#be kind when you are tempted to be unkind. be gentle every time you are tempted to be cruel.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Be kind, darlings, be kind.

#not a shitpost #lately I've been feeling the absence of kindness #and kindness is everything. it is EVERYTHING. it is fundamental #so please. be more kind. be kind to strangers you don't know. think generous thoughts of people you don't particularly like. #give people the benefit of the doubt #be kind to people who maybe don't deserve it. to people it's difficult to be kind to #be kind when you are tempted to be unkind. be gentle every time you are tempted to be cruel. #treat people better than you think they deserve. so they have a chance to become better than they are #a world where everyone gets just a little more than they deserve--would not be such a bad world after all #and sometimes we need to get things first to grow into people who deserve them #and sometimes that means receiving kindness we haven't earned yet

[ladyfloriographist]

Working Girl

Pairing: (Dr.) Gregory House (M.D.) x femme!voluptuous!Reader

Warnings: kind of an alternate re-telling of that time Wilson meets House at the bar in s1, Older Man/Younger Woman, First Meetings

XXXX

House’s phone buzzed on the bartop—a reply from Wilson, which read:

‘Can’t yet. Dinner party. 30 min ok?’

House sighed and flipped the phone face-down on the polished surface. He stared into the lowball glass, eyeing the clear, amber liquid.

You spot him from across the bar, his chest deflating and shoulders slumping as he disregards the mobile. Fatigue and frustration blend his features into a scowl, his face lined with the stories, smiles and heartaches of his years. His grey hair and short stubble beckon the touch of your fingers and his eyes—good God in Heaven. His big blue eyes that he just barely flicks up away from his glass tumbler call you closer.

You sidle up next to him, and slip onto the barstool beside his.

He glances at you wearily, and you sling him a small, genial-enough smile before looking away.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” he says, dry and dismissive.

“Oh?” you turn back to him, and look him up and down. “You’re waiting for someone.”

He squints, and looks shamelessly down your face, over your lush breasts, along your arms until he stops where your fingers are interlocked on the bartop. Your half-drunk glass of white wine sits casually between your forearms.

He locks eyes with you again and says, “And I take it you think you’re that someone?”

“That part is entirely up to you.”

His brow lifts.

“I very well could be,” you murmur, sipping from your glass. Up close, in this low light, his stunningly blue eyes are dark—but they glint with a mix of humour and impatience, like he’s wondering how long he’ll tolerate this farce until he grows bored and tells you to get lost.

“I don’t much like company.”

That much is painfully obvious. “Oh,” you let your brow crease, and put on a sarcastic tone, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

He rolls his eyes.

“So I should go then?” You motion to the door with your thumb. “Probably for the best, you reckon?”

He flicks his gaze back to yours, and takes a breath about to say something, before catching his words in his throat. He glances over your form again—and you let him—before he pulls his lips between his teeth and grabs his whiskey.

You’re younger than him, that much he can tell, by fifteen or even twenty years. He’d be mad to go home with you.

He’d be mad not to.

You interpret his silence as wavering indecision—how this grizzled, chiselled old man traversed such a thin, fine line between ‘yes’ and ‘no’—and intrude on his thoughts with a brazen line. “What do you say we get out of here?”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, and absently gestures to his cane as he takes another sip of his drink. “As delightful as this is—and trust me, this’ll make a great story tomorrow—we’re not exactly working with the same equipment.”

You spin on the barstool to face him fully, and bare in his face you say, “What does that matter when I’ve got you flat on your back?” You risk a quick glance at his groin—no shame, no fear—before locking eyes again. “Still works, doesn’t he?”

He scoffs. “You’re quite forward, you young thing,” he says, stalling to recover. “What happened to buying me dinner first? Oh no, don’t tell me—is romance really dead?” He exaggerates a frown in mock despair.

You hum a laugh, charmed but otherwise unphased. “It shouldn’t be this hard for you to know if you want to fuck me or not.”

He raises his brows, mouths the word ‘wow’, and says, “I’m just saying, some flowers and a little chocolate—”

“And if it is, you probably don’t.”

He stops, and you bring your glass to your lips. You take a sip, your eyes trained on his—and he doesn’t look away. He scrutinises you, assesses you, rakes over every detail he can get. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—is it? He definitely wants to, doesn’t he?

But, can he?

The man refuses any more introspection and reverts to something else.

He purses his lips as an unkind smile threatens to break over his face. “A big girl and a cripple walk into a bar,” he says, his voice caustic and aimed to disparage the pair of you. But, when you merely tilt your head and smile, he dispenses with the idea of a cruel joke. He changes tact.

“So,” he tries again, “it’s older men, huh? Really do it for you, do they? You like the grey, like an obvious age difference?” He flicks his wrist, gesturing to his face and hair.

“Would I be sitting here trying my damnedest to chat you up if I didn’t?”

He eyes you, unconvinced that this isn’t some devious ploy. He can’t assure himself of your sincerity… yet. “I’m not warm and fuzzy.”

“Shocker,” you say, letting your arm fall to the bartop. “I’m not asking you to be.” You lean a little bit closer to him. “I’m a big girl. If your first instinct isn’t to cuddle me after,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “somehow, I know I’ll find the strength to go on.”

“Ah,” he hums, momentarily pointing a finger in your face before retracting it. “She’s a masochist, then.” Sexually and emotionally. Here it is: he’s figured you out.

“Depends on the day,” you smile, flippant. “What are we, Thursday?”

“Like a little degradation from your old man, hm? Like him a little standoffish. Old enough to be your Daddy and twice as distant, that’s your thing?” he rattles on, starting to glare and glower at you. “You like someone who’s a little mean, huh? A little,” he sighs, getting more and more irritated the more he speaks, “’rough ‘round the edges’.” He downs the rest of his whiskey. “Someone who can’t make room for you—that it?”

You act on pure instinct. You shoot your arm out and grab his wrist, holding his hand firmly to the top of the bar—startling him and shutting him up.

He starts and flinches, brought back to the here and now. He’s said too much, and too little of it had anything to do you. “That’s battery, you know,” he says, looking pointedly at your hand.

But you don’t let up—and then, like a glacier, he slowly melts into your touch.

He lifts his gaze to yours. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” he murmurs quietly, letting himself trail off as he looks deeply into your eyes.

He doesn’t realise he’d said it out loud.

You release your hold on his wrist, slowly. “You a cop, then? Lawyer?”

He sniffs a mirthless laugh. “The sign on my door says I’m a doctor.”

You hum, and shuffle closer still. He doesn’t lean away, and his lids lower as he enjoys your plush body from a new angle.

You lean in close, and murmur into his ear, “Then, let’s run a test.” With a light, gentle touch you trail the tip of your nose down the shell of his ear, and let your breath fan over his neck as you find the sensitive spot just behind and below his earlobe. You press a soft, tender kiss to his skin, and linger there. He’s warm under your lips, and smells clinically clean, cut by old, faded cologne underneath.

Judging by that and the small sigh you hear him breathe—your guess is that he must’ve had a really long day.

After a moment, you pull back. Your voice is deeper, husky when you speak again. “What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

He clears his throat, and when he flicks his gaze back up to yours you don’t need a medical degree to see how his pupils have dilated—his eyes blowing black with desire.

“Anything?” you murmur, with a slight quirk to your brow.

A corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “Inconclusive.”

You let a small smile creep slowly across your face—and for half a moment, House could almost unleash one too.

You look to the bartender and catch their eye, holding up two fingers before pointing them down to the stained mahogany surface. “Two more, please.”

XXXX

Let me know if you're interested in more of this! I am tempted to write a second smutty part to this short little thing x

#gregory house #dr gregory house md #house md #gregory house x you #gregory house x reader #i like one (1) cantankerous old man #and i mean 'like like' him #like really like him #g writes

[quirkfics]

reassurance

a commission for the absolutely wonderful @valravna ! <3

wordcount: 3k warnings: smut, body image issues, hurt & comfort, oral, fluff   pairing: Toshinori Yagi | All Might x Female OC (Sol)

The day to day work keeps Sol from thinking about the body builder comments too much. She doesn’t have time to scroll through her phone endlessly, and she keeps her applications from sending notifications when she’s at work. Taking down a villain doesn’t allow for precious time to be eaten away on something as trivial as a phone app as it is, but even having seen the information just the once… 

It sticks with her, like a bad dream.

Some days she feels fine, good even. Sol isn’t exactly looking for civilians to fawn over her, but seeing a few starry eyed gazes turned her way, catching a whispered comment about her loveliness- it’s hard to recall those unkind words in the face of such genuine admiration. She walks away from those encounters with a smile, and the worry gets buried deep, marked as inconsequential.

And besides, she knows better. Any hero one could ask will say much the same thing about reading comments and reviews, never mind the fact that there are classes on this sort of thing. It’s mandatory in many of the hero courses nowadays, and there are textbooks written about it, psychiatrists that specialize in it. Classes, friends and doctors alike all say the same thing: even if an article is sweet, even if it’s a puff piece and it makes the hero in question grin? The comments are always off limits.

And they should be.

It’s atrocious, how many people turn vicious as soon as they’re protected by a screen, and Sol knows they can get worse, that this kind of harassment is just the tip of the iceberg. These aren’t even people seeking her out.

Maybe that’s why she finds it so tempting to look, why she thinks this time might be safe. These people are expecting her to come read them, not truly. Maybe that’s why she finds herself falling back into the habit when the house is quiet and empty, or Toshinori is too busy to notice. She doesn’t want to read hurtful things, really, she doesn’t, but… Sol moves the mouse and scrolls down, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand as she starts to read. Losing track of time this way is much too easy.

Some of them are minor, backhanded things that she can ignore at first. They take a moment to puzzle out, and then by the time she’s re-read it, it’s taken on a whole new, searing tone that feels much like a blade pressing into her ribs. This site is more popular than most, and it’s known for being less moderated than some. Sol knows she shouldn’t be surprised by the amount of vitriol she finds, aimed at herself and others, but… It never fails to leave her shaken. 

By the time Sol is able to pull herself away from the keyboard, she’s feeling sick and uncomfortable in her own skin. Gone are all the memories of kindness or admiration, she’s near tears. Sol is second guessing her everyday routines, how she goes about keeping in shape, the exercises she does so she can be strong enough to- Sol’s lips quiver and she bites down on them to try and stem the tide. What does all of that matter when people think of her this way?

She starts to sniffle, and then realizes that she can hear Toshinori puttering around in the kitchen. Rather than bothering him, rather than letting the dam of her feelings break open and- and whining about something so trivial, she heads straight for the bedroom, intent on hiding away until she’s calm again. She can get herself together without help. She can piece herself back together without worrying him needlessly. He has so much on his plate already, the last thing he needs is this. Sol climbs into bed, tears stinging her eyes, and yanks the bedclothes up over her head.

She feels terribly, achingly lonely, but her mouth stays closed. She wishes she’d never looked at the damn website.

Toshinori doesn’t notice the silence at first. He’s too busy prepping food for tomorrow’s lunch and considering what to do with the evening they have ahead of them. It’s increasingly rare that they have this much time at home with one another, and he wants to be sure to make the best of it, especially as they’re both known to be called away at a moment’s notice. He finishes washing the vegetables and turns off the tap, shaking his hands carefully over the sink so he won’t drip water all over the floor. He starts to hum, grabbing a small towel to dry off his hands with and then… Pauses. His hands still. The house is strangely, almost frighteningly, quiet. Sol had been working on a few last minute reports, the last he’d seen of her, tapping frantically away at the keyboard. There’s no taps or clacking keys any longer though.  

Toshinori carefully folds and hangs the towel back up, wandering through the house to where he’d last seen Sol on the computer. Surely, if she’d finished, she would have come to find him? He frowns when he sees the computer on and Sol gone, and frowns harder when he sees the blinking ad on the corner of a trashy news site. He’s seen that logo before, has even talked about the lack of moderation on it to a few of his fellow heroes, including… Including Sol. His shoulders straighten, a knot forming in his stomach as he leans in close to scroll through the commentary, wondering why exactly Sol was- His stomach feels like it drops into his toes. 

He straightens up immediately, tension running down his spine. “Sol?” He calls out, hoping she’s say something, hoping that she’s just run to the restroom. There’s no answer. He strides through the house, stomach continually twisting with nerves and guilt that he hadn’t noticed, that he- Toshinori comes to a stop in the bedroom doorway. He’s isn’t terribly surprised to find that she’s underneath the blankets, trying to stifle her tears, but it hurts, knowing she’s hurting so badly.

“Sol?” He says again, tone a bit softer. He wants to swoop her up into his arms, to crush her to his chest and soothe the tears, put a stopper in the pain, but… Sometimes people need time. Sometimes crying is the best thing. If she wants to be alone, if she tells him to leave- Toshinori swallows. He hopes she doesn’t, but he’ll give her the space. 

A soft, watery sounding “...yes?” reaches his ears. 

He’s not entirely sure he wants to bring it up this way, but he can’t ignore it. “I… I saw the computer,” he says softly, taking a few hesitant steps towards the bed. “The comments on that site-”

“I know,” she interrupts, and the sadness in her voice wrenches at his heart, crushes it in his chest. “I know I shouldn’t have been. Every hero, every celebrity knows to stay away from things like that, especially when-”

Toshinori crosses the room, sitting down carefully so as not to disturb or surprise her and tugs gently at the blankets. Sol lets them go without a fight, though she does avert her eyes, awkwardly brushing away the red hair falling into her face. Toshinori stops her, taking both her hands in one of his own and then taking over the action. His touch is slow, and gentle and Sol’s eyes fall closed as he fixes her hair.

“Everyone falls to prey to it at some point,” he confesses, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “And anyone who says they don’t is trying to save face. Everyone is curious about things like that, everyone wonders what people are saying about them.” Toshinori pauses, frowning for a split second. “Maybe not those with a telepathy quirk, but most everyone else,” he finally corrects, drawing a soft laugh out of her. “You don’t need to feel guilty for reading it, but I don’t want you to believe them,” Toshinori adds, voice even softer.

“I know,” Sol murmurs, leaning into the warm touch of his hand. “But I look in the mirror and wonder- are they right? I’m not… soft, I-”

Toshinori stops her with a finger on her lips. “That settles it,” he says, hoping he looks kind, yet a bit stern as he lifts his chin. “The rest of the night I’m going to show you what you look like to me.”

“Toshi-” Sol starts, lips parting, but Toshinori only pinches them closed. 

“Nope! I’ve decided. Besides, those people? They could only dream of seeing you the way I do. Of the sweet smile you have whenever you see me first thing in the morning, of-” Toshinori feels heat creeping up his throat and across his cheeks. Can he even keep himself together when he says all this? Maybe he didn’t think about how tricky this might be when he’s ridiculously tempted to trip over his own words. “Of the, the way you laugh, or- I’m being serious!’ He insists when Sol starts chuckling. 

“I know,” she soothes, reaching up to tug at a lock of his hair. “Toshinori, you don’t have to do this. I know how you feel,” she starts, but then Toshinori is interrupting her with a kiss. It’s chaste and quick and startles her into silence, which prompts him into giving her another, and another, until she’s smiling against his lips.

“I’m attracted to you for a myriad of reasons,” he finally pauses to confess, wishing he could keep himself from blushing, from feeling nervous. “And many of them have nothing what-so-ever to do with your looks. But these arms?” He says, dragging his calloused fingertips over her bare shoulders and biceps. He pauses in the crook of her elbows, feeling her pulse thrum under his touch. “I love the strength of them, I love that your strength is visible, and that people everywhere can take one glance at you and know you’ve put in the work needed to be strong enough to save them. To lift them up, to carry them.” He leans in close, leaves a trail of kisses down the muscles, all the way to her hands. Sol shivers at the tender touches, watching him intently when he lifts his head to meet her eyes.

“I love knowing that you have my back, that your speed and strength help keep you safe, as well as the people you want to save.” Slowly, gently, Toshinori lays her back down on the bed, heart skipping as he watches her red hair spread over the pillow. He can see her hero outfit clearly in his head, the golden corona around her head, the abs and toning of her body barely hidden from view. In hero clothes or civilian clothes, she’s lovely. “You’re gorgeous, Sol, and if they can’t admire your strength, I don’t know that they know what the word means.”

“Flatterer,” Sol teases, but her tears are all dry now and she’s starting to smile. Toshinori always does this, always brings out the best in her, the best emotions, the strongest drive to keep going, to pick herself back up- She feels mildly ridiculous for not going to him sooner, for letting herself get so caught up in her own head.

“It’s not flattery when it’s true,” he insists, gently parting her thighs so he can kneel between them, can lean over her to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I mean every single word, Sol. Your strength, and the musculature that comes with it?” Toshinori starts at her shoulders, fingers and thumbs working into the muscles before he skims over her chest and down her stomach, he squeezes the tops of her thighs, grinning when she flexes in response, just for show, just to tease. Some of the tension in him eases, because he must be doing something right if she’s starting to smile so easily, starting to play and enjoy herself. “Everything about you is perfect, is exactly the way you’re supposed to be,” he says softly and then grunts in surprise when Sol hooks her legs around him to tug him off balance. He catches himself before he can fall on her, but then Sol is kissing him, mouth warm and insistent and Toshinori entirely forgets his own plans. He pulls away, trying to reorganize his own thoughts and then presses his cheek to hers, breathing roughly. “I.. I love everything about you. Your sense of humor, the drive in you - every muscled inch.”

Sol’s hips arch, which nearly makes Toshinori choke as she tightens her legs around him, but it’s then that she realizes he’s right. His view of her, ever positive, warm and kind, helps immensely, but honestly? She wouldn’t trade her muscles if it meant giving up even a fraction of her strength. If it meant that she lost out on saving one more person, if that meant she was just a sliver of a second slower? She would turn down the option without thought. She wants to save people.  

And then Toshinori is loosening the grip she has with her thighs. He backs up until he can lay on his stomach, feet hanging over the edge of the bed, and partially pushes up her shirt. His kisses along her abs are too soft at first, tickling, and she wriggles, but doesn't make him stop. She can’t hold back her smile though, bordering just on the verge of laughter. 

"This is serious, you know," he murmurs, trying for a poker face and failing utterly. His smile spells out everything he’s feeling, everything he’s thinking. "I'm trying to show you how lovely you are." 

“So I’ve gathered,” she says softly and then tenses when his mouth moves lower. Just like the kisses along her abs, Toshinori starts off too soft, reverent, worshipful, and the way he touches her, has always touched her- Sol revels in it. She has to close her eyes for a moment, to keep herself from getting overwhelmed by the flood of soft emotions, but soon enough her eyes are snapping back open. She wants to watch, to witness the pleasure he’s giving her with more than just the sensation of touch. All traces of laughter slowly fade as Toshinori kisses her inner thigh. His fingers mirror the action, gentle enough to make her shiver, but it doesn’t tickle any longer, now when she tenses it’s because her pulse is speeding. It’s because desire is threading itself through her veins as Toshinori’s tongue traces patterns over her skin. Sol sighs when he moves from her thigh and hums when his mouth closes over her clit.

It’s all too tempting to change the tone of things then, to push back and urge him to use his strength - he would roll with it, would go with whatever desire piqued her interest - but she holds herself back. Toshinori had been serious about showing her what he thought of her, and every press of his tongue and stroke of his fingers is making her tremble, faster than she ever would have thought.

“Toshi,” she whispers, and then he’s pressing closer, sucking and she has to curl her fingers into the blankets or risk pulling his hair. He makes a noise then, muffled against her, and it takes Sol a long moment to realize it’s because her thighs are tense and pressed tight to either side of his head. She can feel him smiling, even as she forces herself to relax, and then he’s pulling back, just long enough to drag in a ragged breath before he starts all over again, just a bit faster, just a bit harder. 

When she arches her hips, when her thighs start to tense against his ears again, Toshinori’s hands move to curl around her thighs. Not to hold her down, not to press her back, but to help. He moves with the roll of her hips, times the stroke of his tongue with the flexing of her muscles and makes lovely sounding noises against her whenever their eyes meet. She curses, shaking, half expecting him to pause, to take a breath or slow things down. Toshinori keeps the same, steady, eager pace though, even when one of the blankets pops a seam in her grip. Sol’s lips part, and she’s fairly sure she’s going to say his name, to urge him to do something, to slow, or go faster, or maybe to- but all that comes out is a rough, drawn out moan as she comes, eyes fluttering shut. Part of her recognizes that Toshinori is holding onto her hips now, to keep her from bucking him off, to keep her from rolling away, but she doesn’t go limp until the pleasure finally ebbs. 

Toshinori only pulls away when she lets go of the blankets, breathless and licking his lips, and grins when he sees that her eyes are open again, though fairly unfocused. His hold on her loosens and he presses another kiss to her thigh, laughing when she starts shivering all over again.

“C’mere,” Sol murmurs, reaching out for him. Toshinori obliges, hand stroking up her body as he goes, eyes still soft enough to make her mildly embarrassed. 

“Do you understand what I see?” Toshinori asks, nuzzling against her ear and down her jaw as he lays beside her. 

“Maybe a little,” she teases, drawing him into a slow kiss that has Toshinori shivering in her arms. He breaks it only reluctantly, blinking, as if he’s trying to focus on what exactly it is that he wants to say. 

“A.. a little?” Toshinori mutters, expression clearing, sounding mildly offended. A smile follows right afterwards though, easing any potential sting his tone might cause. “We can’t have that. I guess I should show you again then, hmm? If you’re up for it.”

Sol laughs, pulling him in close with a hand on the back of his neck. “With you? Always.”

#toshinori yagi x female oc #toshinori yagi x oc #all might x female oc #all might x oc #lemon

[generalasshattery]

Kintaro/Akasha (OC)

This lovely piece is for @phantomheiko who has been keeping monster boy content on this blog for a while with her wonderful requests. I am super proud of this story, and I am so glad I got a chance to write for another amazing OC.

This is NOT a smut fic, it is only under the cut because it’s on the long side.

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

It wasn’t quite night yet, but it was close. The vibrant crash of orange as the sun hit the horizon bled into those purples and blues that promised darkness was near. There was that inescapable heat that felt so intrinsic to this part of Outworld. Dusty, dry, and so uniquely unpleasant, especially given their circumstance. Even Kintaro, a man used to thriving under harsh conditions, was pushed as close to his limit as he’d ever been. He’d been through quite the ordeal even before Akasha had gotten to him. Goro had proven as vicious a man as she’d expected. The images of the way she’d found Kintaro would’ve been hard enough to shake as it was, but now exhausted and every bit as damaged as when they’d first broken free, he managed to look even worse.

To his credit though, he wasn’t broken, he wasn’t free from the fight and the strength that made him formidable in the first place. There was a spark that demanded respect and accepted every challenge that it seemed could not be squashed. Even with his fur matted with blood, and barely able to walk he managed to get as far as they had. She didn’t pity him, he wasn’t a pitiable being, but she did recognize a deep need shared by all but only admitted by few. He needed help, he needed care, and he needed compassion. Not that the proud warrior would ever ask, especially not in so many words. He’d already been forced to be reliant on her, something she knew he didn’t tolerate easily.

They’d left any sign of civilization long ago, and while there were dangers in the seemingly endless wasteland of Outworld, they were presently as safe as they were going to get for the evening. Akasha reached a hand to offer a gentle touch on the Tigrar’s back. His coat was rough at first, but her fingers managed to graze something silky beneath. She mused briefly about the opportunity to explore that hidden softness. It would have to be an extremely intimate moment for Kintaro to permit himself to be explored by another like that. Though she couldn’t quite picture him as some gentle being, just waiting to be petted and touched by anyone. Was it a thing he would enjoy? Or maybe something he would only tolerate from someone he found worthy? She had to shake the thoughts from her head to refocus, they both needed a rest badly.

He glanced over his shoulder at the touch, she didn’t even have to speak, there was a moment when their eyes met and it was clear they were shared the same thought. Tomorrow they would have to make more permanent plans, plans she had little doubt would inevitably involve some retribution for a certain Shokan prince, but for now the concern more simple: get through the night. She took one of his arms, silly as it most definitely was, to help him sit comfortably. The man was a giant, and it was more likely that the effort not to crush her made it harder to get into a relaxed position then if she’d let him be. He didn’t fuss at her though, in fact he made no show of it, if that were the actual case. It seemed, even a mighty warrior could take comfort in the kindness of another.

“You’ve done enough,” he said in his short, gruff tone. With what little they had, she’d already begun to make enough of a camp for the night. There was no sense in giving away their location with a fire, but she could at the very least make things a little more pleasant. She paused what she was doing, and found herself fiddling with her long, inky black hair. There was a fine line between being helpful and making him feel like she was treating him like a charity case. Despite who she was and what she was capable of, there was often a bit of nervousness in her. Nervousness over rejection, over her good intentions being misunderstood, over her attempts to help ultimately being harmful. She imagined at times how silly she must seem as a talented necromancer, demigod, and heir apparent of hell to be so concerned about such seemingly childish things. She wondered if others viewed her that way, or if that was only a representation of how she viewed herself.

“I don’t mind, and if you’d let me, I want to tend to your wounds. I can’t rest easy if I don’t.” She said it offering a kind smile, her fingers still playing with her hair. He looked at her and half way scoffed. He shook his head, and she could see even weary he was a little amused by her. Not in an unkind way, though. It made her smile a little brighter.

“I couldn’t do much to stop you, but you have my permission,” he replied sounding calm. The quiet way he spoke betrayed something she’d suspected but had never really been brave enough to confirm from him before. He trusted her. She supposed it was a foregone conclusion after what she’d done to free him, and yet the confirmation of it made her heart flutter in that most lovely way. Not that she was going to let those soft feelings distract her, by the time he finished she was already helping him lay back into a more pleasant position.

“Thank you,” she said, matching his tone as she settled beside him. It was hard to truly grasp just how large he was until she was this close. He was intimidating, even wounded. Tall, broad, and muscular, and that didn’t even take into account his claws. She wasn’t frightened though, and hadn’t felt that way about him in a long time. Usually, he made her feel safe. She wondered briefly if he now felt the same. It didn’t really matter if he did, he had to depend on her for the time being. It seemed he was thinking similar thoughts as her.

“I will repay what you’ve done, make no mistake,” he said. His voice was firm, and it didn’t miss her that those same words could easily be a threat to another. She couldn’t keep the quick laugh that escaped her, he managed to sound imposing when promising to help her in the future.

“Does that amuse you?” His eyes narrowed slightly on his face, like he was trying to determine if she was mocking him. Her face darkened when she realized it must have seemed like she was laughing at the idea of him being able to help her after what had happened. He didn’t look mad, but he did look offended. There was something so very endearing about that.

“Only in that you’re the only person I know that can promise a favor and sound like you’re threatening to kill me,” she clarified as she began the long task of tending to his wounds. It didn’t take long before she found that hidden softness of his undercoat that was so tempting to touch. His face relaxed and he breathed a sigh so deep it seemed like he was trying to free himself of something. It was nothing short of a marvel just how large his chest could get on that inhale.

“I’m not promising a favor, I’m swearing an oath, I won’t degrade myself further by seeing a debt not repaid,” he huffed a little and the warmth she felt for him grew. He was concerned with how she saw him. She managed to keep herself from letting out another laugh, as she was certain he would find that patronizing. It didn’t seem like he would like for her to think him adorable. Adorable wasn’t the right word, but most definitely endearing. He didn’t turn into a kitten for her, but the knowledge he valued her opinion of him enough to protect it was a detail to cherish.

“I suppose then, in order to protect your honor, of course, I’m going to have to get into some dangerous situation so you can save me,” she remarked, unable to avoid being entirely playful with him. He shot her a look, one that so deliberately took in her appearance that it made her look down at herself. She did appear much more the villainess than the captured princess, especially with the signs of the previous fight still on her. She wore black, as she always did, and dressed as a proper necromancer should. It frequently amused her that her appearance so intimidated others when she had such a pleasant demeanor. Though she wondered if the silence that came with her own shyness only furthered that reputation as something frightful.

“What? I can be quite the damsel in distress should the occasion call for it.” She playfully swatted at his chest, as though she were chastising him. He snorted at that. As she leaned over him to reach the next spot for tending too, one of his hands reached for her. He ran the massive hand over the back of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair before he rested his loose grip on her shoulders as she continued her work. His touch was warmth, a little rough compared to what most would offer during a tender moment. Though, in all likeliness, that was as gentle as the Tigrar could get.

“I don’t doubt it, but I’d rather find another way to repay you.” He briefly tightened the hold on her shoulder for emphasis, and he rested his head back at long last. In fact all of him seemed to relax, perhaps it was simply from exhaustion but she knew it was more than that. He did feel safe with her, and it may have been silly but it did make her feel proud of herself. As though she’d proven something, even if he’d never doubted her before.

“Careful, Kintaro, I might think you actually enjoy my company,” she responded, teasing him more blatantly. Still she spoke softly, so as not to upset the small comfort he had found. They’d crossed a line neither had realized existed. They could, at least for now, be a little more honesty in how they presented to each other.

“And if I do?” He asked but didn’t lift his head to look at her. His hand finally left her shoulder, and she knew he was done for the night. The sun had finally slipped below the land, and there was such a lovely mix of silence and noise in the air. There was nothing but the sounds of various creatures springing to life and calling into the cooling night. It was peaceful. If she didn’t have to keep watch it would be tempting to join him. She did, though, and so she finished her task before picking a spot to sit beside him. She glanced up at the sky, watching the stars flicker and hoped that she could experience something so lovely under better circumstances.

“Then I suppose it’s fortunate for both of us we’re stuck here together.”

#Mortal Kombat #MK #mortal kombat oc #mk oc #kintaro

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Part 10?? Maybe??

He slowly starts to notice more and more people missing limbs. Crutches. Canes. Missing arms.

A small boy runs past with his friends, lipstick across the bridge of his nose. "Form Voltron!" They run laughing and giggling past and Shiro notices the boy is missing arm.

Curtis sees it, too. Sees Shiro's body language change and he knows what's coming. It's a good thing they haven't eaten lunch and are already headed home.

A couple walks past, burn scars down the arms of one, the other on crutches, missing most of a leg.

Curtis thinks about what they pulled from the rubble that day. Those days. What his partner had looked like. He glances at his own hands, both he and Shiro unconsciously picking up their pace.

The second they're through the door Shiro bolts for the bathroom and starts vomiting up his guts.

Curtis presses his back against the door, heart pounding. They're useless to each other right now. Logically he knows Shiro would help him if he could. But that doesn't stop him from feeling like his lungs are full of grit and dust. He's choking on the smell of blood and his hands are bloody and broken from digging in rubble.

Forcing his eyes open, he goes through the steps his doctor told him to try. What can he see? Hear? Smell? Touch?

When he feels calmer he can hear dry heaving still happening. Glancing at his comm device he shoots Keith a message, and Colleen. He knows she'll wrangle her family if possible. Keith might not even be on earth. He's not sure.

Heading into the bathroom, Shiro has yanked his shirt off, the collar was making him feel worse. He can't handle things riding on his neck and the crew neck has to go. In a black tank top and pants, he really wishes his stress reaction wasn't puking. But seeing that kid with the scar drawn on.

Like it was some kind of victory to get cut up and maimed. Some kind of victory to murder people. To execute prisoners. To piss himself when they whipped his back bloody and raw. Or to scream every time, no matter how many times he told himself he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Sobbing, he rubs at his shoulder, at least before he'd had part of an arm. More than just a shoulder. How could that little boy, or any child, ever see him as some kind of hero? He's the Champion, too. A monster. Not a paladin. Never a real paladin.

Curtis makes it in, feeling a little more settled. For all Shiro isn't. Clearly. He sees Shiro squeezing his shoulder and carefully pulls his hand away. "That doesn't look good," he says softly. It looks like weeks of blisters broken open. Months maybe. Looking at it, his concentration distracts Shiro from his own pain and he stops crying.

"What happened? Did you get burned?" He asks, gently touching the edge of a ragged flap of skin. "We gotta remove the bits that're just hanging... And clean this..."

Shiro winces as gentle fingers walk the edge of the wound.

"Is that fluid build up? Is this infected?" He asks, talking more to himself. Getting up he grabs saline solution, gauze, a strong antiseptic and some antibiotic ointment. Setting it all on the edge of the tub, he quickly taps out a message to Colleen while Shiro is brushing his teeth.

She can bring something to debride the nectrotized flesh. And then probably something that will soothe it better than store brand ointment. She makes a lot of medical supplies out of alien flora and fauna. Very effective ones the Garrison is working on mass production of.

Teeth brushed, Shiro looks at all the medical supplies at rubs at his eyes. He hates being poked and prodded at.

Curtis gently kisses his forehead. "Let me clean it up, please. Then we'll just rest some. Okay?"

"Okay," he agrees wearily. "Do I have to try and fake being okay with it?"

"No." Curtis sits him down on the edge of the tub, kissing his temple. He carefully rinses the area with the saline, just making sure everything is flushed out. Nothing trapped in and around the skin to cause further irritation.

Done with that, he pours some antiseptic onto a gauze pad, "I don't know if this'll burn or not, but if it does I'm sorry." Carefully pressing it against Shiro's shoulder, he presses a kiss on his forehead. Stroking Shiro's hair while holding the gauze to his shoulder, he sighs.

"You okay?" Shiro asks, Curtis seems disheveled, too.

"It stressed me out, too. I get it."

"I'm sorry I didn't come help..."

"I'm really glad you puked in the bathroom and not the doorway."

Shiro gives him a weak smile he tiredly returns.

"Don't get mad, but we'll be having company. And you can leave your shirt off."

Shiro stiffens as Curtis throws out the gauze, before opening a new pad and adding some ointment to it and taping it over the mess of skin.

"Who?" He asks, brows pulled together in annoyance.

"Well I'm not sure yet. But they're bringing food."

-

Shiro allows Curtis to wrap a blanket around his shoulders and curl up with him on the couch for all he is most decidedly sulking at the idea of company. Much less anyone seeing him while he's struggling. He's been pulling away from everyone as much as possible other than Curtis.

Not that anyone checks in much. If he says he's fine they believe him. He has pleasant contact with everyone. He knows how they're all doing. But he's gotten things to the point no one even asks him personal questions anymore he's so good at keeping them talking about themselves.

Like Hunk is doing great and Shay and Romelle are helping spread his empire and skills with Vrepit Sal.

Lance is okay farming. Finding some peace and enjoying his family.

Keith and the Blade have been well. When Keith bothers to answer.

Pidge and the Holts are close by and Shiro has gotten good at excusing himself from invites to eat with them. They've given up on asking him without realizing. And if Shiro asks Pidge about anything she's working on she'll talk for hours and he won't have to say a word.

Matt is just like his sister. So he's easy to distract and deflect and Shiro has always been a good actor.

Shiro groans when there's a knock on the door, snuggling deeper into the blanket and shooting Curtis a glare.

Curtis rolls his eyes. He loves that Shiro feels okay dropping his facade of perfection. And that he doesn't mind giving up control once in a while. He thinks Shiro probably secretly loves not having to be the adult all the time.

Ruffling Shiro's hair on his way to the door, he presses the pad and it opens on the entire Holt family along with Keith, Krolia, and Lance.

Shiro peers over the back of the couch and sees a large amount of people and blanches a little. Especially with Colleen and Sam carting two bags in of equipment. Tempted to see if he can sneak out a window he stands up and plasters a smile on.

"Hey!" He holds out his arm to hug Lance who mobs him first, then Keith. The blanket drops and Keith looks right at his shoulder. Krolia comes over to gently clap Shiro on the shoulder and he does his best to ignore her nostrils flaring as she takes in his scent.

"You been sick?" Keith asks him, concerned.

"I'm fine," Shiro laughs. "I've got Curtis to take care of me, if I was."

"You look thin," Krolia comments, and leans in to say something to Keith.

Before they can say more Sam is giving Shiro a hug and they're making pleasant small talk as Matt and Pidge line up to hug him, too.

"Guess we're just missing Hunk, huh?" Shiro asks with a big grin. "I've missed you guys. But I haven't heard from him in a bit, anyone know what planet he's on now?"

"As much as we'd love to talk about Hunk, we came to see you," Keith says. He's not going to let Shiro get out of this. His mother is right, Shiro reeks of vomit and infection. He has circles under his eyes that look like bruises. He's thin, tired. There's a little tremor to his hand.

Colleen bustles into the bathroom and sets up some supplies. She'll need to swoop Shiro away in a minute or two.

Lance dumps some pizza on the counter, Krolia adding a large paper bag of sushi rolls to the pile as Pidge dumps a container of home made soup beside the pizza.

Enough food for a small army now rests on the counters. Matt has added some containers of soda and juice to the mess of food.

Krolia and Keith talk quietly, heads together as Shiro gets Sam talking about his latest project.

Lance starts setting out plates and silverware, figuring they'll need those. He pulls Pidge aside for a second to ask, "Does Shiro look okay?"

She frowns and really looks. "I guess not." Ladling up some soup into a bowl, she brings it over to Shiro. Lance encourages him to sit so he can set the bowl in his lap and eat.

Keith swoops in to take up the rest of the space on the couch as Curtis slips away to go talk to Colleen.

Keith lightly squeezes Shiro's knee, ignoring the general chatter around them.

He works on the soup for a bit. But honestly he doesn't want to eat. His throat is still raw. "Do you want some water?" Keith asks. He knows Shiro better than anyone. Other than maybe Curtis.

"Oh I'm okay," Shiro smiles brightly. "The soup is liquid, so it's not like I need a drink."

"I can tell when you're lying," Keith informs him carefully. "And you really don't need to do that." Holding out his hands for the bowl, he gives his brother a soft look when he passes it over.

He passes the bowl to Krolia who takes it and sets it on the counter before coming back with water.

Pidge and Lance are catching up and Sam is looking around at Curtis' decorations. Matt has finished setting up food for people and has taken some pizza.

Finishing his water, he glances back when he sees Keith's attention shift behind him.

"I'm ready to look at your shoulder," Colleen smiles.

Sam frowns and comes closer. "You never said anything about the arm bothering you," he points out.

Keith bristles a little, for all there's nothing unkind in Sam's tone. "We were kind of busy fighting a war. It's not like he had time to worry about something like a little discomfort." For all now that things are over Keith wishes Shiro had said something.

"That's true," Sam says calmly.

Shiro reaches out to lightly squeeze Keith's shoulder. He gets up with a soft groan.

Colleen lightly pats his back encouragingly as she walks him into the bathroom.

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Curtis leaning against the counter.

(Comments ? Anyone here? Is it shit? Please feed the writer.)

#shurtis #curo #takashi shirogane #curtis #voltron #my fic #keith kogane #pidge

[nookishposts]

What do we say?

Last evening I was privy to a conversation among comfortable friends who agreed that as we have explored the years north of age 50, some things become easier. Like saying “No thanks” to an invitation without a sense of obligation, justification, or apology. I am paraphrasing one of those friends who said:” I only have so much energy and I am careful how I spend it.” She’s nailed it. We can still do most of what we have always done, but now we build in recovery time; not just physically but emotionally and even spiritually. Most of us in the age 55-60 range will admit that we feel we’ve earned the privilege of making choices with more self-interest than we once might have. There is a great strength and a knowing comfort in having acknowledged this age and stage of self-awareness, the newer self-appreciation that allows us to quietly disengage.

Saying no isn’t limited to social engagements either; it also applies to a lack of interest, favours that come with strings attached, and most bullshit in general.It doesn’t mean we become unkind, we still find patience with one another’s fanciful whims and will step up in support whenever we are genuinely needed. We listen to one another’s secret fears and nod knowingly in authentic solidarity without the need to “fix” anything. We laugh outright at one another’s nonsense in a way that only friends can...gentle admonishments served with a heapin’ helpin’ of “ I love you you big turkey!”

Saying “No” comfortably marks a kind of rite of passage. I wonder then if the same is true of saying “Yes” ? Our self-definitions and our needs naturally alter over time: “I am a parent”, “I am a daughter”, “I am a spouse”, “I am (insert any culture, hobby, profession or livelihood here)”: “I am this sum of many parts.” “I am a work in progress.”

We not only say “yes” to saying “No”, we also are saying yes to time for ourselves, both recovery and self-indulgence. We say yes to travelling places we haven’t been before because there was no room for that opportunity  while we were busy raising ourselves and others and all that entails. We say yes without guilt to asking for things for ourselves: “Honey I really need a couple of hours of downtime/a weekend away with the girls/ something to drive other than a Soccer Mom van. I’ll see you when I get back.” We need the people in our lives to acknowledge that we are still growing, still testing our limits, still curious and are finally taking time to play with all of that because we can.

My Beloved and I have undergone a journey over the last 18 months or so of figuring out what things that together or separately we are saying no and yes to. It has been in the hunt for a different kind of life, a quieter and simpler one, that we have discovered so much about what we don’t need anymore as well as those things that could be deal-breakers. We have said a resounding “yes” to purging our closets and our habits, sometimes because they are outworn and sometimes, to make room for new growth. A successful yard sale is one that means nothing you took out gets to come back in the house; if it doesn’t sell it gets donated, etc, which can feel like losing 200 pounds of ballast. We put half our stuff into storage in order to show and sell our home and we were amazed at how much lighter both we and the house itself felt. It was a bit unnerving at first to not have stacks of books on every shelf, momentos everywhere,  and a chair in every corner, but boy, did it bring a lot of light into our spaces, both literal and figurative. We each had the opportunity to go through “stuff” and decide what was truly worth keeping. It opened our attitudes a little wider in terms of where we might like to find ourselves next. We dearly love our families and community but do we really need to stay in the city in order to keep them? We love the work that we do, but do we really need to keep doing it full-time when there are other interests that tempt our attention ?

Leaving a job to devote my full energies to painting and clearing an entire house was both wonderful and not, because it took away part of my self-definition. In conversation people invariably ask: “and what do you do for a living?” Right now, I don’t. And that’s all kinds of weird. I write in my spare time, but I don’t make a living at it so I can’t really call myself a Writer. My massage table is packed away into storage with most of our belongings because we thought we would have a new destination secured by now, so I am not a practitioner either. My Beloved is happy to have me doing all the background stuff while she luckily earns enough to keep us both, benefits and all. But right now we aren’t at “home” in the traditional sense. We define ourselves and our choices often by the company we keep, the employment we have and the place we live. When one or more of those key things become ambiguous, it presents a quandary about exactly what and even when to say yes or no. We have found ourselves fine-tuning the definition of what “home” means exactly.

Over 11 years we’ve talked about living much more simply and harmoniously with the land around us; producing most of what we consume, using the energies of our minds and bodies, hopefully staying healthy and independent within our means for as long as possible. 10 years ago, we were all prepared to reclaim a brown-space and build ourselves a green-run straw-bale cottage. We took courses, helped heave and plaster bales on other people’s builds and constantly modified our designs. As we got older, we looked into adaptive technologies; maybe taking an old building and greening it to be more efficient and sustainable; lower cost, less waste. We compared design/build features, studied geographic land values and took a hard look at our resources weighed against our respective ages and abilities. In the past 18 months we have looked seriously at several different options along the spectrum and missed out on several of them because they were contingent on the sale of our own little city house. But really, they haven’t turned out to be losses so much as lessons. Each place offered a different set of possibilities, and we know that between us, we can make almost anything work as long as the structural bones are good and the soil is clean. We’ve said “Yes”  several different times. But the Universe seems to say “No, not yet”, even though each successive option brought us closer to our ideals.Once our city house finally sold, we quickly said “yes”, and changed it to a “no”; it the first place that came along  and we were impatient to move on. We certainly could have made it work, but there were hidden costs we decided we could not say yes to without sacrificing  part of what we’d learned we truly need. Most recently, we found a property we thought ticked the greatest number of boxes yet on our yes/no list, but one more time, it was not meant to be. Someone else got there first. We’ve come so close, a couple of times, only to find ourselves back again, still searching. There have been moments when it all feels quite personal though we know that it’s not. We know the pieces are bound to come together but the patience is hard.

At ages 58 and 53, we are blessed to have the luxury of saying yes or no. We are technically without a home though we have been made very welcome and comfortable at a friend’s house for as long as we need one. We have politely said “no” to people who’ve suggested we are crazy and should just let go of the dream. We have said “yes” to every creative idea presented to us, no matter how outlandish or daunting they might sound, because we have many loved ones who genuinely want to see us have a crack at making magic, and who very much want to come along for the ride. We’ve never felt like we were doing any of this in isolation. Our cheerleaders are just getting louder. The most resounding “yes” always comes from our own contemporaries who are also giving themselves permission to stretch and learn and say “yes” to their own dreams.

And while we continue our search, there are so many things to always say “yes” to: the company of old friends, the laughter of “I knew you when” and the communal dissecting of ourselves as 50-somethings who know damned well we are a long way from done. To the decent wines, and using the good china, to the shredding of old hurts and the letting go of mouldy baggage sitting too long in the back of the cupboard. We finally have the courage to bring the shadowy bits into the light and watch them dissolve as so much night mist, because that’s how unsubstantial they have become. We give away things we once treasured to someone we know will discover new joy in them. We make space to expand our perspective as we fine-tune our focus. We adjust our sails, knowing that the wind will change again anyway.

There is such beauty and such hope in the luscious and judicious use of the words “yes” and “no”. Say yes to tears of loss and longing, then dry them with another “yes” of new people and experiences. Say “no” to the obligation of events you don’t want to attend and “yes” to the ones you’ve always been curious about. Contradict yourself now and then, it certainly is humbling to get caught in your own clumsiness and have to regain your footing. “Oops” , and “oh well” also come in handy. We all fall. We get up, usually with a little help , and we just get on with it. Yes, yes we do.

[soul-wellness]

40 days Resurrection Fasting

Wisdom comes when you come to know that you don’t know much about the mystery and truths of the universe. This moment of realisation is the beginning of your journey in seeking to be divine for we have been made in the image of God. 

Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights in the Judaean Desert before the angels ministered to him. It was also 40 days from Jesus’s resurrection to His ascension. The magic number 40 is the period of transformation from conception to birth for a new born. 

Furthermore, Noah was in the Ark for 40 days and forty nights until the earth was cleansed of a sinful world before a new beginning. Moses was on Sinai for 40 days, receiving the 10 commandments and he was in the desert for 40 years until he freed the Israelites from slavery into a new existence under the covenant. 

And so too will I fast for 40 days just with water. It was with a desperate need to go home that I give my total surrender into a holy mind and heart so that the soul may rise into light. My daily bread will be His words, reading the bible, listening to uplifting Christ songs, watching movies of Christ and meditation. My need to transform and transcend into a new spiritual soul rose above cravings for food, outings, activities or celebrations.

If you haven’t fasted before, please do a trial of 3 days with just water. On the 3rd night, have light bland soup. Too much flavours too soon will make you sick (as I have found out). Listen and feel your body through the changes. Master your mind and cravings. Know that you will not die from not eating solid foods. Feel empowered over this mastery of your mind and body for YOU ARE NOT THE BODY. YOU ARE NOT THE MIND. Set an intention of what you would like to know from God. Ask questions and listen. 

Leave 4 weeks in-between before doing the 40 days fasting. Note that from a blood test I was iron and vitamin D deficient so I still took these as recommended by my doctor through the fasting.  

Week 1 Fasting: 1st June 2021

Make your intentions clear of the person you wish to be after the fasting. Visualise yourself physically and spiritually what you’d like to transcend into. For me, I was ready to commit myself to Christ and do his work which was to heal people.  

Drinking water and coconut juice to get you through the hunger and also add some energy to be able to perform your usual duties such as work, chores and looking after the family. Your bowl movement will slow down on the 5th day and on the 7th day you’ll feel weak and have a brain fog. Drink a cup of almond or soy milk. You can add non caffeine chai and make a hot tea with a bit of honey. This is how I got through the first weak of fasting whilst looking after two robust gorgeous boys 5 and 4 years old. I still had to cook, clean, do the washing, get them ready for school, drop them off and pick them up from school, take them to after school activities, do grocery shopping and wake up 2 times a night when they called out for me. As a family, we still entertained friends at our place with me cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking, serving and washing up. We also went out to restuarants to which I sipped on tea whilst feeding the kids. There was no temptation greater than my spiritual journey. Let your thoughts for food come and pass. Just remember that you can have all the food you want after 40 days. I can remember getting hungry once but I filled it with His words from King James Bible and beautiful songs about Christ.

Revelations: Through meditation and visions, I saw half of Jesus face. I see myself as a prophet healing people with Jesus standing behind me doing the real work through me. No one else can see Jesus so people thought that it was me. Know that I cannot do anything without God’s divine hand. In my dream, I see landscape changing from majestic mountains to deserts and I know that one day soon, I shall travel and heal. Jesus gave up his life for love on the cross. He gave up his life for us so that our souls may awake to find him. So too shall I live my life for love - for all. Another revelation was knowing that I had paid all my human debts. My last karma was to nourish and take care of my husband and two boys which is my present moment. I shall saviour this incredibly sweet time and make it the most memorable for my family before my journey outside of this circle. 

I was seeking for peace to which they responded by telling me to go inside (of myself) and find God’s voice. I have known Jesus’s tone for decades. His voice- always gentle, patient, kind and divine. 

I also dreamt that I was behind a stong thick heavy metal gate or cell and my husband was on the other side. Twice I bent down to pick up something that was thrown near the base of the gate; money or food, I am not sure. This was telling. I needed to break free and fly. 

Week 2 Fasting. Self Creation 

My body felt more comfortable now, shifting into a new habit of not eating solids. I have lost weight but sometimes that’s a good thing. I’m focused on doing some self care and self creation. The soles of my feet and tips of my fingers have been so rough and peeled from chores and neglect that dried peeled skin were catching on clothes and bed sheets. My face was dry, dull and wrinkled. I did some face masks with fresh aloe vera from the garden, dyed my greying hair and soaked my feet in magnesium salts. 

I created a business in health foods of health balls and self care bath scrubs. I sold these to retail store Whitton Malt House and friends. I hope to support my future travels and healing work with the business and pass it onto my sons. 

From a dream, I’ve decided to go full time pescatarian again. I had been a pescatarian for a couple of years but ran into some health issues part time vegetarian. I dreamt that I was crouching with a lion in the weeds then the lion pounced on a buffalo. I watched as the lion tore the other animal in pieces, chewing and swallowed bloody flesh. all of a sudden, I felt my teeth sink into raw animal flesh and downed meat drenched in red. I had become the lion but still with human consciouness and started dry reaching.  

We have so much food options now that it’s unnecessary to kill animals for meat or produce. This is about self creation and choosing new habits to live healthier and kinder to yourself and the universe. 

My husband who is a doctor had been reasoning with me to eat since I started due to future weak bones and organs shutting down ‘where are you getting your vitamins from?’. Jesus was taking care of me but the badgering was exhausting me. 

Revelation: God wrote a message in my dream after one of those  ‘I am. I am waiting.’ This was my God who guides me and gives me instant peace and assurance. This is your God too. Just listen. You’ll hear Him. Because He hears You.

The next night my message was ‘Be still. Know me and reveal me’. This came after my restless mind got caught up in creative projects and domestic family matters.

The following night they reiterated ‘Your mind is like a twig’ when still my thoughts jumped from social media, to friends, messages and other things. I had to refocus and get back to God.

Week 3. Recommit to the path. Priortise love for Jesus, Family and consciousness. You must know and really feel that your life is full to enable transcendent. That you have everything that you have ever wanted to experience as a human being - love, friends, children, travel and career. Your cup is overflowing. There is no more desire apart being with God.

‘God take me with you. Show me where to walk, I will follow’  

This week will be tough. You’ll stop going to the bathroom and have probably lost about 5-7kgs. You’ll be impatient, light headed without much energy. You’ll be tempted by Satan, it’s real. In a dream, Satan said ‘Come with me, God is not helping you’ to which I replied ‘I am with God and God is with me’.

Weak and feeling strangled at home with domestic chores, I went to spend a night alone at The Whitton Malt House, I indulged in reading King James Bible, Meditations by Thomas Moore, Return To The Centre by Bede Griffiths, John Paul II and Jesus and the Apostles by National Geographic. I meditated through the night as well. About 2am, came the realisation that the transcendent to enlightenment was actually the un-creation of the created self to return back to light and love in the original form when the word was spoken. My troubles at home were in fact my fault in not honouring each of my boys (sons and husband) for who they were. I had been imposing on these souls my righteous ways on how and what they should be - controlling, rendering, manipulating, conditioning, disrespecting, unkind, rude and yelling. All to which were resulting in anger, disappointment and causing disharmony in the home. I had been brought up this way that I wasn’t enough and needed to strive, be more and have more in order to be happy. I was bringing up my children the same way and expected my partner to be more too.  

With this realisation, my body started to purge out the pain, tension, desperation and ugliness of it all. It didn’t stop till daylight. It got me thinking then, how to uncondition the way that we’ve been raising generations after generations of children who are not enough that was aligned with this spiritual path. It was simple. Just leave their souls alone. They come fully aware ancient adult souls into this world. We all come into this world to return back to light and love. It was my job as a mother to nourish them so that they may live long enough to get to know their soul and re-establish their relationship with God again.  No-one is judging you but you. No-one is judging me but me. I had forgotten how to play with life and my kids. My children were in eternal play every single moment. It was I that imposed on their freedom and joy to be on time for a schedule I had made up for them. I lived in other people’s timeframe, other people’s moments and not the present moment of my children nor mine. I have the power to create peace and calm within the home without authorisation-ship and influence. I wanted a way in, not a way out.    

No one needs to be anyone but themselves. Life was simple. Life was love. That’s it. Everyone has come back to be loved and return back to love.  

Resurrection of the soul was building your own temple within yourself. No members, no institution, no law and authority over anyone. The only law was love and forgiveness. The only word to be obeyed was God’s words. 

I emergeged with the morning, lighter, peaceful, healed and resting in love and light. There was no thunderous moment of realisation. Just a silence from God to allow me to choose and feel that moment of bliss.

The message from this first attempt was to uncreate yourself of human expectations to return back to your light. You are enough, you always were. 20 days fasting completed. I aborted the fasting. I had to eat in order to sustain a level head to look after my family. I needed a break through on how to fast without loosing my mind and have energy to take care of my boys.  

#40daysfast #fasting #resurrection #godislove #jesuslovesyou #enlightenment

[theapostlesnigeria]

HE LOVES YOU

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others." - Philippians 2 :3-4.

Friend, God can't be joking or playing with words. He means every Word He dared spoke to man. And every of His spoken Words carry consequences. He says it is just vain conceit when one thinks he is better than another person. No matter what you might say or think, God, who alone sets the standards and judges, cannot be wrong. God says you are conceited when you think you are better than another.

To be conceited means to be too proud of yourself and your actions and abilities while conceit is the state of being too proud of yourself and your actions. This is exactly how God sees you when you think you are better than that other person. You see, by your own hands, by your conceitedness, you condemn yourself before God.

Holiness or Righteousness, all boils down to being like God. And Love is the summary description of God. "...God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him." - 1 John 4:16. So Holiness and Righteousness is all about Love, Love for your fellow human, irrespective of color, tribe, religion and actions. Love is the summary of our relationship with God and man - "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “Do not commit adultery,” “Do not murder,” “Do not steal,” “Do not covet,” and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this one rule: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law." - Romans 13:8-10. Holiness is not about what one wears or don't wear.

So if your own Holiness and Righteousness does not lead you to love your fellow humans, check it, you have missed it - " If anyone says, “I love God,” yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen. And he has given us this command: Whoever loves God must also love his brother." - 1 John 4:20-21. Think of it: by which Laws did Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, lived their pleasant and holy lives? None, as there was no given Law of God then. Rather, they lived their lives by applying the basic foundation of Love in their interactions with others - "So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets." - Matthew 7:12.

What really is Love? Love is not feelings. Love is so central and indispensable in our lives that God defined it for us. Love is what God said it is: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails..." - 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. For the avoidance of all doubts, these are the constituents of Love:

* PATIENCE - this is the ability of overcoming a problem without complaining or getting angry. By this definition, are you Patient? But Love is.

* Kindness - this is the state of being - gentle, good-hearted, understanding, compassionate, benevolent, helpful, and thinking about other people's feelings. By this definition, are you Kind? But Love is.

* ENVY - this is being jealous of another person, to wish that you had something that another person has. Do you Envy? But Love doesn't.

* BOASTING - this is act of speaking of oneself in superlatives. It is self praise, an act of glorying. It is being conceited. Do you Boast? But Love doesn't.

* PRIDE - is a feeling of pleasure and satisfaction that you get because you or people connected with you have done or got something good. It is being arrogant, conceited, pompous, haughty, self-esteeming. By this definition, are you Proud? But Love isn't.

* Rudeness - is the quality of being offensive, primitive, embarrassing or not polite. Are you Rude? But Love isn't.

* SELF-SEEKING - is being interested in your own advantage in everything that you do. By this definition, are you Self-seeking? But Love isn't.

* ANGER - is that strong feeling that makes you want to hurt someone or be unpleasant because of something unfair or unkind that has happened. Are you easily Angered by others? But Love isn't.

* KEEPING RECORD OF WRONGS - is the act of organizing and storing in your memory all the Wrongs and Offenses others have done to you. You quickly and easily retrieve such at the least provocation. Do you keep Record of Wrongs of others? But Love doesn't.

* TRUTH LOVING - is rejoicing when Right and Truth prevail instead of injustice. Do you rejoice at injustice? But Love doesn't.

* PROTECTION - is to defend, guard and watch over someone and his interests regardless of what comes. Do you always Protect others? But Love does.

* Trust - is to believe that someone is good and honest and will not harm you.l)Do you Trust others? But Love does.

* HOPE - is remaining steadfast during difficult time, believeing and wanting someone to prove true. Do you easily give up on people? But faith doesn't.

* PERSEVERANCE - is the ability to keep doing what you are doing or believing what you are believing despite the opposition that wants to make you to give up. Are you Persevering? But Love is.

* FAILURE - is to not succeed in what you are trying to achieve or are expected to do. Do you fade or end your relationship with others for any reason? But Love doesn't.

Friend, does your own Love match God's description of Love? If it doesn't, be warned, you might be in for a shock on that Great Day. I know you might be tempted to think that no one can be able to live the Love as explained above. Yes, by our human efforts, it is simply impossible. But when the Holy Spirit lives in you, He will live it out in you. The New Life in Christ is anchored on the Power of the Holy Spirit in producing and manifesting the divine qualities of God in the Believer's interactions with others. It's no longer powered by our human efforts and struggles in trying to keep the laws of God. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." - Galatians 2:20.

Now, how can one get this Love as defined by God into his life? For sure, you don't get it by good works or by keeping laws, whether of God or man. Love is only created in one by the purifying works of the Holy Spirit - "And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." - Romans 5:5. So, anyone without the indwelling Holy Spirit is incapacitated of loving as defined by God. To God, Love is only as defined by Him, not as defined by you or Society. And He gives the Holy Spirit to one only when the person turns to Him in genuine Repentance and in faith to Jesus Christ. “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit." - Acts 2:38. Please note that this Repentance here is not turning away from sin and promising God not to sin again. By your human efforts, you can't. But rather, this Repentance is simply a genuine acknowledgment of your sinfulness and a sincere and willing desire to change. Once you genuinely come to this repentant state and genuinely believe and confess that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, God who knows your heart, will consequently forgive you of your sins and Fill you with the Holy Spirit. "God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith." - Acts 15:8-9. Your filling with the Holy Spirit, amongst other reasons, is a confirmation from God that He has accepted you and that you now belong to Christ. You see, anyone without the Holy Spirit, irrespective of his confession of Christ and his religious activities, have not been accepted by God and thus does not belong to Christ - "...And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ." - Romans 8:9. Don't just assume you have the Holy Spirit. You must have to make sure He is in you. If He is in you, He will primarily enable you to love as defined by God. And He will also change your life for good, enabling you to start manifesting His Fruit instead of Satan's Works of the Flesh, in your relationships with others.

Friend, did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed in Christ? If the answer is NO, then what are you waiting for? Arise now and call on the Name of Jesus Christ in genuine Repentance and Faith. He Loves you.

GOD BLESS YOU MY DARLING, MY BROTHER - BRO KINGDOM EGEJURU.

[taizi]

i’m proud to say i got you (2/2)

this is mostly exploratory and largely self-indulgent, i just want 1A to talk about this. i’ve come to love bakugo a whole bunch so i wont vilify him, but the way the kid treated izuku back when was hecked up and for at least my own sake i want someone to admit it

summary: there’s a history behind midoriya’s stammers and full-body flinches, an ugly word for what he went through before coming to yuuei, tenya just doesn’t want to think it.

2k 4k genfic, iida & deku

story tag / ao3

x

Absolutely nothing, Tenya comes to realize, is so cut and dry as heroics. Against the backdrop of fire and wreckage, villains and victims are as easy to pick apart as black and white. It’s easy to know where to step, which way to run, who to subdue and who to rescue.

The rest of his life is very rarely as simple.

It’s one thing to know that Bakugo and Midoriya have an ugly history -- to come into the understanding that Midoriya, perhaps the most transparent person Tenya knows, has a skeleton rattling noisily in the closet -- but it’s something else entirely to act upon knowing that.

It’s not a simple matter, trying to shape Midoriya into a victim. Not the Midoriya who led the way during the Provisional License exam, who faced the Hero Killer in a dark alley, who risked life and limb and potentially his hero career to break into the scene at Kamino Ward and save a boy who has never been kind to him.

Midoriya smiles like a bright summer sky and shrinks like a shadow, a walking contradiction of hard-earned scar tissue and soft-spoken scruples, and Tenya doesn’t know how to believe in the uncomfortable reason why.

Surely no one so strong could have been bullied or abused -- but by that logic, why would someone with such an impressive Quirk cringe and doubt and duck his head at every turn?

On the other side of the coin, it would be easy to point the blame at Bakugo. Bakugo makes it easy to make him the enemy; with his attitude and his ego and the way he treats the whole world like a stepping stone, it would be no hardship to color him in fault and leave it at that.

Or it would have been that way before.

But some days, recently, Bakugo laughs with Kirishima and Kaminari, bright-eyed in a way Tenya wouldn’t have guessed he was capable of.

Some days he picks Uraraka out of the group and demands a spar, since she’s ‘the only one of you fucks that actually gives me a run for my damn money’ and that backhanded respect makes Uraraka beam.

Some days, during lunch or a passing period, he sees Monoma coming their way before the rest of them do and cuts coldly into his path, standing like a wall between that unkind smirk and his own classmates with a glare that could peel the paint off the walls -- and for the life of him, Tenya can’t tell if it’s an act of belligerence or buried kindness.

Some days he is very close to something Tenya would be tempted to call a comrade. He is not quite a friend, but he is not the enemy he paints himself to be, either. The surly boy Tenya met the first day of class has retreated into a softer shell. When he looks at Midoriya, something has replaced the rage that used to crouch darkly in his face, something Tenya isn’t sure he can name.

And it’s hard to reconcile him with the person he was months ago. It’s hard to reconcile him with the idea of a person who could have conditioned so much fear into gentle, reckless Midoriya.

It’s hard, but very few things worth doing are easy, and so Tenya steels himself for a conversation no one wants to have and waits for Midoriya after class.

“Midoriya!” he says, turning heads up and down the room. Midoriya doesn’t wince, having seen him coming, and only smiles a greeting. Tenya sweeps his own hands up for emphasis and exclaims, “We still have plenty of time before curfew and there are no lessons tomorrow! Would you accompany me to the store?”

Midoriya blinks. “Um -- sure, Iida. What do you need at the store?”

Tenya hasn’t thought that far ahead, but he’s saved coming up with a suitable answer by Kirishima’s enthusiastic, “We’re goin’ to the store? Heck yes, sign me up! I definitely need snacks for our day off tomorrow.”

“Oooh, me too,” Mina says gleefully, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Days when you can stay in and be lazy are the best!”

Tenya waves his arms and says “hang on!” but trying to stall the sudden upsweep of enthusiasm from his classmates is like trying to stop a train moving at full speed. He also can’t think of a way to say “I only want to go with Midoriya” in a way that won’t raise any suspicion, and the shorter boy doesn’t look bothered by the prospect of additional company. There was probably a much more subtle way for Tenya to have approached this.

He drops his hands, frustrated. Midoriya opens his ever-present notebook to a fresh page and tears it out along the perforated edge carefully.

“Actually, I have something I want to talk to Iida about,” he says with an apologetic smile. He offers Mina the blank page. “But if you all make a list of what you want, I can pick it up for you.”

Tenya blinks at him, surprised. The rest of their classmates clamor forward, calling Midoriya a real stand-up guy, see, this is why we love you and the resulting commotion makes Aizawa sigh from the front of the room and Midoriya laugh.

The page is cluttered by the time they get it back, almost everyone having added something to the list in pencil and various colored pens and a glitter marker that could really only be Aoyama’s, but Midoriya doesn’t seem to mind. He folds it carefully and slides it into his notebook for safekeeping and says, “We’ll be back soon.”

They’re leaving the school grounds, passing through the large gate, when Tenya says, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Midoriya rubs the back of his head sheepishly. His hands are so usually wrapped in crisp white bandages, it’s almost odd to see naked fingers peeking through his green curls instead.

“N-nothing, really. But I thought you might have had a reason for asking me, out of everyone else, so I -- I’m sorry, was I wrong?”

“No! In this case, you weren’t! You’re very perceptive, but that comes as no surprise by now.” Tenya frowns deeply and points at him. “However, it could very well have been that I asked you simply because I wanted to! That’s not a strange thing for friends to do, is it?”

Midoriya appears wrong-footed for a moment, eyes round beneath that impossible mop of hair. Then the surprise fades into something sweet-tempered and he grins crookedly, a pleased pink warming his pale face. Looking at him, Tenya can’t help feeling a surge of pride, chest tightening at both the prospect of making someone so happy with a handful of simple words, and the fact that it was Midoriya, of all people, who absolutely deserves it.

“That being said,” Tenya adds emphatically, “I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a chore. I’m going to give the others a stern lecture when we return about appropriateness and doing things for themselves! What kind of heroes will our generation be if we just laze about and let others do for us?”

“I offered,” Midoriya reminds him, not unkindly. “Besides, it’s nice having friends to do favors for.”

It’s Tenya’s turn now to be wrong-footed, and he stares at his shorter companion -- as though by looking hard enough, the answers to all his uncomfortable questions would rise to the surface of Midoriya’s skin and save them all the awkwardness of having them spoken aloud.

Unfortunately, Tenya’s Quirk is not one that induces unwilling honesty, and he’s resigned to have to do this in the more quotidian way.

“You say it as though it’s not something you’re accustomed to,” he says with unerring caution, watching Midoriya sidelong with every word. He’s watching closely, and so he sees it when Midoriya tenses, every line and shadow of his body going taunt with a sudden sweep of nerves that should have no place between two friends on a casual walk after school. It’s hard, one of the hardest things Tenya’s ever had to do, but he goes on in forced measured tones. “Did you not have many friends before coming to Yuuei?”

He can almost hear Midoriya’s mind racing, overthinking the question. The easy camaraderie between them is gone, and Tenya desperately tries not to regret steering the conversation here.

“Um,” Midoriya says, at length. His hands are shaking. “Did someone tell you -- “

“Absolutely not!” Tenya waves his own hands so forcefully his whole body moves with them. “I do not condone gossip! That’s why I’m asking you, and you alone! And I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, even if you decide not to tell me anything!”

Midoriya relaxes, but only barely. By an inch, if it could be measured that way. The city is bright and neon in the swiftly falling twilight. The convenience store on the corner is well-lit, a pleasant beacon in the fading daytime. They’ve stopped walking, Tenya looking at Midoriya, Midoriya looking at his feet.

“I guess it’s,” he starts, and stops, and then visibly forces himself to push on. “I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? I, uh -- my Quirk -- it came to me late. For a long time, I didn’t -- so other kids, they -- “

There are shadows, growing and stretching and multiplying in his eyes. His shoulders are impossibly small for the burdens he carries, and yet he never attempts to share them. As if he’s only worth the weight on his back.

Something fierce and hot bears its teeth in the pit of Tenya’s chest, and he clenches his fists. He guessed it, he realized whole days ago, and somehow he still wasn’t prepared for this.

“You were bullied?”

Midoriya flinches, as though it’s an ugly word. A personal failing. When he dips his head in a nod, he can’t quite pick it back up again. His fingers dig into the fabric of his school uniform as he waits for some painful blow, and Tenya --

Tenya hates.

It’s a cold, ugly feeling. It has no place in the heart of a hero-to-be. It makes intelligent people stupid, it makes them drunk, and the last time Tenya felt this way he tracked down Stain in Hosu and very nearly got himself and two of his classmates killed.

But he can’t swallow it down. He can’t shake it off.

Quirk or not, Midoriya embodies heroics almost to a fault. Quirk or not, Midoriya is good, and giving, and a valuable, irreplaceable friend. Quirk or not, Midoriya did not deserve what he lived through.

“It was bad, wasn’t it?” Tenya says softly, not trusting himself to speak any louder. “It must have been bad. Did nobody help you?”

“I was Quirkless,” Midoriya says again, tonelessly, as though this conversation has become an exercise in self-flagellation. “They didn’t know how to help me.”

Tenya is cold with anger to a point that makes him feel brittle, as though moving too much or too fast would cause his bones to snap. He holds himself very still, because he can’t know he won’t do something foolish if he doesn’t.

“We live in an age of heroes, but Quirks weren’t always so prevalent that everyone had one,” he bites out. “Surely your teachers, who lived during a time when superpowers weren’t commonplace, would have remembered classmates or friends who grew up without one. Why would they be prejudiced against a powerless child now?”

Midoriya looks at him at that point. His eyes are round and stunned. It’s his first time hearing this.

“They never took those malefactors to task for hurting you?” Tenya demands. “Not even once?”

“In grade school they did,” Midoriya says quickly. He’s staring. “They wouldn’t let -- but as I got older, they -- Iida, it’s okay. This was a long time ago.” He takes a step closer, hand drifting fractionally closer, as if he’d close the space between them and touch Tenya’s arm if he was sure of his welcome. He’s worried, Tenya realizes, about him. “Even without my Quirk, I’m strong enough now that I can’t be bullied so easily anymore. And I can stop it from happening to anyone around me, too. I’m not the person I used to be.”

“That’s not the point,” Tenya tells him flatly, agitated. “Someone should have been there for you. Bakugo should have been there for you. But instead he hurt you, too, didn’t he?”

Midoriya flinches, retracting his hand. “K- Kacchan? He -- he’s -- I actually instigated a lot of the fights, with Kacchan. I would -- meddle. When he was bullying someone else. And I have a, um. A pretty high pain tolerance? I don’t think he knew how much he was hurting me, because I always got back up. I think he must have thought -- I mean. It’s not -- it’s because I -- “

Something close to horror fills Tenya’s stomach like an icy pool, flooding all the tunnels of his body the longer Midoriya talks, and finally he reaches out slowly and grips Midoriya by the shoulders. Squeezing hard, but not hard enough to hurt, and bending forward so they’re closer to eye-level.

“You’re smarter than this,” he says, enunciating every word so there’s no hope of Midoriya misunderstanding. “You know it wasn’t your fault. Don’t make excuses for him. If it was me, you wouldn’t shift blame this way, would you?”

“I- I’m not -- I don’t -- it’s not anyone’s fault,” Midoriya stammers. “Kacchan was wrong, I know, but -- it just -- it was just, something that happened, a long time ago. And it’s over now, and -- Kacchan is getting better, and I’m getting better, and -- and it’s okay. Okay?”

Of course it’s not okay. Tenya doesn’t know how to communicate how much it’s not okay. He’s more disordered and overwrought now than he was before he asked, before he confirmed his unhappy suspicions.  

But this is bigger than one conversation. It’s more than Tenya can make right all on his own, all in one fell swoop. This is years and years of negative reinforcement and conditioned self-blame and --

And Midoriya wants it to be over. Tenya has pushed far enough tonight.

He drops his hands and steps back. Adopts a smile he doesn’t even feel.

“Forgive me, Midoriya. I got ahead of myself, didn’t I?”

Midoriya takes the out and runs with it, rubbing a hand through his hair nervously. He’s trembling, and Tenya feels terrible.

“No, it’s -- it’s okay. I just wasn’t, uh, prepared. No one’s ever asked me about that, before.”

“Someone should have,” Tenya says fiercely, the last thing he’ll allow himself to say. “Anyway -- we should get this shopping done before they send a search party for us.”

“I think they’d text first,” Midoriya ventures to tease, picking up the thread of this safer conversation and leading the way once more towards the convenience store. He works the notebook out of the side pocket of his bright yellow bookbag and opens it to the shopping list. His smile is soft when he looks down at the messy page of scribbles in twenty different scripts, and Tenya notices for the first time a very distinctive red pen in the bottom left corner.

those spicy chips we like, the red note says.

Some days, only recently, only after the events at Kamino Ward, Bakugo and Midoriya are selected as a two-man tag team during field exercises. It’s the work of their teachers, Tenya thinks, trying to do something about the unfortunate chemistry between two of Yuuei’s most promising rising stars.

And instead of the explosive disaster the rest of the class is braced for every time, Bakugo and Midoriya meet each other on even footing. Bakugo sometimes snaps, and Midoriya sometimes wavers, but the front they create when they stand together is unbreakable.

There’s more here than Tenya knows how to fix. It’s more complicated than picking out the villain and the victim, faulting one and saving the other. Yuuei hasn’t taught him how to do this, yet. If his big brother knows the way, he’s never mentioned it.

How to unteach years and years of the same cruel lesson. How to unlearn someone else’s hurt.

Tenya doesn’t know what to do, and he hasn’t done anything remotely helpful yet -- has only opened a door that rightly should have been left closed until he was prepared to deal with the demons behind it -- but Midoriya thanks him as they’re leaving.

“I could tell you really -- you really cared? Even though it all happened so long ago? And I guess, I just thought no one would think it mattered anymore. So -- thank you.”

“If you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me,” this same person said to him, not so long ago. “We’re friends, after all.”

Tenya swallows a burning lump in his throat and says, “Give me some of those bags, Midoriya. I can at least carry half.”

Midoriya blinks at the non sequitur and looks down. The plastic bags between them are bulging with snacks and sports drinks, most of them hefted effortlessly in his small, strong hands and Tenya with the remaining few.

“Oh? That's okay, I can -- “

“I know you can, but you don’t have to.” Tenya waits with his hand outstretched, will wait that way forever if he has to. “We’re both going the same way. It only makes sense that I carry half.”

#boku no hero academia #bnha #iideku #my writing #i got you #posting this at 1am is probably a bad call.. #anime spoilers #bnha fic

[gaealynn]

TT/AU half-fic continuation

So Yoda explains that back on Coruscant he’d come to (from meditation? sleep? unconsciousness? death?) at the very same time that Obi-Wan had inexplicably come back to life on Naboo, and immediately packed up several members of the Council and a handful of healers and headed for Theed.  He seems to remember/know everything that Ben remembers, and yet….

It’s not quite clear is what, exactly, all of this is.  Have they shared a powerful Force Vision?  Is it time travel?  An alternate universe?  

Yoda’s holding out for Force Vision, but Ben is honestly – pretty sure it’s not.  At least not for him.  Even just the time they spend talking together before Ben is too exhausted to continue makes Ben suspect – well, that he and Yoda have not had quite the same experience.  

Yoda just seems… too whole, to be the same Yoda that had lived through the destruction of the Jedi order.  Grieved, and concerned over what he’d seen, to be sure, but – not hollowed out and unmoored, the way that Ben still feels.  The way the Yoda on Degobah had been.  Yoda is a grand master of the Living Force, true, and the Force is indeed a powerful ally, but there are some things….

They’re not able to come to agreement on what has happened.

“Matter, it does not,” Yoda finally says, when Ben can no longer hide his mounting exhaustion, this young body still far too drained for an extended philosophical debate.  “Knowledge, we have gained.  Act on it, we will.  But rest, you require.”

So Yoda leaves Obi-Wan to rest, and….

***

“…. Master Obi-Wan?”  The high voice from the door, sometime later, was not a surprise.  The surge of pure gratitude, verging on happiness, that swept through him at the once-familiar voice, however, was.  Ben embraced it, the feeling uncomplicated and pure in a way he had nearly forgotten, and allowed a smile to bloom on his face.

“I’m not your Master, Anakin,” he corrected gently, and gestured the young boy into the room.  “You should just call me – Obi-Wan.”  And, ah, what a strange thing to say!

Anakin, impossibly young and wide eyed and Light, darted into the room quickly, casting a look over at Qui-Gon’s still form on his way to Ben’s bedside.

“Are you alright?”  Anakin asked immediately, pressing himself anxiously against the high side of the medical bed.  “Is – is Master Qui-Gon alright?”

“I’m quite fine, Anakin, and I believe that Master Qui-Gon will be, as well.” Ben answered, and chuckled at the wave of relief that immediately poured off the boy.  He’d forgotten how much, and how strongly, Anakin had projected before he’d learned to hold basic shields.

“Master Yoda said that you would be, but I – I came every day,” this was offered somewhat shyly, and quickly followed up with an earnestly concerned, “and it seemed like you were dead!  You’ve been asleep forever.”

“Six days is quite a long time,” Ben agreed gravely, and Anakin nodded fervently, still darting looks in Qui-Gon’s direction, hands twisting anxiously in the sheets at Ben’s side.  Ben knew what he should do, according to the teachings of the Temple, and what he would have done – what he had done – when he’d come to know Anakin for the first time.  But he was too old and tired, now, to chide Anakin over this heartfelt worry.  Besides which, he had to admit to himself, he simply… did not want to.

“Why don’t you come up here?” He offered instead, shifting himself slightly to make room on the bed and patting the empty spot.  Anakin stared up in surprise for only a second, then scrambled up, not even hesitating before tucking himself under the arm that Ben held up.

He looked so much like Luke at this age, Ben thought in astonishment.  Who had been looking after him while he and Qui-Gon had laid asleep?  Padme – or rather, now, Queen Amidala – surely would have seen that his needs were met, but the Queen couldn’t possibly have much time to spend with a little boy after Naboo’s recent crisis.  And Anakin had just left his mother, whom he had never before been without, and was now on a strange planet…

Ben could not recall if he had found those circumstances so alarming his first time around, but he could not, in fact, recall much from those days other than the pressing grief.  He suspected, now, that he’d been a very poor comfort to his young padawan.

“How have you been, Anakin?” He asked, when his study of the young boy had stretched on too long.  Anakin, warm and bright beside him, did not seem to mind.

“I’m wizard,” The young boy declared immediately.  Obi-Wan chuckled; perhaps his concern was misplaced.   “I destroyed the droid ship and Padme says I’m a hero and I got to be in a parade!  Uh, not that – I didn’t mean to leave the hanger, I swear!”

“Oh?”  Ben asked, to cover his confusion.  What? – ah, yes, Qui-Gon had told him to stay put.

“It started to fly on its own!”  Anakin explained earnestly, “I didn’t mean to, but I just– I couldn’t not help!  I knew I had to….”

“Your instincts do you credit, young one; the battle could not have been won had the droid ship remained functional.”  Anakin brightened again, and beamed up.  Ben hid his amusement; this was something that his padawan had never managed to shake, the desire for praise, and this honest reception of it was more charming than the somewhat arrogant preening that Anakin had taken to in his later teenage years.  That thought, however, threatened to turn dark, so he shook it off quickly.

“And Master Yoda and Master Billaba are teaching me to meditate!” Anakin continued brightly, before wilting slightly and confessing, “But, uh, it isn’t going so well,” before hurriedly moving on, “and this morning, Master Yoda let me take apart his lightsaber!”

Oh, stars.

“That’s – extremely kind of him.”  Ben managed, swallowing a laugh.  How desperate had the old troll had been, to allow such a thing?  Anakin was a far cry from the orderly children that Yoda liked to visit in the creche.  

“Yeah, it was wizard!  And, uh.  I wanted… to ask…” For the first time, Anakin seemed unsure, twisting away, slightly, from where he’d been lying against Obi-Wan’s side, eyes downcast.

“You can ask me anything you like, Anakin,” Ben reassured, and Anakin bit his lip, but continued.

“I thought – this morning?  It seemed like you were in the room, but you weren’t there!  But I felt you!”  Anakin insisted, eyes wide again.  Ben frowned, and then realized.

“You mean this?”  He asked, and reached out again; even though he was still exhausted, it was easier this time, with Anakin so close, to brush the happy content glad to see you against the boy’s mind.  Anakin’s eyes went even wider.

“Wizard,” He breathed, and Ben didn’t even try to hide the smile as Anakin pressed back again, happy excited happy – although there was still that faint hint of confused.

“What is it, Anakin?”

“I thought – youdidn’tlikeme?” It was a quick mumble, Anakin’s mind pulling back from his own even as the boy cast his eyes back down to the floor.

Oh, Force.  He’d been such an arrogant, young fool.  And why was Anakin always so perceptive exactly when Ben wanted him to be oblivious?

“That’s not true,” Ben reassured hastily, heart twisting – had his own Anakin believed the same thing?  Had their problems started even here?

“But you said–”

“I know,”  Ben cut him off, “I know, Anakin.  And I can only ask  you to forgive me, for being very unkind.  I was – I was afraid,” He admitted, “And I allowed my fear to control me.  It is not the Jedi way.”

“So you do think I’m dangerous?” Anakin asked, voice wobbling, and Ben pulled him closer, tight against his side, and shut his eyes against a future that had already – and not yet – happened.  

Did he believe Anakin was dangerous?  All beings had the potential for darkness; he knew that now better than most.  But to say that the bright, warm being in his arms was destined for the Dark?  To throw away this Light, over the fear that Anakin might someday turn?  

No.  Ben wouldn’t do it.  Even if Anakin were tempted, even if Anakin did Fall again – there would still be hope.  Ben knew that now.

“No,” He breathed his denial into the soft blond hair.  To himself, to Anakin, to the Force?  He didn’t know.  “No, Anakin.  You’re not dangerous.”  Not any more than any other Jedi.  “I’m so sorry…”

He wouldn’t fail Anakin again.

***

Later, when Anakin had exhausted himself (describing the palace and the victory celebration and his new studies with Yoda and Billaba and, of course, Padme – oh, so very much about Padme) and fallen asleep against Ben’s shoulder, Ben let himself drift.

The Force was comforting, here, in the busy city of Theed; millions of sentient lives overlapping, a gentle, contented hum that smoothed out thousands of tiny, petty instances of disagreement and discord.  So much more life than there had ever been on Tatooine.  

Anakin, against his shoulder, so star-bright that it almost hurt to look at him in the Force, though it was only a fraction of the strength that Ben knew he would someday achieve.  And across the room, Qui-Gon, his Master, that cool-warm presence, reminiscent of the deep forest…

Not his, Ben carefully avoided thinking, adrift in the Force, untethered among the great currents of a changing future.

Not his, but beloved, and precious.  He certainly wouldn’t fail them again.

#so i’m working on this theory of a jedi force-bond-hive-mind #that even though they are supposed to shun strong personal attachments they actually form unconscious bonds all of the time #stronger between students/teachers and friends and work-partners who spend a lot of time together #but there even between jedi who have touched minds only once #starting from infancy in the creche when it's still natural for them to share mental space #before they’re taught to keep their minds apart and to only share deliberately #just tiny little connections that linger and tether them all together #so subtle that the jedi don’t even realize that they’re there #but it's part of what gives the jedi their incredible resiliency #what makes the temple such a soothing place for them #this huge mental safety net that says family and home and safe #what makes it possible for them to bounce back from mental damage that would ground any normal person #and ben? #ben does not have that anymore #because this isn’t his universe #and even though the jedi here are still alive #he’s on the outside of that safety net #not quite able to pinpoint what’s wrong but knowing that he doesn’t quite fit #that some kind of vital connection is missing #and oh shit #did anakin ever have that connection with anyone other than obi-wan? #coming to the temple so late after everyone else had already learned to shield #no close friends #never really working closely with any jedi other than obi-wan… #yeah that kid was probably wiiiiiide open to mental manipulation actually #and seriously dependent on obi-wan for his mental stability in a way that nobody realized #sw #sw:tpm #i guess i should tag this fic now

[prophecydungeon]

→ a fanmix for stubborn people

listen here  ●  art here  ●  fic here  ●  notes & tl;dr below

1. in my time of dying, led zeppelin

tbh, i just kind of wanted some zep on this playlist. it’s a variation on traditional gospel music (and one of the many traditionally black songs that led zeppelin popularized simply by being white.... but i digress :^) ) and as it’s about being on your deathbed, it’s quite fitting. the first lines of the song were also a tempting highlight -- “in my time of dying, don’t want nobody to mourn” -- but i settled on the lines immediately following. i deliberated between the studio recording and the 2007 O2 arena live performance, but went with studio instead. (kinda because the '07 version is better in its context) (those ‘oh my jesus’es........ oh my jesus.) also, “oh gabriel, let me blow your horn” is a line that exists in this song.

ten years gone was also in the running, which is funny bc physical graffiti is far from my fave album of theirs. when the levee breaks was kinda tempting too purely for the soundscape, and thank you is always a good cute song too.

2. dear death, pt. i, emery

this is an “old song” for me, but i still really like it. part ii also exists, and the two sound great back-to-back, but pt. i was just much more fitting for these two. the opening lines (again, immediately prior to those i highlighted.... a trend?) are “just hear me out, this was all my fault” going right into “you brought me death,” which is just. i had to. you know? this song is so short, but absolutely every line is packed with that good r76 trademark angst tee em.

3. love is blindness, jack white

ha, ha, blind!76 headcanon pun, plus the general blind-to-you theme. another tempting highlight was “love is blindness / i don’t wanna see / won’t you wrap the night around me” which gives me both “willfully blind” vibes and “i want you to hide me from everything” vibes, and a bit of that “i’m too tired to be able to Care anymore, i want it all to be gone” feeling. just all in all, a good ol’ kinda fucked up song. 

4. madness, muse

this is one of those songs that occurred to me out of the damn blue but ohhhh boy does it ever fit. alt. highlights again: “but now i have finally seen the end / and i’m not expecting you to care / but i have finally seen the light / i have finally realized / i need your love” -- if we want to get real meta it’s about saying “you know what, fuck that” to the aforementioned willful blindness. also a big fuck-you to their past situation; a kind of “i know shit was fucked before because of me, and i’m not expecting to snap my fingers and things are magically fine, but i’ve gotten some perspective.”

5. lilac wine, jeff buckley

more songs about mourning! hooray! this song is just so damn beautiful and sorrowful and i love it a lot on its own, so it’s happy coincidence more than anything that made it suitable for this playlist. i also love the lines “makes me see what i want to see / and be what i want to be / when i think more than i want to think / do things i never should do” -- grief and shock and all that good shit snowballing into real mf bad decisions. 

6. adieu, enter shikari

another old song for me! i really, really love this song, though. it’s lovely and it’s also fun to belt out while driving. one of those soft songs that you can really just shout out. also about loss! “i cherish my loss / a gentle reminder / that life is unkind / at the best of times” is probably actually my favorite stanza in the song. i love the idea of cherishing a loss because that’s not what we usually do with loss (quite the opposite), and of loss being... idk, not so much a centralizing force, but a fixed point in terms of perspective? it’s such a weird way to think about things, but i really love it. this song is also fun because it’s very different from all of enter shikari’s other music, lmao.

7. waiting for the end, linkin park

here it is, folks. The Title Song. i’m going to detour for a bit to mention that this entire album works eerily well as a general fall of overwatch album; it’s a concept album about war and destruction and loss, but it’s very hopeful, and kind of a rallying-cry album. honestly probably my favorite linkin park album (i have a favorite linkin park album. embarrassing.), and one of my favorite albums In General. great fun to listen to while driving, actually, which is kind of what sparked this whole fic -- i drove to LA for an event four fucking days in a row (~2hr drive for me lmfao.... god) and i listened to this a few times while driving, and on top of that, a (great) conversation i had at this event is the reason i’m writing this fic using twine, so by our powers combined, etc. etc.

runners-up for the one (1) linkin park slot i allowed myself for this fanmix include: P5hng Me A*wy (or this version), iridescent, roads untraveled (which i staunchly maintain should be one of The universal otp songs)

anyways, i just. love this song. so much. it’s such a good look at how it feels when something goes wrong between two people and the entire stanza i highlighted is just! such a great way to talk about how it feels when you’re stuck between “holding on to what i haven’t got” and knowing you need to move forward; “i know what it takes to move on / i know how it feels to lie / all i want to do / is trade this life for something new.”

8. the anchor, bastille

another detour to talk about the album :V i don’t know if i associate wild world with r76 because i started playing a lot of overwatch around the time i bought this album, or if it really is A Very R76 Album, but it’s. a very r76 album. it was actually really hard to pick just one song off this album to put on this playlist; good grief, glory, two evils, fake it, and shame were also up there, and i deliberated between this and good grief for a while, but in the end, this won out. it’s another good and soft song in terms of words. laughter lines was also tempting.

general aside: i also debated on having i want you (she’s so heavy) by the beatles on this playlist because i love the sound of that song so much, and also because the across the universe version of the song is quite applicable when it comes to overwatch as a war story. 

#thpoe tag #u can put together what the acronym is now #reaper76 #fanmix #ovw tag #it's 'late' so i can bring out the Bad Posts now right #this is REALLY tl;dr under the cut #also i realized i never crossposted those ficlets here so two birds one post i guess

[stephenaltrogge-blog]

I hate conflict. I hate strife of any kind. I hate arguments. I wasn’t in the debate club in high school.

When I was in college I didn’t join the protests that followed the Kent State shootings in 1970 (I just gave away hold old I am). But being a pastor for decades brought me into all kinds of conflict. Marriage and family conflicts, conflicts between church members, and even conflicts with other pastors (really? pastors have conflicts?) I have been criticized many times over the years. One couple I had spent hours and hours trying to help wound up leaving our church and telling other pastors in town I was a Satanic high priest. Another man who I’d spent lots of time trying to help contacted the association we were a part of and asked them to remove me from my position.

Anyway, I don’t like conflict. Don’t enjoy it. Some people seem to thrive in it. But I don’t.

All of us will be involved in conflicts and disagreements. Heck, Paul and Peter had a conflict about whether Jews should eat with Gentiles. In Acts 13, the Holy Spirit told the church in Antioch that he had set apart Paul and Barnabas for work to which he had called them, yet in Acts 15, these two had a “sharp disagreement” and went their separate ways.

As much as I dislike conflict, over the years God has taught me that conflict, as uncomfortable as it can be, provides many opportunities for us to grow. Here are 10:

1. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to be quick to listen, and to restrain our impulse to react quickly or in anger

Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. James 1:19-20

So often, when someone disagrees with us, criticizes us or corrects us about something our first reaction can be to interrupt them, or come back with a retort. Our first impulse can be get angry at them. But James says we should be quick to hear – to listen. Really listen. Oh we can “listen” and not hear someone at all. We can “listen” the whole while writing them off. But James says we should be quick to REALLY listen. To try to understand what they are saying. They might actually be right.

We need to remember we all have blind spots, things about ourselves we can’t see. So when someone criticizes us, we should think, “I really need to listen to this. They might really have something to tell me I need to see, even though I don’t see it now.”

Conflict gives us the opportunity to not respond in anger. Man, do we need God’s grace not to get angry when we feel unjustly criticized. And anger won’t change someone’s mind anyway.

2. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to humble ourselves

But he gives more grace. Therefore it says, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” James 4:6

Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” 1 Peter 5:5

When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom. Proverbs 11:2

When we humble ourselves and listen to others, God gives us grace and wisdom. God doesn’t give grace to the proud and defensive, but to the humble who listen. I have often found that when I have listened to others’ corrections for me they have really helped me. God has used others many times to give me his grace.

3. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to forgive others

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

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

When someone slanders us or pours out their bitterness upon us, we don’t feel like forgiving them. We FEEL like putting them down, or hurting them somehow. But God tells us when others are unkind to us we should be kind to them and even tenderhearted toward them. We can only do this by God’s grace. Remember Jesus’ example to us, who from the cross cried out, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

4. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to receive correction from others

Faithful are the wounds of a friend; profuse are the kisses of an enemy. Proverbs 27:6

Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness; let him rebuke me—it is oil for my head; let my head not refuse it. Yet my prayer is continually against their evil deeds. Psalm 141:5

Someone who is a true friend will speak the truth to us. Will strike us in love, will wound us because he really cares about us. Being struck or wounded doesn’t feel good. I hate it. But I have to remind myself they are doing it because they love me and in the end it will really help me. I have to remind myself that I need to be corrected by others because I can’t see myself perfectly.

5. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to bear with and be patient with others

With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, Ephesians 4:2

Bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Colossians 3:13

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34-35

I have a friend who says that church would be perfect if not for the people. Churches are messy and God puts all of us flawed people together. Conflict is inevitable in church. So God tells us we need to bear with one another in love. Conflict gives us the opportunity to bear with others, and gives them the opportunity to bear with us.

6. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to trust God to speak to others, and change their hearts

the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. James 1:20

And the Lord’s servant  must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness. God may perhaps grant them repentance leading to a knowledge of the truth…2 Timothy 2:24-25

You and I cannot open anyone’s eyes. Only God can. We think we can if we just keep arguing and presenting our side. After all, we can see it so clearly. We need to trust God to help people see things. We can share things with people, but we need not try to persuade them with anger. We can simply lay out our case and appeal to them, but then we have to trust God to help them see in his timing, if he really wants them to see. Of course we should pray and ask God to open their eyes and change their hearts.

7. Conflict provides us the opportunity to pursue reconciliation

So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. Matthew 5:23-24

So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding. Romans 14.19

So often when we have had disagreements with others, we just want to walk away and have nothing to do with them. We can think, “Well that’s their problem.” Not an option. For many years I failed to go to people who had “something against me,” but in the last few years I have gone to a number of people to seek reconciliation and they have graciously forgiven me.

8. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to examine our own hearts

What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. James 4:1-2

What causes conflicts among us? Much of the time it is because we “desire and do not have”, we “covet and cannot obtain” so we “fight and quarrel.” In other words, we want something and can’t get it, so we get angry, fight and have conflicts. So the next time you are feeling angry at someone, examine your heart and ask yourself, “What is it that I am not getting here?” Remember, no one else can make you angry. It comes out of your own heart when you don’t get what you want. Conflict gives us the opportunity to see what it is we want and aren’t getting.

9. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to be like Christ

For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. 1 Peter 2.21-23

If Jesus, the King of the universe was reviled and did not revile back, then by his grace we can imitate him. When we are criticized or “reviled” in any way, we can seek God’s grace to act like Jesus and keep entrusting ourselves to him who judges justly.

10. Conflict provides us with the opportunity to lovingly and graciously disagree at times

And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness. 2 Timothy 2:24-25

Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted. Galatians 6:1

Remind them to be submissive to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready for every good work, to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people. Titus 3:1-2

The Bible doesn’t tell us that we need to be silent at all times, to never respond to criticism or not speak up for the truth. But God tells us that after we have been slow to speak we can respond and even correct our opponents with gentleness and perfect courtesy. This especially applies to how respond to unbelievers.

So as much as we would want to avoid conflict, it is inevitable that we will experience it. Next time you do, take advantage of the opportunities it provides.

The post 10 Great Opportunities Conflict Provides appeared first on The Blazing Center.

[lethe-distillery-blog]

Right Fucked

I took a long inhale, paused as if I wanted to say something, and then exhaled with an exhausted sigh. Nothing was going to come out right; whatever I said was going to come out sounding clumsy and awkward and I fucking hated it. I swirled the amber liquid in my crystal tumbler, the stones only clinking against each other with dull sounds. The scotch was the very best I could afford, twenty-one year aged Glennfidditch Single Malt Whiskey, average bottle ranged from four hundred to six hundred dollars per bottle. The tumblers were a gift, good solid Nachtmann Crystal, the stones were apparently carved from a stone left behind by a glacier. The very taste of refinement, of sophistication and breeding; so, why did I feel so on edge? Feel like an animal in a trap that would lash out without a thought. Finally, I let it out in a rush, taking a sip of the potent smooth fire directly afterward, as though I could excuse the words to a nervous tick. "What does it feel like to be in love?"

For his part, the only reaction was a single arched brow, he didn't respond for a long moment and I was on edge, body tight with nerves. Half hoping that he would just drop it and we would continue talking about nothing in particular, the other part of me was twitching, snarling, and shuddering inside my chest and leaving me so on edge the absurd thought of pinning him by the throat if he didn't answer and beg him flashed through my thoughts with a vivid clarity that would have been concerning to me if it had been at any other time. "It feels," his voice was patient, not unkind, but there was a sardonic twist to his words though it didn't feel directed at me, "like you are slowly going insane. As though everything is closing in, and you don't know where to go, where to turn." Bingo.

I sighed heavily, downing my portion in a good swallow before taking the crystal decanter from the middle of the table between us and pouring myself another couple fingers of the caramel nectar before placing it back surprisingly gentle for my volatile feelings. "Yeah."

His smile was a knowing thing as he reflected. "She haunts every thought, you can't seem to do much of anything without the thought of her there?" Didn't I fucking know it.

She filled my every thought. Literally invaded things that had nothing to do with her, like some phantom spirit that I couldn't rid myself of. Things like grocery shopping had become a new ordeal of, I wonder if she would like this? Or, she likely wouldn't want you eating that, and finding something healthier. Damn her for that. I missed my guilty pleasures. I sighed and took a long sip of scotch, rum was better for shots. Good thing we had decided to be civilized folk this afternoon or I would likely be quite, intoxicated, well before five. It wasn't that she drove me to drink, not directly, but I hated this feeling of being out of control, this not knowing what to do, how to do it, feeling like I was wrong. There was an overwhelming feeling of that, this wrong feeling.

"Yeah," I breathed, my voice a haunted whisper, "she is always so close that I swear I could reach out and touch her." It was absurd, really; I looked over to him, hoping to see a source of sanity, but there was a fellow soul, lost in his love, and I knew then, I was fucked. Not just fucked, bent over, royally, screwed over and definitely, without a doubt, positively, absolutely, fucked. I did my best to keep her away, to shun her to the far recesses of my mind where she could stay, just for a little longer, but no; my lady love would not be denied, especially by the likes of me.

I pictured her so perfectly, her hair glossy and shining in the moonlight, looking like ink as it flowed down a graceful neck, over her shoulders with the power and beauty of a silent waterfall. The way her eyes caught the heavens above and sparkled as though she were one of them, a goddess, an ethereal being made of stardust, dreams, and wicked seductions, and for all I knew, she was. Her body was delicate curves, of mouthwatering tantalizing skin stretched over muscle and bone. She was exquisite in every aspect of the word, a beauty that was ethereal in nature. She stood out, not by something prominent, not something that you would define as wrong, or even different. She was just, more. More beautiful, more kind, more giving, she was simply so much more than I could ever explain in words, this was in a thing far more primal than words, this was a feeling.

"They break us." a slight shake to his voice, and I knew that I was glad I had opened up to him, our friendship was a solid thing of nearly ten years, longer by at least triple any other person I knew, he wouldn't mock me. "They make us feel like children, so lost and out of control of everything we are, we say, or do."

"Does it get better?"

He laughed softly before taking a sip of his drink, "not really, it fades a bit, but it doesn't get any weaker. I think I've just gotten used to being helpless before her." He shook his head. I was grateful he didn't ask for details about my lady love, but that was not what was needed here, just a kindness and an understanding that being in the throes of such an emotion was its own source of hell. I was grateful for him being here, because though I still felt out of touch with who and what I had been, I at least knew that this was more-or-less normal. Or at least as normal as something as maddening as love could ever possibly be.

We talked about it for a while more, and though I would have liked to say that I was unsure how much time was spent there I was aware of every agonizing second, it stretched through to eternity. I was half tempted on sending him home earlier than I did, but I knew I would have been even worse alone today, so, I suffered the agonizing wait until five. I had a date tonight after all, and it was making me unbelievably twitchy. Giddy, actually, if I had to be honest, I would definitely describe myself as giddy.

"Alright," I set my tumbler aside in a lull of the conversation. "I'm going to be rude and kick you out."

Laughing he looked down at his watch, "Well, it is nearly dinner anyways, can't keep a starving man from his food." I laughed, I needed to lose weight, not gain it, but I didn't contradict him, I was feeling peckish, despite my attempts to diet. Setting his own tumbler aside I put them aside to be washed later and saw him to the door. Turning at the door, Charles caught my eye, "I know what you're going through, it sucks, but it'll be okay. Despite feeling like you're losing control of yourself, everything will work out." I somehow doubted that.

I got everything ready, and by everything, I meant myself. I showered, shaved, and genuinely attempted to clean up a bit. 'Should have stuck with cleaning the house,' I thought grumpily as I pulled on a sweater that wrecked my hair, 'it at least isn't a lost cause.' I sighed and fixed my hair in the mirror and made sure I was presentable at least. Quarter after five I had just finished cleaning the tumblers and putting them away when I heard the knock, it was soft, not timid exactly, but a gentle feminine sound. My heart lurched in my chest near painfully.

I opened it, trying to not throw it open desperately like I wanted to do, to not crush her to my chest like I ached to do, and not kiss her blind right here like everything screamed at me to. But in my hesitance, she did. She jumped up into my arms, looking a goddess all the same though she had just gotten done work. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and I let it down to where it belonged and ran my fingers through it, her legs wrapped around my hips, and our lips locked together in something so hot that clothes didn't have a chance.

"I missed you," her voice was feverish, her touch desperate and wild as she struggled to rip my sweater off over my head while refusing to let go with her legs. I missed her too, more than words would ever possibly explain to her so I simply kissed her. All over her delicate features, her eyebrows, her cheeks, her jaw, her lips, nose, eyelids before working my way lower. Down her neck and throat, tasting her pulse, breathing her in as she moaned from her place between me and the wall I had pressed her against. I pressed her there firmly, stretching her hands above her head and holding them in place, giving me ample access to unbutton her shirt and fondle the delectable breasts there that practically begged for my attentions. Her moan was breathy and as desperate sounding as I felt, "Please baby," she moaned in my ear, "no teasing, just fuck me." She rotated her hips against the part of my body that throbbed for her, that needed her. Honestly, it wasn't like I was hard all the time, my cock having a mind of its own as it desperately wanted to buried inside her.

I didn't pretend to make some excuse, our time together today was brief, and every second counted. I loosened my hold enough for her to let herself to the floor and turned, giving me ample access to her in the way that we both needed. She knew how to tease me, garters, skirt, heels, and if I wasn't wrong. A thong. She always felt uncomfortable about such things, but she knew I responded well to them, and she felt sexy wearing them. She was always sexy, not that she would ever believe me, but I would prove it to my lady love, one day at a time.

I lifted her skirt, moving the thong aside to slide into her. No foreplay needed as we both hissed and moaned in our ecstasy. She shuddered beneath me, and my breathing came out in a low growl. I pinned her hands up, feeling her arousal, her desire, her need. I thrust into her, our hips meeting together with desperate slaps of flesh on flesh, her moans of my name, scattering past her lips in a desperate prayer, a moan for more, an eager temptation that I was helpless before.

I took her, right there, hard and desperate. Her heels giving her added height to make sure she was in the perfect position for both of us, my other hand both controlling on her hip and coming down to smack her ass. The blessing of this being my home, is I could give her exactly what she wanted from me. Her moans and screams were my encouragement, my driving force as I slid into her again and again, harder and harder. She was so soft, delicate even, in ways that I was both concerned, and yet animalistically eager, to snap in half. I wanted to fuck her until she limped, until my seed was leaking out of her, until she had none but me inside her thoughts. I savaged her. It was the only word for how hard I took her, how hard I pinned her against the wall, and how violently I thrust into her. Her cries tumbled over one another, hard desperate things, a sloshing rapid of sound, sensation, and desire. She was close. So was I for that matter but I made sure to hold on. Harder I took her, driving her pleasure harder, further.

The telltale signs of my orgasm approached, the pain that started in my extremities, the overwhelming nerves that shot ice-hot pain through my veins with every beat of my heart. Everything started peeling away in a way that was positively maddening in its delight, closer, closer. And when I finally felt her shudder and scream in my arms, I let my sanity splinter away before it, and gave in to the pleasure, the pain, and the blinding white surge that came as I howled.

The rest of the time we had together was spent watching a movie, clothed, but our hands buried under to touch bare skin. Hers on my chest, mine on her thigh. Plates of remains of the snack-like, simple food we preferred lay in front of us in haphazard abandon. We shared kisses from time to time, but I was content to simply bask in the warmth of her. To hold her there, and savor everything she was to me. It was beautiful, but I knew it would have to end, at least for the night. More than once, I had wanted to tell her I loved her, but fear always held my tongue, so I did my best to show it to her, to let my words be shown through what I did. "I need to get going soon." I knew, I just didn't like it. I squeezed a little and I felt her smile against my skin, "I know," she kissed my skin and looking up at me, her eyes chaining me to her; they were so wide, so beautiful, open, and most importantly, they were kind, "But Charlie will be gone Friday night, I'll go for a girl's night and let my mom watch the kids." Yeah, I was fucked.

[myfairolinda]

Five Ways to Show Grace in the Face of Criticism

Every time I am faced with criticism I have two choices. I can respond defensively, closed off and with my guard up or I can respond with grace, kindness and openness. I choose to look for ways to have grace in the face of criticism.

When I was in Art school I found the courses I excelled in and enjoyed the most were the ones that the teacher’s not only actively engaged in, but also gave strong constructive criticism. They told me what I was doing right and what I could do better. I knew I was learning and certainly not getting it all “right.” They could’ve said, this isn’t good enough or you’re doing it wrong. Instead they said, your work would be stronger if you did this or have you thought of trying that. By having an open conversation paired with examples and receiving feedback I was able to develop my skills in a positive environment.

Criticism hurts. No one likes to receive it and yet we all face it. It comes in different forms and from varying sources. Not all criticism is wrong, in fact the feedback can be constructive. It may even help us grow and improve. Even was delivered constructively it can be hard to take. It still doesn’t feel nice. When criticism is delivered gently or helpfully it can still be hard for us to process. We don’t want to be wrong or judged or embarrassed. Criticism that helps me grow I can take. I might not like it in the moment, but I know it is for my benefit.

Choose to look for ways to have grace in the face of criticism. #grace #criticism Click To Tweet

There is another kind of criticism though that makes me so sad. It the kind of criticism that comes without understanding. Harshly delivered criticism makes me cringe. I feel angry and disappointed when it is given unfairly. It comes as unwelcomed judgment. Out of fear I avoid it. Fearful that it will crush me with it’s disapproval and unkind words. Criticism delivered without grace, is a spirit crusher isn’t it?

People can be unkind, negative, and judgmental.  People can also be compassionate, joyful and understanding. The one thing we are not is perfect. We all have been the unkind one, the compassionate one, the negative one, the joyful one, the judgmental one, or the understanding one at one point or another.

I know there are times I have hardened my heart in my own righteous indignation. Times I have been critical and unforgiving when I should have been gracious and kind hearted.

My initial reaction to criticism is to feel defensive and hurt. Don’t they know how thoughtful I am, how much of an effort I make to be intentional and how hard I’m trying? Why can’t they appreciate and encourage me for what I’m doing right? Why is it that they only see what they don’t like? You know what? People can also be hurting.

It’s up to us to lead with grace. It’s up to us to respond with grace.

It’s up to us to lead with grace. It’s up to us to respond with grace. #gracious #kindness Click To Tweet

I believe we need to weed continually negative people out of our lives. However, when we do interact with them, we can live with the spiritual condition of grace. Remember when you feel the need to criticise how damaging a negative approach is.

Try these ideas to show grace in the face of criticism:

Lead with Grace: 

Responding with grace takes work. Exercise kindness in the face of criticism. Be gracious in your response. This does not mean allowing others to trample over you. It does not mean accepting their unkindness. It means being gentle with your words.

Work to give and receive constructive feedback:

Empower others through your words to grow. Be tactful in your delivery and your timing. Be open to personal growth. Evaluate the criticism honestly. Was it hurtful or helpful? 

Stay Calm:

In the face of direct criticism stay calm in the moment. Take a deep breath and listen patiently. Actively listen to hear what the person is saying. Do not argue or respond with defensive language. Take the time to process the feedback you are receiving. A response is not always required in the moment. 

Look for ways to compliment not complain:

When tempted to criticise or correct, pause. Ask yourself what is most helpful. Will your words empower or tear down? How can you use your words for good in the situation?

Finds ways to actively be the solution:

Instead of telling someone else they are in the wrong or not living up to your expectations, lend a helping hand. Don’t jump to conclusions or make assumptions. Ask questions. Access the situation and know all the facts. 

My greatest prayer is that I would be gracious, full of grace for others and full of grace for myself. How do you show grace in the face of criticism?

xoxo Naomi

Use these five ways to show grace in the face of criticism #gracious #kindness Click To Tweet

Grace is what picks me up and lifts my wings high above and I fly! Grace always conquers! Be graceful in everything; in anger, in sadness, in joy, in kindness, in unkindness, retain grace with you!  ― C. JoyBell C.

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