#around like a wheat sack but it bothers me so much……i don’t like that i feel disconnected there’s nothing they can do to fix that im the on

[wolverteen]

baked grace

cw nothing but fluff, maybe a little angst if you squint

sum slightly avoiding home, you're baking with peeta and rye.

pair peeta mellark + victor!reader

a/n baking lemon glazed loaf with peet and rye ughh he’s just so..they’re both so…sue me.

your hands ran through his hair and puffs of flour chalked his golden locks, which he shook out almost immediately. peeta’s hands worked on the half-kneaded dough you prepared the night before. it rose perfectly as the two of you slept and held each other the entire night, leaving little warmth to imagination. “is rye almost here?” he asks you.

usually, when you or his older brother, rye, knead dough, it’s not without grunts of strength, but peeta’s strong arms and capable hands never failed to transport wheat sacks.

“he should be here any minute! i did say six, didn’t i?” you look towards the door and following your words, rye bursts through the doors holding a small bag smeared in white powder from no covering and a pitcher of clear water. “don’t underestimate me, sweetheart,” the older mellark speaks as he sets away the ingredients.

his job was to glaze the soon-to-be-baked bread; the loaf was to be lemon-y and you picked a handful of lemons to make sure the flavor dug in through the abundance of wheat. two fruits were left over for rye to flavor the sugary topping with zest. you smirk and hop on the other counter, away from the subtle white clouds and your loving boyfriend.

he glanced at you briefly as you just watched him, rye occasionally moving between the two of you. “what?” he asks with a smile, “wanna come help?”

“nah, you do it well. i’m here if you need a support kiss, though,” you say, bringing a blush to his cheeks. he curved the dough evenly and sets it down in the spread of flour before walking over to you and bringing his lips to yours. peeta’s lips raise and before you could pull away, he places his messy hands on each side of your head, getting flour on your temples and into your hair.

your mouth drops agape, but you didn’t resist the smile of disbelief. “contamination,” he whispers to you, giving another small kiss, but on your cheek. you scoffed, “since when did district twelve care about contamination?”

his strong arms carried you off the countertop and your shoes met the floor; it didn’t bother you to help, but you didn’t have as much experience as the baker’s sons. peeta followed behind you as your stepped to the sink and ran the water along your hands, using the small lye-derived soap bar along your palms. peeta guided you over to the main counter and nodded towards the dough, waiting for your actions. it’s not that you didn’t know what to do, but you just didn’t want to mess up. a few kneading motions later, peeta wiped his hands and grabbed a loaf pan.

you transferred the dough and set it in the oven, which had been given a new batch of coals early in the morning, and shrugged humbly as peeta gave slow claps at the simple task.

“scoot,” rye mumbles as he pushes past the two of you with the bag he held before and two plump lemons. his hands were fresh from a wash and so were the fruits; you handed him a knife to split them and he squeezed them with his other hand underneath to catch seeds, all over a ready bowl. rye uses a large spoon to scoop the powdered sugar into the bowl.

“peeta, the whisk?” he requests in a sharper tone, but he gets it in his hand quick. you shoot the younger brother raised brows with a small smile. rye was particular about glazes and his dark eyes reflected that concentration.

as he whisked, rye tutted down and added more of the sugar. you enjoyed smaller moments like this. being with peeta and not needing a declaration of love to show you that he loves when you’re around and with his family.

yours resided in victor’s village where you wanted them away from questions about the games and capitol by any means. it’s been almost four years since your “victory” and the only people to bring it up since were rye and peeta, but with your consent.

the older mellark only ever expressed curiosity and sympathies when peeta was away and you needed objective advice on how to deal. you couldn’t with peeta, he was always on your side. you’ve come to terms with your actions and you did earn respect throughout the district and districts alike for such.

peeta’s hand brushed yours, “thinking?” he asked. you shook your head and gave a brief flash of teeth. you would save slices of the zesty loaf for your family, but the village was safer and they got comfortable quick. you? you couldn’t not come back. the smell of fresh bread and the comfort of your lover was more than enough to draw you back and make you stay nights in his bed.

“rye, you close to done?” you tapped him and he turned his head and nodded, “mhm.”

the taller brunet soon turned completely and held the bowl close to him and tapped the whisk against the rim. he held the bowl close to you and the whisk to you lips, letting you lick the sweetness off of it before he set it away in the sink. “mmm,” you nodded and smiled, satisfied with his creation. your eyes lit up and peeta moved his hand to your waist from behind, “let me know when you’re done, yeah?” he spoke sarcastically.

rye rolled his eyes. the three of you spent time cleaning up around the kitchen and restocking whatever was delivered at the door. once the loaf finished baking, peeta gathered his oven mitts and took it out, setting it down on the counter to cool. “gonna be good,” he says.

you smell the steam from the bread, a faint lemon scent with a wave of warmth approaching your face. before the loaf could cool completely, it was taken out the pan and set in a cutting board. rye dripped the glaze along the top, tilting the additive to the sides for extra flavor.

rye steps back and discards the materials into the sink, “so..middle piece?” “is mine,” peeta says, leaning on the counter. you already had a knife out and set next to the dessert.

[babbushka]

Wreck The Malls: Flip Zimmerman and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

6.2k ; cw: mentions of gun violence, blood and injury ; NSFW (shower sex, injured sex, PIV, oral sex)

Available on AO3

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

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But it is also universally acknowledged, that a lucky man in possession of a good wife, should want to get her something special for the holidays.

This is the story of how one Detective Flip Zimmerman of the CSPD, goes on a journey through hell and back to obtain such a gift, and might just learn the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

Now, though this story takes place on Christmas Eve, it should be noted that our Mr. Zimmerman does not actually like Christmas. He doesn’t celebrate it, and he thinks the entire holiday is one big headache. Does it bother him that his own holidays always seem to be overlooked in favor for the goyishe celebrations of December? Yes – but that’s not the reason he dislikes it so much. If you were to ask him, he would say something akin to;

“I just don’t know why the fuck everyone makes such a big goddamn deal.” He huffs and puffs on his cigarette in the parking lot. Flip rolls his eyes, “All month long, stores have been playing this shit music since the day after Thanksgiving.”

Sitting in his car with Ron – the only one of his friends patient enough to listen to him complain for an hour straight – Flip turns the radio down just low enough for Jingle Bell Rock to sound. They’re outside the big mall, something shiny and brand new, just in the nick of time for the holidays. Ron shrugs, going over his last-minute shopping list.

“We can go home, no one will know.” Ron points out for what must seem like the eighteenth time.

Flip had asked Ron to accompany him both for emotional support, but also to get a second opinion on the gift he was picking up for you. Flip loves you more than anything else in the entire world – yes, even more than his buc-wheat cereal and Greek yogurt – and even though you had already exchanged presents during Hanukkah only a few days prior, that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Of course we can’t go home, I want to get her something nice.” He says as much, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the car window, the oppressive commercialism of the mall looming ahead.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like Christmas either though.” Ever the practical voice of reason, Ron tries giving Flip one more out, one more chance to turn back now, “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know.”

“It’s not a Christmas present,” Flip shakes his head, finally turning the car engine off entirely, and silencing the radio once and for all. He steels himself, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, “It’s a just-because present. I already have it all picked out and everything, I just need to go in and pay for it.”  

“You’ve got some real brains underneath those flowing locks of yours man.” Ron smiles, gets out of the car and stretches out his muscles for what he’s sure will be a ton of walking through angry mobs, “Minimizing the amount of time in there is probably for the best, considering.”

It’s the way that Flip hesitates that clues Ron in that maybe, Flip didn’t have as many brains as he had thought.

“Considering what?” Flip asks, the second clue.

“Flip, it’s Christmas Eve.” Ron spells it out plainly, and wishes he had a camera to capture the exact moment that the next thought enters Flip’s mind, and subsequently spills out of his mouth:

“…Oh fuck.”

Shaking his head fondly, Ron claps a hand on Flip’s shoulder as he rounds the front of the car, and the two of them brave the great unknown together.

 Flip was not nearly as familiar with the mall as he likes to think, but he knows where the jewelry store is, and really that’s all that matters.

They make their way down to that section of the enormous space, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the sheer abundance of Christmas Cheer that surrounds them. Nearly every store had something in its window display: lights, statues, mannequins modeling holiday attire, some even had moving animatronic animals that gave Flip the shivers. Every pole and railing and kiosk in the place was covered in garland and lights, and in the grand atrium, enormous ornaments were suspended from the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment and looking up at them, Flip wonders what the likelihood would be for them to all come crashing down.

He’s so caught up in fact, that he nearly misses Ron branching off in another direction.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Flip jogs a couple paces to catch up, a frown already forming between his brows.

“I need to pick somethin’ up for Patrice.” Ron explains, holding up his little shopping list. Flip gives him a mildly panicked look, but Ron only reassures him with, “We’ll meet up at the food court?”

I can do this, Flip thinks to himself, it’s one store. How bad could one store be?

“Sure, don’t take too long.” Flip eventually agrees, swallowing down the feeling of impending doom – otherwise known as “acid reflux” according to you – and squaring his shoulders.

He didn’t need Ron, he was a grown man after all. He fought in Vietnam twice! Surely he could go to the jewelry store…right?

Making his way over to the escalator, Flip has his eye on the prize; Goldsmith’s Jewelry is just off to the left, he can see it coming. Playfully taking the five golden rings theme and running with it, large decorations spin gently in the window, glittering in the light. Flip’s relieved to see the place relatively empty.

Not completely dead, but definitely not a line out the door the way that the toy store had. As a matter of fact, when Flip walks through the glass doors, he’s greeted by less than ten people, including the owner himself, who lights up when he spots his friend.

“Philip! Good to see you son. Here for those earrings you were looking at?” Carl, a fabulously eccentric man with no less than fifteen pieces of jewelry on at any given time practically jingles when he comes around the counter to give Flip a hug.

“You bet Carl, how much am I layin’ out for you?” Flip has to bend himself nearly in half to reach the kind gentleman’s embrace, already reaching for his wallet.

Carl was one of those men who could reminisce and catch up for hours on end, and as much as Flip would love to listen to the story about how Carl lost his dentures in his shoe for the hundredth time, he would rather listen to you instead. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t seem too pressed about it, and he only beckons the detective over to the register counter.

“Tell you what, since you’re practically family and helped out Darlene with her car troubles, I’m taking half off.” Carl announces with a twinkle in his eye, making Flip feel a little guilty about wanting to scram as fast as possible.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that Carl really – ” Flip tries, but Carl is having none of it.

“I want to!” He smacks at Flip’s hands when he tries to offer him the full amount of cash, fully turning his back on Flip to go into the little employees only room. “You stay right here, I’ll just go into the back and get it wrapped up real nice for you.”

Left alone once again, Flip has no choice but to let his eye wander. The entire place was sensory overload, really, and Flip wishes he could have a fucking cigarette. Was the music at the mall always this loud and discordant? Chewing on his lip instead of the butt of a cigarette, Flip looks around the store.

He makes uncomfortable eye contact with a man who is clearly picking up something for the wife and something else for the girlfriend, and he looks away when he realizes. Training his eye on the great big mirror up on the wall instead, Flip frowns.

Is that…no, it couldn’t be.

Santa Claus wouldn’t be taking a break from the Workshop near the foodcourt to stop into a jewelry store, would he? Flip shakes his head, he’s probably just being paranoid. The guy is probably on break and looking for something for Mrs. Claus. Flip cracks himself up with that thought, and is about to turn around and joke with the guy about it – when he notices through the mirror that the Santa is ever so cautiously reaching around the counter, looking for the lock mechanism.

“Shit.” Flip licks across his teeth, when he manages it open and begins pulling out necklaces with seemingly no one noticing.

Carl still hasn’t come back, so Flip casually reaches for the phone on the counter near the register, dials the direct line number to his buddy back at the station.

“CSPD this is Jimmy – ”

“It’s me, I’m at the jewelry store on the second level of the mall downtown. I think there’s a robbery about to go down, I’m going to need backup.” Flip mutters as quietly as he can into the receiver, keeping and eye on the Santa.

Sure enough, he’s pulling out a sack, and it looks as if this guy has already hit up quite a few stores, if the brand new boxed electronics filling it are anything to go by.

“Is he armed?” Jimmy asks immediately, and Flip tries to get a good look.

“I can’t tell, he’s in a Santa suit.” He explains, and then scowls when the line goes silent for a moment.

“…Flip are you serious?” Jimmy tries to start some bullshit but Flip doesn’t have the time for this.

“Yes I’m fucking serious would you just tell Trapp I need backup? Ron is here somewhere but I don’t know where the fuck he went.” He hisses, teeth clenching tight enough that he can feel the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“Okay okay! I’m on it, keep him in your sight.” Jimmy replies, before hanging up.

Trying to steal a glance through the mirror again, Flip realizes he must have been a little too loud, because the Santa has bolted through the doors, sack filled with diamond and ruby and sapphires galore.

“Fuck.” Flip grunts to himself, before slamming down the phone near the register and rushing out of the store with a futile, “CSPD! Hands where I can see them!”

 This would be much easier, Flip reasons, if it weren’t Christmas fucking Eve. The mall is swamped with people, loud and slow like big dumb buffalo – no, he wouldn’t do buffalo the disservice of comparing them to these last minute mall shoppers who cannot decide if they want to walk on the left or the right side of the aisle. Santa, he needs Santa – but there are so many! Nearly a dozen guys in red coats and white beards ring bells or wave or laugh jolly hearty laughs, and Flip feels like he’s in hell.

No, he supposes, Hell must be the five-story Hibbard & Co., where he finally manages to catch sight of the Santa he’s after. Bolting across the large expanse of the mall and into the first level of the store, Flip trips and stumbles through displays of empty cardboard box presents and wooden nutcrackers, causing shouts and screams of distress to erupt around him from the patrons of the store.

The employees however, are entirely unphased, they continue to spritz the air with their perfume samples, directly into the face of Flip, who is scrambling and already breathing heavy as it is, his boots carrying him around the sharp corners of the mirrored kiosks in the perfume department.

“Oh – shit – fuck!” Flip’s blinded by the perfume, his eyes stinging. He’s choking on it, unable to breathe as rose water stings his vision. “I love my job, I love my wife, I love my job…”

He chants to himself as he blinks and coughs, to no avail; he’s so blinded that he crashes into a display of coats, which in a domino-like effect crash down all the other displays of winter clothing on their way down, but Flip can’t stick around to apologize, the Santa is getting away.

“Out of my way – Ron!” Flip shouts as he pushes and shoves himself through the large swathes of people, Christmas music blaring bright and cheerfully as he runs and runs and runs, shouting out, “Ron if you can hear me a little help would be appreciated!”

The Santa isn’t making this easy for him, Flip curses, as he runs down the up escalator.

Following suit, there’s real screams now when the Santa pulls out a gun and starts blindly shooting behind himself at Flip, making everyone on the escalator, and everyone in that area of the mall for that matter, scatter. If Flip thought the crowds were bad, a mob was even worse, and soon everyone is running in every which way direction, as this Santa gets off the escalator and sprints down towards the food court.

Flip wonders why the place isn’t on a lockdown yet, wonders what the hell is taking backup so long to get there already. Didn’t this place have cops? Weren’t the mall cops good for literally anything? What a waste of his time, Flip thinks, as he runs runs runs with his gun in his hands, trying to hold steady as he aims to shoot, the robber in his sight, he can see him, he can practically smell him --

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this – oh fuck me -- !” Flip collides hard with an unsuspecting dad who just happened to be grabbing lunch from the food court for his entire family.

“Watch where you’re fucking going pal!” The dad shouts.

All at once, a whole tray of pizza slices doused in red sauce and melted cheese, and four large cups of pepsi are flying through the air and landing all over Flip’s brand new shirt, the one that you had just given to him for Hanukkah. He wants to be livid, wants to choke this guy out but the robber is getting away, Flip’s losing visual on him, and after all the trouble, there’s no chance he’s letting him get away.

“You fucking watch it!” Flip scrambles up, which isn’t easy to do on freshly mopped linoleum floors covered in soda pop, his gun spiraling a couple feet in front of him that he lunges to pick up, muttering to himself, “Ruined my goddamn – ugh – fuck!”

He has to change, and he has to change quickly – scanning the nearest stores, the closest one in the mall that sells clothing. He runs over to it, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt, and grabs the first thing on the rack he sees, which happens to be the most hideous, tacky, terrible looking Christmas sweater.

Flip raises his eyes up to the ceiling, and can practically feel the universe laughing at him when he groans, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

There’s no time, he doesn’t have any other choice, so he yanks the ruined shirt over his head and throws the sweater on. It’s two sizes too small, and it’s itchy as all fucking hell, and of course, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse…the faux lights turn out to not be so faux after all, and they blink as he accidentally rips a tag off so not to trip any alarms.

Throwing money onto the counter as the employees stare at him like he’s a maniac and not just trying to do his fucking job, Flip’s chest heaves as he stands there, gun drawn, scanning the panicked swarms of people in front of him.

“Where did you go you motherfucker?” Flip growls, growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

A moment or two goes by, but then he spots him – the pet grooming salon.

Without any hesitation, Flip is chasing this man down with all his vigor, lungs pumping full of recycled mall air conditioning, blood pounding in his veins. The sooner he catches this guy and gets him cuffed, the sooner all this pandemonium will end.

“Hey!” He hears an authoritative shout from the other end of the mall, and lets out a sigh of relief.

The mall security has finally shown up, and he’s about ready to tell them that Santa is in the pet salon, when he notices they are not slowing down in their full force sprint towards him.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Flip realizes they think he’s the maniac! “I’m a cop! It’s not me – I’m – oh for fuck’s sake.”

Flip realizes he doesn’t have the time to explain, so he does the exact opposite thing you’re supposed to do: run.

Into the pet salon Flip goes, hoping that if he can just grab the Santa it’ll all be explained, but there is no Santa to be found. Instead, Flip is met by a dozen dogs that have been let loose. Big dogs, like Dobermans and Rottweilers, and small dogs like Poodles and Pomeranians have all been released from their cages, and for whatever reason, are baring their teeth at him, and lunging after him as he runs the other way.

“Heel! Sit! Stay – ow!” Flip feels teeth sink into his ankles, and doesn’t bother looking back as he kicks away one of the smaller dogs in the pack that is chasing him.

He can see the Santa, and now, chased by dogs and mall cops, Flip chases him down for hopefully the last leg of this race. He can feel steam shooting out of his ears, he’s never going to leave home again he decides, never is going to step foot in this fucking mall again, as he’s chased.

 Meanwhile, blissfully unaware over in the lingerie department of Macy’s, Ron Stallworth’s greatest dilemma is trying to choose between the red velvet bra and panty set, or the navy satin set. He’s been staring at the two sets for quite some time now, and is conscious of the fact that Flip must be waiting for him, so he calls over one of the employees for her opinion.

He explains that it’s for his girlfriend, and while red and blue are both colors she likes, he isn’t sure which would get the most use – when he sees a Santa Claus stumbling and tripping over himself, shoving people out of his way as he runs past the great big glass windows.

“Huh.” Ron frowns, putting the sets down and moving over to the windows to get a better look.

Ron hears the commotion before he sees it, but when he does see it – ‘it’ being his best friend bleeding, in a blinking fuzzy Christmas sweater, gun brandished, chased by dogs and security who are blowing their whistles and brandishing guns of their own – he grabs all his shit and makes leave.

“If you ladies will please excuse me – ” Ron gives a parting excuse to the employees, who only frown at him as he runs and runs and runs to catch up to, “Flip! Flip what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s about goddamn time!” Flip shouts, nearly red in the face from exertion and sheer unbridled rage as he points with his gun to the man in red a few yards ahead, “That Santa! Is! A! Maniac! I don’t know how many stores he’s stolen from, but at least from the jewelry store and is shooting at people – watch out!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, half a dozen men throw large plastic ornaments the size of cars out onto the floor as a means to blockade the hall. They’re dressed in green, with red and white stockings and pointed hats that have jingle bells on the end, but these were no innocent visitors from the North Pole.

“Of fucking course he’s got elves.” Flip grunts as he tries to run around them, tries his best to avoid getting hit square in the chest with them as they bounce and create a rampaging path of destruction.

“I’ll handle the dogs and the elves, and the mall cops, you catch Santa.” Ron slows down enough, until he’s far enough away that Flip can’t hear him, his own feet still on auto-pilot as he hunts down the Santa.

And then – then!

As if by some miracle, the Santa trips, and he and his sack full of stolen goods all come crashing down to the linoleum floor. In slow motion, Flip jumps using all the strength he has left, hands extended to grab the Santa, and as he flies across the distance between their bodies, Flip swears he sees his life flash before his eyes.

Thudding to the floor, he manages to get the Santa in a chokehold, letting out a triumphant shout of victory.

“Got you!” He pins the man down, rolls him over onto his back so that he can pin his hands behind his back, Flip fishing for his handcuffs that he managed to keep in his back-pocket this whole time, “I got you you son of a bitch!”

 Off to the side, a group of small children watch a grown man leap and tackle Santa Claus to the ground.

Little Stacey gasps in shock and horror, before her older brother Jacob can quickly cover her eyes with his own mittened hand. They, along with their friends – an assortment of ten to twelve year olds left unsupervised on Christmas Eve while their parents and gaurdians get gifts for in-laws they don’t like – immediately turn to one another, while Santa’s body jerks and writhes underneath the heavy knee of some strange man.

“What should we do?” Nicolas asks the leader of their group.

“Well there’s really only one thing we can do.” Dewey says with all the determination of a man about to walk into battle. The children exchange glances with resolution and with all the authority that an eighth-grader can muster, Dewey regards his friends, “All in favor of rescuing Santa and saving Christmas, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!”

It is this emboldened shout of unity that draws Flip’s attention – before he is promptly charged by six small children who proceed to punch, and bite, and smack at him.

In the chaos, Santa manages to slip out of Flip’s grasp. Thankfully he’s still handcuffed and he’s dropped his gun, but the children don’t notice that. No, they’re too busy beating the shit out of Flip, who can’t bring himself to fight back against the angry fists of fury that are descending onto him.

“Get off of me! Get – I am a police fucking officer get off -- !” Flip manages to shake them away, and they stare up at him with wide eyes when he wipes the blood away from his nose at being slammed to the ground.

“Don’t you assholes have parents – oh forget it.” Flip doesn’t bother, caring so little about anything anymore.

He’s is almost defeated, almost, but Santa is handcuffed and limping, he can’t get too much farther, he’s so close – he’s right there –

“Oh shit!” Flip jumps back, as suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron in one of the security mall-carts comes darting from around the corner and t-bones the Santa from the side.

Santa’s body slides across the floor, and seconds later, Bridges, Trapp, Jimmy, and a dozen or so other familiar faces flood the large floor, in their blues and with their walkie talkies loud.

“Flip!” Bridges darts over to where Flip has practically collapsed onto the floor.

He’s directly underneath those ornaments, and he practically wills one of them to unlatch from their suspension and crush him to death.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Bridges has the audacity to ask, looking Flip straight in the face.

His bleeding, swollen face.

There’s a moment or two where Flip can’t think of anything other than how badly he wants a fucking cigarette, but eventually he licks across his teeth, scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly?” Flip muses, before replying in the most dry deadpan way he can muster, “I’ve never been better.”

Blood drips onto the blinking Christmas sweater, and with that, Bridges claps him on the back and nods.

“Go home. We’ll get your statement after the holiday weekend.” He says, and sweeter words have never been spoken. “Don’t worry about Ron, we’ll give him a lift home.”

 Flip’s snowy home in the mountains has never, ever looked more beautiful, Flip can’t help but think. It was quiet, so quiet up here. Snow dusted itself along the length of the front porch, draped the roof and surrounding trees in a blanket of crisp clean fresh white. No dirt, no blood, no sweat – just white. It was purifying, to say the least.

But not so purifying as the front door opening and your stunning face lighting up to see him.

That is, until you notice him limping, notice him covered in blood, notice his hair destroyed and his face bruised. Then your smile melts into something closer to shock and terror.

“Phil! What the fuck happened to you?” You rush to him, trudging through snow that’s up to your calves. You’re not wearing shoes, and Flip can’t bear the thought of you getting too cold, so he hoists you up and holds you against his side, walking you back to the house.

“I…really…don’t want to talk about it.” Flip sighs, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers with you and never emerge.

“Holy shit, are you bleeding?” You push your hand up to his face and feel at his tender nose, making him wince.

“That sounds about right.” He mutters, slamming the door behind him with his foot when he finally crosses the threshold into the foyer of the house.

Flip puts you down and immediately shoves his entire face into your neck, trying hard not to cry. What a fucking day it had been, he can’t help but think as he lets the stress and frustration finally mount behind his eyes. His face hurts, everything about him hurts, his legs are exhausted, his back is fucking killing him, and worse of all, his ego is beyond bruised.

“I hate Christmas.” Flip hiccups, knowing that he’s smearing blood against your pretty robe. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he doesn’t want you to go away, doesn’t want you more than a foot away from him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Come on let’s go take a shower.” You card your fingers through his hair, and lead him up to the bathroom.

 In the light of the bathroom, you do your absolute damndest not to laugh. It’s not that you’re laughing at him, because you would never laugh at him of course, but you’ve never seen your husband look more angry in his entire life, and you’ve been there for a significant portion of it. You have a million questions that you know better than to bombard him with right now, knowing he’ll explain all in due time.

So instead, you peel away his layers until the both of you are naked. A Christmas sweater that blinks bright red and green is buried under blood-stained and ripped jeans, your robe, underwear and socks. Flip turns on the heat and waits for the water to not be so frigid, and in the meantime, you examine him.

“Were…did you get bit by a dog?” You frown as you see crescent bruises blooming underneath his skin. Thankfully, it looks like no actual puncture wounds – what a Christmas gift that would be, rabies.

“More like a pack.” Flip grumbles, making your eyebrows shoot up nearly to your hairline. You want to ask, but Flip dismisses it for now with a sigh and an, “It’s a long story.”

Finally the water seems to be good enough for him, and Flip leads you into the shower. At once, the water runs pink as it washes him clean of the day from hell. Your hands in his hair are heavenly, washing the muck and sweat and grime out of the locks, and Flip could practically cry.

“I know what you need.” You whisper, kissing at the side of his face that’s not tender.

Keeping heated eye contact, you slowly slowly slowly slink down to your knees. Water cascades down your shoulders as your hand reaches for Flip’s cock, as you pump it ever so carefully in even strokes until he’s fully hard.

Your tongue licks up a thick stripe of his shaft, and Flip has to lean fully against the wall so his legs don’t give out and he winds up in the ER with a concussion again. Your mouth swallows him down, feels the weight of his cock on your tongue, against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat.

“Bed, now.” Flip stops you before you can get any further, and you pull off with a smile, glad to see that though he’s in a bad mood, he’s willing to let you help him feel better.

Barely drying off with a towel, Flip kisses and kisses and kisses you as you both stumble to your bed, falling down on top of the covers. You’re giggling against his lips just because you love him so much, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s still in a proper pissed off mood, and you’re glad to let him do what he will with you.

Flip’s cock throbs as it slides in real easy into your cunt, the wet heat of your body welcoming him on the first thrust. Your eyes fall shut as your back arches off the mattress from the feeling of being so filled so fast, the breath punching out of your lungs.

“God you’re wet.” He has to groan, swipes a few fingers over your clit just to massage it and get your legs shaking, your shoulders squirming for him, “What – were you jerkin’ off missing me? Thinkin’ about me? I was thinkin’ about you.”

The thought makes him break out into a sweat as he starts to thrust, his limbs aching and sore from all the running and bodily contact, but too desperate for you to give a fuck.

“Yeah, yes Flip – I missed you, missed your cock.” You whine, giving him permission to, “Give it to me, take it all out on me honey.”

The flood gates open, and Flip’s ramming into you hard and fast. He’s bouncing the mattress, slamming the headboard from it, from the grip on your hips as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Spit strings down from his teeth as his jaw is clenched, savoring the feeling and chasing that feeling, of your beautiful body opening and squeezing around him.

“Fuck ketsl, fuck I – oh damn that feels good.” He grinds himself all the way up inside you, pushes you up the bed with the force of it. He grabs at your hair, yanks your head back so he can suck and kiss at your throat, can feel your fluttering pulse as you moan and sigh and gasp.

“Yeah? How good? Tell me.” Your hands don’t know where to go, you don’t want to accidentally touch a bruised spot, so instead they fist in the sheets as you push your hips up to let him rail into you from this new angle.

“I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, that’s how good it is, that’s how hard you make me ketsl, do that thing I like? You know the one.” Flip’s delirious, doesn’t know what he’s even saying, but you breathe out a harsh moan from the words, hands pushing your tits together.

“Like this?” Your voice wobbles from the fucking he gives you, breasts bouncing, nipples peeking through your spread fingers as you cup and hold them for him.

“Just like that – fuck, goddamn baby you’re so pretty, I could fuck this pussy all night long – ow!” Flip is about to lavish kisses onto your cleavage, when something twinges in his back, and his arms collapse underneath him and he falls square on top of your chest.

“Shit, Flip are you okay?” Your body tenses immediately, worried for him, the mood ruined.

“Yeah – yes, dammit,” Flip groans, never feeling more like an old middle aged man than he does right now.

“Okay maybe don’t fuck me all night long,” You chuckle, calming and soothing him with your hands in his hair, abandoning the hold on your breasts. Still, you’d hate for him to not even get to come after all of that, so you kiss the side of his tender nose and whisper, “Are you close?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m sorry – ” Flip rolls you onto your side, eases back into you that way, where he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Don’t apologize, just come in me honey, come in me.” You encourage, knowing that he’ll get a good few orgasms out of you once he’s feeling a little better.

Flip nods and kisses you, wet and hot and sloppy as he thrusts a few more times, your legs corralled over his, until he grunts out long and low, spills into your pussy.

He rides that high, rides the feeling of your sweet lips on his, until all he can do is groan from being sore.

“I think I need to see a doctor.” Flip grumbles, sounding so dejected.

“Yeah I think so too handsome.” You give him an apologetic smile on behalf of the universe, and he sighs.

You’re an angel though, striking up a cigarette for him. Passing it to him, Flip pulls out of you with a wince and the two of you starfish out onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You let him have a few minutes of silence, but eventually the curiosity kills you and you have to ask,

“Hey, how come you were even in the mall to begin with?” Peering up at him through your lashes, wondering what the hell he had even gotten himself into, “I thought you were just popping into work for something.”

At that moment, the cold dread of realization crashes through Flip, and despite his injuries and general exhaustion, sits straight up in bed and gasps out, “Oh fuck!! I’m sorry ketsl I was going to surprise you with – ”

Just then, the doorbell rings, and the both of you frown at one another.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come over, even though it was Christmas Eve, you didn’t have any plans to celebrate anyway other than with some Chinese food takeout and a good movie. Considering the state that Flip is in, you go to reach for your robe, but Flip shakes his head and grabs for his instead.

“No, let me. You’re not dressed.” Flip says.

You love him enough not to point out that he isn’t dressed either, but Flip deserves to do what he wants after the day he’s had, you think.

 Creeping down the stairs, Flip tries to look through the front window to see who it could be, but whether it’s the angle or something else, he can’t get a good visual. He pulls the robe sash tighter around his waist, looks through the peephole.

Strangely, there’s nothing there, no one to be seen. No car in his driveway, either.

How strange, Flip thinks, as he cracks the door open, wondering what the fuck else the day has in store for him.

Sitting right there on the front porch, is a small box. It’s wrapped in a golden ribbon, bearing the logo of Goldsmith’s Jewlery in a wax seal on the side. Frowning, Flip approaches it, picks it up. It feels like the right weight, but to be sure, he pulls open the ribbon and peeks inside.

Sure enough, resting atop the black velvet interior of the box are the diamond earrings that had started this whole mess.

Something about that, something about those earrings being there, makes Flip’s heart warm through. Even though it’s cold, he doesn’t feel the bite of the wind. All he can think about, is you, waiting for him upstairs in your bedroom. You, who care for him, who takes care of him, even on days when he doesn’t even want to take care of himself.

The earrings twinkle in the grey sunlight of the snowy day, and despite it all, Flip smiles to himself. What was another year of bullshit, really? He could go through anything, could do anything, as long as he had you by his side. Yes, Flip thinks, it’s all worth it, or at least it will be, when he sees your smile once again, when he gives you this little token of his appreciation, of his love.

And as he casts his gaze up to the sky, half expecting to see the real Santa Claus flying away in his sleigh, half expecting to see some friendly man smiling down at him behind a team of reindeer, Flip feels something that maybe…just maybe…might be akin to Christmas Spirit.

Until the moment passes, and he’s reminded of the day’s events by a twinge in his side from where he was donkey kicked by a twelve year old.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” Flip scoffs to himself after a shake of his head, locking the door behind him, “Ba fuckin’ humbug, and a merry new year.”

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 5 of promises to keep is here!

[kristanna / 18th c scotland au / love and angst and kiltstoff in equal measure / rated t / 4k words this chapter]

masterpost

He would find a way. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity he had been given. He’d make a name for himself, earn a reputation as one of the “good ones”, whatever that meant; someone, someday, might take pity on him, shorten his sentence in exchange for work done, and then, at last, he’d go home and beg for her forgiveness.

chapter 5: and another year older

With every strike of the hammer, Kristoff said their names in his mind, over and over. Callum who had befriended him, Anna who had loved him, Lachlan who was the reason he stood now, mostly whole, in the prison’s forge hammering out another set of heavy iron chains, the twin of the set that locked around his ankle and kept him from leaving this room.

He had forged that set himself two weeks ago when the guards had noticed the old one had started rusting. He had seen, too, and allowed himself to pause for only a moment to consider how easy it would be to draw the iron taut and drive the hammer against the weakened links, to make his way down the corridor and find the key to remove the band around his ankle, and then he’d go home to her, running the whole way if he had to, and go away with her like she had wanted, like he should have done in the first place.

And then he had leaned too far on his bad leg to examine it and nearly fallen to his knees; even if he found a suitable walking stick it would be painfully slow-going, and he would be an outlaw, now, one they knew by name, and they would find him and drag him back here and hang him and Anna would be there watching in horror if she was lucky and swinging beside him if she wasn’t.

And so he had turned back to his work and ignored the snorts of laughter when one guard had muttered to another, “They told me the highlanders were stupid, but I didn’t know how bad it was. Poor bastard could have been miles away by now if only he’d bothered to look down.”

He would find a way. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity he had been given. He’d make a name for himself, earn a reputation as one of the “good ones”, whatever that meant; someone, someday, might take pity on him, shorten his sentence in exchange for work done, and then, at last, he’d go home and beg for her forgiveness.

—

The weeks leading up to Christmas were harder than the day itself.

Now that the floodgates had been opened, Anna had found herself weeping more days than not throughout the fall, but once the first snows fell and she remembered his old promise, it seemed she could hardly keep her eyes dry long enough to get her daily errands run. Sometimes it came on without warning, without even a thought or sight to trigger it; other days she woke up with her eyelashes already damp and a weight on her chest that made it difficult to drag herself from the bed.

She was determined to make it a festive season for the children’s sake if nothing else, and so she spent the advent season flurrying from house to house helping to hang mistletoe and holly, listening to the children’s little excited chatter and keeping a mental list of which gifts would bring the most delight where. Elsa had long since sold off most of the old furniture in the castle– which was more of a manor, anyway, really, but even still was too big for only two women– and, though she had given the majority of it to those who found themselves utterly adrift after the war, she had set aside a small fund precisely for things like this. And so Anna found herself more than once making the trek to Glenfinnan, coming home with sacks full of ribbons and dolls and oranges and trying not to think of how she had once meant to run away here and not look back.

And she wondered, with every visit, every afternoon spent comforting a widow and every supper spent listening to the same stories, if somewhere Kristoff would be proud of her, if he knew she would do the same for his family if there had been anyone left but her to mourn him. 

And that was what she thought about most of all, in the dark depths of night with no sound but the wind whistling through the bare-limbed trees. It had been nearly a year and a half now without him, eighteen months of aching, and she couldn’t stop herself from agonizing over what might have been if he had come home when he’d meant to, if he’d never left at all; even if he had survived the final battle and come home defeated, she would have loved him just the same, would have built a home with him and done all she could to make it a happy one.

On Christmas Eve Elsa excused herself early, leaving Anna to sit alone in a chair before the fire in the parlor. For a long while she simply sat, looking into the depths of the fire and thinking of the flame she had seen burning in the depths of Kristoff’s dark eyes that day she had found him in the blacksmith’s shop and kissed him like she never had any intention of letting go. They would have been married by now, for well over a year if she’d had any say in it. And she would sit beside him, just like this, in front of a fire he had built himself, bellies full with a holiday dinner, and she would say something to amuse him and he would laugh and lean to kiss her cheek, and perhaps it wouldn’t be just the two of them any longer; perhaps she’d be cradling a babe against her breast, one with hair the color of new wheat who looked like his father and laughed like his mother.

Suddenly the ache in her heart was too sharp to bear, and she stood and crossed to the other chair, where Elsa had left a blanket and pillow, and she took them and sat back in her own chair.

If she draped the fabric over her shoulders like so, if she settled the pillow against her chest, if she closed her eyes tight enough and let her mind wander, she could almost imagine how it would feel to have a husband’s arms wrapped tight around her, to have a son slumbering in her embrace, and she knew this was the way to madness, but for one night– one night, perhaps, it would be alright, just to pretend; it was Christmas, after all, and this little sliver of peace might be the only gift she got.

—

“Bastard is going to drink himself to death at this rate,” a voice shouts from down the hall. “What good is it keeping a smith on salary if he’s too drunk to lift a hammer? Fucking useless, I tell you…”

The men around him perk up, curious, but Kristoff doesn’t move. He sits, one leg extended and the other pulled up to his chest, with his head bowed low, focusing only on drawing in one breath at a time.

It had gotten better at first, the pain, and then it had gotten so much worse. He can’t stop looking at it, the way the skin puckers red and angry around the wound. He knows well enough what it means and has resigned himself to the outcome. Perhaps it’s what he deserves, a cruel twist of an ending as repayment for his foolishness; surviving what would have been a merciful death only to die here of a soured wound, conscious til the end of how he has failed the one thing– the one person– that he did all of this for.

The voice comes closer then as its owner kicks ferociously at the bars. “Don’t suppose any of you lot know anything about smithing, do you?” the guard asks, laughing humorlessly.

“Aye,” comes a familiar voice from the opposite side. “I do. I know my nephew over there’s the finest smith in the highlands.”

A snort of laughter is the initial response. “Should have done a better job, then, maybe then your weapons would have done you some good, eh?”

“His did,” Lachlan says again, determined. “Look at him, the great blond bastard. D’you really think farm work built him that way?”

The guard pauses for a moment, considering. “Can you repair links, boy?”

It takes a moment before Kristoff realizes he’s the one being addressed. “Aye.”

“Alright, then,” the guard says with a heavy sigh, and then the door is being swung open, and he’s being yanked to his feet by the collar with a hiss of pain. “Fucking hell, how’s he going to smith for me on that leg, eh?”

“Guess you’ll have to fix him up,” comes the sardonic response.

“Better be worth my time,” the guard mutters. “Can’t believe I’m hiring my next smith on the advice of a condemned man.”

Kristoff dares a glance over his shoulder as he limps out. Lachlan is grinning ear to ear despite the heavy, scabbed line that runs the length of his face. “I may beat you home, laddie,” he calls, “but we’ll get you there soon enough.”

—

January was cruel enough, but February was worse, offering her snatches of sunlight again that shone on the hardened crust of snow that had lingered for weeks with only new ice falling like needles to make the pathways nearly impassable. There was no work to do, no holiday to prepare for, nothing but the biting cold and too-short days and trips to the cliffs when she’d told Elsa she was visiting Bridget.

That was where she was now, her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders as she huddled against the wind. She was grateful that it wasn’t a crying day, at least; the tears would have frozen before they fell, sealing her lashes together and blinding her. 

“If you were here,” she said softly, “you’d be angry, wouldn’t you? Tell me I was bound to get frostbite out here and make me wear your cloak, too, til you got me home.”

Anna did close her eyes then, picturing it, how he’d stomp around for a minute pretending to be cross when really she knew he was frightened, and she’d steal over to him and sneak her hands around his waist and hold him and tell him how sorry she was. 

Somehow even her daydreams always circled back to that, to the lead weight of regret that threatened to drag her down into despair. She wasn’t so sure anymore what she believed about heaven and hell and all the rest of it, but it was a comfort, at least, to think that perhaps he was there above her somewhere listening each time she whispered it with no one around to hear but the breeze.

“Anna!” a voice called, and her eyes flew open. What was her sister doing out here? 

She rose in a panicked flurry, turning on her heels and fully expecting to see pity in Elsa’s gaze, but instead she saw pure, heart-stopping fear.

“We need you,” Elsa panted. “There’s– there’s soldiers, English ones, we don’t know if they’re trying to cause trouble, or–”

Anna didn’t wait to hear another word. This was a remote village, but word had still gotten to them about the new draconian regulations outlawing the use of their own mother tongue, the wearing of tartan and playing of pipes, anything that set them apart from the English; and worse than that the raids of every nook and cranny of the highlands and lowlands as the army sought to eradicate any last whispers of Jacobite rebellion.

Thank whatever god might be in the heavens, then, that her father had sent her off to an aunt in Yorkshire when she’d been a girl to “finish” her; she wasn’t quite sure that he’d gotten the desired result, but she could at least speak English now, though how rusty she might be she didn’t stop to consider as she caught sight of the red-garbed men and slowed her pace to a leisurely stroll.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” she said with a deep curtsy, the picture of demure ladyhood. “And welcome. Might I inquire what brings you here?”

The shorter one, a man with a curling mustache, growled, “D’you mean to mock us?”

His partner laughed and put a hand in front of his companion’s chest. “Hold, Arthur. The first time we see a glimpse of civilization in this godforsaken country and you think to insult her?”

Anna kept a sweet, simpering smile on her face, though inside she was already boiling with rage. The second man turned back to her, green eyes glittering as he swept into a bow. “My lady,” he said, mockery underscoring his words, “I do hope you don’t mind giving us a tour of this…what would you call this, Arthur? Do you think it qualifies as a village?”

“Stop playing around, Henry,” Arthur grumbled. “It’s cold as a witch’s teat this far north.”

Henry sighed. “He’s no fun, is he? But I suppose it is best for us to get on with it, don’t you think?”

“With what?” Anna asked, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice.

“The Duke of Cumberland has sent us to make sure things are running here as they should be. You understand, of course; it’s a favor, really, to put any traitors out of their misery before they try something idiotic again.”

A crowd had gathered around them now, and Anna heard murmurs of dissent. Please, god, she prayed, let them stay quiet. “Of course,” she said with a dip of the head. 

Henry gave her a gleaming smile before stepping past her into the nearest home. “Just going to have a look around,” he called as Arthur followed him, gleefully kicking aside chairs and flinging open every door haphazardly.

A cry of indignation rose up behind her, and she spun to see an elderly man pushing his way forward. He opened his mouth to speak, and without thinking she flung a hand over his mouth, silencing him.

“They’re armed, Harris,” she hissed. “And they’ll not hesitate to harm you if they hear you speaking Gàidhlig.”

The man stiffened beneath her hand as he watched his home being ransacked, but after a tense moment he nodded, and she lowered her hand.

She turned back to see Henry smirking, his hands casually resting on his unslung musket. “Problem, my lady?”

“Of course not,” she said sweetly.

They worked so roughly it took barely an hour for them to have torn apart every home in the village, Anna trailing them all the while. Mercifully, the townsfolk had heeded her warnings and found places to hide their heirlooms that the soldiers wouldn’t bother to look.

And of course, she thought dully, they’ll not be finding any former Jacobites here, will they?

With a sigh, Henry stepped closer to her. “Shame I won’t have a reason to come back and visit you, my dear…what was your name, then?”

“Anna,” she said, holding his gaze.

A cruel smile unfurled over his face. “You’re far too pretty and well-mannered to live in this shithole. You’re welcome to come back with us if you’d like. I’d take excellent care of you.”

Hot tendrils of rage curled around her heart. “I’m a married woman, I’m afraid,” she said, raising her left hand to show him the iron band she still wore.

He tipped back his head and laughed. “Are you? Where is he then?”

When she didn’t reply, his smile broadened. “You’re not married anymore if he’s dead,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “If he died like the rest of them, squealing like a stuck hog. Who knows, maybe I’m the one who did it. I hope I was– make this whole thing feel very full circle, wouldn’t it?” he asked, lifting one hand to curl around her cheek.

She didn’t dare to move. She’d come across men like this before, men who were itching for a fight; he’d come here hungry for blood and had found none, and so it had fallen onto her to keep any from being spilled today.

“What do you say?” he asked, drawing closer. “I’ve heard how you barbarians scream in battle– now I’d like to hear how a highland whore screams in my–”

“Annie!” a voice called. “There you are, my love!”

A hand clapped on her shoulder, and she turned, blinking with surprise, to see Ross there, holding Bridget’s son in his arms. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Well, you’ve found me now, haven’t you?” she asked, the words spilling from her tongue automatically. “What is it, then, dear?”

“‘Fraid this wee one’s gone and soiled himself again,” the boy said, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. “And I can’t find any clean cloths.” 

There was no odor, and in fact the toddler looked quite content, but she pulled back all the same, hearing a huff of irritation from Henry. “How big of a fool do you think I am, then?” he snapped. “To think you’re married to this child?”

Ignoring him, she took the baby in her arms. “There, there, my darling,” she crooned, kissing his forehead. “Mummy’s got you now.”

They walked off then, Anna not daring to look back. Thankfully, Ross did for her. “They’re getting on their horses now,” he whispered urgently. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“We’ve given them no reason to,” she replied, her shoulders sagging with relief. “Jesus, Ross, you got there just in time.”

“I was watching all the while,” he said, sounding once more like the boy of barely fifteen he truly was. “And I– I saw him touch you, and heard what he was saying, and I suddenly thought about my Da and how brave he was, and how he’d want me to be brave, too, and I sort of looked at Bridget and she…she understood.”

“You were very brave,” Anna said fondly. “And your father would be awfully proud.”

The boy flushed under the praise. “Do you really think so?”

“Aye. I know it.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Others might come, you know. To make sure we’re…adjusting. To how they want us to live. Do you…do you think you might teach me to speak their tongue, too? In case next time you’re not around?”

For a moment she froze, and he frowned, worried. “Did I offend you, Miss Anna? If it’s too much trouble, I–”

“No, no, not at all,” she said quickly, a smile blooming over her face. Here it was, then, at last, the next right thing, a step she could take to helping them all recover and– as much as it pained her to think of it– move on. “We’ll start this afternoon.”

—

Kristoff knew it was nearing summer again by the stench that wafted through the bars over the window even he wasn’t tall enough to see out of. He had his own cell now, and had had it ever since he’d made a new knife for the warden. The man had watched him closely the whole time, making sure he didn’t try to turn the weapon against any of the guards, and when it had been presented to him, even and perfect and solid as all the yards and yards of iron chains Kristoff had forged over the last few months, he had nodded in satisfaction. “Take him out of that shithole of a cell,” he had instructed, and as Kristoff had left it for the last time he’d heard his fellow former soldiers whisper that’s a lad and well done, you.

He’d expected them to be angry for him; they knew full well who’d been making the heavy leashes that chafed at their limbs and kept them tied to the cold stone. And some had been resentful, at first, but as the months wore on and they’d seen he wore his own handiwork, they had softened towards him, enough to tell them of their own families and sweethearts back home.

He never told them about Anna, but they knew, all the same, from the look in his eyes, the determination in his shoulders as he limped heavily down the hall every afternoon.

He missed it sometimes, the companionship, though it was an improvement not to piss in the same corner as five other men and share mouldering piles of hay and crusts of black bread and always those blasted fleas. It felt like an unearned grace to sit now in a cell alone, no longer even chained unless he was being brought to the forge– and to know that tucked behind a loose stone was a tiny pile of coin, given to him by men who had seen the warden’s dagger and wanted favors of their own. It meant he had to work harder than usual on whatever work the guards gave him that day, knowing that if he took any longer than normal it’d be the whip for him and back to the underground cells, but he didn’t mind the exhaustion, not really, not when it made falling into sleep that much easier.

The door to the hall opened, and he rose to his feet, reaching for the cane one guard, inspired to pity over Easter a month before, had brought him. It was too small for him, really, but it was better than leaning on the wall and dragging his ruined leg behind him when it gave out after only a few yards of walking. 

“Here we are, then,” the warden said, unlocking the door and stepping aside.

Kristoff frowned. “I did not think there was more to be done,” he said, grateful that years ago Anna had taught him the foundations of this unfamiliar tongue.

“There always is, isn’t there?” the man said gruffly. “But now they’ve gone and decided I can’t make use of you any more. Damn shame, I’ll tell you that. What you did for free was twice as good as what that old bastard Whitby used to do for a shilling a day.”

“What?” Kristoff asked, not understanding.

“You’re free. Full pardon. All of you fucking traitors. Not my idea, mind, so don’t go thinking I’ve gone soft.”

Kristoff still didn’t move, and the man growled in irritation. “I knew you fucking highlanders were stupid, but this–”

“I can go home?” he interrupted, his heart picking up speed. “I can leave?”

“If you don’t hurry up and do it,” the warden snapped, “I’ll arrest you for wasting my goddamn time. Get out.”

He didn’t wait to be told again.

—

On the first day of the third act of her life, Anna was kneeling in the garden, weeding

around the cabbage plants, when a little girl came running up to her, calling her name.

“What is it, Addie darling?” she asked, brushing her hands off against her skirts and turning to the child with a smile. 

“There’s a stranger here, Miss Anna,” the girl said anxiously, “and he said he won’t talk to anyone but you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Was he armed?” “No, Miss, he just has an empty pack and a walking stick. He just walked right in to the blacksmith’s shop. Is he going to hurt us?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Without waiting for another word, Anna was off and running, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. “Please, God,” she begged aloud as she made her way through the streets, “please let it be true.”

It couldn’t be; it had been so long, two years now as of last week, she couldn’t even remember the sound of his voice sometimes unless she sat very still by the sea, and even then, even then–

She burst through the half-open door, panting, and her first thought was it’s not him, grief sweeping through her all over again; the man seated before her was too thin, his hair too long, his shoulders curling inward and hands trembling.  

Then he raised his head to look at her, and though there were shadows like she’d never seen before under them, those were his eyes, and he was looking at her as if she were a ghost when he was the one who had died.

Somehow she made it over to him without her knees giving out, though she was shaking from head to toe, and it wasn’t until she settled her hands on his shoulders that she could believe that he was really there, that it wasn’t a dream. “Is it you?” she whispered anyway, needing to hear it before she could believe it.

“Anna,” he said, and though his voice was hoarse she would have known the sound of it anywhere, no matter how vast and empty the chasm of time that had stretched between them, and she let out a sob and collapsed against him, burying her face in his shoulder.

He caught her just in time, his arms not as broad as they once were around her waist, but warm and solid and there all the same. “You came home,” she choked out, her fingers tightening in the worn fabric of his ragged shirt.

“I promised,” he said, his voice so soft she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he hadn’t turned to brush his lips against her temple. “I promised I would.”

[essays-for-breakfast]

One False Hope

Melizabeth Week Day 5: Death/Rebirth/Meetings

Warning: This piece includes blood, violence, and character death.

The city was burning. Smoke and ash hung in the air and made it impossible to breathe, much less see in the cauldron of hellfire. Screams rung through the canyons between the high rising marble facades, screams of cornered foot soldiers, of children crying for their parents. The attackers had long overtaken the king’s residence in the city center; all that held them here was the thrill of destruction and murder.

Meliodas fought for each step forward with gritted teeth, and the feeble piece of metal in his left hand trembled along with his heartbeat. He could barely hold onto Elizbeth’s hand as he dragged her along. It had never been this bad.

A stray arrow whistled past his head, and he dove for cover in the dust of a house corner. Elizabeth stumbled and fell, but Meliodas pushed her deeper into the shadows, on the lookout for the marksmen. He spotted the masked soldier of Malachia on the top of a building not too far but paid for the information with another almost-hit. For a human, the marksmen controlled his bow with remarkable precision.

Meliodas slipped into his dead angle and studied the arrow buried to the shaft in the wall across the alleyway. The silver crane feathers of its fletching brimmed with the remains of magical energy. Thank heavens. Had the marksmen solely relied on the force of his arrows, Meliodas would have had far worse odds to struggle against.

Elizabeth quivered next to him, her eyes hazy with the images of her past lives raining down on her; she hadn’t even had the time to process the extent of her curse. A few strands had escaped her carefully woven braid, and the beige of her leather doublet had lost its pure color to the ashes of Ys. Even now she looked beautiful. Meliodas had to make sure she would make it out alive, make up for the past times he had failed her.

With the taste of acerbic smoke on his tongue, Meliodas jumped out into the open, and his shoes crashed on the paving stone loud enough to be heard above the roaring flames nearby. But the noise proved unnecessary as the enemy had only waited for his prey to rear its head in panic. In less than a heartbeat, another projectile shot through the black smoke aimed at Meliodas’ chest. Meliodas squinted against the cinders burning in his eyes and raised his sword. Even the advanced eyesight of his Demon blood couldn’t track down the arrow in the dark, but he could hear it, a high-pitched buzzing that raced closer.

Then the arrow reappeared, and Meliodas flicked his wrist at the last second. The red lines of magical energy enwrapping the projectile were flung backwards, reflected by Meliodas’ «Full Counter». On its own, the magic the marksmen had used didn’t offer enough force to kill a man, but doubled in strength, the red bolt did the trick; the marksmen tumbled from the rooftop into the obscurity of the street below.

Meliodas coughed, and blood splashed into a growing puddle at his feet. Swaying from dizziness, he looked down and broke into a humorless grin. How stupid of him to forget the arrow itself. The iron head had buried itself into his chest, and blood poured out of the wound to add to the red stains in his tunic. Another heart gone. Meliodas had stopped counting how many of them had ceased beating, but he had taken at least two fatal strokes when he had fought back the invaders threatening to burn Elizabeth’s house, and a few more might have given in under the constant flood of lethal smoke he pulled into his lungs.

“Meliodas!” Elizabeth had escaped her shell shock and rushed to his side just as the pathetic sword he had taken from a dead soldier escaped his numb fingers.

“No worries, I can still stand,” Meliodas coughed up despite the tremor in his left arm.

“Stop lying, you’re not well. This is all my fault. Ys is being destroyed because of me.” Elizabeth’s broken words of self-blame faded as she held her hands over the arrow wound, deep in concentration and desperate for a spark of Goddess magic to heal him. But there was nothing she could reach out to; her powers had yet to awaken, and her memories of when she had wielded this magic couldn’t spring the flow to life at will.

“Don’t bother, it’ll only slow us down,” Meliodas said between haggard breaths and took a shaky step. His legs could still carry him. At least that.

Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth stumbled through what had once been the great alley of the city of Ys, the golden kingdom in the far south of Britannia. Like a fever dream, the images of the street’s prosperous days hurried before Meliodas’ inner eye. Here he had laid eyes on this incarnation of Elizabeth for the first time, clad in the white attire of a priestess, a sight of shock and awe between the market stalls teeming with customers from all corners of the land. Here he had bought her the slim golden bangle she had worn ever since. And yesterday, the basket filled with apples and oranges had slipped out of Elizabeth’s hands when Meliodas had declared his love in front of the tailor shop right over there.

Yesterday, all had been well. Today, hell had come to burn Meliodas’ hopes with one swift attack.

Dazed by blood loss and only on his feet because Elizabeth’s hand kept him sane, Meliodas told himself that Ys would have fallen anyway, would have burned to the foundation stones even if he hadn’t uttered the words ‘I will love you forever’ to the woman by his side and triggered her memories. The kingdom of Malachia had long planned this strike, had long eyed the wealth of Ys with envy. He told himself Ys would have joined the ranks of fallen cities regardless of his actions. Another Belialuin.

But Elizabeth remembered now, the curse had awoken, and if Meliodas didn’t give his all, her hours would tick down with brutal certainty.

The massive archway of Ys emerged from the smoke screens in front of them, its gold ornamentations dull in the absence of sunlight. Beyond the marble structure, the plains of winter wheat awaited them where they would be safe from the massacre. Elizabeth would leave behind all the people who mattered to her in this life, but she would live. Only a handful of steps separated them from safety.

Two invaders emerged from the shadows of a doorway, loaded with silver trinkets and sacks of coins from the household they had robbed; the owners had either refused to put up a fight or had long been silenced. And by the time Meliodas became aware of the hooded figures in his periphery, they had dropped their loot, their bloodlust stronger than their greed.

“Run!” Meliodas yelled and shoved Elizabeth forward before he spun to face his adversaries. Blood dripped from the ridges of their daggers, and one of them made the mistake to go after Elizabeth instead of the bigger threat.

Even without a weapon at hand and with a hazy vision, Meliodas could rip any human apart, and one punch square to the chest sent the soldier of Malachia into the wall across the street. The other one rushed at him, but his loud feet betrayed his move, and Meliodas caught his wrist before the dagger could do more than graze him. The man screamed as Meliodas crushed his bones and dropped limp to the ground. He wouldn’t raise a weapon against anyone any time soon.

In the incarnation of stupid defiance, Elizabeth waited for him in the middle of the road with no cover in sight; she had always refused to listen when he told her to run. But she was still standing, fate hadn’t ceased the opportunity to strike her down while he had been distracted, and nothing else mattered.

He staggered towards her, and his view swayed like a ship in a raging sea intent to pull him underwater. Smoke ate its way into his lungs as he gasped for air. But Meliodas pushed forward, despite the blood running down his side. He could still breathe, he still had a heartbeat left, so he could still protect Elizabeth.

They dragged themselves into the shadows under the grand archway that had marked the borders of the city for countless generations. Today it marked to gateway to safety, to a life beyond this hell. Meliodas clung to the stone wall, barely aware of the detailed reliefs under his hand, and pushed himself forward and into the open. The wide road of well-trodden dirt stretched into the far distance, skirted by the high corn that would cover their escape. On the horizon, a thin blue line hugged the ridges of a mountain range, a sliver of sky against the black clouds of death hanging over Ys. All would be well. Meliodas would make sure Elizabeth would live.

She reached the edge of the field faster than he did, and her fingers had almost brushed the surface of the outer leaves when she turned on her heels to shoot him a concerned look. The blue ribbon with which she kept her hair in check had loosened and her silver locks waved around her slim shoulders in the breeze. For a second, the triskelion of the Goddess Clan flashed in her blue eyes as she made sure he was right behind her, as well as could be given the situation.

Then the buzz of a bowstring cut through the silence, and this time Meliodas spotted the arrow emerging from the dark and racing towards them. To Elizabeth. He had no weapon to deflect the projectile, no strength to catch it midair, all he had was his own life to give. He didn’t hesitate.

Meliodas’ gaze clouded with blackness when he stared at the hole in his chest. That was a first. For once he would leave this world before he saw her death, felt her fingers grow cold, watched the light disappear from her eyes. He gurgled when he tried to pull in a lungful of air, his throat filled with blood.

The same sound recurred behind him. Meliodas turned. Elizabeth had fallen to her knees and clutched her abdomen where the arrow Meliodas had meant to shield her from was buried in her flesh. Horror washed over him, and his muscles froze to ice.

No, no, no, not her, not again, not this time. They had been so close, the walls lay behind them, and yet Elizabeth bleed to death all the same, regardless of his efforts. He couldn’t hold himself upright and dropped to the dust beside her, his fingers stretched halfway towards her.

He could barely see the lovely features of her face as she placed a cold hand on his cheek to wipe away the tears that kept streaming. I failed you, he wanted to say but only managed a blood-filled gargle. If only he hadn’t admitted his love, if only he had taken her for a trip outside the city today, if only he had been stronger, better…

“I’ll see you in the next life… Meliodas,” Elizabeth whispered. Her hand still on his cheek, she sounded her last breath, and her soul fled her body to enter the cycle of reincarnation anew, to be reborn in some other place in this world for him to fall in love with her all over again.

The city of Ys burned down behind him.

Meliodas’ last heart sounded its final weak beats before it succumbed to the smoke poisoning his body.

 When he opened his eyes, Meliodas was greeted by blinding rays of sunlight and the smell of summer grass. All he could do was stare into the endless blue of the sky as the memories dripped into his mind, memories of fire and failure. Elizabeth, love of his life, priestess of Ys, admirer of fruit buffets and harp-playing was dead.

The giggles of a child tore him from his trance, and the young girl he was faced with when he sat himself up clapped her tiny hands in excitement.  “You’re awake!” she said with a grin and stroked his hair as if he were a pet her parents had presented her with for her birthday. “Happy day!”

Meliodas’ mind slowly assembled itself back together, and the more he remembered the more bitter he became. Elizabeth was dead because he had failed to protect her; not even his own life as sacrifice had broken her curse, and his own curse of Eternal Life had brought him back to the land of the living all the same. The field of wheat where he had died had become nothing but a faint dream, and wild grass and clover covered the plain in its stead. Only a few yards to the west, ruins dotted the scenery, covered in ivy and scorch marks from the fire that had eaten the city whole. Marble pillars, the remains of an archway, reached for the heavens like people in desperate prayer; the last citizens of Ys.

“Come home. Mommy makes stew,” the girl said and took Meliodas’ hands to drag him to her village across the hillside. With a heavy heart and one last look at the ruins glistering in the sun, he followed the girl barely old enough to walk.

Her eyes were blue, her short locks silver.

[langblr-o-kebek]

How to feed yourself cheaply when you live alone

It can be so frustrating and difficult to get used to living by yourself. Apparently cabinets don’t come magically stocked with spices and you have to buy things??? with money???? So here’s a few things I’ve learned along the way along with some links to other great posts that have information along this subject too.

1. Secretly assassinate a relative and collect inheritance

2. Find a sugar daddy

If 1 and 2 are options then the rest of this post is worthless to you, if they are not options, keep reading.

Your first visit to the grocery store Buckle up because it’s going to be the most expensive one

You need to stock your kitchen since you are not a roach and can’t just eat the wooden cabinets. Every kitchen should have some combination of the “basics” which will be your non-perishable pantry items-those things that your parents house seemingly never runs out of. 

The Basics

-Rice -Pasta (+any other grains you might like such as couscous, wheat berries etc.) -Flour -Sugar -Brown sugar (if you’re into baking like I am) -Baking Soda -Baking powder -Spices (for example, cumin, cayenne, oregano, basil, paprika, etc.) -Salt and pepper -Oats -Boullion or cans of stock -Cans of soup/packets of ramen -Coffee/tea

I suggest you buy these kinds of items in bulk if possible. If you have the space to store them, they will last you forever and items like these can make a meal that is supposed to be 1-2 servings into somethings thats 4-6 which I’ll explain later. Also, buying in bulk is cheaper per pound/100 grams (whatever system you’re using) so in the long run, you’ll save lots of money by buying one fat ass sack of rice a year instead of 15 every few weeks. Check your area for bulk stores, places that sell spices and grains by the weight. This will save you cash and can be more eco-friendly if you’re able to use your own bags/containers.

Tips for meals

It is so much cheaper to cook a larger amount of food at a time than making something for each individual meal. This is because for the most part, you can’t buy ingredients sufficient for one serving at the grocery store and you don’t want to buy something you’ll only use once and then the rest goes bad and bye-bye money. Making a meal that will last you 3-4 days is not only cheaper, but also saves time since after the initial cooking, all you have to do is reheat a little at a time later. You can take this a step further and use grains like rice, pasta and couscous to “cut” the food thereby doubling the amount of servings you have. Below are some really easy recipes that I use that last me days.

Things you can make at home for cheap

HUMMUS! Bc it’s a great snack, filling, healthy and is stupid expensive at the store and stupid cheap and easy to make.

-1 can of garbanzo beans -2 T of tahini (you can leave this out if you want, tahini can be expensive) -1 T lemon juice -1 clove of garlic, minced -Cumin, paprika, salt, pepper

Literally throw it all in a food processor and blend. If it’s too thick, you can add more olive oil or save some of the water from the beans and add that as well. If you do that, less salt will need to be added. If you use dried beans that you’ve soaked and shit you will need more salt.

If you don’t have a food processor, you can heat the beans up and smash it by hand, it’s more effort and it may be chunkier but it works. Same goes for immersion blenders.

Fun ways to shake this hummus up

-Roasted Red pepper: Chop 1/3 C of roasted red pepper and add. Replace some of the olive oil with some of the juice from the pepper jar.

-Roasted Garlic: Instead of mincing a garlic clove, expose the head of the garlic (lol) and rub with a little olive oil, making sure it gets into the cracks (lol). Wrap in foil and roast at 400 degrees (~200 C) for 30-35 minutes. Garlic should be nice and soft when it’s done. Roasted garlic is sweet instead of biting like raw garlic so using a whole head is okay and you won’t die when you eat it.

-Artichoke heart+black olive: Chop up one can of artichoke hearts with however many chopped black olives as you would like

-Pesto: Add in at least one tablespoon of pesto

Now the question is, how do I eat my hummus and the answer is, there’s actually a billion ways

-Put it on a sandwich or wrap! -Dip celery, cucumber, carrots, peppers in it! -Eat it with pretzels or tortilla chips OR if you’re a cheap bastard like me, make your own tortilla chips by cutting up some tortilla rounds, brushing them with olive oil, sprinkling them with salt and bake at 350 for 10ish minutes. I usually put mine into the oven right when I turn it on and pull them out when the oven is preheated bc I can’t be bothered to actually figure out a proper cooking time. Whatever, this is way cheaper than buying chips and they’re more filling. You can also make tortillas, it’s cheap and simple, I find they taste better, but it is slightly time consuming. Here’s a recipe. -Eat it with a spoon wgaf you live alone no judgement.

Coffee Creamer

Hell yes you can make this at home. The basic is about 1 3/4 cup of milk (whatever kind of milk, the more fat in the milk the creamier the creamer) and 14oz of sweetened condensed milk. You can also add in a few drops of any sort of extract/honey or some sprinkles of cinnamon/nutmeg whatever suits your fancy! Here is a bunch of variations. Also put 1/4 of a teaspoon of cinnamon per cup of coffee in with your coffee grounds in the filter for a cinnamon scented coffee.

Popcorn

Well, we all knew this one. But honest to god it is so much cheaper and healthier to pop popcorn using a bag of kernels than it is to buy a box of microwave popcorn. Just pour some oil and a tablespoon of butter into a large pan, add the popcorn and cook covered over medium heat. As soon as the kernels start to pop make sure you start jiggling the pan to keep them moving so they don’t burn and ruin your pan. I’m pretty sure you can put the kernels in a paper bag in the microwave too. Throw salt on it, or even cinnamon and sugar cuz why not.

RULES FOR GROCERY SHOPPING

1. buying in bulk saves

2. Don’t buy in bulk if you can’t use it all before it expires-like yeast! Most expiration dates are pretty generous and you can actually continue using the product beyond the date (this amount of time varies, please for your own safety please google it). Yeast is the only food I know of that is true to its expiration.

3. Avoid superstores when possible. Most of the time, you’re paying for the convenience. Superstores are often more expensive because you’re paying for the convenience of doing all your shopping in one place. 

4. Ethnic markets are almost always cheaper-especially for trendy things like Coconut oil (so cheap at indian food markets!!) Find Chinese, Arabic, Indian, Mexican food markets around you and split up your shopping accordingly. 

5. MAKE YOUR OWN BREAD, it can be very easy. Google it.

6. Off brand is just as good as the rest

7. Coupons, grab them in the front of the store if available

8. Just because something is a good deal doesn’t mean you have to buy it. I don’t care if orange juice is on sale, I don’t drink a lot of orange juice. You know what’s cheaper than something being 50% off? Not buying it at all. It costs $0.00 to be smart. 

9. Don’t make grocery shopping a habitual thing. By that I mean don’t go grocery shopping every Sunday or whatever. Go grocery shopping when you need to go grocery shopping. If it’s been a week but you can wait 4 more days, wait 4 more days.

10. Don’t buy fresh herbs, grow them. A packet of seeds is cheap. Plastic pots are cheap. Potting soil can be cheap if you can find a place where you can buy by the weight instead of a massive bag. Plant the seeds according to the packet. Things like basil need to be watered often. Things like rosemary and thyme are okay chilling a couple of days without it. Read the packets and google it. Also it’s so rewarding to watch your little baby plants grow. An herb garden costs $10 dollars at the most to make. Fresh herbs at the grocery store cost $2-6 per package. Fresh herbs make meals taste a million times better I swear to god it’s the best thing you can do for yourself. Growing herbs also helped me with my depression so bonus.

11. If shopping at a super store, as much as possible stay out of the “middle”. What I mean is, things you buy should come from the sections closest to the wall-these include the produce, meat, dairy and frozen vegetables. All the processed foods are in the middle and though some can be cheap, they’re not filling and you end up buying them a lot. Doing things like making your own hummus can keep you out of the middle aisles and it’s healthier. Things from the middle you may need though are tea, ramen, grains, soup, peanut butter. 

12. Plan your trip. Thoroughly look through your fridge and cabinets to see what you’re out of. I even keep a little white board on my fridge where I write what’s in the fridge and what’s run out. Write down what needs to be replaced/what you need for the next couple of meals. Do not stray from the list when shopping.

13. Go to Marshalls or Winners or whatever equivalent for things like olive oil, K cups if you have a Keurig (oh fancy fancy) and cool pink salt. They also have other kinds of oils like sunflower and avocado, and even sometimes protein powders. It’s way cheaper there and you can buy a liter sized bottle of olive oil for like 7 dollars when it would cost at least twice that at a grocery store. 

14. Do not have the same grocery list every week. Prices of things change, your list should reflect that. If you’re wanting to get some sort of fruit for a snack, don’t get apples every week. Get whatever is in season. The prices of fresh produce in stores and markets will reflect what’s in season (i.e. the cheapest things). Lucky for us Bananas are always in season and are a super cheap snack that people forget about. I often wait until they’re ripe, cut them up and freeze them to make smoothies. 

15. Don’t be afraid of tofu. It’s cheap as hell and once you learn how to prepare it, can be a fantastic substitute for animal proteins if meat/fish are too expensive.

16. Don’t forget, so many foods can be frozen. If something is crazy on sale, don’t be afraid to buy more than usual if you are able to freeze it. Here’s a list of things that can be frozen. TBH here, in Canada, I buy those big 3L bags of milk and store the little baggies in the freezer. 

Finally, go to Goodwill stores and thrift shops to find kitchen appliances, dishes, and cookware for cheap! The best 7 dollars I ever spent was on a crock pot. These stores have so many items that last FOREVER, like a good pan, or a classic cafeteria.  Don’t think you can’t cook because you can’t afford the equipment. Kitchen equipment doesn’t have to be a huge investment.

That’s all I have for today. Good luck out there guys.

[dfroza]

A real form of bravery is standing in the eternal truth of Love

because there are people who fight against it. and True illumination has been revealed by our Creator as illuminated in the Son and we who believe are meant to stand without being afraid of what the world may think.

in Today’s reading from the book of Acts (chapter 24) we see a courtroom scene with Paul stating his defense for sharing the new covenant of grace:

[Paul’s Trial before Felix]

Five days later, Ananias the high priest arrived in Caesarea, accompanied by some Jewish elders and Tertullus, their prosecuting attorney. They were brought before the governor to present formal charges against Paul. After Paul was summoned, Tertullus accused him, saying, “Your Excellency Felix, under the shadow of your wise leadership we Jews have experienced a long period of peace. Because of your wise foresight, many reforms are coming to pass in our nation because of you, Most Honorable Felix. We deeply appreciate this and thank you very much.

“So that I won’t weary you with a lengthy presentation, I beg you to hear our brief summary, with your customary graciousness. For we have found this man to be a contagious plague, a seditious man who continually stirs up riots among the Jews all over the world. He has become a ringleader of the sect known as the Nazarenes. He has even attempted to desecrate our temple, which is why we had him arrested. We sought to judge him according to our law, but Commander Lysias came with great force, snatched him away from our hands, and sent him here to you. He has ordered his accusers to come to you so that you could interrogate him and ascertain for yourself that all these charges we are bringing against him are true.”

All the Jews present joined in the verbal attack, saying, “Yes, it’s true!”

[Paul’s Defense before Felix]

The governor motioned that it was Paul’s turn to speak, so he began to answer the accusations.

“Because I know that you have been a judge over this nation for many years, I gladly respond in my defense. You can easily verify that about twelve days ago, I went to Jerusalem to worship. No one found me arguing with anyone or causing trouble among the people in the synagogues or in the temple or anywhere in the city. They are completely unable to prove these accusations they make against me.

“But I do confess this to you: I worship the God of our Jewish ancestors as a follower of the Way, which they call a sect. For I believe everything that is written in the Law and the Prophets. And my hope is in God, the same hope that even my accusers have embraced, the hope of a resurrection from the dead of both the righteous and the unrighteous. That’s why I seek with all my heart to have a clean conscience toward God and toward others.

“After being away from Jerusalem for several years, I returned to bring to my people gifts for the poor. I was in the temple, ritually purified and presenting my offering to God, when they seized me. I had no noisy crowd around me, and I wasn’t causing trouble or making any kind of disturbance whatsoever. It was a group of Jews from western Turkey who were being unruly; they are the ones who should be here now to bring their charges if they have anything against me. Or at least these men standing before you should clearly state what crime they found me guilty of when I stood before the Jewish supreme council, unless it’s the one thing I passionately spoke out when I stood among them. I am on trial today only because of my belief in the resurrection of the dead.”

Felix, who was well acquainted with the facts about the Way, concluded the hearing with these words: “I will decide your case after Commander Lysias arrives.” He then ordered the captain to keep Paul in protective custody, but to give him a measure of freedom, he allowed any of his friends to visit him and help take care of his needs.

[Paul Speaks to Felix and Drusilla]

Several days later, Felix came back with his wife, Drusilla, who was Jewish. They sent for Paul and listened as he shared with them about faith in Jesus, the Anointed One. As Paul spoke about true righteousness, self-control, and the coming judgment, Felix became terrified and said, “Leave me for now. I’ll send for you later when it’s more convenient.”

He expected to receive a bribe from Paul for his release, so for that reason he would send for Paul from time to time to converse with him.

Two years later, Felix was succeeded by Porcius Festus. Before he left office he decided to leave Paul in prison as a political favor to the Jews.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 24 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 17th chapter of 1st Samuel that documents the ancient story of David and Goliath and a challenge issued by Goliath who was defeated by David:

The Philistines drew up their troops for battle. They deployed them at Socoh in Judah, and set up camp between Socoh and Azekah at Ephes Dammim. Saul and the Israelites came together, camped at Oak Valley, and spread out their troops in battle readiness for the Philistines. The Philistines were on one hill, the Israelites on the opposing hill, with the valley between them.

A giant nearly ten feet tall stepped out from the Philistine line into the open, Goliath from Gath. He had a bronze helmet on his head and was dressed in armor—126 pounds of it! He wore bronze shin guards and carried a bronze sword. His spear was like a fence rail—the spear tip alone weighed over fifteen pounds. His shield bearer walked ahead of him.

Goliath stood there and called out to the Israelite troops, “Why bother using your whole army? Am I not Philistine enough for you? And you’re all committed to Saul, aren’t you? So pick your best fighter and pit him against me. If he gets the upper hand and kills me, the Philistines will all become your slaves. But if I get the upper hand and kill him, you’ll all become our slaves and serve us. I challenge the troops of Israel this day. Give me a man. Let us fight it out together!”

When Saul and his troops heard the Philistine’s challenge, they were terrified and lost all hope.

Enter David. He was the son of Jesse the Ephrathite from Bethlehem in Judah. Jesse, the father of eight sons, was himself too old to join Saul’s army. Jesse’s three oldest sons had followed Saul to war. The names of the three sons who had joined up with Saul were Eliab, the firstborn; next, Abinadab; and third, Shammah. David was the youngest son. While his three oldest brothers went to war with Saul, David went back and forth from attending to Saul to tending his father’s sheep in Bethlehem.

Each morning and evening for forty days, Goliath took his stand and made his speech.

One day, Jesse told David his son, “Take this sack of cracked wheat and these ten loaves of bread and run them down to your brothers in the camp. And take these ten wedges of cheese to the captain of their division. Check in on your brothers to see whether they are getting along all right, and let me know how they’re doing—Saul and your brothers, and all the Israelites in their war with the Philistines in the Oak Valley.”

David was up at the crack of dawn and, having arranged for someone to tend his flock, took the food and was on his way just as Jesse had directed him. He arrived at the camp just as the army was moving into battle formation, shouting the war cry. Israel and the Philistines moved into position, facing each other, battle-ready. David left his bundles of food in the care of a sentry, ran to the troops who were deployed, and greeted his brothers. While they were talking together, the Philistine champion, Goliath of Gath, stepped out from the front lines of the Philistines, and gave his usual challenge. David heard him.

The Israelites, to a man, fell back the moment they saw the giant—totally frightened. The talk among the troops was, “Have you ever seen anything like this, this man openly and defiantly challenging Israel? The man who kills the giant will have it made. The king will give him a huge reward, offer his daughter as a bride, and give his entire family a free ride.”

[Five Smooth Stones]

David, who was talking to the men standing around him, asked, “What’s in it for the man who kills that Philistine and gets rid of this ugly blot on Israel’s honor? Who does he think he is, anyway, this uncircumcised Philistine, taunting the armies of God-Alive?”

They told him what everyone was saying about what the king would do for the man who killed the Philistine.

Eliab, his older brother, heard David fraternizing with the men and lost his temper: “What are you doing here! Why aren’t you minding your own business, tending that scrawny flock of sheep? I know what you’re up to. You’ve come down here to see the sights, hoping for a ringside seat at a bloody battle!”

“What is it with you?” replied David. “All I did was ask a question.” Ignoring his brother, he turned to someone else, asked the same question, and got the same answer as before.

The things David was saying were picked up and reported to Saul. Saul sent for him.

“Master,” said David, “don’t give up hope. I’m ready to go and fight this Philistine.”

Saul answered David, “You can’t go and fight this Philistine. You’re too young and inexperienced—and he’s been at this fighting business since before you were born.”

David said, “I’ve been a shepherd, tending sheep for my father. Whenever a lion or bear came and took a lamb from the flock, I’d go after it, knock it down, and rescue the lamb. If it turned on me, I’d grab it by the throat, wring its neck, and kill it. Lion or bear, it made no difference—I killed it. And I’ll do the same to this Philistine pig who is taunting the troops of God-Alive. God, who delivered me from the teeth of the lion and the claws of the bear, will deliver me from this Philistine.”

Saul said, “Go. And God help you!”

Then Saul outfitted David as a soldier in armor. He put his bronze helmet on his head and belted his sword on him over the armor. David tried to walk but he could hardly budge.

David told Saul, “I can’t even move with all this stuff on me. I’m not used to this.” And he took it all off.

Then David took his shepherd’s staff, selected five smooth stones from the brook, and put them in the pocket of his shepherd’s pack, and with his sling in his hand approached Goliath.

As the Philistine paced back and forth, his shield bearer in front of him, he noticed David. He took one look down on him and sneered—a mere youngster, apple-cheeked and peach-fuzzed.

The Philistine ridiculed David. “Am I a dog that you come after me with a stick?” And he cursed him by his gods.

“Come on,” said the Philistine. “I’ll make roadkill of you for the buzzards. I’ll turn you into a tasty morsel for the field mice.”

David answered, “You come at me with sword and spear and battle-ax. I come at you in the name of God-of-the-Angel-Armies, the God of Israel’s troops, whom you curse and mock. This very day God is handing you over to me. I’m about to kill you, cut off your head, and serve up your body and the bodies of your Philistine buddies to the crows and coyotes. The whole earth will know that there’s an extraordinary God in Israel. And everyone gathered here will learn that God doesn’t save by means of sword or spear. The battle belongs to God—he’s handing you to us on a platter!”

That roused the Philistine, and he started toward David. David took off from the front line, running toward the Philistine. David reached into his pocket for a stone, slung it, and hit the Philistine hard in the forehead, embedding the stone deeply. The Philistine crashed, facedown in the dirt.

That’s how David beat the Philistine—with a sling and a stone. He hit him and killed him. No sword for David!

Then David ran up to the Philistine and stood over him, pulled the giant’s sword from its sheath, and finished the job by cutting off his head. When the Philistines saw that their great champion was dead, they scattered, running for their lives.

The men of Israel and Judah were up on their feet, shouting! They chased the Philistines all the way to the outskirts of Gath and the gates of Ekron. Wounded Philistines were strewn along the Shaaraim road all the way to Gath and Ekron. After chasing the Philistines, the Israelites came back and looted their camp. David took the Philistine’s head and brought it to Jerusalem. But the giant’s weapons he placed in his own tent.

When Saul saw David go out to meet the Philistine, he said to Abner, commander of the army, “Tell me about this young man’s family.”

Abner said, “For the life of me, O King, I don’t know.”

The king said, “Well, find out the lineage of this raw youth.”

As soon as David came back from killing the Philistine, Abner brought him, the Philistine’s head still in his hand, straight to Saul.

Saul asked him, “Young man, whose son are you?”

“I’m the son of your servant Jesse,” said David, “the one who lives in Bethlehem.”

The Book of 1st Samuel, Chapter 17 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, October 6 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons to accompany Today’s reading from the Bible:

"The Spirit shall testify of me" (John 15:26). But what is the testimony of the Spirit but the truth of the unconditional love of God given in Yeshua? The inner witness from heaven gives light to our darkness and overcomes all our fears. A great challenge, however, is to personally receive the blessing of God's acceptance because we demand to define the conditions in our own terms (that is, we refuse to believe). So do you really want to be made new? Are you ready to turn away from your deep-rooted and habitual distance from God by surrendering to his love for you? Salvation is about being healed from your self-imposed exile to experience God's compassion for your life. The Holy Spirit moves you beyond the rules of "religion" and the "hired servant" mentality to that of a beloved and celebrated child (Luke 15:18-24). The hired servant does not live in the house forever, but a child of the Father does: "If the Son therefore shall make you free, you shall be free in reality" (John 8:36). If you ever find yourself seeking God’s love by appealing to anything other than God’s own heart, for instance, through your religion, your good deeds, and so on, or if you withhold your inner pain, seeking to escape your sinfulness, then you are still in fear, which is a state of unbelief. Prayer means surrendering your fears, abandoning yourself to God’s heart, and letting go until you are finally able to receive the blessing...

"For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption (πνεῦμα υἱοθεσίας) as children, by which we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit confirms within our spirit (συμμαρτυρεῖ τῷ πνεύματι ἡμῶν) that we are children of God (Rom. 8:14-16). [Hebrew for Christians]

10.6.20 • Facebook

When we receive Yeshua as the Lover of our souls, we abide in the hope of love that awaits future consummation in the world to come... Meanwhile, we are “suspended between worlds,” though the veil of this world has been rent asunder and we may now appear before the LORD in the realm of the spirit by faith. We can come “boldly” before the Throne of Grace (παρρησίας τῷ θρόνῳ τῆς χάριτος) to find help for our lives (Heb. 4:16). Note that the word translated “boldly” in this verse (παρρησίας) comes from πᾶς (all) + ῥέω (to utter), suggesting that we can speak freely to God and share everything within our heart without fear or shame. We do not need to conceal ourselves from the Divine Light -- any more than we need to perform religious rituals or offer any “prescribed prayers” to access Him. We who are trusting in God’s sheltering love understand the LORD to be our loving Savior and Redeemer. In our brokenness we can bare our souls before Him without fear ("there is no fear in love" - אין פַּחַד בָּאַהֲבָה). We can express “all our heart” to the LORD and be assured that He will help us in our hour of need (Heb. 4:16). “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart to him; God is a refuge for us” (Psalm 62:8). [Hebrew for Christians]

10.6.20 • Facebook

Today’s message from the ICR (Institute for Creation Research)

October 6, 2020

Filled with the Knowledge of His Will

“For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding.” (Colossians 1:9)

Paul has chosen a particular word, pleroo, to describe an action that “fills to the top” so that the knowledge about which he prays has no more space to fill. While speaking to his friends in Rome, Paul said that he was “persuaded of you, my brethren, that ye also are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, able also to admonish one another” (Romans 15:14).

This includes the kind of knowledge (Greek epignosis) of God’s will that stresses precise and complete understanding of that will for our lives. “According as his divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness.... that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature.” These “things” (the knowledge, the precious promises) enable us to escape “the corruption that is in the world through lust” (2 Peter 1:3-4).

This magnificent and complete knowledge of His will includes the wisdom (Greek sophia) to use the knowledge acquired by experience. And even that grace God made to abound “toward us in all wisdom and prudence” (Ephesians 1:8), which, since it comes from God, is “first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy” (James 3:17).

The wonderful knowledge and wisdom that God has provided for us includes a spiritual understanding (Greek pneumatikos sunesis), an ability to put complicated matters together with the “mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16). Indeed, “he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man” (1 Corinthians 2:15). “Consider what I say; and the Lord give thee understanding in all things” (2 Timothy 2:7). HMM III

to be concluded by another post from John that illuminates the significance of the Hebraic holidays in the way they all point to the Son which is the hope that all Jews will see, just as others may see clear:

The “appointed times” of the Scriptures (i.e., mo’edim: מוֹעֲדִים) were given by God to help us turn away from the omnipresent urge within the human heart to embrace vanity: "Every one of you shall revere his mother and his father and guard (שָׁמַר) my Sabbaths (שַׁבְּתתַי)... Do not turn to worthlessness (i.e., אֱלִיל) or make for yourselves any molten gods" (Lev. 19:3-4). In other words, the Biblical holidays - including Shabbat, Passover, and so on - were intended to help us to sanctify ("set apart," "make holy") the times and seasons in order to remind us of God’s Presence (Psalm 104:19). Therefore they are called mikra’ei kodesh (מִקְרָאֵי קדֶשׁ), “times in which holiness is proclaimed” (Lev. 23:2). The Torah’s declaration that these days are holy implies that they are set apart for special activities, such as commemorating God as our Creator (Shabbat), our Redeemer (Passover), our Resurrection (Firstfruits), our Lawgiver (Shavuot), our King (Rosh Hashanah), our High Priest (Yom Kippur), our Sustainer (Sukkot), and so on. In this connection it should be noted that it is a mistake to assume that the divine calendar was somehow abrogated with the cross of Yeshua, since all of the Jewish holidays center on Him, and indeed the advent of the Ruach Ha-Kodesh (Holy Spirit) occurred after the resurrection of Yeshua, precisely during the prescribed 50th day Jubilee of Shavuot or “Pentecost” (Acts 1:8; 2:1-4).

Presently our lives are “suspended” between two worlds - this world with its illusions (olam hazeh), and the real world of spiritual substance and meaning (olam haba). We exist in an “already-not-yet” state of expectation and yearning where we must consciously mediate the truth of heaven by bringing it “down to earth.” This is a truth war, and by truth I do not mean intellectual knowledge as much as the living truth that marks the lifestyle and vision of a follower of Messiah. We consciously remember Torah truth; we choose to always "set the LORD before us," and take "every thought captive to the passion of Messiah..." May God help each of us heed the call to walk in holiness by the power of His love and grace. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

10.6.20 • Facebook

[zmediaoutlet]

hmm i'm not good with prompts but: one of the boys is having a horrible day for very trivial reasons (accidentally nicked himself shaving, slammed the door on his hand, phone died inconveniently etc) and then other tries help. cue: (DRUMROLL) SEX but with the one still halfheartedly grumpy

(read on AO3)

He wakes up slow, to an empty bed. He lays there for a fewminutes, face half-buried in the pillow and making sure his breath comessteady, even. In half an hour he won’t even be able to really remember whathe’d been dreaming about. No sense in dwelling on it.

He slept like shit, though—they got home late, after dealingwith that annoying bitch of a naiad who’d been drowning guys on Lake Superior,and he hadn’t wanted to stay anywhere near water, just wanted to get back totheir bed. His ribs are all bruised to shit, and his right wrist—he rotates itslowly, shuffling down the hall, and okay, maybe Sam’s right, maybe he didsprain it.

The kitchen’s empty, when he wanders in. No coffee in thepot, and no grounds left in the jar when he checks. Groceries kept slippingdown the priority list, with the last few hunts they’ve been on. He looks intothe nearly-empty fridge, holding his wrist up against his chest, vague uneasestill lapping slowly at the back of his mind. Maybe he can force Sam to makethe run into town. Surely he must’ve earned a day off, by now.

When he heads into the library to try to wheedle Sam,though, it’s empty, too. He checks his watch—it’s already ten, so Sam ought tobe back from a run if he took one, the freak, and—oh. A note, propped on Sam’slaptop. Got a tip on a grimoire in Topeka, it says, in Sam’s goofyhandwriting. Home late. Dean drops the note on the table and sighs,rubbing his eyes with his good hand. Okay, so no lounging around with Sammy. Hecan get some stuff done, instead.

The weird unease from the morning lingers, though, and hiswrist—god, it really is starting to hurt. He wraps it up himself but he’salways awkward with his left hand and the bandage fits a little weird, and itstill aches as he separates their clothes out of the duffels they’d justdropped when they got home, as he starts the laundry. Almost out of detergent,too. The Impala’s due for an oil change and he manages it with one and a halfhands, but it’s a bitch, and he manages to spill about half the old oil rightonto the concrete when he fumbles the tray unthinking. That’s a fun half-hourof cleanup.

He hasn’t heard from Sam by one o’clock, and there’s aheadache lingering behind his eyes. Lack of caffeine, probably, so he forceshimself to sack up and make the damn grocery run. There’s hardly anyone intown, not that there ever really is, and the store’s empty but for him andEstelle at the register, who doesn’t even look up at him when he comesin. Coffee, beer, laundry detergent, milk and Sam’s stupid plaincornflakes and stuff he can turn into lasagna, and Estelle just stares at himdourly when he gets up to the counter and tells him the credit card machine isbroken. “Of course it is,” Dean says, under his breath, and her expression goeseven stonier. That kills the cash in his pocket, though he still slips hisfourteen cents in change into the little canister for cancer kids, or whatever.“Have a good one,” he says, and Estelle just grunts at him and goes back to herUS Weekly. Okay, then.

The bunker’s only about four miles from Lebanon, out in theempty farm country that hides it from normal people. It’s a bright day, humidand hot with summer, and he rolls down the window as he heads out of town,watches the corn and wheat fields drift by. He’s about halfway home, StickyFingers pumping out loud on the tapedeck, when something—shudders, and hegrabs the wheel tight with both hands and then there’s an awful snap andthe engine shrieks and he stamps on the brakes, squeals to a halt with gravelspraying around him, and then—oh, oh shit, and he pops the hood andscrambles out of the car into the thick air and the engine’s still ticking,trying to cool, and—fuck. Fuck. “Fuck!” he says, loud into the emptyeverything, because that was the goddamn timing belt and he can’t tell,not right away, what damage has been done. It’s only been fifty thousand miles,why—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says, propping himself on thesun-hot frame. He closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fix this, I swear. I swear.” Herubs a hand over his face, through his hair. He’s already sweating. Hard to seehow the day could get worse from here.

It’s almost seven when he makes it home, easing the Impalaalong as slowly as possible. When he walked back to town the co-op had had abelt, thank god, but he was going to have to order an actually good one fromChevy and rebuild about four things from scratch to make sure everything’s inorder. They’ve really got to invest in a truck with a tow package.

He’s sweaty and aching and smeared all over with enginegrease when he finally rolls her into the garage bay, babying her down theramp. He just sits there when he turns the engine off, rests his foreheadagainst the wheel.

Sam’s sitting in the library when he comes in, flippingthrough some ancient book with his laptop at his elbow. He doesn’t reallyglance up when Dean comes in, clearly absorbed in whatever crap is in thestupid grimoire. “Hey, where have you been,” he says, apparently to the book,while Dean stands there, still sweating. “Oh, do you have plans for dinner? I’mstarving.”

For a second Dean just stares, and then for another secondhe gets a very real and powerful urge to punch Sam directly in the throat. Heshouldn’t. If nothing else, it would fuck up his wrist even more. “Groceries inthe car,” he says instead, voice something strangled, and heads directly forthe shower.

He’s been standing still for fifteen minutes, eyes closed,just letting the blast of hot water hit him between the shoulderblades, whenthe door to the shower room opens.

“Hey,” Sam says, again, somewhere behind him. Sounds likehe’s actually paying attention, this time. Dean grunts, doesn’t bother openinghis eyes. There’s a pause, and under the rush of water he can’t really hearmuch. When big hands alight on his hips he flinches, almost slipping on theslick tile, but then Sam’s hands tighten and he’s kept upright.

“Don’t sneak up on people in the shower, dick,” he says, andit maybe comes out harder than he meant, but—fuck, cracking his head open wouldjust be the perfect end to the day.

“Sorry,” Sam says, soft, and he does actually kind of soundsorry. He slides his hands carefully up over Dean’s ribs, over his wet back,and the touch feels… nice. “How’s the wrist?”

Dean got rid of the bandages somewhere in the middle of hishalf-assed belt replacement, since it was smeared to shit with grease and thewrap was coming loose, anyway. It’s been throbbing, since then. “Hurts,” hesays, trying for stoicism, but his voice comes out all thick. Sam’s handssqueeze his shoulders, briefly, and then they disappear for a minute.

“Here,” Sam says, tapping his arm, and Dean opens his eyes tosee Sam holding three pills just outside the spray of water—aspirin, lookslike, and Dean sighs and takes them, swallows them dry, and then Sam’s handreappears holding an open El Sol.

“Beer in the shower?” Dean says, and Sam says, “Why not?”and, really, that’s not a bad point. He takes the bottle in both hands, becausewith the way things have been going he’ll probably drop it and slice open hisfoot, and the few cold swallows go easy down his throat. Sam takes the bottleout of his hand and sets it down somewhere with a clink, and then his handsreturn to Dean’s back, sliding smoothly on either side of his spine in long,slow strokes. Dean drops his head, shifts an inch or two so the water’s hittinghim on the back of the neck and pouring down over where Sam’s hands are moving.

After a few minutes, Sam says, “Saw the tool box was out. Andthe cat litter on the concrete.” Dean sighs. Sam digs his thumbs into themuscle at the base of his neck, pushing in slow pulses. “I was going to put thelaundry in the dryer but I think it’s broken, or something.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dean says, groaning, and Samlaughs, quietly.

“Milk was spoiled, too,” he says, and Dean just wants to sitdown and never leave the goddamn shower. “I’m guessing it’s been quite the day.”

“How was Topeka?” Dean says, a little more sarcastic than hemeans to be. Sam doesn’t snark back, just squeezes his shoulders, and the topsof his biceps, and Dean sighs, again.

“You’ve got grease everywhere,” Sam says. He lets go ofDean, briefly, and when he comes back a slick washcloth smears over Dean’sshoulders, scrubs firmly up over his neck and up over the back of his head,even. “Did you take a bath in it, or something?”

“You try removing a crank pulley on the side of the road inJuly and see if you can keep it neat and tidy,” Dean says, and he can practicallyhear Sam rolling his eyes.

The washcloth scrubs down his arms, and Sam moves in closer,his chest pressing up against Dean’s back when he washes over Dean’s good wristand then so-carefully over his hurt one. He tucks his free arm around Dean’swaist, holding his forearm gently and swabbing Dean’s fingers, one by one, andDean leans back into the solid warmth of him, their skin slick together in thewater. It feels good, not that he’s going to tell Sam that. Sam’s mouth pressesup against his temple, though, his jaw prickly against Dean’s steam-soft skin.

“Can I take your mind off it?” Sam says, quiet, his thumbpressing gently into Dean’s palm.

“No,” Dean says, just to be contrary, and Sam snorts, rightagainst his ear. “I heard that.”

“Sure did,” Sam says, and steps in even closer so Dean canfeel his dick pressing softly up into the small of his back, just above Dean’sass. He keeps Dean tugged in close with one arm and with the other scrubs thewashcloth over Dean’s collarbones, over his chest, lets it scrape over his nipples.He keeps his eyes closed, lets his head droop down so his chin’s nearly touchinghis chest, and Sam kisses the back of his neck, the knob at the top of hisspine, and the washcloth smears over his stomach and lower, over the top of histhighs, and then Sam carefully cups his balls, makes Dean’s breath hitch in hischest.

“Spread,” Sam says, voice soft, and Dean obligingly shuffleshis feet further apart so that the washcloth can go—further, dragging slickbehind his balls, all the way behind to his ass, and he grabs at Sam’s armwhere it’s holding him steady, arches a little, and then Sam drops the washclothto the tile floor with a splat and then it’s Sam’s bare fingers, dragging firmover his hole and then back to his balls and then, finally, to his dick wherehe’s half-hard, plumping up just from this. He groans and Sam says, “What wasthat?” with his voice all light, and Dean says, “Shut up,” and curls his badwrist up against his chest, fumbles his other hand around to Sam’s hip to keephim close, and Sam kisses against the back of his neck, smiling, and jerks himfirmly, letting the water slick the way, wrist pumping and his grip just-right.He shudders out a groan and Sam’s thumb drags messily over the head of him,long fingers reaching down to cup his balls, and then he stops playing and just—works,perfect practiced grip and a little harder than Dean usually goes with himselfbut that just makes it better, because he could jerk himself off any time butthis is Sammy, taking care of him, for long steady minutes while Dean’s breathcomes harder, something coiling up deep in his belly, tension knotting, andthen Sam kisses over his shoulder and sets his teeth against the strainingtendon in Dean’s throat and pumps, steady pressure, and he slides his otherhand down Dean’s belly and behind his balls and presses two long fingers deepinto his taint and—oh, god, Dean comeslike that, jerking forward into Sam’s grip, on a long thin groan that tears outof his throat, and he drops his hand down to cover Sam’s where it’s still jerkinghim even as he spurts into the stream of water and his wrist throbs at him buthe—he just holds onto Sam’s hand, follows the movement as Sam pulls everythingout of him, until he’s empty, and he sags back against Sam’s body, thighstrembling.

“Whoa, don’t pass out,” Sam says, catching him around thechest. Sam’s arm squeezes a little against the trailing edge of Dean’s bruises,but he can’t really care right now.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dean manages. It feels like his muscleshave gone liquid. Sam hasn’t let his dick go, is just sliding his thumb up and downthe hot tender skin, and—oh, he’s sensitive, but—but—he just keeps his handlight over Sam’s, shakes and wonders when his breath might finally steady out.Sam’s hard, pressing firm and hot against his back, and Dean thinks yes, in no more detail than that.

“Feeling better?” Sam says, and Dean works up the strengthto turn around, finally, and Sam lets him go just enough that he can fit himselfright back against Sam’s chest, his bad wrist tucked up between them. Sam resettleshis arm around Dean’s shoulders, the other cupped under the curve of his ass,and his dick’s now pressing slick against Dean’s belly.

Dean grinds in a little closer, watches Sam’s eyelidsflicker. His hair’s soaked, plastered close to his skull, and Dean drags itback from his forehead, cups the back of Sam’s skull in his good hand. Sam justwatches him, thumb dragging idly against the lower curve of Dean’s ass.

“No,” Dean says, finally, and Sam frowns at him. He rubs hisstomach against where Sam’s leaking on him and licks his lips, and smiles whenSam’s eyes drop to his mouth. “Think I might need more distraction.”

Sam blinks, eyelashes spiky, his cheeks flushed dark. “Icould do that,” he says, after a second, and Dean snorts, leans back and turnsoff the faucet, finally. Good thing the water heater here is bottomless. Samlets go of him long enough to grab a towel and wrap it over his shoulders, andthen Dean’s being kissed, properly, Sam’s hand big and wide over the back ofhis neck. Dean thinks, well, he’ll take a look at the dryer tomorrow, and thenhe doesn’t really have to think much of anything, after that.

[risalei-nur]

TAFSIR: Risale-i Nur: The Rays Collection:The Fourteenth Ray.Part54

FOURTH POINT

The answer to a number of suspicious questions:

T h e F i r s t : ‘The worldly’ say to me:

“How do you live? What do you live on since you do not work? We don’t want people in our country who sit around idly and live off the labour of others.”

T h e A n s w e r :

I live through frugality and the resulting plenty. I am not obliged to anyone other than the One Who provides for me and I have taken the decision not to become obliged to anyone else. Yes, someone who lives on a hundred para, or even forty para, does not become obliged to anyone. I do not want to explain this matter. To do so is most disagreeable to me, as it may make me feel a sort of pride or egotism. But since ‘the worldly’ ask about it suspiciously, I reply as follows:

Since my childhood, throughout my life, it has been a principle of my life not to accept anything from the people, even zakat, not to accept a salary -only I was compelled to accept one for one or two years in the Darü’l-Hikmeti’l-Islamiye on the insistence of my friends- and not to become obliged to people for a worldly livelihood. The people of my native region and those who have known me in other places know this. During these five years of exile, many friends have tried earnestly to make me accept their gifts, but I have accepted none of them. If, therefore, it is asked me,

“So how do you manage to live?”

I reply: I live through Divine bestowal and blessings. For sure, my soul deserves all insults and contempt, but as a wonder resulting from service of the Qur’an, I receive plenty and blessings which are a Divine bestowal in the matter of sustenance. In accordance with the verse, 

But the bounty of your Sustainer rehearse and proclaim (93:11)

I shall recall the bounties Almighty God has bestowed on me, and mention a few examples by way of thanks. But together with being thanks, I am frightened that it will induce hypocrisy and pride so that blessed plenty will be cut. For to make known a secret Divine gift of plenty causes it to cease. But what can I do, I am compelled to tell them.

The First: This six months one bushel (kile) of wheat, consisting of thirty-six loaves of bread, has sufficed me. There is still some left, it is not finished. How much longer it will last, I do not know.  

The Second: This blessed month of Ramadan I received food from only two houses, and both of them made me ill. I understood that I am prohibited from eating the food of others. The rest of the time, in the whole of Ramadan, three loaves of bread and one okka of rice sufficed me, as was witnessed and told by Abdullah Çavus, the owner of a blessed house and a loyal friend who saw my economizing. The rice even was finished two weeks after the end of Ramadan.

The Third: For three months on the mountain one kiyye of butter was enough for me and my guests, eating it every day together with bread. On one occasion even I had a blessed visitor called Süleyman. Both his bread and my bread were about to be finished. It was Wednesday. I told him to go and get some bread. For two hours’ distance on every side of us there was no one from whom he could have got any bread. He said that he wanted to stay with me on the mountain on Thursday night so that we could pray together. Saying, Our reliance is on God, I told him to stay. Later, although it had no connection with this and there was no reason for it, we both began walking till we reached the top of the mountain. There was a little water in the ewer, and we had a small piece of sugar and some tea. I said to him: “Brother! Make some tea!” He set about making it and I sat down under a cedar-tree overlooking a deep ravine. I thought regretfully to myself: We have a bit of mouldy bread which will only just be enough for us this evening. What shall we do for two days and what shall I say to this ingenuous man? While thinking this, I suddenly turned my head involuntarily and I saw a huge loaf of bread on the cedar-tree in among the branches; it was facing us. I exclaimed: “Süleyman! Good news! Almighty God has sent us food.” We took the bread, and looking at it saw that no bird or wild animal had touched it. And for twenty or thirty days no one at all had climbed to the top of that mountain. The bread was sufficient for us for the two days. While we were eating and it was about to be finished, righteous Süleyman who had been the most loyal of loyal friends for four years, suddenly appeared from below with more bread. 

The Fourth: I bought this sack coat that I’m wearing seven years ago second-hand. In five years I have spent only four and a half liras on clothes, underwear, slippers, and stockings. Frugality and Divine mercy and the resulting plenty have sufficed me.

Thus, there are numerous things like these examples and numerous sorts of Divine blessings. The people of this village know most of them. But do not suppose I am mentioning them out of pride, I have been forced to, rather. And do not think they were due to my goodness. These instances of plenty were either bestowal to the sincere friends who have visited me, or a bestowal on account of service to the Qur’an, or an abundance and benefit resulting from frugality, or they have been sustenance for the four cats I have which recite the Divine Names “O Most Compassionate One! O Most Compassionate One!”, which comes in the form of plenty and from which I benefit too.

Yes, if you listen carefully to their mournful miaowings, you will understand that they are saying, “Ya Rahim! Ya Rahim! O Most Compassionate One! O Most Compassionate One!” We have arrived at the subject of cats and it has recalled the hen. I have a hen. This winter every day almost without exception she brought me an egg from the treasury of Mercy. Then one day she brought me two eggs and I was astonished. I asked my friends

“How can this be?”

They replied: “Perhaps it is a Divine gift.”

The hen also has a young chick she hatched in the summer. It started to lay at the beginning of Ramadan and continued for forty days. Neither I nor those who assist me have any doubt that, being both young, and in winter, and in Ramadan, this blessed situation was a Divine gift and bestowal. And whenever the mother stopped laying, it immediately started, not leaving me without eggs.

S e c o n d S u s p i c i o u s Q u e s t i o n : ‘The worldly’ ask:

How can we be confident that you will not interfere in our world? If we leave you free, perhaps you may interfere in it. Also, how do we know that you are not being cunning? How do we know that it is not a stratagem, showing yourself to have abandoned the world and not taking things from the people openly, but secretly?

T h e A n s w e r :

My attitude and situation in the Court Martial and in the period before the proclamation of the Constitution, which are known by many, and my defence in the Court Martial at that time called The Testimony of Two Schools of Misfortune, show decisively that the life I lived was such that I would not resort to the tiniest wiles, let alone cunning and subterfuge. If trickery had been resorted to in this last five years, application would have been made to you in sycophantic manner. A wilely man tries to ingratiate himself. He does not hold back; he always tries to deceive and hoodwink. Whereas I have not condescended to lower myself by responding to the severest attacks and criticisms levelled at me. Saying, I place my trust in God, I turned my back on ‘the worldly.’ Moreover, one who discovers the reality of this world and knows the hereafter, is not sorry if he is sensible; he does not turn back to the world and struggle with it again. Someone after the age of fifty who has no connection with anything and is alone, will not sacrifice eternal life for one or two years of the chatter and deception of this world. If he does so, he is not cunning, but foolish and crazy. What can a crazy lunatic do so that anyone should bother with him? As for the suspicion of outwardly abandoning the world while inwardly seeking it, in accordance with the verse,

Nor do I absolve my own self [of blame]; the [human] soul is certainly prone to evil (12:53)

I do not exonerate my soul, for it wants everything bad. But in this fleeting world, this temporary guest-house, during old age, in a brief life, it is not reasonable to destroy eternal, everlasting life and eternal happiness for a little bit of pleasure. Since it is not profitable for the reasonable and the aware, my soul has willy-nilly had to follow my reason.

T h e T h i r d S u s p i c i o u s Q u e s t i o n : ‘The worldly’ say:

Do you like us? Do you approve of us? If you do like us, why are you stand-offish and have nothing to do with us? If you do not like us, that means you object to us, and we crush those who object to us.

T h e A n s w e r :

Not you, if I had loved your world, I would not have withdrawn from it. I don’t like either you or your world. But I do not interfere with them. For I have different goals, different points have filled my heart; they have left no place in my heart to think of other things. Your duty is to look to the hand, not to the heart. For you seek your government and your public order. So long as the hand does not interfere, what right do you have to interfere in the heart and say, “the heart should love us too” although you are in no way worthy of it? Yes, just as I desire and long for the spring during this winter, but I cannot will it nor attempt to bring it, so I long for the world to be righted and I pray for it and I want the worldly to be reformed, but I cannot will these things, because I do not have the power. I cannot attempt them in fact, because it is neither my duty, nor do I have the capacity.

F o u r t h S u s p i c i o u s Q u e s t i o n : ‘The worldly’ say:

We have experienced so many calamities, we no longer have confidence in anyone. How can we be certain that given the opportunity you won’t interfere as you wish?

T h e A n s w e r :

The previous points should give you confidence. In addition, since I did not interfere in your world while in my native region among my students and relatives, in the midst of those who heeded me and of exciting events, for someone who is alone in exile, with no one, a stranger, weak, powerless, turned with all his strength towards the hereafter, cut off from all social relations and correspondence, who has only found a few friends from far afield who are also turned to the hereafter, and who is a stranger to everyone else and whom everyone else regards as a stranger - for such a person to interfere in your fruitless and dangerous world would surely be a compounded lunacy.

[ashleybenlove]

Big Bother

Baby Hana!

Ron has to do the baby flour assignment. You know the one. 10 pound stone ground Minnesota wheat.

This Freshman girl is just putting up with Ron being ridiculous.

Ron falls in love with the flour quick and Kim’s like “aren’t you a little old for that assignment.” Well, yeah, he’s the one that took health as a senior instead of as a freshman. And yeah, at 17-18, he’s basically old enough to have kids of his own. Also this scene amuses me because someday, these two will likely have babies of their own. Kim, Ron, if you’re currently sexually active, I hope you’re using protection. 

Ron’s bedroom is nursery. It’s because Ron’s parents adopted a baby girl named Hana. NO FOREWARNING. Also.... IT’S SO WILD to me that Ron’s parents who have raised a kid for 17-18 years suddenly decide that... hey, let’s spend another 18 years raising another kid. You think Ron would have been ENOUGH. 🤷 Like, he’s a handful. He’s so extra. 

THIS IS OUR WAY OF TELLING YOU. FUCK YOU. YOU’RE TERRIBLE PARENTS. 

Ron instantly before extra about the whole thing. HE CALLS HANA THE INTRUDER. OH STOP IT. Kim agrees. She says he’s always complained about being an only child and he was jealous of the tweebs. 

Rufus is playing with Hana! Peekaboo!

“Face it, Ron. You freak fully over change.” YOU MEAN, HE’S EXTRA. 

The K’cator beeps and Kim grabs it, holds onto it, tells Ron a thing about how once the fraternal instinct kicks in, he’ll love Hana, trust her. Kcator beeps again and she answers.

Yori! 

“Wade, you better fill in some blanks, pronto!"  “To help her! Both of you! Including Kim! Who she asked about! Fondly!”

Ron visits Barkin at home. Because he needs another flour sack. 

Ron is using roman numerals for his flour sack.

“You only had Sackie 2 for like 2 seconds.” “Have you a heart of stone, woman?”

Kim asks how he plans to tell Yori about them being a couple. 

MF stole a prophecy scroll about a weapon. Only Sensei knows about the weapon’s secrets/location but he’s away.

There’s keys involved.

“She can count on you, Ron, but not for everything, right?” Kim what are you doing. Don’t be insecure and also, Yori’s just confused by your behavior. And she tells Ron to tell Yori “the big news” (the couple thing) and he gets it wrong twice. He tells her.

“Totally didn’t mean to break your heart or anything.” “I believe my heart is intact.” 

“Sensei teaches that change is a part of life and leads to growth, wisdom, and happiness.” Nice. 

This one scene references two different KP episode titles. Both from S3, So the Drama and Emotion Sickness.

Monkey Fist mocks the drama.

Anne is making pancakes from scratch. Retro.

Hana threw up in his backpack. He implies he’s still spitting up at 18. 

Anne makes Sacky 3 into pancakes.

Monkey Ninja driving a jeep. They crash it.

Stone guardians at the second location that come to life. BTW, This episode was written by Greg Weisman who was the co-creator of Gargoyles. They get destroyed.

Kim goes to see Hana. Kim expresses concern that Ron isn’t coming around to Ron’s parents. This might be the first time Kim interacts with Ron’s parents on screen? Also, all three of them fawn over Hana.

Ron’s at Sacky 8. Ron literally got a ton of flour sacks just in case. 

Monkey Ninja driving a boat. They crash it. 

Sacky 10. He literally got the same brand of flour right down to the expiry date. Kim’s like “Who knew my BF had such a nefarious streak?” Kim. Bad Boy much?

Ron's mom calls her Kimmy. Oh my gods. Kim’s only called that by like her parents (esp James) and Shego. And now her future mother-in-law, who she’s known since she was 4.

Ron has to babysit Hana! 

And the Kimmunicator rings. Location of final shrine. Ron suggests he goes and Kim babysits. Kim refuses “You and Yori? Um no.” Kim, he’s only got eyes for you, stop jelling. Besides he just wants to shirk his responsibility as a brother.

Ron comes up with a competition for Sacky whatever number and Hana and it’s totally rigged.

Ron softens just a bit because of Hana giggling.

Yori calls it girls night out with it just being her and Kim. 

MF USES A BOLAS ON THEM. I know what those are bc HTTYD.

Lava.

Ron tries to bathe Hana. She sucks her thumb.

Wade calls in via baby monitor. Kim and Yori need help. Ron takes Hana and Sacky with him on a mission. Hana is an actual baby, like less than a year old I assume.

Kim and Yori jump onto rock and most of the rock dissolves into lava: “Hmm this is a mild setback.” “Calm in the face of danger much? “Very much like you, Kim Possible.”

Ron and his team of Naked Mole Rat, baby, and flour are here. MF tells his Monkey Ninjas to throw them all into the volcano. HOLY SHIT. MF literally just told them to commit infanticide!!!!!! THIS AIRED ON THE DISNEY CHANNEL.

Yori believes Ron is Kim’s destiny. I can agree with that. 

“Like change, we must always welcome destiny.” 

“Yori, you sorta kinda rock.” And Yori responds with “Domo” while she has a key in her mouth. “Domo Arigato” is the Japanese word for thanks. 

Ron kicked Monkey Ninja butt. He tells MF never threaten his sister. Ron loves this baby.

Ron gets his head stuck in something. 

Hana crawls out and kicks MF’s butt. Because you know, babies can do that.

THE VOLCANO IS ERUPTING. 💕💕💕💕 Eh, its fine now.

MF is defeated for now.

Ron gets the scroll and the other two keys.

Kim and Yori are still tied up together. Rufus unties them.

Hana’s playing with two of the keys. 

Yori will return the scroll to the school. Ron’s keeping the keys since their shrines have been compromised. 

The twins show up for this scene in Health class. They bust Ron’s chops. Ron says a complicated Roman numeral. It’s likely a large number. MCMXXXIIII. 1934. UM.

Ron gets an F- on this project. Sacky is sugar. WHOOPS. 

A scene with Ron’s parents at the adoption agency. Sensei is the one who placed Hana with them! And we see Ron with Hana and its lovely. 

[embloomfields]

A/N: hi! in lieu of a new chapter, which is on hold because of The Great 1DFF Drought, i give you this... possibly canon extra that hasn’t been edited and is a giant piece of fluff but writing it made me feel warm and fuzzy over two excruciatingly busy weeks. anyway.. enjoy! please send me your thoughts :)  

“Maybe I’m just crazy.” Sasha frowned at the negative pregnancy test on the bathroom counter. "I would have put money on it."

I rubbed her back. I swallowed my own disappointment to offer Sasha comfort. "You're not crazy. The signs were there."

A tear trickled down Sasha's cheek and she wiped it away hurriedly. We both started at the white plastic stick as if the results might magically change under the weight of our disappointment. My chest tightened at the thought of more negative results in the future and how disheartening it would be to not get what we were after month after month. I could control so much in my life, buy almost anything I wanted, but fertility was beyond my control while Sasha insisted on trying the natural way.

Sasha sighed heavily and leant into my chest. "The wedding is in a few months anyway. I guess it isn't really the right time."

"No. Don't do that," I snapped. Tension radiated from my entire body and Sasha's instinct was to curl her arms around my middle. "Don't talk negatively. We will keep trying. It will happen for us. The doctor said it could take a while for your body to stabilise after coming off the pill. You only went off it a month ago."

Sasha sniffed and tilted her head so she was looking up at me. "I'm terrified I won't be able to give us what we both want so badly."

"Angel," I crooned. "You have to give your body time. One negative test doesn't mean you're barren. Besides, two can play at that game. What if I'm the problem? What if I'm shooting blanks? I've certainly never been in a situation where I tested my fertility. I was a strict condom man before you waltzed into my life."

Sasha laughed. It was soft and airy, the sweet kind of laugh that warmed the coldest parts of my soul. Hearing Sasha laugh, any of her laughs, was magic. She was never more beautiful that when laughter spilled from her body.

"I waltzed in? I believe you strut into my life with an intoxicating air of authority and confidence." She laughed again and gazed at me fondly. "I couldn't figure out if you liked me or hated me on sight. You left me feeling very rattled."

"You unsettled me," I murmured into her hair. She smelt like the vanilla and raspberry shampoo she had used ever since I met her. It was the smell of home, comfort, and love. “I knew the second I saw you that you were going to have a significant impact on my life. It took two seconds to realise you were important.”

“Please,” she scoffed. I didn't react to the nudge of her elbow against my stomach. “You were running through all the different plays you could make to get in my pants.”

“Mm,” I nuzzled again Sasha’s hair, “that too.”

Sasha kept staring at the pregnancy test. While she wasn't looking at me I relaxed the control I had over my features and let my disappointment show. I had been the one to suggest we start trying, the more excited one as we ventured toward starting a family. Sasha had been hesitant — what if we weren't ready, shouldn't we wait until after the wedding, were we rushing to have everything all at once? — But I knew there would always be a reason not to start trying. What mattered was the abundance of reasons to try.

Now, with failure staring me in the face, I had my own reservations. Could we handle potentially months of being let down by negative results? The months leading up to our wedding and afterward should be spent on cloud nine, not with Sasha crying on the bathroom floor and me barely holding it together because a child seems further and further out of the realm of possibility.

“I guess what I thought were signs of pregnancy was just PMS,” Sasha said. I tightened my hold on her, almost wishing I could squeeze all the sadness from her. “Some symptoms do overlap. Breast tenderness, cramps. They just felt different but maybe it was all in my head.”

“The nausea isn't a sign you're getting your period, though.” When Sasha though she had a bug but it never went away, I turned to Google. I was used to her breasts feeling fuller and heavier in my hands for a week or so every month. I knew when to bring her the wheat pack for her cramps. Two weeks of feeling nauseous, extreme fatigue, and paling at the smell of red meat wasn’t part of the monthly routine, however.

“Maybe the change of season is messing with my body.”

“Or maybe you’re run down.” I raised my brows and Sasha rolled her eyes. Between the wedding, work, and social commitments, Sasha never stopped. The scare a few months earlier where she was hospitalised for exhaustion still haunted me. “You need to learn to delegate, baby. Hire a wedding planner. Let your assistant take on menial tasks.”

Sasha scoffed. “Says the man who runs the universe with an iron grip on everything.”

“I delegate,” I huffed before I conceded. “But, we could probably both be better at it.”

 Sasha didn't respond. I watched her carefully as she wriggled from my grip and dramatically threw the pregnancy test in the bin. She turned back toward me and smiled. It didn't brighten her face and knowing she forced a smile, likely for my benefit, made my heart ache.

“Let's get you to bed, Angel.”

Sasha didn't protest, despite the early hour. Rarely were we in bed before 10 but tonight had gone on long enough and I could sense Sasha was fighting off tiredness. She was out almost the moment her head landed on my chest and I lay perfectly still under her, stroking her hair with one hand and flicking through emails on my phone with the other.

She slept peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm that made me own eyes heavy. The hours where Sasha slept, tucked against my side or with her head in my lap while I worked, were some of my favourite. I didn’t worry so much when she was asleep. During the day, when we were apart or together, anxiety sat in my chest like a sack of rocks. It was harder to breathe when Sasha wasn’t around and if my mind was too idle, it wandered to all the ways I could lose her.

“Harry!” The urgency in Sasha’s voice cut through my sleepiness. She shook my torso and repeated my name.

“Mm? I forced my eyes open and gazed at Sasha wearily. I had no idea of the time, or how long it had been since I dozed off.

“We’re out of mint chocolate chip.”

I groaned. “That’s what you’re worked up about? Baby, its ice cream. We’ll buy some more. Go back to sleep.” Sasha slapped my chest. My mind wandered to eating ice cream off Sasha’s naked body. A delicacy I’d enjoyed a few times since we met. A cheeky grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. “If I was about to eat it off you, I might care a bit more.”

“Harry, I want mint chocolate chip ice cream. We’ve only got boysenberry swirl.”

I glanced at the bedside clock, surprised to find it was half 11. I couldn’t have been asleep long and we’d only gone to bed an hour and a half ago. “I don’t care what the flavour is as long is I’m licking it off you.”

“Harrison, stop,” Sasha whined. “I really want mint chocolate chip and we don’t have any. I’m going to Sainsbury’s to get some and I didn’t want you to worry if you woke up and couldn’t find me.”

I sighed. I pushed the blankets off my body and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I’d told security to enjoy an early night and there wasn’t a hope in hell that Sasha was going out to the supermarket alone at this hour. She might have started boxing with JJ and could defend herself physically, but it wouldn’t help with the mental scars of an attack. She already battled with the damage inflicted by Donald and Andrew Forrester.

“Let’s go then.”

We set off in our pyjamas, only bothering to get coats and slip on shoes. I flicked a message to Sullivan, who would undoubtably be alarmed by the movement in the house — sometimes I wondered if the man ever slept. He was damn good at his job, always across every aspect of mine and Sasha’s security. I paid him handsomely because I knew losing him would be worse that paying above the going rate.

“Pull over,” Sasha demanded. I glanced at her for a second and she shrugged. I pulled up at the kerb and switched the car off. Given the hour of night and the fact that the store was about to close, we were in and out of the supermarket in five minutes. It took longer to drive there than it did to purchase the ice cream and it was going to take us even longer to get home. I watched Sasha, not saying a word, as she picked her handbag up from the footwell and pulled out two dessert spoons out.

“What? It will melt before we can get home.”

I frowned. “We’re ten minutes from home.”

Sasha handed me one and kept the other for herself. The lid was off the tub of ice cream and a scoop was in Sasha’s mouth before I could register that this was really happening. We were pulled over on Brompton Road and my fiancé was shovelling ice cream in her mouth like an excited toddler.

“Slow down! You’ll make yourself sick,” I warned, completely aghast at Sasha’s enthusiasm for dairy at midnight. “What on earth has gotten in to you?”

“Dunno.” My usually eloquent fiancé was lost in a mouthful of mint chocolate chip at midnight. Sasha bat her eyelids at me and I sighed. Never in my life did I think the sight of a woman eating ice cream in my 150 thousand pound car would turn me on. But the tug in my groin was there and the growing need to pull Sasha onto my lap couldn’t be ignored.

I continued to watch Sasha eat and tried not to be offended when my spoon got slapped away as I tried to get a scoop. I shifted in my seat, readjusting myself when the thoughts of pulling Sasha onto my lap and sinking into her became too much. Sasha shrugged off the looks I gave her and happily finished off the tub of ice cream.

“If you still want to eat the boysenberry swirl off me, I’m up for it.”

“Mm?” I hummed absentmindedly. My mind was turning and my eyes dropped from Sasha’s face to her stomach. Her hands flew to her middle and she shrank back into her seat. “Okay, you’re making me feel self conscious. The ice cream hasn’t stacked pounds on just yet.”

“Sorry,” I replied. I reached for my phone in the centre console and type the question running through my mind into Google. “9 out of 15 women experience false negative results before they reach week 8 of pregnancy.”

“What?”

“9 out of —“

“I heard you,” Sasha interrupted. “I’m just…”

“You don’t wake up in the middle of the night with cravings that make you leave the house. It’s just another sign on top of all the others. It can’t be a coincidence, Angel.” We only took one test. The result could easily have been wrong. Sasha drank a litre of water an hour before, it was late at night, it was likely early days — they were all things that could cause a false-negative result. “You should do another one. Maybe a few.”

“I’ve got a stack in the bottom vanity drawer. I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Seat belt, Miss Ginsberg.”

Sasha grinned and the car roared to life before I took off from the kerb. There were no comments on my driving, though there normally would be — ‘you’re not a race car driver, Harrison’ was a favourite. The same excitement that bubbled in my stomach was the same excitement from earlier in the night. The possibility of starting our family, entering the next phase of our lives, overwhelmed me with joy.

The wait for Sasha to pee on a stick, for which I was locked out of the bathroom because I made her too nervous to go, seemed to last a lifetime. I paced the length of our master suite. I tried to think of other things in the hope that a distracted mind would make the time pass quickly. Despite how long it felt, it was less than ten minutes before Sasha came out with the plastic stick in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Thirty seconds to go,” she announced. My heart was thudding in my chest, faster than I ever thought possible, and I didn’t realise my hand was shaking until Sasha took my hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The timer on Sasha’s phone went off. I exhaled long and slow. “Alright, let’s see.”

Sasha lifted the test so we could see the results display window. I watched her face fall as she registered the outcome. The tearful waver in her voice broke my heart when she said the dreaded word,“Negative.”

I forced myself to tear my eyes from Sasha’s face. I grabbed her wrist and lifted the test closer to my face, studying it carefully. “No. Look. There is a second line. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

“I left two more on the bathroom sink, check them if you want but I can’t… I can’t.” Sasha brushed the tears from her cheeks and sniffed. I pulled her into my body for a hug. “I love you and I want this so badly… I can’t be let down again tonight. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll see you in bed in a second, Angel,” I murmured. I kissed the top of Sasha’s head and walked her over to the bed before tucking her in.

I quietly made my way to the en suite where I spotted the two tests Sasha was talking about, testing on the long vanity. They were different shapes, which suggested different brands, and I was glad they had result indicators printed on them. One needed a plus and a line and the other needed a line in both windows. Even though the plus and the second line were faint, they were there.

I fished the instructions out of the rubbish bin and scanned the page for the answer I was looking for. I couldn’t stop the high pitched noise from escaping me when I found it. False-positives were incredibly rare and faint lines indicated you were pregnant but a blood test would confirm that result.

With the energy of a small child, I raced back into the bedroom and jumped on the bed. Sasha’s half hearted protest when I pulled her toward me and lifted her pyjama top didn’t deter me. I placed my hand on her lower belly and let the cheesiest, biggest grin form on my face.

“They all had the faint line. The instructions said it means you’re pregnant but we should confirm with a blood test.”

Sasha burst into tears. Loud sobs and dramatic tears. “Really?”

“Really.”

Sasha placed her hand over mine. “A little us.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” I peppered each proclamation with a kiss to Sasha’ s stomach. “I’ll call the doctor in the morning. Sleep now, Angel.”

I settled on my back and Sasha cuddled in to my side, resting her head on my chest. Her arm draped around my middle and her legs entwined with mine. It was exactly where I liked us to be.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

[timesorceror]

Day 16 (January 22nd) - Anders and Friendship

The theme for this day is what sorts of friends Anders has, and rewrites of canon so he has supportive friendships, etc. Any friends of Anders and how they help him. (Circle friends or outside of the Circle friends, any is fine.)  

For @justhanderspositive‘s challenge: [HERE].

I... think I might’ve just killed myself a little bit with all this fluff. Also, teenaged Karl is apparently a sassy little shit. I love it. XD

Before the Circle, Anders remembered being friends with everyone.

People just liked him, and wanted to be near him, and he wanted to be near them. He liked making people happy. Making them laugh. He ran and played hide-and-seek with the children that preferred the outdoors (he wasn't great at hiding because he was so tall, but he never minded much), or he would sometimes stay inside and read or draw or make up new card games with the ones who couldn't or didn't like to play outside.

Years later, he couldn't remember any of their faces, just the vague and varied expressions of sadness and terror as he was being dragged away, his mother trying to fight off the Templars with a frying pan, then falling to the cobblestones, blood staining the ground. Blood that was then the same color as the only thing he'd been allowed to take with him when he'd been chained and tossed upon the back of a horse like a sack of wheat.

His mother's meditation pillow.

-

The pillow was the thing that helped him make his first real friend in the Ferelden Circle.

He carried it with him everywhere, though he learned not to let the Templars or even some of the other apprentices see that he had it. Instead, he stuffed it in a shoulder bag with a few books and pads of paper, and he'd keep it in his lap instead of on the floor, reaching in and stroking the stitching to remind him of what he'd left behind.

And that he had to get back.

Somehow it hadn't been taken from him either the first or second time that he'd tried to escape. He wondered if perhaps it was because he'd kept it in the shoulder bag and the Templars hadn't thought to search there. Or... maybe they just didn't care about a lumpy little red pillow that belong to a person (no, a thing) that the Templars considered beneath them.

Whatever the reason, Anders was glad to still have the pillow with him while he scrubbed the Chantry chapel floors as part of the last escape's punishment. The bag was sitting out in the open, the clasp undone and the flap hanging off of the side of the bench so that Anders could see the bright color of the fabric when he looked up.

It helped pass the time quickly, because he wanted to be done before anyone came looking to come offer prayers. (He was afraid he might have to scrub the chapel all over again if someone scuffed up even one stone on the floors...)

That was when he heard the footsteps and the creaking of a door opening...

"Wait! Don't come in yet, please!" Anders cried out, accidentally knocking over the bag with the pillow. He gasped and tried to pick it up before whoever it was saw it, but... too late.

And that was when Anders met him.

He was an older boy, though he couldn't be Anders' senior by more than two or three years, despite what looked to be a severe case of an early greying. His eyes were a most clear sky blue that Anders could've sworn sparkled like starlight. He almost had to shake himself out of his thoughts. Maker, what was wrong with him?

The boy had Anders' pillow in his hands, and was looking over it thoughtfully as he reverently replaced it in the bag, which he handed back to Anders.

"Still cleaning the floors?" The boy asked him, offering a wry smile that did interesting things to his insides. Anders sighed, grumbling. "Yes... but I'm almost done, I promise. Can... can you wait a bit so I can finish and tell the First Enchanter I've learned my lesson?"

"Have you?" The boy asked him with a light chuckle and a grin. "Learned your lesson, that is?"

Anders looked away. He couldn't lie to this one for some reason like he'd been able to lie to everyone else. "I... um. Well..."

He gave Anders a sympathetic smile.

"It's okay. I won't tell if you don't." Anders blinked at him. "Really? You're not going to... but–"

"I didn't grow up here like most of the others did either."

"So why don't you want to go back?" Anders asked.

"Because there's nothing for me there," he replied sadly. "And they'll track you, no matter how far you run. With your phylactery, remember?"

Oh. Right.

Anders stood up from the floor where he'd finally finished this section of the chapel. "Well, I guess that makes sense. But... why stay here? There's nothing for us here but death or despair!" The boy's lips quirked up in a soft smile. "Don't you mean death and despair?"

Anders snorted. "That too, I suppose."

The two boys shared a laugh, and when it was over, the other extended a hand to him.

"I'm Karl. And... you don't need to tell me your name. Everyone around here knows it by now. Anders, right?" Anders shrugged, shaking Karl’s hand.

"The Templars only call me that because they didn't bother to write down what my father told them and even if they had I doubt they could've pronounced it correctly. All they remembered was that my father was from the Anderfels and since I refused to talk to them, I just became "the Anders boy", which I was just fine with."

Karl seemed to look equal parts horrified and anguished.

"So... no one here knows your real name?"

Anders shook his head, scoffing. "No one needs to. "Anders" is just fine for me."

Then Anders shifted, fidgeting with the hem of the cloth around his shoulders. He glanced up again at Karl's distraught expression, and he sighed deeply.

"But... I could... I could tell you, I suppose. If only to make you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Karl asked him, now looking rather confused instead.

"Like I'm some wet kitten that got left out in the rain," Anders groused. "Come here, so I can tell you." Karl nodded and leaned in, letting Anders whisper his name into his ear.

After it was done, Anders leaned back to see Karl looking quite stunned.

"That mouthful of nonsense is your name?" Karl asked him incredulously. Anders grinned.

"Now you see why I prefer Anders to... that?"

Karl snorted. "Yeah. I don't think even I could say it properly if I tried, sorry. I suppose Anders is... is just fine." He smiled at Anders, and there was a little flash of teeth that made Anders' cheeks flush as his heart thumped just a little bit faster. "It's, uh... heh... better than having the Templars butcher it at every opportunity," Anders chuckled sheepishly. Then he suddenly remembered that he still had the rest of the room to clean and began looking around for the supplies, which Karl helpfully pointed out to him.

"Say," Karl began, picking up one of the spare mops, "the First Enchanter didn't say that you had to do this... alone, did he?"

Anders looked up, blinking owlishly.

"Um... no?"

Karl grinned. "Well, as long as you don't tell, he doesn't have to know that you had some help finishing it, right?" Suddenly, Anders felt his spirits brighten and he returned Karl's smile with one of his own.

"I won't tell if you don't," he agreed, and the two boys were best friends from there on out.

[lowcarbnutrients]

I Fed My Family on a Budget and it SUCKED

We're just at the end of week one, and also it's been a little a rough week for us, in all sincerity. Spirits was a bit low throughout the week as we tried to make do with things that weren't our common fare and also the pain that included the abrupt adjustment to our diet regimen, and it was compounded by the truth that my child appears to have actually simply started stockpiling for a growth spurt.

Before we started, I prepped for this difficulty by learning more about the costs of a lot of points I never ever paid also close focus to. I made a checklist of a whole lot of the things that we preferred to buy, and afterwards discovered an average cost for them to ensure that I would have some suggestion of concerning what price was great as well as reasonable without having to spend a hr calculating rates in the supermarket every journey. I likewise understood I was unlikely to be able to maintain to budget plan today, given that my kitchen would certainly be entirely empty besides salt as well as pepper. And also I didn't. I was over by almost $40, restocking the fundamentals like oil, margarine, seasonings, flour, sugar, and vinegar.

I got actually fortunate, just days before the project kicked off, excellent sales began to start. Prices on fresh vegetables and fruits, which had me seriously fretted at the beginning, started to decrease. That provided me a great deal of wiggle space that I could not have had if I had begun this in April, in April, I would certainly have been stuck to mostly tinned and also frozen fruits and vegetables.

Here's the breakdown of the grocery expense:

The Grocery Bill (Week 1)

Pantry Items ($58.62)

Flour (2.5kg) - $5.69 White Sugar (5lbs) - $1.67 Brown Sugar (2kg) - $2.59 Olive Oil (1L) - $3.88 Cocoa Powder (2 cups) - $2.56 Baking Soft drink (1 little box) -$ 0.50 Baking Powder (approx. 4 tbsp) - $.50 Vegan Margarine - $2.47 Cinnamon (1/4 cup) - $0.30 Other Bulk Seasonings in little quantity - $1.00 Oats (2kg) - $3.20 Barley (900g) - $1.29 Rice (1kg) - $2.22 Cheerios (525g) - $3.97 Mayo (890ml) - $1.99 Mustard - $0.88 Apple Cider Vinegar - $1.69 Vanilla Extract - $4.99 Lentils (900ml) - $1.79 Soy Sauce - $1.99 Wowbutter - $5.99 Pasta Whole Wheat (4 boxes) - $4.97 Raisins - $2.49

Grocery Things ($ 96.01)

Bread (3 loaves) - $5.99 1 Lemon - $0.60 Strawberries (2lbs) - $3.89 Spinach (1lb) - $2.99 Eggs (30) - $5.99 Mixed Fruit Applesauce (36) - $8.99 Brick Cheddar (heritage) (800g) - $6.44 Pork Loin (3.34 pounds) - $21.03 Carrots (5lbs) - $3.47 Bananas (9) - $1.68 Celery (2 hearts) - $2.88 Peas (500g) - $2.49 Apples (8lbs/32) - $2.88 Zucchini (2) - $0.77 Garlic (1) - $0.84 Green Onions (bunch) - $0.69 Red Onion - $1 Pears (3; legacy) - $1.65 Potatoes (2.5 pounds, heritage) - $0.74 Soy Milk (12x980ml) - $14.98 Strained Tomatoes (2x28oz) - $2.50 Motts Mixed Drink (4x945ml) - $3.52

Total: $154.63 (over by $39.13)

Where I bought

Mostly, I patronized Costco and Food Fundamentals. I likewise 'acquired' a few of my continuing to be perishables (as well as things I currently had in extreme amount, like olive oil) from prior to the challenge began at going rates so they wouldn't be wasted.

What I made

I butchered the pork loin I purchased Thursday evening, after the buying trip (as well as you could read about how to do it on FoodRetro) so I can make the slow-cooker pork stew the following day. It's a little bit messy, however very easy and also not that time consuming.

I spent a couple hrs on the weekend and also prepped ahead in the cupboard for the month by making a solitary container of Strawberry Jam (dish coming) ($ 1.51) as well as concerning 12-14 half-cup servings of instantaneous oatmeal ($ 2.37) for my hubby, on Saturday. On Sunday, as I made lunch, I likewise made a dozen delicious chocolate zucchini muffins ($ 2.02/ doz.) as well as a dozen unleavened 10' flour tortillas ($ 1.94/ doz). I must note I might have made the tortillas for about fifty percent that if I had spent an added couple bucks for the 10kg sack of flour (something I remorse).

Breakfasts were fairly basic: typically salute with or without Wowbutter for me, oatmeal for my spouse, as well as grain for my child. On Sunday, to abide by custom, I worked up a double-batch of 1/4 cup-size pancakes (regarding 11 1/4 mug batter pancakes from square one for $1.67), offered with margarine and also jam, and he ate them with the week as well.

Lunch alternatives were poor this week, including mostly leftovers, egg salad sandwiches ($ 0.69/ ea), Wowbutter as well as strawberry jam sandwiches ($ 0.65/ ea), smoked cheese ($ 0.35/ ea), plus fruits and also veggies such as we had them. There was also a vegan lentil as well as barley stew (dish NOT coming) which was neither great nor actual satisfying.

For dinner, we had slow-cooker pork as well as lentil stew (dish coming) ($ 3.68/ 6 portions) which was excellent, broiled pork chops served with rice, spinach as well as strawberries, fried rice with eggs as well as pork ($ 2.37/ 6 servings), and also a slow-cooked pork roast on top of potatoes and a spinach salad (concerning $7 for the roast, however there was lots of leftovers). Tonight, after hitting the food store, kidlet had actually clambered eggs and spinach, I spruced up a variation of pastas and olive oil with some frozen peas and also a newly-bought cubed, pan-roasted tomato.

We're fed up with pork. Sick of it. I can't even.

What's gone and where we stand

As I compose this at end of day, Thursday, I have about a third a loaf of bread left out of three. The spinach is gone. So are the potatoes, strawberries, and pears. I used up almost all my cinnamon making the oatmeal. The bananas were gone by Tuesday, and there's only 6 eggs excluded of thirty. I've consumed a quarter of my oil, among my 2 zucchini, concerning a third of my Wowbutter, one of my Motts Cocktails, fifty percent of my carrots, and also concerning fifty percent of my rice. While numerous points are out as well as running reduced, I've still got some food to see us via the next week, which is great, due to the fact that I'm short $39.13 for next week. I have actually barely made use of a few of the items, like the barley and also pasta.

When I try to approximate where we represent household spending plan on a daily basis, we're mainly running between $8 and $9.75. While this appears like we're doing incredibly well, I have to keep in mind the fact that it took us essentially the whole week of consuming in this price array making up for the deficit spending I produced. But given that I still have many things left over and most pantry goods, I'm meticulously optimistic that we'll have the ability to introduce some of things my family members misses out on most. I intend to bake insane cake for my son this weekend, if absolutely nothing else. Even with the more costly flour, I can produce a lots cupcakes for $1.41, or about $.12 each.

Morale and other things

Aside from being ill to death of pork, as I stated previously, spirits has actually been sort of reduced. I've been attempting to not obsessively compute whatever till I have a better suggestion of just how much we consume and how cheaply we can do it. Spouse and I are dealing with our choices, also if they are unexciting as well as the variety is inadequate. My kid, nevertheless, is not dealing also with the changes. For the first 3 days, he was singing as well as dissatisfied about the lack of specific items in our diet that we were prevented from acquiring as a result of rate, like Oreos, his common lunchmeat, as well as maple syrup for his pancakes. Every meal for 3 days, he was dissatisfied about something that he couldn't have that he was used to consuming, we battled a whole lot, and also this brought a whole lot of stress to hubs as well as I.

I'm not proud regarding this, however on Sunday, after even more than two complete days of problems and also attitude from my boy about his dish options, I cried. We described that there was just 'say goodbye to loan now' to him. Unsurprisingly, he didn't obtain it, 6 year-olds are not popular for having an excellent economic acumen at the best of times. As I'm sure I'm not the first mom that has actually been placed in between this rock and also hard location, I really feel for the parents that have needed to clarify the realities of low-budget living to their child.

We've been adhering relatively well to the Canada Food Overview (with the exemption of dairy, which occasionally we neglect because milk is not a component of our regular diet plan). We need to ready concerning sticking, though, since with the minimums I noted in the rules, often I'm still hardly skating by with around 1200 calories (by the estimate of Myfitnesspal). Fruits and veggies are not super-high, calorically, and also I think this is the catch that a lot of low-income individuals fall under: healthy and balanced, or plenty?

Kidlet is fine, hubs says he's fine, but I find I'm a little starving some days, and I need to graze a lot more frequently. We still have freedom in the daily spending plan - although kidlet is eating like an equine - so I don't really feel guilty about having another item of toast or an extra item of fruit. Still, understanding that we're minimal is enough to maintain me conscious of making it via the month.

It's oppressive, bothering with food at all times, as well as I've lost a pound.

Regrets

I regret my decision to buy an entire pork loin without having somebody to split the expense as well as butchering of it. It was an excellent rate, yet it implied that our only protein alternatives for the week were lentils, Wowbutter, eggs and pork, and we are all sick to fatality of pork as well as lentils now. The excellent (and poor) information is that I still have quite a little bit of pork to spread out for the remainder of the month.

Other deep thoughts

There were a great deal of individuals that commented how very easy this difficulty would be simply by bulk buying. Bulk-buying is a double-edged sword. I actually found that in most cases, Costco was actually much more pricey than the grocery store, even prior to items went on sale. There are still a few truly good purchases to be made there regularly, particularly my son's soy milk, bread, and also eggs. The other issue with buying something wholesale is, even if it's a great price, it takes a big piece out of the budget plan, which can interfere with one's capability to obtain range. I normally most likely to Costco with a friend, and also we often divided bundles. I would certainly suggest that any person on a restricted budget plan split mass products with an additional buyer, at the very least while aiming to build up a kitchen, unless the products are a fairly valued staple like eggs or bread.

As far as other bulk alternatives go, while this is absolutely viable for lots of, we were restricted greatly due to my son's allergies (he's adverse dairy products, nuts, and also peanuts). The majority of things wholesale bins have some danger of cross-contamination with several of these items.

So, cheers! We've survived week one. I'm hoping this week was the hardest component, as well as it gets easier from below.

Read about Anne's Hunger Games Adventure initially.

Follow Anne's Spending Plan Eating Difficulty from the beginning:

Could You Feed Your Family for $5.50 each Person Per Day?

I Fed My Family Members On a Budget Plan and also It Drew

The Emotional Price of Budget Eating

Budget Groceries: Ways To Prevent Scurvy and also Mutiny

Budget Eating: You Won't Starve, But You'll Be Exhausted

[weightlossinnatural]

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); Prepare Your Kitchen for the Paleo Diet

Changing your wash room, ice chest and cooler will surely set the phase for accomplishment while you're moving onto the Paleo consume less calories, and pointing your external indigenous habitat with your interior objectives holds you on track. It's significantly less demanding to stay away from enticements once they aren't looking you in a split second in the face, by the by the fundamental target of wiping out your kitchen is to gather up the real nourishment causes from your eating regimen that are pervasive reasons for illness, weight pick up, and aggravation which incorporate grains: breads, rice, pastas, and so on; beans: peanuts, soy, all vegetables, dairy, handled sugars, certain vegetable oils, and most produced sustenances. 

Suggestions to wipe out your cooler, refrigerator and wash room. 

The Paleo eating routine expels these digestion destroying nourishments and dispenses with them with stimulating and enabling sustenances that offer your cells with the supplements they require to repair your harmed metabolic hardware. When all is said in done, eating Paleo requires eating veggies, natural products, meats, angle, certain fats, nuts, and seeds. The accompanying suggestions will help you in tidying up your cooler, ice chest and wash room to clean the digestion destroying nourishments and keep up just the sustenances that will help your voyage towards achieving ideal wellbeing. Change Your Kitchen into a Destination for Healthy Food Storage. Being wanted with nourishment is generously less demanding when your wash room, refrigerator and cooler uncover your thought processes. It doesn't need to be a vast undertaking to transform your kitchen directly into a shelter for restorative nourishment stockpiling; all it requires is a bit of arranging and reason! Planning is a key part in making continuing change in your eating regimen and lifestyle, and an extraordinary place to begin the reason to activity modifying is in your kitchen. 

What you'll require to improve the situation the Paleo Clean: 

Cleaning supplies in case you're by and large additional energized. 

Vacuum sealer, vacuum fixed sustenances keep up their nutritious incentive for any longer in the cooler. 

The kitchen can without much of a stretch be a particularly threatening spot to clean, as we regularly stuff things in to the profound back corners that we had full intentions of utilizing, yet have missing their sound esteem. There may well be blame or disarray associated with tossing out these sustenances, and I'm here to help you on the way toward hurling out what for the most part is never again required, which more often than excludes sentiments of regret and to take the nourishments that will bolster your body to prosper! So take a significant breath, and motivate set to change your kitchen into a protected place for solid sustenance stockpiling. 

Cooler solid Ziploc sacks. 

Rubbish can for disposing of old sustenances. 

Around 30 minutes for every errand: ice chest, cooler, wash room. 

Sharpie pen, for composing on Ziploc and essentially vacuum secured sacks.

Essential rules of the kitchen perfect, clean it if: 

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); It's on the rundown of Nourishments to Avoid our Paleo consume less calories Sustenance Rundown. 

Rundown of Nourishments to Gather up for the Paleo Clean. 

It's significantly in excess of a couple of months old. 

You are not ready to distinguish what it is. 

It's lapsed. 

Your sense says to Clean it. 

Tips for Tidying up Your Kitchen. 

This may well likewise be an incredible time to significant clean your storeroom drawers, icebox and cooler. In the event that you have room schedule-wise, you may conceivably consider pulling everything out of your fridge and giving it a thorough clean. Or on the other hand for what reason not by any stretch of the imagination defrost and significant clean your cooler to hold it vitality productive and to build nourishment protection? Clean the pieces from the edges of your wash room. A spotless kitchen makes for a propelling new begin as you embrace your new clean eating rehearses. 

On the off chance that you are sharing kitchen space with someone who eats nourishments that you are avoiding, consider building up various territories or cupboards that have clearly characterized confinements. There are association compartments and Tupperware holders possible that are gainful for subdividing shared storage room. 

I make it a conduct to compose the date promptly on the bundle once I open a perishable sustenance holder for items that must be utilized inside a specific measure of days in the wake of opening. The fresher the nourishment, the more supplements it incorporates. 

My cooler is the security net of my fridge, rationing my butt when I don't have time to search for or set up together crisp nourishment! Each and every week I solidify scraps from my healthy dinners that might be later speedily defrosted when I'm after all other options have been exhausted. Making utilization of my cooler to its greatest capacity spares me extensive time and money, and keeps up me on track with eating the right sustenances to improve my general health. 

I save a little logbook in my kitchen to screen the dates I cook various dinners, so they don't wind up waiting in my ice chest for a really long time. On the off chance that there's still remains following 2-3 days, I make utilization of my vacuum sealer to make an impenetrable and clearly named/dated bundle to solidify for long haul utilize when I don't have sufficient energy edge to cook new nourishment. 

You can take away one sustenance at once from your refrigerator, yet a speedier and more powerful system is to take out every one of the nourishments on the double, and after that set back sustenances that will bolster your Paleo mission. This will bolster you work quicker as well, as you needn't bother with perishable nourishments to be out of fridge or jumbling your counters for an excessive amount of time. 

Giving perishable and frosted nourishments is permitted at numerous sustenance banks, just like the gift of some finished nourishments. Check with your restricted sustenance bank before about what they can positively and can't acknowledge as gifts. Despite the fact that, there's comment said for not passing your toxin on to one other human, and basically placing it in the waste where it has a place! Utilize your carefulness. 

Mark your cooler products with both a date and data. You may perhaps believe that you'll remember when you solidified it thus what it is, regardless things show up very unmistakable when they're solidified! 

Settle on the healthiest sustenance: 

Our expectation is that you are skilled to pick sustenances that are free of pesticides, anti-microbials, creature manhandle, hormones and that the nourishment the creatures were sustained was appropriate for their assortments. You should ideally clean low quality create, meats, and fish and change them with top quality, health-advancing nourishments, in any case, I recognize this isn't typically conceivable. So give a valiant effort and a large portion of all, don't strain! 

The best create. 

The absolute best create is natural, nearby, and in-season. The most horrendous create is called customary. 

The perfect meats. 

The best meats are grass-encouraged and field raised, unfenced, natural, without hormone, and provincial. The most extreme meats originate from creatures that are customarily raised, and are normally encouraged grains by and large hereditarily modified, given hormones, and cured gravely. 

The absolute best fish. 

The perfect fish is wild fish, that in no way, shape or form spent any sort of segment of its life in a fish cultivate. The most inconvenient fish is cultivated fish.

The best healthy fats sources. 

Fed grass-nourished creature fats, olive oil, coconut oil, avocado oil, macadamia nut oil, avocado, nuts and seeds and their margarines, olives, fed eggs, fish. Go for natural, additional virgin, and icy squeezed writes at whatever point conceivable. The most adverse fat sources are nonorganic, hydrogenated, and in like manner refined: vegetable oil, corn oil, canola oil, cottonseed oil, margarine, soybean oil, safflower oil, sunflower oil, grapeseed oil. 

Refrigerator and furthermore Cooler Clean, nourishments to gather up: 

Egg substitutions. 

Pop, joining diet pop with unnatural sweeteners. 

Organic product juice sweetened teas, sports drinks,, drain, other non-Paleo refreshments. 

Cheddar. 

Espresso flavors. 

Any meats made up of nitrates or nitrates. 

Margarine and distinctive spread substitutes. 

Solidified arranged suppers. 

Drain, consolidating milk from beans and grains simply like soy drain and rice drain. 

Tofu and all soy things. 

Hummus. 

Spread. 

Sauces: ketchup, mayonnaise, plate of mixed greens dressings, and so on. 

Yogurt and all different other dairy items. 

Frozen yogurt. 

Wash room Perfect, specific nourishments to take away: 

Treats. 

Wafers. 

Nutty spread, attempt almond margarine rather. 

Thin Jims or any different other jerky containing nitrates, grains, corn, additives, or superfluous materials. 

Vegetable oils: corn, soy, sunflower, canola, and so forth. 

Cheddar arrangements: Cheddar Virtuoso, and so on. 

Corn stock: tortillas, popcorn, flour, corn chips, oat, and so on. 

Numerous vitality bars: they contain oats, soy, refined sugar, and so on. 

Beans: dark, garbanzo, pinto, lentils, and so forth. 

Chips: potato, tortilla, pita, and so forth. 

Cereal. 

Cake and brownie heating blends, even the sans gluten sorts. 

Pasta. 

Confections. 

Prepared olive oil. 

Soups made up of flour, beans, corn, or dairy. 

Bread. 

Grains and Grain flours: white, universally handy, entire grain, oat, rice, quinoa, millet, wheat, and so forth. 

Granola bars. 

Sugar: genuine sweetener, darker, and so forth. 

Oats. 

Rice: wild, white, darker, and so forth. 

Bagels, English biscuits, and cakes. 

You'll have to purchase. 

In a few occurrences, embracing the Paleo eating regimen makes it required to overhaul a couple of your kitchen equip. A couple of focuses I've found are useful once you're eating clean. 

A decent grater. 

A garlic press. 

Material paper. 

A nourishment processor or business review blender. 

A submersion blender. 

A lemon juicer. 

A moderate cooker. 

A winding noodle producer, which transforms veggies into pasta. 

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); With these substances and devices accessible, you'll be good to go to begin a successful Paleo eating regimen encounter. On the off chance that you keep on keeping these items in your kitchen and wash room, you'll be set up to battle longings and produce yummy, healthy dinners, really when you're constrained for time.