#every live is precious BUT THERE IS NO WAY YOU COMPARE THE SUFFERING

[adore-laur]

DADRRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about. 

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception. 

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. The both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it. 

Having been together for seven years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He had told you that if it meant he got more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences. 

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief. 

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely. 

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss. 

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is. 

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with. 

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime. 

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter. 

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pics of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe. 

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home. 

—— 

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food. 

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face. 

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes. 

But that's beside the point. 

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then responds: Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much. 

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they both feel the after-effects. 

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip. 

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge. 

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl." 

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty-one, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes. 

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service was excellent." 

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here." 

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time." 

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the So-Cal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years. 

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special. 

Well, he had lied. 

They were just any old regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked… at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate. 

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices. 

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice a raspy from work. 

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you. 

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers. 

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to mumma, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight." 

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her being in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb. 

"Love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible. 

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice. 

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend. 

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

—— 

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry. 

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beachgrass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you." 

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun." 

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together." 

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years." 

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does. 

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones with his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach…

You're getting carried away. 

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through. I adore all of your soft parts." 

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place. 

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?" 

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress." 

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks." 

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide." 

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you." 

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living." 

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles. 

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice." "you say in a scolding tone. 

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind." 

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot." 

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of." 

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates. 

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner." 

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says with infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me." 

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed." 

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glimpses down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations. 

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight. 

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move. 

Harry saunters through the doorway, looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs. 

He casually leans against the door jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face. 

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game. 

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there — a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky. 

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?" 

"I'd like you to not be in there alone." 

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?" 

"Of course, baby. You know I always am." 

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry. 

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom. 

Oh. 

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin. 

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own. 

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down. 

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here." 

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering. 

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together. 

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch. 

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view. 

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert. 

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle. 

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk. 

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long." 

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries." 

So… he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit. 

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good." 

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices. 

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale. 

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angel eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch." 

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?" 

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time." 

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench the both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on. 

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity. 

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming his position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall closest to you with his other gripping his cock. 

This is going to be torture. 

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 23: Frost

Word Count: 1719 Rating: General Summary: You and Din wake up one morning to discover the volcanic planet you call home has been plunged into a deep frost. You are awestruck by the gleaming ground and the icy crystals that cling to every surface. You and Din decide to head out for a walk with Grogu, who is fascinated by the way his favourite pond has frozen over. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: Poor Grogu. I keep making him suffer, I promise I love him! He's just a funny little green gremlin. The last two entries will tie pretty closely to this one but wow, can't believe it's almost over. I've had so much fun writing this series and I'll miss it, but there are some ideas in here I'll expand on come January!

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

Despite the lava flats dotted throughout its surface and the fact that it was technically a volcanic planet, Nevarro was not always sweltering and had different seasons. Throughout the year, it rarely rained; the climate remained mild throughout most of the year, but the temperature would drop towards the end of the year, particularly around Life Day. Although there was lava to be found on Nevarro, it was nothing compared to a planet like Mustafar, a volcanic hellscape. The entire planet was an angry red thanks to the lava that boiled on its surface. Surely it was a blisteringly hot, punishing environment. You had never been, but the planet was legendary, known throughout the galaxy.

There was an expression you had heard used often since childhood. When something was unlikely to happen, people would laugh and say: “Mustafar will freeze over first.” It was an amusing expression as obviously the thought of a planet as sweltering as Mustafar freezing over was ludicrous. Similarly, the thought of Nevarro freezing over was an idea that you thought equally ludicrous until, one morning, when you woke up to an empty cot and Din calling your name. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, wiping your bleary eyes with the back of your hand as you blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. There was a certain stillness and quietness; the light that filtered in was weak and pale. It appeared to be early morning. You and Din did not have plans and you had planned for a relaxing day, you wondered what had roused him from bed so early. 

Din was standing by the window in the main room of your little cabin, still clad in the cotton clothes he slept in with a curious look on his face. There was something out there that was clearly capturing his attention . As you made your way across the room to discover what it was, you wondered what he was captivated by. As soon as you moved to stand next to him, though, you understood perfectly. 

The usually ashen, grey-brown surface of the volcanic planet you called home had turned white. Every surface was glistening, reflecting the low sun in the sky. By some festive miracle, the entire planet was covered in what appeared to be a deep frost. You had never seen anything like it for all the time you lived here. You had encountered snow before, but frost was something different, the way the ice clung to every inch of the planet, the little icicles gleaming as they coated the plants by the pond just in front of the cabin. The pond itself had frozen, creating a pristine, glassy surface that you had a strange desire to skate across, even though you had no idea how deep it was. Besides, it had been years since you had ice skated. The rocks at the frozen pond’s edge looked like some precious jewel, the way they sparkled as you turned your head to take in the sights.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Din finally asked, breaking the awe-struck silence that the two of you had fallen into, utterly mesmerised by the frozen surface of the planet before you.

“I’ve never seen anything like this on Nevarro before,” You agreed, nodding in wonderment. 

“No, I wonder what caused weather like this,” Din pondered. “I don’t think this is normal.”

“It’s a miracle!” You exclaimed. “Just in time for Life Day, too,” You added, referring to the rapidly approaching holiday

Din looked around at you, raising an eyebrow, the corners of his lips pulled down into a slight frown. His eyes were shimmering in mirth though… you knew there was no genuine disapproval there. You conceded that perhaps your enthusiasm had been a step slightly too far for him. Considering Din had limited experience of the season’s traditions before he met you, he approached the traditions you introduced him to with as much enthusiasm as someone who had celebrated Life Day all their life. But you still got the sense that Din did not entirely share all of your festive merriment, so sometimes you liked to be a little cheesy to get underneath his skin. 

“We should go for a walk,” Din suggested, “After Grogu is awake and we’ve eaten, we should appreciate this frost while it’s here.”

“Sounds great, Din,” You sighed. 

You went to the fresher to prepare for the day while Din woke Grogu up and did the same. Din had already been to the kitchen and brewed a much-needed pot of caf, which you gratefully helped yourself to, given the early start to your day. You then placed some bowls, milk and cereal on the table in preparation for a simple family breakfast that would fuel you for the long frosty walk.

Din and Grogu eventually made their entrance. Din had dressed in his beskar’gam, save for his helmet. Grogu was clad in the red snow suit that Din had purchased before your little getaway in the snowy mountains. The garment was coming in surprisingly handy now as it would keep the little boy warm from the cold outside. 

The three of you enjoyed your breakfast together; you and Din continued discussing how surprised you were at the remarkable frost and memories of such frozen conditions at other times in your life. After cleaning away the dishes, it was time to head out on the walk. You laced up your boots in the hallway and pulled on the red coat that you had had such a stressful time finding, but were now delighted with. It fit you perfectly and matched Grogu’s red snowsuit. You were ready to head out.

“Are you warm enough?” You asked Din, wondering how warm his armour really kept him.

“Yes thank you, cyare,” Din nodded, his helmet now resting on his head. “The flightsuit can be insulating or cooling depending on the temperature, and my helmet is climate controlled,” Din explained.

You nodded, he had probably informed you of such functions before but this time, you had an ulterior motive for such a line of questioning. You just had one little addition to Din’s outfit though. You smirked as you grabbed the red scarf that you had bought for him from a local tailor on your snowy vacation to the moutains. You and Grogu were wrapped up from the elements in red items of clothing, so it only seemed proper that Din joined you. You put the scarf around Din’s neck, tying it gently and smiling as you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

“Much better,” You nodded. “Now we’re all matching.”

Din scoffed and shook his head. Then he grabbed your hand, holding Grogu in his other arm. The three of you headed out into the frosty winter wonderland. You delighted in the sound of the frost crunching underneath your boots, it was instantly comforting. It was a sound you had not heard for many years, believing that moving here to Nevarro would mean you would never experience such cold weather again. How wrong you were. Now, you had made memories in freezing temperatures in a picturesque snowy moutain village thanks to the trip Din had treated you to and, shortly after returning, there was this unseasonable frost on Nevarro.

Grogu was seemingly delighted by the freezing conditions too, his eyes wide in amazement as he took in his surroundings. You and Din had intended to go for a long walk, but you didn’t make it far before Grogu began chirping loudly. He gestured his little hands towards something. Din stopped and you looked at him questioningly. 

“The pond, perhaps he’s worried about his frogs,” Din shrugged.

“Awww, I’m sure they’re alright, little guy,” You reassured Grogu. “The surface is frozen, but they’re probably still swimming around underneath.”

Grogu nodded at your reassurances, but he continued gesturing towards the pond; clearly something was still on his mind. You and Din walked towards the edge of the pond and Din eventually placed Grogu down on one of the rocks so he could see the ice up close and watch for any of his frog friends beneath the surface. But Grogu was seemingly not satisfied to watch from afar; the mischievous little boy was soon pushing himself off the rock and making tentative steps towards the ice, before you and Din could do anything to stop him.

“Grogu!” Din exclaimed, moving towards his son as he stepped out onto the frozen surface. 

But before Din could scoop Grogu up, the child used the Force to leap into the centre of the pond, out of Din’s reach. Your heart was in your mouth as you watched him, fearing that you would soon hear the distinctive cracking noise of ice breaking. But mercifully, that did not happen. As Grogu took cautious steps across the frozen pond, his little feet were scrabbling against the icy surface and his arms were outstretched to keep him balanced. You and Din marvelled at both how cautious he was treading and how well he was maintaining his balance, given that he only had the red booties of his snowsuit on his feet, rather than any shoes made specially for ice.

“He’s a natural!” You commented in amazement at Grogu’s balance on the ice.

“He is,” Din said proudly. “We should get him some real skates.”

It seemed that you had spoken too soon. Everything was going so well, until there was a heartstopping moment where Grogu’s legs went from underneath him and he flopped down onto the ice. You waited with baited breath to see how Grogu would respond – was he hurt? But mercifully after a few moments, you heard the most wonderful sound: Grogu's laughter. It seemed that Grogu’s little tumble on the ice had not affected him too badly.

“You alright, bud?” Din asked as he leaned over to scoop Grogu up, fortunately the little boy was sufficiently close to the edge of the pond that Din could reach him.

Grogu gave a happy chirp and you reached over to stroke his cheek with the back of your fingers. You were relieved that he was alright and your walk could continue. You were eager to explore the planet that had been transformed into a frost-bitten paradise and make the most of such a rare occurrence.

With a spring in your step, you set off for a walk across the gleaming surface of Nevarro, holding hands with an equally shiny Mandalorian. Din's armour, too, was gleaming, save for the red scarf slung around his neck, a way to ensure the three members of your little Clan were matching. You sighed deeply and smiled at the sound of the frost crunching underneath your boots as you gazed around in wonderment at the deep frost.

#dincember 2023 #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #my fics

[tarttheart]

PRECIOUS LOVE: PROLOGUE - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: a crush leads to a one night stand leads to four years away from England.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: language, sexual references, pregnancy loss.

-

prologue: didn’t know what to do with myself

Before Keeley, there had been you.

You had been off limits. Everyone knew that. It had been an unwritten rule at Man City. At first, it was out of respect for De Bryune (and partly because no one wanted to suffer his wrath if they broke your heart). But then, everyone got to know you and it became evident that the rule had to stand. You were affable to a fault and you had this knack for drawing people out no matter how hard their exterior was. Everyone loved you and there was no way anyone could pursue you without a potential falling out with the team if things went pear-shaped so no one did.

Until Jamie.

Jamie was still living in his Prince of Pricks era but even he struggled with not becoming enamoured by you. You were always so sincere and genuinely interested in him (and anyone) as a person that he grappled with having actual feelings for you. Jamie did not do actual feelings. Not even a little bit.

Jamie made every effort to push you away and out of his life but you made it impossible. Despite how much of a prick he had been to you, you had unabashedly pulled him into a long, long, long hug after chancing upon an encounter because Jamie and his dad. To say it had not gone down well would be putting it mildly but the way you had wordlessly walked up to him and pulled him into a long, tight hug had said it all and had undone all the walls Jamie had tried to put up.

It was the last post-season celebration Jamie would attend for a while. He was going to be loaned to Richmond next year and he would be leaving soon. Who knows when he would be back? If ever there was a time to shoot his shot, it was now.

Which worked out perfectly.

Your time in Manchester was never permanent. You had moved from London for a promotion. It had worked out well that De Bryune was in Manchester and your friendship meant you instantly befriended a literal team of people. It had made life in Manchester far more interesting and fun but you had been offered another promotion which involved yet another relocation. It was much further away this time and unfortunately, you knew no one there. But, it fulfilled your dream of living overseas. So, while De Bryune had been disappointed that one of his key connections to life outside of football was due to leave, he could only send you off with his well wishes.

“I’m really happy for you. I know how much you dreamt of moving away and seeing the world and now you will.”

You smiled, “took a lot longer to make my dream come true compared to you though.”

“It’s not a competition,” De Bryune chided before continuing, “you know, if you have other dreams, you should work on them too.”

You hummed softly to yourself as you ignored the underlying meaning to Kevin’s comment.

He cleared his throat and continued, “fine, don’t talk to me about it. But we’ve known each other since we were kids. As much as I hate that you do, I know you like Jamie. And I’m pretty sure Jamie likes you. He’s a prick but pretty sure that’s a shell. Probably didn’t need to tell you that. So, my point is, you’re off soon as is he. If you want to make your feelings known before you go, you’ve got my blessing.”

Kevin tapped his empty bottle against the railing on the balcony of Rodri’s house where the post-season celebration was underway.

“Think on it. You deserve to be happy,” Kevin said before whispering, “even if it’s with a prick.”

You laughed, “thanks, Kev, but I am already happy.”

Later that night, as the party fragmented, you found yourself with Jamie through it all. Whether it was playing darts as a team or having a chat about your years ahead with him off to Richmond and you across the world to Australia, you two were joined at the hip.

You excused yourself for the bathroom and found what Kevin had said weighing heavily on your mind. Snap out of it, you repeated over and over in your head.

It had all been too much. Sitting with Jamie all night after Kevin went home to Michele and the boys. Then, playing snooker together had really taken its toll. He had been so incredibly nice despite how terrible you had been. He quietly praised you and even hugged you when you pocketed a ball. You had been overwhelmed and it did not help that you had been drinking since noon.

So, when you emerged from the bathroom to find him there, boring his eyes into yours as he checked up on you, you found yourself succumbing to the urge to kiss him. And while Jamie knew he was not supposed to, since when did Jamie listen to rules?

-

For the first month or so that you were away, you kept up some communication with Jamie. The occasional message commenting on each other’s Instagram pictures. Then, Jamie noticed that the messages became less frequent and a lot more distant. At some point, he realised you never initiated conversation anymore and he would never admit it but it broke his heart.

So, Jamie did the usual Jamie thing of covering it up by fucking the next fit model he met - Keeley Jones.

-

It had been four years, four long years. You had spent all of it overseas, not once did you return to England because why would you?

Your family had dispersed as everyone had grown up. Sure, your parents did still live in England. They had moved to Oxford since your dad retired and your mum received an offer to continue her research at the university there but if anyone understood being away for work, it was them. Your own sisters had long left England with one moving to Germany with her husband after he had been transferred there and the other moving to Canada for her own career. So, your move to Australia was almost expected. Anticipated. Celebrated, even

It sounded harsh but it was true. Your parents had had you late in life and you were completely aware you had been an accident, a little blip in their perfectly planned out lives. Mum was always busy with her research while Dad spent the bulk of his time working away as legal counsel for a big multinational corporation. Much of your time growing up had been spent with your grandparents. You would have dropped everything and returned to England for them in a heartbeat but they had both passed not long after you had graduated so in a way, there was no family to visit in England.

Friends-wise, a good chunk of them were similarly gallivanting around the world. Otherwise, they were starting families like Kevin and that was just not where you were at in life. And, it was not like you did not want to start a family. You almost had but then, it had not quite worked out that way. Which was incidentally a big part of the reason why you had avoided England, despite every excuse you used to justify travelling around Asia Pacific instead of going anywhere near the UK.

You were horrified when you had been called into your boss’ office to be offered a promotion which required your immediate repatriation back to England.

“What about that role in Amsterdam we discussed? There was also that role in Tokyo since Masuda is leaving?”

“Yes but I think you’ll find this offer much more attractive.”

And you had. These roles came about once in a blue moon, usually because of a retirement (on occasion, it had been due to a person’s demise but no one talked about that). You knew you had to take it but you also knew it meant being back in England which you had avoided for good reason. But, maybe, there was enough distance between London and Manchester. They were not separated by an ocean but a few hours would be far enough. Afterall, his loan should be over by now.

That was what you repeated to yourself, trying to reassure yourself each moment you felt the panic grip you. It worked until you encountered a bus on your way to work one morning with an advertisement for some stupid dating app called Bantr. It was absolutely not something you were interested in but the familiar face on the ad caught your eye. You took a second look and you were immediately confronted with an image of Jamie Tartt in a Richmond kit.

Oh fuck, you might have made a minor miscalculation. You googled him as soon as you were on the tube to work and slumped into the seat when you realised he had signed to Richmond.

Almost nine million people in London, surely you could go without seeing him.

-

master list | chapter 1 >

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x ofc #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt imagine

[bonefall]

Lord, everytime I think of post-TPB Bramble and bringing up not being trusted because of his father, I now can't help but think of it as a self-report. Like, there's no actual self-reflection happening, just some tiny part of his brain recognizing his father's behavior in his own and it makes him lashout every single time. It's both pitiful and fascinating.

That's what I'm SAYING like... In TNP, there are a precious few moments where cats are comparing him to his father, but for the most part, it's Brambleclaw freaking out that the people he's close to are thinking it based on no evidence. Especially Squirrelflight, who becomes jumpy around HAWKFROST who is actively causing problems

TNP creates a situation where it's actually perfectly reasonable to be concerned about similarities. Bramble's fucking mean and bossy. There is a tigerclone in RiverClan pushing for aggression between the Clans at a sensitive moment wistfully wishing he could have met his dead dad. They get haunted in their dreams by their evil ancestor. Tigerstar LITERALLY influences their bloodline from BEYOND THE GRAVE.

But Bramble becomes so jumpy about the comparisons that he can't confront the idea that maybe people are right. Maybe your EVIL DEMON GHOST FATHER is influencing your behavior. So he deflects, denies, cannot confront the uncomfortable idea until he's standing over Firestar, his biggest defender post-TPB, dying in a fox trap.

And then the whole thing nonsensically concludes, "Ah, well, he didn't go so far as to kill Firestar so actually he's not like Tigerstar." As if the only feature Tigerstar has is murder-happiness. No need to confront how he threw Leafpool under the bus a few chapters ago when it benefited him, was unable to self-reflect until this moment, bought Hawkfrost's manipulation hook line and sinker despite several people warning him because he couldn't accept that he was Influenced By Their Father.

The story they wanted to tell in TPB about 'not being defined by your family' was dead the SECOND Hawkfrost walked onto the screen. He IS defined by his bloodline, they WROTE a character whose whole thing is being influenced by his biodad, a person he never met. They don't want his villainy to stem from RiverClan because it's sooo sorry about TigerClan, so the source of his evil is... literally his father.

And like, that's interesting, actually. Not that Hawkfrost was born evil because of an evil gene, perish THAT thought, but that you do inherit the legacy of your parents. Like it or not, the people who raise you, who you hang out with, who you are compared to, HAVE AN IMPACT ON YOU.

That you CAN'T ESCAPE THAT

That RUNNING from your problems will land you RIGHT in their shoes, and the only way to break that cycle IS TO CONFRONT IT. To treat their lives as a cautionary tale, an example of how to NOT be, and remember that the line between you and your abuser is a line, not a chasm.

TPB says, "You are not defined by your parents" and TNP could have cleverly responded, "...unless you let them." But that would have required Bramble to actually suffer a consequence at the end, do some introspection, consider the fact that he was proving his detractors correct with his shitty behavior.

Or, at the very least, let the narrative end on a bitter note that this is just a sign of things to come.

But an idea IS THERE, man. It's fascinating. Bramble is intriguing to me.

#warrior cats analysis #bone babble #that's why After Sunset We Need To Talk is actually mandatory reading for tnp in this essay i will--

[pokikichuu]

MUSE | A Wangxian drabble.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Warning: Major Character death.

This drabble includes: Immortal Wei Ying, Poet Lan zhan, Dead Lan zhan, angst but make it poetic, inspired by poetry (Iamnotapoet), love letter, this entire fic is a love letter, first person pov of wei ying.

Summery: Immortal Wei Ying falls in love with Lan Wangji, a Navy Soldier and poet. His faith catches onto him and he looses his love, down to the ocean. In order to forever engrave Lan Wangji's face in his mind, Wei Ying makes paintings and sculptures of him, waiting for the eternal end where he can get a glimpse of him again...

Word count: 969

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

M U S E

Lan Zhan, my dear,

The smell of soil after a drizzle, the sound of leaves grumbling with the wind, the sight of the sun setting under a blanket of purple and orange clouds, the taste of fresh water after a run, nothing can compare to the feeling of your skin against mine. 

I don't remember when my life began, I don't see it ending anytime soon either. However, I remember one thing, when your eyes met mine, I felt the most alive. 

You were frowning, I was not. I met you on a whim, in the midst of an adventure, but I forgot my purpose when I caught a glimpse of you; your brunette hair flowing with the wind. 

You sat straight viewing the vast ocean in front of you, the sunset in front resembled your hazel eyes. Oh, you were breathtaking. I had gathered my courage to approach you, and with God's wish, I had succeeded. 

And since then, I remember my days clearly. 

At first glance, one might assume you were somewhat of a crude man, even I assumed the same. However, you were as gentle as a lily on a lake, your soft gaze, kind laughs and gentle kisses kept me awake at nights. Even during the sleepless nights, you laid by my side. Then I would admire your lips, your eyes, your pretty scar on your left cheek and you would chuckle.

Your chuckles were my favourite, it still is. It will forever be. 

When I look out into the sunset, I see your eyes. When I make my way to the market and come across the water lily on the lake, it only reminds me of your touch, your fragrance. 

Pity me, for falling for a sailor, a soldier, a poet and a writer. You were all those things, but to me, you were always my friend, my family and my lover. 

You had pages after pages of poems about my eyes, I had a hut full of paintings of your face. How can we be so different and similar at the same time? As if, you were the full moon who only shows up every twenty eight days, where me, the sun, waited to meet you everyday. 

Pity me, for waiting for you still, knowing you will never reach the shore. 

Pity me, for being a widower without ever eloping with you, my love.

My love,

You were the one I would paint with, laugh with, the one I was willing to die with. If only I had known, you would never return, I would’ve drowned myself in you, with you. 

Dying with the earth seems to be a blessing to an outsider, only I know, how much of a curse that is, how dying and lying beside your astray grave is more peaceful than living forever with the thought of you gone from this world.

Why? Why must I suffer? Why must I be cursed with such a power? 

I remember very less, my family, their image is something I can’t seem to recall. I only linger with their voices and some words they have written down; I cherish them. My acquaintances from childhood, I neither remember their faces nor their names. They have escaped my memory; like wind flows through spring. 

However, I can not bear to forget you. Forgetting you is equal to losing the most precious treasure of my life. I can’t bear it.

Slowly, my little hut became your shrine. The painting of you, your details that only I know of, your smile that only I saw, your gaze that only I received, each moment, each fond memory ended up on wrinkled paper with paint made from berries you and I planted together. Your face, body, hands, I captured them in soil from the island I first met you on. 

Tears roll down my freckled cheeks as I sculpt your face, from memory that is as vivid as my dreams of you. The softness of the soil can not justify your soft skin, however I had to make do of what I had. As my fingers go over your jaw, I almost expect the lifeless sculpture to smile and tell me “I love you,” like you used to. Oh, how I wish that came true! How I wish I could sculpt you back to life! 

All I, a hopeless man, can do is wish for something that is not meant to stay mine. 

God gifted me you for only thirteen years, equal to spec of dust in a desert compared to my lifetime. However, how pathetic am I to hold onto that for the rest of eternity? Hold onto a grain of sand and think of it as my desert?

Even the sunset in a desert reminds me of your eyes. 

My lips have gone chapped, by kissing the hard stone that I made into your lips. My fingers have calluses from moulding your pretty face out of the soil. My cheek now has the same scar you had, whilst mine was intentional. All my clothes have the same paint stains as the hundreds of paintings I made of you.

I would rather die than forget you, I wouldn’t let you be the gust  of wind that flows through spring, that blows through my mind in a few years.

I don’t know when My time will come, but when I will get to meet you, if I do, I want you to look at me the same way you did for thirteen years. With your eye-smile, with your blushed ears and with a tight hug.

I will forever wait for that day, while I spend my life recreating you in every art form there is.

Except poetry, as you were the best at that.

#mdzs #writing #poetry #poem #wei ying #lan zhan #wei wuxian #lan wan #drabble #the untamed #mxtx mdzs #mxtx #light angst #angst #dead lovers #omg #immortality #love letters #get tissues for your issues

[hologramcowboy]

Dear AAs,

Due to observed behaviors, I wanted to take the time and write a message for you.

It seems like a whole lot of you are wasting your precious youth, resources and potential on obsessing over Jensen so much you lose track of who you are and what you are on this earth to fulfill.

Your infatuation is so high it blinds you and strips you of your values and dreams. You put Jensen and Danneel on a pedestal and feel like less of a human for not being them. You are creating limitations in your own life over a bunch of semi-celebrities who aren't even educated compared to you.

While appreciating or admiring something is a beautiful experience, it should never get to the point where your intelligence becomes overshadowed by your unrealistic expectations and views of two people.

Strive to be YOU, to live YOU and what you most love. Before it''s too late for all of your dreams. You are so caught up in false idols you cannot see how toxic worshiping them is to your own life trajectory.

You project unrealistic view unto Jensen and Danneel because you are afraid to go out there and build your legend, live your uniqueness.

I am serious, I see a lot of underage girls even or way too young lusting after Jensen so much they completely forego their goals and most especially their personalities. They become an empty shell.

If meeting and marrying a highly attractive man is your dream then focus on that and work on developing the life you want, being the person you dream of being, living that true love, being it. That takes work but it's worth it, you are worth it. When you give all your power away to clueless celebrities all you are doing is telling your subconscious mind you don't feel worthy of your dreams, you are not the leading character of your life. Guess what? Your reticular activating system (RAS) then filters life accordingly and you miss out on opportunities and key moments.

It's healthy to have role models, if they match your life trajectory, but ensure you balance out your perceptions and realize they are human, just like you. Just as you appreciate them, you should be appreciation yourself and if you are not already doing that then there is a huge imbalance in your life and, most likely, you energy will end up being sapped by false idols instead of inspired by healthy, realistic, measurable goals and pursuits.

You weren't put on this Earth to be an echo of Jensen and Danneel. You are uniquely you so show up for yourself and your desired life way more than you obsess over J/D. They can steal away time from your life and guess what? Life progresses pretty fast and before you know it you will have a mountain of regrets instead of a heart full of fulfilling memories and tangible results in your life. You will look back and suffer and realize how silly it was to get caught up in mindless infatuation.

I hope you do me a favor. Grab a piece of paper, list every aspect you love about Jensen or Danneel or whoever it is you obsessively stan. Then go through that list and ask yourself: "Where in my life have I displayed these traits?" Don't stop until you answer it for each quality.

If you want to balance your perceptions even more, do the same for their perceived flaws and quirks. This will allow you to see them as human like you and to appreciate them in a balanced way in full awareness of both their negative and positive traits.

If you do me this favor, you will release yourself from your manic perceptions about them and you will be in control of your emotions and your direction.

A second favor would be: Create a vision board of what you want in your life, then grab a notebook and write a scenario of how each of those experiences would feel. Once you are in touch with those feelings, begin breaking down your goals into small, realistic, measurable steps and commit to taking a priority action each day to reach those milestones. Whenever you need to re-energize, go back to the vision you created and live it fully inside, remember your WHY and keep recommitting day by day. If you do this, rather than consume yourself with obsessing over Jensen and Danneel, just imagine where your life will be months from now, years from now. You will reach a new bliss and it will be thanks to your self-care, dedication and focus.

May all of your dreams become your reality and they will, if you chose to believe in yourself rather than giving power away to false idols and escapism.

#anti AAs #anti fanaticism #anti jenneel

[dadsbongos]

Daan x fem!reader smut pleaseee?

not super proofread :3  697 words  i think this takes place in an au where instead of elise, daan meets you :P and no termina lol

warnings - p in v, unprotected, femdom aura (fem reader btw), PATHETIC man as he should be, hints of daan being an unstable wench

~~~

“You’re precious this way,” you twirl a finger in the doctor’s short hair.

“Miserable?” he squeezes your hips tighter despite the huff.

“Flustered,” you coo, working your hand down the smooth slope of his throat. Your fingers bob at his groan of protest. 

“I have to be up early tomorrow, you know that…” his face is quickly growing red. However, the way his eyes are darting from your lips to your breasts to the apex of your thighs pressing snugly onto him tells you he doesn’t actually care that he has to be up early tomorrow.

But you do love to tease, “Oh?” you pout, shifting onto your knees and off Daan’s lap, “So, I should move then? Best to let you rest, right?”

“Well…” he whines, almost pathetically, and rolls his eyes while pulling at the tight collar of his shirt with one hand, “I never said that.”

“Aw,” you wring both hands around the back of his neck and angle his face to press your lips on his, “Do you want me, darling?”

“I live to want you, my love.”

You kiss him again, “Right answer.”

Daan can’t even weasel his way back to your shared bedroom before you’ve worked off his ugly plaid trousers. And he has no room to so much as slide off the couch before you’ve fished his cock free. Flushed red and soft and curving into your warm palm.

Puckering your lips, spit foams and dribbles onto the head of Daan’s erection, it twitches at the cooling agent. Brief, wet respite before you charitably slot him into the crease of your thigh -- only long enough tug your panties to the side and yank up your skirt, but even that feels comparable to eternity of suffering. 

“Hurry,” he snips, bucking up into the sweltering plump of your thigh, only to quickly soften his tone, “<i>please</i>...”

“As I said,” you coo, kissing up Daan’s neck, “You’re precious this way.”

He whines into your mouth, lips slippery with want and legs tight with desperation, once you finally concede and sink your pelvis to his. His cock basks in the velvety scorch, and Daan makes his appreciation known with even thrusts up into you. Intentional to not only meet your rocking, but initiate contact as deep as he can carve.

Daan latches onto the hem of your shirt and rips it up and over your head, teasing his thumbs against where the fat of your tits spills over your bra. His teeth dig into the plush as he croons and whines about your pussy. <i>So good, tight-- fucking warm. Gonna ruin you for anyone else. You’re mine, right? You’re mine.</i>

It’d be strange to hear if he weren’t whispering it into your soft breasts like he’s afraid to be negated. 

“All yours,” you confirm, curling both arms around his head and pushing him closer. Your thighs suction to his sides -- desperate bouncing cooling into pathetic grinds. 

Daan, however, forces you to keep moving up and down on his cock. His hands strong as he manhandles your movements for his own pleasure, but he is a gentleman so he reaches between the sweltering core of your conjoined bodies and circles your clit. 

“I want to feel you cum on me,” he professes, thrusts speeding up -- rapid jerks to fuck your juices out of you. Reveling in the downright degenerate sound of your wet cunt spilling and sucking with his every drive inside you, “You’re so wet, darling. Is that for me? It is, right? You’re so wet for me?”

Needy hands pull and squeeze at your pliant flesh, his cock twitching as he leaks broken moans. Soon he’s sputtering hot cum inside you, forcing your hips to still right against him. And continuing his gentlemanly pattern, Daan uses his grip on you to force you to swish back and forth. Your clit brushing the hairs at his pelvis. Even as he softens, Daan kisses and licks and begs for your own orgasm.

“Please,” he pants, “Need to feel you cum, darling. Let me feel you.”

Daan truly is the best for you when he’s like this: flustered and red and begging.

#daan x reader #daan fear and hunger x reader #fear and hunger x reader #fear and hunger fanfic

[h-worksrambles]

can you please say anything about Murdoch. anything. I love how you talk about him because I feel towards him the same way, he's goddamn precious

I am ALWAYS down to talk about Murdoch. It is never a bad time to ask me about my best boy. As a matter of fact, there is a thought I’ve been dwelling on and meaning to write up about Murdoch which will be fitting to discuss with his next update on the way.

The relationship and parallels between him and his sister Holly.

Murdoch and Holly’s relationship is…contentious to say the least. Considering Holly is straight up coercing him to sleep with her fiancé (and the most recent update had her straight up blackmailing them both). But what makes this so interesting to me is that the two have a lot of similarities in their situation.

Murdoch and Holly have both grown up in the emotionally abusive atmosphere of the Byrnes’ household, and live in the shadow of Seamus’ death. Both are struggling in their own ways and the burdens placed on them by their parents mirror the social prejudices they struggle under. Murdoch being constantly worked ragged by Alfred and Gretchen, who take every opportunity to tell him what a disappointment he is, has a very homophobic undercurrent. It’s about how his dealings with men bring shame on them (to the point that Gretchen has to keep arranging for them to be hushed up), and how he can’t be the heir who carries on the family name with children of his own. Holly meanwhile IS propped up as the family heir, but she is constantly beset with pressures and expectations that are rooted in misogyny and the extremely restrictive box she is placed into as a woman in an upper middle class household.

But neither Murdoch or Holly can see what the other is going through. Holly doesn’t see how exhausted and miserable her brother is, or how she herself is contributing to his suffering. She just sees him getting bailed out of compromising situations with men around town day after day and envies his freedom. Likewise, Murdoch doesn’t see the pressure Holly is being forced to live up to. He just sees the apparent favourite child who he is constantly compared to. They are both being abused but each thinks the other has it better, which comes to a head when they argue on the night of the bachelor party.

This goes hand in hand with the survival strategies they’ve adopted to cope in their situations. Murdoch feverishly attempts to figure out the truth of what’s really going on in Echo. Because he believes that is he does, if he keeps bending over backwards (sometimes literally) to do what his family wants, maybe they’ll go back to how he remembers. He has to believe that the way they’re treating him is down purely to Echo’s influence because it’s the only thing that keeps him going. Holly’s strategy meanwhile is to get the hell out of dodge. In the extremely narrow box laid out for her, the one way she can exercise any will or power is through the men around her. Jim is her ticket to get the Byrnes family out of Echo (especially as Cordelia’s remarks about all three of the Byrnes siblings having an interest in occult stuff around the town implies she ALSO knows something’s wrong with Echo) and also to extricate herself from her own bad situation within the family. And she is willing to resort to drastic measures, rationalising to herself that it’s all for the good of the family, (even when it’s Murdoch, a member of her family, getting hurt by her actions).

There’s also how both Murdoch and Holly are drawn to someone who embodies the freedom they crave in their own lives. Murdoch sees Samuel, a man who, as a sex worker is able to express his sexuality as a living, (when sex is the one way he is able to feel like himself) and idolises him for it, falling in love from afar long before the route actually starts. Which builds to a devastating one two punch of Murdoch learning both that Sam is nothing like he imagined and that he’s actually been ‘whoring himself out’ for his family for a long time (sex was the one way he could feel comfortable and even that’s been taken away from him). Meanwhile, while we don’t really see a lot of Holly and Jim’s four year relationship, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Jim is an up and coming city slicker who’s ‘going places’. He’s free and independent in a way Holly can only dream of. As well as someone who can ‘save her’ from her crappy home life by giving her somewhere else to go in the city.

(On the note of this. It kills me that Murdoch takes Holly’s side when she’s arguing with Jim and doesn’t protest that she’s hurt him just as Jim has…UNTIL Holly snaps at Sam. Murdoch is so self loathing and so smitten with Sam, that he’ll defend Sam before sticking up for himself…😭).

And this is all without getting to Dahlia, staying out of sight with what she knows, keeping her cards close to her chest…

One of the reasons Murdoch’s route is my favourite is not just because Murdoch is a charming well written woobie. But also because his dynamics with his family make the Byrnes’ some of my favourite characters. GeorgeSquares has said that he wanted Murdoch’s route to show that abuse can take many forms, and not always the ones we commonly expect. So seeing the Byrnes’ siblings all coping in their own ways and even turning against each other, is really compelling and tragic. It leaves me wondering whether the siblings will find solidarity to overcome their mistreatment, or just throw each other under the bus. As well as adding more layers to the question of how Murdoch will extricate himself from his family.

Thank you for the ask. Always happy to talk more about my boi…

#murdoch byrnes #holly byrnes #the smoke room vn #echo project #ask

[miss-scarletletter]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MON CHER 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

With amber eyes that shine like the sunrise, and hair spun in gold, I am inclined to believe that you were borne from Aurora’s arms as she sets you in this world where you live amongst both immortal and men. You walk through the fabrics of time the same way you walk through different thresholds of manors, palaces, temples, and emporiums, bringing with you--centuries of history and knowledge. It is no wonder why the crowd goes into this hysteria when they sense your presence; is it your muted three-piece suite that seems to mimic the colors of an antique gold? Is it the smell of saffron and ambergris on your nape? Is it the small pocket watch that’s hanging on your waistcoat, which hugged your built physique? Or is it the golden fragments in your eyes and hair that draws men and women alike, buzzing in your direction and eclipsing you from the rest of the spectators? Perhaps… or perhaps, it is the way you talk like a soft-spoken sage with a hint of mischief like a fox. Or perhaps… it is the fact that while you are familiar with the social circle, and yet you remain a stranger to those who have encountered you.

 It is that marvelous dichotomy--the enigma that you possess in your character that made you so unreachable, and yet, that could drive anyone to know who you are. Who are you? I remember the first time I met you, you were a stranger even after you introduced yourself with a title. And because of that, with suspicions and curiosity, I decided to get every information about you and follow my sights on wherever you tread. But who would have thought that the initial question of “Who are you?” would be answered in the end; it still, to this day, amazes me that it comes to this wonderful conclusion--

From the way you call me “Ma Cherie” to the sound of your Oxford shoes, you did become one of the most familiar figures in my life. You are a rather charming gentleman, but you said yourself that you are “neither gentle nor a man”--which sounds humorous until you keep showing the many facets of yourself in any given situation from fighting ruffians to showing your erudite capacities. You are mature and very practical, and yet--the more I know you, the more I realize that you have a Romantic child in you that is crying for help.

How many in your audience know that? That you have your share of suffering like the rest of the common folk? What anyone can’t see beyond the gilded structures of your person is the fact that you carry the weight of your hell--but it seems that they forget that even the most precious gold is vulnerable to the strikes of a hammer. You lived for so long, it shouldn’t be a surprise that you witnessed so many misfortunes, and with many that have died--you must feel so lonely in those moments to the point that it drains the pleasure in life from your immortal coil. This pathological grieving--this melancholia is uncurable; I feel pity for you, and oh do I want to just comfort you.

Admittedly, your stubbornness has frustrated me many times, and yet I still find myself not wanting to leave you to your own devices. Indeed you are a cunning man, secretive, and possessive. But also an indecisive mess-- “a ball of contradictions” in your terms. But these are the flaws I have long accepted. These do not compare to your sense of humor, your altruism, and your unconditional acceptance even of those who wronged you.

You tend to underestimate yourself and reprimand yourself for showing a crack on that gentleman-like mask of yours, when, in all honesty--you are the most beautiful, the best, and greatest of created beings! You said your name has no meaning, but there is more beyond that! For you gave those boys a haven in their second life, which you also provide. They are lucky to have you--the tenderest of fathers. You have been so respectful, attentive, and considerate; despite those tribulations, you are incredibly strong and steadfast in what you believe is right. And if they can live their life again, so can you--be happy and live again, Comte. Celebrate, dance, travel, make a toast, play with your violin--seize every moment of this impermanent world and reclaim the pleasures of life!

As I listen to the sound of the bow gliding across the strings with your eyes that hold so much warmth, I reminded myself that there are more reasons to love you than to fear or hate you. I love you and I do not regret it, In the end, you will always be my Comte--my Abel…

#ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire comte #comte de saint germain #ikevamp le comte #happy birthday Comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp #My art #spotify

[bebx]

I can understand some of the criticisms Loki stans make about Mobius, but most of the time they are far too black and white and exaggerated. They call him a Nazi and a fascist. And Brainwashing is no excuse for his behaviour (but it is for Loki?). I always fail to understand that.

I find it very naive and kind of cold-hearted because hardly anyone would be able to immediately understand in Mobius' situation that the TVA might not be so good after all. When you get into a system as an adult man with no memories, you have no way to compare your moral values with anything else.

It is rather astonishing that Mobius preserved his kidness and develops doubts in such an environment. That shows exactly what kind of person he actually is. I think in general you can't judge anyone in the TVA. This organization was created by the most powerful man in the universe and it would be strange if it was easy to get out of.

These are still humans who can hardly do anything against a higher power. Calling them Nazis is so out of place because nobody ever asked them if they wanted to do that job. They were FORCED. They lost everthing - personality, memories, families, friends. A normal human life.

Besides, the TVA exists to prevent a war. Everyone believes in the TVA because they are told that with the sacrifices a much greater suffering is prevented. They didn't prune Variants because of fascist ideolgy. They just wanted to survive.

Anyone who thinks that if they were Mobius, they would stand above all this and break free with ease, has no idea how the human psyche works.

Whoever understands and forgives Loki, but condemns Mobius and the TVA in the strongest possible terms, has a double standard. Selective empathy shows that the person's evaluation is not on a rational but on an emotional level. Only then is it possible for the antis Mobius to think that he is the devil himself and that every single breath he takes is used to break and manipulate Loki.

Exactly. The fact Mobius is still able to preserve his kindness, after being brainwashed and being forced to live in an environment where nobody around him ever shows kindness towards anybody, is something I truly admire. It shows how pure his heart really is, that not even the Time-Keepers can take that kindness away from him. And you can see it — his kindness — in the way he treated that boy in the cathedral, even drew something for him, in the way he tried to comfort C-20 and other scared civilians at Roxxcart. So he’s not just kind to Loki. He is kind to everybody.

But the funniest thing is that 90% of those people who said those bullshit about Mobius, about how he’s a “bad guy”, see nothing wrong with Loki’s wrongdoings.

Yes, I am aware Loki was brainwashed by Thanos when he attacked earth and killed people in the first Avengers movie, but that still doesn’t excuse other terrible things he’s done, especially in the first Thor movie. Again, I know how Odin mistreated him, and I know Thor was to blame for some of his own behaviors, too, but that… still doesn’t excuse what Loki did. (And I’m saying this as someone who’s been a fan of Loki for years.)

My point is, it’s funny how some (thankfully, it’s just a minority toxic part of the fandom) Loki stans give Loki excuses for his lies and his crimes. But the second Mobius — who was kidnapped and brainwashed into believing he was doing the right thing by working for the TVA, even though he never actually had a choice — is a little mean to their precious Loki, they call him names.

Like… okay, cool, if you (general you) want to give Loki excuses for the reason why he did what he did (how he was mistreated by Odin and sometimes by Thor, even if it’s unintentional, or how Thanos tortured him), then fine. But you can’t call Mobius a ‘bad guy’ for being a little mean to Loki when Mobius was also kidnapped and brainwashed by the TVA.

Both Loki and Mobius were victims, in a way that Loki was a victim of Thanos (and maybe the TVA too), while Mobius was a victim of the TVA.

But Mobius didn’t “abuse” Loki. That is… so wrong to excuse him of that, especially when he’s the only person in the series who loves, actually loves and cares for Loki.

You can see how loyal Mobius was to the TVA, how he had never doubted them before he met his Loki, but in the end he turned against them for Loki.

Whether you (again, general you) like Mobius or not, he is Loki’s best friend, and he and Loki care about each other. Romantic or platonic, they care deeply about each other, there’s no denying that.

#my inbox is open #defending mobius m mobius is the hill i’d gladly die on #loki series #loki #mobius #lokius #tom hiddleston #owen wilson #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #loki show #loki tv #mobius m. mobius #mcu loki #agent mobius #mobius m mobius #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #twhiddleston #wowki #loki season 2 #loki x mobius #mobius x loki #agent mobius m. mobius #agent mobius m mobius

[chocobothis]

Talk Isn’t Cheap Excerpt

This is set during a session where Nico and her therapist, Peyton, are discussing what happened to her the previous January. The gist is Nico went to small town in Texas to hopefully get to interview some christian doomsday cultists that lived in a compound outside of town. Instead, she ends up abducted by them and then trapped in their self-induced t-Virus outbreak because it was supposed to be a divine test.

As a head’s up, excerpts aren’t guaranteed to make it into the final edit as is. Things could change as the story unfolds.

“He literally called me The Whore of Babylon.” It had been months but she still heard the sincerity in the man’s voice as he denounced her. Even worse was that his followers believed it wholesale. “It got shortened to Babylon after the sermon. If he’d picked The Whore I would’ve burnt the place down even sooner.”

Saying she burnt the place down was maybe a lighter interpretation of what happened. It was more like an explosion of kerosene canisters that sparked a sea of flames. There was too much percussive damage for it to be just flames. She did suppose he got his body of war with flames after all; it was just symbolic like the text he touted as fact. Not that he, or any of his followers, were around were alive by that point. 

Zoning back into the present she watched Peyton add to her notes with a neutral expression. Deciphering what the expression meant was hard, especially with Therapist Neutrality. Not that she was great at it with anyone but her closest people to begin with. It made uncertainty build in her mind that she said something wrong.

“The name likely has a liturgical meaning to him. It’s also something you understood the meaning of. But, I don’t.” She looked up from her notes bleeding warmth. “Would you feel okay explaining it to me? If not, we can easily move onto something else.”

Being asked for clarification let her relax some. There was nothing out of place that needed to be addressed. Her therapist just lacked her experiences with religion. A normal thing if she compared it to her friends' upbringings too.

“Well,” the yellow thinking putty twisted around her fingers, “we can start with her full title. She’s technically known as Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth in the bible. When The Beast comes up again, the mention of the time at sea, it's said that she sits atop his head and is said to reign over the kings of earth.” The putty shifted from one hand to the other, “Also, she’s dressed up like royalty. Purple, scarlet, precious metals, pearls, jewels, the whole nine yards.”

When she was younger the idea of this happening haunted her dreams and waking thoughts. Preachers would make it sound like any day now God would rapture up the Good People and leave the rest to the tribulations. Due to her many afflictions (secret homosexuality, disobedience, taking the lord’s name in vain, etc.) she would suffer with the rest of the world. Because every time she repented  for those flaws she would be good for the shortest time then backslide again. Acceptance became the best option in the end. There was no way to fight the inevitable.

After surviving a t-Virus outbreak none of it mattered! She experienced true hell on earth and walked away from it. Nothing could stop her now that she knew her own power.

“I see.” Darker blonde brows knit themselves together, “I’m not sure how this relates to you. They abducted you from a nearby town with no beast in sight. You didn’t show up there of your own accord to herald anything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong because I did arrive with The Beast: Science.”

“What?”

A grin broke across her face. “Their leading bastard tried to claim the t-Virus was something divinely sent. I pointed out it was a virus that was changing people into zombies, not their own sin. The only reason some people didn’t change was they weren’t using a reliable transfer method.”

“I’m not sure what to say. Everything you said was factually correct but they chose not to listen.”

“Oh yeah. A factually correct woman brazenly contradicting their two witnesses and their prophecies made the The Whore of Babylon.” She paused for a moment. “I would’ve been condemned if I was a man too. That would’ve meant I was the false prophet.”

Watching her face shift from dumbfounded to outrage caused a small laugh to escape. She was a licensed therapist who studied science and had a working understanding of viruses, especially this strain. Adding in the context clues, she would even bet the woman was agnostic or not even a christian. It sounded insane without the fanatical mindset to derive joy from this being supposedly true.

“I apologize that you had to experience that. You are so strong to survive what happened.”

“Casual sexism, denial of science, and bioterrorism aren’t my favorite things. I did get acknowledged as powerful from the get-go. He was so scared that I could only be Babylon.” A beat passed. “He was scared of me at the end too but I think that was twelve gauge’s doing.”

There was a brief downward twitch of Peyton's mouth as she made several notes. That she understood to mean she was upset with the circumstances, not Nico herself. It was established early on that she coped via humorous or sarcastic comments and smiling. Not being shamed for such tactics made her feel safer sharing her feelings.

There was a sort of wild glee derived from scaring such a lesser man. His faith, delusions of grandeur, and viral immunity meant nothing in the end. All of his big plans were stopped by “a little girl” as the junior agent termed her.

“You know, it’s kinda fucked up that the only respect I got from everyone in this was weird bad wrong.” The putty oozed up between her fingers. “The delusional preacher made me out to be The Whore. Last I heard the junior FBI agent was trying to launch an investigation again because I’m a spy.”

“A spy?”

“Yeah, I formerly worked for Tricell. He must have found I went to Kijuju.” To avoid her leg bouncing she tucked both legs beneath her in the seat. “It doesn’t make any sense cause they had Albert Wesker. Why would he need me or the t-Virus? The man was literally an Umbrella Virologist and this was the basic virus.”

#chocobo writes #my writing #talk isn't cheap #resident evil #resident evil ocs #nico bright #peyton caldwell #cw religion #cw christianity #cw homophia mention

[jdgo51]

Devotionals Daily - Make every day a better day… when you start with the Lord!

God Is Good All the Time

Today's inspiration comes from:

Seasons of Sorrow

by Tim Challies

Editor’s note: Death and suffering comes to all of us. Tim Challies shares his very personal journey of trauma and heartache after the loss of his son and finding comfort in Jesus.

"'I’ve heard of an old man, a stalwart of the Christian faith, who slipped from earth to heaven with the words of a child’s song upon his lips: “I have decided to follow Jesus, no turning back.”

I’ve heard the account of a renowned theologian who summarized his entire life’s work in a melody he learned upon his mother’s knee: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”1 Sometimes the simplest words are the most important. Though we hike beyond theological foothills to explore the towering mountains of God’s thoughts and deeds, we never forget the beauty, never stop needing the blessing, of the simplest truths.

I once attended a church where it was the custom of the pastor to pause in his liturgies or sermons to say, “God is good,” to which the congregation would reply, “All the time.” Then he would say, “All the time,” and the congregation would answer, “God is good.” It was a recital of the simplest of truths — that goodness is not an occasional attribute of God, not an infrequent disposition, but a constant one. It was meant to remind us that God’s goodness does not vary with our circumstances but is fully present and on display in our worst moments as well as our best, in our most lamentable experiences as well as our most joyful. And though the pastor’s little phrase may have become trite over time, though I may have grumbled about it in the past, today, right now, nothing is more precious to me, nothing is more important to me, than this:

God is good all the time, and all the time God is good.

This is not the only truth that is propping me up.

I’ve heard people in grief speak of God’s sovereignty, perhaps repeating a well-known phrase that compares it to a pillow upon which the child of God rests his head, giving perfect peace.2 Sovereignty speaks to power and the right to reign. It is the attribute of kings or potentates or others in positions of supremacy. Ultimately, it is an attribute of God himself, who rules Heaven and earth to such a degree that nothing happens or can happen apart from his will. Nothing is given to us that does not pass first through God’s own hand.3 God’s sovereignty is a sweeping doctrine that touches every aspect of life across every moment of creation and every corner of the universe. There is no moment, no spot, no deed, no death, that falls outside of it.

God is good all the time, and all the time God is good.

God’s sovereignty is offering me comfort in these dark days. It assures me that there was no earthly power, no demonic power, no fate or force above or below, that had its way with my boy, that interrupted or superseded God’s plan for him. There was no mo- ment in which God turned his back or got distracted with other affairs or nodded off to sleep. There was no medical deformity or genetic abnormality that had been overlooked by God. God’s sovereignty assures me that it was ultimately no one’s will but God’s that Nick lived just twenty short years, that he died with so much left undone, that he has departed and we have been left here without him. When Job was told of the death of his children, he did not say, “The Lord gave, and the devil has taken away,” but

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.

And with that certainty he blessed the name of that Lord.4

But while God’s sovereignty offers comfort, it offers comfort only if I know something more, something of his character. After all, God might be sovereign and capricious. He might be sovereign and selfish. He might be sovereign and arbitrary. He might be sovereign and evil. So for this reason I ask, “What else is true of God?”

If I am laying my head on any pillow in these days, it is the pillow of God’s goodness. I keep saying it: “God is good all the time.” I may be saying it with sorrow and bewilderment and something less than full faith. I may be saying it as a question: “God is good all the time, right?” But I am saying it. I don’t necessarily understand how God is good in this, or why taking my son is consistent with His goodness, but I know it must be. If Nick’s death was not a lapse in God’s sovereignty, it was also not a lapse in His goodness. If there was no moment in which God stopped being sovereign, there is no moment in which He stopped being good — good toward me, good toward my family, good toward Nick, good according to His perfect wisdom.

God can’t not be good!

God’s goodness means that everything God is and everything God does is worthy of approval, for He Himself is the very standard of goodness. Those things that are good are those things that God deems good, that God deems fitting, that God deems appropriate. For something to be good is for it to meet the approval of God, and for something to meet the approval of God is for it to be good.5 If that’s the case, then who am I to declare evil what God has declared good?

Who am I to condemn what God has approved? It falls to me to align my own understanding of goodness with God’s, to rely on God’s understanding of good to inform my own. Ultimately, it’s to agree that if God did it, it must be good, and if it is good, it must be worthy of approval. To say, “Thy will be done,” is to say, “Thy goodness be shown.” It’s to seek out evidence of God’s goodness even in the hardest of His providences. It’s to worship Him, even with a broken heart."'

The first anecdote I heard long ago but cannot now place; the second is widely attributed to Karl Barth. This is widely attributed to Charles Spurgeon, but I’ve had trouble tracing it to its original source.

See “Lord's Day 10” (Q&A 27), Heidelberg-Catechism.com, Canadian Reformed Theological Seminary, accessed April 19, 2022, www.heidel berg-catechism.com/en/lords-days/10.html. Job 1:21.

See Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology: An Introduction to Biblical

Excerpted with permission from Seasons of Sorrow by Tim Challies, copyright Tim Challies.

[yandereheadcanonsideas]

yandere Esdeath

❤Yandere Esdeath❤

Esdeath is known for her merciless prowess on the battlefield.

Everyone fears her, and she revels in the terror she instills. She thrives off the pain and suffering she inflicts on others, especially you.

She adores the fear you show and the agony you endure. It's no secret how sadistic Esdeath truly is; it has caused countless deaths, chaos, and nightmares, and she takes satisfaction in every drop of blood spilled.

Esdeath wants to be the most feared, the cruelest, and the unchallenged dominator. She IS the embodiment of terror, and she expects you to be just as, if not more, terrified of her than anyone else, because she wants your fear more than she wants anything else. She craves your constant dread, the acknowledgment that she is the most horrifying force, especially to you. That you will always submit to her cruelty and never resist, ever. And most importantly, that you dread her and will always dread her, forever.

She won't admit it, but she lives for the screams and pleas for mercy. She wants to be the one and only nightmare you have. You're her most precious victim, and no amount of horror from other sources could compare to the terror you bring her.

Esdeath is a very possessive tormentor. Her cruelty has caused so many different types of suffering.

She wants all eyes on her torments, and that's how she likes it, most importantly when your eyes are on her. She stands by "what's tortured is hers," and no one escapes what belongs to Esdeath. Hell hath no suffering like the one she inflicts, let alone the anguish brought by this very ill-tempered sadist.

There will be as many nightmares as there has to be for her to make a point to those not to escape her twisted grasp. She would use any means to set the whole world ablaze if need be just to keep her real torture with her. She will use whatever torment necessary to get protection for both you and her.

Once she's forced to continue her reign, she'll keep you right in the center of her gruesome displays, just to have you experience the suffering and pain. Even though she doesn't necessarily need to sleep, she likes to watch your restless nights, hearing the rhythmic beating of your terrified heart.

Esdeath would love to torment you, breaking you down physically and psychologically, giggling and laughing as she pushes you to the brink of madness. Playing around with your deepest fears. She isn't all about causing pain, she likes her softer moments as well, relishing in the moments of despair and vulnerability. As her victim, she'll have you following after her and attending to her wherever she goes, she likes to be pampered, but that doesn't mean she won't torment you in the same way.

She wouldn't even hide her relationship with you from anyone, putting it out there in the open for everyone to witness. She doesn't care what others think of your suffering as long as they keep their sympathy away from you; they can watch as they please. But only she gets to break you, torment you, and make you feel the depths of despair, otherwise, anyone who tries will have to deal with the unrelenting wrath of Esdeath.

She's definitely possessive of your suffering. She wants to be the only one to torment you and make you feel things, but that doesn't mean others can't witness it; they just have to keep their empathy to themselves or she'll have them suffer too. Esdeath doesn't like to get her hands dirty when it comes to fighting; she doesn't even fight. She'll use others to get her way.

That means she'll use whoever to ensure no one saves you from her torture.

Esdeath will punish you in a few different ways, but not all the time. She'll get rough with you, breaking you down a little more each time. She will punish you psychologically, plunging you into the depths of despair or never letting you find a moment of peace at all. She'll bind you in the most horrifying and twisted scenarios just to watch you suffer without any escape, all the while relishing in the horror she inflicts.

She's not really one for isolating you because she can't keep herself away from your pain for too long. She's tried once before but broke only an hour or two without your torment. She's grown so used to having you suffer with her all the time, night and day, that she couldn't bear it.

But she doesn't punish you often or at all anymore because you're her devoted victim, and you endure all of her torment. She doesn't need to make you learn your place because you already have, and it's in the depths of her nightmares, existing with her.

That's her way of showing her love💔

#yandere writings #yandere esdeath #esdeath #akame ga kill #yandere esdeath headcanon #yandereheadcanon #yandere headcanons #yandere esdeath heacanon

[artforsimps]

Do vegans think we’ll just make a big grave yard for animals that died at old age? Do they think we’ll rip up forests and dig individual graves for each animal on earth with a head stone? They’d love that. They already don’t have a problem with habitats and rainforests being ruined for agave and whatever vegan “alternative” is popular. They don’t even bother with the cruelty of humanity being abused to produce their almond milk and raw sugar and chocolate

When do we stop farming? We make enough food to feed everyone on earth as is the only thing stopping us is the price. When we stop farming animals there won’t be leather that will last decades compared to fast fashion coats that rip within a single year of ownership. We won’t have wool either. What will they feed their precious rescue animals? Or should they be let loose to rip up some wild animals for fun? Loose dogs probably cause more harm to farm animals than the fucking butcher. A dog will get in the pen running around ripping out fur until they find one weak enough that they can tear into. They won’t even eat it. It’s entertaining for pets. The farmer is forced to kill the dog so it won’t get loose again because the owner won’t discipline it. Sure the dairy industry has its faults it produces green house gases and there are bad farmers but the same goes for the vegan food industry. who’s going to root for the vegan calling for the starvation of species and supports pets which literally kills hundreds of animals a year. When should vegans stop the death of animals? It’s part of a natural cycle. We’re born, we work, we eat, we die and mushrooms eat us. Animals are born they make milk they have kids they die we eat them then we die. Our pets eat meat and they can’t eat anything other than that and live off of it. Eating vegetables would make them slowly starve to death. A pet would eat their dead owner out of desperation we can’t just feed them every dead person on earth they’d get sick and die. By regulation and rules around raising and eventual humane slaughter we reduce suffering. Meat is a way of life.

Don’t even get me started on how vegans appropriate cultural foods as alternatives or hop onto whatever knew food is cool and claiming they invented it or how exclusionary it is for people with allergies or eating disorders or the fat phobia and entitled-ness or the wealth gap from how expensive their appropriation makes everyday food.

Mug you wnat to reduce harm to animals raise them yourself so you aren’t the one creating a demand for abuse or sorce your products through your own research. If you wnat happy chicken eggs raid happy chickens they’ll lay as much eggs as they are wel taken care of. Take. A class on how to butcher humanely without drawing it out. Use every part of the animal. Leather can last shears longer than plastic. Sheeting wool in the summer prevent heatstroke on sheep and creates sustainable clothing or even wall insulation. Milk can make cheese and butter to use as fat in cooking just like animal fat can be used kn cooking without needing to grow large plots of land for oil. Properly rendered tallow can moisturize the skin and be used for soap. Tools made form bone get stronger with age. Thousands of cultures have used bone tools for centuries for a reason. Plastic lasts for ever but breaks in a week. Bones are found thousands of years after the animal dies just imagine how long it could last after being processed into a tool. We have tools named after the use of bone as a material form how will it works like bone folders. If you want to be sustainable be sustainable but don’t creat an entire hierarchy of something as important as food to feel good about yourselves. It’s behind pay walls, it’s inaccessible to people with multiple allergies or eating disorders. Grandma and grandpa can’t raise a hoe and sow corn to survive winter. Don’t tell people they should starve because they can’t afford to and aren’t physically able to reach your “moral” high ground.

Build a fucking homestead and leave us alone

[lindajenni]

aug 29

when i talk to God

"when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place." matt 6:6

what do you talk about when you talk to God. our God knows all things, even before we do. so what do you talk about when you talk to God. believe it or not, i often talk about you - each of you - each and every one who reads these dailies that i aspire to write - trying first to point everyone to our Lord and Savior, and also to encourage those who might be downtrodden by life and the encroaching darkness.

i also pray that the words i write are not my own but God's, for they are truly the only ones that matter. also that my words and thoughts never get mingled with His, thereby diluting His truth on matters - eternal matters. i pray for His anointing upon them that they might have the desired effect.

so once again i come to each of you, as though i were there in your very presence, seeking once more to lift your spirits to the heights i know it can reach. there is One who loves us as none other can. the shame and suffering He endured so He might lavish you with His love throughout eternity cannot now be know by any.

YOU - "who are kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. in this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ." 1 pet 1:5-7

a while back i talked about the goodness of God, and it is so, so true. that's not to say everything has always been a bed of roses and without life struggles. it is to say He was always there with me through it all. i think again of the story of the footprints in the sand and how often, when looking back, there was only one set walking alone. these were indeed the times when the Lord carried me. He carries us when we are too weak to carry ourselves.

there's a star in the darkest night just to give a little light it will guide us through the night when hope is gone soon the darkness fades away and there breaks a golden day just remember darkness comes before the dawn

like a shepherd kind and true Jesus cares for me and you tho at times it seems we just cannot go on He says child come unto me so not worry - do not fear just remember darkness comes before the dawn

He makes a way when there is no way turns the night to golden day o'er life's rugged road, He'll give a happy song when you walk in darkest night and you see a ray of light just remember darkness comes before the dawn

"i would have lost heart, unless i had believed that i would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." psa 27:13 the darkness we see now is only a prelude to the "golden day" approaching. and golden it is, full of glory and gifts - gifts the Lord long to lavish upon those who love His name. "'they shall be Mine,' says the Lord of hosts, 'on the day that I make them My jewels. and I will spare them as a man spares his own son who serves him.'" mal 3:17

we may not be spared from the wrath of man or the torments of the devil, but what is that, knowing we shall be spared from the wrath of Almighty God? "for i consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." rom 8:18 remember - God on the mountain is still God in the valley.

“do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom." luke 12:32

#jesus is coming #prayer #faith #rapture

[god-whispers]

jun 7

water into wine

"and he said to him, “every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior.  you have kept the good wine until now!" john 2:10

i was in prayer this morning and it started out as one of those seemingly "fry times."  i didn't particularly feel the Lord's presence, but i persisted, knowing that He is always here, always cares and is always listening.  there are just times we have to believe, stand firm and press through.

it's not that God doesn't know the amount of faith we have or whether we will endure or not - it's that we aren't always sure.  "that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ." 1 pet 1:7

i am in no way insinuating that a simple "dry time" in prayer is anything comparable to the persecutions and sufferings that multitudes are going through for their faith, but perhaps a training for endurance that will be needed later.  we must all persist in our endeavors to put God first before any of our needs or comforts.  "but he who endures to the end will be saved." matt 10:22  and again: "for you have need of endurance, so that after you have done the will of God, you may receive the promise." heb 10:36

all this was said just to kind of set the stage.  by the grace of God my persistence was rewarded.  the dry time was soon deluged with a flood of water.  the tears were once again flowing as i drew nearer to His presence.  that always happens to me.  He is just so wonderful and precious to me.  He wants to be our treasure.  He wants to be our all.

He whispered so many beautiful things to me.  things that have now escaped my remembrance but i know are buried in my spirit.  anyway, at some time during "our time," i recall hearing "it's time to turn the water into wine."  that was the beginning of our Lord's ministry.

i don't necessarily feel the Lord was speaking about me exclusively, more like it was a work He was preparing to do in many lives.  there may be many who have "dabbled" in ministry of sorts that He is about to open up something new and different or expand whatever into something more.  it may not just be a ministry, but something you have been believing for.  faith becomes substance.

i just want everybody to be looking for that; expecting it.  be ready to step out boldly into the "something new."  grab that promise you have held in your heart.  the unlikely will become likely.  the impossible will now be possible.  "look among the nations and watch — be utterly astounded!  for I will work a work in your days which you would not believe, though it were told you." hab 1:5  i'm telling you now.  believe it!

"then the Lord said to me, “you have seen well, for I am ready to perform My word.  God's word is true.  His promises are to us and all who would dare to believe.  "behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it?  I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."isa 43:19

there may be battles to fight and struggles to endure, but to those who persist, the promise lay within their reach.  we may feel alone at times, but we are never really alone.  He is the author and finisher of everything.  "that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God." 1 cor 2:5