little fork

Sherlock enters the patisserie early in the morning. The place is very popular, so he knows they’re bound to run out of all of his favourites quite quickly. He takes a seat in the corner, inconspicuous and private, the way he likes it, and places his order: one slice of salted caramel chocolate cheesecake and an espresso. 

The cake finally comes and a feint smile ghosts his lips. He has fond memories of cake, after all. Always a celebration with other people. Like last year, with John, Mary, Mrs Hudson and Molly. Mycroft even popped in for a minute to wish him and stuff his face full of cake - the same one he’s eating now, which John had pre-ordered and brought over to Baker Street because he knew it was Sherlock’s favourite. John… who still won’t return his calls… whose letter said to leave him alone if he cared about him at all. Which he does.

He slices a little piece with his fork and murmurs, “Happy birthday to me.”

a little more on over-spiritualizing the will of God

As previously discussed, I’m at a little bit of a fork in the road. What was at that time three potential choices has turned into four. Each of them have their pros and cons. Everybody that I’ve consulted about them agrees: there is no wrong choice here. There’s only figuring out what I want, and where I’d like to go.

I don’t have to figure out what Jesus wants me to do.

I actually feel as though Jesus is sitting across from me, looking at me and saying, “You have a choice here, and I’m not going to dictate that for you. They’re all good choices. You choose which direction you want to go in, and I will get you where I want you to go.”

Even knowing that, though, I still want that cosmic voiceover in English. I still want the yellow brick road to pop up. But God’s will for me cannot be measured by something like the earthly milestones we make for ourselves. God’s will for me is to be conformed to the image of his Son. It’s to learn more about him and to put that learning into action. It is to love him with my all, love my neighbour, and love my enemies.

He is clear about this. It’s written all over the Bible. Yes, we are all individuals. Yes, we all have a role that we fit into in the body of Christ better than others. Yes, we all have spiritual gifts. But his ultimate goal for us is for us to become more like Jesus, and to love.


So what do we do with that?

Perhaps we should ask a different question: why are we afraid of making choices?

We talk about the will of God like it’s some magical yellow brick bridge that will take us over all the toil and trouble of life and right up to the promised land, like walking in the clouds above a Super Mario level. I know that’s what we want–for everything to fall into place with little fuss and with little pain. But God never promises us that. The Bible promises us hardships and times where we will have to persevere and persecution and choosing Jesus over things that we love and walking through the valley of the shadow of death, if we are following Jesus. We tell people that when they decide to follow him things won’t magically get better, that they’ll still have to struggle with sin, but yet we idolize seeking after God’s will in the hopes that we will find the key to a painless life.

That’s not how it works.

There’s going to be pain on every road. There’s going to be trials and tribulations and hard choices on every road. You are going to miss out on something on every road. But if we are following Jesus and seeking after him, we cannot fall out of God’s will. We are already on the yellow brick road.

Except the yellow brick road is more like a yellow picnic blanket, and God is inviting you to sit back and enjoy food and rest and know him. 

Don’t be afraid to make choices. Easier said than done, I know. But keep your eyes on Jesus. Keep building your relationship with him. Keep loving him above else, and others. 

Make your choices knowing that, if you are doing that, you are sitting squarely in the middle of his will.

I have this headcanon that Alec never swears; he's been a big brother since he could talk, and elected to never use such language in front of his siblings. But when he goes out on his second date with Magnus, and he's so nervous he continuously drops his fork and knocks his knee into the table, he can't help but let out a "shit!" or even "fuck!" before apologizing profusely, but Magnus just grins at him, because he thinks it's just adorable!
for better or for worse

REQUEST: “Bucky accidentally hurts his wife and he does all nice things bc he’s scared she’ll find something better.”


“Here are your pancakes. I made them just the way you like it.” Bucky placed a plate of flapjacks in front of (Y/n) topped with whipped cream and strawberries.

“Wow, thank you Buck.” She smiled a little before grabbing her fork and digging in. The pancakes were delicious but she couldn’t really enjoy them. Bucky had been doing everything he could to spoil her over the last week. He felt guilty about an incident that happened and wouldn’t even try and talk to her about it.

She didn’t know how to bring it up without upsetting him.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked her as he sat down beside her.

“Yeah, everything is fine.” She lied.

Bucky was having another nightmare the night of the incident. He had gone a while without having one so the fact that he had one was surprising.

(Y/n) had been laying right beside him when his shaking woke her up. Once she realized that he was having a nightmare, she hurried and turned on the lamp next to her bed.

(Y/n) reached over and touched his shoulder shaking him a little to break out of his nightmare, “Bucky, wake up!”

He started mumbling in his sleep and then his eyes shot open. He looked at (Y/n) and acted like he didn’t even recognize her.

“Bucky?” She whispered, knowing the look in his eyes.

Before she could get off of the bed and back away, he had his grip on one of her arms. He held onto her as tight as he could and she cried out in pain.

“Bucky! It’s me! It’s (Y/n)! Please stop!” She shouted, hoping that it would all click.

He got off the bed and yanked her off too. His metal hand went to her throat and he lifted her off the ground, her back slamming against the wall. Some photos of them that were hung up on the wall fell down, the glass breaking.

“Bucky, stop! It’s me– (Y/n)!” She shouted gasping for breath. She could see spots beginning to cloud her vision. She knew it was only a matter of time before she blacked out.

“I love you, Bucky.” (Y/n) told him with the last breath that she had in her body.

Bucky released her and she fell to the ground. She took in as much air as she could and rolled onto her back coughing. She looked up and saw that Bucky was himself again. He looked racked with guilt about what he had done.

“(Y/n), I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that I–” he broke off and kneeled down next to her. She was still trying to catch her breath. He reached his hand out to touch her but stopped himself before he could.

He couldn’t even touch her because he felt so guilty.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” She breathed out, starting to sit up. Her back hurt and so did her neck and arm where Bucky grabbed her.

“No, it’s not.” Bucky got up and left their bedroom. She was left to pick up the mess that was made.

That was nearly a week ago and they haven’t spoken about what happened. Instead, Bucky had been acting like he lived to serve her. He made her favorite meals, watched her favorite movies with her and even offered to walk around shopping with her.

Bucky hated shopping.

One thing that Bucky hadn’t done was touch her in any way. He hadn’t kissed her or held her. He hadn’t even slept in the same bed with her since the incident happened. (Y/n) tried talking to his best friend, Steve about talking to him but it didn’t work.

“Bucky, we need to talk.” (Y/n) said making his insides stir. He wanted to avoid that type of conversation for as long as he could.

“We don’t need to. I already feel bad enough to about what I’ve done.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You should be. You should be furious at me. What I’ve done to you, what I’ve done in my past. I don’t even know why you would marry me.” Bucky got up from his seat and tried to storm off again.

“Bucky, stop that!” She yelled. He stopped walking and turned back at her.

She got out of her seat and walked over to him, “James Buchanan Barnes, I don’t want you to ever doubt why I married you. I married you because I love you and I love the man that you are. Remember our vows? In sickness and health. For better or worse. What kind of woman would I be to leave you when you need me the most?”

Bucky looked away from her but cupped his face between her hands making him look back at her, “Bucky, I love you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Bucky mumbled, “I have been doing all this stuff this week because I’m scared that you will find someone better than me. Someone who won’t hurt you.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. His heart was pounding away in his chest. She knew that he was nervous of being so close to her after a week of practically avoiding her like she had the plague.

(Y/n) felt a little better when he wrapped his arms around her.

“I don’t want anyone Bucky. I want you and only you. When I think about my future, I think about you. I don’t see anyone else. You get me and you know me better than I know myself.” (Y/n) hoped that her words were sticking to him. She hated that he was having doubts.

“I love you so much.” Bucky nuzzled his face into her neck and she felt his breath against it.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” (Y/n) chuckled. Bucky moved his head from her neck and looked back at her. He leaned his head down and brushed his lips against her lightly before firmly pressing them against each other.

It had been too long since he kissed her and she missed the feeling.

Bucky trailed his tongue against her bottom lip. She opened her mouth a little wider deepening their kiss. Bucky’s hands went from her waist down to backs of her thighs, leaning down and lifting her up with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her lips moved from his lips to his jawline down his neck.

She felt him start to move, “Where are we going?”

“To the bedroom. It’s been too long.”

(Y/n) giggled, “Yes it has.”

Do you ever just…..
You know how ramen usually comes with a shitty little unfolding plastic spoon? Great for if you bought it to eat at work or something.
But you’re at home. You have forks. Better forks that fork better.
But that little white fork came all this way. It was designed for this, made for this, it got packaged up somewhere in Taiwan and shipped all the way around the world and found itself in your kitchen. You take that little fork out of its little pot… set it aside… but you have no use for it.
Its entire purpose was for nothing. It existed for nothing and will be forgotten, never even used.
What am I supposed to do, throw it out? That’s heartbreaking. Cruel. I can’t do it.

And thats why I have a drawer full of individually wrapped little plastic forks.

snippets of a spaghetti dinner (Daryl/Jesus)

Aaron and Eric inviting Daryl and Jesus over for a spaghetti dinner. Daryl threatening Jesus to an inch of his life not to say anything embarrassing (and Jesus with exaggeratedly raised eyebrows going, “Who, me? Embarrass you?”)

Dinner goes fine, better than expected. Daryl stabs at his pasta, him and Jesus wolfing down their food a lot faster than Aaron and Eric, who kept sharing amused glances Daryl was pointedly ignoring. At one point Jesus told about his life before the world went to shit, said he was a martial arts instructor. “My boyfriend at the time would always tease me about it – ‘when’s that actually ever going to come in handy?’” He smiled a little, forkful of spaghetti raised halfway to his mouth. “It’s uh. Not the context you ever want to have to say 'I told you so’ in.”

Daryl actually started to relax, muttered a few answers to questions, helped scrape the plates clean and wash them in the sink. Then, as they were slouching towards the doorway, Aaron and Eric telling 'em how much fun they’d had, how glad they were they came, Jesus wedged his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, flashed a split’s second sly grin at Daryl, and said with wide, innocent eyes, “Yeah. So. Call us when you want to do that four-way.”

“Christ,” Daryl shoved Jesus through the door, as Eric and Aaron exploded into laughter. As Daryl dragged him roughly by the shoulder down the front steps, Jesus said in a carrying voice, “You only warned me about embarrassing you *during* dinner. You didn’t say anything about when we’d finish eating.”

Daryl stomped down the street, shoulders hunched, while beside him Jesus practically bounced. Daryl’s fuming silence gave way to passingly annoyed silence, which for him was damn near close to comfortable.

“Good spaghetti,” he grunted. Jesus grinned all satisfied.

“We should have them over next time. Cook our kind of food. You know. Road kill and candy bars.”

Daryl snorted, and broke into a grin he tried not to give Jesus the satisfaction of seeing.