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ladykailitha · 9 months ago

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Icarus Part 7

Hey, guys! I hope you're all still enjoying this story! It's a blast to write.

Here we have Gareth's explosion and the resulting fallout.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

****

When Eddie got back to his hotel he had all three of his bandmates waiting for him.

Jeff had his arms crossed, glaring at the other two. “I’m here under protest, I told them you had messaged me that you wouldn’t be coming home last night but they still thought you were being kidnapped or some shit.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at Gareth and Brian. “I’m a grown ass man who can do grown ass things like have sex with another man and spend the night.” He raised his had to stall the onslaught of questions that were no doubt about to screamed at him. “Of course I didn’t get papped. I never get papped. Jesus Christ.”

“We’re supposed to be working on our ninth album,” Gareth growled. “Fucking act like it.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “You don’t get to say that this time. Not after what you and Bri did in London last time,” he hissed. “We had a chance to record in the actual fucking Abbey Road Studios and you two went on a three day bender where Jeff and I didn’t even know where you were. It got so fucking bad, you two have been banned from drinking at all this record.”

Brian had the decency to look chastised. But not Gareth, he doubled down.

“Which is why it’s so important that you don’t do it either,” he snarled back. “We don’t want to be kicked out of this studio too.”

“I was back before breakfast was being served!”

Jeff stood up and held out his hands. “All right, enough! Gareth this attitude is getting out of hand. No one has done more for this band than Eddie and you acting like he’s gonna do a runner at any moment is fucking ridiculous. And after all these years if he hasn’t run off yet, he sure as hell ain’t gonna now.”

“You need to work on your abandonment issues, dude,” Eddie snapped. “I have put my heart and soul into this band and I really don’t appreciate the constant insinuation that each concert, each album is going to be the last.”

Gareth stood up, fists clenched at his side. “You mean to tell me if Steve Harrington walked in here and offered to suck your dick in exchange for you quitting the band, that you wouldn’t?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie said coldly. “And he would never ask. God.” He ran his hands over his face and began to pace. “His little brother is like our number one fan. You know that guy I took with me back to Hawkins?”

Gareth nodded curtly, but Eddie could tell he was starting to unbend.

“He loves our band,” he continued, pulling at his hair. “So that’s just one of many reasons why he wouldn’t. The biggest one, though, Gare.” He whirled around pointed directly at him. “Is that he knows what this band means to me and would never make me choose.”

His lip wobbled and the glimmer of unshed tears stuck to his eyelashes. “Because he loves me.”

Eddie sank to his knees, hands in his hair and began to rock back and forth.

“You take care of Gareth,” Brian said to Jeff, quiet but harsh into the silence that followed that statement. “I’ll take care of Eddie.”

Jeff nodded and bullied Gareth out of the room. The door closed and the remaining two could hear the harsh tones of the two who had left.

Brian got on his knees in front of Eddie and gently removed Eddie’s hands from his hair.

“Hey, Ed,” Brian murmured. “Can you look up at me for a moment? I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Eddie looked up at him. “That’s who I was with last night,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Steve said that he loved me and he kissed me, Bri. It was so special.”

Bri sighed and sat down cross-legged from him. “It’s that we’re all supposed to be sequestered and you snuck off, only telling Jeff where you went. So Gareth and I freaked out a bit.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe a lot.”

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, settling into a more comfortable position on the floor.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice clearer than before. “That was stupid of me. But I don’t think it’s fair that Jeff and I are being punished by the label for something you and Gare did.”

Brian scooted forward until their knees were touching. “It’s not and I am sorry about that. My girlfriend had broken up with me at same time I learned that I was asexual and I was in a really bad place. But I shouldn’t have let Gareth talk me into that bender, there was no excuse.”

“I’m afraid if he has another outburst,” Eddie murmured, “that everyone is gonna want us to replace him. The label, our PR firm, even our Chrissy would be forced to concede that the band can’t continue with him in it. And I don’t want that. But I will not have my life dictated to by someone who is four years my junior.”

Brian let out a long shuddering breath. “You’re right. While we’re here, if he’s willing, we should get him some therapy. Because I don’t want to lose him either. You guys are my family and have been forever.”

“Back ‘attcha, Bri,” Eddie murmured. “Last night was so good and I had awesome news for everyone that I couldn’t wait to tell you guys.”

Brian chuckled. “Even more awesome then sex with Steve Harrington? Must have been off the charts then.”

“I snuck out to see The Fallen in concert,” Eddie said chewing on his lip.

“Of course you did,” Brian said rolling his eyes. “And of course if we’d all gone it would have completely ruined their last show because it would have been all about us and not them.” He stuck out his tongue. “You still suck though.”

Eddie laughed. “Just wait, it gets better.”

Brian waved his hand for him to continue.

“So I was also able to get backstage where I got to meet Abbadon–”

“Gareth is going to murder you and then bring you back to life so that he can murder you all over again,” Brian said dryly, shaking his head.

“Do you think he’ll grant me a stay of execution if I told him I asked Abbadon if he thought his band would want a chance to headline for us?” Eddie asked batting his eyelashes and clutching his hands to his chest dramatically.

Brian blinked at him for a moment. “I guess that would depend on if they said yes...” he said honestly.

“All of them have to agree,” he replied with a shrug, “but Abbadon was pretty sure that they would.”

Brian sat there a moment. He licked his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I think we should use it as leverage.”

Eddie’s head reared back. “What do you mean?”

“Tell Gareth that if he gets therapy, The Fallen will tour with us,” Brian explained. “But if he won’t, he has to take the tour off and go into rehab.”

“Oh.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about it. “I think we should ask Jeff and if he agrees, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Brian nodded. “I love him like a brother, but this was the last straw I think.”

“Let’s call Chrissy in on this, too,” Eddie said.

“Yeah.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do this.”

****

They ended up staging an intervention and using The Fallen as incentive they all got Gareth to agree to counseling.

A therapist would come in twice a week and Gareth would have two hours sessions with this person.

They were carefully vetted by Chrissy and the rest of the band, but finally they decided on one that would help Gareth.

Dr. Sam Owens came in and Eddie, Brian, and Jeff all sat in Brian’s suite, waiting for him to be done.

They tried to work on music but it felt flat without Gareth there. They tried watching a movie but they couldn’t decide which one.

They simple sat in silence until it was five minutes before the session was up. Then they slowly made the trek to Gareth’s suite.

Dr Owens came out first.

“I can’t discuss anything that went on in our session,” he warned.

“It’s just–” Jeff said, distressed. “Are you going to work out with Gareth?”

Brian nodded. “We just want to make sure we don’t need to vet someone else. He’s okay with continuing to see you, right?”

Dr Owens softened. “I understand now. My apologies. Often managers and fellow band members ask– rather, they demand to know what was said.”

“Not cool,” Jeff said. “We’d never. We just want to make sure it goes as smoothly as possible, because we care. We want him to get better.”

Dr. Owens nodded. “Thank you. You should be all right to go in and see him. We didn’t get to anything gritty today.”

They all nodded and bid the doctor goodbye.

Jeff knocked on the door and was promptly told to come in.

All three of them slipped into the suite. Jeff and Brian surged forward and gave him a group hug.

It took them a moment but they realized that Eddie had been quiet this whole time, that he had hung back when they entered the room.

He stood in front of the door with his hands on his lower back, just watching them shower Gareth with affection.

But he didn’t know what to do. Gareth had really hurt him. Had made an event that had been so happy for him and turned it to ash on his tongue. His first time with Steve would always be tainted by Gareth screaming at him.

Steve had been so angry when he heard what Gareth had done and was ready to pull out of the tour, everyone else’s disappointment be damned. But Eddie had talked him down. Told him about the intervention. The deal that could be struck and Steve reluctantly agreed.

One therapy session didn’t make up for all the hurt and anger he had felt.

They all turned to look at him and Eddie felt like he was the one who was in trouble, not Gareth. His lip wobbled as he sucked in a breath.

He turned on his heel and would have ran if he hadn’t felt arms wrap around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Gareth mumbled into his back. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’re my best friend. My brother. I’m so sorry, Ed. Please don’t go.”

Eddie wrapped one hand around Gareth’s arm and pressed the other against the wood frame of the door. He laid his head on the door and let out that shuddering breath in a long exhale.

“You hurt me so bad, Gare,” Eddie whispered. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

He could feel Gareth nodding into his back.

“I don’t know how you didn’t drown like the rest of us,” Gareth said. “But I want to be more like you, Eddie. Please don’t go. I don’t think I could take it.”

Eddie huffed out a sigh.

“It’s because I saw what the worst of those vices did to a person,” he said, slowly turning around so that they were face to face. “And I made a promise to my Uncle Wayne and on my mama’s grave that I wouldn’t turn out like my dad. It hasn’t always been easy, in fact it’s been fucking hard almost all of the time, but I work at it.”

Gareth had tears streaming down his face.

“You’ve got to let me live my life, man,” Eddie finished. “I won’t let you ruin a good thing that I’ve got going for me because you have abandonment issues.”

Gareth let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I promise to be better. I promise to stick with therapy. Just promise you won’t give up on me.”

Eddie wrapped his arms around his friend and held on tight. “I promise.”

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

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brbsoulnomming · 1 year ago

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Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 22

-----

Hopper arrives the next morning with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, bustling his way inside and taking the coffee that Steve offers him with a grunt of thanks.

"You sure you don't want to press charges against that asshole?" Hopper asks.

Guess he saw Steve's car, then. The party'd helped clean up the paint on the driveway, but the tailight's still busted.

"Not yet. Might change my mind, depending on how today goes," Steve says.

It's surreal, watching Chief Hopper - former Chief Hopper - sitting in Steve Harrington's living room, drinking coffee. Eddie hasn't seen him since the pictures that circulated after Starcourt, and the guy looks… well. Hopper'd always been rough around the edges, but now he looks like he's just barely coming out of being in pretty rough shape.

He catches Eddie looking, and his eyes narrow for a moment before his gaze softens.

"I'm sorry you got caught up in all this, kid," Hopper says gruffly.

Eddie gives a little shrug. "I'm not."

Steve's head whips around to stare at him, holding his breath like he's waiting for something, and - oh.

"Not a lie, Stevie," he says, offering him a little smile.

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve grumbles. "Just wondering if you're the one who's had a few too many blows to the head now."

Hopper grimaces.

"I'm not saying I'm happy about being a suspected serial killer or nearly dying in the Upside Down, but look, this was going on under my nose this whole time. I'd rather be in the know than oblivious."

"Is it too much to ask for just one of you kids to not be eager to throw yourselves into this?" Hopper asks, but it's clearly the kind of question that doesn't need an answer.

Naturally, Eddie gives him one anyway.

"That's what happens when you give a party like us a real campaign to be a part of," he says, all wide grins and easy bravado and complete disregard for his own nightmares or exactly how many times he was convinced he was going to die.

Hopper looks at him like he's speaking French, then looks back at Steve.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He plays the same game the kids do. He runs their little club now."

"Great," Hopper groans, and Robin gives a little giggle snort.

There's a knock on the door, and even though they're expecting his uncle, Eddie has to fight the urge to duck down and hide.

He wonders when that's going to go away, if it ever will.

But sure enough, Steve comes back with Uncle Wayne in tow, who does a double take at seeing Hopper.

"Jesus Christ, Jim," his uncle says.

"Never thought you'd see my ugly mug again, huh?" Hopper asks with a little grin.

"It has been a lot quieter around with your occasional midnight calls," Uncle Wayne returns, taking it in stride.

Hopper snorts. "Bringing this one back to get him out of trouble's a far cry from what we've got now."

They turn to look at Eddie, and he flushes.

"Yeah, thank you, we're all aware I'm in a lot deeper than some illicit substance charges," he mutters. "Can we talk about what we're going to do to get me out of it?"

Hopper drains the rest of his coffee. "You and I are walking into the station together."

"Wait," Steve says, followed immediately by Robin asking, "What?"

"Are you guys ready for that?" Eddie adds.

Hopper snorts. "Ready to what, come back from the dead? Is anyone ready for that? Look, Murray says his contacts are as ready now as they're going to be in a few weeks, and I'm not waiting longer than that."

Eddie can hear the disdain dripping off the word contacts, and it makes him wonder once again who exactly this Murray guy is.

"If you walk in there, they're going to care a whole lot more about that than about Eddie," Steve says.

Hopper lifts his empty cup at him in a parody of a cheers. "That's the idea. They want a story, we give them a story."

"So, uh. What is our story, exactly?" Robin asks.

"I got injured really badly in the fire at Starcourt, and it wasn't until the government agents were doing clean up that I got found. I've been in a coma since then. I come back into town, and who do I find but Eddie Munson hiding out in my old cabin in the woods. I get him to tell me what happened, and convince him to turn himself in," Hopper says.

"And what am I supposed to say happened?" Eddie asks.

"Joyce says the truth, as much as possible. Henry Creel attacked you and Chrissy, and you barely made it out. You were hiding from both Creel and Jason Carver's little mob while Creel kept killing. You stumbled on this crew investigating, Creel attacked, and you and Steve fought him off right before the earthquake hit. That's what you told them at the hospital, isn't it?"

"Something like that, yeah," Steve says. "I don't think I said who it was, but I can't really remember. I wasn't exactly in top shape."

"Then Powell knows that much already. Callahan can hardly find the nose on his face, but Powell's probably been putting together some of the pieces. Eddie ran from the hospital when he got worried that Carver would find him there, and he's been hiding ever since," Hopper finishes.

"That… that could work, yeah," Eddie admits.

"And as long as you're vague, none of it will show up as a lie, Eds," Steve agrees.

Hopper fixes him with a sour look. "You are going in there to file a report about the damage to your property, and that's only because I know you won't stay home. You don't have to press charges, but you're putting that report on the record, and then you're sitting your ass down in that waiting room. Don't even think about coming back with me and Munson unless I call you, understand?"

Steve's expression has steadily been growing pissier, and now he just glares at Hopper. "Really, you're trying to make me stay on the bench now?"

"Someone has to, apparently!" Hopper retorts.

"If you think I'm not going to be right there with my soulmate-" Steve starts.

"If you think I'm letting you-" Hopper says over him.

"You can't treat me like I'm a kid!" Steve insists.

"I can if you're acting like one!" Hopper shouts.

"Jim!" Uncle Wayne cuts in sharply.

Hopper turns his glare onto him, but Uncle Wayne just stares right back at him, unimpressed. There's a stand off for a moment - Eddie looks between Steve and Robin, to find Steve deflating a little and Robin's expression etched in confusion.

After a moment, Hopper cuts his eyes away, back towards Steve. "Come with me for a minute," he says gruffly, stomping over to the other side of the room.

Steve tosses a conflicted look at Robin and Eddie, but goes with him, looking confused.

Uncle Wayne watches them for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, ruffles Eddie's hair and says, "Coffee in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, uh, mugs in the cabinet above the sink," Eddie says, a little thrown.

Robin drops down onto the couch, and Eddie plops next to her, both of them just watching the quiet, terse conversation Steve and Hopper are having.

"I didn't know Steve and Hopper were that close," Eddie mutters.

Or, well - he knows what he assumed when he heard Steve talking about Hopper's adopted daughter, that it was his parents who were cozy with the chief of police, but clearly he was wrong.

Robin leans over, elbows propped up on her knees. "Steve said Hopper used to come by and check on him sometimes, in between things, but I'm not sure they were really, like, close?"

Eddie's brow furrows. "Then what's with the…" He gestures at Hopper awkwardly clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Robin grimaces a little. "Steve kind of made Joyce Byers cry when they got back."

"What? How?" And why the hell would that endear Steve to Hopper?

"He tried to apologize for not having a handle on things here." Robin rests her chin in her hand. "Said he knew they were counting on him, and he was sorry he let them down."

Of course he did. Eddie closes his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Steve."

Robin makes a little disgruntled sound that he's going to assume is agreement.

"We all made it out, though," Eddie says. "How is this time worse than the others?"

There's a thoughtful hum. "The gates have always been closed, before. I mean, kind of seems like they always keep coming back anyway, but at least before it felt like maybe this time it could really be it, it could be the end. We don't have that, now."

Now they know Vecna is still out there, biding his time. It's hard to imagine anything else, for Eddie, but if the others had actually thought it was over, had a bit of a reprieve - yeah, he can see how this would hit harder.

"And Steve is used to being the one who gets hit the hardest," Eddie says slowly.

But not this time. This time, he and Max got hurt, too.

"Mrs. Byers told Steve and Nancy that she knew she was leaving the kids in good hands when she left," Robin says. "So I think it made her realize how much pressure she put on them, and now her and Hopper feel guilty about it. Plus Hopper found out about the whole Steve being tortured last year thing."

Eddie manages not to wince, but only because it's Robin saying it. He bites his lip, weighing how much he wants Robin's opinion on this against talking about Steve's nightmares behind his back, but - it's Robin.

"I don't want him to have to be questioned with me," he says, all in a rush. "He says it'd be fine, but I'm worried it'll be too much like - that."

Robin's knee starts jiggling, and he leans against it to steady her.

"If their plan works, he won't have to," she says.

"But what if it doesn't? Do you really think he's just going to be fine?"

For a moment, he's not sure she's going to answer, but then she whispers, "No."

Shit, he knew it.

"Can't we do something?" he asks, a little desperate. "It's not worth it, Robin."

He pretends he doesn't know that sentence would be just as true if he'd said I instead of it.

He pretends even harder that she can't hear it anyway.

Robin watches him, something wary and considering in her eyes. She isn't distant, but she's just a touch more closed off than he's gotten used to.

It throws him for a moment before he realizes that Steve must have told her about how their conversation went last night. About how he broke her soulmate's heart, and here he is now acting like he has any right to try to protect it, like she and him are still a team when it comes to keeping Steve safe.

He almost pulls back, has a stammered withdrawal on the tip of his tongue, when her shoulder presses against his.

"Steve thinks it is," she says simply, like that's enough.

"Robin," he starts, but he doesn't know what else to say to that.

She's shaking her head like she's cutting him off anyway, though, so maybe it doesn't matter.

"I don't understand it," she says bluntly. "You want him, and he wants you, and frankly I think you need to get over Steve having two soulmates. But Steve says I'm being unreasonable, and I recognize that he may have a point given our current circumstances."

Eddie's temper flares. "That's easy for you to say," he snaps, only barely remembering to keep his voice down. "You have another soulmate out there, too. You don't know-"

He cuts off, and her eyes flash.

"What, Eddie? What don't I know?" she hisses.

"How it feels to know someone is the only one for you, but you're not the only one for them!" he hisses back. "Platonic, romantic, he's the only soulmate I've got, and I'm not-"

He cuts off again. It's never been a lie when he thought to himself that he loves the part of Steve that is Robin, or that he loves Robin, or that he wants both of them in his life, or even that he likes that Steve has another soulmate and that it's Robin.

But when he tries to tell himself he doesn't care that Steve has two soulmates and he has one, or that it doesn't affect him at all -

That part is a lie.

Their circumstances, as Robin put it, have meant that he's gotten in deep with them very quickly, that it's forced him to rapidly be okay with a scenario he never imagined, but it also means he hasn't had any time to really come to terms with it.

"I'm trying, okay?" he says. "I only have so much brain space, and it's been a little occupied with not dying and dodging murder charges."

She still looks a little puffed up at him, and for a moment he has the absurd thought of the two of them like a pair of cats, hissing and spitting at each other, and that - he shrinks in on himself, just a little, and she deflates.

"Don't do that," she grumbles. "Make yourself all small and sad. I'm not Steve, you can't sway me with that."

It kind of seems like he can, but he takes the tentative peace instead of teasing her about it.

"Thank you," he says instead.

Robin narrows her eyes at him. "For what?"

His brain shorts out for a moment.

"Uh," he says intelligently. "Fighting nice with me?"

She doesn't soften, exactly, but she does look a little sad.

"I don't - know how to do this," he admits. "I've never - okay, I've never a lot of things, but this." He gestures at him and Steve, and then him and her, and then him and her and Steve. "It means a lot that it's not screaming matches or burning bridges."

She blows out a huff of air. "Fine. You've got a reprieve, Munson, figure your shit out or I'm coming back for you. Now shut up, and let's keep you out of jail and Steve from getting handcuffs slapped on him."

–

Hopper drives him to the police station in silence.

Well, mostly silence. There's terrible music playing over the radio, and Hopper had initiated some stilted conversation going over their plan again, but after that?

Zilch.

Fortunately, it isn't a terribly long drive.

When they get there, though, Hopper shuts off the engine but doesn't get out yet.

Eddie manages to resist the urge to sit on his hands to keep himself from fidgeting.

"You didn't come all this way just to actually arrest me, right?" he jokes.

Or he tries to joke, but he's pretty sure it comes out a little nervous.

"What? No, come on," Hopper grumbles. "Look, I just want to make sure you know that you're walking out of there, all right? We go in together, we're leaving together."

"Why?" Eddie blurts out.

Hopper looks incredulously at him.

"Why are you doing this for me?" Eddie clarifies. "You guys used to bust me all the time, and I know you went lenient on me, but-"

"Munson," Hopper cuts off with a growl. "I'm not doing this for you. We're doing this because you didn't kill anyone, and you're stuck in this now. So you should shut up and accept it."

Eddie considers if it's worth pushing his luck.

Hopper apparently correctly interprets the look on his face, because rolls his eyes and shoves the door open, storming out and leaving Eddie scrambling to undo his seatbelt and follow him.

His uncle's truck is already there, and so is Steve's BMW, smashed tail light and all.

He lingers at the door, just briefly, trying to talk himself up - but then Hopper grabs the back of his shirt collar and yanks him inside.

Eddie's heart is pounding, and he automatically scans the room - sees his uncle talking to Flo, sees Steve leaning back in a chair with a folder in front of him, feels it calm his nerves just a little.

"Heard you lot were looking for the Munson kid," Hopper announces.

The station goes silent.

Eddie raises his hands up. "Well, officers, looks like you finally caught this outlaw."

Somewhat predictably, chaos erupts.

Callahan is struggling to bolt up and pull his gun at the same time, shouting, "On the ground, now!"

Flo is yelling, "His hands are up you idiot, don't you dare draw that weapon in here!"

Steve is scrambling to his feet, looking like he's going to bodily shove himself between Callahan and Eddie.

Hopper gets there first, though, stepping half in front of Eddie with a sigh.

"Powell?" he calls.

"Yeah, Chief?" Powell responds instinctively.

Hopper bares his teeth in something that might be a grin, nodding at him. "Not anymore. How about we talk in your office?"

"Seems best to me," Chief Powell agrees, then shouts, "Hey hey! All of you get back to work, I'm handling this."

Powell leads them back into the office, shutting the door behind them. Eddie glances back before he does, and can see absolutely no one getting back to work.

Eddie drops into one of the chairs, ready for more dramatics, but Powell isn't even looking at him.

Rude. How is he supposed to cover his nerves now?

"We thought you were dead, Jim," Powell says quietly.

"So did I, for a while," Hopper replies.

"What happened?" Powell asks.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at him. "You want the whole truth?"

Which is not at all what they agreed on, and Eddie sits up in alarm, but Hopper waves a hand at him.

"This have anything to do with Hawkins Lab again?" Powell asks tiredly.

Hopper looks at him pointedly.

Powell grimaces, sitting in the chair behind the desk. "Bare minimum, Hopper, I'm talking as few details as possible."

"You know Kline was into some shady shit. Turns out it was foreign shady shit. The Russians got real pissed off when they found out I was a part of blowing up their little copycat Hawkins Lab under the mall. I've been their guest up until a few weeks ago."

"Shit." Powell scrubs a hand over his face, looking at Hopper with obvious concern. "Jim-"

"It's done." Hopper pulls an envelope out of the inside of his jacket and tosses it on the desk. "What's important now is these murders."

"Let me guess." Powell says, nudging the envelope towards himself like it might blow up. "More Hawkins lab?"

"One of its former employees," Hopper says. "Henry Creel."

Powell looks up. "As in the Creel murders? The kid whose father killed their whole family?"

"Whole family but him," Hopper says. "He ended up working in the lab, until it shut down. Twisted little shit like that, no where to get out his sick little urges?"

"We got ourselves a serial killer," Powell says.

Hopper taps the envelope. "Employee record's all in there."

Powell rubs at his jaw, then finally looks at Eddie. "How'd you get involved?"

Eddie slouches down. "He wanted Chrissy. I didn't - I couldn't-"

"Wrong place, wrong time," Hopper cuts in. "Munson barely got out of there alive. He's been hiding this whole time."

"I knew what it looked like, okay?" Eddie snaps. "Carver and his crew were gunning after me. I tried to talk to him, to tell him I didn't do it, but he wouldn't stop. Said he was going to make sure I got what I deserved. It's why I left the hospital."

Powell leans forward a little. "How did you end up in the hospital?"

Eddie swallows. "Some of my friends were out in the woods where I was hiding, they found me. But Creel found us, too. He went after Max. Harrington and I tried to stop him, but-"

He shrugs, and lifts up his shirt to flash his bandages and healing injuries, then drops it down.

"Found him hiding out in my cabin when I got back," Hopper says dryly. "Munson's soulmate is ready to prove he's telling the truth, Powell. You really want to put two kids through that?"

Eddie jerks up, glaring at Hopper in betrayal - he thought they were both pretty on the same page about not involving Steve in this - but Powell just grimaces.

"Do I want to tell Lillian Harrington that her son waived his soulmate rights and we questioned him without a lawyer? Hell no."

Eddie gapes at him.

Powell fixes him with a look. "Steve Harrington carried you into that hospital, despite his injuries being so bad he collapsed right after. He was adamant about not pressing charges against Jason Carver, and now he's out there dithering about filing a report while you're telling me there's a soulmate waiting in the wings to swoop in? I wasn't born yesterday."

Eddie puffs himself up a little, ready to insist that Steve had nothing to do with this - as soon as he can figure out how to say it without lying - but Powell just waves a hand at him, almost exactly the same way Hopper'd done just a few minutes ago.

"I told Steve, you're not our top suspect anymore. We just wanted to ask you some questions."

Eddie shifts his weight. "And here I was getting used to being Hawkins Most Wanted."

Hopper groans. "Cut that shit out, kid."

Eddie looks back and forth between them. "So that - that's it? I can go?"

"I would suggest you don't leave town, but yes, you're not under arrest," Powell says, finally opening the envelope and looking through it. "Not a bad idea if you both make a statement I can give to the press, though."

Hopper hums. "How soon can they release it?"

Powell snorts. "Story like this? We're looking at six o'clock news tonight, front page tomorrow morning."

Hopper looks at him. "Kid."

Eddie fidgets with his wrist brace. He wants to ask if his uncle can come back - he wants to ask if Steve can come in, too, but he feels even more guilty about that, and he doesn't want to risk it even if Powell did say they wouldn't be questioning him.

So he sits up a little straighter and nods. "Yeah. I can do that."

–

When they're done, Hopper escorts him out of the station with one hand on his back, Uncle Wayne and Steve flanking him.

He can't help the choked laugh that bubbles up - he feels like a rockstar, getting ushered away from paparazzi by his security team.

"You should get out of here and lay low," Hopper says outside the station. "Press should be here soon. I'll stay, answer a few questions."

He heads back into the station, leaving Eddie outside with Uncle Wayne and Steve.

There's no one else out there, but the skin on the back of his neck prickles.

It's the longest he's stood outside in the middle of town in weeks.

Steve scrubs a hand over his jaw. "I'm gonna stay with Hopper," he says.

I don't think he should have to do it alone, Eddie hears, and he can't help but give a little snort at his soulmate's soft heart.

Like Eddie himself isn't just as bad.

"Here," Steve says, holding something out.

Eddie automatically reaches out to take it, and a key is pressed into his hand.

"Everyone's probably going to want to come over," he says. "You guys can let yourselves back in. Eds, I think there's lasagna in the freezer if you want to heat it up?"

"Yeah, it was there when I got the bacon out this morning," Eddie agrees, purposefully not looking at Uncle Wayne.

He doesn't want to see what his uncle's face is doing about him and Steve discussing what's in their freezer.

Steve's freezer, shit.

"You don't have to give me your key, man, Robin or someone'll let us in," Eddie says.

Steve's expression falls, just a little, but then his chin tilts back up. "No," he says softly. "That's yours. You can - I want you to stay. You don't have to, since you're not a fugitive, but I want you to."

Eddie's face heats up so fast he feels almost dizzy.

It feels stupid, knowing Steve, but somehow he hadn't planned on Steve wanting him to stay, too.

He risks sneaking a look at his uncle, who's looking back at him with his eyebrows raised and a little smirk.

"Course I'll stay," Eddie manages to get out. "At least until you get tired of me."

Steve brightens, then rolls his eyes. "Not going to happen," he replies, then seems to remember that Uncle Wayne is standing right there, because he turns to him. "You'd be welcome to stay, of course. I mean, Dustin kind of takes over one of the guest rooms whenever he can, but we have a second one."

A second one that no one's using, because Eddie's been sleeping with Steve, and now he's pretty sure his face couldn't get any redder.

He hopes that his uncle doesn't pick up the implications that Steve clearly isn't aware he's laying down, but unfortunately, Eddie can see Uncle Wayne's little smirk grow.

Still, he doesn't say anything about it.

"Thank you," his uncle says gruffly. "But I'm good at the hotel."

Steve heads back inside after Hopper, and Eddie follows his uncle to his truck.

"Not a word, old man," Eddie grumbles.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Uncle Wayne replies.

That doesn't stop him from laughing at him on the drive back, though.

Sure enough, Robin and Dustin are already there, and it's not long before everyone else shows up.

Including Joyce Byers, who hugs him long and tight and makes him have to excuse himself to go get the lasagna out of the freezer so he doesn't burst into tears.

Hopper and Steve both end up live on the six o'clock news. Chief Powell leads the press conference, and Hopper begrudgingly answers a handful of questions. He gives the coma story, talks about working with a private investigator friend to find out what happened during the time he was missing, reports that he has no current plans to retake the mantle of Chief of Police.

Hawkins has a fine one in Chief Powell, apparently, and Hopper wants to be with his family for now.

Chief Powell gives a brief update on the murder case, reporting that Eddie is no longer considered a suspect, and they have new evidence that points to Henry Creel, including several witnesses to the attacks.

Steve steps in only briefly to identify himself as one of them, stating that he was attacked by Henry Creel as well and can positively identify him. When asked how he survived, he shrugs and says he helped his friends fight him off, that it wasn't the first time they've all been in a dangerous situation.

The story ends with a picture of Eddie himself, the reporter stating again that no charges have been filed against him, and that -

That's it.

Eddie almost doesn't know what to do with himself.

The next few days are weird.

He still stays inside, most of the time, but he does go out a couple of times. With his uncle to get dinner, with Steve to the auto store to get a new tail light, with Hopper to sign a couple of more things at the station. Just enough to ease back into it, to remind the town that fuck you, he's still here.

Andy Johnson and Eric Carson stop by and apologize.

To Steve, which makes him all pissy, but Eddie thinks is frankly hilarious.

They promise they left right after they finished talking to Steve and Robin that night, and they had no idea that Jason was going to come back and mess with his car. They're not going to have anything to do with him until he gets his head back on straight.

Privately, he's not convinced Jason ever had his head on straight, but he doesn't do more than waggle his eyebrows significantly at Steve from where Andy and Eric can't see him.

Besides that, things are quiet.

Even though Eddie was kind of expecting something - there's no sign of Jason.

Up next: Eddie gets more orders to sort his shit out, so okay fine he guesses he has to

-----

Part 23

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #jim hopper #wayne munson #steddie soulmate au #platonic soulmates stobin

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itsgrimeytime · 10 months ago

Text

Home is Where the Heart is (Part Seven) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @1tsk1tty

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier and Begin Again by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWs: a little angsty (but Rick is there to fix it), crying, infidelity, broken engagement, thunderstorms, and heartbreak.

[[A/N: You finally tell Rick your story. Get my hurt/comfort girlies in here!!! Because you are about to EAT. Enjoy :))]]

You blinked, the dark of the night peeking through your windows and the pounding of the rain on your roof filling your ears.

Flashing to your phone, your eyes flickered over the time -'3:25 AM'.

You groaned, rolling over into the other side of your bed -comforter moving with you. You tried to close your eyes again, picture something beautiful, something nice and calm-

A loud crack of thunder echoed through the night.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered -moving back over to the other side, maybe it was bad luck.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to wordlessly situate your body -everything still felt uncomfortable. You were trying though, desperately. It wasn't like you had any plans the next day, you just... you wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep.

It had been a rough day, and all you could think about was-

"I need the ring back," he said, nothing even faltering over his face -no pity, regret, nothing.

How could he show up after a year of nothing?

Your eyes shot open, breath heavy in your chest -god. You hadn't thought about that in so long, you thought you were-

"There's someone else, always has been."

Your stomach turned, and your eyes got foggy -you swallowed, dryly. This wasn't fair, you were so far away -you were starting over. He doesn't deserve to haunt you like this.

You wasted three years on him, and he took one second to ruin it all. You were supposed to get married-

With a sob racking up your throat, you finally caved -throwing back the blanket. Blinking up at your ceiling, you tried so desperately to stop the tears -he didn't deserve to make you cry anymore.

You thought you were doing so much better.

The sob squeaked out of your lips before you could hold it back, arms reaching out to hold against yourself -squeezing. Your heart, even though it was distant, shattered in your chest; you could feel what you felt then -the exact same.

Blearily through tears, you grabbed your phone -breaths hollowing out your lungs and mind running so wild. Good god, why did it hurt so bad?

Your finger dashed through your conversations, hovering over the contact. Grandma 💞. Something in your froze solid, she'd always been so wrapped up in this, it wasn't fair-

You set your phone back down, sitting properly on the side of the bed -putting your elbows on your knees, and covering your eyes with your hands. Breaths rattled out of you, but they weren't getting any slower; the sobs had stopped, but the tears kept going. It took you a few minutes there to realize this wasn't going to go alone.

Wiping at your eyes, you let out a big breath -eyes moving to the window. The sky was getting that kind of bright it did in the early mornings, and through the rain splashing against your window, you could see the blue shingles of-

You paused. Rick.

"If you ever... need anythin', I'm just a door down. Anythin'."

"I'll make time for ya, you're more important than that other stuff anyway, darlin'."

You were sliding your shoes on before you could even second guess it.

It was like you were on autopilot, you felt the rain -heavy on your clothes. You knew it was cold -goosebumps rattling across your skin, but you couldn't feel it.

And all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears, and the boom of the thunder -you weren't sure which one made your hands shake. Your lip was trembling and your breath catching in your throat -you blearily stepped toward his house.

The puddles sloshed around you, soaking through your shoes but your mind wasn't thinking of that. Just the quiet timber of his voice, the twinkle in his smile, the all-encompassing woodsy smell he seemed to carry around, and his eyes -so blue.

All you could think was that you wanted him, needed him. You weren't exactly sure why, but it felt like you were broken into pieces and he was the only thing that could fix it.

By the time you reached shelter under his porch though, you were soaked -tears washing down your face just as consistent as the rain was moments before. Your hands were shaking and your chest was heavy, your hand felt so far away.

With a breath, your knuckles brushed onto the door -a quiet knock, but one all the same.

You took a deep breath in and had a moment where you realized just what you were doing. Guilt twisted into your gut, as your head swirled, showing up at his house at 3 am was not what he meant.

But your feet wouldn't move, you tried so hard to turn yourself back into the rain -maybe it would help if you stayed out there a little more. Bring you down to earth, make your mind clearer.

You won't put this on him, you reprimanded yourself, he doesn't deserve it. You should just go home and-

"Do ya 'ave any idea what ti-"

His voice was cut short, blue eyes settling on you -detailing over your soaked clothes and the redness you knew to be under your eyes. He hesitated only a little.

"Is everythin' okay, darlin'?"

Something in you snapped, tears falling faster and breaths puffing out of your chest -the tiniest whimper echoing through your lips.

Rick rushed forward at the noise, stepping out of his house without a second thought -hands gently holding your face, keeping your eyes locked on him, "Hey, hey, sweetheart, it's okay, I've gotcha. You're safe-"

You didn't say anything, sniffling a little pathetically -but something in you calmed ever so slightly. His eyes trained on you and the warmth of his hands, you felt safe.

"-c'mon, let's get ya inside."

His hands moved quickly, wrapping around your hand and pulling you inside without hesitation. Another sob riled up through your throat, and Rick turned to the noise without another thought.

"Breathe, baby, you're alright," he hummed -taking your hands and placing them on his chest, "-follow my lead."

Your mind halted, watching the up and down of his chest -mindlessly you acknowledged the stain your hands were leaving on his shirt and the dripping water staining his floor.

"Good, you're doing real good, darlin'," he praised, blue eyes watching you with something so gentle you couldn't quite name.

When he finally seemed satisfied with your breathing, he brought you to a chair in the hallway -letting your hands leave his chest, "Stay 'ere, alright? I'll be right back with some fresh clothes and a towel."

You nodded your head, words couldn't make their way up your throat. The house felt so warm and welcome, you felt better just by sitting there. Your eyes just lingered on a family photo on the wall, Rick's big smile.

Before you could blink, he was back -towel and clothes in hand. With a thought, he placed the stack beside you -getting on his knees, and fidgeting with your laces. Gently, as if you were made of fragile china, he pulled them off -putting them close to the door, where you saw a few other pairs lined up.

"We'll dry 'em later," he spoke, absent-mindedly, almost to himself.

"C'mon," he held out his hand, the other holding the towel clothes to his chest, "-let's getcha changed. 'At okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," you whispered, roughly, accepting his hand as he led you to the bathroom.

"Dry yourself off, change," he spoke, leading you into the room for privacy -blue eyes carefully skating across your face, "-I'll be right 'ere, waitin', okay? I'm not leavin' ya."

Something in your chest stung, he won't leave you.

You pulled the door shut, quietly getting undressed -clothes falling to the floor with a plop, soaked. And dabbing yourself with the towel, it wasn't going to all go away but you tried. Finally, you pulled on the dry clothes -your nose was overwhelmed with just... Rick, and you distantly realized they must be his.

Without thinking, you chanced a look in the mirror. Your eyes were puffy and red, tear streaks clear on your face -your fingers rushing up to rub at them, wipe them away. His shirt was big, sleeves going down farther than intended and hanging a little further than your hips; the pants were the same, you used the string to tie them tight against your waist.

A pair of socks fell to the floor. You smiled a little picking up the bundle and putting them on -he'd even got you socks?

Quickly, toweling off your face and hair, you let out a big sigh and roamed back to the door.

Just like he said, Rick was leaning against the table -pajamas still wet from your hands, and hair mussed from sleep. He seemed a little distracted then, worry furrowing his brow, but then he saw you.

His eyes flickered something bright, trailing over the clothes for a moment too long -like he was appreciating the sight, "There ya are."

He seemed to see you were more relaxed then, but even still, he approached you slowly, and cautiously. Experimentally stepping closer, he waited for a reaction -consent. The idea of him handling you so gently made you want to cry for an entirely different reason.

So, without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck -digging your face into it. The scruff there buzzed along your skin, but you didn't mind -you just wanted him everywhere, and it felt like it was here. It felt safe.

Slowly, his hands gathered around your waist -hands warm and pressed into your skin like he wanted you to know he was there. With a slow movement, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your temple -carefully.

Your eyes teared up, when was the last time you'd been held like this?

"I'm sorry," you whispered into his skin.

Rick seemed to take a moment, before carefully pulling you back to face him, calloused fingertips trailing your jaw -tilting you to look at him, "'S no reason to be sorry, sweetheart."

"I woke you up at 3 am because-" you started, but your voice stopped suddenly in your throat.

He looked at you, concern filtering through his gaze and eyebrows furrowing, "Let's go sit down. We can talk if ya want to, ya don't 'ave to say anythin' though."

That's how you ended up here, on his couch -curled into his side with his arm wrapped around you, and hand absent-mindedly tracing circles into your back.

The patter of the rain against the windows made your head go a little fuzzy, and being this close to him didn't exactly help either. All you could smell was the slight scent of rain and just Rick, and with your head pressed into his neck and shoulder, you could feel the heat thrum under his skin.

Every few moments you could feel him glance at you, but your eyes stayed focused on the rain against the windows.

Your mouth opened before you could really think about it.

"I had a fiancé."

The boom of thunder outside broke up the silence for a moment, Rick only listening quietly. You knew he was because his hand moved to your shoulder -squeezing it once solidly and then going back to circles.

"Back in the city," you clarified, moving a hand to fidget with the shirt you were wearing, "-he... We were together for three years."

Silently, his free hand pulled yours away from the shirt -lazily pulling it onto his lap, and interlocking your fingers. He squeezed it once.

There was a breath.

You could feel the words brush into the air, "What happened?"

You bit your lip, gnawing into it for a second, "He disappeared for a year. Wouldn't return my calls, and left all of his stuff."

Rick stayed quiet -patiently.

"We had friends that he talked to, so I... I knew he was alive," you breathed out -taking your interlocked hands and separating them, just so you could run your fingers over the creases in his palm, "-but I didn't see him until a few months before I... before I came here."

He let out a breath, squeezing your shoulder again.

"It was over, I already knew that I just didn't know why-" your voice cracked a little, and Rick turned his head to kiss the top of yours without hesitation, "-He showed up and asked me for the ring back."

You leaned further into him, and he neatly adjusted -fingertips pressed into the skin of your shoulder.

"Told me..." you started, eyes getting a little watery and tone a little wet, "-Told me there was someone else, that he- That he had been cheating on me the whole time, and he needed the ring to... to propose to her."

Rick tensed up for a moment, jaw tightening.

"I took all his stuff to my Grandma's, so he could get it from there, and she-" you mindlessly traced a line in his palm, "-she told me to come here, that she'd take care of everything. Told me about the job and the house she rents out and I..."

You fell silent a moment.

"Never looked back," you continued, "-and I just couldn't get that day out of my head, when he... when he needed the ring."

He hummed, fingers rubbing against your shoulder rhythmically. Back and forth like a ticking clock.

"I just... I kept wondering what I did wrong," you faltered, "-if I was... unlovable or something, or if he'd ever even loved me at all-"

"You didn't do anythin' wrong," he interrupted, it rumbled low in his chest -still slightly sleep-slurred but with conviction.

"How do you-"

"I know," he hummed, voice gruff but still so soft, "-If it's anyone's fault, baby, it's his."

Your heart picked up on the 'baby' this time, something in your mind clear enough to know he had said it now. And he meant it. You wondered briefly if he could hear it in your chest, or feel it.

"He took advantage of ya," he hummed -something tight in his tone, "-and whatever reason he did it for is bullshit."

He was mad, you could tell. Something in you felt so warm at him being mad for you, mad that someone had hurt you.

"Yeah?" You asked -small and barely there.

"'Course, sweetheart," he relented, soft and smooth, "-you didn't deserve any of 'at. No one does, but 'specially not you."

"I know," you said, quieter.

"Good," he responded, voice a little spent, "-dick didn't deserve ya anyway."

You laughed a little, fingers still pressed into his palm, and you could feel his chuckle vibrate through his chest. He pulled his hand away from your fingers to grab your other one, properly holding your hand this time. You felt his head tilt down to look at it, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

"I wanna talk in the mornin' but," he started, voice low, "-I just want ya to know I'm not lettin' 'at happen to you again."

"How are you gonna-"

"I wanna," he continued, slow and steady, "-I wanna try somethin' with you. And I don't want ya to answer now, I'm not expectin' ya to," his thumb kept rubbing into your skin -gentle swirls, "-but if we did. I'd never let 'at happen to ya again. Ever."

You pursed your lips together into a line, you didn't know what to say -your heart squeezed in your chest. This... this, with him, didn't hurt.

But it could one day, you thought distantly.

You shook it away, focusing on the motion of his chest; he didn't want you to answer now anyway.

"You wanna sleep?" He offered, voice a barely there whisper.

"Here?"

"'M not moving," he mumbled, voice just a touch more slurred, "-too comfortable."

You smiled a little, as he leaned into you slightly, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and making sure plenty rested on you, before moving to himself.

"Think on it, okay?" He hummed, fingers still tracing shapes on your back, "-'Ere's no rush, I'll wait as long as ya need me to."

You breathed out, situating yourself into his side as you fit perfectly -his arm tightened around you. Holding you in place, and all at once protecting you -from what you weren't sure, but it didn't matter.

Closing your eyes, with the rain pattering outside and Rick tight into your side (his breaths lulling you to sleep), your mind settled.

You already knew your answer.

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #home is where the heart is

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months ago

Text

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 4

AO3

Summary: Years before Susie's arrival at Thorpe Abbotts, one fateful loss changes the course of her life forever

Warnings: Grief, death, language, ANGST, dysfunctional family idk

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

January, 1941

The church was quiet, rows of pews worn and bare. Sunlight flooded in through the tall, narrow windows, casting blocks of light against whitewashed walls, and the low, gentle chatter of guests in the doorway did nothing to rouse Susie from her daze, huddled at the furthest end of the front row of pews, tucked into the corner as if it would make her invisible. An old bible rested on the bench beside her, tattered and yellowed, and she ran her thumb across the blunted corners of the paper, never venturing far enough to open it, the words repulsive to her.

Her mother's voice always plucked itself from a crowd, that warm, Irish lilt in stark contrast against the rough, Mancunian drawl possessed by her children, as if they belonged to the city before they did her. She didn't bother listening in to the others' conversations - didn't try to distinguish the voices of strangers from those of her blood. None of them could have had anything even remotely interesting to say to her.

The pew creaked beside her, and Susie glanced up as Beatrice took her seat, leaving a few metres of separation between the pair of them. Three years her elder, her sister dressed head-to-toe in black, gloved hands clutching at her purse, hair curling neatly below her ears, immaculately done makeup obscured by the veil that hung in front of her face. Susie looked down at her own clothes - a white button down, an old brown skirt - it wasn't right, wasn't traditional or proper, but it was what she had.

"No husband?" She asked, a hint of an edge lacing her voice. Beatrice sucked in a long breath, chest heaving with the weight of it.

"No. He's busy."

"I bet he is."

Finally turning to look at her, venom in her gaze, Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, Susie already itching to interrupt her. But both fell silent, jaws snapping shut as another figure sat down in between them, a human barrier to prevent the inevitable spat before it could form.

"Always classy, girls," Sally huffed, newborn cradled in one arm, the other elbow propped up against the back of the pew as she kept an eye on her other son.

Beatrice sighed, posture relaxing as she let go of the offensive. No one questioned Sally - the eldest sister who had lifted them in her arms the way she now did her own children, who had wiped their tears and cleaned their scraped knees when their parents had been preoccupied. So much older and wiser than the rest of them, there was a removal there, as if she could no longer quite be considered their sister, their equal.

Susie shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as a dull ache shot through her thigh. She could feel Sally's gaze fixed on her. "Susie," She spoke gently, the infant in her arms gurgling away to itself. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"Four hours."

"Jesus Christ," Beatrice muttered, staring up at the altar, unable to tear her eye from the framed photo of Ellie that beamed back at them. They'd chosen a photo of her as a child - why had they done that? That wasn't the Ellie she'd pulled from the rubble the morning after the bombs had fallen. That wasn't the Ellie shut away inside the casket. She didn't remember her that way. Anyone who did wasn't welcome here in Susie's eyes.

A clatter of books against the stone floor sounded behind them as Sally's other son knocked over a pile of Bibles, guilt flushing his cheeks a bright red as the crowd gathered by the door turned to stare. With a quick summons from his mother, he scrambled to his seat, little feet dangling over the edge of the pew, hands fidgeting restlessly. She heaved a long, heavy sigh, unable to look at the altar for more than a few seconds at a time. "At least she's with dad now."

Susie hummed. She didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t believe in God anymore.

They were separated irreparably now. Even today, not everyone was here. Ronnie and Patrick were still away fighting overseas, and Nancy had been noisily sobbing in the back corner since she arrived, her son sitting awkwardly in the opposite pew waiting for it all to be over. The sound of footsteps along the aisle drew Susie's gaze, and something lifted within her.

"Owen," She breathed, jumping to her feet and bounding over to meet her big brother. His eyes were bloodshot, gaze jittery and unable to meet hers - but then again, he never had liked to look her in the eye. She didn't mind it. Her hand found his arm, pressing reassuringly against the sleeve of his uniform, adorned with the emblem of the RAF Medical Services. "Come sit down, yeah?"

"Is-... Is she in the box?" He asked quietly, nervously glancing at the pallbearers.

Susie frowned, brow drawn. "No," She lied. "No, Ellie's not in there. It's just tradition - what Ma wanted."

"Ok. Yeah, ok, I'll sit," Owen nodded, and she noticed the fresh tears soaking the cuff of his sleeve from where he'd wiped them away on his way in. She offered him the seat that had once been hers, letting him press his body into the wood at the end of the bench, shying away from the crowds, shoulder hunched to avoid brushing against hers. Owen had never quite been considered normal - Ronnie used to get into trouble for beating other boys up at school in defence of his little brother - but it had only meant he never minded that Susie wasn't quite normal either. There was a solidarity in that, a shared acceptance that they weren't how the world tried to shape them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everyone cried during the ceremony. Everyone except Susie.

A nauseating guilt swelled within her as her brother and sisters quietly wept at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could, willing a tear to fall, manifesting some sign of the grief within. What must they have thought of her? Her cold stare overseeing it all, flinching at every prayer. It was the perfect protestant funeral, the kind only their mother could have mustered.

She couldn't have left fast enough once it was all over, Owen's gentle grip on her cardigan using her as a guide through the crowds as they wormed their way through towards the door. Their house was a mere five doors down from the church, a looming presence throughout their childhood, a lingering reminder that someone was watching. But even in her home, she wasn't spared the misery.

Susie scarcely recognised half the people at Ellie's wake - crowding the kitchen, sitting in their chairs and lingering in the stairwell. What did any of them know - truly know - about her sister? Had they even had time to know her? Nineteen was too young to die. Too young for death to have any meaning. If the bombs had to kill someone, they should've killed Susie. At least then there'd have been some semblance of military strategy to it. No one won wars by slaughtering teenagers.

There was an empty cup in her hand as she sat at the kitchen table. She couldn't remember what had been in it. Upon the stove, the kettle was boiling, splitting the din of chatter with its unrelenting squeal. She squeezed the glass so tight she worried it might shatter, knuckles turning white with the pressure. Her mother passed behind her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair, warm palm skimming against her scalp. She wanted it to stay, wanted to lean back into it, but it was gone as soon as it came. Susie pushed her chair out, the legs screeching across the floor, bumping into a man she'd never met as she stood up, shouldering her way to the door.

It was almost silent in the attic, layers of brick and wood muffling the sound of voices. Laying back on her bed, she stared up at the roofing beams, the lingering smell of Ellie's perfume permeating the bedsheets. From the day she'd been old enough to leave the crib they'd shared this bed, shunting Patrick onto the narrow one in the corner - this was the girls' space, the floral quilts a private temple where only they existed. Lying on her side of it now, it felt uneven, like the whole thing would lose balance and tip over sideways, Ellie's presence necessary to its survival. Or maybe she was just necessary for Susie's.

Dust floated on the air, catching the light that flowed in through a leak in the ceiling. Her hand rested on the other side of the bed, the vague imprint of Ellie's body still engraved into the old mattress. It needed replacing years ago, but suddenly it was invaluable. On Christmas Eve night, the night after she'd died, Susie had stayed up all through the dark, lying in the impression of her sister, terrified it would lose her outline if she just left it there. But it never did.

The house had never been so full and so empty. Her brothers were aiding the war effort, billeted all over the place. Her sisters had all gotten married - found their own homes to raise their own children. She and Ellie had stayed up here in their attic, tucked beneath the covers like little girls again.

A creak on the stairs ripped her from her trance, her mother's head peering up through the trap door.

"I didn't know you were up here."

"That's ok."

Each floorboard let out an agonised creak as she crossed them, hands folded nervously at her front. Freshly forty years old, she looked at least a decade older, heavy bags of exhaustion tugging down on her eyelids. She wore the only black dress she owned, spotted with white polka dots, a stubborn coffee stain browning the hem where she could never quite scrub it away. The bed rocked towards Ellie's side as she climbed beneath the sheets, laying down in the space she had once owned.

All at once she seemed a child, tugging the blankets up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut as if willing sleep to claim her. She turned into Susie's side, pulling in a long breath. She wondered if she could smell Ellie here too.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked meekly, like a girl begging her parents after a nightmare.

Susie's head lolled to the side, brow furrowed as she looked over at her. "Yeah, sure Ma. I'll go downstairs."

"Please don't."

It was silent for a while. Then the rustling of sheets sounded as Susie turned onto her side facing away from her mother, unable to bear staring at her for too long. She scarcely knew the woman lying next to her. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd climbed the steps to read them to sleep up here. Long gone were the days when Susie wished she would, but her absence could still be read in the room - in the drawings on the walls that no one had ever been scolded for, that no one had ever tried covering up because no one ever came to see them. This was their own little world, and she wasn't sure she wanted her mother up here at all.

"I'm sorry if I was a bad Ma," She spoke, voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

Susie took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with it. "You tried."

If nothing else, she knew that was true. Her mother had tried. She'd made half a dozen breakfasts with a baby on one hip. She'd read every report card and double-checked their homework when she managed to understand it. She'd stifled the pain of becoming a widow to tend to the pain of a bumped head or bruised elbow.

But she'd also let them go to bed hungry. She'd lied to their schools about their birthdays so they could drop out before their time. She'd been too poor and had too many children, and Susie wasn't sure she'd ever forgive her for it.

She needed to leave this house. The prospect of sleeping alone in this bed was worse than any other fate she could imagine. Already she could feel herself sticking - if she didn't tear herself away now she never would. Could she truly face driving past the wreckage of the factories every day on her way to Ridgeway? It would take months to rebuild. Months of remembering the moment she'd see her face, blood streaking through the brick dust, eyes half open and unseeing.

"Get some sleep. I'll bring you up some tea when everyone's left," Susie muttered, peeling the sheets away from her body and climbing out of bed, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her palms.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Beatrice stood on the doorstep, a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting in front of her face as she watched a child play in the gutter outside the wash house across the yard. The four walls that encircled their court of back-to-backs had once been their entire world. She remembered it looking bigger than this. There were rumours they'd be knocking houses like these down soon - no one wanted to move into them, these dilapidated remnants of a time long passed.

The sound of feet scuffing against tile alerted her to Susie's presence, sliding into the doorway beside her, wordlessly extending her hand for a cigarette. Beatrice passed one to her, holding out a lighter, the pair exhaling puffs of smoke simultaneously.

Who were they to each other? Susie stared back at her sister and realised she didn't have any idea.

"Ellie always used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up," She mused, watching on as the child across the yard was hurried inside by its mother, casting them a sympathetic glance as she went.

"She asked everyone that."

"Yeah. But she asked me the most, 'cause I never had an answer."

"Do you have one now?"

"... Don't think so."

The war made dreams insignificant. Nothing was about how they wanted to live anymore, everything was about what others needed them to be.

Beatrice had long discarded her hat, its presence remembered in the halo of frizz it left behind around her scalp. "What did she want to be again?"

"It was a ballerina for a while, then a painter I think. Or a writer. Might've been both."

"Don't forget when she wanted to be a scientist."

"Of course. And a pilot."

They'd begun to smile. When it had happened, she couldn't recall. But Ellie's mind had always been so far away, so filled to burst with a million dreams and ideas and fantasies that no one had any clue what she would go on to do. In the end, she did nothing. She had wished to change the world, and she had died on the floor of a textile mill.

A man in uniform came down the alleyway into the yard, hands folded politely behind his back as he approached the house. His gaze was fixed on Beatrice, as if Susie wasn't there at all.

"Car for you, ma'am."

"Thanks," She nodded, stomping her cigarette butt out on the front step. Taking a few steps away from the house, she turned, letting out a sigh as she fumbled with her purse. "Let Mum know I've gone, yeah? And Nancy."

"You're not staying for dinner?"

For a moment a look of shock flashed across her sister's face, as if appalled she'd even ask. "No. I need to be back in London by the time William gets home."

"Why? Not like you cook or anything."

Beatrice stared at her for a moment, grip on her bag tightening. "Mind your business, Susie."

Susie flicked her cigarette into the puddle at her sister's feet, the door closing on her with a slam. As she came inside, Nancy reached the bottom of the stairs, glancing out of the window behind her.

"Beatrice left?"

"Fucking bitch," She muttered, dragging one of the chairs away from the table to sit down.

"Don't say that."

"Fine. I love it when she comes up here in her fancy car to grace us with her condescending presence and remind us all that she doesn't have to be poor anymore."

Nancy gnawed at the inside of her cheek, wordlessly refilling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. Her eyes were still red, and Susie suspected she'd gone upstairs to cry again. She'd always been the sensitive one of the bunch.

"I'm moving out," She said, the words seeming to echo back to her in the tiny kitchen.

"... Alright." Nancy nodded, something tight in her tone, as if she'd spoken through clenched teeth. "... Where will you go?"

"I was looking at Norfolk. There's some positions open down there, I could actually get promoted."

"That's a long way."

"... Yeah, Nance."

That's the fucking point.

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #bernard demarco #bernard demarco x oc #fic | better off #demarco x susie #oc: susie

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cressthebest · 9 months ago

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Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 5

chapter 9:

1. OMG DID REMUS FORGET TO GO BACK TO HIS CELL WAIT HOLY SHIT THIS ISNT GONNA BE GOOD

2. oh good wait, remus left and came back

3. sirius’ first thought is to brush his teeth to kiss sirius 😭😭 he’s so me fr. i wouldn’t let my ex kiss me unless they brushed their teeth first. or had a mint. im so sensitive to smells

4. “He used to build things. Create things. And now he's lucky if he doesn't destroy what's already formed.” JESUS FUCK. THATS LITERALLY SO SAD WTF

5. 😭😭😭 sirius is literally amidst gay panic beyond your wildest comprehension and remus is just like ✨☺️��🥱🩷🏳️‍🌈 “touch me”

BABES

6. “Remus hums. "Imagine how I feel. No one's touched me without causing me pain in five years."” NOOOO BABY

7. god, wolfstar deserves everything. the best wolfstar content i find is always in a fic that is centered on another ship. i could literally survive off wolfstar alone- no water, no food, no air

8. wolfstar calling each other beautiful>>>>>>>

9. 😬 what did sirius jsut say. i must be going crazy. cause there’s no way he just said he needed to brush his teeth

10. wolfstar deserves the world universe

11. reg is no longer a pathetic teen with a crush, he’s a pathetic adult with a crush

12. reg being grumpy even in his sleep <33333

13. james having a pathetic crush on reg while cuddling together is top tier

14. there really needs to be an emoji to accurately show the face i just made. it probably looks similar to this- 😀😟 what. there’s no way reg is about to tease james, just to get his old 14 year old self off

15. 😀😀 girl what is he doing. i-

16. how he became freinds with barty is so crimson rivers canon, i can’t even. like, i KNOW that it’s canon. but it’s also canon that bizzarestars was right about. no author mistakes in that piece

17. damn, reg is actually gonna go at it. i don’t know how james is gonna survive this and make it to the actual arena.

18. “James says his name like it's the only word that has meaning. His voice is rough, and Regulus' name is sloppy and desperate in his mouth, like a hail mary or a form of salvation.” CHRIST. I SAID I DIDNT KNOW HOW JAMES WOULD SURVIVE THIS, BUT HOW THE HELL DID REG SURVIVE THIS??

19. “Barty is a good lover, there's no denying that—but he'll be damned if James isn't just better.” 😟 shocked. omg. who would have guessed this would be reggie’s thoughts

20. “"Because you might die today," Regulus tells him bluntly, shrugging one shoulder as he stands up. "Consider it a parting gift. Now, get out."”

😧

they just fucked, and all reg can do is be like “yeah yeah, now get out horny bitch” no fucking way i just read that right i-

bitch that’s foul

21. “Regulus is a conundrum, honestly.” yes. that’s the word i’d use to describe him.

22. james: don’t tell sirius that reg and i just fucked. also james: “he’s in the shower”

bitch if you could be any more obvious

23. “Remus Lupin. If there's one good thing to come out of all this, it's him.” YES YES YES ABSOLUTELY! REMUS IS THE GOOD IN THIS

24. “”James, I am so grateful to know you, and so sorry that I had to. Every name that I call is a name I wish I never learned. Yours—you—will remain etched into my heart forever."” BITCH I CANT CRY OVER THIS- MY EYE MAKEUP LOOKS TOO GOOD TODAY TO CRY

25. “"I'll see you again soon, Regulus."” BITCH WTF THAT HURTS EVEN MORE THAN JAMES’ GOODBYE

26. maybe it’s been too long since i’ve read the books, BUT this fic seems to capture the absolute tragedy and horrors of it before it even starts even more

27. christ, not reg saying the “i don’t want to go” that hurts. like holy fuck. he’s still just a scared child. don’t put him in that arena

28. god, the way the death of james feels like sirius dying too. and sirius deciding that once james is dead, sirius will be too

how the hell is this people’s comfort fic???

29. not sirius having a lapse of memory and losing his memory of his last moments with james. that shit hurts

30. fabian <3333

31. 😧 wait fabian is dead. they just shot him. holy shit

32. gideon <3333

33. wait gideon is dead too.

y’all. i just-

this whole chapter was a fucking rollercoaster.

#marauders #fanfic #regulus black #ao3 #james potter #jegulus #remus lupin #sirius and regulus #sirius black #wolfstar #crimson rivers #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #sexy times i guess

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mihai-florescu · 1 year ago

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Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 2: *walking encyclopedia of every obscure 2d idol project* you should get into argonavis

Mutual 3: i think my headaches these past few days are from the cyanide ive been eating

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!

Mutual 4: it's friday, pass the yaoi

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 5: i think im scared of being known and loved

Mutual 6: i would actually kill for a croissant rn

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!!!

Mutual 7: tatsumi kazehaya would NOT be homophobic just because he's christian, stop applying a western lens on japanese media.

Mutual 8: i love my wife:D

Mutual 9: *fanart of an anime boy as a jesus christ figure, with a queer interpretation of christ's side wound*

Mutual 10: should i drop out?

Mutual 11: everyone should read ep:link and blackbird and tempest and sanctuary and

Mutual 12: i made some yummy pasta today :D *photo of yummy pasta*

Mutual 1: it's so over...

Mutual 13:

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

But of the good to treat, which there I found,

Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,

So full was I of slumber at the moment

In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain’s foot,

At that point where the valley terminated,

Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,

Vested already with that planet’s rays

Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted

That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout

The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,

Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,

Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,

Turn itself back to re-behold the pass

Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,

The way resumed I on the desert slope,

So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,

A panther light and swift exceedingly,

Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er!

And never moved she from before my face,

Nay, rather did impede so much my way,

That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,

And up the sun was mounting with those stars

That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;

So were to me occasion of good hope,

The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;

But not so much, that did not give me fear

A lion’s aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming

With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,

So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings

Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,

And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,

With the affright that from her aspect came,

That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,

And the time comes that causes him to lose,

Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E’en such made me that beast withouten peace,

Which, coming on against me by degrees

Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,

Before mine eyes did one present himself,

Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,

“Have pity on me,” unto him I cried,

“Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!”

He answered me: “Not man; man once I was,

And both my parents were of Lombardy,

And Mantuans by country both of them.

‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late,

And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,

During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just

Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,

After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?

Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable,

Which is the source and cause of every joy?”

“Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain

Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?”

I made response to him with bashful forehead.

“O, of the other poets honour and light,

Avail me the long study and great love

That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,

Thou art alone the one from whom I took

The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;

Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,

For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“Thee it behoves to take another road,”

Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,

“If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

Suffers not any one to pass her way,

But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

That never doth she glut her greedy will,

And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,

And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound

Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,

But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;

’Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,

On whose account the maid Camilla died,

Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,

Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,

There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best

Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,

And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,

Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,

Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are

Within the fire, because they hope to come,

Whene’er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,

A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;

With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,

In that I was rebellious to his law,

Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;

There is his city and his lofty throne;

O happy he whom thereto he elects!”

And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat,

By that same God whom thou didst never know,

So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,

That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,

And those thou makest so disconsolate.”

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

#i took artistic liberties by taking both from tumblr and twitter things ive seen #from mutuals from both here and there

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theprayerfulword · 1 month ago

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December 06

Romans 8:14 All who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.

1 John 5:2 This is how we know that we love the children of God: by loving God and carrying out His commands.

Isaiah 42:16 I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

1 Peter 5:7 Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.

Ephesians 4:31-32 Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.

Matthew 23:11 But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.

May you walk in faithfulness and love, acknowledging God throughout the land, laying aside cursing, lying and murder, stealing and adultery, and live in the bounds of God's Word that you may bring life and healing to the weary and wounded, strengthening the hands of the righteous and bringing joy to the hearts of the people, lest God withdrawn His hand from the nation and remove His protection from the land, causing even the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea to die. Hosea 4

May you receive the knowledge of God so that He will receive your ministry and worship unto Him. Hosea 4

May you honor the law of God by your obedience so that He will honor your children with His blessings. Hosea 4

Though the laborers in the harvest with you are few, may you be dedicated and loyal to the Master of the harvest and the Owner of the field, working diligently through the heat of the day, enduring hunger, thirst, and weariness, for your wages are sure, and you know the welcome and celebration waiting for you at the harvest's end. Hosea 4

May you admit your guilt when the Spirit of God speaks to you, bringing conviction and drawing you to repentance, lest the Lord go back to His place and wait for you to earnestly seek Him in your misery, for what He proclaims is certain. Hosea 5

May the grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Father's Son, be with you in truth and love. 2 John 1

May you love one another by walking in obedience to His commands. 2 John 1

May you guard against losing what you have worked for, so that you may be rewarded fully, for anyone who wanders away and does not continue in the teaching of Christ has no relationship with God; but whoever continues in His teaching has both the Father and the Son. 2 John 1

Minister to Me, My child. Offer the sacrifices of praise and worship. Give the wave offering of your joy and pour out the drink offering of your strength. Make the burnt offering of your will, your understanding, your intentions, your plans, hopes, and dreams as a sweet-smelling savor to Me. Minister first to the Lord your God so that you may be purified and cleansed, equipped for every good work, emptied of yourself so that you may be filled with My glory, which is My truth and My power. Then, and only then, will you be able to serve living water and the bread of life to My people. There are many who “minister” to the people, giving them what is popular and pleasing, but it does not mature or strengthen them; those “ministers” have not come before Me or been sent by Me, for they are serving their own purposes. You must daily present yourself to Me before you can be sent out from Me as a servant in My name to those who will be the heirs of salvation. Learn of Me by walking with Me so you can represent Me in the truth and the power of My love which laid down My life for the sake of others.

May you trust in the Lord, for then you will be like Mount Zion, unshakable and enduring. Psalm 125

May the Lord surround you, as the mountains surround Jerusalem, both now and forevermore. Psalm 125

May you know with assurance that though the scepter of the wicked may be raised for a season over the land allotted to the righteous, it will not remain lest the righteous be led to use their hands to do evil. Psalm 125

May you seek the Lord and petition Him to do good to those who are good, but to banish those who turn to crooked ways with the evildoers. Psalm 125

May you realize that to contend with a person who does not know the fear of God is to waste your time – let God do His work in the heart and bring the person to the time of harvest. Proverbs 29:9

May you understand that by walking in the integrity of the Lord and following the leading of the Spirit of God, you will receive the hate of bloodthirsty men who seek to kill the upright. Proverbs 29:10

May you remember, as you see a fool giving full vent to his anger, that a wise man keeps himself under control. Proverbs 29:11

#daily #blessings #prayers #scripture

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scarywaryspookysoup · 7 months ago

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I’m not normally one to shit on things sight unseen (well that’s not completely true, I’ll shit where I want) but jesus christ this new M. Night Shyamalan movie looks so goddamn stupid.

My thoughts from the ad:

1. Not a believable father/daughter duo, but maybe it’s the poor editing of the ad… or maybe it’s the shit dialogue.

2. Clear Lady Gaga character… not even trying here. I mean, the singer is named “Lady Raven”

3. Hopefully the sound in the concert scene is only this shitty because it’s an ad otherwise… jesus.

4. Why would this stadium employee talk to this idiot? First off they’re fucking busy and this dickweed waves them over and away from the work they’re doing. As someone who works in the service industry, I would have said “Do you not see alllll of these other fucking people that are in line to be fucking helped? Does M Night think all you have to do is wave someone over and tell them your name and they’ll spill every ounce of tea they have for you? No, they’ll wait and tell their coworkers about the entitled asshole they gave the cold shoulder to.

5. Why the fuck would this employee know all of the details of a high-stakes police (ACAB 🖕) operation?

6. How exactly did the cops (ACAB 🖕) find out that he was gonna be there but also don’t know who he is? Aaand how exactly are they planning to find him?

7. Pretty disgustingly close to a real murder case that was truly horrific and only 10 years ago. It’s one thing to be “inspired by headlines” (although let’s be real… that’s unnecessary as well, just use your imagination) but to make it this similar from the outset… why? If I can pick this up from a single, poorly made ad, it is pretty blatant.

8. What’s the twist gonna be? Bum bum bummmm the daughter knows! Bum bum bummmm he’s not the butcher— he’s the devil! Bum bum bummm he called the cops on himself! Or, a more important question: who cares?

While I’m sure this reads as FUCKING FURIOUS, more than anything I find it incredibly annoying (except for 7, I find the true story very upsetting and it is asinine to exploit this for another M. Night flop.) I find the current output coming in from studios pretty uninspiring — it’s starting out as a rough summer, but I always hold out hope and often find gems.

Remember when M. Night Shyamalan made that one really incredible movie? And then like a handful of meh movies? And then he just hit the rock bottom of a trash heap? And then he came out with a pretty fun movie and it was like “hey, you burned through a lot of our good graces but good job pulling this one out.” Except then he essentially went back to his worst instincts. One great, a handful of meh or ok, and a pile of dogshit movies do not a box office draw make. In fact, an ad this lackluster and cringe-inducing that then has M. Night Shyamalan’s name blasted at the end as though it will entice us is… laughable to say the least. I didn’t know my eyes could roll this hard. 🙄

#horror #horror films #m. night shyamalan #trap movie

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writesaboutdragons · 18 days ago

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365 Promises of God

Day 345 – You shall be called Sons of God

Blessed [are] the peacemakers, For they shall be called sons of God. (Mat 5:9 NKJV)

Read: Matthew 5:1-12

The Sermon on the Mount is probably one of the most recognized sections of scripture, and is the basis for innumerable sermons down through the ages, as pastors and priests attempt to unpack the incredible truths embedded in them.

There is a church built on the site, and here's a picture of this beautiful place.

It’s important to know the situation and setting, though, so we’ll go there first. Matt 4:23-25 tells us that Jesus had begun his earthly ministry, in Galilee, the region around and to the north of the Sea of Galilee. He began teaching and preaching in synagogues, spreading the gospel, and healing all manner of sicknesses and diseases. This impacted countless lives. And news traveled. People from Syria began bringing their sick. Curiosity seekers and faith seekers alike began showing up wherever he was, and these people came from all of Galilee, and the Decapolis. They came from Tyre, 40 miles over rough terrain. They even walked there from Jerusalem, 100 miles, a 4 day journey, wanting to know who he was, and if the stories they’d heard were true.

When the crowds reached over 5000 men, He climbed up Har HaOsher, the Mount of Beatitudes, and sat down. The beautiful view from this idyllic setting was breathtaking. The emerald green of treetops below spread down to the stunning azure blue of the Sea of Galilee. The large crowd would have been seated viewing this beautiful backdrop as Jesus stood up to speak to them.

The acoustics at this place are perfect for carrying a spoken word across over a mile of distance. If the wind was not strong, every person seated there could have clearly heard what the Lord had to say to them. And in this peaceful and magnificent setting, he presented the Beatitudes to them.

It’s a common turn of phrase to call these the ‘Be Attitudes’, because they reflect a definition of ‘being’ that Christians enjoy. They are each promises in and of themselves, and each comes with qualifications. Requirements, if you will. The one I’m discussing today declares plainly that peacemakers will be called Sons of God. This isn’t the kind of ‘peacemaking’ that you can accomplish behind the trigger of a Colt 45, dubbed the ‘peacemaker’ because 40,000 of these were issued to lawmen after the Civil War to quell the anarchy in the west.

A peacemaker doesn’t settle arguments with a bullet, as we mentioned John Wayne quipping a week ago. He is slow to anger. Quick to forgive. He builds others up instead of tearing them down. He settles disputes between others with quiet words of wisdom, thoughtfully spoken in opportune moments. He brings out the best in others by seeing it there, and speaking encouragement to it. He is at peace with himself. He chooses the high road and not the low road. He doesn’t participate in the angry rhetoric of the rebellious. He doesn’t engage in the furious protests that erupt in violence.

I’ve been walking this sod for over a half-century, and never in all those years have I seem more anger, more hate, and more rebellion and protest, than I’ve seen in recent years.

I do realize that many of the things being protested are legitimate grievances. People have been hurt, and marginalized. Rights have been trampled on. Individuals have died in unjust actions by other individuals, and justice must be served. But so must mercy.

What this country, and what this world, needs, is not more screaming at the machine, more burning buildings and blocked expressways, more demands for the government to close its doors or the police to disappear. It’s not beneficial to this world, or the cause of Christ, to loot a Target store because somebody else somewhere else hurt someone else and perhaps didn’t receive the justice we’re convinced they deserved.

What this world needs is peacemakers. Not another 40,000 unit order of revolvers so we can gun down the rabble. We need the kind of peacemaking Jesus demonstrated when he stopped the Pharisees from stoning a woman caught in the act of adultery. The kind that turns the other cheek when they’ve been struck. The kind that loves their enemies, that prays for those who persecute them.

People like that are rare and precious. If you choose to take this road, to follow the path of peace, you may not find it easy. Your efforts may fall on some deaf ears. The world may call you weak. Misguided. Cannon fodder. Fools. But Jesus will call you Sons of God.

Prayer:

Lord, help me choose to be a Peacemaker, today. Amen

#christian #devotional #365 devos #365 promises of god

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scribeforchrist-blog · 7 months ago

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Running But I’m Not Tired

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Proverbs 4:23 Guard your heart above all else, for it is the source of life.

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ 1 Corinthians 9:24-25 Do you not know that in a race, all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. 25 Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM RUNNING FOR JESUS

I AM HAPPY

I AM KEEPING MY CROWN

I AM A SERVANT OF JESUS

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THOUGHTS:

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Some are natural runners; some learn to run daily by hitting the gym or running on a track. Some people do squats or a specific regimen to prepare to run because we don’t start as runners. It takes time; you will never see someone go out and start running because they know they never did it, so they start with a jog, but whatever they do, they do it slowly.

As we run for the lord, we all start small; as walkers, joggers, and then runners, we have this fire for the lord. It is indescribable. It’s hunger, and as you eat the word that hunger grows, and as you praise him that love grows, everything grows over time. When this happens, we usually add wood to the fire by building this incredible relationship with him daily by submitting and changing. We talked about this Sunday, and we must live a life of surrender.

Hebrews 5:12-14 For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.

Just like you'll never see a new runner running down the street, no you will see them jog , just like you'll never see a six-month-old baby eating steak because they aren’t ready; when we are living the Christian life, we all start on milk, and we build ourselves up because if we start with meat, we won't be able to take it, we would turn away, that’s why we must start off walking and then jogging.

We must wait for God to show us how to run, and when we run, we will run this race to get the prize, which is to go to heaven. And when we run like this with , us going at a slow pace and learning the basics and enjoying the milk that God placed us on and not rushing it, we learn the bible truly when we allow the Holy Spirit to teach us; you never want to rush the small moments with God, you never want to rush the beginnings stages with God because you’ll miss it, you’ll miss those simple moments that you didn’t enjoy because you wanted to move pass the milk. At any stage of your relationship with Christ , enjoy each day while you're drinking of the living water.

Philippians 3:14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

When we allow the Holy Spirit to teach us, we learn how to press toward the goal; we learn how to handle life in the right way; we learn we must pray. We learn we must seek him with our whole heart; we learn to deny our flesh. If we start too fast, we often won't learn anything or how to condition.

Some runners wear running shoes to add comfort and fit gym shorts or leggings because they condition according to the weather. They learn they need this or that to push through. Still, in our Christian walk, we have to have this same idea. Suppose we don’t learn how to condition ourselves through the storms of life and walk over the traps the enemy tries to set for us, we will stumble because if we don’t learn that in the beginning that we must hold on to God hands even when things look rough. We will always fail because we didn’t grasp that mindset early on.

In that case, we will forever run into a problem, and that problem is dealing with the enemy, rebuking him. A baby in Christ wonts know how to rebuke until they learn certain things . Still, as we run this race, we must understand that our goal is to walk with God, and we must grow and develop. If we run in a way that isn’t how the Holy Spirit shows us, we will forever fall; learning to run isn’t about how fast we do it but how we grow in him.

Philippians 2:16 holding fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain.

We must hold fast to the word of life so when we see Jesus, he will be proud of the way we denied our flesh, denied our cravings, denied our wants, and we didn’t run in vain; we ran to see Jesus, a lot of us are tired but we must not give up we must keep running to Jesus.

***Today, we learned that we don’t just start off running; we start slow and by listening and learning from the Holy Spirit. A lot of us don’t know the basics of some verses and things because we are so busy trying to run like everyone else, but just because someone is running doesn’t mean they are running the right way or in the right direction.

We must understand we as believers are all on the same path going to heaven, but we all are at different speeds; some are slowly getting there, some are running so fast that they aren’t tired yet; and it’s some walking and occasionally running. We don’t have to compete with one another; we are all trying to see Jesus. To be a better runner for Jesus, we must equip ourselves with our amour of God and not just anything; we can’t just read the word and not apply it, just like we can’t say we have the amour of God and not wear it. Every day, the word says that we must die daily and that what we must do to run with him we must do it daily so that we can have the crown of life. The Bible tells us not to let anyone take our crown, and we can’t, but if we aren’t careful about how we run, we will let the distractions of life take it from us.

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PRAYER

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Heaven, Father, we thank you for today; we ask you to forgive us of the sins we have done. We ask you to help us understand your word and apply it. Lord, help us run this race for you and no one else. Help us to be faithful to you, and lord, we ask you to give us strength to run because some days it gets hard to run, but we ask you to help us push through to see you. Lord, we need you to guide us and show us the way, in Jesus' Name, Amen

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REFERENCES

+ Hebrerws 11:21 Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,

+ Revelation 3:11 I am coming soon. Hold fast what you have, so that no one may seize your crown.

+ Philippians 2:16 holding fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain.

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