#how to embed names into your knitting

[truebluemeandyou]

I am posting this pattern now, thinking of the Tale of Two Cites written by Charles Dickens. There was a character named Madame Defarge. Madame Defarge records the names of those she wants to exact revenge upon, because they killed her entire family, by secretly knitting their names into a coded pattern. This serves as both a means of documenting her enemies and a metaphor for fate—once a name is knitted into her work, it is as if their doom is sealed. I think Tale of Two Cities is a very relevant book now.

DIY Knit Morse Code Cowl Free Pattern 

Updated 2019

From Fringe Association:

It so happens that I have always liked inscriptions and secret messages and such, so the idea stuck. The next day I was learning the code and charting out a message — using a single purl stitch for a dot and 3 in a row for a dash. (“Dots” and ��dashes” really being short and long signals.) And every space is a knit stitch: 1 between the dots/dashes of a single letter; 3 between letters; 7 between words. Then I figured if I’m doing something as dorky as knitting Morse Code, I might as well go all the way and make it punny, right? So this cowl says I wool always love you.

I love knitting and the idea of embedding secret messages in Morse Code - so I really love this pattern. 

Morse Code DIYs: truebluemeandyou.com/tagged/morse-code

Knitting DIYs: truebluemeandyou.com/tagged/knitting

Crochet DIYs: truebluemeandyou.com/tagged/crochet

Find the DIY Knit Morse Code Cowl Free Pattern from Fringe Association here.

She also knit a F–K CANCER Morse Code Cowl for a friend here.  

[thrawns-babygirl]

Every Time (Crosshair x GN!Reader) Drabble

Wanted to practice writing some gn smut. I don't think that this leans too far in either direction but let me know. Also im feeling somewhat emotional today so i wanted to channel that into something a little different than what i usually write. hope yall enjoy.

also i cant watch the new episode yet so I'm killing time by writing drabbles lmao

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected sex Word Count: 600+

Every time he was on Coruscant he found his way back to you.

And every time without fail you let him.

‘This is just a one-time thing’ turned into ‘just one more time’ every time the two of you were on the same planet. And honestly? You were fine with it. No one had ever seemed to learn your body the way that Crosshair did. No one seemed to know how to push your buttons quite like he did. No one had you coming back for more every time the way he did.

You found yourself out near the GAR barracks on the way home from work when you saw him, mingling with the rest of his squad. You missed the way the one with the long hair and bandanna motioned over to you while they were talking, missed the way the tall clone excused himself from the conversation quickly, all you noticed was the way he wordlessly fell into step beside you, still fully armoured up, long rifle slung over his back. Walking in companionable silence back towards your apartment, the promise of a long night ahead of both of you.

You both know that you could send him away at any point and he would leave. You could fire his words right back at him about how it was only a one time thing and he would return to his squad without a word, ending whatever it is the two of you have going on.

You both know you won’t.

That was how you found yourself in your current position, lying naked on your back on top of the plush couch in your living room, city lights of coruscant pouring through the windows bouncing off the scarred planes of his chest as his hips collided with yours in a desperate frenzy. His long arms planted either side of your head, his brows knitted together as he slammed his length in and out of you.

Your whimpers and moans of his name spur him on, grounding him in the here and now as he uses your body for his own pleasure, the two of you locked in a passionate back and forth that neither of you want to end.

“Cross- You feel so good… Kriff don’t stop” you moan out as the tip of his cock hits that spot inside you with every thrust, making stars burst behind your eyes and pleasure snake its way down your spine.

He groans out your name as he chases his peak, thrusts beginning to stutter and lose their rhythm as the feeling of your tight heat overwhelms him, consuming every nerve in his body as he chases the high he’s after every time he sees you, every time he claims you.

You reach a down to play with yourself as Crosshair loses himself in the feeling of your body. Your hand, combined with the delicious drag of his cock in and out of you has you falling over the edge.

The coil that’s been building all night snapping as pleasure floods every nerve in your body. Your face contorts in pleasure as you scream soundlessly, muscles tightening and releasing tension you didn’t even know you were carrying.

Collapsing onto his elbows, Crosshair buries his head in your neck as he moans your name and spills inside of you, thrusting a few more times before extracting himself from you and pulling you to his side, staring up at the ceiling of your lavish apartment before placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

You feel him move, ready to make a hasty exit as he always does after one of your carnal encounters, causing a strange feeling of panic to embed itself in the pit of your stomach. You grab onto his arm and make an impulsive and possibly stupid decision.

“stay…” your voice is small, as if the single syllable is enough to scare the sniper away from you.

He simply nods and curls up against your side on the couch, long arm slung over your body, eyes fixed on the Coruscant traffic on the other side of the window as you card your hand through his hair.

@where-is-my-mind-tho @starborncyare @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker@crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725@allthebestscreennamesaregone63

[its-afucking-mess]

Un-orthodox (Chapter 2)

more dami content cause i love u (yes u readin this :3)

Other works

Taglist before i get snipped: @icouldbeyourpuppet , @mywritingonlyfans , @cheese-toastie-11 , @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife , @oro-e-diamanti , @illicitfuck , @lasciatemi-stare , @sofckinelectric , @juststalking

Morning was uneventful as always.

It’s not like there was any room for discussion on the tables anyway. Just the typical “ Good morning” being thrown around as you silently ate some fruity oatmeal.

At least breakfast was good.

“ Hello girls,” A nun appeared from the staff table, sitting down across from you with the fakest smile you’ve ever seen.

“ How did you all sleep last night?” she asked, picking up her spoon and eating some of her breakfast.

“ Great” most little girls answered with unreasonable excitement, some yelling to be heard over the other girls.

“ That’s wonderful to hear,” the nun replied, smiling down at her bowl.

“ I’m guessing you have a lot of energy for the workshop today, eh?”

The girls cheered, one of them spilling their juice on the table out of the sheer excitement you couldn’t seem to understand.

“ Oh, Rebecca, you clumsy girl.” the nun said playfully, getting up to get a towel.

“ If I had done that I’d be sent upstairs again.” you murmured under your breath, stirring the food in your bowl.

“ What was that, dear?” the nun asked as she returned, setting the wet towel on an empty chair next to her.

You looked at her, disinterested.

“ I said, what a shame. The juice is quite tasty this morning.” You smiled at her, sounding as passive aggressive as you could.

The nun looked at you with a warning look in her gaze, turning her attention to the table full of excited young housewives girls.

“ My name,” she started, standing up, “ is Sister Ariadne. I will be in charge of the female sector of the workshop today.”

The girls cheered, all raising their hands and waving them excitedly to ask Sister Ariadne questions.

“ Calm down girls, one at a time.” She shushed the young girls, telling them to stand up and follow her.

“ You too, Y/n. The workshop is for all ages.” she said when you didn’t get up, trying to get you to conform.

“ Actually, I don’t want to attend workshop today.” you said, getting up and dusting crumbs of bread off your “dress”.

“ Not if I am in charge of the girls like last year.”

She looked at you sternly, trying to find an excuse, probably.

“ That is not any of your concern.” she reprimanded. “ Follow the group.” She turned on her heel and started walking towards the direction of the small workshop by the doors.

You sighed, following behind a 6-year-old girl, helping her make it there without tripping.

As Sister Ariadne explained today’s activity, your mind wandered off to the previous night.

You hadn’t fully sat to think about it, and now was a perfect chance.

Damiano seemed quite chill, besides his unnecessary entrance. He seemed against the strictness of the religion and he smoked.

What else was there to ask?

Your mind wandered off to your short conversation.

What did you really know about this guy.

Nothing. Besides him smoking, and being in trouble with the strict nuns next door, you had no clue who he was. What his opinions were, what his passion is.

The nun directed you to a counter with some other girls, the eldest of the bunch, around 12 years old.

You had spaced out during her explanation, but a quick glance down spoiled the activity.

Embroidery.

One of the only good activities, besides knitting.

The nun passed around different types of images with flowers, with a stitch guide and staples.

She instructed how to position the image on the fabric, then how to calculate your stitches. The little girls all seemed excited to be working on flowers, yet the girls by your counter seemed disinterested, if anything.

“ What’s wrong?” you asked the one next to you, who was poking the big ball of colourful string.

“ We wanted to do painting.” she expressed with a disappointed sigh, resting her head on her open palm.

“ Embroidery is quite like painting.” you said, trying to cheer them.

Since when did you care, again?

“ I guess…” the one across from you said, mirroring the stance of the other girls.

You rolled your eyes

“ Look, I could care less about embroidery too,” you confessed, picking up a ball of yellow-ish brown string.

“ But, Sister Ariadne will get mad if you don’t participate.”

You unrolled a small bit, looking for a needle to thread the edge out of.

“ And that means trouble with the Fathers,” you continued, making a knot on your string and starting to stitch.

“ I’m sure you don’t want that?” You looked around the counter, seeing all of them picking up a different coloured string.

“ Thought so.” you said, starting on the stem of your flower.

In all honesty, you couldn’t care less if they got in trouble, it was their lives after all. You just didn’t want to be held accountable, since they sat on your counter.

And, getting yelled at by the Fathers wasn’t a pleasant experience, especially when you still value your parents opinions.

Reaching the end of your stitches, your eyelids seemed heavy.

Being woken up at 6 probably explains why.

The nun passed by your station, checking everyone's designs. You could see her making comments on the girls’ works, pointing and showing, all with a passive-aggressive smile to go with it.

Your turn arrived and you handed her the finished piece. Sure, it wasn’t the best, but flowers weren’t really your forte.

“ Adequate job dear. Your petals are a bit monotone, but we weren’t asking for photo-realism.”

Here we go with the artistic terms. You hoped she wasn’t the painting supervisor too.

“ Thank you for your kind words.” you replied, setting down the fabric handed back to you. She returned the tambour frame on her supervising desk.

“ Children,” she spoke randomly, gathering everyone’s attention.

“ Whichever of you has finished can turn in their work and exit the workshop quietly, return to their rooms and wait patiently until lunch.”

Some girls, you amongst them, got up, giving the different types of embroidered flowers to Sister Ariadne. You took a second to admire the talent of some of the girls, how realistic they looked for being made by a 10-year-old.

You gave her your design with a wide smile, which instantly disappeared the second you turned around.

You could hear chatter in the halls, the girls exchanging thoughts and opinions that couldn’t have been shared during the workshop.

You walked up the stairs to your room, slowly closing the door behind you and locking it. Instantly, with the sound of the click, you took off the hideous dress, throwing it on the armchair beside the door.

The cool air in the room hit you, and it felt amazing. Trapped in that workshop for two hours really built up the heat in there.

The balcony across from you was empty, meaning that you could sit outside without listening to the opinions of the catholic girls.

A quick glance to the left and right to confirm the young boys weren’t back yet, and you situated yourself in a lawn chair in your small balcony.

Luxury.

You picked up your phone, resting your feet on the outdoors coffee table. There weren’t any messages, as expected, but that's not what you wanted to check.

You haven’t been that much around Italy, but how common can the name ‘Damiano’ be?

It was the first time you’d heard it. You hoped he had some sort of social media.

Once again, instagram proved to be smarter than expected.

A profile with the username ykaaar had the name ‘Damiano David’. The profile picture closely resembled what you could make out last night out in the dark, and you really had nothing to lose to follow him.

His pictures intrigued you, he really looked of the lavish lifestyle. He was quite stylish, no comparison to what the nuns next door gave him to wear. The clothes he seemed to wear outside really complimented him, expressed him.

Your gaze went to your own profile, and the 5 pictures sitting there, almost none of them showing your face clearly. Mostly to hide your makeup from your parents, god forbid they saw how you really looked when you felt yourself.

In his pictures you could make out two other people appearing rather a lot, you could only guess they were close friends. Two blondes, a guy and a girl, both looked bit younger, but their bond seemed strong and healthy, so what could you comment?

You liked his most recent pictures, and closed your phone, looking out at the cloudy sky.

Fuck was it humid today.

You collected yourself from the balcony, heading inside when you heard a knock at your door. You knew it meant lunch, so you put on a new dress from your bag and headed downstairs. Hopefully food would be better today.

Your hopes about eating tasty food died as soon as you picked up the smell from the kitchens.

If it was fish like you expected, it would easily be the worst meal of the week. Boiled fish, no seasoning what-so-ever. Not even some sort of soup.

You didn’t even have the courage to complain about having fish on such a warm day.

The nuns passed around some sort of salad, which you stocked up a lot on, despite their judgemental looks.

You turned out to be right about tasteless fish being on the menu today, and you tried to avoid, to no avail.

Curse the nuns and their opinions on balanced eating.

While you suffered eating your food, you could overhear conversation, and recognised the voices of the girls you worked with today. You best believe your ears were open wide.

“ Last night I saw people sitting on the docs.”

“ No way it was from our camp! We aren’t allowed out at night.”

“ She’s right, the nuns would kill us on the spot.”

“ Guys I’m sure one of them was ours. They both had long hair, they must be girls.”

You rolled your eyes. At least they didn’t notice you smoking. Then there would be trouble.

“ Whatever. Even if they are ours, why do you care?”

Valid point little girl.

“ I wanna go out late if they can. It’s not fair after all.”

Fair point, other girl.

Their conversation ended there, after the nuns shushed them.

Focusing back to your meal, you shrugged your shoulders while shoving some lettuce in your mouth.

It’s not like they couldn’t try to leave their dorms. How much trouble could they get in?

You handed your plate in, just some scraps of food here and there, and a small pool of oil and vinegar swirling around the plate as it moved.

The Fathers dismissed you, and finally, alone time started.

Going back upstairs, you noticed your phone had some notifications that weren’t there before lunch.

ykaaar started following you.

You smiled, sending him a text.

Wanna meet earlier? I’m free until dinner.

The message sent and you sat on your bed, looking at your bag.

You scratched your head, trying to remember if you packed something more presentable. If you were to meet with Damiano again, you wanted to look somewhat decent. These dresses were just hideous at everything they did, besides covering you up.

There weren’t many things in the bag, so spotting some shorts that you shoved at the bottom, as well as a graphic tee you’d found at your school and kept- ‘cause no one asked for it back, and it was a Metallica shirt, why wouldn’t you keep a free band shirt- were easy to spot.

You figured they were good enough to look presentable, plus, the shorts had pockets.

Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up from next to you.

ykaaar

sure thing.

ill be waiting by the green.

You set the phone back down, searching for the pack of cigarettes you shared the previous night.

Getting dressed, you decided it was best to cover your shirt and shorts with the dress you wore earlier, just in case you stayed out long enough that you went straight to dinner.

You closed your door carefully, phone and cigarettes in the pockets of your shorts, completely invisible to passers-by.

You made your way out carefully, running when possible to avoid interactions with the nuns or worse; the Fathers.

As soon as the side door closed, you grabbed the hem of your dress and took it off, neatly folding it and carrying it under your armpit.

You could see Damiano already sitting under one of the trees by his side of the camp, examining a leaf up-close.

Suppressing a giggle, you ran up to him carefully, eye still out for any supervisors.

You saw his face light up as he saw you.

“ Hello, mysterious stranger.”

You laughed.

“ Yeah, I forgot to tell you my name last night, what about it?” you said, sitting next to him in the shadow of the tree.

“ Nothing really, I just wanted to tease you.” he replied, ruffling your hair. You grimaced at him. He laughed.

“ So,” He took a cigarette from the box, stealing the lighter from your hands, “ you a stalker now?” he asked, throwing his hair over his shoulder as he lit the cigarette.

You snorted.

“ No?” you said, trying to get your lighter back. He, instead of giving it back, raised his ridiculously long hands over his head, waving the lighter out of reach.

“ Oh you bitch.” You sat up to your knees, your hands reaching his. He closed them tight around the lighter like a cocoon, waving it left and right.

You managed to get a grasp, pulling his hands down and working to untangle them. Damiano brought his face closer to yours, burning the tip of the cigarette hanging from your mouth with his own.

You looked up at him with furrowed brows. He just giggled.

He pulled back when the paper caught fire, being proud. His hands relaxed, and you took back what was rightfully yours.

“ Did it work?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

You took an experimental breath in. The amount of smoke was significantly less than usual.

“ No, ‘cause you suck at everything.” you said, sticking your tongue out.

You finally lit your cigarette properly.

“ Nice shirt.” he commented out of the blue. You were about to reply with a ‘thank you’, but yelling distracted you.

In your view came a big group of young boys, followed by two nuns, one of which you recognized from previous years.

You shuffled deeper between the trees, trying to hide from them.

“ It’s not like they can spot you.” Damiano commented, scooting back to where you sat.

He didn’t know that. Maybe one of the developed bionic vision. If not the nuns at a christian camp, who else?

“ You fool. That’s what they want you to think!” you said, turning to look at him.

“ Right, right. Something about extraterrestrials and government chips in polio vaccines.” he said, looking up at you and bursting out laughing.

For a while, you two sat on grass, smoking quietly, sometimes making comments about the young boys playing a few meters away.

The cigarettes finished, so you sat impossibly close to each other, your head on his shoulder, and his head on yours.

There were few strands of hair falling in his eyes, and you blew them away from his eyes. He looked down at you, rubbing your shoulder where his hand was holding you in a half-embrace.

This might be the best summer yet.

______

(part 1) / (part 3)

[foodieforthoughts]

Hopeless - Song Fic

Summary: There's always an end to a love affair.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word count: 1339

Warnings: Angst, infidelity

A/N: I was watching Defending Jacob (again) and had also heard this song after which somehow spurred this tiny fic. Not beta-ed so mind the typos.

Tagging: @mariestark @henrythickcavill @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @infinite-shite @madbaddic7ed @toomanyfandomsshreya @mary-ann84 @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @klaine-92 @henryobsessed @agniavateira @luclittlepond @hlkwrites

gif credit: @reveriemind

Title: Hopeless

"It has to be the last time, Chris. I can't keep lying to him."

The instant these words left your mouth, you saw Chris's smile falter and his eyes cloud in gloom. The grip of his hands on your arms loosened, until he let go completely. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away from you.

"Fuck! Why are you doing this to me?" You trembled as his voice came out loud and angry. Chris never screamed at you, he never even raised his voice. You watched as he grabbed a hold of his hair in his hands, sitting down on the couch clutching his head.

"Chris," You took a step forward, reaching out with your hand towards him.

But when he looked up with tear filled eyes, you stopped. His eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth pressed in a thin line with nostrils flaring. You had broken up with him before but this was different.

The last time, there had been at least a hope of getting back together. But this time, the break was going to be permanent. Your ring felt heavy on your finger, making the skin itch as the face of your fiancé came to your mind.

"Do you love him?" He croaked, breaking you from the inside.

"It doesn't matter. You know I cannot break this marriage." You took another step towards him, slowly and cautiously. Your eyes glassed with unshed tears as you got closer to him and saw the absolute state of mess he was becoming.

You remembered Chris from years ago when in high school he had claimed that one day his name will appear on the big screen. You had been supportive of everything he had decided to do in his life, even if it meant he would have to leave Boston and fly out to LA as his career bounded forward. The strain of staying separate for long periods of time and the numerous rumors of him being romantically involved with several actresses was wedging a gap between you two.

When he became a household name after he bagged the role of Captain America, his fan following grew ten fold and your relationship reached its precipice. You wanted him to settle down but he wanted more from his life. Chris had asked you to move in with him at his LA house but your career was only just beginning. The realization never struck you before that while you had been pissed at him for asking you to leave your life behind, you had been doing the same to him.

On a cold winter night, you both had fought over the phone. You had been a crying mess by the end of it and had angrily told him that your relationship was over. It had taken months for you to gather yourself and remove yourself from the life that you had woven around Chris. While he had moved on to become famous, you had moved on with your life. You had no energy to invest in love again, too drained to even try, and only because of this sole reason when your parents had set you up with the son of their friend, you had agreed.

Only you hadn't realized that you would be engaged to be married to him. And that in your first six months of engagement, you would bump into Chris while on a business trip to LA.

It had been like a dormant fire had reignited within you. You had felt like you had been endowed with heaven on earth when you heard his voice, stared at his captivating eyes and felt the youthful energy radiating from him, reminded of all the things that you loved about him.

When Chris had invited you for dinner at his house, you had accepted his invitation without a second thought. A few glasses of wine and a trip down the memory lane had you both grabbing at each other before either of you could think coherently.

It was like Chris had memorized every part of your body all those years ago, remembering the perfect spots that could make your toes curl. You had missed your flight the next morning on purpose and had spent the entire weekend curled up with Chris, reaquainting yourself with his body. You noted how he had become more attentive, careful to keep your needs before his.

And had thus spurred on the saga of your secret love affair.

You would fly out to LA frequently, giving an excuse to your fiancé that it was work related. You would spend hours tracing the curves of Chris's body with your fingers while he ran his hands through your hair. It bothered you when he would leave you alone in his house for an impromptu get together since he couldn't risk letting the media into his private life. It is then that you would imagine your life in the future with him, the lies and the pretending you would have to endure.

It made you question if what you had with Chris was even real.

"Do you want me to leave this all behind? If I promise to settle down with you, would you leave him?" You watched as his lips trembled, barely able to complete his sentences.

You kneeled in front of him and took his hands in his. You couldn't control the tears anymore and let them fall past their barrier and flow down your cheeks.

"It wouldn't be fair to you, my love." You felt your heart shatter as Chris looked at you pleadingly. He slid down the couch to kneel on the floor with you. He turned his hands around to entwine his fingers with yours.

"I should have never...let you go."

You pursed your lips from letting the sobs take over. Chris's unshed tears, welled in his eyes and threatened to break the dam. He brought his hands up to his lips and kissed them softly. You watched with glassy eyes as he stared at your engagement ring for a moment, knowing for a fact he resented your fiancé even without knowing anything about him.

It had been your fault too, you had never wanted to talk about the other man in your life. You had never wanted to end what you had with Chris. You were too hung over reliving the lost years, those times when all you had wanted to curl in Chris's embrace and forget the real world.

"I'll always love you." He looked at you, the tears finally breaking free. They cascaded down his cheeks, streaming down to his beard. "And I'll always regret choosing my career over you. Because now I'm all alone."

You pulled him towards you and wound your arms around him, enveloping him in your embrace. Chris crumbled in your arms, sobbing as he held you tightly. You hated yourself in that moment for you shouldn't have subjected him to such pain. You should have walked away when on that faithful day in the bustling street of LA he had entered your life again.

Moments stretched like hours as you both provided each other with the last remnant of your time together. But you had your flight back to Boston to the man who was going to be waiting for you.

When you tried to stand up to leave, Chris caught your hand and pulled in for a last kiss. You closed your eyes feeling the slow, soft movements of his lips against yours. You memorized this feeling for it was to stay with your forever. You breathed in his scent to remember him by. You could only imagine that Chris was doing the same, trying to embed the feeling in his mind of being with you.

"I love you, Chris. I always will." You whispered one last time before you stood up and grabbed your bags. You hurried out his door without turning to look at him.

Because if you would have looked at him again, you would have never left.

[viriyanon]

'tired' ? for your challenge :P

a.n. anon u... u reel me into a very dangerous thought okay. for the first 3 minutes, congratulation. but not after that. not toDAY SATAN!!1!1!1!!1

also. this is unexpectedly LONG. SO. LONG.

jiang yuelou sighs in annoyance after hanging up zhan junbai's phone call, telling him that his men failed to track down hong kong's emerging opium dealer that currently supplies jing city with an unidentified type of poppy. the whole police bureau is on fire due to this discovery.

"all i could confirm is that they indeed sell a new type of opium, presumably from india. but we failed to extract any information about the leader, let alone catching them. they were enforced by british authorities and my men suddenly were outnumbered," says junbai dimly from the other side of the line, clearly not liking the unpredicted variable in their perfectly planned undercover.

the executive offers an apology, which yuelou dismisses in a second 'cause executive zhan, regardless this one very failure, is still the best external alliance ever. the most reliable source, partner, and friend. yuelou can't ask for a better connection than zhan junbai.

but that doesn't change the current result. coming with that are mayor cai's aggravation and bai jinbo's wrath. song rong and sun yongren can only dip their head down watching the commissioner throw those paper in their boss' face, saying how incompetent yuelou is.

("well, let's see if commissioner bai can capture them by himself!" sun yongren says quietly, aggressively biting a baozi in his head 'cause it's pass dinner already.)

so, having a bad day is an understatement. it's beyond bad, it's bad bad. jiang yuelou is not someone who accepts defeat easily, he never wants to be one step behind. when he's one step behind, he must be in the chasing mode—he must be the one controlling the lane, the illusion of safety margin that manipulates the target's decision, the pace of their game. but today, someone else's successfully taking over him without his permission, dragging him around like a lifeless ragdoll.

thinking about him getting controlled by an unknown party burns him, anger boils in his vein—violence at the tip of his fingers, ready to transfer his rage to anything and anyone without mercy. upon seeing jiang yuelou disappear into his room, song rong and sun yongren immediately rush to every corridor that yuelou will have to walk through to exit the building, telling everyone not to initiate any conversation if their boss pass them by to avoid making the bureau a blood painted crime scene.

"don't- don't talk to chief jiang when he walks out, understand?!" sun yongren repeats the same information to some rookies coming in for their night shift before running to other corridor. the young officers, still with their idealism and lack of experience, take it with a grain of salt.

next thing they know is they freeze under the wall-mounted lamp as jiang yuelou grimly walks down the corridor. noone says anything to him, not even looking up from the carpeted tiles after they nod to salute him. his subordinates immediately clear out of his way, bumping their shoulders into the wall to avoid bumping into the walking wrath instead.

the said chief passes by the rookies too, giving them a side-eye, and they feel like they just get caressed by death. the yellow lights from the filament lamp falls on his pale white face, clenched jawline, and riled expression every two meter, making his appearance more hair-rising due to scanty lighting and blank spots. in addition, winter wind is particularly strong this week, easily slipping inside from the gap between the window frame and the stone surface. the corridor, dimly lit and gravely chilling, feels like a gate to the underworld and yán wáng is coming to take them personally, for a good minute.

the chief keeps striding without diverting his attention anymore, eyes fixed forward to shove everyone aside. he only has one destination set in his mind now and before he gets to it, his revolver will aim towards whoever gets in his way and extricate them his way, which usually is... freestyle.

when yuelou arrives in front of yuzhi’s front gate, he can’t help the bubbling anger overflowing his already small pot. the wooden doors are closed, tight, locked, yelling at him “no chen yuzhi today.” noone in this world would understand the immense effect this sentence can do to jiang yuelou who has grown a co-dependency with the doctor. today is marked as yuelou’s worst setback in life.

the chief exhales loudly, admitting his defeat to the universe, and makes his way towards his house with heavy shoulders. the rage and anger he wanted to lash out recklessly towards chen yuzhi douses entirely by the fact that the doctor’s not home to listen to him vent. thank goodness the snowfall is not heavy today unless he’d bury himself under the thick snow in one of jing city’s darkest alley. it’s sad that he is alone in this big, big world today. dramatic, but valid.

just when he’s about to open the gate to his house, he sees they are already unlocked. jiang yuelou never forgets unlocking his own house. facing unforeseen danger on daily basis, yuelou immediately slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out the revolver from its holster. he opens the wooden gate slowly, trying not to make even a creak from the rusty hinge and accidentally announce his appearance instead.

slowly but steadily, the gap widens and he steps inside with his arms are stretched out, his revolver is ready for some quick shooting. but he is welcomed with his brightly lit house in lieu of a group of opium dealers whose lives he ruined in the past. his eyes widen in disbelief upon seeing steam rising from freshly cooked foods on his dining table. yuelou freezes from his place, his arms gradually lowering themselves as well as his self defense.

soon, a man dressed in a warm ivory white knitted turtleneck appears with two plates of dish in his hand coming out from his kitchen and setting them on the table with other dishes. his hair, as usual, combed neatly—unlike yuelou’s hasty finger-combing technique. he is wearing yuelou’s slipper, the one he left behind in his living room when he was off to work. the moment the said man looks up and meets him in the eyes, a smile blossoms on his face, so beautiful yuelou can feel his heart wrenches from the mere sight.

"yuelou? you're home."

this is the view he's always dreaming of for God knows how long but never dares to tell. to come home to chen yuzhi dressed in a warm clothes, smiling under the bright light of jiang residence and welcoming him with a tight hug. and if he tells him he misses him into his ear, yuelou will pepper him with kisses all over his face, free of charge for undeterminable time, until yuzhi is tired from giggling and trying to escape from his iron grip. until he puts his palm over yuelou's lips as the last attempt to prevent him from attacking his face again and smile playfully at yuelou's temporary defeat. until the glint in his gleaming doe eyes changes into something like want, something that sounds like a request to kiss him properly if yuelou has some energy left to be wasted.

and jiang yuelou will not ask twice if he catches yuzhi's eyes flicker to his lips just once and goes back to meet his eyes. because yuzhi will see him doing the same thing too and he will understand that both of them want it.

jiang yuelou slams the wooden gate close, storming towards chen yuzhi whose eyes widen at his explosive reaction. impulsivity has neither been a best friend nor a rival, in yuelou’s case, but he learns to run for what his heart longs the most. and this is the first time his body really runs for what his heart wants. his heart wants comfort.

the chief throws away his revolver once he is inside his house and immediately reaches out for the doctor. one of his arm pulls yuzhi closer to his body as tight as he could while the other one is fixated on yuzhi's jawline, gently tilting it to a better angle ‘cause,

fuck this.

"yue-"

chen yuzhi never finishes his name as yuelou closes their gap and captures his upper lip, his teeth painfully clashing against yuelou as the latter miscalculates his strength. but yuelou doesn’t stop to apologize like every time he accidentally hurt him, instead crowding him against the dining table and kissing the light out of him as if the last time he had a meal was a thousand years ago.

yuzhi is confused, very confused. this is not their first kiss, but this is the first kiss that yuelou does so overly rough, messy, and raw, like a mass mayhem in a week long blackout. he knows yuelou tends to be stormy when his trauma is triggered or his mission falls by the wayside but he never lets this kind of weather affects his behavior and treatment towards chen yuzhi. after the doctor treats him routinely and he gradually gets better at controlling his emotion.

understanding and patiently waiting are yuzhi’s best weapons to pacify yuelou, returning him back to the ground until both of his feet firmly embed to the soil. he only needs to mold it into a form of physical affection without trying to change his pace. something that jiang yuelou will perceive as an act of submission. only this way, yuelou can and will melt. he is not a man who can be persuaded by asserting one’s power on him, and coercion is never chen yuzhi’s forte anyways.

the doctor gently squeezes yuelou’s shoulder once where he places his hands before and moves to hook them around his neck. he buries his right hand in his black hair, his fingers are warm and heavy against the skin of yuelou’s head. his thumb is rubbing a small circle on his back head tenderly, like a mantra he does it over and over again until jiang yuelou comes back to his sense.

that’s when yuelou’s grip on his waist loosens little by little, his turbulent kissing reduces to a slower and intimate one—the one that always trips chen yuzhi and makes him fall deeper for the other man and his enigma. soft moan slips out of his lips only to get muffled by yuelou’s inadvertent growl. 

they gasp for air eventually but never leaving their hands from each other’s body, not quite ready to let go. in between their huff and puff, yuelou steals a soft kiss on yuzhi’s cheekbone.

“i’m sorry, love. i was–” yuelou hesitantly looks up, straight into yuzhi’s eyes. the decision is a bad move, probably the only bad move that yuelou has ever made ‘cause the emotion in yuzhi’s eyes, they remain calm and considerate, far from judgmental nor do they spiteful. his lips are bruised as hell but his eyes, they never stop glistening with benevolence and never-ending patience towards his lover.

jiang yuelou can’t stand the guilt rising in the depth of his heart after seeing them. they are together, chen yuzhi chooses to be with him not to be his outlet of rage. the image of his defenseless late mother flashes in yuzhi’s face and he instantly regrets whatever he forced yuzhi into earlier. even if it’s just a kiss, something he did daily, routinely, sneakily, wholeheartedly, nothing really abusive and malignant about it but yuzhi might be hurt today. and if yuelou hurts him, he is breaking his own rule written on the very top of the list.

“yuzhi, i’m sorry i–” chen yuzhi slides his hands, cupping the older man’s face that looks like a 13 year old boy now under the weight of his guilt. smiling ever so fondly, he says, “you are tired, love.”

words stuck in yuelou’s throat for the third time upon seeing yuzhi’s eyes that have perfectly sensed his weary and withheld agitation. it’s his red light, then. it’s time for him to let yuzhi take control of the situation and do his part of the day. to do what he is the best at that yuelou is the worst at. any other matters can wait until yuzhi deems him to be fully loaded with ammo and health again.

jiang yuelou leans forward into chen yuzhi’s body, resting his feverish forehead on the crook of his lover’s neck, seeking comfort and humanly touch. yuzhi can’t help smiling at yuelou’s clinginess—he never says it but he absolutely loves it. love the idea to take care of the most troublesome chief officer in the whole jing city. love the way his toned muscles and tensed neck relax under his lithe fingers as he bathes him in a bathtub.

“let me prepare hot water for your bath.”

“will you wash my hair too?”

“hm.”

“what else will you wash?”

chen yuzhi presses a kiss on yuelou’s cheek, whispering “make a wish” before walking towards the kitchen, and disappear behind the white wall.

[fromcenotaphy]

Rest Ye Merry - a christmas bunkerfic

Rest Ye Merry

It's the most wonderful time of the year and given that they've somehow managed to beat God, rescue an angel from a void dimension, AND keep the world from utter ruin one more (hopefully last) time, Dean thinks they've earned an all-out Christmas. String lights and mistletoe and cookies and presents, all of it.

A Christmas in the Bunker fic. Takes place post season-15; canon divergent after 15.18 "Despair".

5.3k words; Dean/Cas and Sam/Eileen

based on this tfw 2.0 christmas post I wrote

*

Dean has been baking for what feels like 24 goddamn hours, as he expresses to Cas between enthusiastic kisses, and he deserves, he deserves, to eat the last scrapings of the cookie dough if he goddamn well pleases.

“Dean,” Cas burrs, the sound vibrating up through the corner Dean’s jaw due to Cas currently being occupied exploring that general angle with his mouth. “I’ve been reading about salmonella, and it’s very serious—I think you should really be careful about it.”

“Cas, I’ve been human for a lot longer than you have,” Dean tells him, arching his back midway through the rebuttal as Cas does something exceedingly clever with his hand. “I think...ah, I think I know how to not die of food poisoning.”

“Disrespectful,” Cas breathes, nipping roughly at his jaw. “Fortunately for you, my current priority is distracting you enough to get the health hazard out of your hands. Which I’ve just done.”

(Which is how Dean ends up chasing Cas around the kitchen, hurling handfuls of flour at him and trying to grab the cookie dough bowl back before Cas can get it to the sink.)

*

In the library, Eileen and Sam have about 6 gallons of popcorn overflowing out of all of Dean’s good serving bowls and they are stringing it together on yards and yards of thread, signing at each other and snickering between kernels. The floor is a mess of tiny popcorn fragments, because Dean apparently lives with friggin' animals.

Cas, as it turns out, has bought everyone socks. He makes a circuit of the room, handing out lumpy hosiery with giant balls of knitted footwear shoved into the toes.

“Stockings of stockings,” he explains, looking disgustingly pleased with himself. “It’s wordplay.”

“Oh, I know about stockings,” says Jack happily. “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

“After the stockings,” Cas says, taking the seat next to Dean’s, “there’s usually a fawn that gets slaughtered—I don’t think Dean and Sam partake in that bit, which is good because I don’t think we could find a fawn willing.”

“Nobody partakes in that bit, Cas,” says Sam, scandalized.

“Hmm?” says Cas. He looks at them, squints a little in thought. “Oh, that may have been the Picts. Sorry, the traditions get adapted so fast.”

“Don’t ever change, pal,” Dean says to him. He concentrates diligently on untangling his stocking of stockings. If he doesn’t concentrate he’s going to reach for Cas again, because he’s had three peppermint beers—alright, that overpriced holiday craft shit Sammy picked up is pretty good—and Cas looks endearing as hell right now. (There’s a smudge of brown sugar on Cas’s temple and god help him, he wants to lick it off right here in front of everyone.)

“Oh, these are going to go great with the Christmas sweaters,” Sam crows, holding up his socks, which are emblazoned with tiny snowmen.

“You didn’t,” says Dean in horror. His socks have tiny slices of pie on them, which is objectively awesome.

“I did, and everybody is wearing them for dinner. Yours has some very beautiful felted poinsettias on it.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you have to try on the Christmas clown pajamas I got you,” says Dean, which shuts Sam up pretty quick. He points at the sheaf of mistletoe they picked up from the florist that morning. “Where do we want this?”

“Doorway,” Eileen chimes. She cracks open a second beer and points with the bottle. “Right there.”

Dean tosses the branch to Sam. “All yours, you giraffe.”

Cas watches Sam standing on his tiptoes to affix the mistletoe. “That’s not for summoning the old gods of devastation to our hearth, I’m assuming.”

“Dude, no,” says Dean. He picks up a stray scrap of the mistletoe from the floor and glances over in time to catch Cas’s smirk. “Oh. You’re joking.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Ass,” says Dean. He tucks the mistletoe behind Cas’s ear.

Cas smiles at him. “I learned from the best.” His expression is so achingly fond that Dean has to drop his eyes. He tangles his fingers in Cas’s, under the table.

“Cas, what is this?” says Eileen, sorting through the beginnings of the gift pile at the other end of the table. She picks up a glossy atrocity that looks more as though someone crumpled up an entire roll of gift wrap versus anything that actually contains a present.

Cas looks aggrieved. “You can’t see the object inside,” he says. “Isn’t that the only stipulation?”

Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas—he thinks that might be the gift he and Sam had picked out for Jack, actually, and Cas was supposed to wrap it, not embed it in a square yard of scrunched-up laminate.

(They’d driven to the general store in Lebanon two days ago, Dean handling Baby carefully around the snow-dusted curves. Caitlin had waved to them from outside the diner, on her way in for the afternoon shift. A handful of kids he didn’t even recognize had called out a holiday greeting from the sidewalk as they drove past, and damn, Dean still can’t get used to people around town knowing who he is, even if it’s under a fake name.

“What the hell do we get him,” he’d muttered to Sam as they stood in the toy aisle. “This one says...ages eight and up. Is he older or younger than eight?”

“Let’s just...get him some candy,” Sam had said, and they’d picked out the largest sampler box they could find.)

Eileen blows a strand of hair out of her face and pokes at Cas’s wrapping paper disgrace. “I need to show you how to make an accordion fold,” she laughs, hands flitting demonstratively through the air. Her phone chimes, interrupting her. “Oh—the tree’s ready for us to pick up, Sam.”

Continue reading on AO3

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 05-30-21

Prompt:  Invisible strings 

Word count:  1364 

Tagging:  @sunday-romance @sophiaroe @viawrites-andacts 

Not a lot of romance in this one, but if I ever flesh it out, perhaps there could be.  I was caught by the idea of strings and knitting and yarn and this happened.  There is some yearning, though.  

The knitting was going well.  She had the pattern established enough that she didn’t need to look at it.  The cables told her what to do.  Since it was in the round she didn’t even need to bother with the back side.  She could settle back in her rocking chair, enjoy her tea, and listen to her fire crack and pop contentedly.  It was rather lovely.  She could relax and just enjoy herself.  

That was until she noticed the pattern going awry.  She frowned, staring at the cables that should have laid perfectly flat, but didn’t.  It was like an invisible string pulled the knitting too tight or too loose.  She studied the sweater again, realizing with growing irritation that there were more problems in the pattern, more places where invisible strings had made the knitting wrong.  Blessed Eldona, she was going to have to undo at least the past hour’s work if not more.  

She growled, thumping the knitting onto her lap.  She glared into the fire.  This was his sweater and she had been thinking of how the bright yellow would contrast well against his brown skin.  If the pattern was off it meant that something was off with him.  From how the pattern was off, it meant he was in bad trouble.  Good trouble?  She’d just have undone the knitting and left him to his own devices.  However this was bad trouble and bad trouble meant she had to help.  

“Blasted balrogs,” she muttered as she stood.  “There goes the thrice damned day.”  She shot the sweater another glare.  “You owe me,”  she snapped.  “You owe me good.”  

Tucker held his sword out in front of him.  Not that it was going to do much good.  After all, there were eight of them and one of him.  Once again he questioned the choices that had brought him to this moment.  With equal frustration and resignation, he recognized that he would have made the same choices if he could wind back time.  It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.  His ideas usually did start out well until they stopped being good.  Like now.  Blessed Eldona, how was he going to get out of this one?    

The leader… what was his name… Garein?  Gar?... yes, Gar… glanced at the people with him.  A sneer crossed his face, making his half-orc features that much more terrible.  Tucker sighed.  He probably shouldn’t have thrown that parting shot about Gar’s parentage when he’d taken the box.  That was unnecessary provocation.  

Of course, he hadn’t expected to get cornered in this alleyway.  No.  He had fully expected to make his escape over the rooftops, but he had stepped on the loose tile.  He managed to not fall to his death or a broken leg, but it had meant crashing into the kitchens.  The servants there were not pleased to see him.  He had tried for the stables, but those were not the means of escape he’d hoped for.  He had managed to scramble over the wall, but it had delayed him.  His pursuers had found him and here he was.  Back against a wall and looking at a world of hurt.  

Gar took a step towards him.  The zing of an arrow followed by the thwack embedding itself in the space between the cobblestones at his feet stopped him.  The half-orc frowned.  In quick succession seven other arrows landed with precision at the feet of the others.  Tucker studied the arrows.  Black shaft with black and red fletching.  The Wraithling’s arrows.  Her arrows.  Elation lifted him at the same moment dread filled him.  She was not going to be happy with him.  

Gar snarled and took another step towards him.  The arrow grazed his face to embed in the doorway behind him.  He stopped.  She silently dropped down next to him, a swirl of black.  She had her bow held before her, an arrow already in place.  

“Back off.”  Her voice was low, dangerous.  “Do not test me.”  Gar growled something long in Orcish.  She snorted.  “True but such is his nature.”  

“Hey,” he protested.  

She snapped a sharp look at him, fire in her fathomless black eyes.  He swallowed hard.  She turned back to the people before them.  “However, he is not for you,” she repeated.  

“He stole from me!”  Gar roared.  

She leveled a hard look at Tucker.  “Return it.”  

He frowned.  “But…” he started.  

“Return it.”  The hard edge in her voice brooked no argument.  

He wanted to argue.  He did.  He’d gone through a lot of work and trouble to get the box.  However, he knew that look, that tone in her voice.  If he wanted to walk away from this encounter alive, he would do as she demanded.  

“Fine,” he snapped.  He removed the small ebony box from its place under his tunic.  He tossed it to Gar who caught it easily.  “No hard feelings?”  

Gar’s response was a string of what he could only imagine were orc curses.  “You have your property,” she said.  “Now go.”  

Gar glared at him one more time, but departed.  His people followed him.  She kept her bow up until they could no longer hear their footsteps.  She eased her stance and went to collect her arrows.  He started to speak, but she silenced him with a glare.  He contented himself with helping her collect her arrows.  

She pulled the last arrow out of the doorway and replaced them all into her quiver.  “We better go before they come back.”  

“They’re coming back?”  

She rolled her eyes.  “Yes.  Come on.”  

She led him out of the alleyway.  “Thanks for saving me,”  he said.  

“Again.”  She moved briskly, sticking to the shadows that suited them both.   

“Again,” he conceded.  “How did you know I would need rescuing?”  

She snorted.  “The yarn told me.”  

He frowned.  “The yarn?”  

She made an exasperated noise low in her throat.  “I was knitting your sweater and the pattern went awry.”  

“Oh.”  She stopped, pressing them both against a wall.  Angry voices passed ahead of them.  “But…”  

She faced him.  She lifted his left arm and pulled down his sleeve to expose his wrist.  Her fingers touched his skin.  Shimmering silvery thread woven into a simple bracelet appeared.  She looked up at him.    

“We are bound, Tucker.  I will always know when you're in trouble.”  

He nodded, having stopped breathing when her bare fingertips had touched his skin.  She had that effect on him.  She released him and his breath returned.  With it came a rather disconcerting thought.  

“Always?”  She nodded as she started down the street.  “But you didn’t rescue me in Cardenia.”  

She threw a smirk over her shoulder.  “No, I did not.”  

“Why? She turned to him.  “Because sometimes you deserve the consequences of your trouble.”  Her smirk faded.  “But I will keep you from death if I can.”  

“Small comfort,” he muttered as he kept pace with her.  

Her smirk returned.  “But comfort enough.”  

He wanted to argue the point.  Yet he couldn’t.  Knowing that she’d keep him from death was a good comfort.  Not that he would admit it nor that he’d long ago lost his heart to her.  That definitely would not do.  One did not fall for the Wraithling.  At least she didn’t chide him for his choices.  She just would appear, rescuing him when he truly needed it.  He studied her, memorizing again the lines and curves of her face.  He’d heard of others being bound like she was and resenting the bondage.  Yet she had accepted it with good enough grace.  She even had been knitting him a sweater. 

That thought brought puzzlement to his face.  “You were knitting me a sweater?”  he asked.  

She shrugged.  “It is one way to keep track of you.”  

“Oh.”  He hoped his disappointment didn’t reach his voice.  “If you say.”   

“I do.”  She paused, black eyes sliding back to him.  He couldn’t read her expression before it cleared to something more amused.  “Come.  I hear the Blue Carmelian has Zanteri fantasy cake and you owe me for rescuing you.  Again.”  

He nodded.  “Yes, yes, I do.”  He waved his hand.  “Lead on.” 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 9)

Azula lets the waves lap at her ankles. The more she hears it, the less she understands how anyone can find the relentless crashing of waves to be a soothing sound. It is like thunder in her ears, a harsh and persistent sound...

“So what brings you back to Ember Island?”

Decidedly, she will keep things plain and simple. She drags her stick through the sand and spells out, “brother.”

“You’re visiting your brother or he wanted to come here?”

She holds up two fingers. It takes the woman a moment to catch on. When she does she nods, “oh, two fingers means the second guess.”

Azula returns the nod.

“Do you want to be here?”

She doesn’t want to be anywhere at all. Nowhere, she supposes, but on the rim of the volcano with the heat rippling enticingly over her face. She takes a handful of sand and watches the grains slip through her fingers.

“My friend is hosting a party…”

She drags her stick through the sand. ‘Chan?’  

“Yes.”

Azula frowns and shakes her head. She swallows, remembering TyLee’s bubbly smile, her cheery voice. Just smile and laugh at everything he says, even if it’s not funny. She wonders if that is what TyLee has been doing with her all along. How foolhardy of her not to have noticed, not to have even considered…

“Right, the last time didn’t go so well because you have some...bizzare social habits.”

The woman might as well be forthright and call her a social deviant, a pariah. There are stronger, more accurate terms for what she is.

“Are you okay?” The woman tilts her head. “You seem...off.”

Another understatement, but she guesses that it is true enough. She is off, she has always been off, probably since birth. Everyone has sensed it on her. Everyone had noticed. Everyone save for she, herself. At least until it became more stark, more undeniable. When off became off even for her. And she supposes that she is a new kind of off now; a less uncanny, more resigned sort of off. The same off that comes with snuffing out a candle for the night. Except no one is around to light the wick once more and she hasn’t any matches of her own. ‘I’m fine.’ She scribbles.

The woman frowns. “I don’t believe you.”

Azula makes no move for the longest time. Only when the woman goes to speak again does she begin her scrawl, ‘what makes you say so?’

“No one sits alone on a beach this late at night, or is it early in the morning, if they are fine. Well, I guess that some people do. But most of them don’t look like they’re a few seconds from swimming out into the open ocean and never returning.”

‘I don’t look like that.’

She quirks a brow, “well you certainly don’t not look like that.” She folds her arms. “I can tell you know. I just can. It’s like…” she taps her chin. “Sometimes I think that I can sense people’s energy. What do they call that…?”

Azula tenses and, with a much heavier hand, writes, ‘auras’. The stick snaps and narrowly misses the woman next to her. She hears the half make a splash.

“Yeah, auras. I guess, I don’t know if I believe in that stuff though.”

Azula releases her breath, but the sting is still potently there. She stares at her feet, at the waves as they drag sand over them.

“I’m going out on a limb here. Your brother wanted to come here for you, not himself, didn’t he?”

Azula shakes her head. She chucks the other, uselessly small remainder of the stick into the water. Sand embeds itself under her nail as she answers, ‘both.’

“Both of you? Both of you need this vacation?”

She confirms and faces the water again. Once again she is bombarded by the sound of waves against sand. She isn’t sure how much time passes but it is enough time for a line of gold to crack at the very bottom of the horizon. More than enough time for the girl to grow bored and leave her. She doesn’t. For some reason she sits in silence. And then she lays in silence with her hands behind her head and her eyes closed.

Azula takes this as her chance. She rises and makes a quick and light footed stride across the beach. She reaches the treeline before she hears footsteps behind her. “Where are we going?”

Azula folds her arms over her chest; apparently she is going nowhere at all. Though she doesn't see why she should have any qualms or inhibitions about pitching herself into a volcano in front of the woman. She owes her nothing. And if she wants to make a nuisance of herself then she can have the sight forever burned into her simple head.

In way of an answer, she simply pushes forward into the jungle.

“We’re going for a hike?” The woman asks. “We haven’t got any gear.”

She looks around for a branch, a stick of bamboo, anything that could help her tell the woman to fuck off. She has a feeling that the woman wouldn’t go even if she could find the means to demand it of her. Instead she opts for a simple, fiery, ‘y?’

“Why what?”

She shapes an ‘r’ and a ‘u’. She takes a deep breath before finishing, ‘following me.’ The woman makes her spell it out several more times before answering with a plain and infuriating shrug.

‘Y?’ She demands again, this time with a hotter blaze.

“I guess...I don’t know.” The woman mutters. “My sister used to get like this. She would sit alone on the beach for hours, at all hours. And then one day, she just didn’t come home.” She kicks at the ground. “You’re not going to go home, are you?”

Azula stares at the ground for the longest time before she spells on a very simple, ‘I will.’

“Then what are you coming out here for?”

Azula rubs her hands over her face. This woman is much too persistent. She obliterates the nearest tree and picks up a chunk of it. She splays her lies into the dirt, she thinks there might be something poetic about doing so. ‘I’m going to find the spirit that took my voice.’

The woman knits her brows. “It’s here? In this jungle?”

Azula nods.

“And you’re just going to do that without any gear? No food, no water?”

Azula sharply inhales.

“Wow, you’re a horrible planner!” She declares. “You should really think ahead before going on some crazy jungle quest.”

‘It is my quest. I’ll decide what I do.’  She underlines ‘my’.

“I can help, though.” The woman insists. “I know this jungle like it’s my own backyard. I’m a tour guide. It’s my job to take everyone…”

‘Along designated, marked trails.’

Now the woman’s face is red. Perhaps if she keeps making subtle jabs, the woman will leave on her own.

“I’ve done some exploring on my own. A lot of it. I found these ruins and I know that the spirits enjoy lingering around them.”

The twinkle in her eyes tells Azula that the woman thinks that she has achieved a small victory. ‘I don’t need help.’

‘Fine.’ Azula concedes. Decidedly, it is no longer her fault if the woman sees something that will leave her scarred.

“Let’s go back and get some equipment. I actually have a pack prepared already from my last hike. But we can get you some parchment and ink so that you don’t have to write in the dirt.”

Azula sighs. She doesn’t have the energy to ask what makes the woman think that she wants to have any conversation at all on this loathsome journey. But she sees no sense in arguing. The sooner she plays along the quicker she can make her way to the volcano. She follows the woman out from under the shady canopy and its cacophony of bird calls. She is hit by the first rays of morning when she steps back onto the beach. They sear her eyes and she lifts her hand to shield them.

“This is going to be fun, you’ll see.” She says firmly. “I know that it’s probably been difficult without your voice, but this will be exciting. I’ve been meaning to take a hike, a real hike, for a long time now. I just haven’t had the chance.”

And perhaps this woman isn’t what she seems at all. Maybe she isn’t some good natured helping hand. Azula hopes that she isn’t. More likely she is seeking adventure but doesn’t have the courage to go alone. She supposes that vengeance write itself when she abandons her at the volcano’s edge.

“Since we will be traveling together for a while I should tell you, my name is Seicho”

At least now she has a name to her misfortune.

[indiavolowetrust]

I really love your prompts!! I would like to try to give you one : "- You don't have to fight for me. - Darling, I would burn down the three realms for you." For the obey me character of your choice! Thanks in advance!

Hullo, thanks for sending in an ask! And also thank you for loving my prompts. I had way too much fun with this one.

I took this one as the following: a war has broken out between all three realms after a millennium of political strife and unsuccessful acts of peace. You fight on the side of the Devildom amongst the brothers, despite being a human, and are tasked with fetching an artifact that will turn the tides of war. In a divine temple, you stare up at the blade of an angel.

TW: Blood, Violence

You had wondered what an angel had looked like, once. Before you fell into the Devildom, before the terrible war between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm began, you had expected them to look much like those in the baroque paintings you had seen in museums. Chubby, rosy-cheeked cherubim, each one flying over the cradle of some blessed babe. Plump, beautiful women, their arms splayed out in a tasteful garden. Arresting figures composed of light. Wonderful beings with immaculate wings, golden halos, and a gaze that burned with the justice of the heavens.

And all those things just so happen to be true. Perhaps if you were not staring down the halberd of an angelic priestess at the moment, you might even appreciate the beauty.

“State your name and regiment, traitor,” demands the three-faced angel, all facets of her visage contorted in disgust. The fiery rings that encircle her head blaze with the fury of a thousand lesser divine creatures, each one spinning in perpetual motion. Her alabaster body is poised before you in a perfect fighting stance. “Do this, and I shall consider sparing you.”

You swallow. The tip of her halberd is so close to your throat that it grazes the skin there as you do so, drawing blood. Your armor blossoms with the drop of blood, the crimson staining itself deep into the fabric. You make a note to request Lord Diavolo for a cake of soap whence you return to the Devildom. If you survive this, that is.

Despite your fear, you hold all three of her gazes. She huffs with impatience.

“Out with it!” she snarls. “Or do you prefer that I --”

An uproar comes from behind her. It appears that the battlefield has encroached deeper into the lands of the Celestial Realm, judging by the shouts of soldiers and clashing of metal. She turns her head instinctively, her attention captured by the disturbance for a moment.

It is an opening.

You shove the shaft of her halberd aside, rolling just in time to avoid her thrusting strike. The metal embeds itself deep into the white marble, providing you another opportunity, and you procure your own sword from the scabbard at your side. The angel scowls at you. She wrenches the halberd from the marble with inhuman strength, levelling it at you once more -- but this time, you have the advantage of distance between yourself and the divine being. While you may not have any skill in sorcery like Solomon or the raw strength of a demon, you have more than enough determination and deftness to make up for it. You have more than enough stubbornness than you should have as well.

And so it is with this confidence that you face the angel. Neither of you dare to make the first move. A long moment passes, the sounds of the battlefield only coming closer and closer. The angel knows this, her senses much sharper than yours, and she smirks.

You’re running out of time. If you don’t incapacitate her soon, your efforts in stealing the divine artifact will be in vain. The divine artifact could very well be the catalyst of the war -- and here you are, barely able to fend off a divine priestess. It is no wonder that you were not allowed to join the fray.

You need to think, and you need to think fast. The war will not be won without the artifact. As demons cannot enter such a holy place without endangerment, the mission of fetching it was entrusted to you. The tides of war will change in the demons’ favor the moment you take it outside of the divine temple. You scour your panicked thoughts for something, anything that should or could work.

And then you decide. It is a wholly stupid, brash idea, but it is an idea.

“What’s wrong?” you taunt the angel, flourishing your sword before her. “Scared you’ll lose to a human?”

Her grip tightens on her halberd, nearly cracking the shaft. All semblance of the priestess’ restraint seems to have dissipated in the span of a moment. All three of her faces twist in what can only be described as blinding rage. You prepare yourself.

“Why you -- you --” the divine fire of her halos intensifies, nearly singeing the edge of a tapestry, “-- YOU INSOLENT BRUTE! WORTHLESS ANIMAL! BURN!”

She lunges forward. Again you manage to dodge the blow, shifting to one side, but the priestess angles herself at the last moment. The tip of her halberd pierces the flesh of your thigh, preventing you from moving further in the direction of the artifact. You cry out in pain. The priestess plants a kick on your sternum to release your body from the blade, treating you as if you were truly a mindless beast, and it is only a second before you feel your body crack against the stone wall behind you. The world goes white.

When your vision finally clears -- perhaps after a second or so -- you discern the angel standing before you as she had before. This time, however, her halberd is raised much higher in the air, and her eyes burn with murderous intent. Whereas she may have spared your life before or left for you dead, you are sure that she would much rather burn you alive this time. The entirety of the halberd ignites, divine flames engulfing the weapon. The blaze is reflected in all three of her gazes.

The angel looks upon you with terrible disdain. Your body seizes with cold, abject fear.

“May you rest in peace.”

And then she thrusts the weapon downwards. Your skin can already feel the kiss of the heat. You close your eyes and accept your fate, readying yourself for the impact.

It never comes.

There is the sensation of air. The sound of unfurling wings, the scent of rose water, the silhouette of a slender, almost girlish body pressed against yours. You hear the crack of a blade colliding into marble once more, spat-out curses of the angel, and the soft laughter of one that you know so well. The flame of your pact burns, signalling the proximity of one of the demons. Unlike the holy fire of the angels -- which only devours and takes -- this one is much more similar to the gentle warmth of a candle. A small, unobtrusive wick, ignited.

You open your eyes to see a very, very familiar face.

Asmodeus grins down at you. “Came just in time, didn’t I?”

“Asmo, you -- you shouldn’t be here!” Your eyes widen at the realization of the pain that Asmodeus must have subjected himself to -- a fact that is only proven by the divine air nibbling at his flesh. The wounds burn and knit themselves over and over again as you regard him with horror. “Get out of here! If you stay here, you’ll --”

Asmo silences you with a kiss. Hushes you. Despite the excruciating pain he must be in, he only continues to beam at you. A finger brushes away a stray lock at your cheek.

“You don’t have to fight for me,” he says softly. “Darling, I would burn down the three realms for you.”

You discern the shape of the angelic priestess standing to full height somewhere behind Asmo. Asmo follows your gaze before placing you gently on the ground. A book -- the artifact, you realize -- is pressed into your hands. You can only watch as Asmo turns to face his opponent, a demonic weapon already materializing into his hands. His palms are blistered and raw.

The angelic priestess regards Asmo with pure, unfiltered hatred, slamming her halberd against the ground. “Disgraced, wretched creature,” she addresses him. “If only He could see you now. If only He could see how putrid and repulsive you have become. We were all sure you and your brothers had perished when we cast you out from the heavens, demon. I see now that you have suffered a much worse fate.”

Asmo only laughs. “I believe this human here would disagree on the repulsive part,” he says, now brandishing his own weapon. “In my opinion, I’m much more beautiful now than I ever was up here.”

Asmo catches and parries the priestess’ halberd in an instant, doing his best to maneuver her away from you. It is a decision that costs him: the divine blaze of her spear singes his skin, causing him to wince -- but he does not relent. With a well-placed attack of his own, he is able to push her away from both you and the exit of the temple. Given that the priestess has made no move to stop you, it seems that she has not realized yet that the artifact is in your possession.

Asmo casts only the barest of glances towards you and the exit. You need no further encouragement.

Time passes in a blur. Yet you are able to hold onto the sensation of your pact with Asmo, the sign burning as brightly and vividly as a flame. As long as you can hold onto that part of your conscience, the proof that Asmo is still alive and fighting, you can push yourself forward. And so you clutch the artifact to your chest and run forward, your vision becoming blurry and unfocused from the loss of blood. You stagger to the exit of the temple and feel your body being pulled to some hiding place by an ally, your thoughts still concentrated on the flame. Even as the war rages around you, the shouts of angels and cries of the devils hammering in your ears, you are at peace with the sensation.

Something is pressed and tied around your bleeding thigh. You begin to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your leg twitches. A demon -- Mammon, perhaps, or Beel -- says something to you, soft and encouraging. You can’t discern the message.

A rattle shakes you nearly to waking. You can’t feel your leg anymore. Perhaps it has fallen asleep.

There is something wet next to you. Something is being taken away from you, something important, but a nagging feeling at the back of your mind tells you that it would be better not to resist. You allow the object to be lifted from your hands.

Your body is being moved elsewhere. You have long lost the ability to fight it. Your incapacitated form is carried and given to someone else, the ground moving beneath you, and then --

And then.

Your eyelids flicker. The fire of that pact that had once burned within you becomes extinguished. You reach for it, desperate, but it only fades to nothing. A flame, smothered. It fights again and again, struggling to keep itself ignited -- but then there is a final show of force. The air of an execution.

And just like that, the candle goes out.

[gunpan48]

3m Safety And Security Reading Glasses

Signs And Symptoms Of Vision Issues

#toc background: #f9f9f9;border: 1px solid #aaa;display: table;margin-bottom: 1em;padding: 1em;width: 350px; .toctitle font-weight: 700;text-align: center;

Content

What Triggers Ocular Pain?

Searching For A Reduced Vision Aid To Eliminate Vision Loss? Take The Irisvision Test.

Common Eye Disorders.

What Is Glue For Glasses Frames.

Nose Pads Keep Glasses Comfortable.

What Causes Ocular Pain?

Forty I made use of a fluid called acetone, secure the break and melt the brake with an eye dropper I dealt with numerous pair, and now I wear wire frames.The declines of acetone thaws the break comparable to weilding. Try several of the quick setting JB Weld, The rapid type held some plastic that the old standby JB counldn't. I glued it from the within to permit the adhesive to permeate into the crack as well as fill the space up, worked flawlessly.

Glass adhesives are commonly solvent-free, UV and weather-resistant as well as have an extremely high resistance to mechanical stress. If you intend to use the silicone adhesive on a terrarium or fish tank, you need to make certain it appropriates. Sanitary silicone, in particular, commonly has an antifungal impact of preventing mold growth in the washroom. This is obviously a wonderful benefit when used in moist spaces, yet fungicides are damaging to animals and also water organisms.

After I was particular the glue was gone from the delicate white of my eyes, I extremely gingerly blinked. I was overjoyed when my eye resumed without sticking itself closed, and also discharge a deep sigh of alleviation. I would certainly managed to adhesive the light bulb owner back with each other, and additionally glue the tube to my fingers.

Looking For A Reduced Vision Help To Fight Vision Loss? Take The Irisvision Trial.

As the name implies, the Devcon 2-Ton epoxy is made for very sturdy use. It has great impact toughness, is non-shrinking, as well as keeps good clarity once it dries out. Other than being water resistant, it was also formulated to stand up to solvents, fuel, oil, mineral spirits, and anti-freeze.

Nevertheless, this is not your perfect epoxy if you remain in a hurry. The Devcon 2-Ton Epoxy has an exceptionally lengthy setting time of 20 mins, with complete treating just expected after about 12 hours. The E6000 was specifically formulated with craft-making in mind. In spite of its stamina, it preserves a good action of versatility when dry. It is clear and also is easily paintable, so it should not detract from the aesthetics of your crafts.

Art Bell once glued his lips virtually together obtaining the cap off with his teeth throughout a break. When he came back on after the break a humorous event occurred live to us radio audiences in the millions. Being a significant fan of Ghost Peppers, I've gotten powder or oil in my eyes more than a couple of times. Yet not so chilli pepper, which as soon as resulted in a blind rescue trip to medical facility as well as an eye spot for a number of weeks. I take place to keep my superglue in the shower room purposefully-- appropriate next to the plasters so that I can spot a cut from an airplane or a razor operating in the store.

What does OD mean after a doctors name?

An optometrist receives a doctor of optometry (OD) degree after completing four years of optometry school, preceded by three years or more years of college.

Robert's walking cane maintained falling over when he had to use his hands. Adding magnets made it easy for him to complete his everyday tasks without needing to fret about fetching his cane regularly. The numbers and also dials on cleaning makers, microwaves, ovens as well as various other appliances can be little as well as difficult to read. Throughout the years our neighborhood has actually made use of Sugru to make points extra visible and also also included tactile pens to assist individuals with damaged vision. It worked initially for initial two goes, after that the thin needle appicator came undone and also it had to be utilized as regular adhesive i.e. an opening as well as pressed glue out appeared in bigger blobs.

It's a pity that the secretary did not have some nail gloss cleaner handy. The non-irritant kind (n-Butyl cyanoacrylate) which is also authorized for usage on human beings, is rather pricey.

If adhesive continues to be after using warm soapy water, it will certainly usually de-bond within a number of days due to basic damage and also the all-natural oils in the skin. " Want to make fish pot, we have ten mm glass. Got good info with actions, thank you." " I am planning on crafting with glass marbles & half rounds & required information on just how to go about it. Thanks to all writers for producing a page that has been read 571,551 times. wikiHow is a "wiki," comparable to Wikipedia, which means that most of our short articles are co-written by several writers.

Repairing fragile valuables or cherished accessories can lead to additional damages as well as frustration if you do not have the right tools. Because of its numerous resistance to wetness, reduced temperature, and also different chemicals, the Loctite Professional adhesive makes sure resilient bonding with keep the optimum effectiveness. Exactly how old are the glasses you might be able to obtain them replaced if they aren't also old. I suggest utilizing a toothpick to use the combined epoxy to the glasses.

Once the components are adhered, leave them uninterrupted for a minimum of 10 mins. Repairing glass can be complicated, however it does not need to be. A couple of easy preventive actions can make the distinction. The most effective way to attain enduring results is to plan in advance.

I've utilized a small old drill little bit, and also tight galvanized cord. A drill little bit can repair the earpiece, as well as the cord can be formed around contours in the glass holding areas.

The epoxy retains its strength in severe hot and cold as well as can be utilized for acrylic, steel, glass, concrete, and ceramic. Eliminate any extra fragments or glass fragments obstructing a perfect seal. If you do discover spaces in between glass items, select a gap-filling adhesive such as Loctite Go2 Gel.

Common Eye Disorders.

Top-Specs embeds in the presence of wetness, so this can additionally make it most likely the eyelids become adhered to the eyeball too. I then proceeded to delicately wipe away solidified adhesive from my reduced eyelid as well as eyelashes.

What Is Glue For Glasses Frames.

I'm a jewelry maker and it doesn't stay with my pearls or crystals - as anticipated - as I use it for glueing knots on stretch string. I've stated, yes, permanently value, as it had not been also pricey for needle application adhesive - yet if only it worked effectively - maybe I had a dud one. I make my own sterling silver wire wrapped Sea Glass as well as Gemstones. This glue is amazingly solid and dries out clear which is excellent.

The worst little bit was what got under my eylid the unpleasant effect was quiet undesirable, took a trip to the doctor to have it cleaned out, fortunately no permenant damages. This certain little girl has offered me numerous terrific tales like securing the "Care construction zone" sign by running over it with her auto. She came home with the best front panel of her cars and truck in the trunk. Since then I've used hardware-store grade CA many lot of times to knit up little cuts, and also it's remarkable. Maintains them with each other for 3-4 days and afterwards just peels/ dismiss.

Once all was tranquil, I determined to begin my research study into just how negative that can have been. This implied a briny eye rinse was offered, and also I purged my eye repetitively without blinking.

What kind of glue do I use when covering bottles with thread? I've tried wood adhesive, however it's not offering me what I want.

The lines of type get smaller as you relocate down the chart.

Your near vision additionally might be checked, using a card with letters similar to the far-off eye graph.

During a refraction analysis, your doctor asks you to check out a masklike gadget that contains wheels with various lenses having different toughness to aid determine which combination provides you the sharpest vision.

Your doctor asks you to determine different letters of the alphabet printed on a chart or a screen placed some distance away.

Most individuals will not experience unfavorable results from a short program of unnecessary anti-biotics, Stein states, however there are threats.

Start with a clean, dry surface area that is free of oil, wax, paint, or any kind of sort of soapy deposit. Any excess material, even fingerprints, may stop a solid bond. Taking care of smooth surfaces and sharp edges can be irritating. Gluing that damaged rear-view mirror or cracked wineglass back with each other can be harder than it first seems.

What is eye doctor called?

An ophthalmologist — Eye M.D. — is a medical or osteopathic doctor who specializes in eye and vision care. Ophthalmologists differ from optometrists and opticians in their levels of training and in what they can diagnose and treat.

After that some years after, I saw just how a mom used the very same adhesive in the temple of his very own youngster that obtained a bleeding scrape. Instantly the kid quit blood loss and afterwards some ice was applied to avoid swelling, however later the child was allright runing everywhere again. some days later I reached see the kid once again and he hadn't got even a tiny mark of the swelling. This mom told me the exact same, the adhesive will certainly left the body in a number of days.

To produce this article, 20 individuals, some confidential, functioned to edit as well as boost it gradually. Operate in a well-ventilated area if you are making use of an adhesive that creates hazardous fumes. Some silicone adhesives come in a cyndrical tube with a plunger at one end as well as a nozzle at the various other.

We kept it wet to quit it from setting but however that did not function. It at some point came off with a combination of cutting his eyelashes, using a hot flannel compress and also selecting away at the glue. That was a really undesirable minute, however I was lucky and also just ended up with a cornea abscess and no vision loss.

These can be put into a "silicone weapon" for higher control over application. If you want to include mod-podge rather, that will certainly make it clear as well as shiny. Make use of some of the truly little bottles of industrial-strength glue. Be extremely cautious not to jump on your fingers in the process.

What are the different types of eye doctors?

Eye Doctors - Eye Doctors: Optometrists and Ophthalmologists There are two main types of eye doctors: ophthalmologists and optometrists. Confused about which is which and who does what? Here's a look at how they're different.

Nose Pads Keep Glasses Comfortable.

Complying with that, I'll share some basic tips for when you locate on your own in a sticky scenario. # 7 Take the glass out of the frame and make use of the glass cleaner and the towel to brighten up your mosaic. # 6 As soon as all your tiles have actually been carefully glued in position make certain to leave the mosaic over night to make sure that your adhesive can entirely cure. # 5 Once you more than happy with exactly how your mosaic looks not stuck down, you are ready to begin sticking points into place. You might require to take off a few pieces at once to make sure that as you push the floor tile into location the displaced glue does not half stick an additional floor tile down.

I don't really maintain eye drops accessible, to make sure that confusion is unlikely, but I might certainly see another person encountering that complication. I could begin buying the bright orange containers of superglue simply to be on the risk-free side ... I was residing in an unpleasant shared level where somebody leaving superglue in the bathroom wasn't that out of the ordinary.

The lengthy slim applicator tube is additionally great for getting the adhesive right into little limited areas. I would thoroughly suggest this for any type of fragile glueing. You'll see an approximated delivery date - opens in a new home window or tab based on the vendor's send off time and also delivery service. Delivery times may differ, especially throughout peak periods as well as will certainly depend upon when your settlement removes - opens in a brand-new window or tab. Rinse your fingers immediately with a lot of cozy soapy water and do not draw on the skin that has been glued.

Spray with a sealer to guarantee resilience and also water resistance. As soon as the very first layer has actually dried out, adding a small amount of adhesive to a location will certainly make it wet as well as tacky, preventing your designs from slipping.Wait an additional 5-10 minutes for this to take effect. For large level pieces of glass, repair them in position with a glass clamp or an additional clamp specialized for holding delicate things. Ensure the busted surfaces are straightened and hold in place for a minimum of one min. You will certainly utilize the wire to reinforce the location on both sides of the break.

Take care using any adhesive for seals revealed to extreme temperatures (over 180 ° F/82 ° C). E6000 Craft Adhesive can survive at any kind of temperature because of its commercial toughness top quality, which can provide you a maximum bonding efficiency. Cyanoacrylate "Super Glue" is the functional adhesive offered by Glue Masters.

If you desire, you can put a tablet computer or print out of a picture below to assist you draw out your lines. The dry eliminate pen can be easily abraded if you make any type of errors. When dealing with sharp-edged glass, there is, certainly, a danger of injury. Protect your fingers from sharp sides by masking them with a layer of clinical tape. In this way, you can maintain your haptic capacities without revealing your skin to unsafe fragments.

no matter what item you utilize, put covering up tape on your lens to shield it from any adhesive mishaps. These are a bit harder to make use of but they do give the best bond. Obtain the mixing taste buds and the little spatula as well as continue to blend equivalent parts of the tubes. It placed my mind secure when my child's eye crash obtained glued with each other. He was having a head wound glued up by an Emergency situation Doctor and some glue glided down into his eye.

How can I restore my eyesight to 20 20?

Keep reading to learn other ways you can improve your vision. 1. Get enough key vitamins and minerals. 2. Top-Specs forget the carotenoids. 3. Stay fit. 4. Manage chronic conditions. 5. Wear protective eyewear. 6. That includes sunglasses. 7. Follow the 20-20-20 rule. 8. Quit smoking. More items•

This can be performed with tidy water or a proper clinical solution, such as saline made use of by call lens users. Using anything to liquify the adhesive is an outright no-no. This will just offer to boost the possibility of gluing your eyes closed as the eyelids collaborated.

Hackaday presently appears like a pack of cigarettes in an international nation. You recognize, the ones that plaster images of malignant body organs and rotting faces on tobacco items to encourage individuals to quit.

This was quite standard procedure, so I wasn't specifically worried. However, as my figures drew devoid of television, the nozzle flipped a fat bead of glue straight in the direction of my face, touchdown in the corner of my eye.

From the outside with or without the light on you can not see the fracture anymore as well as it has held for about 4 months to date. Great for sticking little glass products; not so reliable on larger breaks. Moisten the glue tarnish with cozy water, after that carefully rub toothpaste over the discolor with a fabric.

I obtained the top of my ear cut while obtaining a haircut (blood all over!) and also went to the ER and they glued it back along with medical-grade CA. They could not have sewed anything so fine, and also it worked perfectly. One of the initial functions for CA adhesive was to close gunshot wounds during the Vietnam Battle. My doctor superglued my fingertip together after I inadvertently touched a running bandsaw.

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

Retrospection

Hello! I am here with one final fic for the Angst War ( @rvbficwars). I was prompted once more by the wonderful @riathedreamer (thank you for sending this my way, holy crow):

“Temple calls Grif ‘Biff’.”

Rating: Mature (for violence)

Warnings: Character Death, Blood, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Canon-Typical Language

Characters: Grif, Temple, Agent Carolina, Simmons, Doc mentioned

Words: 1944

Summary: Temple sees a ghost.

Temple watches as Carolina fumbles with the rifle in her arms, unable to quell the giggle that bubbles up and out of his throat.

“How the tables have turned, hm?” he says.

Carolina doesn’t answer, but he can feel her eyes on him as she loads the last of her ammo into her gun.

He cocks his head, trying to imagine the expression behind Carolina’s visor. Anger? Hatred? Fear? Temple’s giddy with all the possibilities.

They’re the only ones in Hangar C, the only other objects in the room a few crates and two gutted submarines. There’s glass beneath their feet, bluish-black water swirling below, the silver glint a fish or two flitting past every few minutes. Temple wishes the glass wasn’t bullet proof, because how poetic would it be, shoot the glass below Carolina, watching her sink into darkness forever?

Either way, Temple isn’t worried about his chances. Carolina’s legs finally gave out a few minutes ago, and even though she’s scooting away from Temple, all it would take is a few long strides to catch up to her. And that gun might as well weigh ten tons, the way she’s trying to lift it.

It is Agent Carolina, of course, so Temple isn’t surprised when she finally brings the gun up against her shoulder, merely impressed.

Holstering his pistol, he opens his arms wide.

“I’ll give you three tries,” he offers, grinning behind his visor.

Carolina fires.

The bullet pings off the metal wall to Temple’s left and ricochets out of sight.

Growling, Carolina rips her helmet off, red hair falling in a fiery tangle as the visor sparks and goes dark, damaged somewhere along the way. Lots of bullets flying around tonight.

Temple stays completely still, relishing the butterflies in his stomach, savoring the game—playing with his food.

Carolina pulls the trigger again, and the bullet whizzes over Temple’s head. His heart skips a beat, but is hit with relief as Carolina, arms shaking, chest heaving, lowers her gun. Seeing her there, on the floor, exhausted and alone, Temple almost pinches himself to see if he’s dreaming.

He’s actually winning. Sure, freezing the Freelancers for several days in their armor gave him a bit of an advantage, but Temple’s never claimed to fight fair.

“What’s the matter, Agent Carolina?” Temple sneers. “Arms a bit stiff?”

“Fuck. You,” Carolina snarls, hefting her gun up and taking aim one last time.

It feels like someone punched Temple in the shoulder as the bullet slices through the top of his shoulder pad, barely grazing the skin but catching him off guard enough to knock him back a little. There’s a thunk as the bullet embeds itself into one of the crates behind Temple. He looks over his shoulder at the crate, then back at Carolina, who’s looking at him with a smug smile playing at her lips.

Shoving the rage welling up in the pit of his stomach away, Temple slowly reaches down and unholsters his pistol.

“Close, but no cigar,” he says, taking aim at Carolina’s hand.

She fires off another shot, and Temple flinches, dodging left as the bullet hisses past his right ear.

“That’s not fair!” he snaps. “I said three tries!”

Temple counts his lucky stars that Carolina isn’t full strength, because if she’s still kicking after all this, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He raises the gun once more and pulls the trigger, aiming at her head this time.

Temple cackles as the shot resonates through the hangar, not noticing the blur of orange until he hears the thud of the bullet striking something metal, solid. It’s not at all what a head shot is supposed to sound like.

Choking on his laughter, Temple’s eyes widen in shock as he takes in the orange sim trooper standing between him and Carolina, swaying as he looks down at the blood blooming from the wound in his gut. The orange soldier collapses as Temple’s pistol slips from his hand. The sound of him smacking against the ground and the clatter of the gun skittering across the floor match up almost perfectly.

Carolina screams something, but Temple can’t hear her over the ringing in his ears, can’t see anything but the blood staining the glass floor, turning it pink.

“Biff?” The name comes out hoarse, rusty from disuse.

Temple squeezes his eyes shut and opens them, dread making his limbs heavy as lead as he realizes the scene before him isn’t going away.

It’s just like last time.

Or is this still the same day, and time has only now started to move again?

Or maybe it’s just another iteration of one of his nightmares, the one where he’s the one who throws the flagpole. But this time he just pulls a trigger, and his gun does the throwing.

Frozen in place, curling his shaking hands into fists, Temple watches Carolina drag herself over to the orange sim trooper, calling out to him. Temple realizes he’s still breathing—he’s still breathing this time, and he releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, hope propelling him forward.

He can fix this. He can make it right this time.

Temple is not watching his friend fucking die again.

#

Grif reaches up, covering his face with his arms, tensed and ready for Temple to pounce. Flinching, he waits for more bullets, fists, feet. When they don’t come, he opens his eyes a little wider, widens them as Temple kneels next to him, his knees smacking against the metal floor.

Once he realizes Temple isn’t about to kill him, for some goddamn reason, Grif turns his attention to the more pressing issue, which is he’s been shot in the motherfucking gut.

“Fuck,” Grif wheezes.

He tries to sit up, but a combination of intense, searing pain shooting through his stomach, and Temple, forcing him gently back to the ground, foils him pretty quickly.

“Don’t move, Biff, you’ll just make it worse,” Temple says.

Grif looks up at Temple, blinking, trying to focus. What is this guy’s deal? Isn’t he the one who shot him in the first place? Did he just call him Biff? At least Caboose gets the G-R-I-F right before he adds the extra F.

Grif gasps as another white-hot wave of pain sweeps through his body, and he slams his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning.

“Shit,” Temple mutters, and Grif feels a slight pressure on his wound as Temple moves his hands over it to try and stop the bleeding.

It doesn’t do much good, and Grif watches, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Temple removes his hands from his stomach, blue armor stained a glittering red. He fumbles for something at his belt, and moments later produces a can of biofoam.

“Hang on,” Temple says.

Grif sees an aqua blur move up behind them—Carolina. He waits for her to shoot Temple, but she doesn’t. She just crouches there, gun resting in her lap, watching as Temple opens the can of biofoam and holds it over the bullet hole in Grif’s stomach.

“What is it with everyone today?” Grif murmurs, closing his eyes.

There’s a hiss, and Grif’s eyes snap open. He looks down, expecting to see the pink foam coagulating at his gut. But all he sees is more blood, and a feeling of dread starts to slink up his spine as reality sets in.

The can’s empty.

The can’s empty, and Grif is going to bleed out.

“No!” Temple curses, hurls the can of biofoam away.

Grif bites the insides of his cheeks, hoping to distract himself, but it feels like a kiss compared to the pain he feels in his stomach. God, at least he was knocked out cold when the tank hit him. Grif wonders if this is how it felt for Tucker when he got stabbed, and he grins at the thought of them comparing scars. Though, Grif thinks he’ll probably win, because he’s got scars all over and he’s like, half Simmons, so.

Not that it’s a contest or anything.

Not that Grif will ever get a chance to compete in the not-contest.

“I’m so sorry, Biff,” Temple says, putting his hands back over Grif’s wound.

“Yeah, sorry, I just got here like an hour ago?” Grif pauses to catch his breath. “Uh, who the shit is Biff?”

Grif’s question falls on deaf ears as Temple babbles on.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve—”

Temple is cut off as he’s knocked away, tackled to the ground in a tangle of maroon and cobalt.

“Get the fuck away from him!”

Simmons.

Grif shifts his head to the left in time to see Simmons deck an unmoving Temple in the face hard enough to knock his helmet off. He didn’t even use his cyborg arm. Pride wells up in Grif’s chest and he smiles.

That was Bad Ass.

For a nerd.

Face exposed, Temple still doesn’t move to defend himself, and instead looks over at Grif, eyes wild and miles away.

“Gene, Gene, look,” Temple breathes, smiling up at Simmons. “Look, it’s Biff, he’s alive!”

“Name’s Grif, dammit,” Grif groans, rolling his eyes. Carolina’s beside him now, calling over to Doc, still hunched over Wash.

“That’s not Biff, dumbass,” Simmons says. “And I’m Simmons, dammit. Simmons!”

“Wha?” Temple’s brows knit together, and his eyes come into focus as he turns his attention to Grif once more. He raises his eyebrows and laughs, “No, that’s him, see? His armor’s orange.”

“No, Grif’s armor is orange,” Simmons snaps. “Biff’s dead remember? Skewered like, uh, like cheese with a-a toothpick!”

“Great one… Simmons,” Grif snorts, wincing. Laughing hurts. Simmons should stop making him laugh.

“Dead?” Temple blinks. “No he, he’s…”

Recognition spreads across Temple’s face then, and his eyes go dark and his face contorts—angry and ugly.

“You tricked me,” Temple growls, glaring at Grif, chest heaving.

“Holy… shit,” Grif says. “You’ve lost… your goddamn marbles.”

Temple makes a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob, and he starts struggling against Simmons, throwing random punches until one catches Simmons in the jaw. Simmons squawks and loses his balance, falling backwards as Temple clambers to his feet.

Yanking a knife from its holster on his thigh, Temple takes a step towards Grif.

He only makes it that one step.

There’s a bang and blood bursts out and blooms like a flower from Temple’s chest. Grif hears a clatter as the knife hits the floor, but he doesn’t see where it lands. His eyes are glued to Temple. Temple coughs and collapses to a kneeling position. He looks down, eyes wide, at the hole in his armor, and then he turns his head, dazed, to locate his attacker. Grif follows his gaze, and finds Simmons, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, pistol clutched in his hands, still raised and ready.

“Oh no the fuck you don’t,” Simmons says.

Grif watches, as Temple smiles, looking up at the ceiling.

“You got me this time!” Temple calls up to the ceiling. “Good one.”

Then he falls forward, arms and legs splayed out awkwardly, face turned toward Grif. His eyes are lifeless, ghost of his smile fading. Grif looks away.

A cool sensation spreads across Grif’s stomach then, like he’s been tossed into the sea on a sweltering day, and the pain begins to subside. He’s so relieved, he doesn’t even care when the painkillers make his legs go numb. Glancing down, he sees Doc is there, biofoam in hand, medkit at his side.

“’Bout time,” he mumbles.

The last thing he sees before sinking into darkness is the fuzzy maroon blur hovering above him, calling out his name.

The last thing he remembers is Temple’s smile.

[anniversary-magazine]

Practicing What He Preaches — In Conversation With David Thulstrup

Small, but with big ambitions, David Thulstrup’s studio is driven by an unstoppable curiosity and meticulous attention to detail. He leads his tight-knit team of architects and designers by a common notion of “modern simplicity” grounded in enduring Scandinavian values such as honesty and humanism. As the founder and creative director of Studio David Thulstrup, his holistic approach to each aspect of a project results in inclusive spaces that resonate with people — because a central tenet is a concern for how people feel. Designing spaces from the inside out, David considers light, colour, form and materials as architectural elements — all of which feel current but will stand the test of time.

We recently took the time to ask the award-winning architect and designer David Thulstrup some questions about him practicing what he preaches.

Magnus Høst (MH) David Thulstrup (DT)

MH: Could you please take us back in time and tell us how and when you first became fascinated with architecture?

DT: Being the youngest of five kids, I was always very observant and reflective. I believe this behaviour naturally resulted in being intrigued by spaces and interiors. Spending hours imagining how interiors could be transformed became a more serious interest when I turned ten or eleven years old. From that age, I consciously investigated the potential of interior architecture—whether it was at home or when visiting friends. Noticing every detail and really taking in my surroundings is something that has followed me throughout my entire life, and also plays an important role in my work today.

MH: I have read that you worked abroad for several years under the roof of prominent figures such as Jean Nouvel and Peter Marino. How does that experience influence your work today?

DT: I admire both Jean and Peter a lot. Their talent and work ethos has been a huge inspiration for the way I approach architecture. I was always fascinated by Jean’s unlimited creativity and his ability to maintain a high level of quality for every single project. It’s a rare skill these days, especially because everything seems to only be about budget and limited working hours. But what I learnt from Jean was to continue refining until you are finished and make it the best you can without compromising the overall quality. Peter’s approach is similar but with a commercial aspect in mind. I was thrilled when I found out he was the mastermind behind retail interiors of brands like Louis Vuitton and Chanel; I knew I had to work for him. He taught me how to create functional commercial spaces that are equally inspiring. He also infused me with a passion for materials. My time at his studio made me aware of the different shades and nuances within the same material, and how that can change the expression of a space completely.

MH: Your work, although minimalist, feels warm, playful, and poetic. Is creating emotions something that you aim for?

DT: I am not specifically working with emotions as such. However, I always want to create spaces that people want to be in. It’s probably embedded in my Nordic heritage and upbringing. Spaces need to be pleasant, and I try to achieve that by using tactile elements as well as a play of contrasts that resonates with people.

“No matter the purpose or size of the project, I always strive to create calm environments through vibrant yet harmonious contrasts.” — David Thulstrup

MH: You work with various projects, although you have a history of working with retail interior concepts throughout the years. Can you tell us a little more about your relationship with retail concepts?

DT: It’s true, I am very passionate about retail spaces and the storytelling that is linked to them. Unfolding a brand’s story through architectural interventions and intriguing material choices excites me. And working with many different brands allows me to really dive deep into each story and produce a visual universe that matches their essence. Compared to residential projects, retail spaces allow me to be bolder and more playful, even though the design language still embeds the same core values.

MH: What is "the perfect interior" for you?

DT: The perfect interior inhabits the perfect balance of many individual elements that produce an environment greater than the sum of their parts. No matter the purpose or size of the project, I always strive to create calm environments through vibrant yet harmonious contrasts. Finding the right interplay between natural and artificial light, old and new elements, as well as honest and industrial materials is what makes or breaks the overall atmosphere. Succeeding with these tensions is what I regard as the perfect interior. Combined with interesting gestures, volumes, and furniture pieces—whether custom-built, made by a brand that I love, or vintage—that become architectural elements, any space turns into ideal environments for me.

MH: What would you say has been one of your most significant challenges so far?

DT: Being creative and running a company at the same time has probably been, and always will be, my biggest challenge. Over the years I have learned to grow with it even though I have had to handle a lot of things that are out of my comfort zone, such as bookkeeping or letting things grow organically. Even though these are normal aspects of running a company, I’ve had to come to terms with them.

MH: What principles are essential trademarks of your visual language and aesthetic? And why?

DT: I have been very fortunate to work on projects that are located in amazing places, inhabit a sense of history and have the ability to be transformed into something beautiful. It’s a very intuitive process that has evolved into applying a juxtaposition of the existing mass of elements combined with more minimal, clean, and sharp volumes. The merge of these two worlds is the core element in each project and has been a process that I have refined over the past years. Furthermore, natural palettes, honest materials and simple finishes always come into play—often combined with a dash of colour to contrast my pared-back approach.

MH: You practice what you preach. What do you think makes you a thriving architect?

DT: I don’t have a stop button. I keep pushing for the best result until I feel a project is completed. I never compromise on quality or final output. This mindset is so ingrained in how I approach architecture and design that it feels very natural. Apart from that, I stay away from trends or clutter, which allows me to create timeless yet current spaces. That doesn’t mean that I am not informed of what’s currently deemed trendy in the industry. Quite the opposite actually: instead of being too focused on following trends, I stay true to my vision.

MH: Could you name a few sources of your inspiration sources?

DT: I am inspired by my Nordic peers, especially the old masters such as Sverre Fehn, Halldor Gunnløgssons or Børge Mogensen. Their approach to functionality and simplicity has influenced me heavily. Looking at contemporary artists, architects, and designers, it’s people like Martin Szekely, Donald Judd and John Pawson who strike me with their simplicity and minimalist approach. And lastly, I believe that being introduced to very pared-back architecture from a very young age has had a big impact.

MH: What do you think is the role of an architect in today's society?

DT: There are two types of architects: the ones that inspire, and the ones who build for the mass. I believe we can’t live without one or the other. But moving forward, we must push the boundaries of how we build, live and create spaces that make us feel good. With everybody being focused on building faster, higher, and cheaper, it’s our role to challenge that. After all, it’s about finding a balance between tackling the challenges we face as a society and creating interiors that enable us to live a desirable life.

MH: How would you describe our present time's architecture and design language, and how do you believe people will describe it in the future?

DT: Challenges such as the growing global population or the climate crisis will hopefully inspire architects to rethink current ways of building or designing. As architects, we can’t deny that we carry a certain responsibility. And even though we need to rethink our approach fundamentally and systematically, these challenges might be our rescue after all. I have already seen great initiatives and I hope to see or work on inspiring and innovative solutions soon myself.

All images by Irina Boersma Courtesy of Studio David Thulstrup Special thanks to Monique Schröder

[businessbox-blog1]

Why website development is adjacent to necessity for your business?

Over a decade ago, physical, functional businesses would have never anticipated, a website inclusion in their operations would be adequately of importance. But, the scene for now have taken out and out turn. Spanning a business at global or local level is no big deal nowadays after availing the website development services. Do you know a website can accomplish magic in your company? Like offering web services, establishing e commerce models, driving on surveys, recording product reviews & feedbacks, promoting clients interaction and a lot in the bale. BusinessBOX placed in Qatar, is a passable marketing enterprise catering to the patrons across the world regarding the creation of lasting impression websites which has the robust ability to boost your revenue. Are you familiar with the fact, 90% of your prospect consumers scrutinize your agency on search engines? That’s the blow of digital marketing impact. And, you can’t get off the path, if aspiring to be captain of the industry.  With the blend of communication structure to affordable internet facilities, 

website development has assisted in evolving the numerous organisations from the measurable grade to defined apex. We push in performance the visually and interactively facilitated websites, transcending the user experience on every subsequent visit. We have meticulously balanced the ratio of skilled developers and commencing projects to sign over comprehensive client satisfaction.                    

We embed custom website development solution and merge a truss of web components for total website development involving unique ideas and business frames. Integrating several applications like CMS and CRM with need-based facilities, aids in minimizing your cost and risk for implementation.

Vessel of tools and technologies we take in employ while website development process are:

·        PHP

·        ASP.NET

·        ROR

·        PYTHON

·        JAVA

·        FULL STACK

We compose what your specific industry requires amongst divergent business domains of E-commerce, job board, E-learning, banking, content & document management software and much similar to named.      

A great deal of services which we are knitted in to:

·        Custom website development

·        Web portal development

·        E-commerce solutions

·        Web open source integration

·        Mobile application development

We labor in collaboration for the website development of a fetter of categories:

 1 Business Administration:

 We catch on CRM systems, project management, time tracking software, human resource management systems, business analytic apps and other competent tools to shape your enterprise for butter-smooth ministration from every corner.    

 2 Real Estate:                                                                          

 Tools we list for this category comprise for homeowners, buyers, tenants, agents and brokers to keep a record of transaction regarding renting, selling or leasing.  

 3 Education Management:

 Under this section a variety of tools exploited are learning and testing process automation, personal assessment, student’s database, interactive textbooks and a bit more to be added as of inventory.  

 4 Healthcare Gateway:

 Health field tools inset systems for an ambulance, home care, skilled nursing facilities, plastic surgery clinics, assisted living facilities and giant hospitals where patients are treated for fast medical recovery.

 5 E-commerce Website Creation:

 Vast scope of Ecommerce features online marketplace, auctions and group buying websites those are eventuating due to payment gateway integration, billing systems, multi-currency transactions, recurring payments, accounting and reporting tools important for the well performance of operations.    

 6 Advertisement and Marketing:

 An array of tools like marketing automation tools, classified ads, affiliate and referral systems we combine with your particular project to deliver beyond expectation results.

 We have either attained expertise in helping out our patrons in industrial areas like travel agency, fashion studio, weather forecast, healthcare & beauty, banking & finance and the ample.

 How does website development carry out in its lifecycle?  

 We ensure you to render well arranged and professional appearing website by deploying the DevOps and Agile development methodology for producing a surprising project which converts to cultivating the business. Mapping of our website development goes on, passing through following stages:

·        Planning State

·        Content Consolidation

·        Project Structure

·        Designing

·        Testing

·        Making Live    

[estermmoody-blog]

Sewing Tips - How To Sew And Recycle Old Pot Holders

Is your kitchen cabinet brimming with old pot holders that are so singed and worn looking that you could never need any other person to see them? All things considered, don't discard them yet!

Here is a sewing machine buying tip to revive them.

Attempt this "how to sew" sewing exercise and reuse the majority of your old pot holders by sewing another cover for them.

This sewing strategy is a decent sewing tip to cover different things in your home, as well. Sew a cover for your sofas, quilts, placemats and pads to start up your home dec.

Here is the means by which to sew another cover to reuse your old pot holders and make them look fresh out of the plastic new once more.

Utilize some texture scraps from your reserve to coordinate your kitchen style or glance through the leftovers at your nearby texture store.

Remove the old pot holder circle or ring if there is one.

Spread out the pot holder on some paper and draw an example around it including a 1/2 inch crease stipend all around the state of the pot holder. You can spare this example for future pot holder covers. Name it so you recognize what the example is.

Utilizing the example, slice 2 layers of texture to make the pot holder cover. You can utilize 2 unique textures on the off chance that you like.

Here are several different ways that you can sew this.

Technique 1:

Place the 2 right sides of the texture together.

Sew a 1/2 inch crease around 3 sides of the cover in addition to circumvent the corners on the fourth side leaving an opening to embed the pot holder.

Press the creases open.

Turn the cover right side out.

Embed the pot holder in the cover.

Slip line or machine line the opening shut.

Include a texture circle or shade ring on the off chance that you want to hang up your pot holder.

Technique 2:

Sandwich the pot holder between the two layers of texture with the correct sides of the texture looking out.

Stick to hold all layers together.

Utilize your zipper foot to line near the edge of the pot holder all around.

Trim the crease remittance to 1/4 inch all around.

Utilize inclination tape or self or differentiation texture strips to tie the edges of the pot holder.

In the event that you like to hang your pot holders, frame a circle toward the finish of the official to reach out from the edge of the pot holder.

Note: You can knit these pot holders in the event that you like, in any case, it truly isn't essential. Try different things with a portion of your sewing machine's beautiful fastens.

Additional sewing tip: Pot holder covers are an incredible method to go through a portion of your weaving or sewing tests that you have in your reserve. Give them as endowments or make up some extraordinary bazaar things.

An additional, additional sewing tip: Cut up that old sleeping pad cushion to use as the "batting" for some new pot holders and placemats.

Attempt it! It just bodes well!

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Why God Made Jesus Ugly

ShareTweet I noticed something depreciating the other day. I was playing around on Google doing some research for my blog. I typed “Why did God . . . ” and then I stopped. I saw a question that appeared: Why did God draw me ugly ? em> And then I sighed. I nearly never feel sympathetic for acts like this, but for some reason, this time I did. I felt hurt for the people who felt the need to ask Google such a discouraging question. But who can you blame? Our world doesn’t help. In the day of Instagram filters and abandoned the house and pressing from family members or friends, it’s easy to feel deflated, to feel self-conscious. Comparison defrauded us of confidence and the majority of members of us are always comparing our lives to others — especially in the glamour department. Why Did God Make Me Ugly? For me, I’ve ever learnt comfort from Psalm 139:13: “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Who caused you, designed you, constituted you? God. When I choose I wasn’t born with a stomach shortcoming, I remember this verse. When I bid I were a little taller or my tendons a little stronger, I retain God was the One who designed me. But this realization isn’t ever easy. It sure wasn’t for one female in the Bible. A Tale of Two Sisters There’s a storey in Genesis that shows how too much increased emphasis on personal impression, or an harmful want for love, can bring suffering. The floor involves two sisters: Rachel and Leah. The Bible tells us that Rachel was beautiful TAGEND “Now Laban had two daughters. The list of the older was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah’s noses were poor, but Rachel was beautiful in formation and image ”( Genesis 29:16 -1 7 ). Literally, in the original language, it says that Rachel had both a beautiful figure and a huge figure. But Leah was different. “ . . . Leah’s seeings were weak.” Does this means that Leah had good dream? In his excellent book entitled Counterfeit Gods: The Empty Promises of Money, Sex, and Power, and the Only Hope that Matters, Tim Keller writes TAGEND “Leah is the oldest daughter, and the narrator opens us but one important item about her. The textbook said today she had’ feeble or inadequate eyes.’ Some have assumed that she had bad eyesight. But the passage does not say,’ Leah had strong attentions, but Rachel could see very well.’ It says Leah had shaky noses, but Rachel was beautiful. So’ weakness’ perhaps meant that she was cross-eyed or literally unsightly in some manner. The level is clear. Leah was peculiarly unattractive, and she had to live all of their own lives in the shadow of her sister, who was absolutely stunning.” Rachel was the girl who every person demanded. But Leah was the girl who nobody wanted. The story gets better. But only after it gets worse. The Lord is Near to The Brokenhearted We must not forget Jacob, the spouse of both Rachel and Leah. He had his own begin of issues, the majority of members of which stemmed from his childhood. That’s because Jacob’s father, Isaac, favored two brothers Esau over him. As a upshot, Jacob grew up furious and harsh. And hopeless for love. Jacob didn’t know his father’s enjoy. He didn’t know his mother’s love. And he surely didn’t know the ardour of God. So when he purely noticed Rachel, it is ready to do insane things to get her — like work for seven years for her dictator father Laban( practically four times the ordinary toll of a bride ). Jacob eventually marries Rachel. But simply after he’s tricked into marrying Leah, and only after seven additional years of work. So now Jacob is married to both Rachel and Leah. Jacob is empty. Rachel is proud. And Leah’s heart is broken, but that’s good bulletin because the Lord is near to the brokenhearted. “When the Lord recognized that Leah was disliked, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren. And Leah saw and suffered a son, and she announced his refer Reuben, for she said,’ Because the Lord has gazed upon my adversity; for now my husband will affection me.’ She conceived again and carry a son, and said,’ Because the Lord has heard that I am detested, he has given me this son also.’ And she called his honour Simeon. Again she conceived and abode a son, and said,’ Now this time my husband will be attached to me, because I have made him three sons.’ Therefore his mention was called Levi. And she envisioned again and bore a son, and said, “This time I will admire the Lord.’ Therefore she announced his list Judah. Then she discontinued bearing”( Genesis 29:31 -3 5 ). Tim Keller contributes TAGEND “When Leah uttered birth to her last-place lad, Judah, she said,’ This time, I will praise the LORD’ . . . We shouldn’t exactly look at what God did in her. We have to also look at what God did for her . . . This child was Judah, and in Genesis 49 we are told that it is through him that the real King, the Messiah, will someday come. God had come to the girl that no one demanded, the unloved, and procreated her the ancestral baby of Jesus. Salvation came into the world , not through beautiful Rachel, but through the unwanted one, the unloved one.” The Man With No Beauty One of my favorite sections in Scripture is Isaiah 53 TAGEND “For he grew up before him like a young embed and like a root out of baked floor; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no knockout that we are able to want him . strong> He was despised and rejected by souls; a man of mournings, and become acquainted with agony; and as one from whom subjects hide their faces he was derided, and we honoured him not”( Isaiah 53:1 -3 ). This passage speaks of Jesus Christ. The is the man that was born in a manger. His mothers were inadequate. Isaiah tells us that he had no allure that we are able to libido him; John tells us that his own didn’t receive him( John 1:11 ). The Gospels also expressed that his love deserted him. And Mark tells us that his family and neighbours disbelieved him. Yet, this is the Son of God. And this was the man who lived the perfect life, croaked the sinner’s demise, and rose from the grave. Redemption came through “the mens” with no beauty. To those who receive Christ as Savior by trusting in his finished act get his righteousness or, as some theologians mention, his imputed righteousness. Martin Luther called this “the great exchange.” For the Christian, God makes your ugliness( guilt) and gives you his beauty( righteousness ). Because of our righteousness, then, every Christian is beautiful. For our sin has been removed as far as the eastern is from the west. “Because of our righteousness, then, every Christian is beautiful. For our guilt has been removed as much as is the east is from the west.” It can be hard to get this theology from our judgments to our souls. But one day, the fight will be completed. Heaven will concede a brand-new torso, and all distres and sin and sadness will be terminated. No longer will we wonder about any sort of ugliness, but simply be amazed forever at Christ’s beautiful glory. Read Next On FaithIt 23-Yr-Old Adopts 13 Daughters BEFORE Going Married, Then Initiates Them to New “Dad” ShareTweet Read more: https :// faithit.com/ why-god-made-jesus-ugly-david-qaoud / http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/08/15/why-god-made-jesus-ugly/

[mckay45hovgaard-blog]

Why No body is Today What You Need To Do And Speaing Frankly About Logo Digitizng

Our vision is to be the best embroidery digitizing service company while in the Canada . What can make us get noticed of other digitizers would be the spectacular good quality digitizing that we offer at A reasonable price tag tag. Enterprises around the globe are searching for economical personalized embroidery digitizing solutions, which can cater their needs for precise, and high-quality embroidery digitizing. how to digitize designs for embroidery Embroidery Digitizing is a means of changing embroidery models into a structure that is definitely readable by modern day embroidery devices. The same as the traditional embroiderers, digital embroideries have to have artisans of their particular variety named Digitizers or Punchers, the hugely proficient individuals who can switch any style and design, be it emblem, Picture, illustration of any form into a set of particular instructions by way of numerous application, which are later converted into distinct equipment readable structure, being executed, i.e. embroidered because of the equipment on a selected garment. That conversion procedure is called "digitizing" The digitized file notifies the embroidery machine the place, how and which shades to employ at some time of stitching. Outsourcing the digitizing task will save time, enhances good quality and adds profitability to new embroidery company. The smartest thing which they can perform is to hire an embroidery digitizing organization This sort of firms not just give premium quality digitizing products and services but in addition offer really reasonably priced pricing much too. We provide intricate style and design to truth in embroidery function this consists of not simply easy logos but we also do the job with intricate crest models that have a high sew counts. Our primary concentration is on "sewability. We offer a top quality Specialist support, completed immediately at the ideal cost available. Depending upon the dimensions, some types, images or logos with intricate element will need to be minimized in complexity to achieve high quality embroidery as being the final result. We offer a variety of embroidery digitizing providers which include things like preparing the simplest to most intriguing logos just As outlined by your specifications, making sure top quality and well timed supply is our top priority. 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