#it’s wild seeing the journeys his coat goes through

[orangedogsquad]

Sandy snoot

[desperate-gay]

Pls pls write for ali

Victory

Ali Krieger x fem!reader

The game is intense. Both teams have been playing hard, leading it to be 0-0 after the full ninety minutes, causing it to head into overtime. It’s 105 minutes in and Gotham has taken control of the ball. Kristie passes it downfield and it continues to move forward as Portland’s defenders scramble to guard the ball, but because they’re a little behind, it leaves a space allowing Katie to shoot the ball and hit the back of the bet.

The whole stadium goes wild, including you standing up with Sloane on your hip, cheering with the crowd. She looks around cluelessly with noise-canceling headphones, making her look even more adorable than usual. Kyle alongside you has Ocean in his arms while pumping his fist up and down at the new lead.

Only 14 minutes later, they are advancing to the finals. Ali looks up into the stands with a bright smile, seeing her family witness her journey through her career, but she is quickly pulled aside by her teammates who continue to chant they’re not finished yet.

After a few more minutes, you and Kyle make your way onto the turf with the kids to meet up with the captain. Kelley, Kristie, and Lynn all talk with her but once she sees you approaching, she excuses herself and jogs over.

“Mama won.” Sloane slurs with a cute little grin.

“Yes, she did!” You exclaim as you continue to bounce the little girl on your hip, something she has always enjoyed for whatever reason.

Ali laughs and takes Ocean out of Kyle’s arms without her smile breaking once. “I’m so happy you’re all here. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“We’d do anything for you, sis. Right, Y/n/n?” He wraps his arm around Ali’s shoulder before nudging you to answer. You divert your attention back to the girl and notice she’s already staring back at you.

“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

You all stand around and talk for a bit with a few of her teammates. The Portland breeze picks up, making it feel much chillier than it actually is. You’re only covered by a thin zip-up, not thinking the temperature would drop mid-game and freeze you half to death. Your shivering is noticed by Ali, so she shrugs off her coat and rests it on your shoulders before taking Sloane from your hands into her other arm.

“Ali, you’ll be cold now. I’ll be fine-“

“You’re clearly cold and you need to warm up. I’m hot anyways.” She shrugs you off and talks to both of the kids in her arms. You’re lucky that the bitter weather makes your cheeks rosy or she definitely would’ve noticed the deep blush rushing to your cheeks at the gesture.

You have been friends with Ali since forever. Your feelings for her have grown stronger and stronger as time moved on to the point where you’re now sure you’re in love with her. The only problem is that she split from Ashlyn months ago and you were her shoulder to cry on through her heartbreak. To you, it’s still too soon to even think about making a move, especially when she has more important things to think about like her retirement and her kids.

Sloane and Ocean have become important to you as well, treating them as one of your own. The little girl is a goofball and the little boy is a bit of a stinker at times, but nothing makes you love them any less. Ali sees the way you interact with them which makes her melt to the floor, knowing that you’re perfect in any way.

Long before the divorce, she knew it was over with Ashlyn for a while. They both argued constantly and Ali didn’t want the kids to grow up in a toxic environment. When Ashlyn cheated, she weirdly felt relieved. Maybe it was because it made her feel less guilty for growing feelings for you. Her best friend.

When the split happened, she ran to you. Even if she knew it was going to happen, it was still devastating. No matter what caused the divorce, she’ll still always care for her ex-wife, and knowing everything is changing with her career, love, and family, it breaks her. You’re there for it all. Her ups and downs, highs and lows. You assure her she’s stuck with you forever.

So here you are now, in Portland watching the captain survive and advance to the finals. Kyle drove you and the kids since Ali had to arrive a little earlier to get ready, but she insists her brother heads back to his hotel and she’ll take everyone back with her.

“Let me go wash off and gather my things then I’ll meet you here. Are you okay with watching them for a couple of minutes?” The taller girl asks, gesturing to the two toddlers in your arms.

You wave her off the best you can with her busied hand and say, “I’m sure I can handle these angels. Now hurry! I want to get back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, I thought I was bossy.” She snarks, walking away but not before the tip of your foot meets with her behind. “Ow! Meany.” You stick your tongue out on her which she returns, causing the kids in your arms to giggle at their Mama’s banter.

Kelley walks out with Kristie and sees the two giggling toddlers. Rushing over to you, she drops her bag, holds out her hands with a grabby gesture, and takes Ocean from your left arm. Kristie quickly follows and pulls Sloane into hers, allowing her arms to relax from the removed weight.

“I’ve missed you two.” Kelley coos at the boy while sticking her finger out for him to wrap his tiny hands around.

“I want one.” The blonde next to you frowns. “Can I keep her?”

“Mmm, I don’t think Kriegs would be happy with me if I sell her children-“

Your statement is cut off by the locker room door opening, revealing the said girl with dampened hair and a bag swung over her shoulders. “I leave you for a few minutes and you’re already auctioning off my babies?”

“Am not! Kristie is thinking about stealing Sloane!” You defend yourself while pointing to the girl.

“Hey!”

Ali chuckles and wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you into her chest. You don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing, but you’re far from complaining about the closeness. You both watch as your guys' two friends continue to mess with the children before you see them yawn.

“Alright, time to go. Gotta put these two to sleep.”

Kristie frowns but reluctantly hands Sloane over to you anyway. You smile sympathetically and pat her back with your free hand.

“I’m going to call Sam and ask for one now. I’ll see you two later.” The girl hops off on her phone, most likely already face-timing her Australian fiancé.

Kelley also bids her goodbyes, parting ways from the four of you, letting you all finally walk out to the car. You both buckle them in before you settle into the passenger seat and Ali in the driver.

The car ride remains silent besides the quiet hum of the radio in the background. You keep your gaze out the window, watching the unfamiliar buildings pass and the stars in the sky. The two toddlers in the back both fall asleep due to it being past their bedtime and the eventful day they had.

As you pull into the hotel parking lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around to look at the peaceful two.

“They’re so precious.” You mumble in awe to which Ali hums in agreement, also looking with you.

You both grab their sleeping forms and head into the hotel room. You’ve been staying with Kyle at his, but since she insisted on driving you back, you follow her into her room, thinking she might want to hang out for a bit. When in the room, you both first change the kids' clothes and place them into their little cribs for the night.

Ali sighs and thumps onto the bed in the middle of the room with her hands covering her face. Her shirt rides up due to her arms lifting, exposing her muscular stomach. You sit at the edge of the mattress and admire the beauty in front of you. A clearing of a throat breaks your stare and turns your attention to the brunette who is now sat up staring at you with a ghost of a smirk.

Heat once again radiates onto your face, embarrassing you further proving you just got caught. The best moves and the sheets shuffle from her moving to sit next to you. She nudges her shoulder with hers as she continues to look at your side profile.

Breaking the silence she says, “I’m happy you came with us to Portland. It means a lot to me; you being here through everything.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You look up back at her and your stomach twists at the sight of her gaze remaining on you. With both of your heads turned, your nose is almost hitting against hers. For a second, you swear you saw her eyes flick down to your lips, but maybe your eyes are deceiving you, feeding into your delusional mind that thinks she may feel the same.

Surprisingly, your mind wasn’t faking you out. Her hand reaches out and rests on your cheek, the soft pad of her thumb stroking your skin gently. She slowly leans in closer when she sees you look at her lips, taking it as a sign you’re not going to find her disgusting.

“Is this okay?” The brunette asks as her lips hover over yours. You nod instantly, not trusting your voice at the moment.

That’s when it finally happens. Her lips slot into yours like a missing piece to a puzzle you worked ages on. The kiss is firm, not too soft to make you think she’s unsure, but not too rough to make you think there’s no meaning behind it. As it continues, her other hand moves down and strokes your thigh which makes you crumble even more into the kiss while your hands rest lightly on her chest.

It lasts until you two need air, pulling away you rest your forehead against hers, giggling lightly in delight.

“What are you giggling about?” She smiles at the sweet sound.

“I just can’t believe this is happening. I’m really happy is all.”

Your right-hand slides itself to the back of her neck and rubs up and down, soothing the tense muscles. She sighs in relief from the feeling and pulls away slightly to be able to look at you. If she was a cartoon, hearts would appear in her eyes from seeing you smile softly at her and your doe eyes roaming her face.

Not being able to control herself, she pulls you in again and places multiple pecks on your lips, causing you to giggle at the outburst and try to lightly shove her off. She finally stops when she hears a quiet whine from the crib which makes the both of you pause and see if you woke one of the toddlers up. Lucky for you, they must have fallen back asleep as quickly as they woke up.

Ali moves to lie down on the mattress before opening her arms wide, signaling for you to lay down with her. You slot yourself comfortably into her embrace and cuddle into her chest. She presses one final peck to your head before whispering, “You are the one for me.”

You tap her waist 3 times, telling her you feel the same, something you've both done ever since you started hanging out. Both exhausted from the thrilling day, it doesn’t take long for slumber to take over your bodies, making you miss the quiet buzz from your phone.

brother kriegs<3

im hoping you finally made the move since youre not here. cant wait for you to be my sister-in-law. i have been dreaming of this day since you admitted your feelings xx

[azsazz]

Winter Winds

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon req: ik you probably won’t get to this in a while but i just read “in ribbons” and absolutely loved it!! got me so hot and bothered. anyway, thinking abt az, reader, and the kids got me thinking…what if the entire ic and their kids are all at wind haven for some trip or something. the oldest kids are pre teens, a bit older maybe. while at the camps, someone attacks the reader and she’s like seriously hurt. like seriously seriously hurt. az goes ballistic, and all the kids get so worried. but especially the older ones, maybe wren baz and zuzu, they get super angry and want to help az get revenge for their mother? 

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood and gore. Traumatized children but they are otherwise unharmed.

Word Count: 4,921

Notes: You didn’t think I forgot about posting today, did you? Silly. I didn’t make them pre-teens, they’re I guess a bit younger than that but close, but I think I’ve got most of the idea in here, except the revenge part. Sorry about that and sorry in advance this one’s kinda sad.

_________________________________________

“Daddy?!”

His son’s frantic voice slices up his spine like an icy blade, plunging deep and cleaving him in half.

At the sound, Azriel’s body flashes hot with adrenaline and everything else slows to a crawling pace.

He spins on his heel instantly, ignoring the grumbling of the camp warlord who’d been reporting to him, now muttering under his breath about letting his savage brood run wild in the camps, that he doesn’t know how to raise them.

His family means more to him than anything, and that terrified shout from his son to grab his attention isn’t one he’s heard in years.

Something is very very wrong.

Azriel’s heart stammers in his chest like the frantic beat of wings in war when he locks eyes with his second oldest son, Baz.

He shouldn’t be out here alone, even if he has been in the training camps for nearly two years now and knows his way around. If any of the warriors had grabbed him and thought to teach the Azriel a lesson through his child…the spymaster shivers at the thought.

The more pressing concern, the one that makes his brows twitch into confusion and fuels his feet forward and nearly halts his heart in his chest, is that young Baz isn’t dressed for the cold. The Illyrian mountains in the peak of Winter could give even the most attuned warrior frostbite in mere minutes, and Baz isn’t even wearing a coat.

Worse yet, there’s tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, cherry red from his journey.

He must’ve run the entire way to meet him in boots that are untied and tripping him in his haste to find his father. If someone’s stolen his jacket Azriel will be the last thing they see as he–

Azriel’s slipping out of his own coat, uncaring that the snaps rip open by the base of his wings. He needs to get his son bundled up, and quickly, before he comes down with something worse than the cold Azriel already knows is in his future. He scoops Baz into his arms, wrapping him carefully and hugging him close to his chest. His shadows swirl around both of them, already preparing to winnow them away.

“What’s wrong buddy?” he’s whispering, wiping the tears from his son's bruning face. Sometimes he and his older brother will get into arguments that have one of the boys running to Azriel in a fit full of tears but never something quite like this. Baz knows how to put his coat and tie up his boots and not to run across the camp alone–

The little boy in his arms releases a sob that nearly shatters the snowy peaks of the mountains surrounding them, “Mommy–”

He doesn’t need to continue. Azriel winnows them back to the house without a second thought, hugging Baz tightly to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of his sweaty black hair. He hopes that his son can’t feel him trembling, fisting his hands in his coat to stop the shaking. If something has happened to you he doesn’t know what he will do. How he will survive.

But he would’ve felt it, if there was something wrong, through the bond you share. He lets his shields slide down, reaching out for that golden thread, the one that feels like warm summer winds in the night sky, your hand caressing his soul.

There’s nothing.

Azriel gives a sharp tug but receives no response as he and his son arrive in a mass of black shadows on the front porch. The bond grows more taut with worry the more he tries, desperate pleas for you to respond that go unanswered as he shoves the door open with a heavy boot. 

The house is in complete chaos.

His shadows scatter immediately, searching and returning with whispers of bloody fingerprints on the counter top, streaking across the wall in his bedroom, on the doorknob to the bathroom, while he frantically searches the room for the rest of his children.

Horror coils his gut at the scent of his mate’s blood, thick in the air. It makes him choke, hot and heavy in the back of his throat.

Azriel sets Baz down, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges when he shuts it and turns the lock. He allows himself a single drawn out breath while his mind reels for a plan of action.

Wren looks more worried than his little brother, though Azriel knows that his eldest is trying his best to keep his emotions together for his siblings.

He had a screaming Jax in his arms, the younger boy clearly distraught about the heightened feelings of anxiety and concern smothering him. He reaches up for Azriel as Wren carries the struggling babe closer, trying his best to keep hold of his brother.

“Dad,” Wren breathes a sob of relief, but Az notes the twins in their playpen, Malos’ cries are loud enough for the silent wailing babe beside her, four sets of tiny hands curled around the brim of the pen with white knuckled fingers.

“Wren, I need you to watch your siblings for a little bit longer, okay?” Azriel’s voice is strained with tension as he calls out to Rhysand in his head, his golden eyes a hair wider as he searches the room for Zuzu. He rubs a reassuring thumb across Wren’s cheek and over Jax’s hair, trying to calm the little boy down. “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass will be here any minute, alright bub? They’re going to take us all to the River House.”

Wren’s lip quivers but he’s squaring his shoulders as he looks up at his father, “Mommy’s hurt.”

“I know,” it pains him to say it, but by now he knows, “I’m going to get her, will you and Baz help the little ones put on their shoes please?”

Wren nods and sets to work helping his father while Azriel rushes towards the bathroom where his shadows have located both Zuzu and you.

He finds Zuzu is sitting in front of the bathroom door, banging on it as she wails for you. Her throat must be raw from the screaming because she sounds horse, tears dripping down her face and snot bubbling from her nose.

Azriel hears Rhys and Cassian appear in the living room, and he lifts Zuzu up from under her arms as Cassian appears, his first thought to help his brother.

“Az–” Cassian sounds nervous for his brother. When he’d gotten the call a short time ago telling him that he and Rhys needed to pick up the children because something had happened to you his heart dropped, terrified for his best friend.

“Just take her, please,” Azriel pleads, letting the worry he feels coat his words. His throat is tight with emotion and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself from going berserk because he can see the red painted handprint on the brass knob and the smell of your blood is overpowering.

“I’ve got her,” Cassian nods, and the look in his hazel eyes gives Azriel brings forth that last shred of hope as his brother turns away and he twists the knob.

His knees nearly give out at the sight of you, unconscious and lying in a pool of your own blood. You look paler under the luminescent faelights, the hand holding together the gaping wound in your side now slack in the puddle of crimson.

Your name is a cry of helplessness on his lips as he dives forward, knees cracking against the tiles as he slides closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in your neck and caressing your face with the other, a shaky hand brushing the hair back from your face.

His shadows have alerted him that you’re breathing, but barely so, and he releases a shaky breath because he wasn’t able to feel the barely there beat of your pulse beneath his fingers with how badly they’re desensitized from his own burns and the pounding of his own heart.

But Gods–the gash in your side is something a warrior would receive in battle, like you have taken a long sword to the side, your flesh tearing open, muscles and blood and–

No, he doesn’t want to think about whether he sees an organ or not. No, he needs to focus on stopping the bleeding. Azriel can’t help but think, his beautiful mate…who has done this to you?

Rhys and Cass both appear within seconds, having called for the best healers in Velaris to the River House, where his children now are, under the care of the High Lady and Inner Circle themselves.

“Az,” Rhysand murmurs, hardly louder than a simple breath as he takes in the state of the room. His spymaster, on his knees in a pool of your blood as he tries his best to stop the bleeding. The towel you had grabbed is already sopping wet with blood and there’s no signs of it slowing.

His wings are drooped low behind him, the slippery warmth of the floor against the thin velvety skin is a reminder of exactly how much blood you have lost.  Had he been any later, had you not sent Baz–

“Help me.”

It makes both brothers freeze, the utter helplessness, the devastation in Azriel’s voice, so small, so soft, unlike anything they’ve ever heard.

They jump into action.

“Az,” Cassian approaches him like he’s approaching a wild beast, unsure of how to approach this side of him, soft footing and hands raised in surrender. The spymaster lets his brother place a hand on his shoulder, turn him from his spot so that they’re looking at each other.

Cassian has never seen Azriel so panicked, not in the 500 years they’ve been best friends. Not through the wars, the nightmares, the births…not even through the mild complications you’d gone through when the twins were born. No, he was a solid wall, not an ounce of emotion had cracked through the barriers he had built, but this…

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, short and quick and filled with anxiety. Azriel’s hands are vibrating when Cassian takes them in his own. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling in your blood, that Az’s hands are slippery with it, all he cares about are his friends.

“Az,” he tries again, and the usual honeyed gaze of the shadowsingers meets his own. He’d startled him. Can see the swirling emotions racing behind his eyes; the hatred, the scared, the utter fear, his mind unable to grasp onto one feeling long enough to put thought into it. “We’re going to take you to the River House, okay?”

He’d carry him if he had to, but Rhys can get the job done. There’s worry that Azriel might explode, break completely in his hands and let the beast within him finally take over. And if that happens, he’s glad the children are far away, because no one, not even Cassian nor Rhysand, will stop him from turning the Illyrian camps into nothing more than a tornado of black mist.

Azriel isn’t seeming to comprehend what he’s saying, head tilting down to look at where his hands rest in Cassian’s grip, thumb sliding through the cooling blood on his hands like it’s not the ichor of his mate, painting his hands the color of Cassian’s siphons.

Rhys comes around the both of them, crouching to place a hand on each of their shoulders. The wisps of darkness that carry them through the planes of the continent must strike something within Azriel because he’s tensing under his touch and wrenching away.

“Az,” Rhys commands softly, hands raised to show no sign of wanting to corral his brother’s anger, “The babes are right in there.”

The reaction from his statement is near instant, locking down his emotions little by little like the scales of his armor retracting into his leathers, until there is almost nothing left.

Azriel spins on his heel, already heading towards the shut door between him and the muffled cries of his children on the other side.

Cassian steps into his path, stopping him. 

He watches the spymaster assess him with a trained eye but Cassian’s already weighed his brother's reactions in his head, being a true warlord himself. There is no way he will let the children see their father like this, worked up with their mother’s blood all over them.

Rhys draws the attention of the shadowsinger again, both Illyrians goading him like a tiger waiting to strike, “(Y/N) is this way. She’s with Madja and her best healers.”

The sound of your name strikes him low, chest caving and reaching down the bond for you again, knowing there will be no response, a wall of icy metal stopping him from entering.

Azriel glances at the door again, but makes his way towards the room you’ve been hauled off to, worried for your wellbeing.

The saliva is thick in his mouth as he ascends the stairs, his brothers tight on his flanks. His hands are curled into tight fists and he can feel the cracking of your blood on his hands in a way that would normally be calming if it were anyone else's blood, but not yours.

Never yours.

He pushes into the room and doesn’t look at the wound or the few nursemaids that are crouching over you. He doesn’t look at the bowls of water stained crimson, the towels dripping or the clothes they’d cut you out of, he keeps his focus on your closed eyes.

He’s quick to find his place at your side, perching out of the way as he reaches for your hand but freezes when he catches sight of his own.

“Here,” Cassian’s soft voice has him looking up, the warlord holding a freshly damp rag for him to take, not even a touch of red on it.

His throat works against a swallow as Azriel takes it, scrubbing his hands like he’s the one who’d rubbed his skin down to the bone and left these scars.

He does the best that he can without spiraling. He’s had blood on his hands before, many times, but the fact that it’s your blood has him reeling, immediately stopping the work on cleaning his own hands in favor of helping you clean yours.

When he’s done he hands it back to Cassian who gives him a soft nod and a sad smile. Neither are the things he wants to see right now. All he wants to see is you opening your eyes and looking at him, smiling, laughing, unharmed.

There’s nothing else to do but wait, which he does so quietly, stroking his thumb across your forehead while his other keeps your limp hand firmly tucked in his grasp. 

He doesn’t look at the wound they’re stitching up, but he can’t help himself from reaching down the bond every few minutes, silently praying to the Mother that you will respond.

His brothers wait by the door. Rhys lets Cassian get cleaned up and check on the children while he watches Azriel from across the room, his own heart aching for his brother in this situation, to be near his own mate at a time like this.

But he stays put because that’s what any of them would do for each other, even when Cassian comes back, hands clean and clothes new, no traces of your blood on him.

They know that there will be no moving Azriel from your side to clean up, so they don’t even try. When Feyre dips her head into the room, catching a glance at you and your mate on the lone bed, a handful of healers working frantically around, they share a look.

It’s Rhys who approaches him this time, making sure his footsteps are heard by the shadowsinger as he nears.

He watches Azriel’s shoulders pull up taut, his spine stiffening and shadows curling his rounded ear that the High Lord is approaching.

His golden gaze is a harsh glare, a warning to stay away, and although Rhys understands the look, it still hurts.

“Az, maybe you should get cleaned up,” he suggests softly, keeping a healthy distance away from the bed. The healers have started sewing up your wound, having been able to stop the blood and stabilize you, and their work will be done soon.

The shadowsinger’s face doesn’t change as he looks back down at you, dismissing Rhys with that single action.

“The kids,” he tries, “They’re worried. They want to see you.” 

Azriel nearly startles at the mention of his children. They’d been half scared to death when he’d last seen them, frantic and worried about their mother just as much as he was. He can see them all clearly, Wren trying to be strong, Baz’s red face wet with tears, Zuzu and Jax and the twins all crying out for help, understanding that something was horribly wrong.

“The kids,” he murmurs, as if he’s not even there. Azriel pets your hair again, smoothing his fingers down your cheek, across your lips, finding their way to the juncture of your jaw and throat, where your pulse is.

Rhysand waits with a baited breath as Azriel counts, comes to whatever conclusion in his mind that he can, grasping for some sort of sign that you might be okay.

The beating of your heart is constant, evened out even though one of the nurses has already told him as much. He won’t leave you if he doesn’t think you’ll be okay.

But he knows you would want him to make sure the children are okay, so he places a kiss on your hand, ignoring how the warmth hasn’t quite returned to it completely, before settling it comfortably at your side and standing from the bed.

He follows his brothers from the room and as soon as the door snicks shut behind him and the wail of Zuzu is carried to him on the whisper of a shadow, he breaks.

He makes a break for his children, his flight sense kicking in but he’s hauled backwards into the arms of Cassian, holding him tightly across the chest as he struggles. 

If he were in his right mind he’d be able to figure a way out of his hold.

“Az, you have blood all over you,” Cassian grits, his breath puffing with the struggle of keeping Azriel in his hold. He’s writhing like an animal, trying to tear his way through whomever he needs to to get to his family. “You can’t go in there like this. You’ll scare them.”

That makes him stop struggling, worming his way out of Cassian’s touch.

“But Baz didn’t have a jacket on–”

“He’s already been looked at by a healer,” Rhys supplies, trying to calm the skittish shadowsinger.

“And Zuzu’s been screaming her head off,” he retorts just as easily, mind reeling at how his children must be feeling.

“She’s been given a soothing tea for her throat,” Cassian adds, fiercely protective of them as he is his own children.

“And Jax–”

“Jax is an empath,” Rhys agrees, ushering Azriel towards the other end of the hallway, “And it’s normal for him to react like that with all of the emotions running rampant in the room at the time. You need to calm yourself down if you are to hold him, your reactions will harm him more than Wren’s. For now he’s fine. They’re all okay, Azriel. Here and in one piece, waiting for you.”

Azriel’s wide eyes are glossy as he looks between his brothers, back and forth as if he’s searching for anything other than the truth there.

He won’t.

“They’re okay?” he asks again, not quite sure he believes it.

Both of his brothers nod, “They’re okay Az. Promise.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You feel like utter shit.

Like you’ve been carved down to the bone with a blade. There’s a pounding in your head and when you open your eyes the room spins, bright with light. Your head goes with it, the whispers of words striking like a bell tower to your brain.

“(Y/N)?”

That voice silences everything.

You squeeze his hand, blinking against the faelights until the three Azriel’s you see finally become one, perfect, mate.

“Az,” you breathe.

He bites his lip, hardly able to contain the relief he feels in this moment. He knows you’ve just opened your eyes but he’s squeezing his shut tight and resting his forehead gently against your own.

And the bond floods with warmth, his breath catching in his throat.

“I’m here,” your free hand finds his hair, smoothing through it the best that you can in your weakened state, “I’m here, Love.”

He nearly whimpers, would have if his mind hadn’t gone immediately into spymaster mode, seeing you awake.

He pulls away from you all too quickly, sitting straight in his spot beside you, the golden glow of his iris’ swimming with dark shadows.

“Who.” he asks, and it’s not a question. It’s the only word he can get out, voice dipped in steel and as sharp as the blade he’s been filing for the days you’ve been under rest.

“Some old relative,” you cough, throat dry, and you hiss at the pull in your stitches. Azriel is quick to help you drink some water down, soothing the roughness in your voice and the pounding in your head. “Claimed to be so, at least.”

“Fucking bastards,” he spits, the shadows in his eyes sweeping into hot, angry flames, “I’ll kill every single fucking one of them.”

“Az,” you sigh. You love your mate dearly and this is about as normal a reaction as you would expect from him, but you’re so achingly tired. “Are the kids okay?”

He shudders at the thought of something happening to your children and kisses across your knuckles, your hand in his shaking ones. 

“Yes, the babes are fine.”

You settle a bit more, knowing that truth. The fact that Azriel has referred to them as babes shows you just how terrified he truly is.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers, propping his chin where your hand is holding his.

“Tired,” you offer, because you’re afraid that a joke might push him over the edge. “Can I see my babies?”

Azriel looks like he might protest. You’ve been changed and brought to a different room once the painkillers and healing drinks the nurses had forced down your throat had begun to work, but he thinks of his rowdy children and your fresh injury, he worries for you.

But you’re pleading, “Please, Love. I need to see them.” And he gets it.

Because he finds himself needing to see them as well.

“Drink some more water, tell me what happened, and I’ll get Rhys to bring them in.”

You hold his gaze, nodding finally. 

Azriel helps you drink some more water, nearly a whole glass before you begin.

“I was on my way back from the mercantile,” you start, swallowing harshly as you wrack your brain for what had happened. “Just a quick trip to get some treats for the little ones,” you laugh dryly, tears welling up in your eyes. Azriel’s quick to thumb them away, caressing your cheek with his warm hand.

“I didn’t see him coming until it had already happened,” you admit shamefully. Your mate had taught you better than that and you had failed him.

Your mate sends nothing but warmth down the bond because while you may have been taken by surprise, he knows you didn’t go down without a fight.

“I didn’t understand how bad it was until after he was laying in the snow next to me and I looked at my torn coat and saw all the blood.”

You remember crying out as his blade slashed across your body and took you to your knees. You’d been able to act through the pain, kicking a foot out behind you and sweeping your attackers feet from under him. 

It was easier to pry the longsword from his hands when he was gasping for air and even easier to make sure he never took another breath again.

“I don’t remember getting home,” you exhale a shaky breath, “I was just holding my side and there was so much blood Az, so much blood.”

He shushes you softly, upset with himself that he’s asked you to share this story. If he had known your attacker was dead he wouldn’t have asked and before he can try and stop you you’re already continuing.

“I was afraid to go home,” you admit, and his hand clutches yours tighter, “I didn’t want the babes to see me like this.”

Your admission hangs over the both of you, loud in the otherwise silent room.

“I’m glad you did,” Azriel’s voice is thick with emotion, “If you hadn’t and I had lost you…”

“You didn’t,” you reassure, maybe for the both of you, “Let’s not think about that.”

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to think about anything else but he nods, agreeing.

“I hid it the best I could, but you know Wren,” the thought of your oldest brings a smile to your face, “He’s so smart, that one. I told him to watch the babes for me while I went to clean up and he tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong but I just kept going, telling him that I was fine and would be out in a minute…” you trail off because you weren’t out in a minute. On the floor unconscious in a minute more like.

Azriel kisses your knuckles, lingering on your fourth finger before he answers, “He told Baz to come get me. I was talking to a commander and he came running up screaming and crying out for me. Scared me shitless I tell ya. Didn’t even have a coat on.”

Your eyes bulge and you try to sit up, distressed over your son out in the mountains without a coat, “Is he–'' your question is cut off by a hiss and Azriel’s on his feet guiding you back down onto the bed, gentle hands on your shoulders. 

“He’s alright, Love. They all are. Got them all checked on while they were helping you. Not even a sniffle,” Azriel soothes. He relaxes when your shoulders droop and you settle back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” you whisper, thumb brushing across his knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). So fucking much,” he breathes, shuddering when you caress his cheek.

You tug on him weakly, puckering your lips for a kiss that he easily ducks down for, the tension melting away from his body now that you’re awake in his arms.

“Can I see them now?” you ask as soon as you pull away. Your mate huffs playfully, already calling out to Rhys in his mind.

The door slams open, Wren and Baz racing into the room with the Inner Circle hot on their heels. Rhys is holding Zuzu, Feyre’s hugging Jax close to his chest while Cassian and Nesta each hold a babe, their own boys trailing in behind them.

Azriel shoots to his feet, catching his two oldest sons around their waists before they can launch themselves at you.

“Mommy,” Wren cries from his father’s grasp and Baz bursts out into tears at the sight, reaching over Azriel’s shoulder for you.

“Az, let them go,” you scold lightly, but caress the bond, thankful for stopping them before another injury could happen.

“Boys, you need to be gentle with mommy, okay?” Az holds each of their arms, making sure that his order has been received by each son before slowly letting them go.

They’re both on your uninjured side, Baz tumbling into your arms. He climbs up onto the bed and you hold him close, letting him cry into the crook of your shoulder, reaching out for Wren with tears in your own eyes.

“Hi baby,” you whisper, voice thick.

“Mom,” he breaks, tears spilling as he climbs up next to Baz, letting you run your fingers through his hair.

You bite your lip, holding your boys as close as you can, before looking around the room at the rest of your children, your family. 

Each one is looking at you with smiles, some pained, some relieved, some teary, and you know that if something had gone wrong, that your children would be in the best of hands.

Your teary gaze slides back to your mate. He hadn’t looked away from you while you were taking everyone in, seeming to know exactly where your mind had just been. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, all he wants is to hold you and his children as close as he can, forever and always.

Cassian hands Knox off to Azriel as he rounds the bed to your injured side, taking the spot next to you to block your injury as he gestures to his brothers and their mates to bring forward the rest of your children.

Let us know if you need any help, Rhys speaks to Azriel and the shadowsinger nods, looking at you with the babes all curled in close, hugging each other tight.

He knows they won’t leave you now, but he doesn’t care because everyone is here together, in one piece.

One big family.

[corinne-eaglebridge-sso]

A rundown of all the Gouden Paarden books

So, these are my favourite horse books of all time. Written by Christine Linneweever and with cover art by George Schriemer, these all follow the point of view from the titular horse. They have sadly never been translated to any other languages than Dutch, but I'll give a rundown of all of the currently out books anyways! Most if not all will just be the translated backcover synopsis, so some might be shorter than others, and they'll be listed in order of release.

Aurea de wilde pony - Aurea the wild pony On the rugged plains in England, the mare Darinde gives birth to a beautiful foal. The filly's coat shines like gold and her mane and tail are pure white. Life for the ponies of the plain is beautiful, but hard, Aura is two years old when one day a truck drives onto the plain. Her mother is shocked and warns Aurea. She knows what the arrival of the humans means. (The pony Aurea is born in a nature reserve. When she’s two years old, she is caught. That is the beginning of an exciting journey.)

De zoektocht van Pico - Pico's Search Pico has felt unwanted from birth. His mother is a purebred New Forest pony and she should never have had a foal from that Appaloosa stallion. Who likes appaloosas, with those strange spots? Nobody, right? When Pico is sold at the horse market and ends up at the Sissende S Ranch, he cannot believe his eyes. There are all kinds of Appaloosas living here! He finally feels at home. Pico makes many new friends and learns to ride the western way. But the most important thing for Pico is that someone really loves him: the owners' daughter, Martine. Until everything goes wrong and Pico has to leave the ranch...

Maisa de dappere Arabier - Maisa the brave Arabian 'And this is perhaps our most famous Arabian thoroughbred, Maisa Bint Makloufa!' A soft 'oooh' sounds through the stable. The visitors of the tour at GS Arabians are deeply impressed by Maisa's beauty. But one night the precious mare is taken by strangers. Will Maisa manage to escape? (Maisa, a beautiful thoroughbred mare, is stolen. When she tries to flee, she gets heavily disfigured and disabled and ends up at a stable that specializes in teaching disabled children to ride.)

De ontsnapping van Rafal - Rafal's Escape Rafal is a konik and lives with his herd in a nature reserve in the middle of the Netherlands. It's a tough life for the horses now that it's winter. There is a thick layer of snow and the animals can hardly find food. In the reserve, the koniks are not fed additionally and the herd cannot leave the area to look for food. One day the horses see no other way out: they have to cross the lake that forms the border of the reserve, hoping that something edible can be found on the other side. However, to do so they have to cross a snow-covered ice field. Rafal is afraid of the ice, but he realizes he has no other choice. Will he make it to the other side? And what awaits him on the other side of the lake, where he has never been before? (The stallion Rafal is so hungry that he leaves his herd and escapes the nature reserve. He meets the girl Sam, who takes him to a stable. But does Rafal want to stay there?)

De droom van Fabio - Fabio's Dream Fabio is a Haflinger who is extremely good at dressage. With his owner Lara he wins many competitions. Now they're even allowed to start doing Z-dressage! Fabio finds it amazing and wants to put in all his effort, but he has the feeling Lara isn't as enthusiastic. She rides less and less and seems to be losing interest in him. In the mean time, she expects him to keep performing at the same high level. To minimize risk, he isn't even allowed into the meadows anymore. Fabio does what he can, but it is heavy for him and often he's stiff from muscle pain. On top of that, some of the jury at competitions find it weird that a Haflinger is competing at this high level. Fabio starts to doubt everything: Lara, himself, and his life as a dressage pony. Of course, he wants to do well and shine in the dressage arena. But he also wants to feel the wind in his manes...

De redding van Roan - Roan's Rescue Roan is a big, tough, friendly Friesian. He is perfectly happy in his stable in Friesland, with his owner Dieuwertje. Together they enjoy wonderful outdoor rides and are quite successful in dressage competitions. But when Dieuwertje comes to the stable one day crying, Roan's world collapses. Dieuwertje's mother has lost her job and they can no longer afford to keep Roan. To his great sorrow he has to be sold. His new boss is very different from Dieuwertje. Roan has to work very hard in a pair, together with Tjeerd. The two horses become great friends, but they also have a hard time and receive little food. Moreover, Tjeerd is terrified of water. Roan does what he can to help his new friend overcome his fear. It seems to work, until they participate in a big competition. Something happens there that will turn Roan's world upside down once again...

Bowi komt in opstand - Bowi Revolts Bowi is a happy Shetland pony who loves to see the world. He's incredibly happy when he gets sold to amusement park Ponyworld. Because of how smart and funny he is, he's allowed to participate in the shows. Bowi loves August, the trainer. But one day August suddenly disappears, after a fight about him spending too much money on the showponies. Bowi's life changes completely when Hugo, the owner's son, becomes the new trainer. Hugo doesn't train the ponies by rewarding them, but by punishing them, and he is too lazy to take proper care of them. The other ponies accept their fate, but Bowi revolts! But is that a smart idea? Because Hugo can decide what is going to happen to him. And sometimes ponies that have too leave Ponyworld end up at the butcher's... Or can the twins Yara and Dominique save Bowi when he pulls yet another prank?

Nola, met hart en ziel - Nola, with heart and soul Nola is terribly disappointed that she is being sold again. Twice now she has given her all for her riders, who then simply exchange her for a bigger horse. She will never do that again! She ends up with Floyd, who doesn't know exactly what he wants. Despite Nola’s reluctance, a bond slowly grows between them. When an attempt is made to steal the most expensive horse from the stable, Nola and Floyd can only prevent it by working together. To do this, they must overcome dangerous obstacles...

Het vuur van Bajka - Bajka's Fire Bajka was born in Poland on a stud farm with racehorses. She always trains with them and is often the fastest, yet she is not allowed to participate in horse racing because she is not a true thoroughbred. When her owner goes to college, Bajka is sold to a trader from the Netherlands. After a terrible journey, she soon finds a sweet new owner, Julia. But she soon learns that life here is very different from the racetrack in Poland. Here you can't gallop endlessly and Julia gets scared when Bajka wants to stretch her legs. It makes Julia and Bajka both unhappy. Can Julia find a way to channel all of Bajka's energy?

De heimwee van Faxi - Faxi's Homesickness Faxi and Noor are a golden duo. Faxi loves participating in competitions with Noor and guiding tourist tours in Iceland. Unfortunately, this suddenly comes to an end when Noor has to move to Finland. Faxi is inconsolable. Even when Noor has been gone for a while, he still thinks about her. Then he hears that the world championships will be held in the Netherlands this year. That's the country where Noor comes from! Faxi is freaking out when his owner Ingaborg chooses him to come along. He doesn't believe Baldur, who claims that all horses that leave Iceland to go abroad never return. Ingaborg would never let that happen, would she?

Vidar wil dansen - Vidar wants to dance Vidar, a fjord, works in forestry with his boss Steven, but he hates dragging trees; it's tough and always the same. He would love to dance like a dressage pony! According to his mother, he is absolutely not suitable for dressage. Vidar has to give up his dream and accept his fate as a workhorse. Until boss Steven has an accident and breaks his leg. Steven's granddaughter Fay has to take care of Vidar for so long, even though she thinks he is a clumsy and fat animal and she has absolutely no desire to do so. Gradually, Fay and Vidar get to know each other better... When Steven has recovered, Vidar has to return to the forest, but can he and Fay still live without each other?

De liefde van Luna - Luna's Love The three-year-old mare Luna has had little luck in life. She was bought by a trader who wanted to make her saddle broken as quickly as possible so that he could resell her. His stablehand Rico does this with so much violence that poor Luna becomes terrified of riding. One day Sterre comes to visit her and it is love at first sight! Sterre sees how poorly Luna is treated and decides to buy her. But she soon finds out that Luna is a nervous pony and as soon as she wants to ride her, things go wrong...

Izar de Spaanse beauty - Izar the Spanish Beauty Izar was bred by the famous Spanish horse breeder Dona Alvarez. Despite his excess energy, Dona has enormous confidence in him. His future has a silver lining. Until everything goes wrong and Izar experiences something terrible, which almost causes his death. He is rescued in the nick of time, but there is nothing left of his energy. And that means that he is the ideal horse for Marit, who became afraid after a fall. But what if Marit manages to give him his energy back? Will she still be brave enough to ride him then?

De overwinning van Erin - Erin's Victory Erin is a police horse: as gentle as anything and afraid of nothing. That is, until she is bitten by an aggressive dog. She is left with a significant wound, which is healing nicely. But the wound in her heart is less easy to heal. No matter what Jeanine, her rider, tries, Erin maintains a deep-seated fear of dogs. This means that, to her great sadness, Erin is no longer allowed to remain in the police force. She ends up with Lieke, who she immediately has a connection with. Lieke, just like Erin, would love to go on outdoor rides. She decides to help Erin with her fear, but how can one girl succeed where all the police specialists have failed?

Een veulen voor Rose - A foal for Rose Rose is a surrogate mother at a breeding farm for Arabian thoroughbreds. She has already given birth to four foals that she knows are not her own. She's had more than enough. Most of all, she wants a foal of her own. And someone who cares for her and loves her for who she is. Out of sadness and loneliness, Rose starts eating more and more. When the extra kilos cause her to fail to get pregnant again, Rose is fine with that, but the owner of the Arabian breeding farm is not. Rose is transferred to a covered wagon company to lose weight. She has to work terribly hard for the mean owner and is barely cared for. Will she ever get out of here? And does she have to go back to the breeding farm? In the meantime, she continues to long for a nice life and her own foal...

Ferron, een echte vriend - Ferron, a true friend Ferron and Bravo are best friends. They live and work at a beer brewery in Zeeland, where they run in a beautiful six-horse team together with four other draft horses. They are well cared for by Joris. But everything changes when Bravo becomes very ill and then suddenly disappears, and Joris is fired. Ferron does not get along at all with the new horse caretaker Lars. And he shows it too! When the brewery owner decides to continue with four horses instead of six, Ferron is sold to a horse trader. Where will he end up now? And will he ever see his best friend Bravo again?

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for june 26 of 2024 with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26, accompanied by Psalm 7 for the 7th day of Astronomical Summer, and Psalm 28 for day 178 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 26]

Like snow in the summer and rain in the time of harvest,

so honor is never fitting for a fool.

Like a bird that flits and flutters or a swallow in mid-flight,

so a curse that lacks cause will never come to light.

A whip is for the horse, a bridle is for the donkey,

and a rod is for the fool’s back.

Never answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or you will become like him;

Rather, answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or he will become wise in his own eyes.

Like someone who cuts off his feet or drinks to his ruin,

so is the one who uses a fool to pass on his message.

As lame legs are useless, dangling on the crippled,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like one who ties a stone in his slingshot,

so is one who honors a fool.

Like a thorn in the hand of a drunkard,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like an archer who shoots at random and injures everyone,

so is a person who hires a fool or someone off the street.

Like a dog who goes back to his own vomit,

so is a fool who always returns to his foolishness.

Have you seen a person who is wise in his own sight?

Know that there is more hope for a fool than for him.

A lazy person says, “There’s a lion in the road!

A lion in the streets!

Another good reason to stay in today.”

As a door swings on its hinges and goes nowhere,

so a slacker turns over in his bed.

Some people are so lazy that they reach for food on the plate

but lack the will to bring it up to their mouths.

The slacker sees himself as wiser by far

than seven men who can converse intelligently.

Like a man who seizes a wild dog by the ears,

so is anyone who walks by and meddles in someone else’s argument.

Like a madman who hurls flaming spears and shoots deadly arrows,

So is anyone who deceives a neighbor

and then says, “But I was only joking with you.”

When there is no wood, the fire goes out;

when there is no one to spread gossip, arguing stops.

Like charcoal to smoldering embers and dry wood to a fire,

so a hot-tempered man kindles strife.

Whispered gossip is like a delicious first course:

it is devoured with pleasure and then penetrates deep within you.

Like a shiny glaze coating a rough clay pot,

so are burning lips that conceal an evil heart.

One who hates may camouflage it beneath pleasant words,

but deep inside him, treachery still rages;

Don’t believe him when he speaks kindly

because his heart is completely ruled by evil.

And though he covers his hatred with cleverness,

his wicked ways will be publicly exposed.

The one who digs a trap for another will fall into it,

and the one who starts rolling a stone will have it roll back over him.

Liars take no pity on those they crush with their lies,

and flattery spoils everyone it touches.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

[Psalm 26]

A song of David.

Declare my innocence, O Eternal One!

I have walked blamelessly down this path.

I placed my trust in the Eternal and have yet to stumble.

Put me on trial and examine me, O Eternal One!

Search me through and through—from my deepest longings to every thought that crosses my mind.

Your unfailing love is always before me;

I have journeyed down Your path of truth.

My life is not wasted among liars;

my days are not spent among cheaters.

I despise every crowd intent on evil;

I do not commune with the wicked.

I wash my hands in the fountain of innocence

so that I might join the gathering that surrounds Your altar, O Eternal One.

From my soul, I will join the songs of thanksgiving;

I will sing and proclaim Your wonder and mystery.

Your house, home to Your glory, O Eternal One, radiates its light.

I am fixed on this place and long to be nowhere else.

When Your wrath pursues those who oppose You,

those swift to sin and thirsty for blood,

spare my soul and grant me life.

These men hold deceit in their left hands,

and in their right hands, bribery and lies.

But God, I have walked blamelessly down this path,

and this is my plea for redemption.

This is my cry for Your mercy.

Here I stand secure and confident

before all the people; I will praise the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 26 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

A great theme throughout the psalms is the experience of coming before God. This Davidic psalm affirms the integrity of the worshiper before the Lord even while pleading for God’s mercy.

[Psalm 7]

A song of David to the Eternal regarding Cush, the Benjaminite.

O Eternal my God, in You I seek refuge.

Save me from those who are chasing me. Rescue me,

Or else they will tear me to pieces as a lion devours his prey;

they will carry me off with no one to snatch me from their jaws.

O Eternal my God, if I have done anything wrong to deserve this,

if there is blood on my hands,

If I have mistreated a friend,

or if I have stolen from an adversary without just cause,

Then let my enemy come after me and catch me,

stomping me into the ground, ending my life,

and grinding my honor into the dirt.

[pause]

Arise, O Eternal One, inflamed by Your anger.

Come and counter the rage of my adversaries;

open Your eyes, my God; hear my plea for justice once and for all.

Let the people gather around You.

Return to Your rightful place above them in the high court.

The Eternal will judge the nations.

Judge me now, Eternal One, according to my virtue and integrity.

Please, bring the evil actions of these wicked, wicked people to an end!

But secure the righteous,

For You, righteous God,

examine our hearts and minds.

God is my defender;

He rescues those who have a pure heart.

God is a just judge;

He passes judgment daily against the person who does evil.

If the wicked do not turn from their evil deeds, God will sharpen His sword;

He will bend His bow, stringing it in readiness.

Yes, He has prepared His deadly weapons

with His arrows flaming hot.

See, my enemies are fertile with evil.

They conceive trouble

and give birth to deception.

They prepare a trap, digging a deep pit,

and fall into the snare they have made.

The trouble they plan will return to punish them,

and their violent acts will come back to haunt them.

As a result, I will thank the Eternal for His justice

and sing praises in honor of the Eternal, Most High.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 7 (The Voice)

[Psalm 28]

A song of David.

Eternal One, I am calling out to You;

You are the foundation of my life. Please, don’t turn Your ear from me.

If You respond to my pleas with silence,

I will lose all hope like those silenced by death’s grave.

Listen to my voice.

You will hear me begging for Your help

With my hands lifted up in prayer,

my body turned toward Your holy home.

I beg You; don’t punish me with the most heinous men.

They spend their days doing evil.

Even when they engage their neighbors in pleasantness,

they are scheming against them.

Pay them back for their deeds;

hold them accountable for their malice.

Give them what they deserve.

Because these are people who have no respect for You, O Eternal,

they ignore everything You have done.

So He will tear them down with His powerful hands;

never will they be built again.

The Eternal should be honored and revered;

He has heard my cries for help.

The Eternal is the source of my strength and the shield that guards me.

When I learn to rest and truly trust Him,

He sends His help. This is why my heart is singing!

I open my mouth to praise Him, and thankfulness rises as song.

The Eternal gives life and power to all His chosen ones;

to His anointed He is a sturdy fortress.

Rescue Your people, and bring prosperity to Your legacy;

may they know You as a shepherd, carrying them at all times.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 28 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

This Davidic psalm pleads with God to spare him and repay his enemies. It would be difficult to locate this psalm in any one event. During his life David faced many threats from different enemies; not only were these threats from outside his realm, but some of his most difficult challenges came from inside his own family.

[stormy333]

Jonah The Runaway

Hey Loves!!! ❤💘❤💘❤💘

I know it's been a bit. I hope you all are doing alright!?! Today we are going to talk about how Jonah got his name and well if you do not already know this Jonah is my 3rd eldest fur baby my second eldest cat. So, lets dive in!

Twas a stormy day in Citra back in June of 2013. My brother and I were home alone and at the time we lived at the church, my family had our own lawn care biz 😂. Well, mumsy and dadzy were working and my brother and I were home chilling. He was on his PS3 (I know that was ages ago, right?) with the guys and doin’ his thing whilst I was playing with my barbies as any queen does at that age; and it so happened that I needed to use the little queens' room and get a drink. When I was doing so, I heard the tinest little “meow” and but of course I had to see who it was because it did not sound like Jazzy or Milly, so who could it be? I opened the door and I saw nothing but the grill cover was moving a tinsy bit and I heard that tiny sound again and lifted the cover and saw him! He was standing on his hind legs so tall yet so tiny and such big eyes and that lovely tuxedo coat slick as can be. We locked eyes for a moment and this tiny little kitten with huge “Bug” eyes had stolen my heart in just a moment, but also in that moment the little angel was gone. Of course, I called my mom and dad at once and told them and we were due for a storm soon at the end of June beginning of July. My brother and I were also (little did we know at the time) about to embark on a journey to West Virginia with our Uncle without our parents how exciting but nerve wracking! Anyways got a bit off track… The first spotting of this lovely kitten was about two weeks before June ended? We would see him on and off and he was most definitely wild because other strays would allow you to come near but he would not dare. He always ran. And at the time we were going through the book of Jonah the runaway prophet in Sunday school so my dad said that if we ever caught him that that is what his name would be. Jonah. Well he held to that promise and named my kitten Jonah we caught him the night my brother and I left for WV so when I got home I had my very own runaway and boy oh boy did he live up to his name!

To elaborate Jonah was never completely tamed? He was semi-social with our family, but his bond was/is strongest with me (he really believes I am his birth mom lol). He also has/had always had kidney issues from the very first time I picked him up out of the trap. We had to trap him to catch him and like I said we caught him the day/night before our trip with our Uncle. As wild as he was my mom knew we (I) would have to tame/civilize him well I am/was that one person as I was the one who wanted to keep him and rescue him. He ended up being an inside cat as he was to spazzy and plus his health. He would randomly get out of the house and be under the house for days on end because he would get scared so scared in fact it seemed like he was WILD again and we would have to trap him or stay outside for days on end to convince him to trust me again. Sidenote I was the first person to touch him after we caught him, my mom took care of him while I was in West Virgina that week. Anyways back to the subject his yearly run and hide aways are what made him live up to the “Runaway Prophet” nickname. His beautiful Big green eyes landed him the nickname Bug Eyes. Nearing 8 years old my Baby goes outside daily without running away he hangs out in the yard and even hunts. He randomly started doing that about a year ago he went outside one day, and I don’t even remember when or why but he went out and came back for the first time and then it just continued. My Bug grew up and matured. Now he goes in and out daily and hang out with his siblings. 

I hope you all enjoyed this post and have a lovely day/night whenever you're reading this and as always stay safe and I love you all!!!

Hailey Marie

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Heya! Could you write some headcanons for Salt, Sea Fairy, Caramel Arrow, and/or Dark Choco meeting a selkie themed cookie who goes by Seasalt Caramel, or Seasalt for short? They're pretty shy, but gravitate to people they perceive as good(they go by the vibe the person gives off). If they trust someone 100%, they'll let them touch their pelt or even hold it for a bit- under their supervision of course. It's been stolen before, and they'd rather not have to fight to get it back again...

Awh this takes me back to all the selkie stuff I've written!!

.......

Salt

This old and hardened Cookie has seen much during his travels, but nothing like Seasalt Caramel--a caramel seal who’s actually a Cookie in disguise (he doesn’t know this yet though).

Tbh they won’t be too trusting of Salt, especially when they see the harpoon on his boat.

Though when he comes to their rescue and chases away a sea monster that attacked them, the seal reveals themselves in gratitude.

He immediately recognizes them to be a selkie--the first he’s seen in Earthbread outside of old tales.

Other fishercookies (or god forbid pirates) might be greedy for those coats, but Salt reassures them he’s not out to steal anything.

SC is relieved, and for once allows him to touch the coat. Just so he understands how much they treasure it.

Sea Fairy

She admires all creatures of the sea, even with her heart forever frozen.

Yet there is one Cookie who always manages to melt it, preventing her from returning to that perpetual state of sorrow: Seasalt Caramel.

This one can disguise themselves as a seal-like creature, and when they show themselves to her one day, they use the caramel coating as an actual coat.

She always compliments it, and once had the honor of holding it in her hand (her other must carry her sword at all times, of course).

SC made it their mission to visit her regularly, listening to her stories and yearnings for Moonlight Cookie.

They share their own, too, disgruntled at mentions of their pelt being stolen and having to fight to get it back from pirates.

Caramel Arrow

Her journey through the wilds has led to many encounters with strange creatures. And many more encounters with Cookies she had to rescue (it mattered not if they were part of Dark Cacao Kingdom or outsiders).

One day she saw a Cookie getting pulled into the Licorice Sea and saved them, only to watch as they turned back to the monster and tried pulling something free from their mouth.

At first she was surprised, but vowed to help them since apparently it was something so precious to them. So she attacked the monster with her arrows till it fled.

Then she sees the Cookie take a caramel pelt-like coat (oddly enough with the face of a seal) and wrap themselves in it, relieved.

Then they properly introduce themselves as Seasalt Caramel.

She’s impressed to find a fellow caramel Cookie, and they both have a friendly chat over some bubbly boba.

Dark Choco

This lone wanderer has seen Seasalt Caramel by the shores many times, especially the trading harbor.

He went there one day to put something on the ship, but ended up frightening the poor toucan who worked tirelessly there.

Only then does SC come to his defense (Dark Choco), assuring the nervous bird he’s not that scary.

He wonders why they defend him, though they just shrug and say they like helping people.

After having a chat and talking about their “double-life” as a seal, they actually...offer Dark Choco their pelt, allowing him to hold it.

Considering how sacred trust is with their kind (and their history of having it stolen), he’s stunned and, quite frankly, refuses. Not to be rude but bc he doesn’t think he’s a trustworthy Cookie.

And SC respects that, allowing him to just touch the pelt and feel the caramel coating.

[mrsmctominay]

Could I please request a Jack Grealish long, smut passionate episode, you worked in a hotel Jack stayed in a few months ago and he gave you his mobile number, you have been exchanging naughty photos and messages ever since, clearly both excited by each other, he’s coming back to the hotel for one night and persuades you to meet him and put into reality the sexting you have been exchanging, he’s been telling you the positions he would have you in, the underwear that he likes, and you have been telling him how turned on you get at the thought of you and him naked together, Your nervous and excited, this could be the best night!!!

Hotel Employee- Jack Grealish

* warning: VERY long smut xox* I hope this is what you were expecting... I just let my mind run wild lool I had so much fun writing this.. It’s my favourite thing i’ve ever written eeek

You'd been talking to this boy for a few months, Jack Grealish is name. The thought of him gave your pussy a literal heartbeat. Every time his name popped down on your phone you knew it would be a naughty photo or a dirty text which excited you every time. You've been longing for his touch ever since your first conversation, something about the two of you just gelled. Something about him just gives you butterflies in your tummy.

Jack let you know that he was coming back to the hotel so naturally you were very excited. You weren't working on the day, which was better for you so that your co-workers weren't questioning why you were so loved up with a random guy.

The day finally arrived. You got to make the texts a reality. You made sure to wear the lingerie set that he loves the most to make the experience extra special for you both. You fill with excitement as the day goes on, you just can wait to be together. You will feel his hands on your body and his lips on yours. You will finally get to hear him moan your name in real life and see the way he comes for you- and vice versa.

Your phone pings and it's a text from Jack. It read 'I'm at the hotel pretty one. Get here soon okay?xx'. You instantly got up and got in your car. You couldn't wait any longer to feel his touch. The journey to the hotel felt like it was taking hours and hours, but it was only 30 minutes or so. You updated Jack at any light you were stopped at, you told him how far you were and how you were feeling, teasing him a little by telling him you were farther away than you actually were.

As soon as you get there, you race up to his hotel room, ignoring any co-worker that greeted you on your way up. You didn't want to talk to them, only Jack. You knock on his door and it opens almost instantly, as if he'd been waiting by it for you. "Y/N", he says as he opens the door. He pulls you in by your shirt and kisses passionately right away. You would have thought you had been together for years by the way he greeted you.

Right away, his top was off. You pushed him down on the bed before saying "Slow down a bit baby, enjoy the moment. Let me give you a strip tease". "Sorry, sorry", he says, "I just can't wait any longer to get my hands on you. I need to feel you and taste you in every way". You stand in front of him and slowly remove your top and chucking it over your shoulder. You get close to him and push your boobs together with your hands, slapping his hand down whenever he goes to touch. You turn around and remove your leggings, wiggling your hips and shaking your bum for him. "Wow wow wow. I cannot wait to get a taste of this", he gushes as he places a firm slap on your ass. You put your hands behind your back and unclasp your bra but you hold it up at the cups so to not reveal your breasts to him just yet.

You turn back around and straddle his lap and he places his hands on your ass, you let the bra fall and your boobs fall perfectly in front of his face. "Mmm", he hums as he reaches one hand up and cups one of your boobs, keeping the other on your ass. "Fits perfectly almost like they were made just for me", he says as the two of you fall back onto the bed. You're now hovering over him and he's kissing all over your neck and chest, littering little hickeys all over, just like he said he would. You release yourself from his grip and crawl down to meet his raging erection in his white boxers. You trace the outline of it with your tongue whilst running your fingertips up and down his thighs, remembering that he'd told you previously that this is something that drives him crazy.

You pull down his boxers and his cock springs towards his stomach. I mean, you knew it was big from the pictures and videos but you didn't know it was THIS big. You can see the precum pooling on the tip, the sight of it making your pussy pulse. You lick up and down the prominent vein a few times before taking his full length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. "Ahh such a good girl", he moans out. "Get up", he says. "Why? I'm not done yet", you reply whilst placing small licks on the tip of his dick in between words. "Yes but I am and it's my turn now. Get on the bed", he demands and you do what he says. "Legs apart and knickers off now please". You don't want to disappoint so you do it, removing your lacy thong and chucking it at his face.

He runs his and through his hair before placing his middle and ring finger in your mouth in order to coat them with a layer of your spit so that he can ease them into your soaked core. His thumb plays circles on your clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of you as he kisses your lips, your tongues dancing. "I want your mouth on my pussy", you manage to moan out. "I like a girl that knows what she wants", he smirks back at you. He removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue and his fingers are now back in your mouth. "Taste yourself", he says. He hums in delight at how good you taste, letting you know that your flavour doesn't disappoint his taste buds. As good as his mouth feels, you want his dick inside of you. "Jack", you moan. "I need you to fuck me". He looks up at you. "Hmm? What was that? What's the special word princess".

"Please", you beg. It's not a want, it's a need. You've waited so long to feel his length inside of you that you just need it right now. He slides his arms under your legs and pulls you right to the end of the bed. He bends down and places one last suck on your clit before sinking himself into you without hesitation. Your legs go over his shoulders and his mouth latches onto one of your boobs. You're moaning for him louder than you've ever moaned before. He's doing wonders on your body, much better than what he'd explained in the messages.

He's had you in all positions. Missionary, doggy, cowgirl, the lot. By this point, you've both already came about 4 times and he was about to make you have your last. "Cum in my mouth", you say. He just looks at you and smirks. He lays down on the bed and you get on top of him (in the 69 position), sitting on his face as you suck him off. Soon enough, his cum shoots down your throat, coating it with his thick bitter, white seed. You're quivering from overstimulation at this point, his tongue reaching all the right areas. You grind yourself back and forwards a few times as he slaps your ass a few hard times and you cum all over his tongue.

You're drained and totally out of energy as you lay next to him on the bed, panting in unison. "Well, was it what you hoped it would be?", he asks, evidently out of breath, sweat running down his chest and forehead. "Better", you groan out as you roll over and place your head on his chest. "I swear Mr Grealish if I can't walk to my car tomorrow", you giggle out. "Don't blame me, you were all over it", he laughs back at you.

Safe to say you had an amazing night with him and you would most definitely do it again.

[nineteensixtieschikadee]

Arya Stark & Femininity

This might turn into a mini rant, so bear with me here. A lot of times whenever I watch old GOT clips, (bc I hate myself) and read stuff about Arya on fansites, I realize that there’s been a lot of misconception about her and her character. Particularly about her being a woman. And a lot of times i see this sort of “justification” from her fans that the reason why she’s such a fan-favorite character in the show (and to some extent, the books?) is because Arya is esentially this “bad-ass ninja asassin tomboy who’s out for revenge against those who’ve killed her family.” And some of her fans and especially her anti’s will call her out expressing that “Arya’s only a child who doesn’t like girly things like dresses and boys and doing her hair. She “identifies” herself as a tomboy because she likes “boyish things” like sword play, and playing in the mud, and gore, wrestling, etc. I was scrolling through the Jonrya tag here on Tumblr, this is a comment I found regarding Arya:

The moment I read that I straight up just wanted to rant! Lol! Also, I’m sorry for the formatting, I’m writing this on mobile. :( Anyways, these people who make those claims about Arya, esentially only see her as this small girl who likes fighting and getting dirty. They completely disregard everything else that makes Arya, Arya. Pretty much just limiting her to her sex, understanding that because Arya likes boyish things, she’s NOT ALLOWED to inherit things, like the North, fall in love and get married, have a high position in the hierarchy and in politics. It’s because that these people see her as someone who hates needlework or everything that isn’t Sansa, everyone believes that she hates everything that makes her FEMALE. Everybody here knows that Arya’s my favorite female character in the books, so I just wanna talk about how the general public views her, and how their views tend to go against Arya’s entire character.

People have this view that she is the “exact opposite” of Sansa. And while that’s true in terms of their different characteristics, it doesn’t mean that Arya is against everything that makes Sansa, feminine. Now lemme elaborate here. Sansa is everything that represents “femininity.” Especially in terms of the inspired time period that ASOIAF takes place in. She’s very girly & lady-like, is mannerful, “soft-spoken.” She daydreams about boys and being a princess. She’s graceful and elegant. She knows her place in terms of society, and as a woman. AND YEAH, Arya is the exact opposite of that. Yes, she has this boyish nature. She’s wild and free spirited. Loud also adventerous. But that’s the thing: Arya has a lot of femininity in her. It’s just not the femininity that we’re used to. What society percieves as “normally feminine.”

Arya is not Sansa. And it’s because she doesn’t act like a “lady” that the audience sees her as this girl who “doesn’t want” or most importantly, should not want/get the same treatment as the typical noblewoman in Westeros should recieve. This idea was engraved into people’s heads because of the show, and that’s how we’re supposed to see her. As this cold hearted ninja assasin warrior who happens to be a girl, but doesn’t act like a typical girl. The audience pretty much places her in the “I’m not like other girls” trope. Which is honestly, so wrong to me. Because yeah okay, Arya isn’t like the typical lady. But god, she is far deeper than that, and is a much more complex character.

Here’s the thing, Arya does not reject being a female, and most importantly, she does not reject the typical ideals of what makes a lady feminine. Of course not. In fact, she actively encourages that women be included in all things, especially in things only made for men. She believes that women should not be held back or ignored because of their sex and femininity.

“The Lannister’s are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

This excerpt is from Arya’s very first chapter in AGOT. It is also my favorite Jonrya moment, lol. And asides from the scene foreshadowing potential plot points for not only Jon & Arya, the scene introduces to us and examines Arya’s perception of society and more specifically, the women in society. In this scene Arya joins Jon in observing Prince Joffrey, talking about the Lannister/Baratheon coat of arms. Jon makes a point that while the Baratheon sigil should be enough to prove that Joffrey is of royalty, the Lannisters (Cersei) are a proud house, married into the royal family. So therefore Joffrey is of house Baratheon AND Lannister. That is why the Lannister sigil stands besides the Baratheons. Because they, specifically Cersei, should be seen as equal to the king.

And while Jon makes this seem like it’s wrong or not needed, Arya disagrees with him. She tells him that the women should not be forgotten, as they should be seen as equal to the men. That the women are just as important as the men, and that it would be of good conduct to not forget that. And with that being said, she never acknowledges that Joffrey’s mother is too lady-like or too feminine to be seen as an equal to the king. Nope. Although she does question later as to why if women cannot fight, why should they have a coat of arms. Though that is hardly the point of her argument.

Another point that makes people believe that Arya is not feminine or does not support femininity, is when she flat out says to Ned that she hates the idea of being a lady.

“Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” Arya flared.

Alot of people misinterpret this as Arya not wanting to be a noblewoman, because she only likes to play with swords, and get dirty. Because acting like a lady is stupid and not her. This is simply not true. Arya has no problem with women, or being a lady. She is a lady. A highborn one. What she does have a problem with is that being a lady often means being trapped in the conformities of what society percieves to be the acceptable standard for women in this time period.

All of the acceptable standards is what Sansa is. And she is not like Sansa. She does not believe herself to be a lady like her sister or her mother. When she first reveals her true identity to Gendry in ACOK, he immediately apologizes to her for his behavior and calls her m’lady. :3 Arya unfortunately sees this as a form of mockery and an attack because while Gendry acknowledges that she is a lady, Arya doesn’t act like a typical lady or even look like one. That insecurity of not being a lady like her mother and sister makes her believe that Gendry is using her sex against her. Like a form of irony. But I mean, we all know that’s far from the truth, lol!

And Jon recognizes this too! It’s the reason why they are so close and tightly knit together. Because Jon understands Arya, and sees her insecurity like how she sees his. They are one and the same. Jon sees and understands Arya’s frustrations of sexism viewed in Westeros. He acknowledges that Arya is to become a lady. But he also sees that Arya is not the conventional type of lady wanting to stick to the norms. She is a different type of lady, and to him, that is okay. He may tease her for it once in a while, pointing out all the unfair limitations that women have to go through. But he accepts her for being this unconventional noblewoman, and often encourages her to pursue being different.

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

Later when Jon and Arya say their goodbyes, Jon gifts Arya with the swords. Needle. This is his way of saying, fuck all them haters, be who you wanna be. Solidifying the idea that he supports her and accepts her for who she is. Kinda like how Tyrion told him to use his identity as armour, Arya should do the same to herself. It’s okay to be different than the rest. Fuck the rules.

It’s not that Arya hates the idea of being a lady. It’s a far cry from that. It’s the sexism that goes along with being the typical lady that infruiates her. Arya loves running around, riding horses, playing with swords, being loud and adventurous. She has a firery temper to her. And just because she likes doing all of that, and is all of that, it doesn’t mean, shouldn’t mean that she isn’t a lady. That she can’t be a lady. All of those things shouldn’t limit her to being viewed as a girl, a highborn lady. She is a woman, and she identifies as one.

“Listen to him, boy.”

“It was the third time he had called her “boy.” “I’m a girl,” Arya objected.

That is why, even though she sees herself as a woman, she often tells herself and other people that she is not a lady. Despite others telling her that she is one. Her insecurity and her frustrations do not allow her to see herself as a lady because she isn’t a “conventional woman.”

But the thing is, even though Arya doesn’t enjoy most of the typical lady-like things, she still has a ton of femininity to her. And people often ignore her more feminine traits in favor of her more “badassery” side, which unfortunately are most often occupied by men. People forget and downright ignore that Arya is really intelligent. She particularly excels in math. It’s one of the few things that she’s better at than Sansa. She loves flowers—like her aunt Lyanna. The very person who she’s said to look and act like the most. And a really important one is that she has motherly instincts. It’s what helps her protect other kids throughout her journey. Her ability to empathize enables her to be more social with outcasts and befriend others without judgement. She is well-mannered and kind to strangers. (An example of this would be when she apologizes to a common woman who lent her a dress to wear, and she accidentally destroys it because she and Gendry were playing by the acorn tree.) She can also cook and clean just like any other woman—or any other person. All of those are feminine traits, and are traits that make her more human. And the show opted to get rid of all that and gave us some cold-hearted, angry, ninja.

The audience perceives that because Arya is this ninja warrior who rejects the common standards of being a lady, it means that she can’t have these other more female traits. Nope. She’s not allowed to have or want more rights and power because that’s not her. She’s a warrior and nothing more. She can’t find love because she has to be this bad-ass independent woman who don’t need no man. That’s not her, that’s her sister. We can’t have Arya be any more female than she already is because she rejects the idea of being female. Leave all that crap to her sister! Sansa’s the princess—and we can’t have Arya being a princess or queen. Arya’s only allowed to carry a sword.

And it’s the audience’s perception of her that goes against everything that Arya is, and everything that she believes in. Because remember, Arya hates the idea that being a lady means being trapped in the societal norms. And it can be said vice versa too. Arya still respects those who want to be more of the conventional type. Arya may not have the more typical feminine traits that make her a lady, but to hell with it! It doesn’t mean that she’s not allowed to have the other things that the more conventional woman would/should have. That goes against all of her views and beliefs. The audience puts Arya at an unfair standard because she doesn’t act like a conventional woman.

It’s the same thing as the audience saying that Jon Snow doesn’t want a title or power, because he’s devoted his life to the Nights Watch and is unselfish. False. Very false. Just like Arya. Arya’s young. She still has time to grow, and no doubt she doesn’t think of all those things now because of other priorities. But she’s slowly getting there. And there is so much foreshadowing of her finding love, becoming a woman gaining power, etc, etc. She’s not there yet, but that’s a part of her growth. Just because she defies the typical female standards, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want or wont want all those things later.

Like com’on. Everyone knows that Arya is the only legitimate candidate right now to inherit the North. Everyone knows. The Northmen know, the Nights Watch knows, the people in Kings Landing knows. Hell, even the damn wildings know this. And it’s because of this knowledge that formed the majority of the northern plotline in ADWD. People are going to war for her. She is the true key to the North, and that’s why the Boltons lied and said that they have her. It’s why Jon went to war and died for her. I don’t think Arya will truly believe it if/when she finds out that people are fighting for her because she holds the power to the North. Unless Jon’s gonna be the one to tell her himself. The fact that she is being set up to inherit all this power, and yet people deny it and believe that she doesn’t want it because it’s “not her” in regards that she’s not feminine enough, is seriously infuriating.

I mean look at the type of women Arya respects and idolizes. Where do you think she got the name Nymeria from? Nymeria’s name originates from the Princess of Dorne herself, Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar. Princess Nymeria was said be very beautiful, strong-willed, cunning, and full of wisdom. She was a “warrior-queen.” From that alone, her femininity clearly did not matter. She was a woman whose goals were not held back because of her femininity and sex.

Arya does not hate femininity or things that makes women more feminine. She doesn’t truly hate wearing dresses or being a lady. It’s being conformed to the general standards that she hates. It’s her sex being used against her that makes her angry. It’s not being able to be herself that she despises. And thanks to Sansa and her mother’s judgement of her, Arya’s insecurity only heightened. Despite looking exactly like Lyanna, Arya herself believes that she’s not beautiful enough to even be considered a lady. Only Jon and Ned allowed Arya to be Arya. Only they called her beautiful, and only they encouraged her to be who she wanted to be. Arya loves her fellow women. And yeah, she also loves Sansa despite her being such a pain in the ass bitch, lol.

Arya’s character encourages women to just be women. She encourages us the audience to just be ourselves despite all the conformities forced upon us. Her character explores the limitations of sex, gender, and especially the loss of identity. Arya not wanting to be a lady doesn’t actually mean she doesn’t want to be a lady. She doesn’t want to be held back by the standards of being a lady. Her question, her argument is that why should women be limited only to being this or that. Women are far more than meets the typical standard, and if society can’t accept it, then fuck that! Women can be knights and still be a lady. They can be fierce and passionate and emotional and still be a lady. Women can be warriors and still be a lady. Just because there are some women out there who don’t fit the ideal standards of what it means to be lady, it shouldn’t make them feel like less than one.

[moon-lixie]

about a letter left to be found and a boy who disappeared into thin air.

word count: 2.046k

genre: slight angst

song: 말할 수 없는 비밀 (Secret Secret) - Stray Kids

I don't think any of you would be able to understand, not even if I sit down and speak all of my truths. Still, I think I owe an explanation.

With trembling hands he gathered his things, the notebooks filled with dreams spilling from the edges of every page, his favourite hoodies, the pair of bright red headphones he had since the beginning of high school.

From the open window a cold breeze came in and ruffled the slightly damp hair of the boy, paying special attention to the ends that were still clamped together due to the dampness.

He wasn't exactly in a hurry, but he still felt nervous and anxious, because even if it was almost impossible, at the back of his mind he was haunted by the idea of someone coming in and stopping him.

Moving quickly he reached down for the towel hanging around his shoulders and ruffled his hair a couple of times more until he felt satisfied.

First of all, I have no idea where I am going but know that I'm fine.

A loud sigh caressed his lips as it escaped, filling the room that he had always called his own, his little world nobody could disrupt because in between the forgotten comics and the piles of clothes sprawled here and there he had felt more at home than he has ever felt anywhere else.

Throwing the towel to the basket of dirty laundry at the end of the hallway, he finally finished everything he had to do, simply being left with staring at himself in the mirror and fixing the wild strands of hair that had been upset by the freshly washed hoodie hugging his torso.

He could barely muster a smile at his reflection, not because he was sad, but because it all felt surreal in a sense that left him wondering if it was still the middle of the night many years ago and the last years had been nothing but the hopeful dreams of his younger self.

Maybe it's a bit selfish of me to simply leave without a warning, but please understand that I want much more than this place could ever offer me.

He closed the front door of his house, locking it with the pair of keys his mother had given him once he turned twelve; they were still held together by the Pororo keychain he had bought one day after school with such an overwhelming excitement that made the memory pull at the corners of his lips.

It felt bizarre to walk away from the entrance of his home knowing that he was never really going to come back, that this was the last time.

Just like the very first time he had arrived there along with a moving truck packed with boxes and furniture, he felt breath leave his lungs at the sight of the white façade. It made him stop for a second and contemplate in utter silence.

Goosebumps coated the length of his arms once he turned around and kept moving forward at a steady pace, leaving his old bike behind as well.

Know that the decision to leave wasn't made in a haste, I've been thinking about it for long and now just seemed like the perfect time.

Mr. Kim lazily waved in his direction, gentle smile and downturned eyes with the familiar brown that reminded Jisung of his grandfather; maybe that's where he would go next, to visit his grandfather.

Without much thought he returned the sweet and familiar greeting, feeling a bit nostalgic when he thought back to all the summers that he had spent working with the man in his garden.

Back then a young Jisung had been happy to make a few bucks while getting to stay out all day in the yard playing with bugs and with the sun kissing the skin of his chubby cheeks and legs that weren't covered by his favourite pair of green shorts.

He couldn't help but wonder where had all that time run to because despite being the one who lived through it, he could barely make sense or when had he ended up where he was.

Time moved too fast and without a warning, it left everyone wondering.

It isn't easy to leave my whole life behind but it feels right, the mere idea makes me feel lighter because who knows who I'll get to be when I get to the end of my journey.

Perhaps I'll be braver, a little bit smarter, more mature, maybe even a couple of centimetres taller.

He could walk the streets with his eyes closed and still know where every bump and crack was in the sidewalk, he could still point where his old school was, where the closest convenience store stepped in his way and as usual tempted him to buy a snack even on those days were his pockets were empty and his tummy full.

From there he knew his way to everywhere else in town, he even knew how long it would take him to get to said places on foot or with his trusty bike.

It all felt too easy and familiar, too comfortable, and those things weren't bad at all but Jisung thought he had had enough of them. He craved discovering himself inside the walls of another place so foreign that every single one of his truths were only known by himself.

Was it silly? That he thought a change of scenery would make him a new person, one much more alike to who he truly was.

Sometimes talking to someone isn't enough, because you don't think they'll understand, you know they won't. That's why I never said anything about the deepest desires looming in my heart or the biggest fears that tied me down for as long as I can remember.

All the interrogations running leaps around his mind made him walk faster, filling him with the same dreadful excitement he felt every first day of school, one that mixed with nervousness and fear.

He wasn't sure if starting fresh would let him be someone whose fears didn't weigh upon his heart so harshly, he wasn't sure if he would get to be the person he had always wished he could be but he could only hope.

Hope had been what drove him this far and today he was giving it full control of where his feet moved to, control over how his next day would look like or where he would wake up the next day.

Never in his life had he felt more ready to wander around by himself.

But I guess, since I'm going, it's only fair that I try to sit down and talk to someone, hoping that they will understand even if my words are scarce and there will be nobody to talk back to at the end of this letter.

On the horizon the sun rushed to slumber, leaving a comforting lilac pooling around the clouds and making them stand out even more.

Night hovered over his shoulders making him breathe with much more ease because if there was something that portrayed hope and tomorrow with an uncanny resemblance and lack of effort, it was the night sky with its endless stars and its shining moon.

In his childhood days he had discovered that there was no better cure for uncertainty and a nostalgic heart than staring up at the night sky; there was something about it that made him feel like time stopped for an instance, that time wasn't quite as unforgiving while the veil of darkness covered everything.

If he could go anywhere he wanted —which he was already doing— he would wish to go to the sky, not the endless and uncertain space, but the idea of the sky that humans have in their ignorance, a canvas that goes no further than our eyes can see.

Ever since I can remember I've felt like there was a place for me somewhere out there, a place I always called home without knowing what it really was.

It wasn't like I didn't feel at home here, there was just a feeling in my chest that told me out there I could feel completely free in the way I've always craved.

For him it had always felt unfair, how everyone got to live and walk around without the things that kept him back. Of course when he grew older he understood that everyone had their own problems but sometimes that was easy to ignore when one's own darkness loomed around their heart.

He had spent many years wishing, praying to whoever was listening, that he could just be himself without the voices in his head and the uncertainties that made every single one of his steps be cautious.

Nobody seemed to have listened as years went by and things got harder, still, he never gave up and even though he could never really say that there was nothing else bothering him he could at least say that he had everything under control.

If time is unforgiving it also is healing, and for him it had healed many wounds that couldn't be seen.

Unknowingly I spent a lot of time wanting to go to that place, craving to find where it was.

Some years ago I understood that it perhaps wasn't a place but a version of myself that could bring such soothing feelings. That's where I'm going to, that's why I have no destination.

He wanted to believe that nothing had been planned, that his savings carefully stuffed at the bottom of his backpack had just been him being responsible about his money and having enough for the impulsiveness that one day had won over reason and had driven him to this adventure.

He wanted to pretend but it was stupid to do now, there was nobody around to judge him or question his motives, so there was no use in not being honest with himself.

Thinking back to all those evenings spent running around the small restaurant in which he had found a job, he could see that perhaps this plan had been many years in the making.

Unconsciously he had always been hoping for a moment like this, a moment of unadulterated freedom.

Hopefully I do get there, hopefully I get to be happy and everyone I left behind does too.

The journey to happiness, to authenticity, to being unapologetically himself, had taken him to the airport, another thing that wasn't as spontaneous as he had tried to make it seem.

Passport in hand and trembling self, the whiteness of the place and the various people walking back and forth made him realise that this was really going on, he was really leaving.

For the first time in his life overthinking had no place in his plans.

I wish to be who I am meant to and disappearing was perhaps the thing I had always been destined to do. A boy who disappeared into thin air, that's who I am, a boy with secrets that weigh down on my heart and that I'm unwilling to carry with me on this journey.

Approaching the desk he was met with a young woman, in her mid twenties or early thirties, sweet but practised smile covering her lips as she recited the words that he must've learned a long time ago when she first started working there.

"I want a ticket for the next flight available," Jisung said, offering a reassuring smile after the confused look the woman gave him.

He looked around as the sounds of typing filled his ears and before he had time to start regretting something the ticket had been placed on his palm and his savings were short by a considerable amount.

I'm afraid that wasn't much of an explanation but it was my truth.

Good luck and see you whenever we're meant to cross paths.

The last thing he saw before falling asleep were the clouds from above and the sky now completely dark like the many nights he had wondered where he belonged.

Now he had an answer, he belonged wherever he felt free and right then in that comfortable plane seat he felt the freest he had ever been.

[yostresswritinggirl]

I like Venti so much. Best boy.

How would Venti feel about an S/O with synesthasia. The ability to hear color. One day she goes to him performing on the street with a sketchpap and shows him what he sounds like.

My, my, look who it is. The person who started it all, and ending it. It's amusing how this came full circle and of course you bring me such an interesting yet difficult prompt *balls fist, shakes at sky*

I had a lot of time to think about this and I feel it was still so hard to make. And there's so many variants and uniqueness to each case so this will be a wild ride. But this marks the end of this special event and on to a new one, and I thank you especially for being with me through it!

This fic made me realize I need a better Venti banner lololol

Ethereal Hues

Venti with a Reader with Synesthesia (Specifically, the ability to see sounds)

The wind-borne bard fancies audiences that sings along, that joins him in his merry tunes. He knows faces, distinguishes them, reads their responses. If it was unorthodox tales he sang, he would laugh at the predicted angry churns. If it were awesome tales of adventures, Venti would bask in the glory of awe and cheers.

And so he finds you to be the most peculiar individual he has ever audienced. You stand in the back far away from the crowd as you carry with you a notebook. Based on the way you steal glances to him whenever he performs out in public and the way your hands moved, you were definitely sketching him, yet you paid no such expression for his songs the same way the others did. And he was sure you were no deaf individual.

He had been intrigued since day one, and he had been so even at the third. When he wishes to come to you, he would always find you packing up immediately after his performances, and he would be swept aside by the task at hand: getting his share of Mora for a fantastic performance.

You were only there for his music, and your interest seem to disappear the moment the music is lost.

So slowly he would adjust his schedule, making it so his songs linger longer, his notes stretching out more just to keep you there in his vision for longer. And yet whenever he privies himself to have caught your attention, it seems as tho you were not really interested at him: even if the distance between you were great, he knows you were looking through him.

This game of cat and mouse had stretched out to seven days.

You managed to attend every tale the bard tells within the walls of Mondstadt but never have you stepped foot inside the tavern of Angel’s Share when he would perform late at night. With this discovery, he doesn’t bother to try lure you out from there, opting to skip performing in the tavern.

Much to Diluc’s surprise. It had gone so that the bartender himself asked if things were not looking great for the bard, but he was met by a smug and conniving smile, that he was quick to smack the shit out of and never bother about again.

Every time the bard wishes to approach you after the last string of his lyre is plucked, he was blocked by the crowd or pulled by a child, enough to render him unmoving, enough of a timeframe for you to disappear. You would think it was you purposely evading the bard’s advances but the way you move and act doesn’t seem like you were running away or in a hurry, more so, you look more disappointed that the festivities had to end every time.

A week of disappointments had led Venti to play his sorrows to his lyre under the tree at Windrise. It was a tune that no one in the public eye has seen him play and he was content in indulging on his own misery.

“Eyes from the fountain bench, of a longing stare had whence.

Slip between thy grasp, even as I call out through a rasp.”

“Ah, a different one this time,” he’d almost fallen out of the branch he was hanging by when a voice suddenly spoke out from beneath the tree’s shade. And there you are in all your glory, an amused expression in your face as you watch the Anemo wielder catch himself before gracefully flying down in front of you in disbelief. “Hello.”

“Hi!” He squeaked out before clearing his throat, adjusting his posture to reflect his usual composed facade with that wide grin.

“The colors brought me here, but I didn’t expect you to be the one producing them.” He watched you fumble with the familiar sketchbook in your hand, his muse in his curiousities right in front of him nonchalantly, as if fate had not been trying its best to separate them for the past week. "With the collection complete, I can finally show you the whole thing!" You practically shoved the pad to his face, forcing him to step back.

And there he saw the most ethereal painting he had seen of himself. His lone form in front of the statue where he usually plays, there in his company were streaks of light blue, reminiscent of Barbara's elemental skill. He clutches the pad for a better look as he notices more blots of complementary colors littered in ecstatic manners. Below, the words 'glee' was written in dark cursive.

Next page had warmer colors, that wrapped around him like silk and satin which would then plunge to the floor like cold white mist. This one was labelled 'Comfort.'

There were four more illustrations that depict numerous vibes of his tunes whenever he had performed, and paired with it comes different colors and patterns. Each one was more detailed than the last and with new vigor he was more than eager to see the next ones—

And then the last one was the latest, where he was once singing his odes and woes from the tree's branches. Yet this one holds a different gesture to it and he sucks in the details with a faraway gaze. Black, gray and navy blue hang like curtain as it seemingly seeps from his flesh, tangling into a weightless form before diverging into a single string of black that casts itself past the borders of the paper. It was like shadows that desperately cling to its owner, ones sadness and desperation taking form into a monster that seeks a vessel.

He looks up to you with eyes once again shining at the brilliance of the illustrations- before he clutched the pad to his chest, a toothy grin and a dangerous glint in his teal eyes, "I'm keeping this~"

To hell with that.

First he takes your sketchpad and rifts through it like there's no tomorrow, and then he lays claim on it?! The audacity of this bard!

With the only arsenal that you had, you started throwing brushes and acrylics at the floating bard until he had to crash land from getting caught by his extravagant cape. What an oversight.

That day, you'd finally sit down with the famous bard and properly got to introduce each other. While you're ecstatic to chat with the person you'd long admired from afar, Venti was more ecstatic at the idea of you and your marvelous power. It's similar to elemental sight, he imagines, and he pried with more inquiries than you had anticipated.

You thought he'd be weirded out by both your colorful sense or the fact that you had stalked him for a week to immortalize his ethereal glow in the shadows.

Yet he was so open-minded about it, wanting to accompany you more on your endeavors and jokingly using you as his marketing manager for more Mora opportunities. You find the idea not so bad.

At one point in time without your knowledge nor acknowledgement, Venti (ever so curious boy) changed his form from his bard friend to copy yours, trying to see if he were able to replicate your vision. Alas it was not as easy as that. Whatever Venti did after that, not even Celestia knows.

Your ability to see the streams of music instead of just projecting associated shapes and colors had made it easy to find Venti, and vice versa.

When he wants to find you specifically, Venti sings your name in a lilting melody as he walks through the stone streets of Mondstadt, the blazing color pouring through your window as you crane your head out and look him down from the second floor.

Venti's invisible aura brightens at the sight of you and he presents the fresh Cecilias in his hand, singing for you to accompany him to another day and you're forced to do so with his cheesiness.

He continues to sing even as you resign to your home to prepare. Unbeknownst to you the people of Mond watched with wonder and awe at the sweetness of the serenading bard that comes by every 9 AM daily to your doorstep.

Nature rarer uses yellow

Than another hue;

Saves she all of that for sunsets, —

Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,

Yellow she affords

Only scantly and selectly,

Like a lover's words.

You tilt your head at Venti at his lyrics, its lines influencing the color that coats him before his lyre finally calms its strings. He does not expand on his words as the silent conversation ended with a smile. Venti had been making songs with colors incorporated in them and despite the Muse of hues, you have yet to understand what they truly mean. If they mean anything at all.

You wish you could bring about the same flowery words to describe how beautiful Venti is, your current muse, adorned with the colors of a world only you can see. But for now, as you watch him smile past the crowd and lock eyes with yours, the most you can do is immortalize his ethereal hues. Until you finally work up the courage to admit it was not the colors that had drawn you to him.

This is a blessed day as it marks the end of the 50 followers event, and start the 100 followers one! Thank you for joining us in this journey, we still have a long way to go!

[crystal-moon-101]

On today's episode of next gens that I have little time to focus on, yet still make, I have one for Rick and Morty! Years into the future, Morty has taken on most of Rick's work since he is now absent from his life (even dawning the man's lab coat as you can see), and now goes on adventures as a single dad with his daughter, Ria Maribeth Smith. Don't let Ria's cutesy appearance fool you, as she shares a lot of traits with her great grandfather beyond the silvery blue hair. She's loud, impulsive, daredevil, blunt, smart, out going, love the thrill of violence, and has a colourful use of words, and due to this and her appearance, it doesn't take a lot to see why she was named after Rick. Though, that being said, she isn't entirely like Rick, and does hold features from her father and her own traits. She can be kind and more considerate than people think, and while she can be harsh with her words, it often comes from a place of wanting the best for people. She has her father's forgiving nature, and enjoys the wonders of the universe. Much like her great grandfather again, she also loves inventing and crafting, making cool to...strange things. Her mother was a woman named Belinda, someone Morty met on his sole journeys sometime after Rick was gone. The two dated for a short time, though by the time Ria was born, they preferred to be friends, though still agreeing to raise their daughter together. It...didn't last long, however, as Morty suffered from a cruel fate of repeated history that Rick went through, where both his daughter and Belinda were targeted by enemies of his. Fortunately, unlike Rick, he could at least save his daughter in time, but not Belinda. Morty has dated here and there, since he is still a universe traveler, but he hasn't settled down with anyone or thought about doing so in a long time. He's mostly settled on the idea of being a single father for the time being. When it comes to father and daughter dynamics, Ria and Morty do of course love each other, researching and exploring together, going on wild adventures. Though they do have their problems, most often Ria's impulsive behavior and running out in danger, and Morty's overprotective nature popping up way too often. It doesn't help that, due to a new villain's appearance, Morty may not have been entirely honest in what happened to her great grandfather, rumors being Rick may not be dead after all...

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for may 26 of 2024 with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26, accompanied by Psalm 69 for the 69th day of Astronomical Spring, and Psalm 147 for day 147 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 1st revolution this year)

[Proverbs 26]

Like snow in the summer and rain in the time of harvest,

so honor is never fitting for a fool.

Like a bird that flits and flutters or a swallow in mid-flight,

so a curse that lacks cause will never come to light.

A whip is for the horse, a bridle is for the donkey,

and a rod is for the fool’s back.

Never answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or you will become like him;

Rather, answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or he will become wise in his own eyes.

Like someone who cuts off his feet or drinks to his ruin,

so is the one who uses a fool to pass on his message.

As lame legs are useless, dangling on the crippled,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like one who ties a stone in his slingshot,

so is one who honors a fool.

Like a thorn in the hand of a drunkard,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like an archer who shoots at random and injures everyone,

so is a person who hires a fool or someone off the street.

Like a dog who goes back to his own vomit,

so is a fool who always returns to his foolishness.

Have you seen a person who is wise in his own sight?

Know that there is more hope for a fool than for him.

A lazy person says, “There’s a lion in the road!

A lion in the streets!

Another good reason to stay in today.”

As a door swings on its hinges and goes nowhere,

so a slacker turns over in his bed.

Some people are so lazy that they reach for food on the plate

but lack the will to bring it up to their mouths.

The slacker sees himself as wiser by far

than seven men who can converse intelligently.

Like a man who seizes a wild dog by the ears,

so is anyone who walks by and meddles in someone else’s argument.

Like a madman who hurls flaming spears and shoots deadly arrows,

So is anyone who deceives a neighbor

and then says, “But I was only joking with you.”

When there is no wood, the fire goes out;

when there is no one to spread gossip, arguing stops.

Like charcoal to smoldering embers and dry wood to a fire,

so a hot-tempered man kindles strife.

Whispered gossip is like a delicious first course:

it is devoured with pleasure and then penetrates deep within you.

Like a shiny glaze coating a rough clay pot,

so are burning lips that conceal an evil heart.

One who hates may camouflage it beneath pleasant words,

but deep inside him, treachery still rages;

Don’t believe him when he speaks kindly

because his heart is completely ruled by evil.

And though he covers his hatred with cleverness,

his wicked ways will be publicly exposed.

The one who digs a trap for another will fall into it,

and the one who starts rolling a stone will have it roll back over him.

Liars take no pity on those they crush with their lies,

and flattery spoils everyone it touches.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

[Psalm 26]

A song of David.

Declare my innocence, O Eternal One!

I have walked blamelessly down this path.

I placed my trust in the Eternal and have yet to stumble.

Put me on trial and examine me, O Eternal One!

Search me through and through—from my deepest longings to every thought that crosses my mind.

Your unfailing love is always before me;

I have journeyed down Your path of truth.

My life is not wasted among liars;

my days are not spent among cheaters.

I despise every crowd intent on evil;

I do not commune with the wicked.

I wash my hands in the fountain of innocence

so that I might join the gathering that surrounds Your altar, O Eternal One.

From my soul, I will join the songs of thanksgiving;

I will sing and proclaim Your wonder and mystery.

Your house, home to Your glory, O Eternal One, radiates its light.

I am fixed on this place and long to be nowhere else.

When Your wrath pursues those who oppose You,

those swift to sin and thirsty for blood,

spare my soul and grant me life.

These men hold deceit in their left hands,

and in their right hands, bribery and lies.

But God, I have walked blamelessly down this path,

and this is my plea for redemption.

This is my cry for Your mercy.

Here I stand secure and confident

before all the people; I will praise the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 26 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

A great theme throughout the psalms is the experience of coming before God. This Davidic psalm affirms the integrity of the worshiper before the Lord even while pleading for God’s mercy.

[Psalm 69]

For the worship leader. A song of David to the tune “Lilies.”

Reach down for me, True God; deliver me.

The waters have risen to my neck; I am going down!

My feet are swallowed in this murky bog;

I am sinking—there is no sturdy ground.

I am in the deep;

the floods are crashing in!

I am weary of howling;

my throat is scratched dry.

I still look for my God

even though my eyes fail.

My enemies despise me without any cause;

they outnumber the hairs on my head.

They torment me with their power;

they have absolutely no reason to hate me.

Now I am set to pay for crimes

I have never committed!

O True God, my foolish ways are plain before You;

my mistakes—no, nothing can be hidden from You.

Don’t let Your hopeful followers face disgrace because of me,

O Lord, Eternal One, Commander of heaven’s armies;

Don’t let Your seekers be shamed on account of me,

O True God of Israel.

I have been mocked when I stood up for You;

I cower, shamefaced.

You know my brothers and sisters?

They now reject me—they act as if I never existed.

I’m like a stranger to my own family.

And here’s why: I am consumed with You, completely devoted to protecting Your house;

when they insult You, they insult me.

When I mourn and discipline my soul by fasting,

they deride me.

And when I put on sackcloth,

they mock me.

Those who sit at the gate gossip about me;

I am shamed by the slurred songs of drunkards.

But, Eternal One, I just pray the time is right

that You would hear me. And, True God,

because You are enduring love, that You would answer.

In Your faithfulness, please, save me.

Pluck me from this murky bog;

don’t let it pull me down!

Pull me from this rising water;

take me away from my enemies to dry land.

Don’t let the flood take me under

or let me, Your servant, be swallowed into the deep

or let the yawning pit seal me in!

O Eternal One, hear me. Answer me. For Your enduring love is good comfort;

in Your great mercy, turn toward me.

Yes, shine Your face upon me, Your servant;

put an end to my anguish—don’t wait another minute.

Come near; rescue me!

Set me free from my enemies.

You know all my opponents;

You see them, see the way they treat me—

humiliating me with insults, trying to disgrace me.

All this ridicule has broken my heart,

killed my spirit.

I searched for sympathy, and I came up empty.

I looked for supporters, but there was no one.

Even more, they gave me poison for my food

and offered me only sour vinegar to drink.

Let them be ambushed at the dinner table,

caught in a trap when they least expect it.

Cloud their vision so they cannot see;

make their bodies shake, their knees knock in terror.

Pour out Your fiery wrath upon them!

Make a clean sweep; engulf them with Your flaming fury.

May their camps be bleak

with not one left in any tent.

Because they have persecuted the one You have struck,

add insult to those whom You have wounded.

Compound their sins; don’t let them off the hook!

Keep them from entering into Your mercy.

Blot out their names from Your book of life

so they will not be recorded alongside those who are upright before You.

I am living in pain; I’m suffering,

so save me, True God, and keep me safe in troubled times!

The name of the True God will be my song,

an uplifting tune of praise and thanksgiving!

My praise will please the Eternal more than if I were to sacrifice an ox

or the finest bull. (Horns, hooves, and all!)

Those who humbly serve will see and rejoice!

All you seekers-after-God will revive your souls!

The Eternal listens to the prayers of the poor

and has regard for His people held in bondage.

All God’s creation: join together in His praise! All heaven, all earth,

all seas, all creatures of the ocean deep!

The True God will save Zion

and rebuild the cities of Judah

So that His servants may own it and live there once again.

Their children and children’s children shall have it as their inheritance,

and those who love His name will live in it.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 69 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

This Davidic lament complains to God of enemies, false witnesses, insults, abandonment by friends and family, and even poisoning. Early Christians interpreted this psalm prophetically in order to understand Jesus’ experience in His suffering and death on the cross.

[Psalm 147]

Praise the Eternal!

It is good to sing praises to our God,

for praise is beautiful and pleasant.

The Eternal, Architect of earth, is building Jerusalem,

finding the lost, gathering Israel’s outcasts.

He binds their wounds,

heals the sorrows of their hearts.

He counts all the stars within His hands,

carefully fixing their number

and giving them names.

Our Lord is great. Nothing is impossible with His overwhelming power.

He is loving, compassionate, and wise beyond all measure.

The Eternal will lift up the lowly

but throw down the wicked to the earth.

Open your mouths with thanks!

Sing praises to the Eternal!

Strum the harp in unending praise to our God

Who blankets the heavens with clouds,

sends rain to water the thirsty earth,

and pulls up each blade of grass upon the mountainside.

He opens His hands to feed all the animals

and scatters seed to nestlings when they cry.

He takes no pleasure in the raw strength of horses;

He finds no joy in the speed of the sprinter.

But the Eternal does take pleasure in those who worship Him,

those who invest hope in His unfailing love.

O Jerusalem, praise the Eternal!

O Zion, praise your God!

For His divine power reinforces your city gates,

blesses your children in the womb.

He establishes peace within your borders,

fills your markets with hearty golden wheat.

His command ripples across the earth;

His word runs out on swift feet.

He blankets the earth in wooly snow,

scattering frost like ashes over the land.

He throws down hail like stones falling from a mountain.

Can any withstand His wintry blast?

But He dispatches His word, and the thaw begins;

at His command, the spring winds blow, gently stirring the waters back to life.

He brings Jacob in on His plan, declaring His word—

His statutes and His teachings to Israel.

He has not treated any other nation in such a way;

they live unaware of His commands.

Praise the Eternal!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 147 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Psalm 147 is a postexilic hymn of praise to God as Creator and Sustainer. It celebrates the rebuilding of the walls and gates that protect Jerusalem. God secures the city, grants peace to the border towns, and controls the elements.

[mercurial-madhouse]

@lululawrence asked, Hiiiii could you write me a friends to lovers a/b/o drabble?? Pairing of your choice! I'd be super happy if you REALLY leaned into the pining and/or resolution of pining :D

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

Got My Heart Out (You’re the truth I can’t explain)

“Alright?”

Louis doesn’t turn from the table he’s leaning over, arms spread as he stares at the array of tools—ropes, knives, grappling hooks, other items to help them go unnoticed—neatly laid out before him. “Should I be?”

The harsh light from the bare bulb on the far end illuminates the knot of tension between Louis’ shoulders. Compared to Louis’s countless crossings, Harry’s not nearly as experienced, but if Harry thought the journey perilous before, it’s deadly now.

“Hate that word, should. Nothing good ever comes from it,” Harry mutters.

His nostrils flare at the barrage of emotions coming off of Louis that up until a week ago no alpha could smell. Unease, doubt, and anger seep into the grounding scent of sandalwood and snapdragons. Neither are found in the concrete jungle of a city they live in. Even Louis’ scent is an anomaly, uplifting and invigorating.

Though it’s only Louis’s decision and Harry’s got no right, he still struggles against every alpha instinct wanting to call the whole mission off. Louis’s too special to him. Harry keeps his arms crossed, gripping his biceps to urge his body to stay in place.

He’s not subtle enough. Louis catches his reaction. Harry’s not surprised. Louis was already incredibly perceptive before he presented with all the extra-sensory skills of an omega.

Jaw clenching, Louis hikes his coat up further, popping the collar in an attempt to cover his scent. “Well you shouldn’t be here, Haz.”

Irritation pricks at the back of Harry’s neck. He clamps his alpha down. Most of their small band is asleep in the other room, gathering what little rest they can before the trip across the border tomorrow, but Harry’s right where he needs to be. With Louis.

Harry closes the distance between them until the inebriating scent from the newly-presented omega nearly overwhelms him. Learning to balance both genders with their pheromones yet to settle, those who’ve just presented have the strongest scents.

In this world, Louis’ scent is a death sentence. They both know they’re racing fate, luck, and time now. If all goes well, and that’s a massive if, they’ve got just enough scent blocker to mask Louis for the crossing.

Louis sucks in a breath, eyes closing. He holds it in as Harry steps up beside him.

“Staying away from you isn’t going to help.” It’s never helped Harry at least. Some mornings it feels like his only reason to keep risking it all is for the chance to be near Louis. “You need to get used to our scents or it’ll slow you down too.”

Being this close to Louis is a lesson in strength Harry thought he didn’t need anymore. Everything about Louis was intoxicating to Harry before Louis presented. Now his alpha has joined this grim game. Harry may as well have presented yesterday rather than two years ago at sixteen for all the fighting he’s having to do.

“I’m twenty. This shouldn’t be fucking happening. Who d’you know that presented after eighteen?” Louis’s fingers curl against the tabletop, nails catching in old scars gouged into the wood.

Head down, messy strands shield most of his face from Harry’s view. Harry longs to run his fingers through them, find out if Louis’s hair is as silky as it seems. Harry digs his nails into his palms until twin flashes of pain shoot up his arms, popping the desire before it can lodge in his muscles and become action.

“Been smuggling omegas over the border for four years because at least Southbank treats them as equals.” Louis’ shoulders tense. “If Westminster finds out about me they’ll put a price on my head and send every soldier they’ve got after me. Fuck knows what Southbank will do, but a male omega? Even if I don’t have- they sure as hell won’t let me go free.”

Harry refuses to dwell on what Louis didn’t say. Keeping Louis’ second gender a secret from everyone but the five of them is going to be near impossible enough. Even after a week, the memory of the powerful shock-laced scent pervading their home the morning Louis presented has Harry’s heart beating double-time and his mouth watering. They won’t have much warning before his first heat and right now none of them have any ideas what they’ll do when it happens.

He wishes he had any answers at all.

Louis jerks a hand, motioning at the supplies. “And now I’m stuck trying not to be sick from the thought of picking up a knife. Cards are really stacked right now, Haz.”

And they’ve got no choice. Success hinges on following through with the plan. They don’t have time to change the rendezvous hour. If they’re not over the border in Westminster on time, the group of refugees on the other side risk capture and Louis’s whole system in danger of discovery.

Louis ducks his chin, shaking his head before brushing his fringe aside. The action is ingrained in Louis when he’s agitated, but Harry nearly groans as a fresh wave of sandalwood hits him.

He latches onto Louis’s wrist. “Don’t—!” He needs to back up. It’s not fair to put this on Louis.

Harry forgets what he needed to do when Louis’s head jolts up, facing Harry for the first time since Harry got here. Harry didn’t realize how close they’d gotten. Features a little paler than usual, the dark circles under Louis’s eyes are stark in the unfiltered light as his brows knit in confusion.

Of course Louis wouldn’t understand. He’s been a beta for twenty years.

Harry forces himself to let go, but he only makes it as far as gripping Louis’s coat instead. “Try not to—” his head jerks as he nods. “That makes it stronger.”

Harry’s not sure if Louis heard him.

Noses nearly touching, Louis sways once, reeling forward then away. Pupils blown wide, his gaze flicks from Harry’s eyes to his lips. Louis’s forehead thuds into his own, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, shaky fingers winding into the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. He inhales, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Smell like fucking treacle, Hazza.”

Fuck. Louis’s been deliberate about staying away from Harry, but how long has he kept himself at arm’s length from everyone?

With all his willpower tangled up in not tipping Louis up to catch those lips against his own, Harry’s arms wrap unbidden around Louis’s waist, crushing their hips together. Harry’s alpha settles with Louis against him, but his heart explodes.

It’s only Louis’s omega talking. An omega that’s just presented in a dangerous land and hasn’t been touched in days.

Latching onto that mantra to keep his mind clear, Harry cradles the back of Louis’s head instead, drawing Louis’s face down to his neck. He doesn’t need to say anything. Louis’s instincts kick in and he breathes deeply, body curving into Harry’s as he scents him. A deep shiver rocks through Louis, his muscles relaxing.

Harry tightens his grip, suppressing a shudder as Louis’s tongue grazes his throat. “Lou—”

Harry’s too busy fighting himself to resist when Louis launches himself backwards. Eyes wide but clear, Louis starts to shove fingers through his hair but stops. He twists back to the table, flattening his palms against the surface like he’s forcing them to not wander.

“Go, Haz.”

Anxiety blossoms in Harry’s chest. “Lou, you—”

“Please just,” Louis cuts off, inhales, the hard edge gone when he says, “I need you to fucking go.”

Louis knows better. Three of his siblings are omegas. Everything they’re doing here revolves around helping omegas. Leaving won’t help Louis.

Harry presses his hand to the small of Louis’s back, hoping he’ll turn. “You need to—”

“I don’t care what my omega needs right now.” Louis throws the growl over his shoulder then stiffens, like he’s struggling to keep the commanding tone in his voice. “I’m still the head of this op and I need you to go.”

If it were any other omega, Harry would be grappling with his alpha all over again. Instead he places the entire room between them, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t sleep alone tonight. It’ll help. You know it will.”

Louis doesn’t respond. With one last look at the tension winding Louis’ shoulders again, Harry bites down every urge to stay with him. He disappears from the room, sending up a silent prayer that tomorrow’s mission won’t unravel at the seams.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

(Oh my! I’m in the middle of working on my first ABO fic for the @1daboficfest so how awesome was this chance to practice the trope?! Hopefully there’s enough pining! \o/ Thank you for the prompt, lovey! There was no way this one wanted to be less than 1k. Heh.)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

[nativerse]

Letters From Mabe to Tabantha

​Hi everyone! I’m finally able to post the piece I wrote for @memorabiliazine​, as preorders have started shipping! It tells the story of a woman who has moved from Tabantha Village to Mabe Village, through letters she has written to her childhood friend. I wanted this story to focus on the life of an ordinary person living in Hyrule, years and years before the calamity started. We often think of the people in Hyrule in the context of the horrors that happened to them, and the ways in which they survived, but what about the times when they experienced life ordinarily, not defined by the calamity they were destined to live through?

I absolutely loved writing this— please enjoy!

My dear friend,

The air in Mabe is so different, but I’m becoming acquainted. Here it envelops every breathing thing, thick like honey, sunshine and expansive sky, but I am accustomed to the crispness and cold frost of Tabantha. I write to you now as I sit, at my window, as little spots of light flicker through the trees and onto the objects of my house, illuminating them strangely, as with everything else in this town that light touches. Life here is so different, and the softness of the air has yet to become a friend to me. Increasingly, I long to feel something familiar, anything recognizable, but only one thing has caught my eye—

To the north I can see the spires of Hyrule Castle. I remember fondly, in our youth, when we would sit and watch the sun rise in the east, silhouetting the castle beautifully. We dreamt of a life within those walls. Now, as the veil of distance and childhood is lifted, a life like that does not seem as inviting… But I still have caught myself staring at those tall, arched windows from time to time, looking to catch a glimpse of movement. I wonder if the princess wishes she was someone like us. Maybe a little bit of my younger self is still alive in me, deep down.

You would love it here, in the warm verdure. Beyond the boundaries of this village we are surrounded by fields for miles, and from here I can see the long grasses sway like the ocean. I know Tabantha lies past those fields, and I know you are there, too, somewhere on the horizon. I am not as far away as I feel. There are so many people here, more than there ever were at home… Even now, I hear my neighbors laughing in the streets below. But I still cannot dispense this feeling of isolation. It is clinging to me like my memories of Tabantha, and my memories of you.

I will see to it that this is sent to you, and I await your response. I think I will catch one of the merchants moving west and put this letter in their care, so it will arrive swiftly. It has only been a few nights, but loneliness is not something to be underestimated. I’m afraid I will forget your face by the time we meet again.

I am thinking of you, always.

With love

——————

My dear friend,

The seasons are truly changing in this part of Hyrule. This morning I awoke to quite an affirming blanket of snow on the ground, and I realized just how long it has been since I’ve seen a landscape like the one in Mabe today. It was a soft reminder of home, one I am already hesitant to let go of... No matter how life presented itself in Tabantha Village, there was certain reassurance found in that monotony of snow.

This may sound strange, but late at night, when I am on the edge of sleep, I can see those white, rolling hills of the village so vividly. I see the mountains and the icy rivers of Hebra, just as I did in childhood, I see my hands, my footprints in the snow, I see my mother’s face, whole and reflective like the moon. I see yours.

I dreamt last night I was sitting on that river bank above Hebra Plunge, staring down at myself in the water. It felt so real, but some bitter reason, no matter what I did, I could not recognize my own reflection. I was an outsider to my own body and mind, occupying a world I had no place in, looking down at someone I did not know. I continue to ask myself what this could mean, but I remain with only questions, and no answers...

I woke from sleep with a sort of residual homesickness, the kind that makes your whole body ache. As much as I wish I could dispense of that feeling for good, there was still something comforting about waking up to find that snow had fallen. The world greeted me at dawn as if it was an old friend.

Remember to stay warm.

With love

——————

My dear friend,

I was walking home the evening before last, watching birds circle high above me, and a memory surfaced, one I have not thought of in years—

Do you remember during those warmer months, when your father would let us accompany him on his trips towards the Tabantha frontier? Those were the days when we hadn’t travelled anywhere outside of the village, and every excursion past the boundaries of home felt like a lifetime to my childhood mind. I was too young at the time to remember what the occasions for these trips were, and as we grew older I never thought to ask, but the memories from such trips still linger… We would fall asleep as we left home and wake up as the highest tower of Rito Village came into view from behind the mountains. That feeling has stayed with me since then, along with the warm smell of pine and dust in the air. No matter how much time goes on, I don’t believe I’ll ever forget it.

I remember wanting to see everything, and touch everything I could. Life felt so big and overwhelming and unknown, and we had only just begun to explore it. I wonder, would you want to go back and experience that feeling again, if it were possible? Even for just a moment? The world feels much smaller now than it did years ago— Or maybe now, I simply take up more space in it. 

The passage of time recently has become obvious to me. It is hard to believe I’ve been in Mabe for almost two years. It has begun to feel like home here, but I believe part of my soul will always remain in Tabantha, buried somewhere deep in the snow… 

I’m sorry. You tell me to look towards the future, but I cannot help dwelling on these old memories. Time passes by so quickly, and the only choice we’re given is to continue along with it. We will never be children again, this I know. Isn’t it strange how something can be so beautiful, yet so heartbreaking, all at once?

It is difficult to put into words how all of this made me feel on my way home. I just kept walking, and kept watching the birds.

With love

——————

My dear friend,

Have I ever told you about the view from my bedroom window? When the air is clearest I am able to see all the way across Hyrule Field towards the Tabantha Hills from this spot on my bed. Years ago, on slower afternoons, I would go out into that big sea of billowing grasses and sit down, and watch wild horses graze in the distance, and imagine what the journey would be like if I walked all the way back to you. A fleeting, sunlit moment of peace in a life otherwise full of confusion... I do not have the time anymore for such excursions, but I do still think about it once every so often…

Time continues to pass quickly, to no one’s surprise. Last winter, my neighbors had a son. I see them daily, and it astounds me how fast he is growing. On the days when they need help looking after him, I bring him to Hylia River just east of here, to let him wade around in the shallow water and chase frogs. I love watching him experience the world with such perfect, fragile simplicity… I often imagine what kind of person he will be when he’s older, but for now it is enough just to watch him babble and laugh. One day he will be different, just as we all will be. More than anything, I want the world to nurture him gently as he lives in it. How beautiful it is, the ability to grow up.

I have a question to ask you, one that I have been considering for some time now. I know your birthday is quickly approaching, and in the past we have always settled for sending gifts back and forth… But, would you like it if I made a visit home this year, in time to celebrate with you? I feel terrible that I have not offered sooner, but the occasion to do so always seemed to pass me by without warning.

Please let me know. We have been apart for far too long.

With love

——————

My dear friend,

I can hardly wait to see you again. In packing up my things, I came across my old coat in the back of my wardrobe, the one your mother made for me. There has not been a need for it in this fair Mabe weather, but I never had it in me to give it away… It still holds that faint smell of charcoal I had forgotten about…

How much have you changed since I left all those years ago? I wonder, do you still have the first letter I wrote? As embarrassing as it is to say, I’ve kept all of yours. They serve as good medicine for when I find myself thinking of Tabantha. I try to imagine your voice speaking to me as I read them, but what a relief it will soon be to hear it from your own mouth instead.

I’m counting down the days. By the time you read this, I will most likely already be on my way... 

Sent with great anticipation and all of my love

[funkwhistle]

Sunrise

Pairing: Sort of Dutch x GN!reader, sort of Micah x GN!reader

Warnings: None, not even fluff

Words: 2k

Notes: Micah and you go for a ride to Saint Denis, it’s just a bit of comfort tbh

Nothing had made you feel quite as alone as he did, even though behind the protection of canvas walls he could be the most doting partner. His constant doting on her, the fact he'd spent more time drinking with Hosea than speaking to you over the past month, it all just hurt. And you couldn't say anything, of course, he was the gang leader and whatever you had to say would be dismissed by whichever fanciful excuse he would concoct in retaliation. 'He always paid attention to you', 'People like him were always busy', all excuses he'd given you before, you didn't need to hear them again. Even if you could speak out, you'd be kicked from the camp, and with nowhere to go you'd end up selling yourself in the corner of the bar again, as you were when he rescued the first time. 

You watched them from across camp as Dutch spoke to Mary-Beth again, cracking jokes and covertly giving her a brooch he'd stolen. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her, she was too innocent to fall a victim to him, and you'd repeatedly tried to warn her. In her view, this was the fairytale she'd dreamed of, that she would be rescued by a handsome outlaw, who would woo her and they'd flee away together. And for a while, you'd hoped that would be the case with Dutch as well, but the whirlwind romance was over before it started.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to stay with the gang, bringing in money like Arthur did, but the other half of you wanted to run back to the comfort and certainty of a small-town job. Not one part of you wanted to continue like this, your only job was to sit and look pretty. Brushing your clothes down, you stood up, deciding to leave camp for a change of scenery; you'd love to visit Saint Denis, some others spoke of it as though it was magical, rumoured to be ten times the size of Emerald Ranch, where you'd grown up. But even a walk around some swamp of Shady Belle would be better than nothing, the peacefulness of being alone was something you envied. 

As you were leaving camp, you crossed paths with Micah, who was riding into camp with a satchel full of what looked like money. Micah wasn't bad, you spoke to him a lot while the pair of you would wait for Dutch. And even though he was not eloquent with his words in the way Dutch was, he still would manage to make you laugh, his sarcasm as self depreciating jokes reminding you of what you'd been like before you joined the gang. As he passed you, he made sure to flash the contents of the bag at you, winking and saying;

“See? I pay my rent,” he jabbed, knowing how you felt about your lack of job in camp. You didn't grace him with a reply, opting instead to flip him the bird. As he rode off, you heard him laugh at your reaction, going to give his take to Dutch. You continued out of camp, until you were far enough not to hear the constant noise from it, finding a tree to lean against as you watched the swamp move in the sun. The warmth from the summer had made everyone's temper's short and while it was better than the snow of Colter, you were sick of the bugs and lack of sleep. 

The sun passed through the sky as you sat there, watching an alligator lazily flick its tail on one of the islands in the centre of the swamp. If you strained your eyes, you could see the train when it had passed, but you could definitely hear it, and you yearned for nothing more than to jump on and ride into the city. Nobody had come to check on you, they were either too busy, and Dutch wouldn't care until he wanted you. So, here you sat, peacefully observing the evening as it drew in, breathing in the deliciously cool air.

“Thought I'd find ya here,” a familiar gruff voice said from behind you, shaking you from whatever you'd been thinking about. Craning your neck, you saw Micah, leaning against the same tree you were sat at the base of, smoking again. 

“What do you want? Is he looking for me?” you said, disgusted at the hope in your voice. Micah laughed at your question, dropping the cigarette on the floor and squashing it with his boot. 

“Dutch, looking for ya? That's a good one doll,” he looked down at you for a moment, before staring off in the same direction you were. Inside, you'd known the answer before he'd spoken, but for some reason unknown to you, you were still hopeful that he'd change.  

“You ever been to Saint Denis, Micah?”“Why doll? You plannin' on running away?”“I've never been, and people say it's a big place, that was all,” Regretting asking, you looked over the swamp again. Distantly, there were plumes of smoke which you could only assume was the city, although you didn't realize you were camped that close. 

“Wait here,” he said, moving away from the tree and back towards camp. You assumed he was leaving, to do something more interesting than sit with you; not like you had anything interesting to tell him anyway. Relaxing back into the tree, you wrapped your arms around yourself in a hope to keep you a little warmer. 

Micah didn't return for a while, but the sound of hooves approaching made you turn, suddenly alert, hoping it was just someone leaving camp and not some person coming for you. The hooves stopped a few feet away, the bushes too dense for you to see the mysterious rider. Anxiously, you moved to shelter behind the tree a little, wishing you had something to protect yourself a little.  “You still there darlin'?” It was Micah, thank heavens, and you poked your head out to see him, looking for you in one of the other bushes. 

“Micah,” you approached him, confused as to why he'd left earlier, but as soon as he saw you, his face lit up.

“Thought you'd left,” he said, the smile fading as his usual gruff facade returned. You shook your head, shivering a little at the cool evening wind. “I got this for ya,” 

He passed you a coat, not yours, but one you presumed was his, it smelt like him anyway. 

“Couldn't find your one without meeting Dutch. It's got a hole in the left arm though,” he said, watching you pull it on. Immediately, the chill of the wind was lessened, and you smiled gratefully at him, this coat, even with the hole, was better than any coat you'd ever owned. It was well-worn, and the tough leather was soft on your skin, and in one of the inside pockets you could feel a pack of something, most probably oil or smokes.

As you were pulling on the coat, Micah started back through the trees to where his horse was, beckoning you to follow him. Pushing through the bushes, you came to Micah's horse, Baylock, and Micah pulling on his riding gloves. 

“Get on then,” he said, jerking his head to the horse, as he pulled one of his stirrups and swung himself on. You looked up at him, confused, you'd only ever ridden a horse once, when Dutch took you from Emerald Ranch, and you didn't know why he was asking you to get on now. At your look of confusion, he offered a hand down to you, explaining;

“You wanted to go to Saint Denis?” In your mind, the last puzzle piece clicked into place, and you, albeit with a lot of scrambling, got up onto the horse behind Micah. For the first time in a while you were excited, not caring about what Dutch would have to say when you returned. You wrapped your arms around Micah, holding yourself on, as he kicked the horse into a fairly leisurely canter. 

The journey was longer than it looked, but you were comfortable on the back of Baylock, the steady rhythm of hooves on the ground providing comfort to you, and making you less nervous about riding. Micah's hands would brush against yours every few strides, as he directed the horse a different way or relaxed a little. Somehow he was a lot warmer than you were, and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder as you went along, nearly falling asleep.

By the time you'd reached the city, the moon, and the street lights were the only source of light. Glad to have Micah's jacket, the pair of you rode through the town, your eyes boggling at the size of it. Occasionally, Micah would point out something interesting, like the tram, or an interesting looking alleyway. When you reached the stable, Micah hitched his horse outside, walking towards the docks. 

Micah stopped as he reached a tall looking building on one of the jetties, waiting for you to catch up; you were too busy taking in the bustle of the city, and the fact that even now, at night, it was busier than Emerald Ranch in daytime. Once you had reached him, he began to scale the side of the building deftly, hooking his feet into little gaps in the wood and metal cladding. 

“C'mon, don't tell me you ain't climbed a building before?” he asked once he was sat on the roof, looking down at you seriously. Sure, you used to scale the buildings in Emerald Ranch when you were younger, but that was a long time ago, and this seemed difficult now. Not wanting to disappoint him after he'd brought you this far, however, you began to climb, slower than Micah, but steadily getting higher. 

“That's it, just don't look down now,” he said as you reached the top, grabbing your arm as soon as he could to help pull you up. From here you could see much further, over Flat Iron Lake and the large ships which were docked in the harbour. Micah explained what some boats were for, and ones he didn't know he made up stupid jobs for.

The roof was corrugated, but it provided you wit some grip as you sat there, lisening to his stories. Neither of you had ever realy spoken about yourself before, and you enjoyed listening to Micah's wild tales that you weren't sure were completely truthful. But it didn't matter if they were all lies, listening to something other than Dutch's worries was welcome. And Micah seemed to be enjoying it, the fainest hint of a smile would cross his face when he remembered the events. 

“That one is perfect for raiding, they never lock the cabin. And that one looks like it goes fishing, but I nicked it before, and it had nothing on,” he smiled a little at the last statement, glancing over at you. While you were listening to him, you were looking down on the people working in the city, happy with the fact you'd seen the city everyone spoke about, even if it was dirtier than you'd imagined it to be.  

“Thanks Micah,” you said as he took a break from his stories of the place. He's just finished telling you about the time he evaded the law by running on people's roofs, and that an old woman had told him off for it.

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

“You didn't have to take me out, not like you was plannin to go out again,” 

“What else was I gonna do then doll? Sit and get hammered at the campfire again? I like this more,” he answered, pulling a can of beans from his satchel. “You hungry?” 

You nodded eagerly,  remembering you hadn't eaten since before you'd left camp yesterday. He passed you the open can, and the pair of you sat on the rooftop, you eating beans, watching the sun come up over the city. And sure, when you returned to camp, you'd have to face the repercussions of felling to the city overnight, but for now, you could push that to the back of your mind and enjoy the sunrise.

A/N: I’m not sure if I love or hate this, but here we go, it’s been in my head for quite a while. Also catch Micah being sweet for the first time, we love to see it.