a promise to raise the dead


We raise a great army. An army bigger than ever before. We call in favors. We do deals with Kings and Earls that we hate. Whatever we have to promise them, we promise. And in the end, we assemble an army twice the size of the army our father took to Paris. And we declare war on England.

No. In the name of our dead father, in the name of Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest hero of our country, and in the name of Odin, we declare war on the whole world.

And what more shall I say?
I do not have time to tell about Gideon,
Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about
David and Samuel and the prophets,
who through faith conquered kingdoms,

administered justice, and gained
what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions,
quenched the fury of the flames, and
escaped the edge of the sword;

whose weakness was turned to strength;
and who became powerful in battle
and routed foreign armies.
Women received back their dead, raised to life again.

There were others who were tortured,
refusing to be released so that they might
gain an even better resurrection.
Some faced jeers and flogging, and
even chains and imprisonment.

They were put to death by stoning;
they were sawed in two; they were killed
by the sword. They went about in sheepskins
and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated
the world was not worthy of them.

—  Hebrews 11:32-38 | the world was not worthy of them.
Three Generations Of Wheeler And Byers (Part III): Just Cut It, Dammit!

“What are you doing?”

Her voice rang out, through the thin grey trees, over the orange, dead mulch. Jonathan, an armful of sticks pulled against his chest, rounded at the sound.

Nancy Wheeler was standing at the top of the slope from which he himself had descended not an hour before, hands on her hips and hair in pigtails. He felt his heart stop at the sight of her.

“I… uh…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Jonathan?”

“I’m building something,” he said. Then he kept walking. Nancy ran to catch up.

“Building what? Can I help?”

Jonathan bit his lip. “I don’t know if you’d really want to—”

“Jonathan, I promised I would be your friend, remember? And over a bottle of coke, too.”

“That I paid for,” he said.

Nancy grinned. She loved the banter between them; it came so naturally it was almost second nature. “True. So, what are you building?”

Jonathan looked down at the edges of his torn up Nikes, which could barely be seen. “A fort.”

“A what now?”

“A fort,” he repeated, louder this time (Stop your damn mumbling, Jonny, and bring me a fucking beer!). Nancy pursed her lips. “See? I told you, you wouldn’t wanna help.”

“You’re so stunned,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, and then grabbed half of the sticks from him. “Now, where are we building this thing?”

Jon couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, but he did his best to hide it. “Through there,” he said, pointing with a now free hand to a break in the bushes (which led to a rather empty area—not nearly big enough to be considered a clearing, but enough for their fort).

Nancy nodded in a business like manner which reminded him eerily of his mother, and then forged straight ahead.

When they cut through, he heard her gasp. For a moment he thought that she’d seen something frightening, but then he realised it was awe in her tone. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a pile of wood,” Jon said.

She glared at him. “Not that,” she said. “This!”

The wood flew as she gestured toward the tiny flatland. Jonathan supposed it was pretty cool; the way the light cut through the trees, almost spilling from between the leaves. The wildflowers nearby that rustled in the breeze.

In that instant—in that one little second—Jonathan Byers (who had seen the world not through his own eyes but through his father’s cloudy, close-minded gaze), realised that there was more to life than fetching things for his dad, pleasing his dad, and getting beat up by his dad when things didn’t go so well. Every child has a moment like this in their lives, when they realise that the world just might be open to them. This was Jonathan’s, and it was breathtaking.

“Yeah,” he said (a photographer was born). “I guess it is.”

They paused where they were. Nancy leaned her head on his shoulder just briefly (her hair smelt of lemons and lavender, and something else; something like freedom).

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

They carried the sticks over to the already existing stack—which was as tall as Jon’s waist. Then they went out in search of heavier logs, which they dragged instead.

Jon was sweating a little by the time he was satisfied they had enough.

“I already drew out the plan,” he told Nancy, gesturing at the little stack of supplies he’d nestled under a birch (which included twine, a bit of paint, scissors, and a pocket knife). “You can look at it if you like.”

“Don’t need to,” she said, voice bright, and went to work sorting through their timber; little sticks went in one pile, then medium length, and then the thickest were sorted into two stacks—long and short.

Jon got down on his hands and knees, pushing the mulch up into a square frame as high as his mid-calf. Then they did the real work.

It took hours. By the time they were done with the first wall (and half of the second) the sun was setting.

Nancy called it.

“I should probably be going home,” she said.

Jonathan looked up from the twine he was tying around two sticks. He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But first, we need to do something.” She walked over to the can of coke they’d shared and then back over to him. “Pocket knife, please?”

He caught on right then. “Nancy, you can’t—”

“Why, because I’m a girl?”

“No! That’s not what I—” frustrated and blushing furiously, he looked away. “I mean cutting our hands with a can isn’t safe at all.”

Nancy shrugged. “Who’s bacteria is on it? Yours and mine, right? And we shared it anyway. Besides, you can go home and clean it out with that disinfectant stuff—you do have some, right? The stuff your mom puts on cuts?”

Jonathan nodded, wincing at how many times his mother had dabbed the clear liquid onto his scraped knees and blistered hands. “Okay,” he relented, and passed over the knife.

With surprising ease she sheared the can in two, then cut out a sharp triangular piece. “Right,” she said. “So we take a vow. You and me, friends forever. Repeat after me, okay?”

He nodded, and held out his open palm (which was dirty—god, this definitely wasn’t safe—he sure hoped they weren’t out of disinfectant), which she cleanly sliced. But it was only a small cut, across the heart line. He hissed.

“I do promise thee,” she spoke (he thought she might be crazy), “Nancy Jean Wheeler,”

“I do promise thee,” he repeated. “Nancy Jean Wheeler,”

“That I will be your friend until I’m just bones in the ground.”

He swallowed, feeling a heaviness weigh down on his heart (as though the promise were a real, tangible thing). “That I will be your friend until I’m just bones in the ground.”

Nancy grinned. “Awesome. Do me.”

Jonathan took the little can shard in his shaking, bloody hand, and hovered the edge over her skin. It looked pristine, and soft, and unscarred (if a little grubby).

Nancy huffed. “Just cut it, dammit!”

He sliced. She winced, but that was all. “Right. So, I do promise thee Jonathan Leo Byers,”

“I do promise thee Jonathan Leo Byers,” she repeated, beaming.

“That I will… protect and defend the name of our friendship, until I’m dust in the wind.”

She repeated the last, final line. Then they shook hands, faces fixed determinedly. “We should bury it,” Nancy suggested.

Jon nodded. He crouched down in the centre of the fort, dug a little hole (careful to use his uncut hand), and placed the shard inside. “You’ll come back and help until it’s finished, right?”

“Right!” (she wouldn’t, but that was for a reason beyond their control).

Nancy helped him to his feet, and right then and there, at eight years old, Jonathan thought that he might kiss her—though he wasn’t entirely sure just what kissing was. Even so, he thought he’d quite like to do it. Maybe not on the lips. Maybe just her cheek. But still. She was cooler than any girl he’d ever met.

“Castle Byers is in your debt,” he said, instead.

Nancy grinned. She held his hand—the bloody one—in her own, and they walked back to his house together.


↳ [2/2] Heroes - T H E S E U S

According to Greek mythology, Theseus was the son of either King Aegeus or Poseidon. His most famous exploit was against the Minotaur of King Minos of Crete. Theseus insisted on being one of the seven youths and seven maidens of Athens to be sacrificed to the monster as an annual tribute. He promised King Aegeus that if he was successful in killing the Minotaur he would on his return voyage replace his ship’s black sails with white ones.

Ariadne, daughter of King Minos, fell in love with Theseus and gave him a magic ball of thread to be dropped at the entrance of the labyrinth; it led Theseus to the Minotaur, which he killed, and he then followed the unwound thread back to the entrance. He left Crete with Ariadne but abandoned her at Naxos.

When Theseus reached home he forgot to raise white sails. Aegeus saw black sails, and, thinking his son dead, the grief-stricken father threw himself into the sea, thereafter called the Aegean. Although Theseus is generally thought of as legendary, the Athenians believed he had been one of their early kings.

[Mark] Teacher’s Pet (Chapter 103)

All Chapters

“Baby, here’s that wine glass-” Mark’s voice resonates in the area, getting closer. Olivia turns around, pulling me with her. He stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, his face blanching as he registers the scene unfolding before his eyes.

I instantly fear for my baby.

“You promised me.” Olivia says to him, her voice desperate. Mark raises a cautious hand, taking a step forward, staring at her.

“Olivia.” He admonishes. I don’t understand what she’s talking about. All I can think of is the knife hovering too close to my throat. The sound of my pulse is louder than her voice.

“You said you’d break up with her. I gave you time.” She says reproachfully.

“I know. I know, Liv.” He coos, his voice betraying his distress.

“You didn’t tell me she was pregnant. Why did you give her a baby?” She mutters. Instinctively, I reach up and cover my stomach with my shaking hands. Hoping ti shield my baby from any harm. My eyes fill themselves with tears.

“I’ll explain everything if you let her go.” He tries to reason her.

“A baby.” She sobs. “I want a baby.”

The distress and despair in her voice makes me think she’s ready to do anything to have him. I don’t want my baby to be hurt.

“You married her and you knocked her up even though you know she’s not the one for you!” She cries, startling me. I start to sob quietly, addressing a prayer to god. All I can think of is my poor baby. I don’t even hear a thing anymore.

Let my baby live.

“You went too far, Mark. And this stops now.” She declares, her arm around my shoulders tightening. I gasp.

“Olivia, don’t do this!”  Mark begs, tears in his eyes. He sucks in a deep, shaking breath. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt the baby.” He pleads, his voice failing him.

“But she hurt me.” She counters.

“No. It’s me, it’s my fault. I hurt you.” He shakes his head.

“You hurt me.” She repeats quietly.

“Yes, and I’m sorry. You can punish me, but she’s innocent.” He says, taking another cautious step towards her.

“It’s because of her, Mark.” She retorts.
“She’s a parasite. She keeps messing with your head. She blinds you. It’ll do the both of us a favor.”

“If you hurt her, you hurt the baby too.” He says, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “You’d never hurt an innocent baby, would you?”

She stays silent for a moment, fidgeting with the knife.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” She asks him.

“I will. I’ll be a good boy.” He agrees instantly. “Let her go. Don’t hurt the baby.”

When she doesn’t obey, he speaks again.

“Do you remember our rules?” He asks her. I feel it then. What they had, what their relationship was. It makes me want to throw up.

“Oh. But this is not for you.” She responds. “It’s for her.”

A strangled sob escapes me.

“No, Livy. This is between you and me now.” He says.

We all hear footsteps, and Mark’s head whirls around. Jacob appears in the kitchen, freezing as soon as he sees us. She backs away, pulling me with her.

“It’s okay.” Mark says, looking back at her. “Livy, look at me.” He demands.

Her hand around the knife starts to shake.

“Our rules.” Mark repeats.

“No blades…” She whispers. “No syringes. No steel. No wood.”

“Good. Give it to me.” Mark murmurs, stretching his hand out. She starts crying again. So do I. Jacob watches, his eyes dark granite.

“It’s all I have left.” She says sadly.

“No, you have me.” Mark retorts.

“Yes.” She sniffles. “You’re a good boy.”

“Give this to me.” He demands. Slowly, she lowers her hand, placing the knife in his palm. I leap out of her hold, sobbing uncontrollably. I hide behind his back, clinging to his shirt.

“Get out of here, Abigail.” He orders,, pushing me away. I gape at him, my ryes pouring. “Now.”

I glance between him and Olivia, confused. He’s not going to stay, is he?

“He’s mine.” She growls, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to her. I grab his other hand.

“Leave, Abigail. Now.” He orders.

“Don’t stay with her.” I choke out, terrified.

“Go. Now.” He says, freeing himself from me. I watch, mortified. I shake my head. He can’t stay with her. She’s going to hurt him.

“Abigail will you do as you’re told for once and get the fuck out of here?!” He shouts, startling me. I cannot move.

“Jacob.” He says, nodding his head towards me. I turn my head and see him walking to me.

“No. Mark, no. Please, no.” I say, trying to bat Jacob’s hands away. My efforts are vain. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

“No!” I scream,  squirming as much as I can. I lift my head as Jacob rushes out, catching a last glimpse of them. The last thing I see is his  worried look as he watches me, and her smug look as she presses her lips against his cheek.

“Mark!” I call as they disappear out of my vision. I sob, calling his name as Jacob carries me out of the apartment. He closes the door of the foyer and drops me to the floor.

“Mark!” I sob, banging against the door.

“He will be fine, Mrs Tuan.” Jacob says, grabbing my shoulder.

“Shut up!” I snap, whirling around and swatting his hand off me. “Do you have an idea of what you’ve just done?!” I yell. He flinches, surprised. I turn back to the door, slamming my fist against the door.

“Mark, open the door!” I yell desperately. “Please, open the door!” I beg. I can’t stand the idea of him being alone with this crazy woman.

“We should call the police.” Jacob says from behind me. I look at him, my whole body shaking.

“I don’t have my phone.” I tell him. He pats his chest and his thighs.

“Shit, I don’t have mine either.” He curses. I rarely hear him curse.

“Let’s go down.” He prompts, pushing the call button of the elevator. Although I don’t want to leave, I know I have to call the police. The elevator that is only at the second floor doesn’t seem to go up.

“Come on.” I groan, pushing the button repeatedly. Jacob opts for the stairs. He tries to open the emergency staircase door, unsuccessfully.

“The door is locked.” He mutters. No elevator, no stairs.

“Shit.” I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth. “We’re stuck.”

We’re stuck and she’s inside with him, we can’t call the police, and I have to wait here for god knows how long until someone comes out. Collapse to the floor, tears streaming down my face.


“She’s going to hurt him. She’s going to hurt my husband.” I sob. It’s the start of a long, long waiting time.

I cry so much that I don’t notice the elevator going up again. I just hear the familiar ring, and Jacob and I turn in the direction of the sound. Inside the elevator, Dr Davis is looking down at us. I rise on my feet, looking up at him as if he was god in person. Jacob follows.

“Abigail?” Davis says, his face a knot of confusion.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice hoarse from crying.

“Mark called me.”

He’s alive!

“How did you get here? The elevator was stuck.” I ask him.

“Someone but a rock to prevent the doors from closing.” He says. It was set up. Someone didn’t want us to leave. But she couldn’t do that herself since she was inside all alone. But I don’t want to think about this now.

“When did Mark call? Is he okay?” I ask Davis.

“Yes.” He says to me. Relief floods me. Partly.

“He told me to call him once I was here.” He explains, pulling his phone out. It rings in the void, and the door opens.

Mark appears, his outfit different from what I left him in. He’s in a black T-shirt and black sweatpants, his feet bare.

“Mark.” I whisper in relief. His eyes grow wide as he sees me, stopping me in my tracks as I prepared myself to run into his arms.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He whispers angrily. I stare at him.

“Not supposed to be here?!” I cry.

“Shhhh!” He scolds. He pops his head back inside the apartment.

“Listen, you can’t stay. It’ll trigger her.” Hr says, looking at me.

“You’re coming with me.” I declare, grabbing his hand. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing with her, but I’m not letting him continue.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I ask. He sighs, but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he glances at Davis.

“What is the situation?” Davis asks him.

“She’s taking a bath. Come in.” He says. I step inside the apartment. He let her take a bath in my home? I’ll pull her out of it butt-naked and kick her out.

“Not you, Abby.” He says, holding me in place while he lets Davis in.

“I want to be here!”

He hushes me again.

“Abigail, I would recommend you to leave.” Davis says calmly.

“Wait in the parking lot.” Mark orders. If I wasn’t so scared for his life, I’d punch him in the throat.

“I’m not leaving.”

“This woman is unstable. Mark is her only mark-point, my presence itself will disturb her. You need to go.” Davis tries to reason me. This man is crazy too.

“You need to call the police.” I say slowly, hoping it’ll sink down to their brains.

“We will, at the right moment.” Davis says.

“Now is the right moment.” I grind out. “You can’t ask me to leave my husband alone with her. She’s dangerous.”

“I have a baby who needs a father, and if anything happens to him-” I’m cut off by Mark’s lips crashing onto mine. He kisses me madly, almost making me faint, his tongue pushing between my lips, licking and controlling mine, his hands crushing my face as he holds me in place.  He pulls away from me, leaving me breathless and wobbly. He gazes down at me with hard, serious, yet burning eyes.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispers against my mouth. I cannot move nor speak. He steps away from me, and Jacob grabs my elbow.

“Mark.” I beg as Jacob drags me out of the apartment. Tears spring to my eyes once more. He gives me an apologetic look, closing the door in front of me.

“No.” I reach out, but the door closes before I can prevent it. I slam my hand against it, in anger, sadness, fear, horror, despair and distress.

“Abigail.” Jacob tries to pull me away. I sob. “Abigail, come on. He’ll be fine. He’s not alone.” He says reassuringly. I wipe my nose on the back of my head, turning to him.

I become my own shadow, all strength leaving my body. I sway, my legs threatening to give up on me.

“Easy.” Jacob says, catching me before I fall. He draps his hand around my waist, holding me up.

“Come. Let’s go wait downstairs.” He murmurs.

“I can’t leave.”

“We’ll, you need to sit down.” He argues, calling the elevator once more. “He’ll be fine.”

Knowing he’s with Davis is more reassuring. I guess. But it isn’t really. I’m exhausted and I cannot stop crying.

When the elevator comes, I step inside without resisting. I want to stay, but the wise side of me knows Marl will never open the door, and I’ll collapse if I don’t sit a little bit. We go down to the parking lot and wait in my new car. I take my shoes off and lay on the back seat, while Jacob stays in the driver’s seat. The leather is freezing against my skin.

“I’m cold.” I complain. Jacob looks at me through the mirror, snapping out of some reverie. He’s anxious too. He shifts in his seat, taking his jacket off.

“Here.” He says, handing it to me. I sit up and take it.

“Thank you, Jacob.” I murmur, my voice almost gone from crying and yelling. I drape it over my shoulder and rest against the door, looking out the window. I check the time on my watch. They’ve been there for ten minutes. I sigh.


I wake up floating in the air, disoriented. I open my eyes, realizing I’m being carried across the parking lot.

“Jacob.” I croak, my throat sore.

“Mr Tuan said we could go back inside.” He explains. Never in the three years he’s been working for Mark have I been that close to him.

“She left?” I ask hopefully.

“He and Dr Davis are taking her to a psychiatric hospital where the police is waiting for her.”


“They’re with her.”

“They left a minute ago.”

A mix of anxiousness and rage floods me.

“I can walk, Jacob.” I tell him. He stops dead in his tracks and drops me to the floor. I’m barefoot.

“Your shoes are in the car.” He says to me. I walk in the opposite direction, furious. I can’t believe he’s personally taking her to a hospital. That’s the last straw. What is he going to do for her next? Offer her a spa while I’m here eating my nails off in anxiety?

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I call after him.

“Mr Tuan told me not to.” He says, his steps rushing behind me. “Abigail, you need to rest.”

“I need my husband!” I turn my head and glare at him. Once I’m  at the car, I realize I don’t  have the keys. I turn to Jacob.

“The keys.” I demand, showing him my palm. He looks at me as if i was the most exasperating child on earth, and k honestly don’t have time for that.

“Jacob, I’m pregnant  and very hormonal. I could hurt you. Badly.” I threaten him. He sighs and fishes in his pocket, dropping the keys in my hand.

“Get in.” I tell him, pointing at the passenger’s  seat. He obeys while grumbling while I get my shoes at t he back. I slide in the driver’s seat and start the engine.

“Which hospital are they going to?” I ask him.

“I don’t know.”

I glare at him.

“He didn’t  tell me, I swear. He looked at you for a long time and told me to put you in your bed.” He explains. I sigh, lifting my eyes to the roof. There at least five psychiatric hospitals in LA and its surroundings.

I’m  stuck.

But I can’t stay home either. I need to go somewhere. I head out of the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” He asks me.

“I can’t stay home.” I tell him. I drive for a long moment, aimlessly, but when my hands start to shake around the wheel, I decide to stop at a coffee shop. It’s warm there and since it’s late it’s  quiet. Jacob and i sit in front of each other.

“Should I get you something to drink?” Jacob asks me.

“I’d like some hot chocolate.”

He leaves the table to order my drink. I thought going  out would be a way to calm myself down, but I’m  restless. Having Mark in front of my eyes and knowing he’s okay would be the only way to calm myself down.

Jacob comes back with my drink while I’m chewing on my nails. He drops m hot chocolate in front of me, and I see he’s got a coffee for himself. I blink and realize I’m  teary again.

I reach for the cup, my hands shaking. Jacob puts his hands on top of mine around my cup. I look up at him.

“Mark was fine when I saw him. You don’t have to worry.” He says comfortingly. He lets my hand go, and my hands are shaking so much I knock my cup over, spilling half of it onto the table. I’m not okay.

“Shit.” I breathe.

“I’ll go get some tissues.” Jacob says, rising from his seat.  I’m  going crazy. I need air. Nothing will calm me down. I need Mark, but I don’t know where he is.

I ditch Jacob and storm out of the coffee. The air is fresher outside, exactly what I need. I decide to walk home to let time pass more quickly.

When I come back to our building, I look up at the top floor and see light through the glass walls. I soon realize I don’t have the new codes to get in or get up to our apartment. I pat Jacob’s jacket’s pocket’s but remember he didn’t have his phone. I feel something else inside his pocket. I pull it out and see it’s a small sheet of papers with the codes on it. Thank god.

I use them and go up to the penthouse floor, my heart starting to race again. I don’t know if Mark is back home or if he just left in a hurry when he took Olivia to the hospital. I hope I’m going to come home to him. I’m so tired I look pale and skinnier.

The doors open on Mark’s back, his phone ta his ear. He’s in the same outfit as before, but he has a Jacket on. Relief does invade me, but nothing comes out. I step out of the elevator, almost dead inside from all the emotions I’ve felt.

“You were supposed to look after her!"He yells down the phone. I understand he’s speaking to Jacob. I didn’t think before I left him. I feel bad. He turns to me, his angry stare changing in a nanosecond as he seems. His eyes turn from vividly angry to soft.

"She’s here.” He says down the phone, his eyes never leaving me.“

"Bring the car back and go home.” He orders before hanging up and dropping his phone on a decorative table. I stare at him.

He walks up to me, his eyes as hard as granite. He stops at a safety distance, gazing down at me. He looks as tired as me. He reaches out and cups my cheek in his hand, his palm warm against my skin. I’m still so cold.

I close my eyes and nuzzle his hand, clinging to the warmth. His hand moves to the back of my head as he closes the distance between us, pulling me into his warm embrace. I burst into tears. Again.

“I was so scared, Abigail.” He sighs into my hair. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.

“Why did you stay? Why did you do this to me?”

“She wasn’t going to hurt me.” He responds.

“You weren’t supposed to care. You should have stayed with me.” I retort, crying against his chest. “I had a billion heart attacks thinking of what you were doing, what she might do to you.”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, I’m not.” I snap. I hate him so much sometimes. Why did he care? Why did he care about her getting the help she nerds while I was imagining all sorts of things?

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Some kind of superhero? You’re not Superman, you’re my husband.” I mutter. He cradles my head against him, placing his chin on top of my head.

“I gave her what she wanted so she would leave you and the baby alone.” He says quietly. “I did this to protect both of you.”

“You just had to call the police.” I sob.

“She needed help.”

“I needed to know you were safe. You’re more important than her to me.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. Oh, of course he is. He’s not. He didn’t care about how I felt. I try to push him away, but he tightens his hold on me.

“Let me hold you.” He pleads. “I need to have you in my arms.”

I whimper, balling my fists around the material of his jacket. I love him so much it hurts.

“Where were you?” He asks me.

“I don’t know. I walked.” I reply, my voice shaking. “I was restless.”

“What did you do with her?” I ask him. “Did she hit you?”

“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t take.” He responds, making my heart stop. I try to pull away again, so I can show him just how horrified I am, but he doesn’t let me.

“Don’t.” He scolds.

“You let her hit you?” I ask again, in shock.

“It was totally different. I did this to gain time. So she wouldn’t do anything dangerous.” He says.

I can’t believe she beat him again. He let her. She hurt him again, and I couldn’t protect him. He didn’t let me protect him. He accepted to get beaten again.

“I’m okay, really.” He says. I push against his chest.

“God, Abigail.” He mutters. “Just let me hold you for a while. You can get mad at me all you want later.”

I shake against him, feeling defeated. I can’t believe it happened again, while he was with me.

“I didn’t want you to ever go through this again.” I sob.

“I’m fine, Abigail.” He says quietly, caressing my hair comfortingly. “I’m fine now that you’re safe.”

“It wasn’t about my self esteem or anything else. I didn’t think I deserved it.” He explains to me. I know he’s not as insecure as he was before, but still. It still fucking hurts. But then I realize it has to do with something else, something I didn’t catch at first, but now I do.

“You promised her?” I ask him, worried. “She said you promised her something. Is that what she meant?”

His lack of response gives him away.

“Did you contact her behind my back?” I ask him.

“I wanted to be sure she’d leave us alone for the rest of our honeymoon. I didn’t think it would mean she’d be waiting for us when we come back.” He says in a way of explanation, as an excuse.

“I told you not do it.”

I’m angry, but I sound fragile.

“I know.” He says.

“You lied to me.” I mutter, heaving against his chest. “Again.”

“Abby.” He scolds. I push with all the strength I have left.

“No!” I shout, stumbling out of his hold. I glare at him, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. He fucking went behind my back, again, with her, to do something as stupid as promising her to be her slave gain.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” I grind out. This man makes me so angry. He stares at me, his eyes dim.

“Do you really want to have this conversation right now?” He asks. No, I don’t. I’m on the verge of completely loosing it. Tonight was awful, and there’s only so much things I can take.  I storm past him, heading up to our bedroom.

“Abby.” Mark calls after me, but I ignore him.

In our bedroom, I find Prune, stretching on our bed. My heart swells dangerously, tears welling up again. She looks up at be and meows.

“Hi.” I murmur, sitting on the edge of the bed. She lays on her side, and I take the opportunity to scratch her belly.

“Hi, baby. I’m so glad you’re okay.” I murmur. She tries to catch my wriggling fingers between her paws. I pick her up in my hands and kiss her everywhere. She wriggled out of my embrace and shakes my kisses off. I push her on her back and wriggle my fingers around her mouth. She nibbles on my fingertips. I’m so glad she’s safe. She’s like a projection of peanut. I want to protect her against the evil world.

I sigh and get up, stripping all of my clothes as I walk to the bathroom. I need to wash all of this off, for good. And then I’m going to bed.

I come out of the shower, appeased, calmer, but still tired. My hair is in a loose bun, my bathrobe loosely fastened as well. I find Mark laying on our bed, his feet bare, prune curled up in a ball on his chest as he caresses her gently. He looks up at me, his eyes dark. I tighten my robe.

“Do you know how Olivia got in?” I ask quietly.

“She knew the previous pass codes, so I changed them. I don’t know how she still got ahold of them.” He explains to me.

“She knew them?” I utter. I feel so violated in my intimacy. I can’t believe  she knee them all along. Who knows how many times she’s been here while we were away, or even while we were here? This apartment is so bug she could have lived with us for months without us noticing anything.

“Only Jimmy knew I changed them, him and the security company that works for me.” He says. I grab Jacob’s jacket on a chair and fish the sheet of paper out.

“I found this in Jacob’s jacket.” I say, handing it to him. When he stops stroking her, Prune lifts her head and meows. He glances at it.

“I gave them to him when we came up.” He explains, putting it down on the nighstand.

“Why do you have his jacket?” He asks me.

“I was cold.”

“How long had she been here for?” I enquire.

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

“She has an accomplice.”

He frowns. I sit down on he bed and caress Prune until she purrs.

“Someone put a rock between the doors of the elevator on the second floor and locked the staircase doors so we wouldn’t go out.” I explain. “Davis found out and that’s how we were able to leave. But she couldn’t do that alone.”

He scratches his chin, and that’s when. Notice his beard has started to grow.

“I’ll tell that to the police tomorrow.” He muses. I nod, rising and walking into the closet. I unfasten he lash of my robe, looking for a nightie.

I feel Mark before i see him. He places his hands on my hips and presses his lips against the skin of my neck.

“Mark.” I gasp, unwanted tingles making my skin sensitive.

“I need you.” He whispers into my ear, pushing his groin against my backside his erection nudges my lower back. His teeth graze my earlobe, and I’m too weak to resist him.

‘Let me feel you. I need to be close to you.“ He pleads, the need in his voice palpable. One of his hands slips his hand under the material of my robe as it slides off my shoulders. He cups my sex, his fingers gently stroking my clit while he nibbles at my ear. I sigh, throwing my head back against his shoulder. Desire thrums inside me.

I close my eyes and feel the sparks of electricity  going from my sex to my toes. I reach down and grab his hand gasping as the sensations get stronger. He applies more pressure.

"Mark.” I beg. I need him. Physical closeness is the only thing I can handle, and I actually crave it. I’m mad at him, scared, upset and all those things, but I’d kill to be engulfed in his warmth, love and lust.

He peels my robe off my body, letting it fall to the floor. And pins me against the nearest wall, the surface cold against my nipples. I whimper.

The tip of his erection hovers over my entrance, and I arch my body, longing. He pants against my ear, his breathing harsh, betraying his burning lust. He pushes inside of me with one swift, strong trust.

I gasp, everything tightening inside me.

“Abby.” Mark groans ,his fingers sinking in the flesh of my hips, his breathing even more loud. He slips out of me before ramming forward, filling me up again. I moan out loud, the sensations raw and intense.

He takes my hands and pins them above my head, intertwining our fingers. He thrusts in and out of me with a brutality that betrays his despair.

“Goddammit.” He mutters, his hands squeezing mine.

“Fuck…” I moan, my back arching furthermore. He picks up pace, each thrust making my body jerk against the wall. His thrusts grow sloppy very quickly,  going up in intensity. He says my name over and over again. He’s  all over me, inside me, on my back, his lips around my ear, it’s consuming  me.

“I can’t. I-” He whispers into my ear, his voice tight. I let out an incoherent wail.

“I’m gonna come. I gonna come.” He warns, his hips shaking. I reach back and put my hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs breathlessly.

“It’s okay.” I whisper reassuringly.  Obviously he needs this more than I do.

“Abby…fuck..” It’s almost a sob.

“It’s okay.” I moan again. He comes violently, his release spurting deep inside me. He holds me tight against me, clinging to me desperately vulnerable.

Bennett Misfortune (A Coincidence?)

I think not.

QETSIYAH/TESSA BENNETT created both a potion and a cure for immortality, an incredibly hard feat for any witch. She planned to take it with the love of her life and fiancé, Silas, but instead he chose to steal it and take it with his mistress, Amara (a doppelgänger).

EMILY BENNETT was the handmaiden of Katherine Pierce, a doppelgänger. She promised Damon Salvatore that he would have Katherine one day in exchange for him protecting her familial line (which he did not do in any obvious capacity). She helped Katherine escape death by fire but was subsequently turned into the authorities for being a witch, by Katherine, because she was a “loose end”.

SHEILA BENNETT raised her granddaughter Bonnie with the help of her son-in-law, and taught her magic. She warned Bonnie against befriending vampires, because she knew they would only bring trouble. She died performing a spell that would open a tomb Damon and Stefan were stuck in. After she was dead she had to watch from the Other Side as her granddaughter suffered through tremendous amounts of pain to help her–often ungrateful–friends. All she wanted for her granddaughter was peace.

ABIGAIL “ABBY” BENNETT WILSON lost her magic by desiccating Mikael Mikaelson. She had to leave Mystic Falls, and Bonnie, in order to lure him away and she never returned. She was killed and turned (unwillingly) into a vampire by Damon Salvatore, in an attempt to thwart Esther Mikaelson from channeling her. She has faded into oblivion as far as the audience can tell.

RUDY HOPKINS is the father of Bonnie Bennett and ex-husband of Abigail Bennett. Though he was “around”, he was seldom depicted in any significant capacity (at least in comparison to say Caroline’s mother Sheriff Forbes). He was killed by Silas. Bonnie was there to witness it; the extent of her grief was never shown.

BONNIE SHEILA BENNETT is a powerful witch. She lost most of her family in a very small span of time. She was never explicitly comforted; she moved on, as that was what was expected of her. Her magical abilities are formidable, but never seem to save her from her enemies. However, they often come in handy when saving her friends from their enemies. She graduated high school and is currently in college. She will probably be the only one to graduate. She is the only African-American series regular on The Vampire Diaries and the weight of that distinction is very noticeable. Though she’s very beautiful she is rarely hit on or asked out. A stunning lack of outright romantic attention has been shown to her in the whole of the series (especially when juxtaposed with the other female leads of the show). Her only romantic interest ever, Jeremy Gilbert, is the younger brother of her best friend. He cheated on her with a ghost. When she died (multiple times) he went on sex-sprees and slept with every girl in Mystic Falls. Bonnie is portrayed as a very strong, defensive, morally-uptight person. Most of her feelings are subdued, or put aside because of something that’s happening with her friends. Bonnie was made to be the anchor to the Other Side for some time, which caused her a considerable amount of pain. She was trapped in a prison world for four months and when she got home no one cared. In fact, they didn’t even try to get her out. She only becomes useful when her friends need her to do something. She is never invited to elegant events (including but not limited to The Mikaelson Ball, and both Miss Mystic Falls pageants, which were really glorified classist/elitist celebrations for descendants of the white town founders, and that’s probably why she wasn’t invited). And she rarely gets to dress up (as opposed to the other female leads). Everyone who ever truly cared about her is dead. Finally, her life was tied to her best friend Elena’s, meaning that her best friend cannot live while Bonnie lives. It was implied in the season 6 finale that all of her friends love Elena more than her. It is not an unwarranted statement. The audience has yet to see how the majority of her friends react to her situation. Most fans have guess that there will be a lot of self-loathing on Bonnie’s part, and a lot of hurtful, “Sorry, it just came out. I didn’t mean it.” jabs from her “friends” about how she’s the reason Elena is locked away (temporarily).

I write this to point out several things.

1). The BENNETT line is plagued by tragedy and suffering. Obviously.

2). What kind of magical pussy nonsense is happening with the Elena doppelgängers, that they seem to get everything that the Bennetts don’t? Why are the Bennetts always losing out to Elena and Amara and Katherine and all the white men who love them??

3). Why was Bonnie’s dad not around? I feel like the writing team was like, “Well, she IS black. So at least one of her parents had to abandon her.” But to avoid playing into a stereotype they chose to have it be the mother. Then, they didn’t know what to do with the dad because…what, black fathers aren’t involved in their children’s lives? Meanwhile Caroline’s Mom and Dad have their own fucking A, B, and C story lines. Elena had TWO SETS OF PARENTS.

4). Bonnie is SOMEHOW unaccustomed to being hit on. How?? Is that possible?? Plec be trying to pull some fast shit. Bonnie is beautiful, and I know that guys be trying to roll up on it ALL THE TIME.

I’d just like everyone to take a moment to examine Bonnie and her situation. I don’t like it. Not one bit. I don’t want to put up with it anymore, and I don’t want to pretend that it isn’t obvious to everyone the subpar way Bonnie is treated. Shit ain’t right.

Imagine being in this position. Imagine everything that would come to mind in an instant.

Every time he was late. Every time he never made it at all. Every time he took off early. Every broken promise, every flakeout, every immature lapse of responsibility, every display of cowardice when violence broke out. Every time he seemed to be limping or favouring one arm just a bit, and you brushed it off. Every time you looked at his dead-end part-time job or his shaky finances and sighed to yourself. Every time you resented him, just a bit, for blowing another opportunity. Every time you wondered if you’d gone wrong somewhere raising him to adulthood. Every time you wondered if he’d ever do something meaningful with his life and his gifts. Every time you judged Spider-Man for showboating and joking. Every time you saw Spider-Man take a real hit on the news, but told yourself that if he wasn’t willing to take it, he wouldn’t have put on the suit. Every time you saw Spider-Man save some kids or the city or the world and just took him for granted.

Imagine standing in a still, silent, probably slightly smelly room, standing over the abused body of what is for all intents and purposes your son, holding the tattered fabric between your fingers and having years come back to you in an instant.

“They raise more of us every day, and no one bats an eye. We arm them, we train them, we send them to their infinite deaths.  And the little lights watch over them endlessly; whispering, encouraging, making promises. Of glory. Of triumph. Of conquest.

We denied the Ahamkara their bargains - perhaps in doing so we agreed to another. We are an army of the chosen dead, but I wonder…who was it that made the choice?”

- Cryptarch Records // Anonymous

An Apology

Leo caught Frank just before the son of mars headed into his cabin. “Hold up.” The Latino said, and Frank stopped just at the door. He turned to Leo. “Oh…Hey, Leo…What’s up?”
Leo awkwardly looked away. “Uh…Well…Y'see…We gotta talk about stuff.”
“Yeah. Like our relationship.” Leo looked at him again, then the smaller boy’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head and waved his hands. “N-No not like that! It isn’t gay! I promise, it isn’t gay.”
“O….Kay?” Frank raised a brow. Leo didn’t usually talk to him unless it was to tease him. Well, at least, that’s what Leo was like before. Leo seemed to have changed a bit since he’d returned from the dead. It was probably Calypso teaching him how to be a decent human being and keeping him grounded.
“Look.” Leo huffed and then stared at the ground. “I uh…I wanted to thank you…You really saved my ass a few times…”
Frank blinked. Leo was THANKING him? “Uh…You’re welcome?”
“And…And I’m sorry.”
“I was a real dick.” Leo sighed. “I was just a bully to you…And you didn’t deserve that. See…I was jealous…Everyone seemed to like you more than they liked me…I mean I can see why, with my attitude and all…And I was also going through some other stuff and I guess I took that out on you. I’m sorry.” Leo finally looked up at him. Frank stared at the smaller boy for a few moments before hugging him. “It’s fine.” He mumbled. “But maybe if something’s bothering you, you should talk to someone instead of taking it out on people. I’ll be that someone you can talk to, if you want.”
Leo’s eyes widened. “Um…O-Okay…”
Frank smiled. “Guess this is kinda gay.”
Leo laughed. “Yeah, kinda.”

Raise your boys to be the brave and valiant knight in shining armor,
that when he loves a girl he should never raise a hand to harm her.

And teach your girls to be whoever the hell they want to be.
Just promise me that they’ll be free.

Water their minds and let the creativity flow,
don’t call their gift a weed and stunt their growth.

Give your children the love of a thousand suns.
Sear them white-hot with laughter that blots the days to come.

Let your kings and queens know the power of their minds,
paint with them instead a world that won’t confine.

—  Feed the minds that grow || Monica Lynn

“Your Ma made me promise I would stay away and I did, kid. She thought you would need me more as a friend. Plus, I couldn’t give ya anything.” Tommy says quietly and rubs his scarred and tattooed arms. Subconsciously he picks at the healing scabs and shrugs. “I only ever got my kids I raised into trouble and it didn’t seem right that I drag you down too. It broke your Ma’s heart staying with him, but if she even tried to leave then you were all dead.” He says truthfully, his eyes watery as he remembers one of the last conversations he had with her.

Wrestling with the unshakeable promises of God

God who is the word, speaks life into all of creation including our fickle hearts. He creates us in the image of himself to reveal more of his glory. The spirit of God who raised the Son of God from the dead lives in us. The love of Christ is with us regardless of circumstances, even life and death cannot tear us apart from him. He defeated sin and death which includes all the shame, guilt, burden and hatred that came with it. Christ is supreme over all creation and through faith and by grace we are saved and found in Him. We are co-heirs with Christ, and have an inheritance that outlasts time. 

All of this I say I believe, but my tiny heart who runs from my creator fights me on it every single day. Help my unbelief. Lord Jesus, I depend on you because I cannot on anyone else. 

After God’s Not Dead made roughly 30 times its budget at the box office and was thoroughly watched by critics, it seemed as if a sizable chunk of the viewing public had an appetite for overtly religious films after all. This did not escape the notice of Kevin Sorbo, who played Hercules in the ‘90s Herculesshow, the asshole professor in God’s Not Dead, and the asshole Kevin Sorbo in real life. Sorbo set up an Indiegogo campaign for a film called The Christmas Gift, a “politically incorrect” (in the lamest sense) movie which promised to “take back Christmas.” You know, since those sinful heathens in Hollywoodreally hate that time of the year.

But despite the enticing promise of a movie about '90s Hercules heroically refusing to say “Happy Holidays,” the campaign raised only $6,316 of its $250,000 goal. God may be alive, but Santa remains more popular.

6 Celebrity Kickstarters That Failed In Hilarious Ways

Tiny little Easter fic

“Pine tree I don’t understand humans.”

“That’s not news.” Dipper snorted, dropping an egg into a bowl of dye. His sister was being much more meticulous with a paintbrush.

“This holiday is supposed to be about what’s his name rising from the dead right? Even though this isn’t when it actually happened. They just changed it to…”

“Get to the point Bill.” He was starting to get tired of hearing this lecture- as much as he enjoyed the history of his pagan religion. “I know about May Day and I promise we’ll celebrate it.”

“Alright for one- you were raised Jewish so why are you two celebrating anyway.”

“I just like to paint eggs.” Mabel shrugged, setting down her newest masterpiece.

“I am in it for the chocolate.”

“Good reason.” The demon grinned, reaching for the bowl of m&ms near the center of the table. “Second question. If this is supposed to be about what’s his name what do eggs have to do with anything?”

Both twins mused that over for a few moments. “I don’t actually know. I’ll research it and get back to you.”

“Well if they have no other use… Know what I want to do with them?” When he got confused looks he grinned. “Egg the church.” The twins grinned at him. It would serve the priest right.

“I’ll find all the ones that haven’t been boiled yet.” Shooting Star clambered up on a special egg hunt.