy foods they could find. They hadn't uttered a sentence towards one another, but they both knew that the other appreciated the time they were sharing together, 

"You know, the other day. I was out where they shot Rebel without a cause where Jimmy Dean was, and I wondered..." 

"Wondered what Star Shine," Cecelia asked

"How he had such an impact with such a short life." He sighed. Cecelia didn't have much of an answer, but she took his hands, "Because he did what he loved." She smiled at him, "You know I was thinking about doing music again, but..." Cecelia stopped in her tracks,

"Is it something you love..."

"Yeah..." Cecelia smiled

"Then what's stoppin you, honey?" Elvis asked as he saw tears in her eyes. This must have been something on her mind, "Everyone is saying I'm done." She laughed, "The press, the studios, Tom..."

"I haven't said it," Elvis mentioned as she shrugged, 

"Face it, I'm a mother now," She laughed as Elvis looked angry, "You're Cecelia Shanel Presley and Damnig, you're beautiful, smart, and a hell of a singer and guitar player, shit better than me even." 

"You flatter me, baby." Cecelia chuckled. 

NBC Studio's June 28

"Alright, that's the schedule for the day." Midge smiled. The crew disbursed as they got to work turning the soundstage into a pink whorehouse wonderland. The dancers would then rehearse the number for the scene, and Cecelia and Steve would call action, and everything would be good to go for Elvis. Cecelia had watched the girls in their gorgeous pink outfits go over the dance to Let Yourself Go. She remembered when Elvis recorded, and listening to him sing it made her feel. Oh, how she missed those days, "Alright, girls. We'll try it with the music." The Choreographer said as Cecelia watched. She followed along with them out of habit. Walking out of the room, Cecelia went to her office and checked the schedule. Everything was going smoothly, or so she thought.  

"CECELIA, ONE OF THE DANCERS, SPRANG HER ANKLE," Midge shouted as Cecelia ran back to the set. She was only gone for five minutes. When she came back. One of the lead dancers was limping,

 "Hey, This is your chance, Cece," Midge smirked, 

"This is Elvis's show," Cecelia smiled, 

"But you know the dance," Steve added,

"And the song," Midge smirked,

"Oh, no, no!" Cecelia laughed, "My days are..."

"Here, put this on and go see makeup and hair," Midge said, handing her a short pink two-piece dress. Cecelia nodded as she tried on the dress. Pink rhinestones were trailing down the asymmetrical skirt. And the halter top that matched, going into the hair department. She had a teased ponytail with a pump. Her makeup was bold, with her iconic lipstick, and her jewelry was pieces that a highly paid working girl like her character would earn with her money. When Cecelia looked in the mirror, she was no longer lost. She could feel a piece of herself coming back to her, 

"Cece, we're ready for... woah," Steve said, trying not to blush.

"Too much?" She asked as he shook his head,

"Perfect, actually." Steve smiled, "Alright, so Elvis will be in the chair, and then he stands. You're going to seduce him by singing and dancing." He explained to her as Midge smirked. The directions were simple and easy. It was just Cecelia wondering if she deserved to be up there with those bright-eyed twenty-somethings. When Elvis came on the set, he introduced himself to the girls and realized one was missing, but he shrugged it off. 

"Hey, Pres, one of the girls sprung her ankle, but we did have a replacement," Midge informed Elvis, 

"Is she late?"

"No, no, she's a little uh shy, if you will," Midge smirked, "But I know you'll love her," Midge shook her head with hope as she signaled for Binder to call out,

"ALRIGHT ACTION!'

As the song started, the girls got to dancing, and Elvis walked in with his all-Jean outfit. They would then sing to him as he was sitting in the chair. Elvis felt like a kid in a candy store. There were girls on him everywhere, touching him and giggling, and on the sidelines watching for her que was Cecelia, who was siking herself out about it. She couldn't do this. Cecelia was past her prime. She was a mother, Cecelia was a wife, and she was on! Sauntering across the set she did her spin that led her into the lap of Elvis.

 "Don't be afraid, just relax and take it real slow..." She sang as she brushed her nose to his, her hand on his thigh, the other on his chest as he leaned in to almost kiss her. The two then stood up as she pinned him against the wall, "Cool it, baby, you ain't go no place to go." The rest of the women following her lead, Elvis couldn't take his eyes off his wife. He was mesmerized by her, watching her do her dance solo. All he could do was smile. But also feel his jeans getting tight. But then Cecelia had done something he never knew she could do before. Taking him by the hand, he hand spun her as he had rehearsed with the girls, but there she was in a split,

"Kiss me nice and easy, but take your time!"She pushed herself against him as she felt him on her neck, 

"Cause baby, I'm the only one here here in line." Elvis sang back to her, "All you gotta do is just," he grunted as she moaned, "Let yourself go," the outro repeated as she sat in his lap as the girls surrounded him, "You're the sexiest one you know." He whispered in her ear as she smirked, 

"I know." She winked, 

"CUT!" Steve smirked, "That was perfect! The raw passion, the seduction!" he laughed, "How'd you even manage to!"

"She's Cecelia Shanel Presley. She can do anything," Elvis said, carrying her bridal style. 

"Where are they going," Steve asked,

"Somewhere that Singer sewing machine can't go," Midge smirked, 

"Where has all that been hiding..." Elvis asked. They were both lying on his couch with only a blanket covering them, "I guess seven years of becoming just a wife and a mother hid me away." she mumbled. Elvis kissed her forehead as his hand was still on her thigh, and he was still buried deep inside her loving warmth. "Well, no more hiding, baby." He kissed her passionately as she moaned, "It's your turn to shine."

"In what..."

"Don't get mad at me, Cece... But..." Elvis trailed off,

"What did you do..." 

"I may have told your mama it's time you get back out there on tour, new records, maybe even Vegas..." Cecelia playfully swatted at him, "What about the kids! What am I going to wear!"

"Cross that bridge when you get to it, honey." He kissed her again as she laughed, "I would offer you Bill, but, uh, he's mine," Elvis joked as she rolled her eyes. 

"Elvis, can I be honest with you," Cecelia asked,

"Of course, honey, always."

"I haven't felt like myself lately... I felt invisible. I felt trapped in a box again and-" She sighed. Cecelia knew that what she was about to say would devastate Elvis. But he needed to know, "I felt like I wanted to die, so secretly, I've been taking these depression pills and..." Cecelia looked at Elvis as he hugged her,

 "And have they helped?"

"Not really," Cecelia shook her head, "They made the thoughts worse." 

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"Cause I had to be okay for you. And the kids, my mother, Dodger, the mob, your cousins, your father! My Father!" She began to breathe hard, 

"Cecelia, you don't gotta be happy for all of us. If you're hurtin'. Honey, tell me, I can't lose you. It would break my heart." He held her tightly, "Understand? You're my best friend, my wife, my reason." Cecelia hugged him tighter.

"I love you, Pres." She cried,

"I love you more, Val," He kissed her forehead,

"Hey, Cece, the phones for you." Midge said,

"MIDGE GO!" Cecelia shooed her off, 

"Alright I'll tell your mother you're too busy warming Elvis up!"

[foster-the-moths]

The Disappearance of Mark Heathcliff (Led Astray AU)

Mark is ten years old when he begins to wish he could disappear forever. God does not answer his prayers, but something else does.

Warnings: self-loathing, self-harm, vaguely suicidal thoughts, family issues, religious guilt, mentioned & attempted kidnapping, body horror, and gore.

(Can't believe I have to say this but don't reblog or like this if you are a 'proshipper' or break tmc creators' boundaries.)

6,464 Words. Ao3 Link.

Mark is nervous.

His parents have reassured him time and time again, but he’s still apprehensive about going to this new school at the start of fifth grade. His parents had bought a new house, and rather than delay moving until he finished elementary school, they decided it would be best to have him start fifth grade at a new school. They said this way he could make some friends in the area before going into middle school, but Mark hadn’t really liked the idea. He’d wanted to stay and graduate with the friends he already had, especially since he lived so far away from them now and would likely never see them again. He hadn’t even wanted to move in the first place, but he supposed he trusted his parents — and it’s not like he ever had a say in the matter anyways. 

He sighs, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he waits for his father to unlock the car. He just hopes he makes some new friends quickly, this summer was lonely without anyone to talk to. He’s sure it’ll be fine, though, he had made plenty of friends at his old school, he’s sure he can make new ones here, too.

—

The other kids hate him.

Well, maybe they don’t hate him — hate is a strong word, afterall — but they certainly don’t like him, either. When he tries to talk to them, the conversation dies out, replaced with darting eyes and uncomfortable whispering. When he tries to play games with them, they stop and switch to another game they know he doesn’t like. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, he’s thought over every single thing he could have possibly done for them to dislike him, but he can’t pin down a reason why. Did he talk too loud? Speak too fast? Maybe he was just too much for them, he knows he gets a bit enthusiastic sometimes, but why didn’t they like him now that he was quieter? 

He even stopped trying to talk to them for a bit, “giving them space,” as he’s heard before. He’s stopped trying to talk or play, and instead buries himself into a book during recess, but this only seems to make his classmates dislike him more. Everything he does to try and fit in just makes him stand out more, and he’s starting to lose hope he’ll ever make friends here. He’s even starting to believe they might truly hate him, because why else would they shun him every time he tries to be friends with them? He doesn’t understand, all he knows is that this is not the “fresh start” he was promised. He misses his old friends — his real friends, more and more each day.

—

He can’t find it.

He’s lost his math workbook, again, and he has an assignment in it due tomorrow, and he can’t find it anywhere. He rakes his hands through his short hair, and tries to take a deep breath, but still feels tears pricking at his eyes. His teacher had said if he kept failing to bring in his homework then it was going to become an issue, and Mark didn’t want that, couldn’t bear the thought of it. He’s always been a good kid, a good student, so why was everything falling apart now? This had never been a problem at his old school, he never got in trouble there, but there were new rules he didn’t understand — and not just with his peers. They were less patient with him, more demanding, and his parents said the pressure would only increase in later grades. He felt like he was drowning, sometimes, just barely able to make it through each day before something new was thrown at him. 

He rifles through his backpack, binder, folders, and room for the fourth time tonight, his search still fruitless. He clasps his hands together, and once more he prays, prays that God would let him find it — it wasn’t really a huge request, so why wasn’t he getting an answer? Doubt trickles into his stomach, and it makes him feel sick. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be doubting God like this, but he couldn’t make it go away no matter what he does. This wasn’t good, Mark Heathcliff was supposed to be good, but he feels like he’s been doing a very bad job of that lately.

He grasps his hands together even tighter, fingers pressing into the space between bones so much it begins to ache a bit. Could God not hear him? He chews the inside of his cheek. This week they had taught about sacrifice in his religion class — about how God told Abraham to kill his only son, Isaac. About how Jesus suffered, how much pain He went through. Maybe that’s what Mark was missing, maybe he needed to show God that he was serious about how much He meant to him.

He swallows a lump in his throat, and brings his hands to his mouth. He bites down on the back of his hand, around the knuckle of his pointer finger, and it hurts. He cringes, stopping immediately. He hadn’t expected it to hurt that much, the area he had bitten down on burns faintly as the pain fades. There are condemning marks left on his hand from where teeth dug in, and he rubs the skin harshly, trying to make them fade quicker. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. He gingerly threads his hands together once more, and sends another prayer to God, hoping that this act would prove his devotion.

He repeats his cycle of rummaging through every place his workbook could be and praying, now with the addition of biting his hands, with more and more fervor each time. He grows frustrated, no, angry — why wouldn’t God listen to him? Why wouldn’t his parents and teachers listen? Why did nobody ever just listen to him? He finally gives up, tears in his eyes and hands aching as he gets ready for bed. 

A few days later, his religion teacher reads aloud a passage from 1 Corinthians, about how the body is a temple, and must be taken care of. She reads another about the prophet Elijah defeating the false prophets of Baal, how they cut themselves with swords and spilled their own blood but their god did not answer. His teacher tells them that God didn’t listen to people that hurt themselves, and Mark feels sick. No wonder God hadn’t answered him, he was selfish. Shame roils in his gut for the rest of the day, but he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of teeth sinking into the flesh of his hands.

—

He can’t do this.

It’s been hours of staring at pieces of paper with words that swim in his head, trying to find ways to answer them but he can’t. He doesn’t know why, he’s trying so hard, and he knows the answers to these questions, but he just can’t. None of his sentences make sense, so he erases them and starts over, but he forgets what he was going to write, so he rereads his textbook, but he’s already read it, and he can’t read it again without losing focus, so the words swim off the page and he can’t make sense of it anymore, and by the time he figures out how to word what he wants to say, it’s hours later and he’s exhausted, and he knows it shouldn’t be like this; he knows something is wrong.

But when he tries to tell his parents, he never knows how to explain it, and they just tell him to keep trying because “it’s not that hard,” but it is. He knows he’ll never get them to understand, though, so he tries again anyway, hoping that maybe they’re right, and this time he’ll be able to do it right. He never manages it, no matter what he does differently. Now it’s 10:15 pm, he still has three whole assignments left, and they are all due tomorrow. He’s tired, his head keeps falling to the table and startling him awake, and he knows there’s no way he’s going to finish them all tonight. But his parents won’t let him give up. 

They’ve gone to bed now, leaving him alone in the dining room, but he knows if he goes to bed now they won’t take any of the excuses he gives them in the morning. They will call him lazy, and a liar, and all the things that hurt him because it’s not true, but they don’t seem to care. They don’t care how much it hurts him, they don’t care if what he says is true, they don’t believe him. Anger burns in his throat, hotter than the shame he wears on his shoulders, filling the hollow pit in his stomach with a raging ocean. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair, he’s trying his best, and his parents always say that as long as he’s trying his best nothing else matters. But his best isn’t good enough for them anymore, and he hates it, hates himself, hates them. Maybe he doesn’t wish he could disappear, maybe he wishes they would disappear instead. 

He wishes his parents would die.

He’s still, for a moment, so startled by the thought taking root in his mind that he loses awareness of everything else. In the blink of an eye, the shock gives way to a searing, all-encompassing guilt. How could he even ever think that towards another human being, let alone his own parents? He gasps for air, not realizing he had stopped breathing, and curls into himself tightly; drawing his feet up onto the chair and tucking his knees underneath his chin. Tears slip down his cheeks, and he can’t seem to catch his breath as he stifles his sobs so his parents won’t hear him. His fingernails leave indents on his knees from where he digs them into his skin, and he half-wishes he would bleed. 

Mark is a terrible person. A terrible son. How could he wish for his parents to die?

He rips the sinful thought from his mind like uprooting a weed from a garden, and frantically replaces it with a haphazard, almost frenzied prayer.

He’s sorry, he loves his parents, he should be so grateful for everything they give him, he doesn’t deserve it, but they love him anyways, he didn’t mean it, he’s sorry, it wouldn’t happen again, he would never let himself think like that ever again, he would do anything, he’s sorry, he loves his parents, he would be lost without them, he would be lost without God, he’s sorry, he would do better, he just needs to try harder, just like his parents said, he just has to listen to them, he’s sorry, he deserves something horrible to happen to him, he’s been so ungrateful, he’s been so selfish, but he hopes God will forgive him anyways, even though he doesn’t deserve to ever be forgiven, because God loves him, and God would understand, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry it hurts.

He knows, now, that hurting himself will not make God listen, but he cannot help biting into his palms and wrists. He is disgusted with himself, and he wants to never think those sorts of things ever again, so he will use the pain to remind himself not to. He digs his teeth into his skin, closing them tighter, and tighter, until he cannot bear the sting of pain anymore, and releases it with a choked whimper. As soon as the pain fades, he bites down again, somewhere new, and repeats his self-flagellation. 

After what seems like an eternity, he calms down enough to breathe without his breath hitching, or new tears to shed, and he goes still. He looks down, eyes vacant, and sees his hands are littered with angry red indents left by his own teeth. He sniffles, and drags his gaze up to the clock, seeing it is now 12:08 am. Three hours past his bedtime. He feels hollow, drained of everything from the effort of feeling so many emotions at once, and he decides this simply isn’t worth it. He slides his chair back and stands up, flicking the lightswitch off and beelining it for his bedroom, barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see where he is going. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth, or change his clothes, or do any of the things he usually does before bed. He just crawls onto his mattress, hides under the covers, and tries desperately to forget the past hour and just fall asleep, to have just a moment of peace before the disappointment and anger he will face tomorrow morning. 

He does not succeed, and gets little sleep anyways.

—

His parents are fighting again, and as it usually is these days, their argument is centered around him.

He’s been lying recently. At first it was just a panicked fumble, a hasty, “Yes, I finished my homework,” or, “I forgot it at home, but I can bring it in tomorrow,” nothing more than a rushed excuse in hopes it would distract whichever adult he was talking to long enough for them to forget it. He hadn’t even realized it was a lie at first, because he was planning on finishing his homework and handing it in! He just… needed more time, and didn’t want to admit he wasn’t done with it yet. 

It wasn’t until later that the realization he had actually lied dawned on him, dread flooding his veins with ice as he sat at the dining room table, fist clenched around a pencil, pressing lead into the paper so hard the point had broken off. His head felt scrambled by the barrage of thoughts that accompanied the revelation, running rampant through his head as he tried despairingly to think up a penance for his transgression, and a solution to his newfound problem. The mere thought of admitting it to his parents had made him flinch, his own scorching fear rendering that option impossible. So he had decided to hide it — if nobody found out he had lied, then it wasn’t hurting anyone, was it? 

In the end, he had managed to finish the assignment and turn it in the next day, just as promised. No harm, no foul. It was almost vindicating it a way: he had proved he wasn’t a liar, not really. He knew he just needed more time, but the adults wouldn’t let him have it, so he took it himself. Was there really anything wrong with that? Was it lying if he delivered on his promise in the end? No, Mark decided, he was learning that adults weren’t always right about things, and when they were wrong he would take matters into his own hands. That’s what he told himself that night, shoulders hunched and wide eyes staring into the dark when he was supposed to be asleep. Liars are sinners, but he was no liar. 

But the time he had spent working on that one assignment had cut into the time he had to work on the others, and after just a few days he found himself in the same position. He knew the solution, he knew he could lie, but this time he knew he was lying, and it made his skin crawl with a prickle of shame. 

This repeated, until he had lied more times than he could count now, and he was finally caught. He had told his teacher he had, in fact, turned in his assignment, she must have just lost it. He had planned to turn it in the next day, to slip it into the assignments bin while nobody was looking. He had not expected his teacher to spend hours looking for it, only for her search to be futile. He had not expected her to hold him back after class, eyes narrowed into a glare of suspicion . 

He had broken easily, immediately confessing with eyes fixed on his shoes, voice barely audible as he admitted he had lied to her. She was furious, hours wasted for him, she had said, and he had never felt so ashamed in himself, queasiness coiling in his gut as she chewed him out. He couldn’t even remember most of it, he felt sick to his stomach even recalling a moment of it. He had never considered that this might happen, that his lie could ever affect someone other than himself, and remorse poisoned every fiber of his body with blistering anguish. He had felt like the floor had vanished from beneath his feet when she had informed him she was telling his parents. Despite his despondent pleading, endless tears, and choked apologies, she had refused to change her mind, and dismissed him to go to his next class. 

The rest of the day seemed to drag on infinitely, leaving Mark hollow besides a horrible buzz of shame and dread. He had almost considered hiding from his father when he came to pick him up, but decided that was much more trouble than it would ever be worth. From the moment he got home, he delayed the inevitable. He had half-hoped that maybe if he said nothing, and prayed hard enough, that his teacher would miraculously forget to call his parents, and they would never know. But she had not forgotten, and he was called later that night to the kitchen by his mother with a tight, almost pained expression, and his father with crossed arms and furrowed brows.

His parents had not been happy.

He curled up on his side even tighter as he heard the word liar be whisper-shouted by his father. They thought he was asleep, that he couldn’t hear them, but he could hear almost every word through the cracks in his bedroom door. His pillow was drenched with tears and snot, and he felt utterly pathetic. He prays for his parents to stop, for him to be able to fall asleep, for him to sink into his mattress and never wake up. 

Then again, why would God answer the prayers of a sinner? His parents had been right: he was a liar, and God does not love liars.

—

There is a boogeyman in Mandela County.

That’s what the newspeople call him, at least. He steals children, they say, whisking them away into the night never to be seen again — and nobody knows how he does it, who he is, or if it’s even a human being at all. There have been all sorts of rumors from the kids at school: aliens, demons, even an evil laboratory kidnapping children for their experiments. Mark isn’t really sure what he thinks of it all — he’s far too old to believe in monsters under the bed, and he’s more of a skeptic to things that stray from his faith. Whatever the case, the adults don’t seem to know what it is either, keeping a closer eye on the younger kids, and sending out broadcasts that make Mark feel sick with worry.

They say it’s taking children as young as newborns to as old as six. Sarah is five, and their parents have talked in hushed whispers about moving again, for her safety. He sits with her now, using a binder as a surface to write on so he can keep an eye on her while he does his homework, just like his parents told him to. She plays with her dolls on the carpet in front of the television, chattering to them as she weaves a story only she can comprehend. As Mark watches her, he almost feels… jealous. She’s been the favorite since she was born, and it’s not that he wants her to disappear, no, he loves her far too much for that, it’s just that… 

Mark is too old to be taken by the boogeyman. He’s ten years old, far beyond the target age-range. Yet every night he almost wishes it would take him anyways; away from school, away from his parents, and bring him somewhere he didn’t have to worry about anything. He doesn’t know what happens to the kids that are taken, nobody does, but at this point he doesn’t really care. If something terrible happens, then maybe he would deserve it. It isn’t fair, that it could take Sarah instead of Mark. Sarah doesn’t deserve to be taken, she’s never done anything wrong, but Mark deserves to disappear, he wants to disappear. He’s pretty sure his parents wouldn’t even miss a liar anyways, and they would still have Sarah, so really it would be the best for everyone, wouldn’t it? Mark would get to disappear, and nobody else would be upset by him ever again.  

He watches over her, and he feels an envy for something he knows he shouldn’t want.

—

There is someone in the house.

Mark holds his breath as he hides under the dining room table, squeezing his knees to his chest so tightly his body aches. He had been staying up late again, working on homework he would never finish, when the television turned on by itself, and a far-too-large hand pushed itself through the screen. There was no time for him to do anything else but kill the lights, throw himself under the table, and pray. 

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t dare to take a breath. He can’t risk making a single noise, not when a living shadow lumbers through his home, head nearly scraping on the ceiling as it trudges past his hiding spot, achingly slow, each step it takes feeling like it shakes the very foundations of the house. He cannot breathe, so instead he prays, pleads that whatever it is does not find him. He has no idea what the intruder even looks like, he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but what little he did see is enough to set his pulse hammering against his ribs. His heartbeat is so violently loud that he’s already half convinced it will hear him anyways, and spindly arms will reach down to rip him out of his shelter and tear him to shreds. 

Achingly slow, it claws its way past him, and Mark squeezes his eyes shut, too terrified to look at what might be his doom. His head is filled with images of monsters, demons, and a faceless Boogeyman that haunts his town like a phantom. He hears more shuffling, more thuds, each one makes him curl into himself even more, but they slowly sound further and further away. He just barely opens his eyes, and he nearly sobs in complete and utter relief. It has gone past him, shambling out of the dining room, and into the hallway. It had not noticed him. He finally allows himself a breath when he is sure it is out of earshot, stifling the sound with his hands. Joy floods his veins, he is alive. That relief crashes like a vase to the floor when he hears the click of a doorknob turning, and the accompanying creak of a door being opened. 

It had gone to the hallway, he realizes. The hallway that leads to Sarah’s room.

He unfurls from his hiding spot stiffly, urgency thawing out the sheer panic that had kept him frozen. Whatever that thing is, he was not going to allow it to hurt her. What if it really was the Boogeyman, and it took Sarah away? He couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let that happen. 

He creeps down the hallway, pulse pounding in his chest as he slides his sock-covered feet along the wooded floors. His legs are shaking, and he feels like he might fall to the floor at any moment, but he keeps going. He briefly looks to his parents’ room, considering waking them up, but if it’s already opened Sarah’s door, then by the time he wakes them she might be gone. He has to face it alone. He steels himself, placing a hand upon the doorframe of Sarah’s room as he looks inside, and has to choke back a scream at the sight of something far too tall to be human hunched over Sarah’s bed, reaching something that must be a hand towards her. He almost backs away, frightened out of his mind just by seeing something so obviously inhuman, but instead he steps into the room, and opens his mouth to speak.

“What are you doing?” he croaks, his voice strangled by fear.

It turns to face him, and what small amount of bravery Mark had mustered up is gone in an instant, replaced by a soul-devouring terror. Although it is dark, there is enough light seeping in through the window for him to make out the features of the monster clearly. It has no lips, just a gaping mouth carved into an uncanny smile, filled with far too many teeth. Its lower jaw is split into two, weaving together and undulating in a way that almost resembles an insect’s mandibles. Its face is smooth, catching light in a way that makes it look as if it has molded clay in place of skin, sculpted around a blank eye on one side of its face. The other eye is set within a void, a glowing pupil flickering to focus in on his face.

It cocks its head to the side, considering his question, before it speaks, “I am taking her away.”

He can’t breathe, he feels as though his ribcage has collapsed in on itself, and he’s forgotten how to even inhale. Its voice digs claws into his head, static erupting in a horrid cacophony of incomprehensible noise, and he would raise his hands to clamp over his ears if he wasn’t petrified, if his arms weren’t so weak. His gaze is locked on it, but he remembers the reason he ever entered the room in the first place, and his eyes flit over to her. Sarah is asleep still, clutching a stuffed animal as she slumbers peacefully, blissfully unaware of the danger looming above her. It strengthens his resolve, and he remembers how to breathe, wheezing in a weak breath, as he looks the monster in the eye once more.

“L-le-ave,” he demands, voice cracking, “Le-ave her alone. T-take someone el-se.”

Its pupil flickers, and it blinks its vacant eye, perplexed by his request. “Who else would I take?” it inquires.

Mark can feel its gaze burning a hole through him as it awaits his response, and he scrambles for something to say. He has a feeling if he does not answer its question correctly, something terrible will happen, and it will take Sarah anyways. This vague fear sends his mind racing, half-formed thoughts clambering around the inside of his head, as though his brain is overturning each of his memories for something, anything to save his little sister. He remembers many, many things at once, but the recollections he latches onto the most are those of guilt. Of shameful lies, clenched teeth, crushing despair, and unanswered prayers. He remembers coveting a fate he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have. He remembers a wish he made as his little sister puppeteered toys in front of the very television the demon before him had emerged from. He knows his answer. He hopes it is one the monster will accept.

“Me,” Mark breathes, “T-ake me inste-ad.”

The Boogeyman, for that’s what it must be, drags itself towards him — hands that are gnarled and twisted like the roots of a tree pulling its sunken body forwards. He notices its chest is see-through, and he can see what look like ribs, but on closer inspection appear to be segmented insect legs. He gawks at them as they twitch and writhe, before snapping his attention back to its face. He forces himself to stay still as it lowers its head, arms creaking as it bends itself down until its eyes are level with his own.

“Why?” it implores, voice still buzzing with static, but no longer unbearable. 

“Be-because I-,” Mark swallows, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to-to be here anymore. I-,” his voice warbles, and his breath hitches, but he continues. “I w-want to dis-appear, I’m a-a bad person, and I d-don’t want to stay here,” he gasps, fully crying now. “I d-on’t deserve to sta-y here, I d-on’t w-ant to stay here, please,” he wails, voice muffled as he buries his face into his hands. His chest heaves as he trembles, barely holding himself together enough to stay upright. He had never admitted his wish to anyone else before, and it felt like the dam he had built around it had finally burst, forcing him to feel the full brunt of the emotions he had locked away for so long. 

He feels something drape itself across his shoulders and back, and can’t even find it in himself to recoil. He leans into the touch, letting it guide him through the doorway, and out into the hall. The weight on his back distorts, shrinking until it feels more like a real, human hand, now resting on just one shoulder. He looks to the monster, and sees it has condensed itself into the form of a man, no longer craning down to fit under the ceiling. He crashes forwards, burying his face into its side and wrapping shaking arms around it. He doesn’t care anymore, if it’s going to take him then he’s going to be selfish, and take as much comfort from it as he can get. It pauses, evidently not expecting Mark to cling to it. He feels a trickle of dread, had he made a mistake? He expects to be shoved away, for it to change its mind, but instead he feels an arm wrap itself around his shoulders, resting upon his back tentatively. He sniffles, and leans further into it.

They stay like that for a moment, before the monster starts to walk, and Mark forces his legs to move along with it, stumbling to keep in step with the other. It does not rush him, simply waiting for him to match its movements, almost like it wants him to copy it. It leads him out of the hallway, and he follows it blindly, not bothering to check where it is taking him. He doesn’t care, as long as it’s away, far away. 

After a short while it stops, and stays still — but they had not walked for nearly as long as Mark had expected, he’s pretty sure they hadn’t even left the house. Mark forces his head up, blinking tears out of his eyes to look at their surroundings. It has brought him to the living room, right in front of the television. It makes sense, that it would take him away through the same thing it had come from. He supposes this is it, then. Something crosses his mind, and he balks, suddenly, tugging on its arm.

“Where… where are you going to take me? What will… happen to me?” His voice is small, he is already resigned to his fate, but he wants to know what his doom will be before he commits to it. 

It tilts its head, gaze boring into him. “I am going to make you like me. And then we will go to the others,” it states.

The words catch Mark off guard. He isn’t sure what he had been expecting it to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “So… I’m not going to die?” he asks haltingly, almost apprehensive. He isn’t even sure which answer he wants to hear.

“No,” it vows, “you will not die, but you will be different.”

Mark can’t help but feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. He doesn’t know exactly what it means by ‘different’ but he doesn’t care enough to question it. He can guess well enough what it means anyways, with the way that it had looked before he agreed to go with it. He shivers as he imagines his jaw breaking in two, and his eyes becoming blank and lifeless. He shoves the images out of his head, and reaches out to grasp one of its hands to ground himself. He can’t let himself second guess his decision now — he has a feeling it would not react kindly to that. Besides, he was doing this for Sarah, whatever was going to happen to him didn’t matter.

The thought makes him realize that he should probably make sure the monster understands what he wants from it in return. “...What about Sarah? You… aren’t going to take her, are you? Just me?” he rasps, barely able to even make his voice audible.

“No. Just you,” it affirms, “unless you want me to take her as well?”

“No! No, I don’t- I don’t want that,” he yelps. “Just me, not her.”

“Then I won’t,” it assures, turning its face towards the television. Before it can so much as step towards it, Mark stops it once more.

“Will it hurt?” he whispers, the question itself feeling like a condemnation.

It freezes, stiffening like a statue as it considers the question. “I don’t know,” it admits.

Mark looks down, staring at the floor as he considers asking more questions, before deciding he doesn’t want to know more. Instead, he grits his teeth and squeezes its hand, trying not to show how much its answer scares him. It seems to take this as a sign that he is ready to go with it. It squeezes his hand back, then pulls away, prying its hand from Mark’s as it steps forward. Mark takes his hand back, but watches with curiosity as something occurs to him. How did it even fit in the television? Even in its more ‘human’ form, it towered over him, surely it couldn’t just cram itself through, right? He supposes he’ll just have to wait and see. 

It straightens itself out, and then its body lets out a series of cracks as it begins to jolt and shake, and it buckles forwards. Mark suppresses a shout at the sudden noise and movement, then stares, transfixed, as its body breaks apart even further. 

Mark can see its bones bend, twist, and snap under the thin cloth covering its form — its very skeleton seeming to fold in on itself as though being pulled apart by invisible hands. It hardly even has a shape that could be considered close to human as it drops to the floor and crawls towards the screen, its form distorted and broken beyond recognition. It’s the most horrific thing Mark has ever seen, and although he hastily darts his hands up to cover his eyes, the afterimages of it flash in his mind’s eye. It is as mesmerizing as it is repulsive, like watching the inner workings of some ghastly machine. Mark cringes at each sharp crack and wet tear of muscle, until finally it goes quiet. 

He peeks out from behind parted fingers, only to be met with an empty room, the television still blaring white noise. He blinks, bringing his hands back down as he slowly inspects the room for any sign of the creature, yet finds nothing.

Had it… left him? 

Just as he feels his heart sink to the floor, the television’s static changes pitch, and something emerges from it. Mark feels a sense of deja-vu as he watches a hand claw itself out of the screen, but unlike before, it is turned upwards. Its palm is open, inviting him to take hold of it once more. An offer, waiting to be fulfilled.

He hesitates — how could he not? He knows, deep in his bones, that whatever was beyond the screen would change him; that the static would devour him wholly and his life would never be the same. If he would even have a life at all, the monster could very well be lying to him. He considers, briefly, going back on his promise. He imagines running down the hall, bursting into his parents’ room and waking them up, taking solace in the inherent safety adults provided. But this is what he had wanted, wasn’t it? If he went to them, things would just go back to the way they were before, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

He reaches out, and grasps its hand tightly, his palm tingling from where it touches the skin of the monster. It reminds him of static electricity. It tugs his hand through the screen ever so gently, and his hand is swallowed by prickling white noise.

Static ripples up and down his arm, electricity coiling in his tendons and nerves as it boils in his veins. It does not hurt, but it surges under his skin, overwhelming as it floods his nerves with noise and colors and all sorts of things that should not be held within human flesh. He can hear an endless cacophony of radio channels and transmissions, the signals reverberating with his skull and skittering into nothingness. His teeth ache as they buzz in their sockets, and he feels the need to clench them tightly, lest they rattle themselves out of his jaw. 

He can no longer feel his own hand, as if his flesh and bones have unraveled into radio waves and beams of light, no longer bound to such a simple, human shape. Despite this, he can still feel the monster holding it, as if it is grasping the concept of his hand, rather than a physical object. He thinks it might be the only thing stopping him from falling apart into nothingness. It is reassuring, a beacon of stability amongst the overwhelming chaos he has plunged himself into, and he tries to hone his attention to it and it alone. 

The sensation is unbearable, just barely bordering on a painless agony, but he surges forwards anyways. He shoves his head through the screen, and falls. Down through the screen, far away from his home and humanity, he falls, but there is something there to catch him. He has no body, no mind, he is nothing more than a tangled, writhing mass of channels and currents and light, but he does not fall apart. He is cosmic dust, held together only by the gravity of a star as he is remade anew, into something whole again. He opens his eyes, that are not quite eyes, and an angel stares back at him. 

Mark Heathcliff disappears — leaving no trace other than unfinished homework on the dining room table, his little sister’s door left ajar, and a television pouring out an incessant hiss of static.

[dcfanficsgallore]

Didn't plan for this

Wonder Woman x Demigod!Fem!Reader

2859 words

TW: Broken Leg, Hospitals, Reader overthinks everything

Masterlist

Summary: You have only seen a handful of times and have been trying to get her attention ever since, when a disaster occurs, it finally makes her look at you and talk.

A/N: This fanfic doesn't use the usual quotes to show character speaking. Instead they'll use a - to show that they are speaking and every new line of dialogue is a new paragraph. Also English isn't my first language. Enjoy! X3 <33

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Being a demigod in a world that gets invaded by aliens every other week and seems to have a new super-whatever everyday is pretty normal. Especially if you’re a child of Athena, like me… 

We don’t get powers like the children of Zeus or the innate charisma of the Apollo kids, but we’re not as insufferable as the Aphrodite Spawn (Long story), we’re just… Pretty smart and can understand stuff that most can’t. When I was a kid my teachers always told my mortal mom that I was ‘gifted’, my mom knew it was always truer than what they intended, but she never told me about it. Nor about my Godly mom…

Usually when an alien attack happens or a supervillain breaks from prison I tend to help the people around me get to safety and prepare all my contingencies for if the threat gets too close, I only had to use a couple of my plans once, that was a mess! But it made me learn that Plan C and Plan T should not be anywhere near each other. Other than that I just wait until the danger is over and maybe, kinda, try to see if she is taking care of the mess.

Of all the children of Zeus, she is the best. Most caring, most humble, the prettiest, and just all around good person. I only met THE Wonder Woman once, and since then I’ve been trying to get her attention the only way a daughter of Athena like me can… I’ve been sending contingency plans to the Justice Hall in hopes one of them will make them want to talk to me and talk about it. You might say it’s pointless, Batman is the best planner in the world, and to that I say: Maybe he would like someone to delegate a few of his responsibilities to… You never know.

It was during one of my walks to my job that I felt it.

Earthquakes

No worries, those happen all the time in New York. I have nothing to fear, just a mild-

Another one, Bigger

Again, not enough to trigger my alarms, but enough to make me start walking slower… And check my bag to see if everything is with m-

A third one, and this time I fall over

Alright. That’s cause for concern, I start sprinting towards my job while grabbing all the stuff I need to start Plan E.

As I turn a corner expecting to see the street to the building I work at, I am startled back by a falling lamp post.

This is bad

As I enter the building I see Ana, the secretary, ushering people out the building.

- How is it looking? - I ask her as another earthquake begins and doesn’t seem to stop.

- There’s still people inside - She looks at me with a worried expression - You might have to bring out Plan H - She says.

Ana is my best friend and that gives her the privilege of a binder with all my plans so she can help me choose one in big stress situations. That’s still not enough because she just suggested the Bird People Protocol, but I get the gist of what she wants.

- I think you might be right - I say not wanting to get into an argument of my plans with her right now

Being a prepared Child of Athena is very helpful when you're the Chief of Security of the company. I take a deep breath, say a little prayer to my mom hoping for a little luck to get inside and not die. And go in…

The first thing I see as I go through the doors is the bottom floor is collapsing. I rush a couple people out while I make my way to my office, in there I’ll find everything to hopefully save everyone. I just have to go up two floors, the elevators are a bust and a death trap. So the stairs are gonna be my friends.

As I start going up I hit a couple buttons on the wall to trigger the slides that help people go down the stairs faster, (hey, it works for airplanes and they were cheap to install. Just a button and they self inflate).

When I open the door to the second floor I am met by so many people that are injured. I go to usher them to the slides, after finding a couple interns that are so scared but not that bad physically and instruct them on what to do once they get down and keep moving towards my office.

I begin to see my office, it's right there, just a few more moments and everything will be fi-

feel a lot of pain and a crack coming from behind me

Something fell on me. I look back and see that my leg is stuck between a stone pillar and the floor. I feel a lot of pain, but I can't stop. I've already sent everyone on this floor down and there are more above me. If I give up now I’ll die along with everyone else, that’ll not be something that a Demigod will be doing today, I tell myself.

I start to try to lift the pillar with all my strength, it’s hard, it might be impossible, I start thinking of ways to maybe leverage a piece of debris as maybe a lever when the pillar starts to float? It’s not floating, someone picked it up. But who..?

It’s her, in all her glory. She looks exactly like I remember, the black locks of hair flowing, the tiara reflecting the little light inside this crumbling building, her golden lasso on her hand and the pillar on the other, she lifting it like it doesn’t weigh anything. Her ocean blue eyes that are looking directly into my soul, her furrowed brows like she’s mad? Wait, no, she IS mad!

- What are you doing! - She says with an alarm in her tone - I was helping the people off the building when I saw you running INTO it? What are you trying to do?

The reality of the situation finally hits me and I say

- Help me. My office. I can help… - I say with difficulty as my leg starts to hurt a lot more now that the big rock was removed.

She looks at me like I just grew frog legs beneath the pillar, not understanding why I’m trying so hard to go even deeper into the crumbling building.

I say it one more time and she seems to snap out of it.

- What are we looking for? - She says as she picks me up bridal style and starts sprinting into the room. Even with a broken leg I manage to get flustered, but quickly dismiss it as I get my head back in the game

I push myself down and limp to my desk, opening a drawer and pushing a button labeled ‘U’.

Immediately the result can be felt as dozens of inflatable slides appear going from every single window sill, out of seemingly thin air, and gives everyone on the above floors a chance to take a faster way down. But not everything can go according to plan as life constantly likes to remind me. The slide on my window did not trigger so I think I’m stuck until I feel myself being picked up again and my heroine jumps out of the window landing safely with me in her arms.

After that she puts me down on a sidewalk and says

- That was incredibly smart, aren’t you the woman that always has a plan? - She says, and I’m a little upset that that’s how she remembers me.

- Yeah, that 's me. A daughter of Athena trying her best - I say before my leg starts to demand more of my attention and I whimper a little

- Oh your leg! Right! - She says before picking me up again and without all the smoke and panic I can actually feel her muscles and smell a little perfume, strawberry? Maybe Daisy? Maybe alcohol? Wait… That’s the ambulance, I’m in the ambulance getting alcohol rubbed on my leg by a paramedic, staring into her sapphire eyes and she’s saying something... Oh shit she said something!

- Sorry what? - I say trying to cool my nerves from seeing her again

- I said I’ll be right back to check on you, these quakes are not natural. The League is currently stopping the cause of it but there are still civilians trapped in building that don’t have slides that help them get down - She smiles a little and it’s the prettiest smile I have ever seen

- Yeah, it’s cool, you’re a hero and all that - Say in an effort to look casual in the face of all this

A few hours later I had to be taken to the hospital to get my leg on a cast and suspended above me on the bed that I’m laying down on. Ana made it out without any serious injuries and is keeping me company, and by company I mean she’s currently hearing me be anxious about my meeting with The Wonder Woman. 

- She said she would check on me later - I say for what’s probably the thousandth time

- Yup, but when she said you were on the street getting tended to by an EMT. Now she probably has no idea where you - She keeps trying to manage my expectations.

- But look at the TV Ana, a lot of people need help, she’s probably helping them. and this is one of the only hospitals that didn’t seem to be that affected by the quake! - I reason with her.

- Why do I keep getting into arguments with you? - she says with a long sigh - Damn Owl Spawn - she says with a smirk that gets wiped by the pillow I throw on her face

- Because you live in hope that you can win! - I tease back and am promptly met by the same pillow hitting my face.

-But seriously Y/N - She says looking at me - I wouldn’t get my hopes up, she’s a superhero. She’ll probably be busy until the next morning and then she’ll probably go back to her place and sleep for a long time, maybe she’ll forget.

- I can still hope, right? - I say a little sadly to Ana who nods and pulls me into a hug

- You should get some rest Bird Brain, I’ll be here if you need anything - Ana says, going to turn off the light and heading to her chair next to my bed.

- Fine - I say as the day finally catches up to me and I fall asleep almost immediately

It’s probably not until around 4 A.M when I hear a little tapping on my hospital window, at first I think I’m dreaming because I’m quite a way high up on this hospital, I would say about 30,5 meters away from ground level. But then I hear it again

tap tap tap

Okay, that’s not a dream. I take my leg off the suspension gently so as to not hurt myself and open the curtain to see… HER! She’s flying and staring at me through the window looking a bit shy, if I were to guess.

- You’re here!? - I open the window and question a little too happy about this meeting

- I told I would be - she smiles - How are you doing? - she questions looking at my cast.

- I’m doing fine - I shrug - The drugs help with the pain and I heal quite fast.

- Right, you’re also a demigoddess - she says with a smile - So am I.

- You are? You mean you’re not a goddess? - I ask and immediately regret it. You don’t ask a pretty woman that? Are you nuts? I say to myself thinking she’ll be put off by my comment and fly away. But to my surprise, she laughs and it’s the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard.

- No no, I’m the daughter of Zeus with the queen of the amazons, Hippolyta - She says in a casual way like that wasn’t a huge bombshell for me to discover

- That’s so cool - I say after making myself pick my jaw from the floor - Would you… ummm… Would you like to come in? - I ask her and to my surprise she accepts

The first thing I notice when she comes in is how tall she is, I think I would’ve figured out she was an Amazon with enough time, I quickly notice that she’s probably 6,2 inches, which makes me feel fuzzy inside. The next thing I notice is how strong she is. When she went inside, she picked me up by my side and sat me down on the bed before finally touching the floor. 

I realize I’m staring again and that I missed what she was saying, again! This never happens to me.

- I’m so sorry, I was distracted, what did you say? - I say hoping she doesn’t think I’m always like this.

- I just asked if she’ll wake up anytime soon. - She repeats without a hint of annoyance. Gesturing to Ana sleeping on the chair in a position that doesn’t seem that comfortable but I’m not one to judge.

- Oh Ana? No, she only wakes with her alarm or when stuff is thrown at her - I say chuckling.

There’s an awkward silence before she clears her throat and says

- I’m Diana, by the way, Diana Prince - she says putting her hand out - I just wanted to say that the fact that you went inside the collapsing building when you could’ve turned the other way and ran, really impressed me.

I blush very hard when she says that, then I shake her hand and say

- I’m Y/N Y/L/N, it really means a lot to me that you found that impressive. And just so you know, running was not an option, that building had so many contingencies inside it I needed to know that one of them worked. If I didn’t try my own plans what kind of child of wisdom would I be? - I say while shaking her hand

- Hm, does your mother require that of all her children? - She asks almost concerned

- No, not at all. She doesn’t even talk to us! - I say without thinking, this woman makes me so flustered my brain stops working I swear! - It’s more, like an itch. An itch in the back of your mind that doesn’t go away if you don’t test your contraptions

- She doesn’t talk to you? I’m sorry… - She says with sympathy on her voice

-Don’t be - I wave it off -  She’s a goddess, she probably has more important things to do. Besides, I got my smarts and that’s all I need. - I say shuffling on the bed and putting my foot back in it’s place.

She sits next to me and says

- It’s still sad that our parents don’t talk to us

I shrug before gathering my courage and finally asking

- Why’d you come to see me? I’m sure you meet people that are more interesting than me everyday and it’s not like you owe me or anything, you saved life twice today and now you’re here checking on me. Why? - I ask and she thinks for a moment before smiling and… Wait, is she blushing?

- Well it’s simple really, I was very impressed by the fact that you had a protocol in place for such an event and had the guts to go in and make sure it went accordingly that I wanted to maybe see if you were interested in… Showing me some of your plans - That last part seemed to catch her off guard, but I’ll never say no to someone willing to listen to my plans so I get very excited.

- Yeah, sure, of course! I’ll probably be out of the hospital in a couple of days, maybe less if I can convince the docs I’ll take it easy. - I agree a little too fast, but I don’t care. Diana wants to see my plans! - Here’s my number - I give her my number scribbled on a piece of paper I got in my bag - Give me a call please, and we’ll set it up. - I say a little too eager and failing miserably to be cool

- Yeah, sure - she says, accepting the paper and… She is definitely blushing! - I’ll give you a call, and we’ll set up our date… - She stops herself after she says that - I mean, like a friend date. 

- I can accept a date - I blush and nod and look away, trying everything I can to not look her in those sapphire eyes

She gets up and goes to the window but before she looks at me and says.

- I hope I get to see you soon - she says before flying off into the distance

a- Same - I say before snuggling in my bed ready to dream about her but not before hearing

- I heard the whole thing! - Ana says before receiving a face full of pillow.

- We’ll talk in the morning - I say ending the conversation.

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

Chapter 2

A/N: Some might call Y/N Paranoid, she would say prepared ;)

[birgittesilverbae]

endure thou therefore hardship

cw: mention of domestic abuse

i. who hath chosen him

You can't remember a time when you could stand tall, before you had been buckled beneath the weight of a load too large for your young shoulders. Your mere presence to blame for a family unit shattering, for the departure of a woman who looks upon you and feels nothing. Your own actions to blame for the bruises that long blanket your ribs and your back and every inch of your skin that can be covered by clothing. Your disinterest to blame for the whispers that spread behind you in the halls of a Department of Defense school you've never quite felt at home in. You're to blame, you're to blame, you're to blame. 

The litany of blame only lightens when you step into the church on base, tucked into the back of the installation. You while away your evenings there alongside the chaplain, growing tall enough that your feet no longer dangle above the floor when you settle into one of the folding chairs that stand in for pews. Alan, the latest in a long line of chaplains, is always slow to hide his grin when you carry the chairs in ungainly stacks and rest them in neat ranks against the back of the hall. He sits with you as you struggle gamely through biology and calculus, chemistry and history. There's a keenness to his eyes, an interest in his gaze, that makes you feel accepted here, in this quiet space where you can shelter from the whirlwind of rage that haunts your home.

His quiet, steady voice – so much at odds with the barks of every teacher who seemingly aspires to become a drill sergeant – directs you to prayer, to supplication, to stain your lips with the crimson of His blood, and you find peace in those moments in which you can finally hear yourself think. You are so used to living with eyes downturned that it doesn't feel a burden to lower your head in prayer. It feels a relief to know that you are not alone, even in your isolation.

Your backpack is light, containing only a binder with an essay you've left almost to the last minute, when you duck your head into Alan's office to give your greetings. He is not alone, and confusion spikes up and down your spine when he gestures towards you and introduces you to a full-on nun. Wimple and all. You've grown too used to Alan in his fatigues or his dress uniform, can't remember the last time you'd seen him in his robes of office – the Easter services, maybe – and thus the contrast between the pair of them is all the more stark. Alan with the top buttons of his fatigues undone in concession to the heat while this black-robed crow perches opposite him without even a bead of sweat on her face.

The confusion only grows, as confusion so often does for you, with the continuance of conversation. An offer of something that's never quite stated outright, the way your fingers trace the margin of a bruise but never press at its centre. An opportunity to take a combat-oriented role in… something. An affiliation to the Church, the proper noun always evident in the stating of it. 

You've drifted from Mainline Protestant to Evangelical to Catholic with the rotation of chaplains through the base, none of them striking any particular chord with you beyond the one strummed by the offering of religion as refuge. Face to face with a steely-eyed nun of the Catholic capital-c Church, you feel a sudden surge of belief that this is where you are meant to be. That all your burdens have brought you to this moment, to this offering of escape from the only path you'd felt left open to you. 

(You've never had the grades for university, and you've heard often enough that art is not a viable option. But you have a body, and what better use for it than to lay it on the line for a country you've experienced only in brief snapshots of time, a week long vacation here, a funeral there. If that's all you're good for, then it will be no trial for you to pile more dirt upon the root of that disinterest in boys you've already so easily buried.)

You have a body, and you are being offered another use for it.

You grab hold with both hands and hang on tight.