#No refined sugar cookies

[gennie123]

Healthy Cookies For Chai time | No refined sugar, No maida, No preservatives

Here, we will tell you the perfect solution to your chai time snacks cravings… you can enjoy this healthy cookies guilt free. Say no to carb loaded processed snacks… Eat right and stay bright….

[fullcravings]

GF Cookie Dough Ice Cream

[certifiedceliac]

Gluten Free Lemon Lavender Shortbread (via Whole Happy)

[moved2024]

Amber Candy and Fossil Cookies (not vegan, recipe includes cricket flour etc)

[naomiknight-17]

Since late June, when my family/family friends suffered 2 deaths in quick succession and then I had a lot of stress surrounding my birthday, I haven't been following my diet as well as I should

I still lost some weight last month, but I feel like I could have done better if I didn't do a lot of off-diet eating while dealing with travel, funerals, and what little bit of birthday celebration I could manage (I definitely had cake and cupcakes that week lol)

So I'm trying to crack down on myself a bit. Within reason

So, of course, here I am at 4 PM on day one of trying to be back on the diet, having sweets cravings. And I know it's just because I'm trying not to snack, that I want to snack.

I'm not starving. I had a nice hearty breakfast, including a coffee with sugar in it. I am not deprived. I don't even feel hungry

But. I wanna bake a batch of cookies. And then eat them. Why am I like this

[venusinsilk]

Only pic from today but trust me when I say I slayed the tasting section of this job interview 🤭

[ms-demeanor]

Okay THANK YOU for saying “your body craves what it needs” is bs because that felt like bs this whole time.

Like you don’t need more sugar if you crave sweets that is NOT what that means. Sugar is a food that people crave because it tastes good/sugar I think is an addictive food??

Idk it just felt like people making excuses when they’re supposed to be trying to eat a little healthier (healthier, not low cal, not low fat or keto or whatever. Diets are bs but craving sweets does not mean sugar is healthy thing for your body rn)

People crave sugar because it tastes good, which is not a bad thing, and there is an evolutionary reason that sugar and fat taste good to us. Carbs are your body's favorite thing because it is SUPER easy for your body to break them down into useful molecules.

I'm not a fan of the idea that any foods are addictive and I'm skeptical of models that suggest "refined food addiction" is a thing with a measurable, real-world impact; there's a lot of debate in that area of nutrition science and to me it kind of seems like the tools people use to track food addiction aren't really examining the addictiveness of specific foods, but are decent screening tools for people who have compulsive behaviors around food (for instance, one group of people who the Yale Food Addiction Scale has repeatedly been demonstrated to be REALLY good at identifying is people with anorexia).

But your body needs sugar all the time, whether that's in the form of complex carbohydrates that get broken down into simple sugars by your body, or simple sugars that you stir into your tea that then gets sent to your cells as energy. If your diet doesn't have enough sugar in it, your body has a processes to turn non-sugars into sugar so that it can use the sugar (gluconeogenesis!). Sugar is unambiguously good for you in the way that fat is unambiguously good for you. You need sugar to survive and it's not a bad thing if you want to have a cookie or a soda or some candy, and again - your craving probably isn't telling you that you're deficient in a specific micro or macronutrient, but I still think that you should listen to your craving.

Like, I don't know how much you know about psychotherapy but the attitude that a lot of diet-focused discussion takes toward cravings reminds me of cognitive behavioral therapy. "When you crave chocolate, no you don't! Don't think about the chocolate, you actually probably need starch or sugar or something, let's redirect that into having a banana, or some frozen berries, or some spinach. Point away from the unhealthy craving and into the healthy replacement, or, better yet, ignore the craving. Mind over matter. You choose how you act."

(I actually think "X craving means that I want Y food so I shall replace it with Z, which is similar" "craving salt means that I am dehydrated and need electrolytes so instead of potato chips I'll have some soup" is how this goes most of the time. I think this is a diet culture thing, not a food positivity thing.)

And you know what I think that's a garbage way to look at both food and emotions.

When I'm craving ice cream it's not because I've been mostly vegetarian for a week and am low on dietary cholesterol (AN IMPORTANT NUTRIENT. Don't be scared of consuming some cholesterol), I'm craving ice cream because sugar and fat taste good. So instead of trying to pretend that I'm getting "what I need" from a piece of salmon the size of a deck of cards with no salt and some lemon squeezed on top, I'm going to scoop out a moderate portion of ice cream and eat it while focusing on how much I enjoy it. And I'm going to do that instead of sitting down with a pint and a spoon while I'm stressed at work and eating something that tastes good to distract from the fact that work is stressful. (And sometimes it's fine to sit down with a pint and a spoon but I will say that's generally best not to do while you're in the middle of something stressful)

And if you want to relate that back to therapy I see this as more of the DBT approach. I've accepted that I want ice cream so I'm going to eat it in an intentional way and enjoy it instead of eating so much that I don't want dinner, or that it makes me feel sick, or that I eat it without noticing it because I'm using it as a distraction instead of a snack.

I'm not trying to shut down the negative emotion or shun the "bad" food, I'm accepting that I have that emotion and I'm working this neutral food into my day so that I'll feel good tomorrow and won't get heartburn overnight.

So I see that you're trying to be kind of anti diet culture here, but I don't think people need excuses to eat sugar, and I actually think that making excuses to eat it is significantly less healthy than just eating the sugar (which, again, is unambiguously healthy to eat as part of a varied, filling, nutritious diet). It seems like you may have internalized some ideas about sugar that are not great even if you are trying to separate from diet culture.

Nobody is ever going to eat a diet so healthy and nutritionally complete that they don't want candy or cake or cookies sometimes. Food is not only fuel, it is entertainment and culture and comfort and distraction and celebration and a million other things, but it is not bad. I don't think there's a single universally bad food out there, or any food that never belongs as part of someone's diet (unless it's something you're allergic to - I don't care if you're craving peanuts, do not eat peanuts if you have a peanut allergy).

So it's okay to make sugar, you don't need to make excuses. It's okay to eat sugar if you're craving sugar, even if that's not what your body "needs". But also sometimes a craving is your body saying "I'm hungry and this sounds good, please feed me" even if you're not a finely-tuned spectrometer that's craving blueberries pie because you actually need antioxidants from the blueberries (you're not a finely tuned spectrometer, you don't need the antioxidants from the blueberries, it's perfectly fine to just eat a slice of pie).

[tojisun]

call of duty masterlist - 01

02 mlist; 03 mlist; series mlist

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all works belong to tojisun. all forms of reposting are not permitted; please do not translate, copy, revise and/or refine my works.

short legend:

❦︎ - nsfw

last updated: march 22, 2024

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- SIMON (GHOST) RILEY

sweet like cinnamon

right to heaven ❦︎

like a sugar rush ❦

in his favourite sundress

how he loves

little marks - suggestive

forehead kisses

cigarettes n kisses

like a sugar venom

teasin touches

just you and me - suggestive

cinnamon on my teeth

young and in love

liquid velvet on your tongue ❦

break me softly

glinting in the dark ❦

claim me softly and carnally ❦

lazy mornings

missin’ you

gon’ wife ‘er up ❦ - fan fave

she said what?

dirty talking and promises ❦

pull out- ❦

holiday special!!

coming back to you

cherry waves

the hottest

remember his hands - p link!! ❦

still your passenger

how he fucks ❦

anniversary of an uninteresting event

needy needy ❦

dark signs

distraction

strumming for you

marry me?

how it must be to date him (visuals)

giggles and love makin - suggestive ❦

his kinks ❦

cuteness and shyness

so drunk of you ❦

drag me under

his beautiful worship ❦

show him how desperate you can be ❦

open for a threesome ❦

tall people things

your ‘boyfriend’ [simon’s heart eyes]

caging you in ❦

jewelled eyes ❦

teaching you how to shotgun ❦

his jealousy burns

more than friends, less than lovers (but it’s getting there)

- JOHN PRICE

my precious wife ❦

pick up truck? pick up truck!

lap sittin n thigh humpin ❦

pretty puppy

leather and choking - p link!! ❦

tracing his hand

his loving touch

work song (hozier)

you love it like this ❦

- KONIG

my little sparkle - 01, 02 ❦

little prey ❦

sweaters and crushes

how he claims - p link!! ❦

he loves you like this - semi-dark

the silliest

- VALERIA GARZA

nothing to lose

her pretty little gf

trophy wife

doing her makeup

my wife

- JOHNNY (SOAP) MACTAVISH

a little louder ❦

wrapped in me

cherry pics plz ❦

- KEEGAN P RUSS

his princess ❦

all his ❦

- ALEJANDRO VARGAS

he's missed you

- KYLE (GAZ) GARRICK

the kind one ❦

- MULTI (COD)

the honest man - konig vs. simon (ghost) riley ❦︎

your little scarlet - simon (ghost) riley & john price ❦︎

took your life away - alejandro vargas vs. valeria garza

sharing is caring - tf 141 ❦

warming ‘em up - konig/(ghost) riley/(soap) mactavish ❦

sugar and cookies and crushes - price & soap

the cuckolding of simon - ghost/keegan

so wet for us - ghost/price ❦

his command - poly!141; price x reader x simon ❦

and when he leaves, it will feel like death - open character

- MULTI (OTHER)

slice of cherry pie - toji fushiguro/simon (ghost) riley

white lines pretty daddy - toji fushiguro/simon (ghost) riley ❦︎

tight bf shirts <3 - ghost/soap/gojo ❦

bundling him up in your warmth - ghost/toji/aizawa

sharing is caring - toji/ghost - suggestive ❦

how big? - ghost/toji ❦

how they taste - ghost/toji ❦

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 this is a completed masterlist (i reached 100 links LMAO) so pls refer to 02 & 03 mlists for the rest of oneshots and the series mlist for ongoing works ^v^ ୨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

[moonmaiden1996]

I saw your Hogfather fic and loved it! Can I request a similar holiday request? Astarion helping the reader make something like gingerbread cookies or other traditional dessert foods for a party?

A Sweet Seasonal Seduction

So every year I would make Pavola with my nan and that is always a special memory and I would love to make one with Astarion.

The chill of winter had settled over the countryside, and your party had decided to hole up in the warmest, coziest place you could find: an old but well-kept inn in a quaint little village. After your latest adventure, everyone was a bit worse for wear, and what better way to recharge than a night of festive indulgence?

Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the rooftops and cobbled streets. Inside, the air was filled with the warm scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and something faintly citrusy that made your nose tingle. It was festive, cozy—and yet Astarion, perched on the edge of the counter with his usual air of haughty disinterest, didn’t seem moved by it at all.

You, on the other hand, were elbow-deep in sugar and egg whites, carefully whipping the mixture into stiff, glossy peaks. Astarion had agreed to "help," but so far, he had done little more than stir the occasional bowl and make sharp, snide observations about the absurdity of baking.

"Remind me again," he drawled, inspecting a whisk with obvious disdain, "why are we spending our precious time and ingredients making—what did you call it? A pavlova?"

"It’s a festive dessert," you explained patiently, shooting him a sideways look. "Crisp meringue shell, soft marshmallowy center, topped with whipped cream and fruit. Trust me, everyone will love it at the party."

"Ah, yes, because nothing screams holiday cheer like fruit," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Why not just hand them all a turnip and call it a day? I can think of a much better way to use that cream," he purred, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "If you’re not going to help, at least try not to distract me. The meringue is delicate—it’s like magic, really. One wrong move, and poof, it’s ruined."

Astarion leaned closer, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, darling, everything I do is magic. Perhaps I should take over? I’m sure my refined touch could elevate this humble concoction into something worthy of my presence."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You’re not touching the meringue," you said firmly.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Then what am I supposed to do? Stand here looking beautiful? Oh wait—" He gestured dramatically to himself. "Mission already accomplished."

You rolled your eyes and handed him a bowl of fresh berries. "Here, make yourself useful. Slice these."

He raised an eyebrow at the task but accepted the knife with exaggerated grace. "Ah, reduced to manual labor. How very… pedestrian." Despite his grumbling, he set to work, his deft hands moving with surprising precision as he sliced strawberries into perfect, uniform pieces.

You couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him. For all his complaints, Astarion seemed oddly focused on the task, his usual sharp-edged demeanor softened just slightly by the glow of the firelight and the festive atmosphere.

"See?" you teased, your tone light. "Not so bad, is it? Almost fun, even."

He snorted, though a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Fun, you say? If you consider spending one’s evening slicing fruit instead of sipping wine by the fire ‘fun,’ then I suppose I’m having the time of my life."

You leaned closer, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you keep being such a sourpuss, I might just put you in charge of decorating gingerbread cookies."

Astarion paused, his knife hovering mid-slice. "Gingerbread cookies?" he repeated, his tone laced with mock horror. "And here I thought you couldn’t possibly insult me further. What’s next, darling? Carving little reindeer out of marzipan?"

You grinned, deciding to push your luck. "That’s actually not a bad idea. Maybe we can add little edible glitter bows to the reindeer. Oh! Or tiny sugar snowflakes!"

His laugh was low and genuine, the sound like warm velvet. "You are absolutely diabolical."

The meringue was finally ready, and you carefully spread it onto the parchment-lined baking sheet, shaping it into a circular nest. Astarion watched with a critical eye, his earlier protests forgotten.

"Hmm," he murmured, tilting his head as he examined your work. "Not bad. A little rustic, perhaps, but charming in its own way."

"Rustic?" you echoed, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know this is artisan-level craftsmanship."

He smirked, leaning just close enough to make your breath hitch. "If you say so, darling."

Once the pavlova was in the oven, you turned your attention to the whipped cream. Astarion, to your surprise, actually volunteered to help. He took the whisk from you with a flourish and began whipping with exaggerated enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Are you mocking me?" you asked, watching him.

"Mocking? Never," he said, though his grin gave him away. "I’m simply demonstrating how to wield a whisk with style."

Despite yourself, you laughed, and soon the two of you were working in unspoken harmony—Astarion arranging the sliced fruit on the finished pavlova with surprising care while you piped the whipped cream into delicate swirls.

By the time the dessert was finished, it was a masterpiece: a crisp, golden meringue topped with fluffy clouds of cream, jewel-like berries, and a dusting of powdered sugar that glittered like fresh snow.

Astarion stepped back, admiring the creation with a satisfied smirk. "Well, I must say, I’m rather impressed with us. Who knew we made such an excellent team?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Us? I seem to recall you spent most of the time complaining."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "Complaining is an art form, my dear. But fine, I’ll concede—this was… mildly enjoyable."

"Mildly," you repeated, rolling your eyes.

He grinned, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. "Let’s just keep this little adventure between us, shall we? I’d hate for the others to think I’ve gone soft."

"Your secret’s safe with me," you said, smirking. "But only if you promise to help with the gingerbread cookies tomorrow."

Astarion groaned, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement. "Fine. But only if I get to eat the first one."

"Deal," you said, laughing as you stole a berry from the pavlova and popped it into your mouth with a wink.

The party that night was a roaring success, but as you watched Astarion across the room, a rare, genuine smile on his face as he watched the party sampled the dessert you’d made together, you couldn’t help but think that the true highlight of the evening had been the quiet, unexpected warmth of his company.

Hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it.

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

[fullcravings]

Healthy Small-Batch Coffee Cookie Ice Cream Sandwiches

[certifiedceliac]

GF/V Chocolate Chip Cookie Cake (via Celiac Mama)

[forestfrolickingfairy78]

LU Headcanons: What I think their fav desserts would be part 1

these are really fun to write, i should probs sleep but lesgooo

Time: Not a huge sweet tooth, prefers only what Malon will make from her homemade farm/kitchen. I'd imagine he likes something simple, maybe a plain butter cake or anything with cinnamon to balance out those double espresso shots. He will make an exception sometimes and have milk tea with it with Malon. They LOVE to spend their time together on those cold nights with a cup of hot chocolate. Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But lets be honest, ain't nothing sweeter than his wifey and im here for it

Warriors: Strawberries and cream! Anything with this combo is to die for and he will always pick that from dessert menus. Maybe a fancy tiramisu during those Royal balls or a bread and butter pudding. Very high end, refined desserts. Doesn't like store bought cakes or sweets. A bit of a dessert snob, and really clashes with Wild on this when he sees him packing together the most random ingredients together.

Sky: OH HE LOVES SWEETS, doesn't miss the chance to have his sweet treat every now and then, and especially when he gets to spend it with Zelda. He'd give her anything, his lunch, his LIFE but not his sweet treats, thank you very much. Def a cake and tea guy, loves to try anything with sugar though but his go to is a soft butter cream icing cake. Occasionally does the white chocolate but only when he's in the mood for it.

Wild: He will try anything sweet, even if its got the most wackiest ingredients. Had to rely on berries and fruits to fulfill his cravings but once he got around to trying more things he was open to anything, really. Once he discovered chocolate though, it was a game changer. He forgot how beautiful and smooth the taste and texture was. It's simple, but so satisfying by the campfire underneath the stars with a hot cup of cocoa.

Legend: Pretends not to be a sugar addict, but come on now, he's still a kid. Sees the other ones indulging, dipping cookies in tea or spooning ice cream while giving a snide side eye. 'Aren't you too old for that?' he'd probably say to the others but also can't pass up a good dessert. He's a huge ice cream guy, especially on those hot tiring days. He really enjoys it, a choc brownie or caramel in silence or strawberry. If anyone talks to him while he's eating he gets really mad, and it pisses him off once it starts melting. NEEDS TO ENJOY IT IN PEACE.

I'm lowkey falling asleep, will do a part 2 tomoz lmao, good night.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Forgive yourself for the rough relationship you have had with your body over the years. The relationship we had with our bodies growing up is the prime reason it takes a lot for us to learn to trust ourselves again. There is so much unlearning we have to be willing to do. When I was younger, I loved to read and prided myself off being a good thinker. If I could have bypassed my body into enlightenment in high school, I would have done it because the last thing I cared about doing was feeling--deeply feeling and hated being called a “cry baby” when I was much younger. I had a sharp analytical mind and was on the math and debate teams in middle and high school and graduated with 3 Bachelor degrees-accounting, biology, and chemistry. I couldn't decide what subject I liked the most and decided to major in them all over a 6 year period. I am grateful that I came across this path of love and way of beauty and opening/expansion in my late 20s because it is truly the purest form of energy. I am thankful that I could reclaim the lost parts of me that brought me back to my soul, alongside strength and flexibility, and is aging me well. It's often the very subtle violence and abuse we normalize with our female bodies, like living mostly in our heads, that creates the most harm overtime. Doctors won't tell us that because they honestly do not know the deeper mysteries or practicalities of being female. We know the obvious ways we harm ourselves (our cells), like when being intimate with the wrong people or drinking too much, but we often miss the more subtle, culturally-acceptable ways encouraged by society and how we learn to socialize together. Sugar used to be my baby, my drug of choice. I used to keep cookies and candy near my bed at night and snack while watching television. I would sweetened everything-toast, cereals, teas, and enjoyed plenty of cakes, pies, and other sugary items. I loved pretty, well-made, high-quality, sugary pasteries from the fancy artisanal bakery as well. But after some years, too much sugar ages you faster than what is necessary. Because sugar, refined sugar, even too much sugar alternatives like agave or coconut sugar, processes as a stimulant or drug to the body. Even white carbohydrate foods like potatoes, rice, white bread, etc. turn into sugar once digested. And most people eat a load of carbs and dessert afterwards on a regular basis, which increases their chance of chronic pain, especially as they get older. Too many carbs or sugar actually represses your body and decreases your female libido. There are a few exceptions to people who can eat more carbs, such as long-distance runners, high-intensity athletes or very thin people with high metabolic rates, and the like. Think about how your body feels after you have had incredible sex with a lover. Mm. The very act of healthy lovemaking is deeply warming, grounding, and relaxing. It is extremely embodying to center this feeling and impulse, this grounded rooted core, in your life, even when you are not making love. If you practice this, it will positively impact every area of your life. Reclaim the beauty of your body just for your own love and care, and not simply for the public gaze and consumption. Breathe life back into your body by limiting or greatly reducing your sugar consumption and get into autophagy, which cleanses your cells and tissues and radiates your light. Move your energy out of your head a little more often and discover ways to stay in your body from the neck down. And witness the differences in how you feel and emanate overtime. You will find yourself becoming a new you! Ask me how I know. --India Ame'ye, The Melody Of Love

[morethansalad]

Pistachio Thumbprint Cookies with Rose Cashew Cream (Vegan, Gluten-Free & Refined Sugar-Free)

[beneathashadytree]

CLUMSY LOVE - LEON DOMPTEUR X READER

Warnings : mentions of injuries, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : This was born after seeing @leonscape ‘s posts, reminding me of how criminally underrated this man is in the fandom. His kind of safe, warm love is right up my alley, because I can’t imagine anything more comforting.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

Leon Dompteur was a prince in all but blood. He had the refined poise and power over every room he walked into, the indelible charm that pulled everyone in, the wicked spirit that thrummed underneath his skin and fought to make it out, and the bravery to serve one’s country as one would lay his own life down.

But one thing he was not even remotely princely in, was fine motor skills. With big calloused hands, long and thick fingers, and hardened palms over the years, so used to handling roughness and sharpness, it made perfect sense that he would find it difficult to handle the smaller things that required immense concentration and deftness.

That, however, did not necessarily stop him from trying. For what it’s worth, it seemed that he was hellbent on changing that one shortcoming of his, constantly trying to do things his hands frankly weren’t meant to do.

Many a time did the kitchen staff stumble upon the fourth prince trying to pipe saccharine icing ontop of the cookies Yves had just pulled out of the oven, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to scribble sugar lines. In the end, they always looked wonky, but Yves helplessly sighed every time and patted him on the back for trying.

Sometimes, Jin would be nursing a bottle of expensive wine in melancholy, a despondent look on his face, and Leon would then offer to take his paperwork and finish it up for him. Though he tried his best to imitate his eldest brother’s manner of writing, he simply wasn’t made for the tiny, neat calligraphy that Jin often resorted to, and his attempts at doing so only made the writing all the more illegible.

And though Licht was adamant to always hide his countless injuries from his brothers, Leon’s keen eye always caught sight of at least a few unhealed wounds littering his pale skin. It was up to him as his caring older brother to offer to patch up his bloodied forearms (something that was always met with a bit of push and pull), but he probably did more harm than good, what with all the loose tiny bandages and squiggly lines of ointment on the infinitely small wounds.

Still, nothing seemed to deter him from trying, even if he knew that—realistically speaking—his chances of success were incredibly low. Leon best expressed himself through actions that bared his big heart, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. If anything, his failures only made him more determined to try and share his brothers’ burdens even more.

And that little quirk of his also extended to his beloved, of course. After all, in his eyes, there wasn’t a single person in the world more worthy of his attention and care. To others, it was a great shame for a prince to supposedly “debase himself by serving another”, but the mere idea made his blood boil. If anything, he—a prince made of nothing—would give the world to them should they show a sliver of interest in it.

In a less dramatic manner, he resorted to doing little things, like that he did on one particularly pleasant spring manner. The weather was too good to pass up on a nice stroll in the gardens with his lover. Said stroll slowly crumbled with the temptation of laziness, and soon turned into lazing around in the freshly cut grass in the midday sun.

Their hand was brushing through his ebony locks, twirling strands between their fingers as their other hand flipped page after page of their book. With all the duties planted on their shoulders, they had little time left to read and relax like this. Thankfully, that meant that they paid Leon no mind as he fiddled with something.

A few minutes passed, maybe half an hour (they did have a habit of losing track of time while reading), and he turned to face them in their lap. His bright smile was almost as blinding as the afternoon sun above, and when he tugged at their sleeve, they didn’t know what to expect—but it certainly wasn’t whatever it was that he presented them with.

Curiously inspecting it for a beat or two, they didn’t know what to call it. After all, Leon was never good with his hands, and that was common knowledge by now. Anything he made was practically unrecognizable without an introduction.

“That’s a…?”

He took their discontinued sentence as an invitation to elaborate. “A ring made out of flowers.” He grinned even wider as he pointed at it. “See. All daisies.”

“Well, they’re not very… sturdy, I think,” they laughed out, turning it around in their fingers. “It’s the thought that counts though. So thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Leon shook his head, before he took their hand gracefully in his, slipping on the makeshift ring with less than half of that grace. A quick prayer was sent above to whoever was listening, hoping that it would not fall apart—and, much to his relief, it stayed in place, wonky daises with half-broken stems and all.

“Is this a proposal?” They jokingly nudged him with their newly-adorned ring finger, not expecting the soft look he returned them with, nor the gentle kiss he pressed against their knuckles.

“A place-holder, until I find you the perfect ring.”

And though he was never quite good with small things or fine skills, he clearly was well-versed in the art of getting their heart to pound furiously against their ribcage, threatening to spill into his hands; for him to have and hold. Only he—and no one else—had the ability to make them fall head over heels, over and over again, slowly and then all at once, just like it were the first time.

Taglist: —

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[adore-laur]

AULD LANG SYNE

— gold rush christmas flashbacks (read parts 1-4 first)⏳

❅ ❅ ❅

How's one to know if love is everlasting? 

Harry used to prioritize the notion with you, sealing the promise with a glistening diamond ring on your finger, because that's what love is, right? Marrying the one person you can't live without. He vowed to be eternally yours, making up for lost time with secret oaths of pleasure and intimate words that unfurled from his tongue like the petals of a rose. 

Each garland of his ivy intertwined perfectly with yours, the spark of young love nurturing every vine that started to wilt from the first dusting of snowfall.

Yet that light soon eclipsed with a shadow of neglect. 

The last glimpse of radiance Harry witnessed was one he took for granted. You were right there, shining just for him, but the moment burned out right beneath his fingertips. 

He remembers getting lost in the cadence of your voice and the familiarity of your presence. Blue lights had danced over your figure as you stood on your tiptoes and turned the house into a winter wonderland, a certain glow to your skin that only he knew the cause of.

                              ❅ Time Gone By ❅ 

Harry stopped you from gracing around the room like an angel on ice skates by trapping you in a one-armed hug from behind, a champagne flute of vintage Dom Pérignon in his hand. Your delicate fingers reached up to hook a shiny ornament on one of the tree's upper branches, right where they started to narrow. It made him realize it had been far too long since he'd been home as he took in the evergreen standing tall and proud before him. 

Cheek to cheek, Harry swayed your frame to the faint Christmas music playing in the background. He watched your every move, from how you resettled the ornament an inch over because you were a perfectionist to how you leaned back into his chest to get a better look at your work. He wanted to put you in his pocket like a plucked primrose and take you everywhere with him. 

"How many more..." Your voice faded as your spirited eyes scanned the living room. You released yourself from his hold when you spotted the box of ornaments, much to his reluctance. 

Harry sauntered over to the fireplace while taking a sip of his drink. After setting his glass down, he grabbed the fire poker and opened the chain mail curtain to shift the logs around. The flames instantly grew stronger, crackling louder as orange embers tried and failed to escape. They seemed to know there could only be one clinquant brilliance in the room. 

Magnetizing admiration guided his gaze to you once again as he sat down and folded his legs on the carpet. Once he was comfortable, he grabbed the half-empty bottle of champagne on the hearth and poured more of the effervescent liquid into his glass. The roaring fire heated his back as he coated his tongue with refined notes of ripe fruit and vanilla. Moonlight gleamed through the window and reflected off the many decorations he had helped place in every crevice of the house. The sweet smell of sugar cookies straight out of the oven made his stomach rumble with delight.

Then there was you, the only thing he could truly focus on for longer than a minute.

With your hair pinned back with silver snowflake clips, it was like he was seeing you for the first time. A halting feeling of falling in love all over again nestled into his heart, and you didn't even have to say a single word. 

"Why are you staring at me?" 

Harry almost laughed at your question. How could he not stare at you? You were made for him. 

Smirking over the rim of his glass, he said, "I have a complaint," then took a quick sip and stood up. 

You turned back to the tree, pensively looking it up and down. "Do you not approve of my decorating?" 

"You're doing a wonderful job, baby." He emptied his hand and beckoned you toward him. "Come here. Take a break for a little bit." 

You shyly shrugged your shoulder up to your cheek, his favorite habit of yours, and made your way to him. You wrapped both arms around his waist, then rested your chin on his chest with raised eyebrows in silent questioning. 

"My complaint," he said lowly while smoothing his thumb over your temple that had somehow collected glitter, "is that I can't see the bump when you wear sweaters." 

The tightening of your hold warmed him through, along with the knitted material loosely draped over your upper half. "It's too cold to wear anything else," you replied, smiling knowingly. 

Reaching around your waist, Harry bunched the material of your sweater behind your back and tugged on it until it tightened around the small, growing curve of your stomach. "There," he whispered satisfactorily, grinning and glancing up at you with a boyish glint in his eyes.

You just scoffed amusedly and swatted his hands away before unraveling yourself from him to continue hanging the last of the ornaments. Two glass spheres dusted with lines of gold glitter were still waiting to be put on the tree with your strategic placement. Blue twinkling lights still needed to be strung and weaved around the protruding branches. The tinsel garland, adorned with sparkling leaves and flowers, still needed to be embellished on the staircase's banister. Harry, however, thought all those things could wait. He wanted his wife's undivided attention. 

One of the cardboard boxes contained mistletoe, so he searched through them while he hummed along to Eartha Kitt's rich, sensual voice. After noisily sifting through miscellaneous Christmas items, he finally found the artificial red berry attached to an even more artificial plant. While your back was turned, he plucked it out and quietly walked toward you, turning up the volume of "Santa Baby" with the remote on his way over. 

"Hey," he said, tickling the nape of your neck with the mistletoe.

You squealed and damn near elbowed him in the stomach. "Stop! You're supposed to be helping me." 

"We have all night to do this." 

"There's only a few more hours until Christmas. We should have done this weeks ago." 

Harry's warm hands traveled under your sweater and splayed over your first-trimester bump. It wasn't fully rounded out, yet it was still a bump, and he loved it dearly, even if a baby hadn't been meant to happen so soon. "We've been worried about other things, yeah?" he murmured secretively, even though no one was around to eavesdrop. 

"Yeah," you replied breathily. 

"But just think... this time next year, we'll be spending Christmas together as a family of three." 

"When are we going to tell people? I won't be able to hide it for much longer." 

The anxiousness on your face worried him. He knew that sooner or later, the ravenous public would find out. It was only a matter of time before the vultures came circling, and his pledge of protection would again be at risk. 

"Let's talk about it later," he dismissed, rubbing a circle around your belly before retreating his tender touch and spinning you around. Once you were facing him, he asked, "Can I have a kiss?" 

"You're trying to distract me." 

"Just one kiss. Pretty please."

You trailed your fingers down his arm. "Begging gets you nowhere."

He mockingly grumbled an echo of what you said and bent down slightly to wrap a strong arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you as you scrambled to hook your pajama-clad legs around him. 

"I want to dance with you," he said, staring at your glowing cheeks. “I beg of you." 

"Put me down, then." 

"What kind of dance do you fancy? Polka? Waltz? Ballroom tango?" 

You laughed as Harry set you back on the floor. "Remember when you danced the polka with my grandma at our wedding?" 

"I couldn't keep up with her!" he replied humorously, loving how your eyes reacted by sparkling. "Had me tripping over my feet and everything." 

There was a beautiful mixture of yours and his laugh at the memory, and amid the mirth, Harry grabbed your right hand with his and held it against his chest while his other rested on the small of your back. It became a gentle sway to "Silver and Gold" with the occasional twirl and romantic dip, the two of you spinning around in a personal snow globe. He touched his forehead to yours, lazily smiling down at your lips, then nudged your nose with his before tilting his head to kiss you nice and slow. Lips that tasted like sugar melted into his, soft and addictive. His senses were heightened by the champagne he drank. His feet stopped moving as he got lost in the moment, entirely focused on how your kisses couldn't seem to catch up with his. The breathless sounds you released and the wet pops of your lips separating made him fall under your enchanting spell. 

"Your phone," you mumbled through lazy kisses. 

"Hmm?" Harry hummed distractedly, kissing you again before opening his eyes and licking his swollen lips. 

"I think your phone is ringing," you said more clearly, pulling away. 

He processed the default ringtone and sincerely hoped it was just his mother wishing him a Merry Christmas from across the pond. Sighing, he unlaced your fingers with his and gave the back of your hand a semi-comforting pat before walking over to his vibrating phone on the hearth. He had seen the disappointed look on your face—it pained him every time. Deep down, he knew who might really be calling him. 

The assumption proved to be correct when he checked the screen. The familiar number was work-related. He answered the call with a guilty scratch behind his head and left you in the living room. 

How easy it could have been to just ignore it, but second nature had a poisonous grasp around his heart. 

❅ ❅ ❅ 

How's one to know when the first crack in the glass will shatter into a million fragments of love astray? 

A capricious shift in your husband's demeanor created the first sign of rupture. Pixelated countenances of despondency and physical guises of weariness were little fissures that shaped a shard so minimal that you could have brushed it aside if not for the inescapable ache in your chest that mercilessly came around at nightfall like clockwork. 

The withering love between you and him was a ticking time bomb made of glass left to be disarmed by whoever was audacious enough to get their hands near the lethal sparks. 

Yet the fuse burned out quicker than expected. 

That fateful detonation happened at midnight in the winter. Harry was the culprit, and he never realized it until his unspoken fear blew up in his face. 

You remember it all too well. The stillness was so deafening in your empty home, barren winter seeping through the walls and icing over a bed of primroses to paralyze them from growing further. 

                             ❅ Time Gone By ❅

A pathetic excuse of a Christmas tree in the corner was the only provider of light in the otherwise caliginous bedroom. Sitting in the opposite corner, you tucked your knees to your chest and let your husband's slurred greeting on the phone fill the lonesome silence. It was better than nothing, you supposed. 

The first question you asked him was a straight nosedive toward the forthcoming bone crush. "Have you been drinking?" 

Harry sniffed and replied, "Whiskey, yeah." 

You shook off his lethargic tone and plastered on a smile. "Must be nice." 

"Pour yourself a glass," he said, his voice sounding far away. You assumed you were on speakerphone. "It's the holidays, innit?" 

"Can't. I need to pump later." 

"Oh. That's right." A strange lull of silence passed. "How is she, by the way?" 

Brass-knuckled fists squeezed your heart when you told him, "She misses you a lot." 

It was an unequivocal lie. You weren't sure if she would even remember him when he eventually came home. In the year since her impromptu arrival, her own dad had been across the world more than he'd been at the house in Nashville. 

"I'll be home at the end of January," Harry assured you. I just have a few more promo appearances that I need to make." 

He didn't need to, did he? With a snap of his fingers and his gift of persuasion, it shouldn't have been that hard to fly back to his family when needed. You wondered if he heard himself, ignorant of the fact that his selfish words pierced you as a mother doing everything on her own. Surely, he felt guilty, but he was an expert at shrouding the parasite. 

"Why can't you cancel everything and stay with us for the holidays?" you asked, letting out a muted laugh. 

Through a phone call with no way to see your face, Harry didn't quite catch your attempt at being humorous. "You know the answer to that," he answered accusatorially. 

"No, I really don't." The mercurial shift in moods with him was something you'd gotten used to. "Tomorrow is Christmas, and you're in Los Angeles. Not with your family. It doesn't make sense to me." 

"Are we arguing right now?" he asked through a yawn. "I'm too tired to argue, love."

Patience wearing thin, you took a brutal dig at his buried flaws. "No, you're too drunk to understand how miserable this has been for me. God forbid that I want you home with our baby." 

Harry scoffed and then dared to bitterly laugh. "Don't give me that petty shit, all right? You know my job, and you know my schedule. It's never changed." 

"It should change now that you're a dad, don't you think?"

"Why do we always end up fighting when I call you? I've got better things I could be doing." 

Cruel. Harry could be so casually cruel when drinking. On the last phone call, his tongue, as dangerous as a deadly weapon, had been laced with Hennessy and Coke. 

"Our daughter's first Christmas, and you aren't here," you thought aloud while shaking your head slowly. The worst type of tears, ones stemming from frustration, prickled behind your eyes. 

"You're being mean," Harry said quietly, every outside noise from his end being cut off except for his breathy voice, sounding like a gust of wind had taken it and carried it to you. His phone was now held up to his ear.

You stood your ground. "I think I'm being fair. I'm not asking much from you." 

"Fuck's sake," he muttered before clearing his throat. "I can't do two things at once."

His words were a poison-soaked dagger to your flesh, cutting right to the bone and unleashing the blood of vulnerability and hurt from the man who had once vowed to never cause you such harm. 

Being a husband and a dad—Harry, of all people, should have been able to balance those two responsibilities with no problem. Where was his sudden spitefulness coming from? 

You let out a morose noise of disbelief and confessed, "I hate you sometimes." 

Harry sighed. "I love you," he said with that goddamned soft voice of his, a blatant attempt to veer away from the issue at hand. 

Your emotions finally broke through, the lump in your throat growing until it started to ache. Looking down at the silver wedding ring on your finger, you wondered if he put it there just to lock you in. Little did he know that you were about to go down an agonizing route to get the key. 

"Right now," you said shakily, "it feels like you don't give a fuck about me or our daughter." 

He groaned, and you could picture him running a heavy palm down his flushed face. "We were having an innocent conversation, honey. Why do you always get pissed at me?" 

It was a blazing assumption in the dark, considering he was the one who started it. He had lit the fuse with a single spark, and now time was ticking. 

Who would pass the bomb over to whom? 

Whose tears would douse the flare? 

Which one of you was capable, and which was a coward? 

"I get pissed because I wonder why I ever married you," you admitted, trying not to choke on affliction. "I wonder why I ever had a child with you. Why do I stay with you when you treat our family like an afterthought?" 

"You're making me out to be a monster," Harry said with a twinge of helplessness. "I love you, okay? I would die for you both." 

"You barely see us, so I doubt that." 

"Christ, why do you say things like that?" 

Running your fingertips across the carpet to seek comfort, you replied, "It's how I feel, Harry. It's how I've felt for the past year." 

"Then fuckin' leave since I make you so miserable!".

Tick. 

The fragile bomb was in your hands.

Tick. 

There were only seconds left to make a decision. 

Tick. 

You passed it over to him with a detonating question. 

"Do you give me permission?" 

A deathly silence.

"I'll leave," you continued, your ears ringing. "You don't seem to mind. I'll talk with a lawyer, and we can settle a divorce." 

Boom.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose. "Don't even think about doing that." 

"You just told me to leave!" you shouted. 

"No, hey." His breathing was becoming shallow, and his voice was desperate. "Hey, listen to me. I'll come home. Just give me another month, and I'll be there. I won't leave again. I promise you that." 

This was different from what you had wanted. Married life with him was supposed to have been blissful. Parenthood was supposed to have been alongside him. The room spun around you as the clock ticked with each passing second. It wouldn't change anything. You might as well set it in stone and float it down the river. 

"I don't believe you. I want a divorce." 

"Baby, please. Look, can you video call me? Let me see you." 

You screwed your face up and rested your pounding head against the wall. "I can't look at you right now." 

"I'd like you to look at me when you say you want a divorce, yeah?" He was on fire from the explosion. "God, I'll get on a plane right now, okay? Please." 

He was only willing to do what you asked when he needed to save himself. It was never for you. 

"My decision is final," you told him. "I can't be in this one-sided relationship. All I need is for you to be a dad and a husband. Here, with us. Not thousands of miles away." 

"I'll come home. Let me... shit, let me find my laptop, and I'll book a flight." 

"Well, when you come home, your things will be packed by the front door." 

"Stop," he whispered painfully. 

"Just listen to me, Harry!" you yelled, finally losing your patience. Taking a deep breath, you lowered your voice and continued, "If you love me, you'll let me leave. It's what's best for us." 

"You're my wife." Then, show some compassion. "Do you hear me?" Barely. "You can't just leave like this." Yes, you could. "I'll lose my mind." 

Your mind was made up. 

"I'm going to hang up, okay?" 

"No, we're going to talk—" 

"When I hang up, I need you to breathe," you interrupted gently. "I need you to stay where you are. I need you to not do anything stupid." 

"You're drunk too, right?" Harry said. "We're both drunk, and we'll forget we had this conversation." You heard a mattress creak and then a slight stumbling of feet. "Let's go to bed, sweetheart. Tomorrow is Christmas. I'll call first thing in the morning." 

"Okay. Bye, Harry." You knew you wouldn't answer.

"Did you get my gifts in the mail? I spoiled you two so much." You didn't like how his breathing had gotten faster. "Hey, can you give her a kiss goodnight for me? Please?" 

"I will." It was the least you could do. "Goodbye, Harry." 

"No, baby, stay on the phone. I love you." 

You swallowed down the last shred of your dignity and pulled the phone away from your ear, telling him to breathe one last time before ending the call. 

All at once, the four walls of your bedroom caved in on you, and the feeling of suffocation began. The ground ate you alive as you sunk down into a fetal position and cried out into the wool carpet until it burned your cheeks. You could blame the drink in Harry's hand all you wanted, but you knew his integrity had fallen short lately. He couldn't be what you needed, so why stay and suffer in a situation so futile? 

A sharp wail suddenly pierced through the wall behind you. Moving your teary eyes to blearily gaze at the clock, you saw the big and little hands join at the Roman numeral twelve. 

How terribly blue of a Christmas, yet the reasoning had been long overdue.

❅ ❅ ❅ 

How's one to know if the bone crush is worth it? 

As Harry looks at you now, a newfound love coursing through his veins, he knows that it is. The fireplace warms you and your daughter, both wrapped in a blanket. You're letting her help you open your last present. 

It's crystal clear that the scene in front of him is entirely what he fought for. A family to protect. The home he sits in. The love he spent so long missing. 

He walked through hellfire summers to revive your love for him and trudged through icebound winters to ensure you never forgot about him. All to get to that spring garden of everlasting primroses, which never entirely died. 

"What did your mom get?" Harry asks his daughter while powering his phone off. 

She holds up a tiny jewelry box and looks back and forth between her parents. You take it from her and inspect it, then look up at Harry and give him an unreadable glance. 

"Open it," he insists softly.

You slowly lift the top, revealing a gold ring that weaves into a flower-shaped diamond. A gasp gets caught in your throat as you take it out. "Harry..." you trail off.

This time, you say his name differently than when you found his wedding ring in his dressing room months ago. This time, you say it with a particular fondness that puts him together again. 

"I thought maybe we could try gold this time," Harry explains, kissing your cheek. "See if that works." 

He thinks of the silver ring you had put back on your finger after you both decided to try again. It reminded him of hurt more than he'd like it to, so he bought a ring with a different, more sentimental purpose. 

"I think it'll work," you say with a genuine smile. 

A Christmas long past left scars still unhealed, but each wound led him right where he belonged.

❅ ❅ ❅