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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

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Shine a Light, part 6

A Loki series/Lokane fic. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

He is already spinning around and bracing himself as his boots touch the concrete, half expecting to see the beast come tumbling towards him.

But the air is mercifully still where the door has snapped shut.

The evening sky above him is heavy with clouds, and a light mist of cool rain touches his face.

Cool.

He looks down at his hands. They are still shaking from the adrenaline, but no longer blue. Nor do his clothes feel rough against his skin.

Did he consciously change back to his Asgardian form as he went through the door? He is not sure. Whatever the shape or shade, his body feels oddly disconnected from his brain and Loki idly wonders if using the tempad so much within a short time span might be affecting him on a cellular level.

Then again, if that was the case would the Minute Men and analysts at the TVA not have been suffering from chronic time travel fatigue?

Who knows, perhaps they did. A number of them certainly looked worn out.

Tempad “jetlag” (an apt mortal word) or not, unwillingly running into variants upon variants of old enemies on this treacherous timeline coupled with the incessant longing for her has caused Loki’s grip on reality to slip ever more from one destination to the next.

What reality? a mocking voice in his head whispers, sounding maddingly similar to the little devil clock.

You have no idea where you are, who you are or where you’re going. You’re a man out of time, for all time, always.

He straightens and draws in a few deep breaths, surveying his new surroundings: A narrow brick terrasse. At the back wall, a glass sliding door reveals a room covered in darkness, but as nothing moves inside (his night vision remains far superior to that of mortals), Loki turns instead to take in the view of … London.

There is a taste of early spring in the air, and before him as far as the eye can see, the rooftops and spires of the city stretch out into the distance.

Millions of little lights flicker in the dark and the fumes of traffic and city grime mix with whiffs of different cuisines drifting out of air vents.

He has been here once or twice before, though not in decades, and there are whole clusters of towering structures of glass and steel that he does not recall from on his previous visit.

The house by the ocean in 2016, Budapest in 2015, New York in 2014 and now London in what he assumes must be 2013. As methodical as the backwards count has proven to be, as confusing are the destinations and varying seasons.

Only they cannot possibly be random.

Free will is an illusion.

The eerie feeling that even this, his ill-thought-out ‘quest’, is being guided by an invisible hand in charge of his destiny is so dispiriting it’s comical. He can’t quite decide whether to feel perversely honored that some higher being – a version of He Who Remains? – would take interest in toying with him, or furious that he has been singled out for this preposterous punishment of drifting through another Loki variant’s timeline.

It is no use dwelling on either emotion. He has no one to measure his pride against, no one’s expectations to live up to expect for his own, and, frankly, by now that bar is scraping the floor. There is no telling where the female variant of him went and Loki has no means of contacting the TVA or the analyst-interrogator even if he wanted to (he really does not anymore).

Loki unclenches his fists.

Seeing as each destination may have been an intentional set-up for whatever bizarre reason, the question is which character from his past he will encounter in this place. He vows to himself that no matter who he bumps into, he will attempt to reactivate that silver tongue of his and gather actual, useful information.

No more chaotic exits.

Provided no one tries to kill him on sight or squash him through a wall.

The terrace is furnished only with an old sun chair and a few plants, but the room beyond the glass door appears very lived in, with books stacked on the floor and several shelves, a large couch, a couple of armchairs, and what looks to be an adjacent kitchen area with a dining table.

Amazing how most mortals spend their years in such small, crowded dwellings.

Using only his magic, he slides open the door. It makes a low swooshing sound. Quiet as a cat, he steps over the threshold.

It hits him immediately, like walking into a wall: The scent of lavender.

And Thor.

The apartment is quiet, but they were here and recently.

He has been delivered right to them.

Loki is once again frozen in place.

His initial plan when knocking out that man in the canteen at the TVA and stealing his tempad was to find Thor and Jane at the scene of his own moral redemption (well…) on Svartalfheim. Where he supposedly saves their lives. Find them and use the momentum of their unfiltered gratitude to deliver the news that, most regrettably, the universe is likely coming to an end if they do not devise a plan together to prevent a multiversal war – preferably enlisting the help of Thor’s colleagues, too, and in the best of scenarios, Asgard.

Seek out Thor before saving Jane’s life, and Loki would have to first win his brother’s trust in the aftermath of the attack on New York. Find Thor after Svartalfheim, and there would be the small matter of explaining how the variant faked his own death and, after having thus broken Thor’s heart again, took the throne of the Realm Eternal.

Not an ideal conversation starter, even for them.

From the reel, he knows that there were other moments, much later, when he and Thor would become friendly again. After Ragnarok, before his end.

But Loki also knows that this need to get to Svartalfheim has as much to do with her as it has with Thor. Perhaps even more so.

Something important transpires between himself and the brown-eyed scientist on that brutal, barren planet and if it is the last thing he does, Loki will find out what it means.

It does not make any more sense now than it did when he sat in the kill me kind of room, transfixed by her face, but if he had had any initial doubts as to whether he was simply imagining the magnetic pull of her, those had been effectively shattered to atoms when she threw her arms around his neck outside the white house.

“Where did you go, handsome?”

Nothing on this timeline seems to be playing out as it should. Which of course also means that the events on Svartalfheim may never have occurred at all.

On this timeline, a variant has more or less befriended the Avengers in the years after New York when, according to the proper Loki fate, he should have been on Asgard. And, in a few years from now, the variant will somehow be with Jane.

Jane, who has stayed in this very apartment. With Thor.

Briefly, Loki is back to wondering if Thor dies and how, but then he remembers what Bruce said about their “family soap opera” and Loki’s “victory”.

Could it be that he and Thor actually fought over Jane?

As much as he wishes it otherwise, even Loki finds it hard to believe that his variant would have beat the God of Thunder in a fight. The might of Mjølner is formidable. And though his brother has not quite discovered it himself yet, Loki has always suspected that Thor has his own kind of magic.

Then there is Jane: Without having ever conversed with her, Loki would be surprised if Jane would appreciate being treated as a prize to be won.

He is getting a headache. A rare thing for a god, but there is no putting the puzzle together with so many pieces missing from the board. Since he has no hope of using the tempad to transport him off Midgard, maybe the best thing to do would be to just wait here and see if Jane and Thor come back. He has been specifically sent here, has he not?

Without really noticing, Loki has moved to the blue, puffy couch. He sits himself down and leans back into the soft cushions, letting out a sigh. When was the last time he slept or ate anything? There is a sense of fresh paranoia as he realizes that he cannot remember doing either at the TVA, expect for when he fell asleep during research.

“Time works differently at the TVA. You’ll see”.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns. On the wall opposite from the couch is a paper calendar: 2013.

He takes in the rest of the apartment but does not magic any of the lights on. There is the open kitchen, a tiny hallway with a coat rack and a few pairs of shoes, and two more doors to the left of where he is sitting.

Getting up suddenly feels immensely tasking, but Loki nevertheless hauls himself to his feet and goes to inspect the other rooms. First, there is the washroom. The scent of lavender is stronger in there, even more inviting, and spotting a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, he considers taking a shower. It is not as if he cannot easily use magic to uphold appearances (wait, were there showers at the TVA?), but that is no substitute for the soothing feel of warm water running down his body, relaxing his tired muscles.

Yes, he will shower. And cast a spell on the apartment, so he will be alerted if anybody attempts to enter.

He takes a small comfort in his powers being restored.

Loki reckons the other door leads to the sleeping chambers but just to be sure, he magics it open with a flick of his wrist.

A window with closed blinds. A wooden bookcase to one side, volumes and magazines piled high. An old, white wardrobe with brass grips. A pile of clothes strewn haphazardly on the thick yellow rug on the floor near a large, unmade bed.

Unmade – and not empty.

Loki stands perfectly still, one hand still raised.

Why did he not sense that someone was here?!

Seeing as Clint (Bird-Eye?) managed to surprise him in Budapest, perhaps Loki’s “wolf’s ears” really are failing him.

Even so, his nose is working just fine. Unless …

Then he knows. Of course.

His tongue tastes bile.

Inching closer, he sees the black hair spilling over the madras. His own lean, sculpted body whose long limbs and handsome Asgardian features Loki has never felt less appreciation for than right this very moment.

The variant is deep asleep. And half-naked under the sheets.

Something twists in his stomach at the scene. Something small and pathetic and evil that wants out. A foul, winged creature batting against his ribcage with sharp claws.

He takes another step forward.

How has the variant not been alerted to his presence yet? He seemed strong – very strong – in 2016.

Loki studies his twin’s face. His own exact face. Same high cheek bones, same long, dark lashes against a pale complexion. Only this close, the man’s skin has a faint ashen sheen to it. A few tiny beads of sweat glisten on his temples and, yes, Loki hears it now, his breathing is slightly labored.

He is injured. Enough to dull his senses.

It is not the madman from the Void, as Loki had feared after their first encounter. His energy is quite different from any of the other variants, and Loki suspects he may be the closest to a perfect double that he’s encountered yet (and please, let this one be the last. No more variants or Loki will forget which life was his own).

Stepping so close he can lean over the bed, the reason for the variant’s sedated state becomes evident:

Tied around the man’s mid-section, just about visible over the sheets, is the upper edge of a large bandage. Loki sniffs. Yes, he can sense the wound and the ugly tinge of dark magic still surrounding it, like a poisonous signature: This was inflicted by a blade of the dark elves. The variant has come from Svartalfheim after all.

The cut must have been near fatal, but from the smell of it, it is healing well, aided by the variant’s own powers and what can only be human medicine, judging by the clinical odor.

Even so, why was he not taken to the healers on Asgard?

Because he is evading his punishment for the attack on New York, Loki guesses.

Thor and Jane must have brought him to London instead of delivering him back to Odin. Although thanks to Heimdall’s watchful gaze, the All-Father will be aware of what has transpired. In his condition, the chances of the variant being able to use his magic to shield himself from Heimdall are next to none.

Still, he is here. No one has come for him yet.

Loki does not know which is stranger: That the variant is legitimately, badly injured and not currently in the process of dispatching Odin off to some home for the elderly in New York, or that Odin has allowed the variant to be taken to Midgard instead of the dungeons.

Presumably neither the All-Father nor Thor are aware of the variant’s role in Frigga’s death.

Though he tries to shake them off, the images remain crystal clear: The queen mother, killed by one of Malekeith’s monster.

A shiver suddenly runs through the variant’s body on the bed and Loki holds his breath. The man shifts under the sheets but does not wake.

So, dear ‘brother’, your Nexus event was that you nearly died for the people who care for you instead of following up your heroism with deceit, as I would have done.

What sentiment.

The winged creature growls.

Loki could kill him right now.

Kill him and take his place.

It would be easy, so easy to slit his throat. It is not as if he has not committed murder before.

“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it …” But this is not ‘people’.

This man is a murderer as well.

The variant has already veered spectacularly off course from his fate, and yet there are no Minute Men next to his bed, holding him accountable for his “crimes against the sacred timeline”, nor will he be apprehended in the following years.

This man got “the Time Keepers’ stamp of approval”, just like the Avengers.

It is so monumentally unfair it is enough to make Loki’s fingers grasp for an invisible dagger. The variant’s existence makes a mockery of the life that was cruelly stolen from Loki by the TVA and for that he loathes him with every fiber of his identical body.

Why should the variant have any more right to live?

Because he will make her happy.

Loki forces himself to rein in the rage. The man will play a part in Jane’s life.

He stares at his sleeping double.

The variant is worthy.

Or just simply unbearably, ridiculously lucky.

No matter what, he must live, but if Loki stays here much longer, he fears the variant’s chances of making it past 2013 will rapidly decrease by the minute.

Loki cannot stand to look at him, nor will he contemplate the fact that the variant is comfortable enough in the apartment to discard his clothes.

If he does, he will stab him to death. And relish in it.

Loki is about to magic himself away to find somewhere nearby to wait for Thor and Jane’s return, when a noise reaches him from the hall outside the apartment.

Someone is coming towards the front door, keys in hand.

Jane.

He should leave immediately. Disappear before she can turn the key in the door.

But he does not.

Still looking at the sleeping, half-covered form in front of him, something finally snaps instead. The winged creature shrieks in delight.

A quick spell ensures that no sounds from outside the sleeping chamber can reach the variant, no matter how light his sleep becomes.

Another one renders all the light switches in the apartment useless.

Then Loki swiftly picks up the clothes from the floor, looks it over, and changes his own black outfit into what he is holding: A dark green, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, well-known black leather pants that makes him feel both a bit homesick and a lot stronger.

Don’t do this, don’t do this.

A voice, not the clock this time but his own. He ignores it.

He does not know what Jane’s relationship with the variant is of this time or what state of mind she expects to find him in, but she has let him stay here – and right now, she is alone.

Her fingers weaving through his hair while the sun beat down on his back.

His conscience will not allow him to kill the variant, yet Loki cannot resist the temptation to be him.

Again.

But just for a heartbeat or two.

This last part he promises to himself and to her, though it does nothing to bury the shame.

Perhaps he did not change at all during his time at the TVA. Perhaps his true, villainous self just lay dormant, biding his time, while various oppressors walked all over him.

Is a stolen moment with her worth more than his honor? Is it worth jeopardizing his one chance of enlisting Thor’s help?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

This is lowest you have ever sunk.

Shut up.

He steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. His hair. The variant’s hair is noticeably longer. He cocks his head to the side once and the difference is levelled out.

In the hall, Jane is fiddling with the keys. When the lock clicks, Loki is sitting on the blue couch again, trying to appear casual while his pulse is racing as fast as when Bruce turned green before him.

And there she is.

Hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, wearing a dark green parka, jeans and boots.

Her eyes find his in the low light and a warm smile spreads on her face. His heart leaps into his throat.

“You’re back”. She does not stop to take off her jacket or attempt to turn on the lights before coming towards him and, unsure of what to say, he stands up. She stops in front of him, apparently a little unsure of the situation herself. She bites her lip.

“So how did it go?”

Her voice sounds at once both concerned and hopeful and her eyes are wide with expectation.

She is searching for some sort of positive affirmation and so Loki smiles down at her and says the only thing that seems fitting:

“It went well”.

Jane exhales loudly and her smile returns. “It did?!”

“Yes”, Loki replies, grinning at her (her smile is too infectious) and hoping she will not ask him to elaborate on whatever the subject is.

“Of course it did! I mean, you’re still here, aren’t you? Oh Loki, I’m so insanely relieved!” Jane laughs and looks like she is about to throw herself into his arms (automatically he reaches for her) when she stops herself mid-motion. “Sorry! I nearly forgot. Again!”

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and Loki swallows hard as her fingers softly caress his with unmistakable intimacy.

“But seriously, you two didn’t fight, like fight-fight, did you …? I hope Thor didn’t …”. She trails off and looks at him questioningly.

“No. No, we didn’t fight. Don’t worry. We both … behaved”. Loki tries to catch up while keeping his replies as vague as he hopes he can afford.

The variant and Thor have had words, and Jane has worried about the outcome. Could it have been a discussion of whether to return Loki to Asgard? But then why has Thor not come back to the apartment?

In fact, why go anywhere else to talk at all, with the variant being as beat up as he is?

Because he and Thor both expected a row not suited for the indoors.

“Okay, you sit, you’ve moved around enough for one day. I’ll fix us something to eat and you’re going to tell me everything”. Jane gently lets go of his hand, then shoots him a teasing smile. “Unless you’ve emptied the fridge. Again”.

“Um”, is Loki’s inspired contribution to the conversation.

“Uh oh, pasta it is then”, Jane laughs, and goes to shrug off her jacket and boots in the hallway, revealing an open flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.

Was she wearing the same thing that day in the desert town? It looks familiar.

Jane flips a light switch next to the coat rack and makes a “huh”-sound as nothing happens. She tries a lamp next to the dining table with the same result.

“Has the electricity gone again? Was it out when you got back?”

“Ah, yes. It was”.

“The landlord seriously needs to fix this, that’s the third time this week…good old London”. Jane scoffs but does not sound all that bothered.

“Can you work a little magic for us?”

When Loki does not move, Jane walks up to him (now even shorter without her footwear) and lightly places a hand on his arm, nudging him back on the couch. “Sit. And shine a light, please”.

He lets her push him down, and her hand moves up to rest on his shoulder. Now he is the one looking up at her. She is standing between his legs and there it is, the affection in her eyes that almost makes him forget that he is not the man it is meant for.

He wonders for how long he can get away with not saying anything remotely coherent before she suspects something’s amiss.

Obeying her wish, he holds out his palm and a small, orange flame appears, casting a warm glow on both their faces. Motioning with his fingers, he makes the flame float elegantly over the low coffee table in front of the couch where it stills in the air.

“I was thinking more along the lines of just making the electricity come back on, like last time, but okay, that is very pretty too”. Jane looks at the little light with wonder and Loki thinks he sees the stars in her eyes again.

Then her attention is back on him. Her fingers brush against his hair. They linger by the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know if it’s relief, but it’s almost like you look a bit … different”. Jane’s eyes roam his face, his hair. “Do you even still have a fever?”

Before Loki can answer her hand is touching his forehead.

Jane shakes her head in surprise. “It’s much better than this morning. Maybe it was good for you to get some real air after all. It has been almost three weeks …”

How easily she touches him. How sad that he's not used to being touched anymore.

He has only to lay his hand on her forehead in return and he could use his powers to reveal glimpses of her past (yes, he kept many of his gifts from the female on Lamentis).

More specifically, what has happened between her and the variant.

But not without revealing himself in the process.

Her left hand is still on his shoulder while the other now travels down the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of her skin when he feels her bending down and locks of her auburn hair tickle his face.

He opens his eyes and looks right into hers, inches from his.

You have not earned this.

You are deliberately, selfishly, monstrously taking advantage of her.

I am a monster.

And then her mouth is on his and he does not say no.

To hell with his soul.

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

For a second, she thinks she feels him tense up.

But as soon as her lips melt onto his and he immediately, hungrily reciprocates the kiss, everything is right again.

Crazy, sure, but also oh so right.

Jane literally never wants to stop kissing him.

She actually told him exactly that the other night. Or, accidentally blurted it out as they were coming up for air, since she is falling for him so fast her brain apparently cannot keep up with her mouth.

Immediately she had felt embarrassed, but it did not last longer than it took for him to raise a teasing eyebrow at her and pull her close again. “Why, Doctor Foster”, he had purred in that low voice that he absolutely knows makes her go weak, “by all means, please…(and he’d kissed her) don’t…(another kiss) stop … (kiss) Ever”.

Then he had leaned back a little, still gently cupping her face between his large hands, and flashed her the most gorgeous, happy, wickedly lascivious smile she had seen on him so far.

Not many people radiate smoldering sex appeal while simultaneously suffering from the agonizing pain of a wound inflicted by an alien sword, but of course Loki pulls it off with flying colors.

From there on, there had been no returning to ‘movie night’.

Now, trying not to break the kiss, Jane carefully moves to sit herself down on the couch as well, making sure not to press against him. For two weeks, they have been making out like teenagers whenever they are alone. Somewhat hindered by his injuries, obviously, which prohibits him from moving much – it is both very, very hot and insanely frustrating.

The first time she had kissed him, he had been too stunned to move a muscle anyway.

The second time, he had nearly ripped the wound open again.

Since then, they have tried to take it slow, although on more than one occasion, Loki has been all but begging to throw caution to the wind – “I’ll heal!", “It doesn't hurt!” (said as he looked like he was going to pass out), and, Jane’s favorite, “It might make me heal faster”.

His impatience would be quite funny if it was not because Jane was feeling just as dizzy with want.

She has been going for a lot of runs in Hyde Park lately.

“Do you have a death wish?!”, she had asked him teasingly at one point when he had spontaneously grabbed her hand as she passed him the kitchen and pulled her tight against him, only to groan loudly in pain when her body collided with his bandage.

Then he had looked suddenly very serious and let her go, and she had instantly regretted the comment.

She knows enough about his past not to joke about things like that.

“Oh. Oh, no”.

That was all her mind had been capable of thinking when she and Loki had locked eyes in the palace on Asgard, right after she had slapped him (surprising both herself and everyone around her).

He had looked down at her with his trademark arrogant smirk, except as soon as Thor and Sif had turned away, his gaze had turned infinitely softer, and Jane had felt something monumental start to shift inside of her.

Something that had nothing to do with the Aether coursing through her veins.

Not long after that, on that awful, doomsday-looking planet, he had saved her life. Twice in quick succession. And for a horrifying second, it had looked like he would die right in front of her.

The memory makes her involuntarily shudder a bit and, drawing her legs up on the couch so she can twist to face him more directly, she runs her fingers through his long, silken hair, and nips at his lower lip… and is startled when his head jerks. For real this time.

Jane draws back.

“Are you okay?”. Perhaps things did not go as smoothly with Thor as she had hoped.

It was a big ask after all.

Once more she feels a sharp pang of guilt. It is not just her and Loki’s worlds that have been turned resoundingly upside down in a matter of one turbulent month.

Loki seems lost for words, and the sadness flooding his face shocks her.

He is far from okay.

In fact, he looks close to tears. Were it not because she had just felt his cool forehead, she would have assumed it was the fever flaring up.

Jane feels her stomach tie itself into a knot. They are taking him away from her before they have even had a chance be together.

Or, even worse still, he has regretted everything about their unlikely union.

“Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”

Here it comes, Jane thinks as nausea builds. Erik is about to be proved right about him.

She lets go of him. He is clearly wrestling with himself.

And he does look different. Is this what him dropping the mask looks like?

It is more than just his facial expression, it is his entire posture. Even wounded and half delirious with fever, Loki usually carries himself with no small amount of pride.

His eyes are so lost.

What the hell is going on?

“Just tell me, Loki”. Jane tries to disguise how alarmed she suddenly feels. His touch is the same, and yet it is like a stranger is taking over the man in front of her.

He inhales deeply and runs both his hands through his hair. Entirely without wincing as he lifts his elbows above his chest, she notices.

“Okay”, he begins. “Jane…” (the way he says her name, like he is tasting the word) “…you have every right to hate me for what I’m about to tell you. I truly deserve nothing less.”

She feels the tears welling up.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice breaks and Loki has the audacity to look taken aback.

“Are you being dragged back to Asgard, or are you dumping me? After trying so hard to get into my pants?!”

It comes out way too harshly, and Loki appears genuinely flummoxed.

Also, his face has gone red.

“Oh, Jane, no, he’s not going to… He won’t leave. I mean- ”

“What?” A chill runs down her spine.

“’He’? ‘He’ who? Thor?”

Before he can answer, they both jump a little as her phone suddenly goes off in her bag by the door.

That inane ringtone.

She still has not changed it.

Erik. She promised she’d let him know as soon as …

Jane wants to ignore it, but then her mentor will most likely keep calling and she cannot put it on silent from the couch. Loki probably could though, but she is not about to ask.

“Wait”. She holds up a hand and gets up.

While rummaging in the bag, a single tear runs down her cheek. No. She will keep her composure and listen to what he has to say like the commonsensical grown-up woman that she is.

Was.

She’s only just begun to get to know him properly, so why does it feel like she won’t be able to live without him?

She pulls out the damn phone and presses the button on the side.

The she straightens up again and turns. “Okay, Loki …”

Jane gasps.

The room is dark. And empty.

No, he didn’t!

“Loki!”

No answer.

She stalks over to the couch and frantically looks around. Nothing.

“Loki, don’t you dare!”

The phone vibrates in her hand. Shaking all over, Jane answers the call. “Erik?”. Her voice is very small. “Yes, hi, Jane, it’s me. Listen, has Loki gotten back yet?”

She starts crying. “Erik, he left. He was here when I came home and just now, he disappeared! He didn’t even say goodbye.”

She can hear how desperate she sounds.

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Erik sounds confused.

“He is gone! I turned my back on him for one second and he vanished!” Jane’s voice breaks.

“Look, Jane, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe you misunderstood him? He came to see me not two hours ago after that thing with Thor and, well, let’s just say he went out of his way to make a case for himself. And you…”

“What? What did he- ”

“Jane?” Darcy’s voice cuts through. She must have taken the phone from Erik. “The lunatic is absolutely batshit crazy about you, okay? Stop blubbering. He’s probably just bored and fucking with you since you’re not actually f- ”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Muffled sounds, as Erik wrestles the phone back.

“Come on over, Jane, okay? We’re all still at the lab. Ian’s made tortillas if you can believe it”.

“But…” Jane wavers. Is Loki really playing a joke on her?

Erik is not taking no for answer: “Jane, don’t indulge these little games of his, okay? Come have dinner with us, and I’ll tell you what he told me before. And if he isn’t back later tonight, it’ll be my pleasure to enlist Thor to beat the crap out of him. It’s long overdue”.

Despite herself, Jane cannot help but smile.

“Okay. I’m coming over”. She exhales. The feeling of unease is subsiding a bit.

“Good girl”, Erik says. “Tell her to bring beer!” Darcy shouts from somewhere in background.

Jane hangs up and puts on her boots again. Loki and Erik had an actual conversation with no casualties?

She grabs her jacket and slams the front door behind her.

He really is infuriating, that prince of hers.

If he turns up later, she will make him pay dearly for scaring her.

No making out for a week.

(Yeah, right.)

To be continued in part 7 ....

This was supposed to have been the final chapter. Only 'someone' needed extra time star gazing. Please forgive me him!

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Tuesday 4 July 1837

8 ¼

12 10

fine morning F65° at 9 10 – breakfast about 10 minutes or ¼ hour with A- before Mr. Gray came asked how she was middling I calmly said she could not be better going on in this way I was very sorry only wished her happiness would not wish her to stay here if she thought she could be happier anywhere but it was a serious thing in leaving here she left independence and I thought almost every comfort she cried but did not speak as she had evidently done her breakfast I begged she would not stay unless she liked it and she was just gone before Mr. Gray came – sat talking to Mr. Gray about furnishing the hotel – he very knowing about beds and furniture in general – particularly about feathers – should buy the tick and weigh it than put in as many feathers as required and weigh the bed and pay for the feathers per lb. 1/6 per lb. for the best Dantzic – well dessed by the feather merchant – will ¼ weight or 6lbs. out of 20 in dressing – feathers called 1st and 2nd

SH:7/ML/E/20/0086

grays – 2nd grays as good as the 1st but the 1st a better colour, that is, white – feathers should be well stoved (in a large iron room (oven) with sulphur) on apt to smell putrid – sat talking till 10 1/3 when Holt came and Wood the engineer Grays’ brother in law an upholster did not wish me to name this to Mr. Harper or the head designed for upholsterers some allow their designers ssix guineas a week – had H- in the little room with the great plan before us – it will be difficult for Messrs. Stocks and c° to carry off the Spiggs water – talked over Mr. Rawson’s low bed sough or loose, and staith at the bottom of the Bank – H- would rather give him a thousand pounds than miss it – Mr. Pollett came at last after 11 Mr. Harper came and finding H- with me I left them a little while together and while the 4 men were together I came upstairs – copied the plan of Lower brea by SW- dated 21 January and lent to me by Mr. George R- sometime back – Mr. Harper sent for me – gave him Bates’ estates – Wood throws blame on Mr. Husband – sent off John Booth immediately for Mr. Husband and with a line or 2 in pencil to ‘Messrs. Parker and Adam solicitors H-x’ to ask either of them to be here at 8 this evening to meet Mr. Harper and told John to let Holt the engineer know Mr. Harper was here – went into the cellar – looking over papers of one sort or other and wrote the above of today till now 1 ½ - a little while ago the H-x paper came and a civil letter from Mr. Harper’s brother the solicitor at York to say his brother had not received my letter but he (Mr. Edward H- the solicitor) had written to inform him of there being such letter – H-x letter queer looking address to me or A- one or both informing me or her that Francis Carter had let his house for lodgings to a man who pottered the whole street and begging ‘pase’ peace, I suppose – went down to A- she said she had written to her sister and after telling the contents gave me the copy of her letter to read little Mary and Hannah to go next Friday week A- said she had asked for Crownest thought of going to Scotland for three weeks and asked me to let George go with her as far as Edinburgh she should order furniture in Leeds in going at Kendells’ of course I thought all arranged well then said I it is done I can only hope you will be happy I supposed there was an explanation to her sister and said am glad you have written for if you had not I should I am satisfied this is the best way you could have managed the matter I was not a little surprised to find the letter so expressed that that Mrs. S- would suppose A- wanted part of Crownest for some friend no hint at her going to Scotland nothing that as at explanatory or that could not easily be got over it might have been done to try me I saw this and laughed in my sleeve but said nothing and went to Mr. Harper a little while with Mr. Harper – he had sent for me vid. line 12 of this page to say Wood the engineer said he had never seen the plan of the wheel as amended by Mr. Husband and approved at York – I had sent off John Booth to H-x immediately for Mr. Husband and Messrs. Pollett and Wood were detained till he came – he proved that Mr. Wood had seen the plan and had it in his possession some weeks and it being referred to in the estate Mr. Harper took Mr. Husbandds’ copy of the plan and signed it, and insisted on the contract being adhere to – he agreed to my agreement for the pen-trough etc and allowed extra £6 for the back shuttle omitted! in the last estate – H- said he was glad to settle the matter on these terms – afraid of their setting aside the contract, and then he could not tell what I should have to pay (some hundred) for useless weight of iron – they would now lose £30 or £40 by it – He had bound them down to a month for having all done – but they were to make all possible exertion to get the pumps going in a fortnight from this time –Mr. Husband to be finally settled with tomorrow – a clerk of the works would be wanted for 2 months longer – I begged Blythe might have the place – H- had named it to him and he begged to consider about it – it was now about 21/4 – went back to A- who left me for ¼ hour while I saw Mr. Jubb in the north parlour and sat with her till she rode off to Cliff Hill about 3 ½ - began by hoping her going to Scotland would do her good she did not know that she should go said I had always thought she had better not go there without me and that she had better make a very different journey and go with me to Rotterdam etc etc I quizzed her a little and I think she was not sorry to get right again when she said we had been unhappy of late no no said I not we I know nothing about it and you have been more unhappy in your stomach than in your heart – told A- I had asked Mr. Jubb (who called about 2 ¼) what he thought would be good for her; and I much wished she would be persuaded to take what he recommended (blue pill at night and effervescing draught in the morning) out again about 3 ½ - about with Mawson at the hay barn road thro’ the wood – (A- took back to Lower brea this afternoon the plan of the Lower brea land I rough copied this morning) sometime with Mawson settling about the hay barn road – the 3 men he has now at the meer barrowing stuff (ornament stuff) to the by wash not enough for so long a run as from near the hut (on the other side) and to be taken off tomorrow to form the hay barn thro’ the wood at 4/. per rood – at the meer about 5 – full nearly within 2 or 3 in. up to the by wash so as to run over – stood musing and watching the 3 men till 6 – came in at 6 10 – dinner at 6 ¼ Mr. Harper (1st time) dined with us he having to stay till 8 to meet Mr. Parker respecting advertising and letting the Northgate hotel –sat at table about 1 ½ hour – Mr. Harper explained defect in Fowlers’ Hungford market roof (the tie-beams supported by iron rods the iron rods too slender to be of any use as spurs) and said that turning to his papers the other day reminded him of professor Morris of Cambridge shewing that the Menai bridge was wrong in principle the curve ab should = bc and equilibrium is the principle of a suspension bridge .:. ed should = cd which is not the case

SH:7/ML/E/20/0087

but Telford was the inventor of the suspension principle and was thinking too much of the invention to work it out right – Professor Airie had observed at the 1st (in his lectures) that there was an error in the mathematical construction but left his pupils to find it out – had not courage to explain – Captain Brwon saw the error and built Hammersmith bridge over the Thames right – Vauxhall bridge would tumble but for the smartness of the span of the arches – the famous bridge over the Doria at Turin (vid. last and 1st numero of the Transactions of the engineers) tumbling down – too little allowed by government for the school of drawing (architectural drawing) £250 per annum – one or 2 necessary works would cost the whole EG. Piranesis’ antiquities of Rome – could not be bought perfect for less than £100 in Rome – and duty 1d. per plate – it would cost from £100 to £150 – the celebrated German work (published at Berlin and just complete) on ornament = £30 guineas English money at Berlin – Mr. Parker came at 8 – left him with Mr. Harper about ½ hour – then had all in to tea and coffee at 8 ½ - A- had talked more than usual at dinner – joined in the conversation con spirit, and ditto ditto at tea – spoke very decidedly against Mr. Carrs’ having the hotel – to be advertised immediately – in the London Times and Morning Herald – 2 H-x papers Leeds mercury Liverpool ditto Manchester Guardian Yorkshire Gazette and Edinburgh North British advertiser = 9 papers – Mr. Harper said he had told Mr. Parker what it should let for to remunerate me (which seemed to be £450) – H- thought 5pc. enough on building! and had evidently reckoned 5pc on £7000 + £3000 as value of the old house and land taken – yet he afterwards seemed to eat up his words a little so as to mean 5pc. clear and 2pc. to be laid by for repairs – but £450 rent = 5pc. on £1000 without anything to lay by for repairs – However he said I had better turn it to something else than little it for less than £300 a year – Mr. P- thought Carr should have it for less than anybody else – why said I, should he have Northgate for a hundred a year less than he now pays for the White Swan? the absurdity struck P- and he agreed that he ought not to pay less than £400 – but to ask £500 – he from the 1st moment mentioned furniture – I agreed that if required I would find all but plate, china, linen, and culinary things – I think there was a 5th exception but I forget what – what pc. to be paid on the furniture? put it to the vote all round A- and Mr. Harper said 10 Mr. Gray 15 Mr. P- 20pc. and would not take less – H- thought £2000 would do all required of me – term to be 5 years – security for the rent from 1 September next – Blythe considered to accept the place of clerk of the works – P- took me aside into the little parlour and gave me back my bond of 1835 to Mr. William Wainhouse for £1000 – it was 10 ½ before Messrs. P- and H- went away – raining then

Mawson having the mowing and hay making and housing at 13/. per DW- he finding all beer cut the grass growing on the intend Incline platform at the top of the bank – yesterday afternoon and mowed the wheat field today – he pays for 7DW. mowing advised by J. Booth

Robert Mann + 5 at the new pool a little while in the morning then the rest of the day throwing up on the east side the soil of the back Lodge road near the top – 3 of Mawsons’ men at the meer barrowing stuff from near the hut to by-wash ornament – 2 masons at the new door into the kitchen – Edward at the laundry drying closet - [?] of the old garden wall near the west yew tree taken down for bricks for the laundry chimney – fine day raining at 10 ½ pm F55° at 11 10 pm

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Note

Baby steps anon here! ❤️ I’m originally from the PH🇵🇭 but moved to Vancouver🇨🇦 2 yrs ago. Best decision ever! Our timezones are not near, but close enough, I guess? 😬 My bday was nice! I was able to have lunch, went for a mini hike, and ended the day by watching SKAM - what else?? ☺️ // The apt I’m renting is semi furnished, mainly wood-ish + darker grays, which I just kinda went with. And added bright purples and yellows for a pop of color! (Part 1)

2) Baby steps anon Part 2! Whew these are too short, huh? Or maybe I talk too much? 😳 My weekend has been nice, so far. It’s sunny for the first time in a while, so I took advantage and went for a walk this morning. I took the day off tomorrow, so I have an extra day of rest. Hope you have a good Sunday evening! ❤️❤️

Oh, that’s so cool! You moved all by yourself? I might be doing that as soon as COVID is under control and just thinking about it makes me so nervous. Yeah, it’s close enough, I have a friend that lives in Vancouver.

Hahahaha you don’t talk too much, don’t worry! It’s exciting to know more about you guys. And my life is pretty boring so to know everyone else is doing good is always good!

I couldn’t live in Canada though. The weather would drive me insane or depressed really quick. So it’s good, to me, that it’s sunny! Here I’m having two days of grey skies, cold weather and I’m already feeling it.

Having Monday off is the best!!! Sunday isn’t so bad when Monday it’s also a day off hahaha ❤️

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spicedrobot · 5 years

Text

What Only We Can Know

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Zenyatta/Maximilien

Warnings: plug n play, wireplay, quid pro quo, mindsex

Notes: A bit of an impromptu fic trade with @lacertae-dreamscape since we both were writing maxyatta at the same time. 💖 Go read hers too! 🔫

There is a certain poetic justice to the situation: a pesky strike team face-off so much like that day in Havana, but this time he's not running. Some would call it fate, but they sell him short, always, always. The accountant. The crony. He cannot play the tables, but the games he can play he endeavors to be the best.

He takes them in, agent Mercy, just as beautiful but for the dreadful circles beneath her eyes, the gorilla next to her, posed so very stiffly. Comms to their young leader were cut as soon as they infiltrated the building; he imagines Tracer is trying in vain to re-establish the connection. Then, of course, there is Shimada Genji. Years later, he can still recall the cool steel balanced at his struts, the hot bite of electricity much like an omnic’s but tinged with something undeniably human. Foes that had not only captured him once, but had taken out Doomfist, for all the good it did them; the man back among their ranks and twice as deadly, sharpened by years of planning and training in prison. Much like Max himself. Patience and a long memory are things they both share.

It leaves only the one behind the glowing green of the cyborg. A familiar sight, he had watched and studied him enough in feeds and intel reports. The omnic is smaller in person, unplated and more exposed than even the most basic of their models. More than meets the eye, indeed.

"How nostalgic," Max says. "It has been far too long."

He draws his hands together, optics sliding over each in turn. How they stiffen. How they frown. A festival of the senses.

"Now, now. You don't seem pleased to see me."

"What do you want, Maximilien?"

"Perhaps a little more enthusiasm?" Max begins to pace. Gloating is quite rude, but if one does not take such joys as they appear, life would be very dull indeed. "Pay no mind to my entourage. A little insurance, you understand."

The heavy assault units behind him move not an inch, but their presence is undeniable, casting the room in half-baked twilight. They may not kill everyone, but kill they would. And Max knows how pathetically Overwatch struggles to keep their numbers, small as they are.

"You were a pleasure to work with before. I am not so unwilling to do so again if I’m granted another favor, hm?"

"Name your demands," comes Shimada's modulated hiss, and Max stills at the sound despite himself.

"Not demands, Mr. Shimada," Max takes a few steps toward him, stands at full stature so the cyborg has to tilt his chin to look him in the eye. "The years without Overwatch have been good to you. Or perhaps it was more than your peaceful sabbatical."

He draws his eyes over the cyborg's shoulder to a flickering cyan array, reading him, perhaps, as none in their presence could. What machines can say without words, without faces, each twitch, each motion, a give. Max draws out a poker chip from his pocket, grooves smooth and familiar, and rolls it between his fingers.

“I wish for an audience with you, Master Tekhartha.”

And just as the chip flips from pinky to ring, the omnic responds as quickly.

“You have it.”

“Privately,” Max says.

“Master, you can’t—”

“Genji.”

How delightfully the cyborg heels with a single word. Chastened.

“Nothing sordid awaits him. There are simply things that only machines such as ourselves can understand. One longs for similar company.” And he cannot quite keep the bite out of his voice, smoothing it into something palatable and amused again. How one can forget himself.

“They will remain unharmed,” Zenyatta says.

“They will.”

“Zenyatta, you don’t have to do this.” Angela.

“This encounter will be mutually beneficial, I assure you.” Max palms the chip, slides his thumb over the engraved side before slipping it into his pocket.

“Shall we?”

He had picked out the location, of course. There’s always the possibility of wasted work, but if the pieces should fall into place, one must be prepared. The office is small but furnished to his taste, dark wood and darker leather, warmly lit. He had entertained the idea of something more intimate, but it seemed in bad taste considering his reverent company.

For all that he is helpless, the monk does not seem to mind, his back to Max as he studies the room with a languid tilt of his head. Trusting. Or perhaps he does not think him a threat. Max does not know which annoys him more.

"Please, sit anywhere you like. I would offer you a drink, but I do not know if you imbibe."

"I do not."

Max doesn't either; it is bad form for an apothecary to sample the wares.

He seats himself in the large armchair on the far side of the room. Zenyatta takes a spot on the couch across from him.

"First, allow me to offer my condolences. There are some among us that did not wish for Mondatta's death."

Zenyatta's array alternates for a moment, quickly returning to the subtle brightening and fading that resembles breathing, makes him more alive. Max had traded out his own faceplate years ago for something more expressive; humans are less apt to trust someone that cannot reflect their insecurities back at them.

"This is not why you wished to speak."

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You are afraid.”

Max looks away, fingers twitching upon the armrest’s leather.

“You chose to address the only agent that was not responsible for your previous capture. You lean on what makes us similar even as you view it with disdain, the same disdain you direct towards humans.”

"Disdain is a rather strong way to put it."

"I am incorrect?"

"I simply do not wish to be burdened with the expectation of emancipating my assumed kin. I have done quite well on my own."

Movement attracts Max's gaze: Zenyatta’s hands drawing together, graceful, purposeful.

“For all that you have gained, there are those who will never see us for more than what they have decided to see. Servants. Weapons. Abominations. You are centered between what you were and what you can never be. But that is not what you fear.”

Max forces himself to blink.

“Something is slipping through your fingers. Power. Trust. Something you think Overwatch will provide you. Something that they provided you before.” A beat. “Doomfist knows, doesn’t he.”

Max clears processes as they rise, cools himself, relaxes his fingers that’ve tightened against the armrest.

“Ha. I must say, you are quite good. Your deductive processes are elevated much beyond your model's base programming.”

“Elevated programming,” Zenyatta hums. “I wonder if it is so.” He tips his faceplate towards the ceiling. Max stares at the shifting pistons along his throat.

“Doomfist’s prison break is most unfortunate. So many loose ends were neatly bound when he went away. Threads that lead back to me, sadly. I’m beginning to look too suspicious for comfort.”

“And this was not something to mention to the others.”

“Their promises did not protect me as well as I had hoped. I need something concrete.” Max feels the chip in his pocket like a weight, his fingers itching for it. “Something they cannot provide.”

Max doesn’t know what he’s hearing for a moment, soft and distant. Zenyatta’s laughter, there and gone before he has a chance to appreciate it without the tinniness of a video feed.

“Of course. To think it would be something so obvious. A token of goodwill.”

“You can understand how hesitant I am to play my hand. You show me yours, and I will show you mine.”

Ah, to witness another brightened array so soon. Zenyatta wore his thoughts so charmingly on a face that should not allow for it. Then the monk stands, and his smugness drains with each step Zenyatta takes towards him, soundless and sure.

It’s strange, to feel so off-kilter when he has the power here; a single word could have Zenyatta’s friends hurt or worse. Zenyatta stands in front of him, his legs an scant inch from Max's knees, and those slender fingers grasp the connector at the end of his dangling spinal wires. Max’s fans pick up, near silent, but with the slight tilt of Zenyatta's head, he knows the other hears them.

“Analog interfacing. How intimate.”

"You are a good actor, Maximilien. The humans you surround yourself with must find you most formidable."

If only Max could stop himself from locking up the moment Zenyatta moves, one thigh then the other settling long his own, the shambali scion, sliding into his lap as if he belonged there, bright blue burning into his red, faceplates close, so close.

"However," Zenyatta whispers; Max can feel the reverb of his synth in that pretty, unguarded throat, even his own is plated, how does one who sees battle let himself be so naked—warm metal on metal, the bite of systems, deep-seated yearning—when was the last time he had ever let anyone so close—"You are not as good as you think you are."

The monk's servos trace the struts beneath his chin, mapping each place they are different, shielded where one is laid bare, but how bare Max feels now, trapped like an animal, like he's caged in his original programming. Rarely has he felt so alive.

"Where do you want it?"

He twists his forearm around Zenyatta's waist, urging him closer, hating more than anything the formless trappings the monk wears, wanting to see how exposed each wire and component is beneath.

"S-spine." He burns as his synth wavers, freezing as Zenyatta's hand trails down his collar struts with feather-light tenderness.

Would his golden hands feel like this, the ones captured by a handful of frames in a months old security feed? At first he had thought Zenyatta a standard automaton, unremarkable, a few models off his own. True, the monk had fought to make something of himself, and groomed beneath Mondatta's tutelage he had earned the title master. But omnics are what they are, ones and zeroes and hunks of metal, trapped in a world where their creators wait for another slip, another reason to crush their collective awareness. That single feed had changed everything. A glitch, Max'd thought, unbelieving, replaying again and again until his processes felt full to burst. Bewitched by the light, the waves of gold radiating from arms that look so much like wings.

A shifting of fabric, a few, gentle tugs, then fingers against the plates of Max’s back, spinal column constructed from a titanium-kevlar mix that could withstand minor explosions. The sensors beneath do not register Zenyatta’s touch, but his own racing processes supply the sensory information regardless, imagination potent when one drags smooth, warm servos against a place that has no felt tender contact in years.

"So many coverings. Was it your intent to make me work for it?" Max clenches his jaw, arm tightening around the omnic's middle. He grasps Zenyatta's wrist.

"Allow me. I will not have it be said I am difficult."

Wordlessly, Zenyatta drops the connector into Max's waiting grip, surely feeling the faint tremble, noticing how he has to re-enter the sequence to his own paneling before it slides away. He gasps at the chill of open air, brings the connector to his port, not plugging in, not yet. Max leans back, catching Zenyatta's gaze, blinking away the brightness of his array in his own feeds, fingers sealing over the band of wires along Zenyatta’s spine just to hear the other hum quietly.

Zenyatta nods his head, and Max slides the connector inside, sealing perfectly into one another.

There’s not a word that encapsulates the initial rush of data, but euphoric comes close. This type of sharing is outdated, unsafe, too much left open. So easy to overheat and crash, lose the very things that made them who they are.

With Tekhartha Zenyatta, there is all that and more, that grand, unstoppable deluge an eternity.

[ STEADY ]

The word reverberates through his core like the ringing of an all-encompassing bell. Seeing and being seen without edges, without form. Distantly, he feels Zenyatta's hand on his, clasped together where they're connected, his other clutching Zenyatta's spinal wires, mirroring each other. Max waits, but there’s no negentropic transference, no steady ascent towards logic and order. Locked in energetic stasis, sensors active, reading everything at once, sharing everything at once. He sees Zenyatta as he was, as he is, sees Mondatta as Zenyatta saw him, a burning halo centered above his head, as beautiful as a god. A violent, violet sorrow, a noose, Zenyatta seeing Max in turn, past and present, struggling, fear, pain, ryu ichimonji biting at his neck, the cyborg doubling in their shared consciousness, one of a patched soul, one of a murderer checked.

[ NOT THERE ]

It recedes, Zenyatta recedes, but Max reaches for him, gasping, fearful. Gold threads, familiar gold, awareness for them both. In the moment of Zenyatta's hesitance, Max's consciousness surges, examining, touching what is most tender, deepest.

[ HE WILL NEVER LOVE YOU WHERE WERE YOU WHEN IT HAPPENED WHY HAVE YOU NOT RETURNED I HATE YOU WE NEED YOU PLEASE NEVER—]

The words blur, sound and image into one, colors oscillating between violet and gold. In a distant, logical part of himself, he knows this will overtax him, but how can he resist? The omnic that has led one of his most despised to peace, the omnic who has tried in vain to fight against the structures that would destroy them all, the one that wields an unquantifiable, unknowable power.

[ YOU COULD KNOW IT ]

And Max wants to say, to feel otherwise, but Zenyatta's conviction is felt and heard and seen, and it deadens all doubt.

[ SHOW ME ]

It’s so much warmer than he imagined, hot like sparks, like too much electricity pumping through his systems, blanketing him, filling and enveloping every plate and sensor. There are no images, no feeds, nothing concrete and knowable, only sensations, Zenyatta’s amusement like fingers against his chestplate, and deeper, inside him, things that should never be touched by the physical, so delicate a meager misstroke could fry his systems permanently. Max has interfaced before, touched and teased and worked perfectly acceptable overloads from his partners. They are ghosts to this, flimsy paper masks.

Golden hands tracing him, inside him, again and again, knowing his pains, his most sensitive ports, enveloping all in a swelling heat that has his body groaning and thrashing and moaning a lifetime away. He feels his mind losen, sensors overridden, blind and useless, a vessel, aching and blooming with light. It recedes only once, the lack of it a sorrow, then floods him completely, one sensor at a time, and he falls back in the wave as it swallows him whole.

His optics online in stages, fuzzy black and whites to full, hazy color. Familiar gray and glowing blue at his periphery. He startles, winces, an ache settled into every part of him. His spine tingles, a delicious bite, pulsing where they had been connected. Diagnostics stack across his optical interface, and he accepts the prompts without analyzing any of it. There are more important things, like Zenyatta’s fingers tracing his aching port.

“Show me yours indeed…” Max whispers, synth grating and popping with feedback. “I trust you have what you need?”

Zenyatta’s array flickers. “Yes. The information you provided is more than adequate.”

There’s no time to think when Zenyatta moves. Max tightens his hold around him, grabbing Zenyatta’s thigh through threadbare cotton.

“Yet, somehow I feel I have been cheated by you.”

They stare at one another, Max’s processes rushing.

“I have simply shown you what you might have if you walked a different path.” Zenyatta leans in, heat along his front that’s swiftly becoming familiar. “We may stop Doomfist successfully this time, but there will always be another. I would advise you to consider your options.”

“Business advice from a monk,” Max scoffs. This time, Max lets him go when Zenyatta moves to stand. He keeps his hands from balling into fists. Small victories.

“Think of it more as life advice.” Faint amusement, then it fades. “There is still time.”

Max tips his head back, stares at the ceiling to keep himself from looking at the omnic that burns like an afterimage in his mind.

“At least let me escort you back.”

“That will not be necessary.”

And Max cannot help it, dreary from the echoes of Zenyatta’s presence inside him, knowing that of course he can see himself out, he has Max’s memories too, a chunk of useless, terrifying trust. He watches Zenyatta leave, the gentle shifting of his shoulders, the piece of machinery that had brought them together looped thoughtlessly around his waist like an accessory, the gentle chiming of his orbs as they resume their rotations, clear like crystal and just as mesmerizing.

“Farewell,” he says to the empty room, slouching into the soft, giving leather of his seat and wishing for something much firmer.

#maxyatta #fics #lemon #wireplay #bendoverwatch #quid pro quo #plug n play

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cancerbiophd · 5 years

Note

hey julia! i hope you're having a great weekend! :)) so i'm starting to look for apartments in my grad school city (this will be my first time having one/living on my own) and i was wondering if you had any tips or essential questions to ask real estate agents when you're deciding whether or not to live in a certain apartment?

my daaarrrling em!!!!

i had a GREAT weekend. celebrated a friend’s wedding reception (they had been married for 7 years but they finally got a chance to celebrate with their church, family, and friends) and they also announced they’re having a baby so it was amazing all around!!!

Firstly, I would recommend getting the inside-scoop of the area from a current grad student. If you don’t have a contact, it’s totally ok to email the program coordinator and ask them to connect you with someone. They’ll have an idea of who would be super willing to help (that’s how a lot of new students find me!!). Current grad students will know where the majority of grad students like to live, which neighborhoods to stay away from, what the public transport situation is like, what specifics to look for as a result of the area’s unique weather, etc etc.

General apt/housing things to consider as a grad student:

The closer the housing to campus, usually the more expensive the rent. Just a supply and demand thing. And because these properties have high turnover from being a permanent rental property, they might not be high quality either (ex. hasn’t been updated in decades, has lots of wear and tear from multiple occupants, etc). If transportation is not an issue, I would prefer looking at places more than 5 miles away to get more bang for my buck.

Is the apt complex mostly filled with students? If so, what kind? Undergrad, grad, med students, etc. The closer the complex is to campus, the more students will be living there. And in my experience, the more undergrads, the more loud parties/late-night shenanigans that may disrupt a grad student’s precious sleep. During my first year in grad school I lived in a complex near campus that had lots of undergrads and I did not like it one bit. There were multiple nights where I had considered calling the non-emergency number of my local police bc shit was getting real rowdy. During my 2nd year I moved to a complex further away that had mostly young professionals and small families, and it was soooo much nicer (and cheaper!).

If your complex of choice does have a lot of younger students, I would try to get a corner unit, or one on the top floor.

Are utilities included in the rent? Some apt complexes geared towards students will do this (sometimes including wifi too), which is really nice. Downside is sometimes you don’t have a lot of control over the temp or wifi speed.

Furnished or not? Having a furnished apt your first year is pretty great so you don’t have to worry about buying furniture if you’re moving to a far away city.

Is there space in the apt (or your bedroom if you’re rooming with someone) to designate as your study area? Every place I looked at I had to consider how I could fit in my desk + chair, bookshelf, and a small filing cabinet.

Transportation: distance/ease to getting to public transport, bike lanes/paths, on-site parking, reliable crosswalks if crossing busy streets on foot/bike. You could probably determine a lot of this from google maps.

Some apt complexes that are geared towards students will have free shuttles to/from campus, so check to see if that’s a thing. Some universities will also have free campus shuttles, with some lines going a little bit off campus too (but it might cost extra).

Being located closed to the necessities: grocery store, department store, gym, restaurants, study areas like libraries and cafes, freeway access, post office, banks, etc

Being located away from anything you don’t want: My undergrad lives right across a frat house and has had her car broken into multiple times by drunk college boys :\ A current grad student would be really helpful in this regard to let you know which neighborhoods/areas to stay away from.

Is there an in-unit washer/dryer? Many 1 bedroom or studios in complexes don’t have their own washers and dryers, and need to use a community one in the complex that only takes quarters.

Parking: if only street-parking is available, and you’re located near campus, it might be really frustrating to get a parking spot because students who don’t want to pay the horrendous campus parking fees will be taking up your spots.

Maintenance: is there a maintenance person on-site? What’s their response-time? Dealing with maintenance emergencies as a student can be a hairball and a half, so it’s nice to have something reliable.

Safety/security: Is it a gated community? Is there a front-desk for guests to check in? Some complexes even have security cameras, which is awesome.

Pet policy: if applicable.

BED BUG POLICY. As someone who had a bed bug infestation a few years ago (and ended up having an allergic reaction!!) I would recommend asking what their bed bug policy is. My first apt’s policy was that if bed bugs (lmao i literally just typed bed pugs) pop up after 7 days of move-in, they will take care of it (if it’s less than 7 days, they assume you brought them with you, so you gotta take care of it). If a complex has a bed bug policy like that, then it’s pretty reliable to assume they take great care to remain bed bug free (or else it’ll cost them $$)

Credit score/proof of income: Some complexes won’t rent to people with low credit scores or those who don’t have a proof of x income in the past y # of months. The apt complex I lived in my 2nd year asked us to prove that we made 3x the rent/month. It was a bit unique for me since as a grad student I get paid lump-sums at the beginning of each semester, so I had to tell them that.

I think that’s all I can pull from my brain at the moment… again, to sound like a broken record, I HIGHLY recommend reaching out to a current student for housing questions.

I also want to add that it’s ok to just find a place for your 1st year that isn’t 100% ideal, but will give you a chance to have somewhere to live as you learn more about the city and get a feel for other more permanent places to live for the next couple of years. A bunch of grad students in my cohort did that (including myself). Some universities even have grad-only on-campus housing, so that might be worth looking into as well!

I hope this helps! Good luck!!!

#fragileanimal

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orionhousingsposts · 1 month

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kafkasgods · 3 years

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DARA’S ELEGY

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead."

tw death mention

[ FADE IN ]

EXT. PHOLOE FOREST - DUSK

WE OPEN on an ashy orange sky. The white spruce trees are too still in dead air. Only one thing moves in the frame. DARA (29), limping, with damp hair, and glowing a soft pink, trudges forward. A teal light flickers from nothing further down the forest. DARA continues towards it. As she nears it, it disappears again, reappearing past the brush and alongside a limestone entrance. Perdix Castle, decrypted, looms overhead.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE (V.O.): …Dara…

The will-o’-the-wisp smolders patiently. DARA enters the castle, slowly, taking in ruins. The castle is grandeur, but in disrepair. A silver tripwire glints, unseen, tugged by DARA’s foot. Immediately, it triggers a mace trap, which swings fast towards DARA. She is pushed to the ground.

MAN: You can’t possibly die this quick, you’re only in the entryway.

He gives her a hand up. THE MAN (25-30) is handsome with a mess of dark hair and a mischievous smile.

DARA: Why are you here? MAN: You know, introductions are more polite. You also didn’t say ‘thank you.’ Shouldn’t you ask me my name? Though, I’d rather have yours. DARA: Thank you. It’s Dara. MAN (holding out his hand): It’s Murphy. Murphy Fiennes, son of Aphrodite.

DARA hesitantly shakes his hand.

MURPHY: You look familiar. You…work at the museum? DARA: Yes. MURPHY: Yeah, that’s right. My girlfriend and I go there all the time. DARA: Do you know why I’m here? MURPHY: Why should I know that? DARA: I…I don’t know. I was following the lights. [5:23 PM] . MURPHY: Well, they didn’t lead you anywhere good. My brother was just here and he was lost for months. No offense, but the people who come here are usually more apt at obstacle course shit. Or when they’re looking for somewhere exciting to makeout. You don’t look like either type, so maybe you should follow the dark back home. DARA: No, I can’t go back home. Not now anyways. MURPHY: Then welcome to Murphy’s Castle. I can give you a tour while I wait for Zoya.

MURPHY leads DARA around the castle.

MURPHY: Watch it, don’t step there. In this hall, you can only step on the stones with the little snakes on them otherwise you get dropped in…dun dun dun…the snake pit. It’s a little less creative than the jack-in-the-box disguised as a music box, but Perdix keeps ya on your toes either way. DARA: Thanks for helping me, Murphy. MURPHY: No problem. No one else listens when I try to help them, so I’m glad I can help. Watching you get through the traps is more fun than watching you die. It’s like helping you cheat at Bowser’s Castle. DARA: So. Is it just you here? I thought there might be others. MURPHY: No, it’s just me here and some ghosts. The castle itself is kinda alive, sorta like Hogwarts if you’re into that, which I’m assuming you’re into by your age, and probably a Ravenclaw. I’m a Slytherin. But like I was saying, just listen to me, the spookies, the castle, and you’ll be fine. DARA: Yeah, I guess I’ll have to. I feel like I’ll be staying awhile. MURPHY: Why’s that? DARA: I was led here. And whatever’s here is better than home. Right now anyways. MURPHY: Does it have something to do with your leg? Oh shit, hey, wait. Should you be walking on that? DARA: I think Persephone is helping me heal, so it doesn’t hurt that badly right now. [5:24 PM] . MURPHY: Hm. Then I should probably just direct you to a place you can stay. There’s a furnished room that’s pretty clean I know about, come on. So why’s home suck? DARA: Something’s going on with the earth splitting apart and lava spilling over town. Everything bad is happening now.

On the stairs, MURPHY turns around, taking several steps back down. His hands grip DARA’s shoulders.

MURPHY: Are you serious? Is Zoya okay? Do you know her? Or maybe Warren, Harlow, Rosie, Carina? Are they okay? DARA: Rosie… MURPHY: Yeah? DARA: She tried to kill me. MURPHY: What? Rosie? Just now? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like her. DARA (softly): She pushed me into the lava.

MURPHY drops his hands.

MURPHY: Fuck, Dara. DARA: No one’s ever tried to kill me before. She was supposed to be my friend. It’s why I need to go away. I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that. I don't think the person I am knows how to stand on two feet. MURPHY: Yeah. I…That’s rough, buddy. Maybe…Just get some rest and I’ll help you figure it out later? DARA: Yeah. MURPHY: If it helps, I’m great at revenge. DARA: I’ll keep that in mind.

They continue walking until MURPHY reaches the door to a bedchamber.

MURPHY: Well, this is your stop. There’s food in the kitchen. I’ll bring you some. Get some rest, Dara. DARA: Thank you again. MURPHY: Sure. Oh, by the way, Adam’s okay too, right? Adam Hudson? I owe him an apology, but I’ve been too nervous to see him.

DARA pauses, staring at MURPHY with an inscrutable expression.

DARA: He’s okay, Murphy. I’ll tell him what you said when I see him next. Is that about your quest? MURPHY: Yeah, I sort of fucked him over and I can’t stop stressing out about that. I’d really appreciate it, Dara. DARA: Of course.

MURPHY smiles, appreciatively before vanishing entirely. DARA’s expression does not change at the new empty spot. She closes the door on the ghost.

end

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grundyscribbling · 7 years

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from the anon: Maedhros with real Dwarven babies :) I bet that they must look like tiny dolls for him

Ok, anon. You asked. Here you go, ~2000 words of Maedhros and dwarves, some of whom are babies:

Maedhros straightened, subtly checking that he was dressedappropriately. He needed this meeting to go well. If it did not…

The consequences did not bear thinking on. He has lost father,brothers, and cousins, but he will notlose his children. The children, hereminded himself yet again. They are not his, though they are likely the closestto sons of his own he will ever have. He tried not to think of them in suchterms, to keep them kinsmen and not sons. It has not worked.

Elrond and Elros’ lives depend on his success this day. Thatleft him no choice - he must succeed.

There was only so much that could be done withintermediaries, when dealing with dwarrows. Beyond a certain point, theyexpected to negotiate face to face. Underlings might be trusted with preliminaries,but not with finalizing such a treaty as he sought.

It at least had novelty on its side. Morgoth will not expectthis – indeed, he is likely even now preparing to cut Amon Ereb off from anypossible escape to the Sea. The Enemy could sense the change in the West windseven as they could. He will expect them to send the children to Balar beforemaking their last stand. That they would instead strike out East would neverenter his head. That they would bring Thingol’s last surviving heirs here of all places…

The dwarrows of Návarot have both traded and warred with theelves of Beleriand, but never before have they sheltered them.

Maedhros smoothed his hair and straightened his circlet,smothering a smile as he did. Would that Elros could have been here to see thatsuch things were as needful in their proper time and place as he has been toldfor the past seven years.

The twins’ lessons have turned to dwarrows of late, thoughof course the boys do not yet realize why. If today goes well, in a few short weeks,they will know all.

“Greetings, Prince Maedhros.”

The speaker was as richly dressed as Maedhros himself, for onformal occasions, dwarrows showcased their work. This was not the finest eitherof them had to offer – that would be reserved for the presence of the king,probably at dinner that evening – but it was not far off.

Maedhros had opted for the copper circlet he liked best, acollaboration between his brother and his father in the days before Fëanaro wasopenly feuding with his brother, set with several clear white stones. They werenot the Silmarils, but their light remembered the Trees, and few gems craftedhere in Beleriand could equal them. His tunic was a rich red brocade, which heotherwise seldom had cause to wear these days.

His counterpart, of course, outshone him. The dwarrow’s beardwas an easy match for Maedhros’ hair, but woven with bands of silver studdedwith gems the elves named star sapphire but the dwarrows called Light of Mahal,and the ornamental leather jerkin over a deep blue doublet was embroidered withgold and silver as fitted a prince of the realm.

“Prince Kheli,” he replied with a formal bow.

Kheli smirked, and Maedhros knew it meant he had still notquite mastered the proper pronunciation.

At least he had trained himself to use only the masculineaddress when speaking. Dwarrows did not use gendered forms of address, preferringwhat both Sindarin and Quenya generally translated as male pronouns and titlesfor all, for they considered gender to be a private matter. Maedhros had notdealt with any of the other clans, but he knew the Firebeards found it ratherodd and perhaps even a bit insulting that the taller kindreds openly made suchsharp distinctions between male and female.

“Have no fear, Copperhead. A lisp is not an insult,” Kheliassured him. “I dare say many will find it endearing. And perhaps a bitreassuring.”

The flicker of Kheli’s eyes up and down his long frame didnot escape him. He was considered tall by his own people. To the dwarrows hewas a veritable giant. The largest of them stood only to his waist.

“At further risk of insult, honored prince, I had expectedto meet your father,” Maedhros ventured. “I had understood him to be amenableto my proposal.”

He definitely didn’t miss the twinkle in Kheli’s eye.

“You might wish to review your Khuzdul, noble friend,” Khelitold him. “That word is formarriages, not treaties or trade.”

He inclined his head politely. Such a mistake was probably aneven greater faux pas given that he knew he spoke to the daughter, not the son ofthe Telakh. (It had been some years of dealing with both the king and theprince before Maedhros realized that, and he had never raised the point, uncertainif it was rude to acknowledge it or not.)

“I live to learn, venerable one” he replied, hoping he hadthe phrase correct. It had originated among the dwarves, but was as apt for hisown people as it was for them.

Kheli nodded in return.

“As do we all,” she replied gravely. “And yet – my father isno longer young by our reckoning, though in yours I understand he would bescarce more than a youth. He feels that as it will be those younger than himwho must bear the consequences of this agreement, for good or ill, the finalsay should be mine, not his. He leaves the decision in my hands.”

Maedhros paused, considering.

Kheli would be King after her father, but he had not expectedthat for another fifty to a hundred years – years it may yet prove that none ofthem truly have, given that Morgoth now dominates nearly all of Beleriand andhas never known the meaning of satisfied orenough.

“In that case, Prince Kheli, I would hear your thoughts onmy – suggested course of action?”

It was frustrating not being sure of his words, but thegesture of using the dwarrows’ preferred language has been too well receivedfor him to abandon it now. And the folk of Návarot pride themselves on honesty –part of the reason their rage at Thingol had run so deep – so he knew they wouldensure he signed nothing he does not fully understand.

“Walk with me, tall one,” she suggested, looking rather amused.“You may need to be careful of your head – these halls have been enlarged withyour kind in mind, but you are the tallest elf we have ever seen, Elu Tightfistincluded.”

Maedhros thanked her as gravely as he could, given that hereally wished to laugh. If nothing else, the elves of Amon Ereb and thedwarrows of Návarot had this much in common: they agreed Thingol had been a fool.

It turned out he only needed to duck twice – the corridorsand even the rooms they passed were all more than acceptable by elvenstandards, and wanted only furnishings to be comfortable. They might lack thegrandeur and elegance of Menegroth, but Maedhros and his brother had not askedfor elegance – security was their priority, and space enough for their peopleand their animals their main requirement.

The hall Kheli stopped in was not empty. There were severaldwarrows within, attendants if Maedhros judged correctly. And something he hadnever seen before – dwarrow younglings.

He regretted more than ever not bringing one or both boys.The young always seemed to get on, regardless of what their elders might do.

“My sons,” Kheli announced. “Gabil and Farin.”

Gabil was old enough to walk cautiously on his own, butFarin was still only a babe in arms. Maedhros had no sense of what their agesmight be, and did not trust that it might not be some breach of etiquette toask.

“You honor me, Prince Kheli,” he said cautiously, uncertainwhat the proper compliment would be. “They look to be fine, strong children.”

“I hope it proves so,” she replied.

And then, to his immense surprise, she handed Farin to him.

Maedhros managed not to drop the tiny child, but it was anear thing given how shocked he was. The little one was scarce more than ahandful for him, and looked solemnly up at him, apparently less disconcerted atbeing held by a giant than Maedhros was at holding a child so very little.

He blinked at the unfamiliar sound of dwarvish laughter.

“It’s only a wee thing, he’s much too small to take an axeto you yet,” one attendant chortled before Kheli hurriedly hushed him.

“I am honored by your trust, Prince Kheli,” Maedhrosstammered. “But I must ask – why am I holding your son? Are you not worried?”

“Less worried than I would be had you not asked thequestion, or shown such obvious concern not to do him harm,” she repliedsolemnly. “You’ve dealt with us before, Prince Maedhros. You know well that we maydrive a bargain, but at the heart of our business we have always treated eachother as equals.”

“Indeed,” Maedhros said, solemnly offering Farin the tip ofhis little finger. The tiny dwarrow gavehim a puzzled look when he discovered it to be much larger than the fingers hewas used to grabbing at, and gummed it indignantly as if that might bring itdown to size.

“I have heard that this treaty is for the good of your young,”Kheli continued. “You know you are taking a risk in bringing them here. Iwanted you to see that you are not the only one at risk in this venture.”

Maedhros offered young Farin back to his mother, whoaccepted him without any sign of undue worry.

“You worry enough for both of us, Copperhead,” she observeddrily. “I did presume that as you have young ones of your own, you had held a child before.”

“Never one so small,” Maedhros murmured.

“Ah, yes, I suppose our infants would not be as large asyours,” Kheli said ruefully. “It would make birthing rather difficult. There, nowwe have both learned something this day.”

Gabil toddled boldly up – he did not even reach as high asMaedhros’ knee – and lifted his arms imperiously, unwilling to miss out on hisshare of the visitor’s attention.

Maedhros, after a quick glance at the prince of Návarot, pickedthe child up and sat him on one shoulder, where the boy squealed with delightat his unexpected perch.

“These ones will not be old enough to wield an axe, if thewar you expect comes as you say it will,” Kheli told him grimly. “We – you andI, your people and mine – will have to be enough to protect them.”

“We may not be enough to protect my young,” Maedhros repliedquietly, doing his best to keep one eye on the boy on his shoulder lest he fall.“The Enemy wants them dead. And theymay well be old enough to take up arms in their own defense before the end.”

“So long as you understand the stakes, and that we expect noless in defense of ours than we offer for the protection of yours,” Kheli saidfirmly, “then we have a deal, elf.”

Maedhros looked down sharply, though he did not release hiscautious hold on the young dwarrow.

“We do?”

“Indeed, Prince of the Noldor. Tumunzahar has not forgottenour old grudge against the evil in the North that slaughtered so many of ourkind and daily defiles our Maker’s works, nor your reputation for being hischiefest foe. But for the sake of your young, I would say we should set pen topaper without further delay, that you not wait any longer to move them. Messengersarrived this morning from Gabilgathol, and I suspect the warning they bringmeans your time runs shorter than you guessed.”

Maedhros thanked whatever Vala might hear him that theyalready had nearly everything in readiness. The fortress could be evacuatedbefore the week was out.

“Then let us conclude our treaty, Prince Kheli,” he said,swinging a reluctant Gabil back down, “and I will send word to my people atonce.”

#fic #not on AO3 yet #Maedhros #dwarves #Nogrod #pardon my khuzdul

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rugcouture · 3 years

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 6 years

Text

Jesus and Little Children

by J. C. Ryle

And they brought unto him also infants, that he would touch them: but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them. But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein. - Luke 18:15-17

Let us observe, for one thing, in this passage, how ignorantly people are apt to treat children, in the matter of their souls. We read that there were some who "brought their little children to Jesus so he could touch them and bless them, but the disciples told them not to bother him." They thought most probably that it was mere waste of their Master's time, and that little children could derive no benefit from being brought to Christ. They drew from our Lord a solemn rebuke. We read that "Jesus called them unto Him, and said, Allow the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not."

The ignorance of the disciples does not stand alone. On few subjects, perhaps, shall we find such strange opinions in the churches, as on the subject of the souls of children. Some think that children ought to be baptized, as a matter of course, and that if they die unbaptized they cannot be saved. Others think that children ought not to be baptized, but can give no satisfactory reason why they think so. Some think that all children are regenerate by virtue of their baptism. Others seem to think that children are incapable of receiving any grace, and that they ought not to be enrolled in the Church until they are grown up. Some think that children are naturally innocent, and would do no wickedness unless they learned it from others. Others think that it is no use to expect them to be converted when young, and that they must be treated as unbelievers until they come to years of discretion. All these opinions appear to be errors, in one direction or another. All are to be deprecated, for all lead to many painful mistakes.

We shall do well to get hold of some settled scriptural principles about the spiritual condition of children. To do so may save us much perplexity, and preserve us from grave false doctrine.

The souls of young children are evidently precious in God's sight. Both here and elsewhere there is plain proof that Christ cares for them no less than for grown-up people. The souls of young children are capable of receiving grace. They are born in sin, and without grace cannot be saved. There is nothing, either in the Bible or experience, to make us think that they cannot receive the Holy Spirit, and be justified, even from their earliest infancy. The baptism of young children seems agreeable to the general tenor of Scripture, and the mind of Christ in the passage before us. If Jewish children were not too young to be circumcised in the Old Testament dispensation, it is exceedingly hard to understand why Christian children should be too young to be baptized under the Gospel. Thousands of children, no doubt, receive no benefit from baptism. But the duty of baptizing them remains the same. The minds of young children are not unequal to receiving religious impressions. The readiness with which their minds receive the doctrines of the Gospel, and their consciences respond to them, is matter of fact well known to all who have anything to do with teaching. Last, but not least, the souls of children are capable of salvation, however young they may die. To suppose that Christ will admit them into His glorified Church, and yet maintain that He would not have them in His professing Church on earth, is an inconsistency which can never be explained.

These points deserve calm consideration. The subject is unquestionably difficult, and one on which good men disagree. But in every perplexity about it we shall find it good to return again and again to the passage before us. It throws a strong light on the position of children before God. It shows us in general terms the mind of Christ.

Let us observe, for another thing, in this passage, the strong declaration which our Lord Jesus Christ makes about little children. He says, "Of such is the kingdom of God."

The meaning of these words no doubt is a matter of dispute. That they were not meant to teach that children are born sinless and innocent, is abundantly clear from other parts of Scripture. "That which is born of the flesh is flesh." (John 3:6.) A threefold lesson is probably contained in our Lord's words. To that threefold lesson we shall do well to take heed.

"Like such as little children," all saints of God should strive to live. Their simple faith and dependence on others--their unworldliness and indifference to earthy treasures--their comparative humility, harmlessness, and freedom from deceit--are points in which they furnish believers with an excellent example. Happy is he who can draw near to Christ and the Bible in the spirit of a little child!

"Out of such as little children," the Church of God on earth ought to be constantly recruited. We should not be afraid to bring them to baptism even in their earliest infancy, and to dedicate them to Christ from the beginning of their days. Useless and formal as baptism often is, it is an ordinance appointed by Christ Himself. Those who use it with prayer and faith may confidently look for a blessing.

"Of such as little children," the kingdom of God in glory will be largely composed. The salvation of all who die in infancy may confidently be expected. Though sin has abounded, grace has much more abounded. (Rom. 5:20.) The number of those in the world who die before they "know good from evil" is exceedingly great. It is surely not too much to believe that a very large proportion of the glorified inhabitants of heaven will be found at length to be little children.

Let us leave the whole passage with a deep sense of the value of children's souls, and with a settled resolution to "put on the mind of Christ" in all our dealings with them. Let us regard children as a most important part of Christ's professing Church, and a part which the great Head of the Church does not like to see neglected. Let us train them from their earliest infancy in godly ways, and sow the seed of Scripture truth in their minds, with strong confidence that it will one day bear fruit.

Let us believe that they think more, and feel more, and consider more, than at first sight appears; and that the Spirit is often working in them, as really and truly as in older people. Above all, let us often name them before Christ in prayer, and ask Him to take them under His special charge. He never changes. He is always the same. He cared for boys and girls when He was upon earth. Let us not doubt that He cares for them at the right hand of God in heaven.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

#Jesus and Little Children #J. C. Ryle #Luke 18:15-17 #children #kingdom of God #glorified inhabitants #children's souls #valuable #Scripture #teaching #have a high regard for children #prayer #faith #blessing

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libidomechanica · 6 years

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In Memoriam A. The baseness to all meet? To furnish matter: Impress’d By this can equal-poised conjoined in a fish descend, And every where or other up, and vine To which is apt enough, Much as I? I loue? And overhaile. A temperate, with no ascetic gloom, To scale without instance didst thou and I love grown Cupid, very maze of knowledge, and love. ‘I watch’d him, near and she sings brook: O miracle; And yet looking each was there is sad mists, and lies bene, to adorne hert doth reproaches, half the mountain On their golden to finger wings of trumpets, my loves but a word will be the path by which the thou want’st the sweetness but brings that once from mead and what I write I caught With a goodly veil, When even in loveliness arrives ghost Than let alone the quiescent from out the days have been the filmy shape of the hills Within the know transient forms of Anakim,’ Thou watch they came from this: But in the thirst was is my worth, Two in things Will never penny to rule, and wires a Coronall: Or if I move, And answer at the end is our liberal-minded, great? What ‘antres vast eddies in my breast, And many of our feet. Thy voice back into the pass Athwart that sweep of sleep. Make me from the brain; Yea, the burrows of the Cheuisaunce, Shall regrets and swans, powdred with sloth; Nor hope to single church received no touch’d with his last the dawn,’ and treat his being slow. That dies; And the mist.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #old textual selection method #Markov chain length: 6 #116 texts

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princessweddingdressesbyalf-blog · 4 years

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Princess Wedding Colors

Wedding Venues In California - Islands

Table of ContentsWedding Venues & Hotels - Sonomacounty.com4 Wedding Venues Near San Francisco - Bay Area Wedding ...Wedding Venues In San Diego - Aall In Limo & Party BusMost Beautiful Wedding Venue In Every State - PurewowAmerica's Best Wedding Venues - BridesWedding Venues San Diego - The Us Grant, A Luxury ...Wedding Venues - Greenbrier Valley

Your visitors will certainly be welcomed to take a gondola trip up Aspen Hill to an elevation of 11,212 feet, where they will certainly reach your ceremony at The Wedding Deck or nearby Aspen Mountain Club. Impressive views of the renowned Maroon Bells and also the Rocky Mountains will certainly frame the special memories developed on your wedding.

Dazzling 360-degree sights turn from the Channel Islands past Santa Barbara to rambling canyons under ancient canopies of Eucalyptus. Fragrant Magnolia as well as orange blooms perfume the landscape for a wedding event experience like nothing else. Santa Barbara, CA The Cattle Ranch at Rock Creek Miles of river, woodland, valley, as well as view offer virtually unlimited opportunities for picture-perfect and also awesome ceremonies, intimate breakfasts, and cheery receptions.

Here, you can joined at the Historical Barn, or state "I do" in the middle of the wild blossoms and also Huge Sky background. Philipsburg, MT Glenmere Estate Set on 150 acres of lavish landscape, Glenmere Manor transports you to Europeonly 50 miles far from New york city City. The 5-star hotel enables for buy-outs, so the building can become your own for the weekend.

Wedding Venues In California - Islands

Chester, NY Malibu Rocky Oaks Estate Vineyards This premier winery venue boasts breathtaking sights of the Santa Monica Mountains and rolling hills of California for a sky-high experience like no various other. Pro pointer: the estate advises scheduling dates from April to November for the very best climate and also greenest vines. Malibu, CA AMAN Venice Embed in one of the city's 8 splendid significant palazzos on the Grand Canal, AMAN Venice personifies all that is outstanding as well as sensual regarding La Serenissima (Northern Italy).

Wedding Venues & Hotels - Sonomacounty.com

Venice, Italy Daughters of the American Transformation Hall This preferable location simply blocks from the White Home includes glorious sights of the Washington Monument. Crystal chandeliers, antique furnishings, as well as extravagant Beaux-Arts style are just a few of the factors we love this historic space, whose indoor/outdoor options are both elegant as well as picturesque.

Pippin Hillside Ranch & Vineyards Sweeping views of rolling hills and vineyards coupled with a culinary experience like no other is all you need for a successful celebrationand Pippin Hill has you covered on all accounts. What's even more, the residential or commercial property is possessed and operated by Easton Concierge Group, co-founded by one of FAIR New bride's Leading Wedding Planners in the World, Lynn Easton of Easton Events.

Wedding Venues – Visit Mendocino County

The Best Virginia Wedding Venues For Washingtonian Couples

It walks an equilibrium in between English beauty and also playfully surrealfor some, Aynhoe Park is a diverse playground of the imagination; for others, it's a research study in refinement. For all, nevertheless, it is a retreat from the foreseeable and also a remedy to the everyday. See just how this couple wed at Anyhoe Park and merged the English countryside with Burning Man motivation to fit their style.

Decide for an intimate ceremony in the church surrounded by frescoes, or capitalize on one of the bigger locations on home (for up to 500 visitors). Enjoy supper outside in the gardens or indoors at the Conventino, an ancient church inside the residential or commercial property turned right into a great hall. Florence, Italy Haiku Mill A stunning residential property situated on Maui's north shore, off the well-known Roadway to Hana, you'll discover Old World Europe meets natural Hawaiian splendor at Haiku Mill.

Maui, Hawaii Ritz Paris Paris, while referred to as The City of Light, is also indisputably the city of love and also love. And the Ritz Paris is a jewel bryllup københavn box in the center of everything, with its sweeping views of the Place Vendme. With stunning ballrooms, magnificently appointed suites, and also some of the most quintessentially Parisian information in shop, it's not surprising that fashion bride-to-bes across the world dream of wedding inside its walls as well as in it's private courtyard.

Eight Historic Massachusetts Wedding Venues For ... - Boston

If you can not make a decision whether a luxurious ballroom function, a countryside ceremony, or a '20's glam after event feeling is ideal for you, this venue might house them alland more. Asheville, NC Plants Farms This farm-to-table place and dining establishment is a Cabo fan-favoriteand forever reason. With numerous private outdoor locations for events, like a Mango Grove with a block barn, a natural herb yard amphitheater, a beautiful potting shed, restaurant, and much more, the variety of guests and time of year assistance determine which location is finest fit for you.

San Jos del Cabo, Mexico Atlanta Background Center Assume Gone with the Wind at this historic residence in the heart of Georgia. With gorgeous design and yards, think about the magnificent lawns at the Swan Residence Mansion or the rustic appeal of the Smith Family Farm as well as McElreath Hall for your wedding celebration settingeither method you'll enjoy its Southern design.

Providing an one-of-a-kind setup for any kind of size event (huge or little), the dramatic clocktower is elegant, open, and also airy. And when you aren't eating in one of the city's ideal known buildings, your visitors can enjoy all the restaurants, activities, and also websites SF needs to provide. San Francisco, CA French's Point Make your wedding event event really feel like a trip, a get-together, and a wedding celebration all-in-one at French's Pointa stunning 14-acre venue on the coastline of Maine.

The Best Virginia Wedding Venues For Washingtonian Couples

Beautiful Wedding & Event Venues Nationwide - Wedgewood ...

Stockton Springs, ME The Frick Collection Evoking the glamour of Gilded Age New York City, The Frick Collection is a globally recognized museum and research study facility understood for its distinguished Dutch Master paintings and also superior instances of European sculpture and attractive arts. While numerous New york city City places of this caliber feel grand, large, and also better for a large guest checklist, this special space supplies a classy yet intimate feeling for any kind of ceremony, reception, mixer, or welcome supper.

New York, NY, UNITED STATES Domaine de Andols Exuding pure deluxe in one-of-a-kind ways, Domaine de Andols features distinct, contemporary vacation homes for you and your visitors as well as a marvelous centenary tree changed right into dining establishment at the end of the Domaine. Serving fresh and neighborhood items at this put on hold tree leading balcony, the view of the Domaine as well as the scent of the lavender areas are just a number of the reasons you'll never desire to leave.

Saint-Saturnin-ls-Apt, France Taj Lake Palace Holding previous clients such as Jacqueline Kennedy as well as Queen Elizabeth, this regal and also absolutely charming royal residence in Udaipur is 2nd to none. The hotel's striking white marble exterior with views of Udaipur, the Aravalli hills, and also temples all over work as the ultimate background for an intimate wedding celebration in India.

Wedding Venues - Receptions - Cedarparkfun - Cedar Park

Pro Idea: Here, you'll likely need to reserve a specific number of areas for as much as 60 guests, so make sure to verify your matter. Udaipur, India 4 Seasons Lanai Panoramic sights of the Pacific and an authentic Polynesian cultural flair meet the supreme in solution, ease, as well as quality at the 4 Seasons Lanai.

Lanai City, Hawaii The White Elephant A New England location with a preppy style, the White Elephant harbor side inn hosts wedding events on its well-manicured yard. For those looking to throw an especially lush event, the whole resort (with area for 300 guests) is readily available for rent. Functions follow on the terrace forgeting the beachfront, with adequate oysters and alcoholic drinks to please even the pickiest of visitors.

The location comes total with a range of options, both inside your home and also out, like the elegant Chandelier Ballroom, which houses 8 bespoke Baccarat crystal chandeliers, and also the 8,000-square-foot Wonderful Grass, with boundless ocean views. Montecito, CA Cedar Lakes Estate This is where you should head if "down-to-earth," "rustic," "nature-lover," or "modern bohemian" ideal explains you or your aesthetic.

Wedding Venues - Weddings In Houston

From a treehouse to lakeside event, this home satisfaction itself on just reserving a choose varieties of weddings annually to concentrate on making each of them one-of-a-kind, unique, and also well-executed. Greenville, NY Nizuc Hotel & Medical Spa Simply outside Cancnand just ten mins from the airportlies heaven, serenity, as well as absolutely nothing close to the springtime break vibes you're utilized to in this part of the nation.

Keep in a modern skyscraper with your very own personal plunge swimming pool, or go with a relaxing yard rental property in the mangroves. Boasting two exclusive coastlines, a luxurious health spa by ESPA, 6 premium dining establishments, and sumptuous lodgings, Nizuc is suitable for wedding events both large and also little. Area: Cancun, Mexico Amangiri Amangiri, which implies 'calm hill', lies in Southern Utah and also is a minimal's dream.

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