#maybe he needs those kinds of rules to keep his life in check and finds comfort in them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mylostloversbookmarks · 2 years ago

Note

thank you!! My request is: Joel x female reader. Age gap. They met after Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson, they started to know each other, at first they kept it a bit like a secret but then, when things started to get more serious, they didn’t hide anymore. Things got so serious that after a while (not immediately, like a year or two) Joel asked reader to move in with him and Ellie.

Ellie loves reader and she’s more than happy that Joel found his special someone. Could you add a scene where reader is with Ellie one afternoon and they see Joel with a woman, acting really intimate, which connects to reader’s thoughts about Joel being a bit weird the previous days. She thinks he’s cheating on her, also because the woman is really close and intimate to Joel in that situation.

She wants to leave before he sees her but Joel notices her presence, tries to talk to her but doesn’t deny the accusations at first, (so a lot of angst!!!) which makes reader think she lost the love of her life.

They don’t talk for a few days and try to ignore each other when possible, despite living together. Ellie is sad and suffers from this situation. Joel loves reader too much to ruin things so he puts his pride aside and tries talking to her. They eventually talk it through, he was not cheating (choose whatever the alternative to that is!!) maybe a little fluff at the end or also something else? You choose!

also, if you have any rules or have triggers about something that I requested please let me know and change the story how you need to.

And I’m extremely sorry if this request is too long and detailed.

thank you!!!

Guiding Lights - a Joel Miller one shot.

Characters - Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count - 8.7K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Alcohol consumption, , Sus!Joel, Soft!Joel, insecurities, suspected cheating, no actual cheating, I think thats all?

A/N - @addictedtotlou This is my first ever fic request and I cannot thank you enough for sending it through, and also for dropping into my inbox to let me know it was you that requested it! I'm sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy <3

Feedback, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

You often find yourself reminiscing on the day you met Joel and Ellie, it feels like forever ago now, though it has only really been a few years.

The winters in Wyoming were never kind, but that year, Mother Nature had been particularly cruel. Strong winds and vicious snow blizzards reduced visibility to almost nothing. You had heard those posted to the lookout stations talking over lunches and complaining about how bad the conditions were getting.

So in a bid to keep the good folks of Jackson safe, Tommy and Maria decided to double the number of patrols around the commune in an attempt to keep an eye on the horizon for any potential threats who could be hiding just beyond their sights.

Needless to say, it had been a rather slow work day in the Tipsy Bison, with the usual counting and re-counting of stock, checking on the latest brew of beers and whisky, ensuring everything was going as planned, and cleaning of the already immaculate bar, all finished in record time.

Expecting the usual after-work rush that never came, you sent the other two bar staff over to the mess hall to see if the kitchen needed any help with preparations for tomorrow's meals.

As the two said their goodbyes over their shoulders, you heard one of them mumble a shocked "What the hell?"

With your interest piqued, you stepped out from behind the old wooden bar and crossed the floor to the large square windows at the front of the building. Your eyes followed their gaze and watched as the afternoon patrol crew filed through the large wooden and steel-clad gates of the commune.

You waved as a few of your regulars passed you, a few tipping the brims of their ten-gallon hats. You quickly realised what had drawn your colleagues' attention when your eyes landed on two new faces in the middle of the crew.

The first newcomer was a man; he wore a thick brown winter coat and jeans that looked like they could stand up on their own, and you could see the toe of his work boot was mended with what looked to be duck tape. His eyes were sharp and focused, darting around him as if in search of someone or something.

Instantly, he gave you the impression of someone who had been on the road for quite some time. Having been there yourself, you felt a surge of sympathy for him, but you were still wary of him, not knowing why he had been brought inside the walls.

The second was a girl, whom you assumed to be the man's daughter; she was small and looked to be in her early teens. Strands of her tawny brown hair peek out from under her winter hat. big, bright eyes, taking in her surroundings in wonder, while the man stared straight ahead. The girl seemed to be unaware that all eyes were on her, from those who stood on the street to others standing in shop windows, just as you were.

You followed the other barstaff out to the porch and offered the girl a small smile as your eyes met, she quickly looked away without returning it. It wasn't often that Jackson took in new people, opting to keep off the radar to try and protect what you had here. Maria was on this afternoon's patrol and had no doubt made the call to bring the two into the commune.

As the crew passed, heading further into the small town, you saw the man's head snap to the left, and he opened his mouth.

"Tommy!" he shouted, his deep, booming voice ringing in the silence. In an instant, he was off his horse and running in the direction of the scaffolding that had been put up to repair some of the damage to a neighbouring building.

You watched on in stunned silence as the two men ran towards each other, unsure of what the newcomers intentions were, but before you had made it down the two steps of the porch, the man wrapped his arms around Tommy and began laughing, disbelief colouring the sound.

The two men stood embracing each other, both breathless from laughter, and you knew immediately who the newcomer was. This was Joel, Tommy's brother.

Tommy had spoken of him before; usually after one too many whiskies at the bar, he would open up to you about how guilty he felt about staying off the radio. He would say things like, "It's only a matter of time before he comes looking for me, Y/N; what am I supposed to do? Turn him away?" and "One thing about my big bother is that he's persistent."

You had always offered words of understanding and comfort and almost always cut him off and sent him home after those conversations, knowing that no good could come from him drinking any more alcohol.

Part of being the town's main bar tender was also being a listening ear whenever someone needed it, but with Tommy, it was different. He and Maria had become your closest friends, and you would always be there when either of them needed you, working or not.

You always got the sense that something had happened between the two men that couldn't be fixed. As you watched the brothers reunite, you realised that the thought couldn't be further from the truth.

Maria caught your eye as she dismounted from her horse and jerked her head to the side, beseeching you to join her. You nodded at her and crossed the road to where she was standing, hitching her horse to one of the many posts dotted around town.

"Maria, is that who I think it is?" You asked her quietly, not wanting to draw attention to the conversation.

"Yeah, it is," she spat. "I don't know how the hell he found us out here." She continued, venom dripping from each word.

You knew that Maria had never actually met Joel, but from the stories Tommy had told you both in the early years, she knew what he was capable of and decided then and there that she did not like him. You, on the other hand, had a more objective outlook on things.

You were not involved in the same way Maria was, of course; she and Tommy were married after all, so you could understand her reservations when he opened up about his past with his brother and the things they had done and what they thought they needed to do to survive.

The problem was, Maria had been in Jackson longer than you and Tommy and therefore had less of an idea what a brutal hellscape it was outside the walls. Maria wasn't stupid; she knew that it was dangerous, but it had been so long since she had to live like that, to really be surviving, not trusting anyone you met along the way, not knowing where your next meal was coming from, or if you were going to make it to worry about the next meal.

You, on the other hand, had lived that life for longer than you would like to remember, and though you didn't have innocent blood on your hands, they were far from clean. So you could sympathise with Tommy and the demons that clearly kept him up at night. So you felt the hatred that Maria has for Joel was a little unfounded.

"I'm happy he found him again," you admitted, unable to help the undercurrent meant by your works. What you really wanted to say was "This should have happened a long time ago if you had let him respond to Joel's calls on the radio" Meeting her narrowed eyes, you saw a flash of anger in them. No doubt you will get an earful for that comment later.

You knew what she was going to say: that Joel wasn't going to fit in here in Jackson, that Tommy was better off without him, and that you should keep a safe distance from him. But she didn't have the opportunity, as Tommy was already walking towards the two of you.

Joel had walked back to where the girl waited on her horse; a worried, almost disappointed expression crossed her face as he gestured towards Tommy. You watched as he gently helped her down from the animal, making sure she was steady on her feet before the pair followed behind Tommy.

"Y/N, Maria, ah… this is my big brother, Joel," Tommy announced, his tone a mixture of pride and nervousness.

"Hey, it's good to finally meet you; I've heard a lot about you." You smiled kindly at him; he nodded once in response, his expression guarded.

"I'm Ellie! It's nice to meet you," the girl chirps cheerily before shoving her elbow into Joel's ribs. "Joel, say hello," she all but hissed at him, which makes you chuckle.

"It's lovely to meet you, Ellie." You beam.

"It's, uh, good to meet you," he managed quietly.

Two years later...

A loud knock at your front door startles you. Your hand flies to your heart as you curse under your breath. Who the hell would be calling on you at this hour of the morning?

You pad down the hallway and open the door to find Joel standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He seemed keyed up, and your heart drops to your stomach; something must have happened.

"Hey, is everything okay? Did something happen? Is Ellie alright?" You squeaked at him, the panic rising in your chest causing your voice to go up an octave.

"Yes, darlin, everything's fine, Ellie's good; don't worry; I just need to talk to you about something, that's all," he assured you in his thick Texas drawl.

"Everything's good… but you need to talk to me about something at 6 a.m." You questioned him dubiously, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I promise everything is fine; I have morning patrol and was hoping I could catch you before I head out," Joel explains, the ghost of a smile playing on his plump lips.

"Ah, okay, that makes sense, sorry; c'mon, handsome." You laugh as you open the door for him to enter and close it after him.

He follows you down the hall into the small kitchen, lingering in the doorway and studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your figure as you pour him a cup of coffee. Strong, black, no sugar—just the way he likes it.

Turning with the mug in your hand, you let out a breathy laugh at the sight of him. He looked wired, far too awake for this hour of the morning. Was he sweating?

"Joel, baby, are you alright?" You ask curiously as you hand him his coffee and take your usual seat at the end of the dining table.

"Yeah, I just…I wanna ask you something but I don't know how" he confessed sheepishly, his large hand coming to scratch nervously at the back of his neck.

"I'd like to think you know me well enough by now to know you can ask me anything." You said it with a smile, hoping to calm whatever was causing his nerves.

"Yeah, no, I know, I just don't want to freak you out; there's no pressure, and I understa-"

"Just spit it out, Joel." You interrupt him. In the two years you had been with Joel, you had never seen him struggle for words with you, and it was making you anxious.

"Okay," he huffs out, pulling the dining room chair out so he could sit facing you. He takes a long drink of coffee before continuing, and the suspense is killing you.

"So I was speaking to Ellie, and you know we both love you; hell, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me!" He chuckles fondly: "Look, we've been seeing each other for a while, and now that everyone knows, I think it would be good, you know, f-for Ellie if she had a…I dunno, like a mother figure on a more permanent basis." The words were falling out of his mouth like an avalanche. He desperately hoped he was making sense, but you still weren't understanding.

"Permenant basis? What do you mean?" You ask, confusion clear on your face, making him laugh again.

"Yeah, like on an everyday basis," he enphasises. Urging you to grasp the meaning of his words.

"Okay, um, I mean, yeah, I think that's a great idea. I love that kid. I will tell her about making an effort to hang out every day." You promise him sincerely and are touched that he thinks of you as a mother figure to his daughter.

"That's not really what I was thinking, baby; I mean, on a permanent basis, like you would live in the same house." He husks softly, his eyes searching your face for your reaction, and his heart sinks to his boots as he watches your brows knit together.

"Did you have another fight?" You ask him, reaching your hand up to stroke the side of his face, your thumb lingering on the heart-shaped patch of his beard where the hair refused to grow. "Ellie's always more than welcome to stay here when she likes, but Joel, I don't think her moving in here is the answer."

He takes your hand from his face and holds it between both of his; he huffs all the air from his lungs and slowly takes another deep breath. Straightening in his chair, he locks eyes with you.

"I knew this would be an easy ask, but I didn't imagine you making it this hard on me," he says exasperatedly, huffing out another loud laugh.

"I don't understand." Confusion layers your tone, and you are sure your face is doing the same.

"I'm not asking if Ellie can move in with you; I'm asking if… if you would like to move in with us Y/N" He admits. His brown eyes are soft and lingering on your face, and his thumb is tracing small circles on your wrist.

This was not the conversation you were expecting to have over your morning coffee; your brain was barely functioning, and your mind started to race. The last two years of your life, with Joel and Ellie passing by before you in a blur of colours and memories.

You had sympathised with Joel's struggles to adjust to life in Jackson, and given that you worked in the only bar in town, he quickly became a familiar face. You ignored Maria's warnings to stay away from him; after all, she didn't know him from Adam, and you felt it was unfair to judge someone on the things they had done as the world fell apart overnight.

So, slowly but surely, you found yourself at work, hoping each night that he would stop in so you could get to know him better, and he always did. Always opting to sit at the bar, despite there being plenty of more comfortable booths to sit at.

At first, it was always you who initiated the conversation, asking him how his day was, how the patrol had gone, and how Ellie was fitting in, and you listened tentatively to what little information he would give you. Until eventually, after a couple of months of the same routine, he started to open up to you.

He would ask you how you were, how your shift had been, if you had a good day off, and on occasion he would let slip that he "missed you yesterday" when he called in for a drink on his way home from patrol, only to be disappointed that you were nowhere to be found.

It made you giddy; he was on your mind constantly; it made you feel like there was a swarm of butterflies in your belly, but you thought it was only harmless flirting as there was a considerable age gap between you both, with Joel being in his fifties and you in your early thirties, you didn't think Joel would be interested in a relationship with you.

But how wrong you were! After a couple of weeks of late-night drinks after the bar had officially closed, Joel had bitten the bullet and asked you out, though he asked if you wouldn't mind keeping it between the two of you as he didn't know how Ellie would react to him seeing someone and you gladly accepted.

You understood that Ellie was and always would be his first priority, and you admired his unwavering dedication to her, especially after finding out that Ellie wasn't his blood relative; he had taken her on as "cargo," as he affectionately put it. As a way to get one step closer to finding his brother, but she had worked her way under his skin, much like she did with everyone she met. It was so difficult not to like her. With her quick wit and foul mouth, she never failed to make you laugh. She was definitely his daughter, blood or no blood.

The thought of Ellie brings your mind back to the question at hand: should you move in with them? Was now the right time? Was Ellie even okay about this? Did she even know Joel had asked you? Each question raced through your mind until your mouth found one it could form words around.

"What does Ellie think of this?" You asked Joel intently, reading his face for any signs of worry or panic at your question, but there were none to be found.

"I mentioned to Ellie a few months ago that I thought it would be nice if you were around all the time, and she agreed, and then I sat her down yesterday and told her that I was thinking of asking you today, and she was all for it. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way, though; it's okay if it's too soon; you can say no, and we won't be offended in the slightest!" Joel assures you, his voice is low and genuine.

He lifts his right hand to the side of your face and gently brushes the hair out of your eyes, his calloused thumb stroking back and forth as you lean into his touch, allowing your eyes to fall closed. Taking a deep breath, you throw caution to the wind.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, your voice drops to a whisper. "Yes, I'll move in."

Suddenly your body was moving, and not by its own volition; your eyes were still closed, so your brain was having trouble registering what was happening. When your eyes flashed open in surprise, you were caught up in Joel's arms, spinning around your small kitchen with your feet no longer planted on the floor.

"Joel!" You squeal through breathy laughter, placing your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"Are you sure, baby?" He asks, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"Yes, I'm sure handsome, but I have one condition!" You warn him, arching a fluffy brow.

"Name your price, sweetheart," he smirks at you through the whiskers of his full moustache.

"I get to tell Ellie," You beam back at him, your hand rests on the back of his neck, fingers scractching lightly at the curls that have formed there.

"I think she'd like that," he ghosts against your lips, lightly brushing his nose against your own until you lean up and crush your mouth to his.

Three years later...

It has been a hectic few weeks for the community in Jackson, working through yet another savage winter. You were just through the middle of it, and the end was in sight. The snow storms were not as frequent and the winds were not as wild.

Work has been keeping you busy. You are still the main bartender at the Tipsy Bison, but much to Joel's dismay, you have also picked up a few patrol shifts to lend a hand to Tommy as a few of the older patrol crew stepped back into other work duties due to ill health.

It has felt like months since you and Joel have spent any quality time together, despite living in the same house and working in the same community. Whenever you were both home, he seemed distant and preoccupied, as if there was somewhere else he wanted to be. You tried to engage him in conversation, but he would only give you short answers before retreating into his own thoughts.

At first, you thought that he might just be stressed out from work duty or the weather, as bad as it has been, but as the days turned into weeks, you started to feel a growing sense of unease. You have never seen Joel act this way before, not with you at least, and you don't know what to do.

You miss his closeness; the late-night conversations at the bar while you finished up your shift—all of that has stopped, and no matter how many hours you spent trying to figure out why, you always came up blank.

So needless to say, you were looking forward to spending some quality time with Ellie this evening to help take your mind off your worries. You had stood under the shower for longer than you intended, just enjoying how the steaming water rolled down your tense frame.

With a sigh, you shut off the water and wrapped yourself in your towel, headed into your bedroom to get dressed, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude that the house had heating, an especially rare commodity with the world's current condition. Jackson really was a paradise of sorts.

"Ellie! C'mon kiddo, we're going to be late for the movie!," You shout from the bottom of the stairs, shrugging into your winter jacket.

Movie night Fridays have quickly become a tradition for you and Ellie, especially now that the winter has rolled back around and it's too cold to spend much time outdoors.

"Alright, I'm coming; Jesus, keep your hair on!" Ellie mutters as she makes her way down the stairs, where you wait for her.

"We only have 20 minutes before the film starts, and I know you're going to want to get snacks, so we've got to make tracks." You laugh as she rolls her eyes at you.

"Alright Mom," she mocks, sarcasm dripping from each word.

"You're such a little shit, you know that, right?" You tell her fondly with a warm smile.

"I know, it's all part of my charm," she grins.

"Ah, I see, and does Dina know all about your charm?" You playfully jab her ribs with your elbow, wagging your brows up and down.

"Ugh, you're so annoying; you know that, right?" Ellie counters, always so quick-witted.

"I know, it's all part of my charm," You repeat her words back to her, earning another eye roll.

The two of you leave the house and trudge out into the snow; thankfully, the blizzard has calmed, and now fat, fluffy flakes of snow flurry around you like something from a movie scene.

As brutal as they can be, you have never seen anything more beautiful than Jackson in the winter. It was like something you would see on a postcard of a ski village in the French Alps, all timber buildings and string lights illuminating the small town.

On Friday nights, the mess hall was turned into a makeshift movie theatre for the youth that lived in the commune, offering them some respite from the grind of daily life. It was complete with candy, drinks, and, of course, pop corn.

At first, Ellie hadn't seemed all that interested in going, not knowing many kids her age, but after a lot of coaxing and the promise that if she didn't like it, she didn't have to go again or even stay for the full movie, Though she quickly found her feet with Dina, the rest was really history.

"Where's Joel tonight? I thought he was going to come with us." Ellie asked curiously.

"Oh shit, I meant to tell you earlier; he said Tommy asked him to cover the evening patrol tonight, so he can't make it." You explained, not really sure why Tommy needed him to cover after already doing the afternoon patrol, but it must have been important, so you didn't give it a second thought.

You and Ellie walk in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the peaceful walk through town. You were about to ask her how she was getting on with her work detail when she came to a standstill.

"I thought you said Joel was on patrol tonight?" she demanded, her face contorting in confusion.

"Uh yeah, Ellie, I just told you that." You confirm, your own confusion mirroring hers.

"Then what the fuck is he doing in the bar?" She fumes, gesturing behind you to the window of the Tipsy Bison.

Sure enough, there he sits at the bar with Jenna. Joel was nursing a whisky, and she was playfully peeling back the homemade label of her beer bottle. They are sitting in the corner booth by the window, leaning towards each other to the point where their heads are far too close to be appropriate.

In that moment, your breathing stopped. Your stomach sank to the floor, and an overwhelming sense of panic and dread began to claw viciously from your chest up your throat, resting heavy on your tongue.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks nervously, not really sure what to do or say in this situation. It could be nothing, but even to her, it definitely looked like something.

"Y-yeah, I'm good. Ellie, why don't you go on down to the mess hall, and I'll meet you there in a few?" You tell her more than ask, your eyes never leaving the window.

"No way fuck that I'm staying with you!" she demands, her eyes growing wet around her long lashes.

"No, Ellie, I need to talk to Joel; I will catch up with you in a few, okay?" You meet her eyes and nod in the direction of the mess hall. She only nods in response; your tone is final as she turns on her heel and storms towards the makeshift movie theatre.

What the fuck is happening right now? You trusted Joel; it never bothered you when the ladies in Jackson would bat their eyes at him or when their glances lingered a little too long. You took it as a compliment; hell, if you were them, you would stare too.

Your relationship was built on a foundation of honesty and trust from the very beginning. You have told him things you have never shared with another living soul, and he has done the same with you. Never in your life did you think you would be lucky enough to share a connection with someone the way you have with Joel, let alone after the world had ended.

And now here you stand in the middle of town, watching the man you love cosy up with another woman in plain sight, not even having the decency to try and hide it from you.

You stand there for another few minutes, watching how he leans across the table to talk to her, laughing and caressing his arm in response. It sets fire to your blood, and you can feel it moving like molten lava in your veins.

You're moving before you realise you have made the decision to do so, your feet carrying you furiously forward, up to the short creaking steps and through the entrance to the bar, and then there you are, looming over their table. Your eyes bore holes into his skull. He jumps in his seat and scrambles frantically to hide the notebook that was sitting open on the table between them. You didn't pay it a second glance.

"I didn't realise the bar needed patrolling this evening," you state pointedly at him, ignoring Jenna, who is doing everything she can to avoid eye contact with you, fidgeting in her seat, and clambering to get her things together. Grabbing her coat and scarf from beside her.

"Hey darlin, I thought you and Ellie were heading to the movies." He asks, his voice rough with his attempts to hide his nerves.

"We were on our way there when she saw this cosy scene from the street." You gesture with your hand towards the table, your voice icy as you let your hand drop to your side with an audible slap, which made Jenna flinch.

"I think I'm going to head out…" Jenna murmurs in a small, quiet voice, still avoiding your gaze.

"That is a wise decision" You agreed without taking your eyes of Joel.

She throws Joel a cryptic glance before clambering out of her seat and quickly making her way to the door, shooting Joel an apologetic glance over her shoulder, which only fuels the rage bubbling up in your throat.

"What the fuck?" You growl at him, doing your best to keep your voice under control. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene. Especially not at your workplace, regardless of whether you were on shift or not.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, genuinely confused by your anger.

"Please tell me you're joking," you seethe.

"What? I can't have a drink with a friend." He scoffs, incredulous.

"Seriously Joel? Since when have you had to lie about working to have a drink with a friend?"

"Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?" he countered, avoiding the question.

"No, I really don't think I am. How could you do this? How could you do this in front of Ellie?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Joel huffs back at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes begin to prick with anger fuelled tears; the feeling of betrayal rips through you, leaving you exposed to his hard gaze. You can't take any more of this. It feels like the room is closing in around you. That you will suffocate if you don't leave right now. You look at him once more, and the fact that he hasn't denied it or assured you that this is anything other than what you fear it to be ,allows your world to crumble around you.

"Alright," you manage in a broken whisper that comes out as a choked sob.

With that, you turn and bolt for the door, desperately gasping for air but unable to get enough to fill your lungs. You have to brace yourself on the railing of the porch. You can feel his eyes on you as he watches you leave from where he sits frozen at the table, but he makes no move to follow after you.

Willing your legs to move, you push off the railing and slowly make your way to the mess hall, slipping in just as the movie is starting. You can see Ellie is sitting in the middle of the crowded room, and she has saved you a seat beside her.

You make your way to the restroom, taking in your reflection for the first time that evening. Your face is red and splotchy from crying, your eyes puffy, and your lips swollen from your teeth worrying at them. With shaking hands, you reach out to turn the tap on, splashing the icy cold water over your face as you try to make sense of what has just unfolded.

You knew Jenna; she is one of the few people trained in blacksmithing in Jackson, but you had never been especially close with her. She would frequent the bar and chat with you about her work day and vice versa, but that was the extent of your relationship with her, and you have never seen Joel interact with her. It just didn't make sense; why would he throw everything away for a fling with someone who lives in the same commune? Did he really think you wouldn't find out?

You do your best to shake the thoughts from your head, focused on spending the rest of the evening with Ellie, you will do everything in your power to shelter her from this. So with a deep breath, you put a smile on your face and left the restroom, smiling and waving politely at familiar faces as you made your way to your seat, stopping by the makeshift concession stand to grab Ellie some popcorn and a soda on your way.

"Hey, I've got you some snacks, kiddo." You whisper to her, not wanting to interrupt the film.

"Thanks, are you okay?" She murmered with a small smile. Taking the snacks from your outstretched hands.

"Yes, of course everything's fine; there was a mix-up with the patrols, so Joel didn't have to work tonight after all." You reassured her softly.

It cut you to the bone to have to lie to her to cover up his indiscretion because you didn't want her to think any less of him. He is her world, and she is his, and you wouldn't be the one to jeopardise that.

You weren't really sure what movie was even playing tonight, so lost in your thoughts that it was just a blurry hum in the background. Ellie had to nudge your shoulder several times to tell you that the movie had was over. Glancing around to find a steady stream of people filing out of the mess hall.

"Sorry, Ellie, I'm just a bit distracted tonight; work has been so hectic recently, and I have so much to do when I open tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off. Hoping that she will let it go and that she wasn't being as observant tonight as she usually is. The girl misses nothing.

"It's okay, the film was a repeat anyway," she shrugs, not pressing you on the matter, though you know all too well that the questions will come eventually.

"Shall we head home? It sounds like it's getting pretty rough out there," you noted, as another howl of wind wipped around the wooden building.

"Sounds good; I want to have a shower before Joel uses all the hot water again," she ribs in a peel of bright laughter that sends warmth radiating through your now hollow chest.

When you reach the house, you find it in darkness. Joel hasn't made it home yet, and although you are beyond angry, you can't help but worry about him. Of course he can look after himself, but it isn't like him to be out this late if he wasn't on patrol.

The seething voice in the back of your head reminds you that he could be with her. You try to push those thoughts out of your head, but they linger like a dark cloud, casting a grim shadow over what was your perfect - or as perfect as it could be - life.

"I'm going for a shower and then head to bed, you okay?" Ellie asks, once again pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, of course, kiddo, no worries. Do you need anything? You want some tea?" You offer as you head to the stove and place a pot of water on to boil.

"No, I'm good. Thanks though, g'night!" She calls over her shoulder, and then you are alone in the small kitchen.

"Night kiddo," You call quietly to her as you reach for the herbal tea blend that you and Ellie grew in your little garden last summer.

As you wait for the water to boil, your mind starts to race with worry and anxiety. You can't help but think of all the possible scenarios that could be keeping Joel out this late, and the thought of him being with another woman makes you want to break things. You have tried to push those thoughts out of your head so many times this evening, but they keep creeping back.

A few hours later, you are sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room, desperately fighting to keep your eyes open, but in the end you give up, gently placing your book on the coffee table and removing the blanket from your lap. You look at the clock on the wall, and it's just after 3am.

You pad into the kitchen and leave your mug in the sink, too tired to wash it now; that's tomorrow's problem. Heading up the creaky stairs to your bedroom and crawling into the cold sheets. It feels wrong going to bed without Joel by your side, but he is god knows where right now, so you lean over, turn the bedside lamp off, and sink into a restless, uneasy sleep.

You wake to the wintery morning sunshine seeping through your bedroom window. Instinctively, you run your hand across Joel's side of the bed; it's unmade but cold, so he did come home last night, but he was up before you, which is unusual.

Instinctively, you run your hand across Joel's side of the bed; it's unmade but cold, so he did come home last night, but he was up before you, which is unusual.

Slowly sitting up in bed, you stretch your tired bones, sore from your restless few hours of sleep, and swing your legs out of bed. It's only 7 a.m.; you don't usually open the bar until midday, so you have plenty of time to get ready.

You slink down the stairs, careful not to wake Ellie as you do so. Heading into the kitchen mid-yawn, you stop in your tracks as you find Joel standing at the stove, hovering over a pot of boiling water on the closest ring to him.

"Mornin'," he husks without turning; he must have heard you yawning with his good ear to the doorway.

You ignore him, knowing full well that it's petty and childish and ultimately will not resolve anything, but with the way he behaved last night, you feel the cold shoulder is justified.

You both continue with your morning rituals in silence. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but you didn't know where to begin broaching the subject, and the more you stewed over it, the more you felt he should be the one to open the conversation with an explanation, but if you were being totally honest with yourself, you were beginning to worry that you may have jumped to conclusions.

But when you thought about the way they were huddled together, her hand on his arm, and the way she tipped her head back in laughter at each thing he said, the pit in your stomach grew. As did the silence between you.

Things went on like this for days, with the two of you skirting around each other and avoiding eye contact. Only speaking to each other when absolutely necessary, like dinner times, and giving each other your work duties for the week.

You could see the effect this was having on Ellie; she has been especially quiet the last few days, so once Joel leaves for work, you sit with her on the couch and try to get her to open up.

"Ellie, is everything okay?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

"I don't know. You and Joel have been acting weird lately, and it's making me tense." She shrugs, not meeting your gaze.

You take a deep breath, knowing that you can't keep avoiding the issue. "Yeah, we've been having some problems. But it's nothing you need to worry about, kiddo."

"It doesn't seem like nothing," she retorts. "You guys haven't spoken in days. It's not like you."

"I know, Ellie. I just don't know how to fix it." You sigh.

"Maybe you could start by talking to him," she suggests.

"It's not that simple, Ellie. There's a lot going on." You shake your head.

"Well, maybe it would help if you talked to me about it," she offers.

"Thanks, Ellie. But it's not something I can really discuss with you. Just know that Joel and I are working through some things and we'll get through it." You smile softly at her, grateful for her kindness.

She nods, not looking convinced but not pressing the issue. You sit in silence for a moment before she stands up. "I'm gonna head out for a bit. Need to clear my head."

"Okay, kiddo. Be safe," you say, watching her leave.

You're left alone in the quiet house, the weight of your problems still heavy on your shoulders. You know Ellie is right; you need to talk to Joel. But the thought of confronting him is daunting, and you don't know if you want to hear what he has to say.

What if he doesn't want you anymore? What if he's not happy and hasn't been for a while?

You decide that enough is enough. After work this evening, you are going to speak to him and attempt to clear the air, hear his side of the story, and try to move forward, if not for the sake of your relationship but for Ellie. It's not fair to have this weighing on her shoulders; it's not her fault, and you hate seeing her unhappy, and you know that Joel will feel the same about his if nothing else.

The workday drags on uneventfully; the only thing standing out was that Jenna had come to the bar for the first time since that evening. She gave you a small smile, and you returned it with a polite nod. You were at work after all and took it upon yourself to remain as professional as possible.

Jenna approaches the bar and orders her usual, which you pour for her without issue, though it makes your skin itchy to be this close to her.

"Have you spoken to Joel yet?" she asks quietly. Wiping her fingertips across the bartop.

You stare at her blankly; the audacity of this woman boggles your mind.

"No," you respond curtly.

"Okay, well, when you do, come and find me. We'll have a lot to discuss." She states matter-of-factly, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Before you have the chance to give her a piece of your mind, she is walking away from the bar, her long auburn hair swishing to her lower back. What the fuck is her problem?

You try to get through the rest of your day without dwelling on the conversation you had with Jenna, focusing more on the impending conversation you are going to have with Joel this evening. Thinking about what you were going to say to him, how you were going to explain how you felt, and how hurt you have been over the last few days.

You lock up the bar and head towards home for the evening, taking a little more time than you usually would, feet dragging, dreading the fight that would likely ensue once you had spoken to him. You tell yourself you will keep a level head, but you know deep down your temper would not allow that to happen if he gave you some bullshit excuse.

As you approach the small, snow-covered pathway that leads to the back porch of your home, you pause there, unable to bring yourself to go inside. So you take a seat on the second step and watch the flurries of fluffy snow as they make their way through the air to join the pillowy blanket that covers everything in sight.

You sit there for what feels like hours. Jackson was always quiet; it needed to be in order to keep what you have here safe, but as you sit in the darkness, the only light coming from the dim porch light and the light seeping through the thin linen curtains from the living room, it feels eerily silent and still. The sound of the backdoor creaking open made you jump. The heavy footsteps that followed, however, were all too familiar.

"You gonna stay out here all night?" He asked quietly, his voice low and soft.

"No, I was just… well, I don't really know what I was doing." You offer a small laugh, void of any humour.

Joel takes a few steps and groans loudly as he lowers himself to join you where you sit. He is quiet for a few moments until he finally speaks.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the other night and how it must have looked. I'm sorry for not explaining to you then and there what it was; I didn't want to tell you, and I still don't really. But I promise you on my life that it is not what you think it is, Darlin," he says softly, regret heavy in his tone.

"I don't understand Joel; I just want to understand what the fuck has been going on," you pleaded, hating how desperate your voice sounded.

"I know, baby, and I'm going to tell you. I just didn't want to ruin the surprise. I also didn't want to tell you without speaking to Ellie first, but I spoke to her at dinner, and now she understands." He assures you, his hand coming up to brush your cold cheek for the first time in days, and it was impossible not to lean into the heat of his palm.

"Okay, so now everyone knows but me, why were you all cozied up with Jenna? Why did you lie to me about going to work?" You challenged him, removing your face from his touch.

"Hold on," he huffs, shifting his weight to one hip as he fishes for something in his back pocket before continuing. "It will make more sense once you see this, or I hope it will at least," he offers as he hands you a beaten-up, leather-bound note book.

"What is this?" You ask him, you remember seeing it on the table in the bar the other night.

"Would you just open it?" he sighs, rubbing his hand through his patchy whiskers nervously.

You do as he says and open the notebook, and what you find takes you aback. The notebook is filled almost front to back with little sketches of rings and little notes about different metals and gems in his familar handwriting and another that you don't recognize.

"Wh-what is this?" You repeat, stunned. So many thoughts racing through your mind and you are beggining to realise that you have completely misread the situaiton the other night.

"I know I was going to have to tell you about it eventually, you know for your size and all but I was planning to do that after I asked you…but then with the other night I wasn't sure what to say and I was kind of pissed off that you where angry at me, I didn't stop to think that you weren't in on the secret and what it must have looked like to you," Joel's hand came to rest on your knee squeezing reassuringly as he explained the circumstances that lead to what you saw in the bar.

"I have been meeting up with Jenna over the last few weeks, she's the only blacksmith in Jackson that used to make jewelry…specifically engagement rings," he paused allowing his words to sink in before finishing his explination.

"We've been trying to figure out how to make you one, what metals mix well from what I have found on supply runs, whether to hold off if I could find a stone or a gem, or if we could make it without one,"

You stare at him, a mix of astonishment and disbelief washing over you. The pieces start to fall into place, and you realize the truth behind Joel's actions. The anger and hurt that had consumed you begin to melt away, replaced by a flood of emotions, the most promanent being embarrassment.

"You were planning to… ask me?" you stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The weight of your accusation hangs heavy in the air as you struggle to comprehend the situation.

"Yeah, I was. I've been saving up for months, looking for the right opportunity, and I wanted it to be a surprise. Jenna's been helping me because she's skilled at crafting intricate pieces. I wanted to make something special for you, something that would last a lifetime." Joel nods, his eyes filled with sincerity.

Tears well up in your eyes as the realization of your mistake dawns upon you. You reach for Joel's hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Oh, Joel, I'm so sorry," you say, your voice trembling. "I jumped to conclusions without knowing the whole story. I never thought…I feel like such a peice of shit, I'm so sorry"

"It's okay, darlin'. I should've communicated better, explained everything to you beforehand. I understand why you were upset." He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

"But why did you lie about going to work?" you inquire, still wanting to grasp every detail.

"We thought it would be best if we kept it a secret until it was ready. And I didn't want you to suspect anything. I wanted the proposal to be a surprise, and I was afraid if I told you I was hanging out with Jenna, you'd figure it out before I had the chance." He shrugged.

"Joel, I can't believe you're doing this. You've put so much thought and effort into making something special for us. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. I have been so awful to you over the last few days," You let out a shaky breath, your heart filled with a strange mix of relief, shame and joy.

A soft smile graces Joel's lips as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "Don't say that, sweetheart. You deserve the world, and I want to give it to you. I love you more than anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tears stream down your face now, but they're tears of happiness. You lean in and rest your head on Joel's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you. The weight of the misunderstanding lifts, leaving behind a newfound sense of trust and appreciation.

"I love you too, Joel," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch and for overreacting. I should have known you'd never do anything to hurt me."

"Hey, we all make mistakes, darlin'. It wouldn't be the first time I've got pissed at you for something I misunderstood now is it?." he chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"I guess no ones perfect," you echo his laughter leaning into him further.

As you sit together on the porch steps, surrounded by the beauty of the snowfall, you realize that the snow isn't the only thing that's melting. The icy barriers that had formed between you and Joel are slowly thawing away, leaving behind a comfortable quiet.

"So, now that the cats out of the bag, will you…?" he asks his deep voice thick with emotion.

"Will I what handsome?" You look up at him teasing, your eyes twinkling.

A playful grin tugs at the corners of Joel's mouth as he meets your gaze. "Will you marry me, my beautiful, stubborn, and occasionally misunderstood partner in crime?" he asks, his voice laced with a mixture of nervousness and hope.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and a surge of excitement courses through you. You pretend to ponder his question, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Well, I don't know, Joel. I mean, after all that's happened, can I really trust you with my heart?" you tease, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel feigns a look of hurt, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "Oh, come on now. I've endured snowball fights, kitchen mishaps, you and Ellie ganging up on me and even your questionable taste in movies. If that's not true love, I don't know what is."

Laughter bubbles up from within you, and you lean in closer, pressing your forehead against his. "Joel, you are my love and my rock. Of course, I'll marry you," you say, your voice filled with so much love.

In that peaceful moment, wrapped in the calm of the snowfall and the safety of his strong arms, you realize that there will be silly arguments, misunderstandings and cold shoulders, but you will always find your way back to each other. You let out a sigh of contentment as Joel presses silent kisses against your head, happy to sit here forever wrapped up in him.

Knowing that Joel and Ellie will forever be your guiding lights.

#joel x reader #Joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller #ellie wili #joel and ellie #joel x you #joel x y/n #Pedro pasca #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fic #fic request #mylostloversbookmarks

172 notes · View notes

angelsanarchy · 1 year ago

Text

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 02 -> CH 03

"He looks just like Rusty and he keeps following me." "Unless you're walking through pet sematary, I assure you that's not Rusty."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star

"How was therapy?" Shanda asked as Jack walked through the neighbor smoking a cigarette.

"He recommended getting fresh air instead of staying locked up in the house. Naturally I'm having a cigarette and talking a walk." Jack smirked.

"I'd say that's progress, somewhat." Shanda laughed. Jack knew she really didn't want to leave him by himself but it had been a few days and he honestly felt fine. He didn't mind the silence when he was writing and when the silence made him anxious, he turned on a playlist to start boxing things in the upper levels up.

"I was checking with work and I think I might be able to make it back for the weekend-" Jack cut her off.

"Shan, please stop trying to fuck your own life up to babysit me. I am following all the rules, being a good little patient and working on myself. I don't want you to waste your life freaking out about me." Jack loved Shanda. They had been through a lot as kids and now as adults. He wanted her to be happy and live the life she wanted to live and she couldn't do that if she was taking care of him.

"Jack, you're my best friend. I'm going to worry." Shanda defended.

"I know that and I love you for that but I promised you that if I ever got those feelings again, I would reach out. I'm not going to let myself get that bad again." Jack knew the meds were working because his mind was usually at ease. It was his body that wasn't working out.

"How about the sleeping? How's that going?" Shanda asked.

"I sleep a lot more and I'm trying to eat more but everything makes me nauseous. I need to find something to supplement my lack of vitamins or something because sleeping half the day doesn't help when you're trying to meet deadlines." Jack placed the cigarette between his lips to run his hand through his hair.

"What about the sleep walking?" Shanda was the only one who knew about his sleep walking episodes. It was something that bonded them as kids because everyone else thought they were weird for having such vivid sleep walking episodes.

"None that I know of but I did put up some cameras just to make sure. I'm thinking about putting a few inside just in case. Basement cameras, maybe one in the kitchen." Jack could hear whining but couldn't quite place where it was coming from.

"You should get those nanny-cams they have for elderly people so I can check on you when you don't answer my calls." Shanda joked making Jack laugh.

"That would just give me motivation to figure out my dick dysfunction to scar you." Jack had been medicated since he was hospitalized and he hadn't been able to get a single hard on since he started. At first it didn't bother him because nothing was really piquing his sexual interest but now his body felt far past pent up.

"It wouldn't be the first guy whose tried to jerk off at me. Remember I live in New York." Jack heard the whining again and stopped walking.

"What the hell is that?" Jack looked around in the open field he was standing in trying to follow the sound.

"What's wrong?" Shanda asked.

"I keep hearing something whining, like a dog or an animal of some kind." Jack started towards the trees and heard it again.

"Are you sure? Maybe you're just hearing feedback through the phone." Jack knew what feedback sounded like and this wasn't it. He got all the way to the tree line when a small white dog popped out of the woods and strutted up to him.

"Holy shit..." Jack put his cigarette out on his shoe and stuffed the butt in his pocket.

"What?! What is it? Did you find the noise?" Shanda sounded concerned.

"Rusty?" Jack knelt down to the dog and he didn't move.

"Um...Jack." Shanda had the unfortunate experience of seeing the collateral damage that came from Jack's breakdown. Sadly Rusty was it.

"I know, I know. He's dead. I killed him but Shan..." Jack held his hand out and the dog still didn't move.

"I'm sure there are plenty of dogs that look like Rusty in that neighborhood. Your neighbors are upper class white elders. Just walk away from him." Shanda suggested.

Jack stood up and looked behind the dog, not hearing anyone call out for him or come popping through the trees to retrieve him. He also noticed it didn't have a collar either. He tried walking away but now the dog was following him.

"Did you walk away?" Shan asked curiously.

"Yeah but I mean I can't seem to-" The dog had run up to him and was no jumping on his legs.

"He looks just like Rusty and he keeps following me." Jack knelt down to pet the dog now that he was engaging with him.

"Unless you're walking through Pet Semetary, I assure you that's not Rusty." Shanda reminded. Jack missed Rusty more than anything. Rusty had been his comfort through a lot of his life and knowing that he was a victim of his mental break broke his heart more than anything.

"I can't just leave him out here by himself. It's going to get dark soon." Jack got back to his feet and picked the dog up.

"Jack, please don't do anything that's going to set you back. Just ask some of your neighbors. They'll probably be able to tell you who he belongs to." Jack started walking back to the neighborhood but wasn't really ready to go interacting with his neighbors. He didn't see the point in getting stuck in the cycle of everyone talking to him about his dead parents and decision to move into the big house by himself.

"I'll just take him home tonight and call Nancy at the vet. She might be able to figure out who they belong to." Jack scratched the dogs head and started towards the house, ending his phone call abruptly with Shanda. He kept his eyes peeled for anyone running around frantically looking for a lost dog but no one ever came outside.

"Come on little buddy. Let's get you something to eat. You look tired." Jack rooted through some of the groceries Shanda had left behind for him and could only find a bag of goldfish. He grabbed Rusty's old dog dish and took him upstairs. He cleaned him up in the sink before plopping him down on the bedroom floor.

"Sorry buddy, I only have this. It's not much but I wasn't really expecting company." Jack sat on the floor next to the bowls, one filled with water and the other with goldfish crackers. The pup sniffed them both and started eating the goldfish. Jack pet his back softly.

"That's a good boy. Good boy." His heart hadn't ached for much while he was hospitalized but sitting here with Rusty's doppelganger made his heart hurt. He made a mental note to mention getting a new dog to his therapist.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Goes Home #One Shot Series #Culkin Cult #Glass Houses #Rory Culkin #Y/n will appear in the next one shot #let me know if you want to be included on the tag list #2/32

90 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 1 month ago

Text

october | 04 x walks in the forest

pairing: frankie x reader word count: 832 warnings: none, as always unbeta'd summary: it's the day after Frankie left for Colombia and while it's a familiar feeling, him being gone, you thought those days were behind you. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

04 x Walks In The Forest

The air was thick and humid, a stark contrast to the crisp fall weather from years past when Frankie had been stationed on the West Coast. Tampa in autumn wasn’t much different from Tampa in the summer, except for a slight drop in temperature that only teased at relief. You wiped the back of your neck, feeling the sweat that had gathered there, and adjusted the leash in your hand. You glanced down at the big German Shepherd at your side, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Mayer had no issue with the humidity, seemingly unaffected by the heat while you struggled to keep your thoughts from replaying the day's events on a loop.

It had been a shit day of work, just one thing after another piling on. Normally on days like this, you’d be able to leave it all behind and Frankie would be there. He’d greet you with that quiet smile of his, pull you in for a hug, and things would start to feel right again without needing to say much. Then without much convincing from you, he would make one of those comforting meals his mother had taught him to cook.

But instead, Frankie was out there somewhere in Colombia, doing God knows what on this supposed ‘one last job’. No contact. Just silence. You’d gotten used to the silence of these reccies, the stretches of days without a word, but today it felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the exhaustion of work or the muggy air but all you wanted was for him to be there and tell you all was going to be okay.

Mayer gave a soft bark, pulling your thoughts back to the present as he sniffed at something along the trail. You were in the wooded area of the park, one of Mayer’s favourite spots for walks. The trees weren’t exactly towing, sprawling like the kind back in Washington state that you couldn’t wait to take Mayer to one day, but they provided enough cover to make it feel like a different world from the busy streets nearby.

Frankie had brought Mayer home shortly after retiring from active service. The dog had been a part of the base’s K9 unit at the last base he’d been stationed at, but as far as training went, Mayer had been a total bust. Too independent, too stubborn for the strict rules and commands of a military K9. So after repeated failures, the unit had deemed him unfit for service. Frankie, having been working not far from the K9 unit had made a point of stopping by when on base to check the progress of the new recruits. When he’d learnt Mayer was to be expelled, he had offered there on the spot to take him home.

You laughed to yourself, remembering how Frankie had explained it to you that night in the kitchen as Mayer made himself home on your couch without even a look at either one of you. Mayer may have flunked military service, but the dog had loyalty in spades and smarts when he needed them. Frankie had taken to training Mayer himself after he’d retired. He said it gave him something to focus on after he’d left the service, a way to feel useful when he was struggling to find his footing. And Mayer took to it immediately, his loyalty and intelligence becoming an almost uncanny reflection of Frankie himself. But he was as much your shadow, just as he was Frankie’s. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the two of them together, runs in the early hours then drills or tug-of-war in the backyard.

Mayer looked up at you as if sensing your frustration, and you scratched behind his ears, grateful for his quiet companionship, “Come on buddy,” you muttered, giving the leash a little tug as the two of you continued walking through the trees. The air still stifling in a way that made everything feel stagnant.

You’d known what life would be like when you got together—Frankie had been upfront about the uncertainty of his life, why previous relationships had barely gotten off the ground. The sudden call for deployment, the secrecy of missions, the silence while he was gone and who knows how long. It wasn’t easy, but you’d made it work.

Except today, that silence felt particularly heavy. Because all of that was supposed to be behind you. It was always one last reccie, one last consulting job, one last something that got in the way of the two of you starting on your plans now he was out of active service.

Mayer gave a low bark, pulling you from your thoughts again. He’d found something interesting on the path but you gently nudged him along. You didn’t have the energy to stop for too long. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the trail, and you knew it was time to head back.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

11 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 18 days ago

Text

Chapter Three. Conversion

Thus there is such a thing as human absorption. It appears in all the forms of conversion wherever the superior power of one person is consciously or unconsciously misused to influence profoundly and draw into his spell another individual or a whole community. Here one soul operates directly upon another soul. The weak have been overcome by the strong, the resistance of the weak has broken down under the influence of another person. He has been overpowered…. —Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together[57]

Dr. D. James Kennedy, tanned and dapper in a dark brown suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket and meticulously combed silver hair, stands to the side of the podium and shares with us the most important tool in winning converts to Christ: becoming a friend. The seminar I am attending is being held in a hall of the Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church complex at Coral Ridge, Florida. Three spindly, white spires, all topped with crosses, tower above the cut-rate shopping centers and convenience stores stretched along North Federal Highway in Fort Lauderdale. The five-day seminar is designed to train us to teach Evangelism Explosion. The program was begun by Kennedy in 1967 and is designed to train evangelists in the tactics and methods used to save souls for Christ.

“I would always go in first, introduce myself, Jim Kennedy,” he begins. “I’m checking the lay of the land, and I will look around the living room and see if there’s something there that I can comment about. Frequently, there will be a large picture somewhere and where did they put it, this picture? Why would they put it over the fireplace? Significant.”

“In Fort Lauderdale you don’t find too many fireplaces,” he adds, smiling, “but there’s some kind of central focus. Maybe…golf trophies…I’m over here looking at these golf trophies…painting…I say, ‘Beautiful painting. Did you paint that?’ The first rule about looking at trophies: don’t touch them…‘Did you win all those trophies?’ So we have a little conversation about golf, but I know enough about golf to have this conversation. Now what have I done? I’m making a friend.

“Compliment them on whatever you can,” Kennedy says. “Discuss what they do. You’re going to find out what are their hobbies, maybe right there in the living room. Then you’re going to ask them about what they do, where they’re from, how long they’ve been there…something to discuss with them…In doing this, you have made a friend.”

We sit with our green marbled Evangelism Explosion workbooks open to the chapter titled “Making Friends.” We are being taught how to get prospective converts to open up and feel at ease. The manual suggests asking questions such as: “Tell me something about yourself.”[58] We are instructed to listen attentively, since “people usually are most interested in what they themselves have to say.”[59] Evangelists should “look the prospect in the eye, move your head up and down, echo what he says by repeating his words and voice inflection. Be sensitive to his felt needs and respond appropriately. Remember and use his name often in the conversation.” And, it adds, “Pay a sincere compliment.”[60]

Kennedy warns us not to carry a large Bible, but to keep a small one hidden in our pockets: “Don’t show your gun until you’re ready to shoot it.”

Metaphors of war and sex saturate the lectures and the readings. Kennedy says that the primary task of Christians is to recruit “soldiers in the army of Jesus Christ who are absent without official leave (AWOL).”[61] He speaks of himself and other pastors as generals or admirals and of evangelists as soldiers. And he warns that it is Satan who convinces believers not to take part in the battle.

What is [Satan’s] idea? It is this: that wars are very dangerous, complicated operations, and ordinary persons could get hurt needlessly; therefore, they should go home and let the generals and admirals fight wars…in the church this, in essence, is exactly what Satan has done![62]

Sexual metaphors are also sprinkled into the bellicosity of the conversion message. A “functionally mature, responsible, reproducing Christian”[63] should be producing others like himself. Christians who receive the gospel for themselves but do not convert others “are like immoral seducers.” “The seducer,”[64] Kennedy writes, “is satisfied merely to exploit and then tell of his exploits rather than entering into a meaningful marriage commitment.” Kennedy recalls the difficulties he had one night during which he was unable to “consummate the witness”[65] with a new disciple’s wife.

Conversion is a form of sexual warfare, a form of seduction and finally a form of physical conquest.

You must “seek to identify with your prospect. If that person would talk about the fact that they were lonely and you had a lonely experience, man, you want to tie into that, you jump onto that…get all over that with your testimony…because they’re going to identify with you,” Kennedy says.

The tactics of conversion come with layers of deception, including, we soon learn, false friendships and cooked testimonies, the promise that the evangelists are giving the “free gift” of eternal life and that what they preach is the inerrant word of God and cannot be questioned. Conversion is supposed to banish the deepest dreads, fears and anxieties of human existence, including the fear of death. This is the central message we are told to impart to potential believers. But along with this message comes a disorienting mixture of love and fear, of promises of a warm embrace by a kind and gentle God that yearns to direct and guide the life of the convert toward success, wealth and happiness, and also of an angry, wrathful God who must punish nonbelievers, those who are not saved, tossing them into outer darkness and eternal suffering. The message swings the faces of this Janus-like God back and forth, one terrifying and one loving, in dizzying confusion. The emotions of love and fear pulsate through the message. God will love and protect those who come to Him. God will torment and reject those who do not come to Him. It becomes a bewildering mantra.

Conversion, at first blush, is euphoric. It is about new friends, loving and accepting friends; about the final conquering of human anxieties, fears and addictions; about attainment of wealth, power, success and happiness through God. For those who have known despair, it feels like a new life, a new beginning. The new church friends call them, invite them to dinner, have time to listen to their troubles and answer their questions. Kennedy tells us that we must keep in touch in the days after conversion. He encourages us to keep detailed files on those we proselytize. We must be sure new converts are never left standing alone at church. We must care when no one else seems to care. The new converts are assigned a “discipler” or prayer partner, a new friend who is wiser than they are in the ways of the Lord and able to instruct them in their new life.

The intense interest by a group of three or four evangelists in a potential convert, the flattery and feigned affection, the rapt attention to those being recruited and the flurry of “sincere” compliments are forms of “love-bombing,” the same technique employed by cults, such as the Unification Church or Moonies, to attract prospects. It was a well-developed tactic of the Russian and Chinese communist parties, which share many of the communal and repressive characteristics of the Christian Right. This intense showering of affection on an individual, as psychiatrist Margaret Thaler Singer described in her 1996 book Cults in Our Midst, is often very effective:

As soon as any interest is shown by the recruits, they may be love-bombed by the recruiter or other cult members. This process of feigning friendship and interest in the recruit was initially associated with one of the early youth cults, but soon it was taken up by a number of groups as part of their program for luring people in. Love-bombing is a coordinated effort, usually under the direction of leadership, that involves long-term members flooding recruits and newer members with flattery, verbal seduction, affectionate but usually nonsexual touching, and lots of attention to their every remark. Love-bombing—or the offer of instant companionship—is a deceptive ploy accounting for many successful recruitment drives.[66]

The new convert is drawn gradually into a host of church activities by his or her new friends, leaving little time for outside socializing. But the warmth and embrace soon brings new rules. When you violate the rules you sin, you flirt with rebellion, with becoming a “backslider,” someone who was converted but has fallen and is once again on the wrong side of God. And as the new converts are increasingly invested in the church community, as they cut ties with their old community, it is harder to dismiss the demands of the “discipler” and church leaders. “Backsliding” is a sin. Doubt is a sin. Questioning is a sin. The only proper relationship is submission to those above you, the abandonment of critical thought and the mouthing of religious jargon that is morally charged and instantly identifies believers as part of the same, hermetic community. The psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton describes this heavily loaded language, the words and phrases that allow believers to speak in code, as “thought-terminating clichés.”[67] “Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior” or “The wages of sin are death” are used, in this instance, to end all discussion.

Rules are incorporated slowly and deliberately into the convert’s belief system. These include obedience to church leaders; the teaching of an exclusive, spiritual elitism that demonizes all other ways of being and believing; and a persecution complex that keeps followers mobilized and distrustful of outsiders. The rules create a system of total submission to church doctrine. They discourage independent thought and action. And the result is the destruction of old communities and old friendships. Believers are soon enclosed in the church community. They are taught to value personal experience over reason, and to reject reason. For those who defy the system, who walk away, there is a collective banishment. The exit process is humiliating, and those who leave are condemned as “backsliders” no longer favored by God.

There is a gradual establishment of new standards for every aspect of life. Those who choose spouses must choose Christian spouses. Families and friends are divided into groups of “saved” and “unsaved.” The movement, while it purports to be about families, is the great divider of families, friends and communities. It competes with the family for loyalty. It seeks to place itself above the family, either drawing all family members into its embrace or pushing aside those who resist conversion. There are frequent prayers during the seminar for relatives who are unsaved, who remain beyond the control of the movement. Many of these prayers, including one by a grandmother in my prayer group for her unsaved grandchildren, are emotional, and it is not unusual to see saved Christians weeping over the possible damnation of those they love.

This control, while destructive to personal initiative and independence, does keep believers from wandering back into the messy situations they fled. The new ideology gives the believers a cause, a sense of purpose, meaning, feelings of superiority, and a way to justify and sanctify their hatreds. For many, the rewards of cleaning up their lives, repairing their damaged self-esteem, and joining an elite and blessed group are worth the cost of submission. They know how to define and identify themselves. They do not have to make moral choices. They are made for them. They submerge their individual personas into the single persona of the Christian crowd. Their hope lies not in the real world, but in this new world of miracles. For many, the conformity, the flight away from themselves, the dismissal of facts and logic for magic, the destruction (even with its latent totalitarianism) of personal autonomy amount to a welcome and joyous relief. The flight into the arms of the Christian Right, into blind acceptance of a holy cause, compensates for converts’ despair and lack of faith in themselves. And the more corrupted and soiled they feel, the more profound the despair, the more militant they become, shouting, organizing and agitating to create a pure and sanctified Christian nation, believing that this purity will offset their own shame and guilt. Many yearn to be deceived and directed. It makes life easier to bear.

The most susceptible people, we are told in the seminar, are those in crisis: people in the midst of a divorce; those who have lost a job or are grieving for the death of a close friend or relative; those suffering addictions they cannot control, illness, or the trauma of emotional or physical abuse. We are encouraged to target the vulnerable. In The Varieties of Religious Experience, William James wrote that those who experienced dramatic conversions might have been born with a “melancholy disposition,” a chronically “divided” mind—or else, he suspected, they had drunk “too deep of the cup of bitterness.”[68] It is easier to bring about a conversion when the person being proselytized is in crisis. Indeed, the goal of the conversion is to generate a sense of crisis by stressing that all who are unsaved are lost and in desperate need of help.

When he speaks, Kennedy exudes the oily charm of a traveling salesman. He is meticulous about his appearance: never a hair out of place, his face tanned to a leathery brown and his suits finely cut. He talks in a low, sonorous voice, one he uses every Sunday when, decked out in his robe and academic hood, he stands behind his massive mahogany pulpit at the start of the service and announces, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it,” at which point the thunderous organ erupts in pulsations that rock the church. He is a rigid fundamentalist, determined to defend and prove the truths of the Bible through what he sees as intellectual, rational and scientific argument. His sermons can often be pedantic, filled with windy discussions about what he says are historical or scientific facts that illustrate the inerrant truth of the Bible. He is one of America’s most public and vocal dominionists.

Kennedy was born in 1930 in Augusta, Georgia, and raised in a neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago by a glassware-salesman father, rarely at home, and an abusive, alcoholic mother. It was not a happy childhood. Kennedy moved with his parents to Jacksonville, Florida, while he was in high school and by his own admission spent most of his time surfing and water-skiing. In his early 20s, he taught the fox-trot at an Arthur Murray Dance School in Tampa. He met his wife, Anne, there in 1952. But the official literature reads, “It all began on a Sunday morning in 1953, when he [Kennedy] was startled awake by a preacher’s stern question on his clock radio: ‘Suppose you were to die today and stand before God, and He were to ask you, “What right do you have to enter into My heaven?”—What would you say?’”[69]

Kennedy explains he was unsure of his answer. He says he went to a bookstore and bought The Greatest Story Ever Told, the 1949 novel by Fulton Oursler that chronicles the life of Christ. Kennedy had little experience with religion. He did not attend church regularly. The book, he says, opened his eyes to God, and he enrolled in seminary. He, unlike some of his charismatic or evangelical counterparts, did real academic work. He studied at Columbia Theological Seminary and the Chicago Graduate School of Theology, and received a PhD from New York University.

He began modestly with a small church, affiliated with the Presbyterian Church in America, which split with the mainline Presbyterian Church over what the schismatic sect branded its liberal theology. It had fewer than 100 members. But Fort Lauderdale proved to be fertile ground for the young preacher, with families moving in droves into sprawling new developments. The population influx helped swell his congregation, although the church literature portrays its growth as the result of successful proselytizing. He slowly built a massive multimedia empire. Kennedy’s weekly broadcasts of The Coral Ridge Hour can be seen on more than 600 television stations and four cable networks and heard on the Armed Forces Network. It is the third most widely syndicated Christian program in the nation, reaching more than 3.5 million people. His radio show, Truths That Transform, is on more than 744 stations, six days a week.[70] He runs a lobbying group in Washington called the Center for Reclaiming America, as well as the Center for Christian Statesmanship, which evangelizes those who work in Congress. He hosts monthly luncheons, for members of Congress and their staffs, which feature conservative speakers. Kennedy believes that “the Christian view of morality and life is the one that should prevail in America.”[71] He is fond of quoting John Jay, the Chief Justice of the first U.S. Supreme Court, who said that “God in His providence has given to us a Christian nation, and it behooves us as Christians to prefer and select Christians to rule over us.” Kennedy argues that this “was the Christian perspective of most of the founders in the beginning of this country.”[72]

“Our job is to reclaim America for Christ, whatever the cost,” Kennedy has said. “As the vice regents of God, we are to exercise godly dominion and influence over our neighborhoods, our schools, our government, our literature and arts, our sports arenas, our entertainment media, our news media, our scientific endeavors—in short, over every aspect and institution of human society.”[73]

Kennedy is opposed to abortion, homosexuality and the study of evolution. He rails against the values of the Enlightenment. He says that theories of evolution were the basis for Nazism, communism and fascism and that “these are the views of men that have resulted in millions and millions of people dying.”[74]

He once told a reporter he’d never had a gay friend, adding, “I believe one was working at the dance studio [where he worked in his 20s], but I couldn’t tell for sure. They are very good at blending in.”[75] Still, despite having no personal interaction with gay people (he says only ex-gays are members at his church), Kennedy formed Worthy Creations Ministry, a branch of Exodus International, in 1998. Worthy Creations preaches that homosexuality is a sickness that can be healed.[76]

The cultural decline in America is the result, he says, of straying from Christian values. In The Gates of Hell Shall Not Prevail: The Attack on Christianity and What You Need to Know to Combat It, a book Kennedy wrote in 1996, he writes that although the United States was once a “Christian nation,” that is no longer the case because today “the hostile barrage from atheists, agnostics and other secular humanists has begun to take a serious toll on that heritage. In recent years, they have built up their forces and even increased their assault upon all our Christian institutions, and they have been enormously successful in taking over the ‘public square.’ Public education, the media, the government, the courts, and even the church in many places, now belong to them.”[77]

The goal is not simply conversion but also eventual recruitment into a political movement to create a Christian nation. But this process is riddled with lies and deception. In the seminar, evangelists are told to pretend at first that they are taking a survey of religious belief to get people to talk and that proselytizers should hide their Bibles so their targets do not know they are being proselytized, and should ignore “No Soliciting” signs, since what they are giving people is “a free gift.”

Kennedy begins to talk about the godless character of liberal churches. He dismisses the members of these churches as “nominal Christians.” Referring to a potential convert whom he calls Scott, Kennedy tells us that since Scott had previously attended Grace Baptist Church, the word “grace” being a popular term within the Christian Right, he was probably a real Christian.

“Suppose we’ve got a lot of liberal churches in this area, and if you just named a church in this area that you go to, probably 90 to 10, I could tell whether or not you’re a Christian,” he says. “And how could I do that? Simply because these liberal churches don’t preach the Gospel. I can tell you a big liberal church in this area where you can stand outside the church, Sunday morning after service, and say, ‘Excuse me, sir, I’m lost, I wonder if you can tell me how to get to heaven.’ And I would venture to say that 98 percent could not tell you, and that’s because the pastor is a liberal and he doesn’t believe in heaven. He doesn’t believe in salvation; he probably doesn’t believe in sin. Certainly doesn’t believe in hell.

“There are millions of people in this country who attend church regularly,” Kennedy tells us, “trying to live a good life and follow God’s teachings, and yet somehow—now underline this next phrase—the church has failed to communicate to them how they can know for sure that they have eternal life and they’re going to heaven.”

At the Evangelism Explosion workshop we must write and rewrite our personal testimonies and practice delivering them in front of our assigned prayer partners, who critique them according to the manual. The testimony is an illustration to the nonbeliever that the converted are absolutely certain of eternal life and have been freed from all human anxieties. The testimony, we are told by the instructor, must state explicitly that the fear of death has been banished forever. We must describe moments in our lives when death appeared certain and we felt at peace and certain of eternal life. The testimony has to stress and repeat this total certitude of our belief in eternal life and freedom from fear. We turn our testimonies in for correction by the instructors to make sure our essays have not deviated from the two approved outlines of conversion, and we rewrite them when they come back with “errors” marked in red.

Freedom from fear, especially the fear of death, is what is being sold. It is a lie, as everyone who works to write and rewrite their testimonies has to know on some level. But few people would have the firmness of mind to admit this in front of other believers. Such an admission would be interpreted as a lack of faith. Yet creation of this internal conflict is also part of the process, for it fosters a dread of being found out, a morbid guilt that we are not as good or as Christian as those around us. The process, from its inception, is not only dishonest but cruel. The dissonance between individual sensibility and the group does not go away with conversion or blind obedience or submission. Belief systems that preach a utopian and unachievable ideal drive this angst underground, forcing the convert to measure him- or herself against an impossible ideal. This system ensures continuous feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, guilt and self-loathing. That many converts feel deep remorse for past actions, for mistakes and cruelties, for the despair that has gripped their lives, only makes them more insecure.

The proper form for a conversion testimony is detailed for us in the Evangelism Explosion workbook:

Stage 1: What I was before. “Select one life concept such as loneliness, strife, guilt, fear of death, emptiness, rejection, insecurity, depression. Then include it (only one life concept per testimony) in an opening statement, saying, ‘Before I received eternal life, my life was filled with a paralyzing fear of death.’ Next, move from the general statement to a specific illustration out of your own life experiences. Give concrete details to make your illustration come alive.”[78]

Stage 2: How I received eternal life. “At this point, you may want to say something like, ‘Not many months later, a friend shared with me the most wonderful news I’d ever heard—that God had provided eternal life for me and what the conditions were to receive that life. As a result, many things changed in my life.’”[79]

Stage 3: What eternal life has meant to me. “At this point, you may want to share the life concept in reverse. If you selected fear of death as your life concept, you will now want to speak of courage in the face of death. If you chose the concept of guilt, you may now want to speak of forgiveness. The reverse of depression is hope; of emptiness, purpose; of rebellion, obedience, etc. Then you will want to illustrate the reverse life concept with another illustration from your experience. For instance, you may want to say, ‘The fear of death is now gone, and in its place is courage when facing death situations or thoughts about death.’”[80]

“As you prepare your testimony,” Kennedy says, “realize that you are fashioning an evangelical tool, so that you will be a more proficient witness.”

There are two possible types of conversion experiences, the class is told: a childhood conversion and an adult conversion. Those who have experienced childhood conversions are told by the instructors not to state in the testimony that they were converted as a child. It will hurt their credibility with adults.

A childhood conversion testimony starts with the sentence “I’m glad I have eternal life because it’s given me the certainty of knowing where I’m going when I die. And because of this, I have no fear of death.”

The instructor gives us an example of an effective childhood conversion testimony:

“‘Not long ago we were driving north on Interstate 57 during an ice storm that put a sheet of glazed ice on the highway…. We were easily easing along at 25 miles per hour, looking for a place to get off the highway to find shelter for the night, and as we were driving we came alongside a semitrailer truck.’ They’re painting a picture here. ‘The wind was blowing very hard, and the trailer truck became like a sailboat, catching the wind.’ Got this picture? ‘Whoa. The truck was gradually being pushed across the center line, and steadily toward the car. There was nowhere to go. We couldn’t go to the right because we’d run into the truck; we couldn’t go to the left because we would eventually end up in a ditch with the truck on top of us. And as we waited to see the outcome, our tragic injury seemed certain. My whole life came before me, and yet God gave me complete peace in my heart, knowing that even in light of this almost certain tragedy, I knew for certain that if I were to die, I’d go to heaven. What a joy and a difference that made as I faced that danger. And it’s the same today. I know that if I were to die right now, I’d go to be with God in heaven.’

“See?” the instructor goes on. “He captured your attention with a story, and that’s what we’re wanting you to build into your story, because all of you have that. I teach my trainers that they should be able to write a testimony like that. As they’re listening in the introduction, the Lord will capture them with something in their own story with which they can build a testimony.”

The adult conversion testimony, however, is different, although it too focuses on overcoming the fear of death. A stocky instructor recounts it for us:

“‘Before I received eternal life, I had a fear of death and dying.’ Same concept: the thought of death terrified me. ‘I had no idea what lay beyond death’s door for me. When I was in college I was living in a small home alone. One night, a terrible storm arose with wind gusts over 50 miles per hour. Kind of like Wilma down here; she was packing some heavy winds. The wind was so strong that the rain was pouring horizontally across the ground, our little mobile home was rocking on its concrete block foundation, and a bolt of lightning struck a tall oak tree right next to me. I was frightened, and I set up near to the sofa, fearful that I was going to die. Not many months later, a friend shared with me something very wonderful, and I received eternal life. Many things changed in my life. And now that I have eternal life, the fear of death and dying is gone. Not long after I received eternal life, we were driving north on Interstate 57 during an ice storm that put a sheet of glazed ice on the highway.’…Same illustration, only in the life of a person who’s accepted Christ, you know? And what happened before and then what happened after. ‘As we waited to see the outcome, death or tragic injury seemed certain, and my whole life came before me.’”

The class has their workbooks open to the chapter “Sharing Your Testimony.”

“Now here’s not how to give a testimony,” an instructor says. “‘I received blessing when I became a Christian! I received deliverance through the Sinners’ Prayer! I was unsaved and needed to be saved! My conversion happened when I put my faith in Jesus Christ, my savior, who died for the sins of those who trust Him. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! Amen! I received salvation when I believed the Gospel and was washed in the blood of the Lamb, and I was born again when the Holy Spirit spoke to me at the altar of God. I lost all my friends and I lost my job, but God has looked after me ever since, and praise His name! The trials and tests are unbearable, and I just hope I can hold out until the end, and then maybe I’ll be able to go to heaven!’

“You know,” he says, “really, all of those things are true. All of those things are true of what happens in our lives. ‘The blood of the Lamb,’ that’s a great, great phrase. ‘The Gospel,’ ‘washed in the blood of the Lamb,’ ‘born again when the Holy Spirit spoke to me at the altar of God.’ What’s wrong with those statements? Way too churchy. Now you think how lost people think, and they don’t think that way. They don’t understand that. That is a jargon, and they just don’t have any clue…. We use phrases like that and toss them back and forth, and a lost person thinks we’ve dropped off another planet. So what we want you to do, we want you to go into your prayer groups and we want you to talk them through your story.”

The class of 60 evangelism students, many of them pastors, breaks up into preassigned prayer groups to practice their personal testimonies again.

We are told to always emphasize the positive and to find common interests, experiences, or viewpoints that will allow “your prospect,” as the potential converts are called in our manual, to identify with us. We are told to pepper our talk with uplifting thoughts, such as the comfort we have of going to bed every night and knowing that if we do not wake in the morning we will be in paradise with God. We are instructed to paint detailed pictures of terrible personal tragedies that have been solved by God. As an example, the manual quotes a parent saying that they had “a Christian son killed in Vietnam” but they are at peace with the loss because the parent knows that, since the son was a Christian, he has eternal life, and the parent will be reunited with him in heaven. Our testimonies and conversions must be sprinkled with words like “love,” “peace,” “faithfulness,” “hope,” “purpose,” and “obedience.” But the core of the message, the point we must impart to the potential convert, is that conversion has obliterated our fear of death, not only for ourselves, but the fear we have of losing those we love. This is what is being sold. And we, as the salespeople, are meant to stand as proof that humankind’s deepest fear, the fear of nonbeing, the fear of death, can be banished from life.

Two women from the church walk up in front of the group to role-play the conversion process. One sits in one of two green leather chairs on a raised platform. The other stands and pretends to knock on an imaginary door. The woman in the chair gets up to greet her visitor and welcomes her inside. They sit. The evangelist exchanges a few banalities about how nice the house looks and compliments her hostess on her taste in home furnishings. She “makes a friend.” She then gives her personal testimony. After the testimony, in quick succession, she asks the two questions that have to be asked early of every potential convert. The class has been cautioned that “when two people are present, begin by asking the person who seems least likely to have the correct answer.” The goal is to elicit incorrect answers, answers that allow the evangelist to push home the message that time is running out, sin is accumulating. The gift of eternal life waits to be taken, but without salvation everyone is damned to eternal punishment.

“‘Have you come to the place in your spiritual life where you know for certain that if you were to die today you would go to heaven, or is that something you would say you’re still working on?’” the evangelist says, repeating verbatim the first question.

“I would say I am still working on it,” the other woman answers.

The evangelist launches into the second question.

“Suppose you were to die today and stand before God and He were to say to you, ‘Why should I let you into My heaven?’ What would you say?”

Her mock recruit fumbles, talks about having lived a good life.

The evangelist repeats the answer, because, as the instructor has told the group, “this will help preclude the prospect saying at the end of the Gospel presentation, ‘I’ve always believed in Jesus Christ and trusted Him alone for salvation.’”

This is an important moment, we are told, because the conversion process depends on potential converts saying they are not sure they will be granted eternal life and they have not placed their total trust and faith in Jesus Christ for salvation.

“When you answered that first question, I thought I had some good news for you,” the evangelist says, lifting the sentence verbatim from the manual. “But after hearing your answer to this second question, I know that I have the greatest news you have ever heard.”

The workbook, lying open in front of the onlookers, instructs the evangelist to say this sentence with “great enthusiasm,” since, the workbook adds, this “precludes a hostile reaction.”[81]

Heaven, the potential convert is told after the questions are asked, is “unearned, undeserved, and unmerited. It’s free.” But it can come only through a commitment to Jesus Christ.

And then the discussion in the conversion process turns to sin. The evangelists are told to disabuse converts of the notion that sin is limited to robbery, murder, adultery or other specific acts. We are informed that sin “is anything that doesn’t please God or is a transgression of His law.”[82] Sin, the convert is to be told, is “the fatal malignancy which infects the soul of the entire human race.”[83] The convert is to be told that there is no escape from sin and that even the most righteous commit innumerable sinful acts.

This definition of sin is a subtle and pernicious twist to the traditional Christian concept of sin. As defined by Paul in his letters, sin is a state of being, a split between our conscious will and our real will, between us and something strange and alien within us. Sin is not, as Kennedy claims, a scorecard of rights and wrongs. For Paul, as well as many theologians such as Paul Tillich, there is no action, no matter how moral and good, which is totally pure or moral, totally free from sin. Sin is, rather, a way of describing our estrangement from others and ourselves, from what Tillich calls “the ground of our being.”[84] It is estrangement from the origin and aim of life. When we carry out acts that further this estrangement, when we violate our relationships with others and with ourselves, we sin. But Kennedy paints sin as something quantifiable, as if there were a digital counter that recorded one sin after another and stored the information in some heavenly bank account.

An instructor turns to a church member and illustrates how to speak about sin to a potential convert:

“Suppose I could get to the point where only ten times a day or five times, or let’s say three times a day, maybe one attitude [of] sin—jealousy or anger or bigotry—maybe one thing…slips from my mouth that’s hateful,” he says. “And maybe I miss doing something that I know I should do, like help my neighbor when they’re having a special need. What do you suppose would happen if I got that good? Man, I’d practically be a walking angel! But do you realize that at the end of the year I [would] have a thousand violations against God’s law? And if I live to be, well I’m 59 right now, so I’d have 59,000 violations against God’s law. What would happen if I died right now, or not died right now but stood before a judge right now with 59,000 traffic violations? Think what would happen. He’d say, ‘This is a habitual offender; let’s get him off the road.’ And he’d basically take my license and I wouldn’t be able to drive. Well, imagine standing before the judge of the universe with 60 or 70 thousand violations against God’s law. And that’s at the very best, that’s at the very best! But what we’re really trying to say with this is, you know, not only does a little add up to a lot, but our sin problem is serious. And then you can move right in.”

At that point the pairs form again to practice delivering the message about sin.

After the practice session, the instructor asks: “Why do we put the three-sins-a-day illustration in there?” Several people call out answers.

“A little bit of sin turns into a lot of sin,” he says. “All right. It’s that multiplication again.”

The point the evangelists are instructed to make is that eternal life cannot be achieved through good deeds or even a good life. It is impossible to earn your way into heaven. We must accept that we have sinned, will always commit sins, and ask to be born again so Jesus will take our sins upon Him. Once this is done we can learn to live a new way, a way that, while not totally free of sin, allows us to live a life approved by God, a life in which, with the help of the church, we learn to reject sinful acts. The believer can learn to condemn and avoid sinful acts—acts defined for him or her by church leaders as anything that doesn’t please God or is a transgression of His law. The leaders determine these acts, rousing the believer against what they label as sins, such as abortion or homosexuality. The emphasis, once the conversion is made, is on acts, acts that please or displease God. The believer can delineate these acts only with the aid of church leaders. There is a calculated destruction of individual conscience. All must submit to the will of those godly men who define the communal good. Sin, in short, is anything the leaders do not like.

“Because He is a just judge, He must punish our sins; His law declares that our sins must be punished and that He ‘will by no means clear the guilty.’ There is no doubt about this!” the instructor tells us.

The potential convert is to be told, finally, that Jesus came to earth and died “to pay the penalty for our sins and to purchase a place in heaven for us” and that “to receive eternal life you must transfer your trust from yourself to Jesus Christ alone for eternal life.”[85] The convert is asked whether he or she is willing “to turn from what you have been doing that is not pleasing to Him and follow Him as He reveals His will to you in His Word.”

The evangelist and convert bow their heads and pray, with the convert repeating each line after the evangelist.

“Lord Jesus, I want You to come in and take over my life right now. I am a sinner. I have been trusting in myself and my own good works. But now I place my trust in You. I accept You as my own personal Savior. I believe You died for me. I receive You as Lord and Master of my life. Help me to turn from my sins and to follow You. I accept the free gift of eternal life. I am not worthy of it, but I thank You for it. Amen.”

When this prayer is over the believers are told, “Welcome to the family of God.” They are told to read a chapter a day in the Gospel of John and that they will be visited again in a week to talk about the Bible. They are encouraged to pray because God “promised to hear and answer our prayers.” They are told to find “a good Bible-believing church and become a part of it.” They are told to join a Christian fellowship group. And they are told to witness to their families. With this, the process of deconstructing an individual and building a submissive follower is begun.

The goal is more than building the church; it is building a Christian America. Kennedy talks often about the recruitment of legions of new believers to the political as well as the religious arena. He claims to have brought in millions through Evangelism Explosion.

Kennedy insists that America was founded as a “Christian nation.” The denial of the Christian roots of the nation, he says, is a “great deception [that] has been used to destroy much of the religious freedom and liberty this country has enjoyed since its inception.”[86] And Kennedy’s crusade is well funded and well organized. He is backed with grants, often for millions of dollars, from conservative trusts such as the Orville D. and Ruth A. Merillat Foundation and the Richard and Helen DeVos Foundation, which has over the years given nearly $6 million to his church organizations.[87] The drive to bring in new souls is also an open drive to broaden the political base of the movement and impose a theocracy.

The prayer partners are told to separate into clusters. Those in the room take turns practicing their testimonies in front of their group of three or four, with the other members critiquing the performance. The final version of each participant’s written testimony is to be turned in the next day. My prayer group has three other people, including one of the few African Americans, a thoughtful man who grew up in the church and was converted as a child; a middle-aged man who overcame drug and alcohol abuse as an adult through his conversion; and a grandmother, who said that as a child she had a morbid fear of death that was overcome only when she was saved and assured of eternal life. I pair off with the grandmother, who is chatty and friendly. We read our testimonies, trying to get them exactly right.

A woman from the church tells us how to share the Gospel with a person who suffers from dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. She heads teams that go into 24-hour nursing homes and assisted-living facilities.

“These precious people are basically confined to these types of facilities,” she says. “Now they say by the year 2025, there will be two seniors for every teenager on the face of this earth. And with multiplication and with people living longer, in the United States they say pretty soon there will be about 50 million people that are alive [who] will end up spending their final years in some type of facility. So this is an untapped resource.

“They’re always there,” she tells the group. “And so we get to go back and we get to see Miss Mary, week after week after week, and share with her.

“The other thing that we’re dealing with is different forms of dementia,” she adds. “The most common form is Alzheimer’s. So for most of us—and I mean, I forget things easily—we have to go back and repeat ourselves. But that’s OK. Maybe the first week we’ll just get through an introduction and maybe share our testimony, maybe the two questions. The next week we’ll go back, we’ll pick up with Miss Mary, maybe we’ll have to refresh her memory.

“One thing that we get a lot with the elderly,” she says, “they are so works-oriented because of the culture in which they were raised and having gone through the Depression. So we really have to talk about eternal life as a free gift. That has to be emphasized over and over and over.”

Disruptions, reluctance to accept the message, open hostility and interruptions during the evangelization process are always blamed on Satan, part of what is described to us as “spiritual warfare.”

“The devil is so obvious,” an instructor says. “I mean, he’s so easy to figure out.”

The instructor recounts the story of a house visit. The evangelists were sitting in the living room of a woman who asked the team to convert her unsaved husband. At the moment the evangelists were about to get him to accept Christ, the phone rang.

“It was an old-fashioned message machine where you could hear the person,” the instructor says. Through the loudspeaker on the machine, the group heard a child call out, “Daddy, Daddy, I know you’re in there.”

The group sat and listened to the plea of the child. Finally the father said, “‘Excuse me,’ and he walked over and just clicked it back off,” the instructor tells us. “He came back over, and my trainees at the time were just praying so hard, great drops of blood…that that guy could receive Christ. We got ahead of the distractions.”

6 notes · View notes

deancaspinefest · 2 years ago

Photo

r/Relationships

Author: prosopopeya & marbleflan | Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy Posting on Saturday March 18

I swear I'm a straight dude, kind of a ladies' man if I'm honest. I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type–maybe that's why I never bothered to get my ex gf (37F)'s last name… or her marital status. We were in the middle of a horizontal tango session, if you know what I mean, when her husband (37M, straight??) walks in. I've never looked twice at a man, but he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female. Even though he met me when I was getting naked with his wife, he never held it against me. They got divorced and somehow he became my best friend. He even let me move in with him when my pipes burst (not a euphemism) and I had nowhere to go. I think I might be in love with him. Is it possible to be straight all your life but gay for just one guy? Sometimes I think he might be into me as well, but then I think it's just 'cause he's kind of a weird dude. When I look at him, it feels like a hurricane inside me, like I'll burst if I don't kiss him. TLDR: Wondering if asking the guy (whose marriage I ruined) out is a good idea.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

"Where did you guys meet again?" "Oh, um. Through work." It's technically not not true... if you follow six degrees of separation rules. "I think you'd like him. He's funny-- Not like, conventionally funny, I guess, but he's got his own kind of sense of humor that kind of catches you off guard." His phone buzzes again, loud against the counter, and Sam cuts his eyes over to look at it. Dean slides it off the counter to slip it into his pocket. "He's going through a divorce," he blurts, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. "And he's just-- It's an adjustment, you know? He just really needs a friend right now." More true than his previous partial truth; in fact, that statement is objectively a true one, and it's Dean who's having trouble (apparently?) with parts of it. "Do you need to answer him then?" Sam asks, his tone softening, and Dean imperceptibly relaxes. "Oh, no, he's just elbow-deep into Dr. Sexy after I told him to check it out." Sam rolls his eyes again, laughing this time though, and he goes back to his nachos. "Are you sure being friends with you is the right move, if that's what you get him into?" "Come on, it's perfect breakup watching." "It's the TV equivalent of eating a pint of ice cream so I guess you're not wrong. So, are you helping him rebound?" Dean swallows his beer the wrong way and chokes. "What?" "You've been hanging out a lot." They've been out a handful of times at the Roadhouse, and Dean thinks that shouldn't count as a lot. "Not really sure that's where he's at," Dean says, mostly to the nachos. "Anyway, he wouldn't need my help." "No?" Sam prompts, sounding amused. "No way. He's got this approachable sorta hotness, you know, like he doesn't even realize it, and he dresses like a lump so it catches you by surprise." "Are you sure you're not dating him?" Dean's eyes snap up to find Sam smiling, the joke written all over his face, the picture of disbelief that his macho brother could possibly do something like that. "What?" "'Cas is so funny and hot,'" he teases, shaking out his hair. Sometimes, Dean thinks clearest through the panic, and this feels like one of those times when he throws a chip at Sam. "A good wingman knows how to sell," he says, and watches Sam laugh that one off too, leaning back down to eat his food. Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pokes around at his nachos some more, but suddenly nacho night doesn't seem as appetizing as it did before.

[continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 18]

#Destiel Fic #Destiel Art #Destiel Fanworks #DeanCas Fic #DeanCas Art #DeanCas Fanworks #Pinefest Previews #2023 Dean/Cas Pinefest #Author: prosopopeya #Author: marbleflan #Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy #enemies to friends to lovers #bisexual awakening #roommates

174 notes · View notes

obsidiancreates · 10 months ago

Text

One Undead To Another (Chapter 3)

(It's 1 AM and I work today so naturally I'm hyperfocused on writing. Trigger warning for blood drinking, POV of someone who's dying, and temporary death.)

Burton Guster wakes up to use the bathroom. He checks his phone as he snuggles back under his still-warm covers, a habit he developed pretty much the moment Shawn got a cellphone and the ability to send texts.

Following MY lead and proving you all wrong

Oh, no. He did not.

Halfway to the Spooky Mansion. Still a chance for you to join in.

Seriously are you ignoring me or did you forget to turn your volume up again :(

Going in, keeping your half of the check when I solve this.

Spooky mansion got way too spooky. Bury me with my Tears for Fears vinyls.

Gus immediately calls Shawn after reading that last text.

No answer. He waits for a text scolding him for calling during a snooping mission- he waits for ten minutes before he lets out a panicked scream and dials Lassie.

No answer there, fine. He calls Juliet next.

“Gus?” Her voice is groggy and scratchy. “This better be an emerge-”

“Shawn went back to that mansion.”

“He what? I- why am I even surprised?”

“His last text to me says he might be in trouble, Jules.”

“Gus, we ruled them out as suspects.”

“In those murders! In just one set of murders!”

“... That’s a fair point, actually. Okay, I will call Carlton, and we will check on Shawn. Are you going to come with us?”

“Yes, obviously I’m coming with you!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll pick you up on the way to Carlton’s. And Gus?”

“Yeah?”

“Change out of your pajamas before I get there.”

He looks down at his fireman pjs- the same he was wearing last time Shawn did this. Maybe they’re cursed. He should probably burn them and get new ones, just to be on the safe side. “Right.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jebus, O’Hara, why is Guster here?” Lassiter groans as he slumps, practically unwillingly, into his Ford Fusion.

“He was extremely helpful last time!”

“Thank you, Juliet. Besides, I’m the one Shawn is texting!”

“If he got himself shot again, I’m putting you both in the holding cells for the rest of the case,” Lassiter gurmbles as he starts the car and pulls out.

“If he got shot again, I’m sicking his dad on him.” If there anyone left to- no, no, he can’t think like that. He can panic and doom-spiral after he finds Shawn totally safe, healthy, and grinning with some stupid new piece of evidence. Because that’s how they have to find him.

“Whatever. We’re either going to save his ass again, or arrest it for breaking an entering. Either way, Guster stays in the car.”

Gus scoffs. “Yeah, alright.”

The car ride is quiet. Lassiter oozes irritation over being woken up. Jules hums along to the radio, either used to or simply resigned to situations like this being apart of her life- and probably trying to help Gus calm down. It’s working, a little. Gus feels a little silly about it, but it’s hard to panic when there’s someone humming nearby.

They’re only a few minutes away when all three feel a… twist.

Lassiter tenses at the wheel as Jules lets out a soft gasp and Gus’s stomach drops.

Something is wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong, and they don’t need to say it out loud to know they all feel it.

Lassiter floors it for the last stretch. He and Jules run up to the house with guns already drawn and fingers on the triggers, Gus behind them with a mounting dread as the mansion looms.

Lassiter has barely raised his hand to knock when the screaming starts.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn’s scream of pain is muffled, silenced, in the shoulder of The Boss. He feels her fangs dig, pressing deeper and deeper into his neck as she uses him like some kind of handsome juice pouch, or maybe a soup dumpling- yeah, definitely a soup dumpling. Should he be thinking about food right now? He is food- and being food hurts.

She bites deeper, and his next scream feels choked. He can feel his blood as it’s sucked out of him, a horrible unnatural feeling. It’s not like when he was shot, where his blood just oozed out of it’s own accord. It’s like his blood knows it’s being stolen, knows it’s being taken away, and it’s trying to cling to the inside of his veins with all of it’s thick, liquid-y strength.

He thinks he might be screaming again, or maybe moaning in pain? He’s making some kind of sound, but good god, she is making quick work of him. The world is going dull and fuzzy, his eyes drooping but never closing. The flickering candles cast strange shadows, making it look like more than four other people surround them- he sees a dozen, maybe more, it’s hard to tell, they’re all moving through each other. How much blood has he lost if he’s hallucinating already?

His fingers feel cold. No, actually- all of him feels cold. His fingers feel numb. He’s slumping against her now. He can’t hold his own weight anymore. Will they dump him in a field? No, that- they have something else planned for him. Don’t they? It’s starting to go away. Everything is starting to go away. There must be fifty people in the room now. There’s a sea lion in the corner. His arms have gone slack. Why can’t he close his eyes all the way?

“-ay strong.” He’s not sure who spoke. What did he name the other people again? How many were there? He was… investigating something. Right? It’s hard to think. It makes him tired. Someone is cradling him and holding him up, but it doesn’t feel nice. His neck feels the least nice.

“-wn. Shawn, stay with us, help is coming. Help is coming.”

He… he knows that voice. It’s… comforting. Who is that?

His eyes still won’t close. He feels cold. He feels his last dregs of blood clawing to stay inside of him. There’s pairs of feet, just in front of him, taking up his blurry darkening vision. A pair of white shoes, for… some kind of sport, Shawn doesn’t know, he can’t… connect. And a pair of… he doesn’t know, some kind of old lady shoes. He knows those shoes.

There’s a hand against his cheek. No, there isn’t. Yes, there is. No, there isn’t- but there’s something. It’s there and it’s not there, like- like cotton candy. That stuff is weird. A whole mouthful turns into nothing within seconds. Someone is saying something to him.

“-ay. It’ll be okay. They’re almost here.”

“So are we.” He knows that voice too. It’s not as comforting- but it’s not not comforting. It’s… someone. He can’t make the connection. He should’ve passed out by now. He’s lost enough blood to die, he knows that, if he knows one thing it’s that. Why is he still awake?

“We’ll make sure they find you.” That not-there hand is carding through his hair now as whatever is digging in his neck leaves- it’s the first sensation other than numbness he’s felt in… has it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? He’s not good at tracking time even when he does have blood. This is a nightmare. He hopes it’s a nightmare. Thinking hurts.

His head is pushed back. The shoes belong to people- that’s good to know. He can’t really see who. He isn’t sure what he’s capable of seeing right now actually counts as Seeing at all. Someone is yanking open his mouth.

“-or you. I’m here for you. You’re not alone right now.”

“I’m not sure he understands what you’re saying.”

“Shush, Mary. He needs to hear it anyway.”

Something is in his mouth. Something cold, and thick, and slugdy, and awful. He doesn’t have the strength to gag as it slides down his throat. It tastes rotten. It tastes wrong.

There’s a lot of it. He can’t swallow. He can’t gag. It lasts forever.

It reaches his stomach.

It burns.

He’s on the floor now- he didn’t feel his head hit, but it’s resting against something solid, so it must’ve. Hey, he can still make deductions. That’s cool. Everything is numb, but not numb, and everything hurts, but he can’t feel it. It hurts someone else, even though it’s him. It’s… far away. He’s far away. Someone is kneeling in front of him. Two someones. He can’t see them. His eyes are closed, finally. He doesn’t know how he knows they’re there.

“Go to sleep, Shawn.” … Oh. Oh, he knows where he knows that voice. He must really be dying, then. Or already dead.

“Gr’ma.” He can’t hear his own voice.

“Shhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. We’ll make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a sound pounding against his ears. He tries to lift his head to hear it better. It’s a dull roar, like a terrible low-quality recording of a rock concert. … Yeah, exactly like that. It’s screaming.

“Your friends will be okay too. I promise. Trust me, sweetheart. Just… let yourself sleep.”

He actually doesn’t think he has a choice- but it’s nice that she’s talking. It’s so much clearer than the screaming. He should probably care about that. He’s too far away to be able to.

Shawn takes a deep breath and relaxes.

He sighs.

He loses consciousness.

He does not breathe again.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the screaming starts Lassiter breaks the door down. It’s almost too easy- the wood is rotten. Who would live in a place like this? Someone not looking to stay long. Shawn had said that. Why hadn’t Gus believed him?

“SBPD!” Lassiter and Jules to in with guns raised and ready to fire- Gus feels safe enough behind them to follow.

No-one is home. If it weren’t for the ear-splitting screaming coming from somewhere, it would be eerie.

“Guster, go back to the car.” Lassiter doesn’t move. “Now.”

“Shawn is somewhere in here.” Gus can hear his fear leeching into his voice.

“We’ll find him,” Jules promises, just as rooted to the spot- something in the air feels wrong. A stillness, but a crackling, an energy but a void.

“Alright.” He can’t stand it anymore, he loves Shawn and he wants to find him but he can’t stand it anymore-

The door slams shut behind him.

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” Gus’s scream is lost among the chorus. The lights are flickering- no, that’s too mild a word for it, because the lights are going in and out and sparking and buzzing and it’s like the whole house is screaming-

Someone’s at the end of the entrance hall.

“Hands in the air!” Lassiter bellows, but the figure doesn’t put their hands up. The lights go out again. They come back on. The figure is closer.

“Stay where you are!” Juliet’s gun is steady as she aims it.

“-me? Testing, testing- forgive me. The afterlife doesn’t usually have this much bleed-over.”

Gus almost faints. He knows that voice.

“That’s impossible.” Lassiter swallows. He knows it too. They all do. “You’re worse at rescuing than Shawn,” Mary Lightly says, hands in the pockets of his racquetball uniform. “At least he was moving.”

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

14 notes · View notes

hashimasims · 4 months ago

Text

Take like 515 (over exaggeration obviously) of this ONE post because I kinda REALLY want it included in the story. If this flags again then FUQ IT I don't need it and this rant won't matter because no one will see it. The scene was heavily inspired by one of the MANY books I was reading at the time probably Wild Fire or Conspiracy Game both by Christine Feehan (I generally read 10+ books at the same time but those are the first two that come to mind besides ACOWAR) and I really enjoyed writing it (at least the original version) for whatever reason even with the content label and hiding under a cut it keeps getting flagged and hidden. A quick test between a post of just the images and just the text flagged the text post but not the much more explicit - though cropped or blurred - images post, both have since been deleted and I have shortened and cut up the text part so maybe it passes guidelines now which truthfully makes no sense to me when I can look up the tag WW or the full wicked title (don't know if that is marked for flagging not risking it) and find pics gifs or vids of the actual animations from the MOD without any content labels or post cuts (which now that I know about them I'm trying to use for any potential triggering content). I personally don't care about that let your flag fly just kinda upsetting that a set of words red flags my post when I try to write something akin to a romance novel and there's straight up simmie p - 0rn on this site if I wanted to go find it - I'm sure some of my posts from generation 2 with Ayre and his wife may constitute as such (though maybe of the soft variety since I tried to crop out the full deed even then - AND NONE OF THOSE POSTS WERE FLAGGED GRRR) - I may still post the rant part if this post gets flagged again. I'm trying to be a good tumblr user and follow the rules oh mighty and powerful bots and post reviewers but you're making it kind of difficult here

TW: Tiny bit of nudity of the pixel peoples Though there are no real bits to be seen (blurred/covered/cropped out) Things are getting a little extra explicity and do not necessarily pertain to the story So feel free to skip these posts of the #Glynnan Legacy VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

For those that do continue past the cut this is a new post, you are not seeing a repeat. Post #1 of Taehyung and Elucea's spicy 🌶️(only 1 pepper it's not that hot) content here (Which that post wasn't flagged but I still went back and added a content label just in case but thank you because that one had a bit more story in it)

[Final warning - Contains (now super blurred) nudity and I'll still call it 18+ storytelling though the original was a lot more thorough - Click the Keep Reading button at your own risk]

Beginning|Previous|Next

Elucea cried out as he surged forward. Even expecting the pain it was still a shock and she tried to move away but Taehyung held her to him.

Taehyung: Relax for me kuu wahi manō. It will pass just breathe. Elucea: What does that mean? Taehyung: Google translate says it means my little shark. Are you OK? Elucea: Can't always trust those online language translators but I do like the sound of it. Yeah I think I'm OK now. Taehyung: Wrap your legs around me. Yes just like that.

Elucea tried to think of everything that she'd read in romance novels, things she was suppose to do in this situation, but those books didn't prepare her for the sensations Taehyung was making her feel and she could only move against him, her body instinctively meeting his.

Elucea began sobbing his name, her nails biting into his back, her cries music to his ears and the two of them went over the edge together

Pure Paradise Taehyung thought as he gave her every last drop of himself.

He should have used protection or checked to see if she was on birth control but he wouldn't lie and say he wasn't thrilled with the idea of her getting pregnant. The idea of their child growing inside her filling him with pure satisfaction. The life they should have had centuries ago.

Dreams that were dashed away but now they had a second chance to make them a reality.

#glynnan legacy #Elucea Glynnan #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 legacy gen 6 #sims 4 legacy challenge #ts4 screenshots #ts4 gameplay #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 simblr #ts4 legacy #simblr #sims 4 story #sims 4 screenshots #the sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #the sims community #sorry for the rant #make it make sense

4 notes · View notes

butterfly-winx · 2 years ago

Note

First of all I would like to tell you that I love and find your redesign of Winx and their world very interesting. In your opinion, which Careers will they undertake (Also Aisha and Stella despite one day they will be Queens)

Thank you!!

Let me preface this by explaining that within the butterfly!verse, the girls' chosen profession is magic. People who are magic sensitive may seek some basic form of training to better understand and apply their talents, but few seek specialised secondary and higher education in magic. For members of high society such as the princesses, attending a school like Alfea is a matter of prestige: if you are talented with magic, you might as well get the best education the realms can offer. So within this, most girls do something with magic later in their life.

Stella I think is the only one who has a clear career cut out for her within the show that I gladly continue to expand on. She would open a beauty boutique - with a potential growth to a universe wide brand bolstered by her fame as a princess and member of the Winx. With Brandon as her business partner and occasional muse, she would work on this as a passion project until her father retired and she became queen.

At the end of Everything TM that I planned for the butterfly!verse plot, Layla would go for a break from princesshood and tour the Magic Universe with Orion (I have adopted him as an OC at this point, sorry) and perform as a magical engineer-without-borders kind of relief worker in communities in need. Throughout her later reign on Andros she would be focused on giving more power to communities and democratising their monarchy.

Bloom would be living a housewife life next to Stella and work as a cultural liaison between Solaria, Domino and Earth. I see her also doing some tutoring and teaching work in any of these communities, as she strikes me as a person who would be charmed by the berth of things the Magical Universe can offer even after all those years and be super excited about sharing it with others.

Maybe I should mention here that all the girls including Roxy become nymphs by the end of the plot.

Musa, sure would do music on the side to express herself, but her main job would be running the daily duties of nymphs as the first elected Head of a Nymph circle. Traditionally the youngest was chosen, but as her first and basically only decision as a leader, Roxy pushed for an electoral system and they voted for Musa. It's not a role she expected to hold in her life, but she definitely grows into it and gleefully enjoys strong-arming stuffy royals and politicians into doing things that are good for the Universe. And of curse keeping the Trix in check.

Tecna would run collaborations with different companies as a magifabrication expert. They are the Muse of Technology after all, and can offer insight on basically any technology ever developed after a little time spent observing the equipment in question. Most of their income is funneled into charitable projects on the side (Krystal keeps a portfolio for them).

Flora and Helia start a potions business during the run of the Plot tm and that keeps them occupied until they move to Lynphea and trade places being a full time parent to their children. On Lynphea Helia would head back to education and complete his studies as a witcher, after which he would find a job as an Artificer of fine tools (similar to magifabrication, which is technology supported magical mass production, artificing means the manufacturing of products by purely by magic).

Roxy to no one's surprise would love some animal rescue charity, using her magic to diagnose the ailment of the aimals brought in and heal them. She would too eventually take over the fey court of Earth, but only after Nebula's death as her successor.

And finally Daphne, who of course becomes the Princeps of Domino ruling their kingdom. Part of me also wants her to have school board rights to Alfea, cause it would be fun to see her go head to head with Faragonda, but I'm not sure of Faragonda should keep her title for as long...

And maybe a quick not on the boys as well:

Sky would be the King of Eraklyon and Brandon would be a freelance specialist, but slowly shift his attention to becoming the CEO to Stella and his business. Timmy would serve as a specialist alongside Nex in several other team configurations before "retiring" and putting his experience to use in teaching new generations at Red Fountain. Nex would continue as a specialist until real retirement age. Riven would spend a few years building a fresh start with his remaining siblings on a self-sustaining farm and working with underground rebels to abolish the dictatorship in his home country (Darcy would help him in this undertaking)

#winx club #winx club rewrite #asks #butterfly fic #winx bloom #winx stella #winx musa #winx flora #winx layla #winx aisha #winx tecna #winx roxy #winx daphne #winx timmy #winx brandon #winx sky #winx nex #winx helia #winx riven

41 notes · View notes

aerodaltonimperial · 1 year ago

Note

More please?

(have some emotional support horror blorbos)

He catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, during a practiced fast-walk in the airport terminal en route to baggage claim. The sight trips him up, knees knocking together; one ankle slips behind his other leg and he almost tumbles forward. He stops, because he can’t figure out why she’d be sitting like she is when they’re at their final destination. She’s hunched over, arms around her torso and waist bent, hair falling over her knees in little waves.

Jack turns around, backtracks, and sits down in the seat next to her. “Hey,” he tries. It sounds about as pathetic out loud as it had in his head.

Anna doesn’t answer, but her arms tremble more, so he knows she heard him.

“Do you have checked luggage?” When she nods, he continues, “Do you want to go and get it together?”

Maybe he shouldn’t offer. Is that something exes should do? Is that something appropriate when you come out of the bitter post-break-up phase only under extreme duress, after trauma has wrapped its icy fingers around both your wrists to keep you joined, after you’ve both moved on a little, in the butterflies-in-your-stomach, gentle kisses sort of way? Fuck, Jack doesn’t know. He wishes he had a manual for this.

“Those people died,” Anna whispers, muffled a bit against her hands.

Jack doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just gums out a simple, “Yeah,” for lack of anything better.

“They died, but we got out,” she says.

“Don’t feel bad about that,” Jack tells her, with more sharpness than he intends. “Don’t feel bad for surviving; never that.”

Anna lifts her head. Her eyes are rimmed with purple bruises and a few black streaks where her mascara has been dragged across her skin. “Why did we get to live when they didn’t?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“We shouldn’t have—”

“Anna, don’t,” he interrupts. He’s pretty sure he knows what this is; isn’t there some kind of official term for this? Don’t soldiers get this sometimes? “We just did. We’re still alive. You can’t go down that road, you can’t start doubting everything.”

“How can I not?” she asks, finally bristling, a stroke of anger in her system. “We came out of an impossible situation alive and there’s no explanation as to why.”

“Sometimes there isn’t an explanation. Sometimes things just happen.”

She goes quiet, contemplative. Jack doesn’t really know if anything he’s said can possibly help. She’s so deep in her own doubts at this point, he’s probably not the right person to pull her out. Maybe Julia can talk to her, rationalize some things. It helps to know Anna’s got someone, actually—a tiny bridge over the river of their decidedly un-amicable split. The rage he’d felt for months is gone now, glossed over by everything that put his world in a harsh perspective.

Jack stands up and holds his hand out for her. “Let’s go.”

It doesn’t feel strange when she takes it. It doesn’t even feel strange when she keeps her fingers curled in his as they make their way down to baggage claim. Maybe, they can make their own rules on this. Maybe they can be friends now, now that life’s pulled the rug out from under their feet.

He gives Anna’s hand a little squeeze, hoping he can pass a little of whatever she needs on, and is relieved when she squeezes back.

“Let’s get dinner soon,” he says.

“Together?” she asks, and he understands what she means even if the word rings deceptively simple.

“Yeah. All of us.”

He used to find solace in the quiet, dark corners of the backstage corridors, back before…well, before. He used to like how calm things would feel without the fluorescent overhead lights beating down on him, and now—now it’s the shadows he fears, the unknown. Hook still wants a quiet place to unwind, though, so he moves slowly through the halls that are brightly lit and ignores the tiny off-shoots he would once have crept down. The end of this hallway sports one of the industrial stairwells: good lighting, few dark patches, and easy viewing both above and below.

It’s pretty fucked up how those are the sorts of things that Hook looks for now. He pushes the door open, though, and realizes he’s not the only one. He pauses for only a split-second before moving in and settling on the top step next to Darby’s seated form.

They make it for five minutes or so before Darby sighs, stretching one leg out in front of him so his combat boot scrapes against the cement. “It’s the dark, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” It doesn’t even make sense, really; they’d been in the woods, not the shadows, but it’s the unknown that lives in the lack of light that feels the most dangerous. It’s the possibility that escape isn’t an option any more.

And here they are, the two people from their sorry little rag-tag band that, for whatever reason, had always been the primary targets.

“You sleep?” Hook asks.

“Like shit,” Darby replies.

Misery shared, it seems. Hook loops his arms over his knees, drawing them closer. A bit of dirt has smudged across the top of his sneaker, so he wipes it clean with his thumb. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better.”

Hook thinks it’s a lie, but he isn’t going to push it. This is weird, and it isn’t. He doesn’t really like Darby. And the problem is, he’s pretty sure Jack does.

“If you hurt him,” Hook starts, slowly, rolling each word carefully over his tongue, “they’ll never find your body.”

Darby stares at him. “Are you giving me a shovel talk?”

“I’ll hurt you way worse than those things will.”

Another lie. Darby huffs out a little laugh, toeing at the ground. “Yeah. Alright.”

“He’s a good person,” Hook says.

Darby takes a long time to respond to that. “Yeah.”

“Good talk,” Hook says. At least thinking about that weirdness helped him forget, for a few moments, about the constant need to look over his shoulder at all times he carries around now. He sighs, dragging his hands down his face. What a clusterfuck. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just…well. You know. Trying to find a place. Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Darby replies. There’s no hesitation there. He stares at his boots and draws his tongue across his lip. “You can stay.”

“Okay.”

Hook stays. They sit in almost companionable silence until they can’t put off the return any longer, and then they head back to medical together. Hook wouldn’t call them friends, but he’s pretty sure they at least aren’t enemies any longer.

And at this point, he’ll take any win he can find.

“I’ll just be five minutes,” Julia says, and Brody nods. He doesn’t look over again, because he’s always been good about respecting her space and wishes. Julia slips out the door, and heads down into the basement.

There’s nothing down here but the janitor’s closets and the electrical rooms. Any room will serve fine, but she’d rather be comfortable, so she picks out one of the small rooms that houses the larger floor cleaning machines. Someone has put a chair up against the wall—she sits in it, crossing her legs. The threads hum.

She leaves the lights off, so the room is black.

Then she waits.

It doesn’t take long; he’s predictable like that. The air beside her chair shimmers, the air sizzling with the energy he brings, the kind of change that most people are oblivious to.

“Have they found him?” Julia asks.

“No,” Danhausen replies. “Danhausen gave the doctor the coordinates, but they haven’t.”

It’s the answer Julia expected, but didn’t wish to receive. She sighs. “They won’t, then; not there anyway. He won’t stick around an area now crawling with personnel.”

“None of them will.”

Julia taps her fingers against her thighs. She is off-balance; she doesn’t <i>like</i> being off-balance. She has worked very hard to steady her footing, and seeing it slip away is like a punch to the gut. “That’s three, then.”

“Two out of containment, and one…that never was.”

“It wasn’t just us,” she says, quietly. Even in the dark, she fears that someone could be listening in. The walls have ears, after all. “They weren’t just after us.”

Danhausen is silent for awhile. She has pressed on a bruise, a sore spot, and he always needs time to readjust after that. “No,” he finally admits. “They weren’t.”

“This could get dangerous.”

“Isn’t it already?” he shoots back.

“We may not be able to protect them. If it comes down to it, can you do what needs to be done with 049?”

Danhausen doesn’t hesitate this time. “Danhausen will split him open from navel to nose.”

“Good.” Julia nods. “We will need everyone.”

“Can they help?” he asks.

She considers this. There is a different type of strength in the others, one that isn’t threaded as magic in their veins, but it’s strength all the same. “Yes. They may not think they can, but they will.”

A pause. And then: “Julia. How are you?”

Her arm aches. The web remains as a tattoo, left behind and slightly bumpy. In the mornings, her sight is cloudy and she cannot find the right cords. But she says, “Yes.”

“You’re not a very good liar,” he chides.

“Only around you,” she says, and smiles.

#tag so you don't lose this shit #here i am once again writing fanfic of my own fanfic lolol

4 notes · View notes

musecaravan-info · 1 year ago

Text

Severus Snape

"How far can you go down the wrong path before you can’t get back on the right one?" ~ Carolee Dean, Take Me There ~

Basic Information

FACE/BODY CLAIM: Adrien Brody

AGE: That depends 100% on the timeline you want him in

EYES: Black

HAIR: Black

HEIGHT: 6'1

PRIMARY OUTFIT: Severus doesn't really care much about his appearance regardless of the timeline. The only caveat to this rule is his Professor robes. Those are always neat and pristine.

His personal wardrobe (especially once he could afford to buy his own clothes) is worn, but well-cared for. Basically , he doesn't believe in waste. He has exactly the amount of clothes he feels are necessary, and wears them until they wear out to the point of irreparability.

His wardrobe consist of dark colors and long sleeves (to hide old scars... and other things.) Everything he wears is simple in make and design - no patterns or frills- just solid colors. He prefers to not stand out whenever possible.

Personality

The personality you get when dealing with Severus will rely heavily on who your muse is and what point in time we're writing in. He is, after all, many different things to many different people at different points in his life. In general, Severus is a quiet individual, who's mastered the art of observing while remaining invisible. He's spent his whole life 'getting used to disappointment' and it shows in his reactions to people and to the world at large. There's a lot of anger pent up inside of him. He tries to keep it in check - to not be like his father - but he's not always successful.

Powers & Weaknesses

Severus is an incredibly powerful wizard. In addition to being HIGHLY skilled at potions, he is an unsurpassed Occlumens AND Legilimens. He also excels at wandless magic, and can cast (and expertly control) a fully-formed Patronus. From a young age, he's also had the ability to create spells 'on the fly,' so to speak, using his knowledge of spellwork and Latin to summon spells only he knows how to do.

As for weaknesses... none when it comes to his magic. However, his personality leaves a lot to be desired. He allows bitterness, jealousy, and anger to rule many of his actions, and can be very self-serving when the mood strikes. I would say his biggest weakness is being unable to see the good in others. It's almost like he's afraid to. The only person he ever saw any good in was taken from him, and he never wants to get attached like that again.

Romance

It can happen. But even with people he knows it MUST build over time. The only obvious exception to this rule is Lily. He loves her. Always has, always will. With others he needs to trust... and then to care. Those aren't easy things for him, but that CAN happen, given enough time and patience (...and maybe an angsty scene where he thinks the person is dead, for example. ;D)

Where to Find Him

This will depend on the timeline you want to write in. Let me know what you're thinking, and I'm happy to give a few ideas about the best place your muse can meet him. ^_^

Verses

Just because a verse isn't listed here doesn't mean I'm not interested in writing it. I adore all kinds of AUs, and welcome the chance to get creative with my muses. If you've seen a verse that another of my muses has, and you'd like to see this muse in something similar, let me know. You can also check out my 'Plot Ideas' tag, too. ^_^

Main Verse:

Severus Snape is a canon character from the Harry Potter universe. A lot of what you’ll find here is canon to the books. This canon universe is my default when writing starters, etc. unless you ask me for something AU. The timeline I choose will likely depend on who your muse is. However, I'd much prefer we discuss it beforehand, so we're both on the same page. Thanks! :)

Current/Ongoing Threads

If your thread with Severus isn't listed here it's probably because it's been long enough since your last reply that I thought you'd dropped it. Message me to let me know you're still interested, and I'll happily add you to the list (with no pressure for a reply.) ♡

None at the Moment

Your Thread Here!

Stuff That's Good to Know Before Starting a Thread

I ask that you please keep in mind that there is only so much about Severus that’s actually canon - the rest is much more about perception. And if my perception differs from yours, telling me (while it might spark an interesting discussion) probably isn’t going to make any difference in how I choose to roleplay him.

I have watched the movies and read the books more than once (except for Deathly Hallows - that one is too hard for me to get through emotionally.) However, please know that I do not have a photographic memory, so if I make a mistake with something don’t be afraid to tell me. As long as you’re not rude about it, I promise to hear you out. ^_^

Links

Please keep in mind, this blog is an ongoing work in progress. Not all of these links may lead somewhere, but they're here because they link to potential tags for this muse.

All Things Severus

Headcanons

Drabbles

All Threads

Ask Replies

Meme Replies

Aesthetics

Face

Special Links

Original Blog

Quotes that Fit Severus

Fandom Meta about Severus that I Like

Return To Full Muse List

0 notes

aeviterncl · 1 year ago

Note

5, 7, 9 , 12, 13, 23 / random! you can answer each one with whoever you like

MEME ┊accepting.

Answers are under the cut due to the length of this post.

5. “How easy is it for your muse to say, “I love you”?

Shea is the type of person who directly conveys his feelings. He finds it very easy to say he likes someone, even if it isn't in the romantic sense. In fact, he says it so effortlessly that many often question whether he means it seriously (AKA romantically). While Shea does often play the dense or innocent card, he is much more attuned to implied meanings than others give him credit for. He usually does mean what he says when he likes someone and isn't shy about repeating it either. Most of the time he uses the phrase "I like you" but he can still use "love" without a problem—although he hasn't really found an opportunity to use "I love you" yet, as willing as he would be to say it.

7. What is the longest relationship your muse has been in?

Out of everyone on the current roster, Marcel is the only one who has legitimately been in a romantic relationship. He used to have flings almost constantly while in attending university with whichever girl was alright with his rules (this was his attempt to cope with feelings surrounding Karoline). The relationships lasted no longer than a couple of months each though, as many realized how awful he was due to his projection issues. At this point, he prefers to pretend they never happened, but those who hold grudges are likely to bring up this shameful stage of Marcel's life to get under his skin.

9. How physically affectionate is your muse with their partner?

Izan communicates with action by nature. His words aren't his strong suit, and his actions often convey his intentions much better. Even in non-romantic partnerships, he defers toward being physically close to people, whether it be leaning over their shoulder, snuggling a bit too close for comfort, placing his hand on someone's hip, and the like. He also ruffles people's hair and gives lots of hugs from behind regardless of the defined relationship.

I'd expect that in romantic relationships, Izan would be even more affectionate now that he has the excuse of the new relationship status. Expect a lot of sleepy forehead kisses in the morning, more clingy behaviors like keeping them in bed a little longer, and if he was truly feeling bold, he might be more adventurous with his acts in the sense of maybe luring them into more spicy activities. At some point, he'd definitely make a habit of biting a particular spot on them as a form of marking to keep others away (including his brother).

12. Does your muse enjoy giving/receiving grand gestures of love?

Although he is grateful for gifts, Ryder is not the best at accepting them. His low self-worth makes it near impossible to accept something from others unless it's some sort of punishment or penalty or some leftover thing that needs to be thrown out. He doesn't see himself as doing anything valuable enough to warrant a gift or affection. He is much more low-key and despises grand gestures; grand gestures put a lot of pressure on him and he can't bring himself to be honest in those moments, choosing the answer that would result in the least amount of pain for his partner.

In short, he finds receiving gifts to be really stressful because then he has to think about what to do in return (and with him, nothing is ever good enough for others).

13. What personality trait/type does your muse find most attractive?

Mirella is someone who is looking for someone who makes her feel seen. What she wants is someone who can see through her conduct and mannerisms. She isn't the best at being open with her feelings and she fails to show herself kindness. Her ideal partner would be a companion who she can lean on for support and keep her in check when she goes too far in depriving herself of her needs (as she punishes herself for needing to feed from humans, forming a deal with a demon, and killing her brother on accident).

Obviously, she will give back just as much if not more, but someone she can be honest and vulnerable with is a must. Being open about how she got to her current life is not easy and having a partner who can accept everything about her would be a dream come true.

Zerah's answer is here if you'd like to read his.

23. Is your muse smooth when it comes to flirting? How do they handle being flirted with?

Once someone manages to get past his aggression, they'll find out that Souta is really just a soul unable to handle love and kindness. He did not grow up with these sorts of things, so receiving affection, praise, and delicate/gentle touch are foreign to him—foreign enough to get him flustered and panicking. Flirting is something that will either get him extremely enraged to the point of literally taking out his bat to club people with or shock him enough to make him lose any sense of functioning he had prior—resulting in his aggression dissipating into nothing.

On the flip side, Souta is awful at flirting. He couldn't flirt even if he tried. Smooth lines will make him cringe, and he isn't delicate by nature. He is more on the forceful side and intimidating, so the typical approach of treating others delicately doesn't come easy to him. However, he is capable of showing he cares in his own, somewhat harsh, way. It just wouldn't be considering flirting by any means.

#malaeartes #* ✽ ❪❪ asks ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ shea ↠ headcanons ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ marcel ↠ headcanons ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ lucero / izan ↠ headcanons ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ ryder ↠ headcanons ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ mirella ↠ headcanons ❫.#* ✽ ❪❪ souta ↠ headcanons ❫.#;; this post is really long so I put it under the read more #;; but the individual answers are short and I feel bad about it #;; but I haven't written most of these guys yet so this is speculation on my part #;; wouldn't know more until I write more--you feel?

1 note · View note

dailyaudiobiblechronological · 2 years ago

Text

4/10/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

1 Samuel 9 - 12

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm Jill. Today is the 10th day of April. Had to think about where we're at. Let's just put this into perspective. At the end of this month will be one third of the way through the year already. What in the world is happening? I don't know how those days didn't fly by when I had four little ones at home back in the day. But now that everybody is older, they seem to be flying by. Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological, where we go through the word in chronological order every day. I'm honored to be here with you, reading the Bible for us, but also just a part of this amazing community. We're continuing in the book of First Samuel today, and we're reading First Samuel, chapters 9, 10, 11 and 12. And this week we're reading the New Living Translation. Let's jump in. First Samuel, chapter Nine.

Commentary

Okay, so we have a new king. His name is Saul. And I don't want to oversimplify this story today, but basically Saul went to find his father's lost donkeys, and in the meantime, God appointed him king. That's completely oversimplifying the story, but well, it's also what happened. So we are saying goodbye to Samuel, who was the last judge to rule in Israel, and we are getting acquainted with Saul, Israel's first king. And of course, we know that Samuel's sons were appointed to be the rulers of Israel, but they weren't fit to lead. These men were corrupt, and so they were unfit to lead, even though they would have been appointed the next in line to lead. Okay, so Saul is the guy. And so they go to appoint Saul the king, and he seems to be hiding in the baggage, which is a profound statement in itself. Boy, do we hide in some baggage. And we have seen so far many leaders who have lived in the fear of God. Moses maybe being one of the greatest, Noah also living in the fear of God. But what we're going to see is Saul, who will end up being a very insecure man, and Saul lives in the fear of the people. We're going to see a leader of a different kind altogether. So this is just the beginning, just the introduction of Saul. Hang tight, it's going to get bumpy.

Prayer

Father, how we thank you for your word. Thank you for who you are. We thank you that we do not need to be afraid of you, but we do stand in awe and reverence of you. But so many times we give far more credit to the opinions of man, to the accolades of man, to we look for our worth and far too many people. And we so easily get distracted when we need to solely focus and keep our eyes on you, knowing who you say we are, knowing who you created us to be, because we're made in the very image of you, Almighty God. So before this story even really gets started I pray that we would refocus. I pray that we would evaluate the voices in our lives and which ones we live for the opinion of, for the praise of, for the affirmation of and that we would realign ourselves re-prioritize giving you that space and that place in our lives knowing that you do not condemn us. You will lovingly correct us, you will lovingly discipline us, but you never condemn us. We thank you for that. We pray this now in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen.

Announcements

Daily Audio Bible that's home base, check it out if you have not thank you for your patience with the app. That had to be frustrating for all of us all the way around. The issue is fixed and I want to just publicly acknowledge how amazing our tech team is and how diligent they were to work on that until it was fixed and it was just one of those fluke things that was out of our hands. Technology, you just got to go with it. But thank you for your patience. We greatly appreciate it. Website check it out. Take a look around if you have not thank you for your partnership. We could not do this without you. If the Daily Audio Bible has been life giving to you and you would love to help keep the Word of God going forward every single day, you can do so several different ways. DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee 37174. Or using that mobile app hit the Give icon. It's up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device and then using the website lastly, look for the Give icon. We are a community that prays for one another. If you would like prayer, if you'd like to pray for someone that's previously called in several different ways for you to do that also 800 583-2164 that line is specifically for Chronological with that specification several really important pieces. You have two minutes on the prayer line at the end of your prayer which please speak clear and concise in your phone. At the end of the call, hit Submit and then turn that little wheel over to Chronological. That's a really important piece. If you don't, we may not get your phone call and that would just be really sad. So please do that. And lastly, if you would like to connect with a fellow DABber. We ask you that you use our social media platforms for that Daily Audio Bible, Daily Audio Bible Chronological, DAB Friends and DABC Friends And then my own personal place that I love to connect with other ladies, that's at Daily Audio Bible Women and fellas, that's for the ladies only. If you click like or follow, you will get all of the updates at all of those places. Looking forward to a great week with all of you, and I look forward to turning the page with you all tomorrow. Until then, I'm Jill. Love one another.

Community Prayer Line

Hi, my name is Braden and I'm from Texas, and I'm just really praying for my friend Eli. He lives at my RV park and we're friends. I just want to point him back to God because I want to point him to God because I don't think he's really with God right now. He's just not knowing about God. His parents aren't taking care of them too much. They're not telling him about Jesus. I'm just here to say, can someone pray for him? He really needs some prayers. See ya.

Hey, family. It's Adrian. This mighty tortoise. I just need a little extra hugs and prayers to get me through the month of April. It's turning out to be a little bit harder than normal. It's a month of beginnings and a month of endings for me. Just 36 years ago, I met Tom and we started dating and then of course got married and married for 30 years. And then five years ago, he got really sick the beginning of April, and I lost him the end of April. And 27 years ago, the beginning of April, I solidified my friendship with my best friend Tom Lou. And of course you guys know that I lost him in January, so it's a little bit tougher this year. It's just hard. So just finding myself crying a lot. I have a Steven Minister who's going to come start to visit me when I can keep the windows open to keep the airflow going and keep it safer. So that'll be soon. But meanwhile, if you guys could just help pray for me and just hold on to me, I appreciate it. I think I'll just be crying a little bit more, so thank you. Meanwhile, I'll just keep praying for everybody else and that'll help. And I've got Maxi. She never fails to keep me going, so I love you guys. Thank you so much. Your friend, Adrian.

This is Jersey Jane for Jesus. Cynthia, I just heard you call in for the first time on the DABC and want to welcome you. I'm glad you found our site because we are a wonderful family of care giving and prayers and praise. I wish that God would come down and see your eyes and what your problem is and that our Jesus, the great healer, could heal your eyes so that you don't need to have cataract surgery again or your cornea surgery. And I also want to pray for Songbird that she can control her anger. I've had anger issues and found the root of it to be from my father and it's possible Songbird, that your anger goes back many, many years. So I pray to the Lord that you should calm down, that you could inspect what happened to you and be able to look inside with Jesus's help and see what's causing it and learn to stop it, know when it's starting and stop it at that moment. Dear Lord, I pray for both these ladies that they should both be healed in Jesus name. Amen.

0 notes

valgasnewsthings · 2 years ago

Text

Atherosclerosis is a rust of life.

Please give to look our doctors, which on the pages for zoz are good describing lots of diseases, results of my tests, done at hospital. Am done a tomography for head, and arteries scanning. Results are bad as cerebrovascular disease due to atherosclerosis, hypertension, and consequences for repeating destroys a brain blood circulation.And on right now am I using, recommending by neurologist as citoflavine, betagistinstatins and said that for all life. And on war we are hungry, but today we are eating, but all is cholesterl some-kind. Mexidol am used of pills, actoegine are injections, maybe your specialists will advise me.

Accused is cholesterol.

If cholesterol in blood is higher, than norm, he is depositing in arteries walls, and those, who are feeding for head brain and heart, hardening theirs blood supply. And to rise blood flow to a suffering from insufficient organs, organism rises pressure. And in result, developing rising pressure. In result, hypertension displaying as due to atherosclerosis, a disease in which forming atherosclerotic plaques are on the walls of vessels, protruding in theirs space, and narrowing her significantly. And thus are walls filled with cholesterol, and calcium for arteries are staying fragility, like corroded by rust are pipes, and in a small pressure jump there are ability to burst and in result is happening acute brain blood circulation /DBB/ Is stroke or infarcts myocarditis, and DBB is happening a not just in cortex for big hemispheres, but in cerebellum, that is happening with dizziness and inflexibility, thus for patients prescribing preparations are betaver, betagistin, betasek, vertnan, vestibo, vestinorm, tagista.

And timely find hide threat, and for healthy peoples need for 1-2 times/year check blood test on cholesterol, and rule is such, that blood from vein on biochemical test is doing on a morning on an empty stomach. Dinner before this test is light. If level for common cholesterol are 5.5 ml/m or lower, all is in norm, atherosclerosis is not risking for you, keep this stat under control, every year checking it.

From 5.2-6.5 ,that you are entering in risk zone for atherosclerosis developing.

6.5-8 ml is diagnosis is moderate hypercholesterolemia.

8 ml/l is threat hypercholesterolemia.And a level for cholesterol is higher a norm?Thus a need blood test on an especial protein-faty connects are lipoproteins for high and low density as a calling a good and bad cholesterol. Bad cholesterol it has the right to rise on 3.4 mml/l, and a level for good is not must descend is lower on 1.6 mml/l.

And if bad cholesterol comes out from control, thus are creating for prerequisites for a fast progressing atherosclerosis, and this is mine for delayed-action.Where is thin, there are breaking :mangled by plaques are vessels are burst on any time.For the prevention a vessel catastrophe, keep cholesterol in bridle with diet, feasible motor regime and special remedies are statins, normalizing his level as atorvastatin, lovastatin, pitavastatin, pravastatin, rozuastatin, simvastatin, fluvastatin, cerivastatin natrium.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/VwGNZzI via https://ift.tt/8gTrMtI

0 notes

bucketorandomness · 1 year ago

Text

Danny knew books should be treated a certain way, but he hadn't realized they were quite so fragile. ((This got longer than anticipated))

((So, I'm a little obsessed with how many book emoji are on the standard Windows lineup. I'm not sure what they'll look like on Mac or Mobile, but for anyone on Windows desktop, they were very specifically chosen. Because I'm Extra™ like that.))

-📗-

He wasn't a king, but the boy loved enough people to make his own kingdom.

The boy was also very confused by the blank pages from such an obviously well-loved tome. It had been somewhere in Germany, and though the circus never carried much, the little book always made its way back into his bag to come with them. He liked to tell the little book all the things that happened during his day, and the book would tell him things back, like the time a bunch of campers encountered a green bear.

He tried to be careful with the book, but there's only so much he could do while traveling the world. The ink started to run, and it made certain sections of the pages hard to read. He carefully made a cover out of one of Haley's spare posters, and that same poster-covered book stayed with him when Batman swooped in on the worst day of his life.

-📙-

He wasn't a king, but the boy was still very noble.

The boy was also very confused when he picked up the book and found the pages seemingly empty, devoid of any writing. It told the most wonderful stories, though. When Willis got really bad, or when his mom had a bad day, he could open the book and be told tales outrageous and amazing, and he could safely disappear into those worlds for a short time and be safe.

He was very careful with the book, though. It was old, and worn, and there were so many pages missing he couldn't always keep track of the story they told, but he loved that book with its cracked spine and took it with him when Batman swooped in to take him off the streets.

-📘-

He wasn't a king, but the boy knew how to rule with an iron fist.

The boy was also mildly disappointed when he opened his parents' gift to find, not a picture album like he'd been hoping, but an old and very empty journal. He still used it for storing his most prized pictures, though. Pictures of Batman and Robin. It was only after he'd muttered aloud about the contents of his pictures that he found writing in the book. It seemed to talk about injuries a lot. Missions like the ones Batman and Robin went on, and the consequences of not having the preparation or backup needed.

He wished he had been more careful with the book. The pictures had each rubbed off on the pages, leaving ghostly images behind that obscured whatever ink showed up. It was that very same book he brought to Batman when a Robin was needed most.

-📕-

He wasn't a king, but the boy had the potential to become one.

There was only mild surprise when he found the book waiting on his nightstand. It was obviously another test. Maybe by Mother. Grandfather hadn't used books for his tests in a while, after all. Only, it was empty when he opened it. So, he hid the book away and checked on it again another time, only to find tales of a family much different from his own. It had been confusing, but if this information was something Mother thought he needed to know, he would read it and remember that not every mother demanded to be called Mother, and not every mother could be kind.

Despite his care for the book, life in the League of Assassins leaves marks on everything, especially something as fragile as paper. Rips, tears, and the remains of a burning poison obscured some of the stories. When it was time to be sent to Batman, though, the boy packed his book and hoped his father would maybe be a little like Jack and less like Grandfather.

-📚-

Though Robin's career started with vengeance-loneliness-desperation-violence, the boy thought it was the best thing to have happened to him. He had a warm home, and good food, and Batman cared about him so, so much. It was still a little odd sometimes, especially compared to before Robin, but he always had something to help him feel better.

When all else failed, the book was still there, still beloved and worn and falling apart. Only, one day, instead of a story, the book was filled, cover to cover, with the same words over and over and over and over.

"HELP; MAKE ME WHOLE. HELP; MAKE ME WHOLE. Help; MAKE ME WHOLE. HELP; MAKE ME WHOLE."

It was easy enough to read the message through all the damage, but Robin was only a child. He was a very smart child, and very well trained, but still just a child. So, he brought the book to the smartest man he knew, someone who would never ignore a cry for help. He brought the book to Batman, and after he'd explained the situation, the man simply asked,

"What?"

"Another one?"

"Again?"

"Are you sure?"

-📔-

Danny knew books should be treated a certain way, but he hadn't realized they were quite so fragile. He hadn't realized what could happen if you made copies of a magic tome and then played jigsaw puzzles with the pieces. He hadn't realized he'd been so hurt until a boy found-stole-received-hid him.

He bonded with the boy, and it gave him time to pull himself together, to grasp at his scattered memories and put them in their proper order. It didn't take all his 16 years, but with four boys living four years all at once? He had plenty of time.

And now that he knew himself again? Now it was time to call for help and make himself whole once more.

Prompt:

Danny gets trapped in a spellbook. He binds himself to whoever touches him next. The only way to release the bind is by either freeing Danny or doing so many things the book says (which the book is blank and Danny can control what is in it). Shenanigans

#i did a thing #he's a phantom #batfam #heavily inspired by Windows default emojis #went looking for a book emoji for Reasons I No Longer Remember and discovered #There's So Many #I also couldn't decide which Bat to give Danny's Book so I chose All Of Them #in case they don't translate well i'll try to describe them #what's important to know is there's a stack of books going- from top to bottom -green orange blue red 📚#it's also important to note that there are single books in each of these colors 📗📙📘📕#Dick's section is Green #Jason's is Orange #Tim's is Blue #and Damian's is Red #so when they're all narrating at once it's under the stacked books emoji #and then there's a blank tan notebook under that for Danny's section 📔#imma be honest this was supposed to be a warmup for something else #((Eyes. Nelka. I'm sorry it's already so late rn but I'll get right on the thing I promise))#now let's see if tumblr will eat this post or not shall we?#I've been getting autosave errors for a hot minute and it has me Concerned

2K notes · View notes

steddieassheg0es · 2 years ago

Text

Score One Harrington

“You seriously brought that here?”

Steve isn’t sure if he should be mad or embarrassed, or some combo of the two as he stares blankly at the board in front of him with the familiar “You Rule/You Suck” written on it. There’s still a tally of 0 to 6. And it is currently resting on the break room table at Family Video.

“Of course I did. Gotta keep that ego of yours in check, your highness.” Robin laughs. “Besides, how else am I supposed to entertain myself on a slow day? Watching you strike out is the highlight of my shift. Or was, anyway. I haven’t seen you shoot your shot since Scoops.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if spider monsters and getting drugged by Russians doesn’t put me in the mood.”

“Aw Stevie, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Steve hold back a groan as he hears the voice of the real reason he hasn’t even thought of flirting with anyone in a while now. Normally he’s thrilled when Eddie drops in to hang out with them at work, but he’d love to keep the humiliation of this to just Robin. The fact that he’s got his hair tied back and is wearing a fucking crop top does not help the situation.

“I know you can read, Munson. That sign on the door is there for a reason. Last I checked you’re not an employee.”

“Like a sign has ever stopped me before. Speaking of signs, what’s with that thing, who sucks?”

Robin lights up with vicious glee and he knows all hope that she’ll spare him is lost.

“Steve-o. Turns out the rumors are so not true. Whoever said he was charming was delusional. I’ve been keeping tally of his epic inability to score.”

Eddie’s face scrunches up adorably with confusion. “Steve can’t get a girl?”

“Nope, you should see him in action. It’s painful.”

—

Eddie finds that incredibly hard to believe. He’s so undeniably charmed by Steve without the man even trying, he can’t imagine being able to resist if he were.

Still, a selfish part of him is glad that Steve’s having no luck with the ladies. Which is dumb. Single or not Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

But hey a guy can dream.

“Aww Stevie, you’ve lost your touch? That’s a damn shame.”

“Shove it, Munson. That board is woefully out dated. I haven’t struck out in a while now.”

Robin snickers. “Only because you haven’t tried.”

Eddie doesn’t think Robin sees just how uncomfortable Steve is with the continued assault on his lack of a love life. He feels bad for his earlier joy. Steve deserves to be wanted, to be loved. By someone he wants back. Eddie’s pretty sure he’s a huge romantic even if he wouldn’t admit it. Steve’s the kind of guy who has so much love to give, it must be hard to have no where to put it.

“I’m sure you just need some practice to get your groove back, man, don’t sweat it.”

—

Steve thinks something in his brain must have short circuited. It’s the only explanation for why he does what he does next.

Which is to lean forward into Eddie’s space. He gently tucks one of the curls that has escaped his bun behind his ear. He lets his fingers trail down Eddie’s cheek as he pulls away.

Eddie has turned a lovely shade of pink, and stand frozen in place. Steve pushes forward with his stupidity.

“You must not have any trouble, hm? Pretty doe eyes. Those dimples. Bet you can get anyone you want.”

He can see Robin out of the corner of his eye, staring in shock. And maybe a little bit impressed. There is definitely judgement on her face. Whatever game he thinks he’s playing, she sees right through him. He chooses to ignore her for the time being.

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. He’s blushing to the tips of his ears and seems to be at a loss for words. His eyes flick over to Robin, and then suddenly he’s flinching away from Steve.

“Hah. Right, yeah point made. You still got it. Congrats. I’ll uh…I’ll see you guys later.”

He barely gets the words out before he flees, and Steve is left crushed. And wondering how he can possibly salvage their friendship after he just made Eddie so clearly very uncomfortable.

—

Shit. He’s such an idiot. For a moment he let himself get caught up. To fall prey to incredible force that is Steve Harrington flirting. The second Steve crowded in to his space, the conversation they had just been having vanished from his mind.

When he saw the look on Robin’s face, reality set in.

Of course he wasn’t actually flirting with Eddie. He was making a point. Showing off his charm, still fully intact. Eddie feels the shame and embarrassment clogging his throat. He knows Steve didn’t mean anything by it, he’s too good to intentionally fuck with Eddie this way if he knew, but it doesn’t stop him from dying inside.

He’s back in his van before he even realizes he’s moved, fighting back the urge to vomit. How the fuck is he ever going to face him again? Explain why the hell he cut and run like that? If Steve doesn’t figure it out, he knows Robin certainly has. He’s pretty sure she’s had her suspicions about his feelings for Steve for a while now, no way she has any doubts after that horrible scene.

He’s so completely fucked. The best he can hope for now is that Steve will be a bit distant but at least stay his friend.

Shit.

—

“Well that was certainly…interesting.” Robbin wanders over to the break room table and puts a tally down under “You Rule” with a dramatic flourish. “I mean he did run away, but I think you still earned a point. So Steve, now what?”

“What are you talking about? He ran away. Robbie he couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Jesus, I freaked him out. What the fuck was I thinking?” His voice is shrill with panic.

“Woah there. Calm down, dingus. Did you not see the look on his face before he took off? I thought his face was going to actually catch on fire he was so red, oh my god. As hilarious as the two of you being total idiots is, it’s also getting kind of sad at this point.”

Steve is pacing, hands in his hair. He’s not really absorbing anything Robin is saying to him, too busy freaking out. Seriously, what was he thinking? His pride was wounded in front of his crush so he decides to…flirt with him to prove a point?! There’s no way Eddie doesn’t know now. How can he explain that he didn’t mean it?

Well he did mean it, but not really, he hadn’t intended to ever let this slip. He was fine with just being friends, had no delusions of Eddie feeling the same. No matter how much Robin insisted the other man was definitely gay. Didn’t mean he liked Steve. Hell Steve was shocked they were even friends, he knew Eddie could do so much better than him.

“Steven!”

He gets the feeling she’s been trying to get his attention for a while now. “I hate when you call me that.”

“At least it caught your attention. You seriously need to chill out. Listen, I know I’ll never get it through your thick skull that Eddie likes you-“

“He doesn’t!”

“We’ve been over this. I’ve literally never seen him smile at anyone the way he smiles at you…” He opens his mouth to interject again, but she quickly and loudly keeps talking. “BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW. The point is, heart eyes or no, Eddie’s not going to stop being friends with you for being bi, Steve. That’s not who he is.”

Steve stops his pacing, collapsing into a heap on the floor leaning against the wall. His head in his hands, he lets out a deep sigh. Tries desperately to hold back the tears he can feel burning behind his eyelids.

“I know that. I’m not afraid he’s gonna be a homophobe. Or biphobe. But being accepting of a guy who likes girls and guys, and being accepting of a guy liking you are two different things. Rob, if my crush on you hadn’t been 90% based on us just being awesome together and 10% me desperately wanting to be with someone who actually liked me as a person…If I hadn’t gotten over it once I realized it wasn’t real, you really think you could have stayed my friend? Knowing I was pining after you?”

Robin looks uncomfortable at the thought and he knows he’s right. “I mean that’s different. I’m not into guys, any guy being into me is weird and uncomfortable. And I’m not Eddie. I love you, but I don’t think the sun shines out of your ass. Steve, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could do to fuck things up with Eddie. At least not in a way that’s totally beyond repair.””

“I don’t know Robin.”

“Well here’s an idea, dingus. Go and talk to him. Don’t let this fester. It’s a ghost town in here anyway, I’ll cover for you. Don’t argue with me! Just go.”

And with that he’s shoved out of the break room.

—

Eddie makes it home before he breaks down. He’s thankful that Uncle Wayne is at work, because the second he’s through the door he’s leaning back against it sobbing.

What a fucking mess. He got a glimpse of the thing he wanted more than anything, and for a second he thought his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. And then reality set in and not only was the rug ripped out from under him and his little fantasy, but now he’s ruined the best thing in his life.

Even if Steve keeps being his friend, he knows things will be different. He’s been foolish, taking advantage of Steve’s obliviousness too much. There’s no way he can keep up with calling him things like “sweetheart” and “pretty boy”. The touches to his lower back, his wrist, his hair. Probably won’t be able to hug at all anymore, but certainly not those long lingering ones that make him feel like he’s home.

He’s pathetic enough that he’ll take what he can get. But he knows watching Steve pull away with destroy him.

Eddie’s not sure how long he stays like that. Long enough that he runs out of tears and just sits there feeling hollow. He nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a knock at the door against his back.

“Eddie? Your van’s outside, I know you’re in there. Can we talk?”

Fuck.

He turns and stares at the doorknob. He’s not ready for this yet. He thought he had time to prepare himself to deal with the fall out. But there’s nothing he can do now. He’s not going to ignore Steve. He can’t. So he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“Hey, can I…can I come in?”

He shifts to the side to let Steve in. He stares outside for a few beats, delaying the inevitable, then closes the door and turns to face this. Eddie’s surprised to see how torn up Steve looks. Probably feels bad for flirting now that he knows. So he tries to salvage this as much as he can by taking the lead.

“Look, Steve, it’s fine. We’re good, yeah? I’m not stupid I don’t expect anything. I just want to keep being friends.”

Steve’s face morphs into one of confusion. “What do you mean you don’t expect anything?”

Eddie sighs and looks down at his feet, unable to handle looking into those eyes when he says this. “Come on, I know you figured out I’m into you, ok? And I know you weren’t actually hitting on me. I know you don’t feel that way about me and I never expected you to. I wasn’t ever going to say anything. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I get it if I have now and I’m sorry. I just really hope we can stay friends.”

When the silence carries on for too long, he finally dares to look up. Steve is staring at him with wide eyes, looking completely shocked. Shit. Did he not know? Did Eddie just fuck things up by trying to fix them?

“You…What? You’re into me?”

Now it’s Eddies turn to be speechless. Steve’s face shifts from shock to one that Eddie can’t really decipher and he has no idea what to do now.

Eddie flinches when Steve laughs. “Shit…Robin’s never gonna let me live this down.” Then Steve’s tilting his head like a puppy. “Wait, then why did you run away?”

“…What?”

“I thought you left because I made you uncomfortable. If you weren’t, like, disgusted by me why’d you go?”

Eddie has no idea what’s happening. He feels like he’s trying to read a book but some of the pages have been torn out so he’s left trying to catch up. But the utter confusion is better than devastation at least.

“Why would I be disgusted by you?”

“Because I’m into you. I flirted with you. It wasn’t very subtle. I figured I freaked you out because you caught on to my embarrassingly huge crush on you. But if that’s not it why’d you bolt out of there?”

“I…what? Am I fucking high?”

Steve giggles and in a distant part of his brain he can’t help but think how cute it is. The rest of him is stuck on embarrassingly huge crush.

“I don’t think so. Eddie, you still haven’t answered me. Why’d you leave? Why didn’t you tell me you felt the same way?”

“I didn’t think you were serious! Jesus, in what world does Steve Harrington flirt with Eddie the freak Munson and mean it?”

Steve frowns. “Don’t call yourself that, you’re not a freak.”

“Oh my god, that is so not the point right now Steve. You have a crush on me? Since fucking when?”

The frown gives way to a shy smile. Suddenly Steve is looking at him all soft and fond, and it completely destroys his ability to think. The emotional whiplash is overwhelming.

“I think since you pinned me to the wall with a broken bottle to my throat. Confused the shit out of me, that’s for sure. I didn’t really realize it until I saw you surrounded by the demobats bleeding out on the ground. I thought you were gonna die, man. What a shitty moment to figure out you’re in love with someone, right when you’re about to lose them. I was a fucking wreck. The happiest moment of my life was when you opened your eyes in the hospital.”

Eddie remembers that moment. He was on some good shit, feeling floaty and not even sure he’d actually made it out or if he was hallucinating. But he opened his eyes and there was Steve. Holding on to his hand with tear streaked cheeks, looking at him like he’d performed a miracle by just breathing. Which to be fair, it was close to miraculous that he’d survived. It wasn’t until later he found out Steve had carried him out, and he’d refused any kind of medical care for himself until Eddie woke up. Even then he was practically dragged out by some nurses.

He’d been in awe of his bravery then. He is again now, watching Steve hand him his heart on a silver platter.

—

It’s dawning on Steve that Eddie only said he was ‘into’ him. Maybe spilling his guts and saying he’s in love with him was too much. Just as he’s starting to fully work himself into a panic, a pair of lips touch his own and the chaos in his brain stops.

It’s a painfully sweet kiss, Eddie’s hands so gentle as they trail up his jaw, fingers curling against his neck. He’s never been touched like this. Like he’s something precious. It’s immediately addictive.

Eddie hums around a smile as he pulls back, those huge brown eyes gone soft like melted chocolate. His thumbs stroke Steve’s cheeks.

“I love you. God you have no idea.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie gives him what Robin calls his ‘Steve smile’. It lights up his whole face, dimples on full display, and it makes Steve’s heart flutter every time. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Eddie. You have no idea. I’d have hit on you a lot sooner if I thought I had a chance. Actually…that’s why I haven’t struck out since Scoops. I mean first the whole chaos of Starcourt happened, but then I met you and I just didn’t see the point in trying. I knew it would never work with someone else until I got over you.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Shit, Stevie. I thought you were straight. If I’d known you liked guys I’d have taken a shot at you ages ago.”

“Yeah, I thought so too…you were kind of my bi awakening. I mean looking back I’ve definitely been attracted to guys before, but never anyone I was really interested in beyond that. So I just brushed it off as like, platonically acknowledging that other guys can be hot. Aesthetic appreciation or whatever. What I felt about you was a lot harder to ignore. Hell everything about you is impossible to ignore.”

They’re both all grins, trading confessions back and forth for awhile and just basking in being able to finally say all of this out loud. Eventually the emotions get to be too much, and he just has to touch.

He’s allowed to do that now, too. So he leans in to capture Eddie’s smiling lips.

—

Steve turns out to be right. Robin does not let either of them live it down. Neither does the rest of the party. But no amount of teasing can ruin their joy.

They get their revenge by being disgustingly affectionate all the time, so they call it a win.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things fic #eddie munson #Steve Harrington #mutual pining #idiots in love #robin buckley #robin ships it #gay eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #my writing #my fic #eddie munson lives rent free in my head #eddie munson lives

365 notes · View notes