The Knight Wonders What, Exactly, He Rescued by Jeannine Hall Gailey
One day, Gabriel goes to Jacob-called-Israel, carrying a message from the Lord. Jacob is busy in the fields, but Leah is there—she smiles at him with tender eyes, and makes him welcome in the shade of Jacob’s tent. I will find you meat and drink,she says, giving her infant daughter to Gabriel’s arms easily, the gesture practiced as habit. Rest a while here. We shall send Jacob to you when he comes.
She leaves Gabriel there, child heavy in his arms.
Dinah—for that is the child’s name—has large, dark eyes, and grasps at his halo like it is a plaything. Once or twice, she pulls it over Gabriel’s ears and into her mouth, gumming at the edge and whimpering when it cuts her lips. You are a strange little thing, Gabriel tells her, touching a finger to the soft shell of her ear. She is all softness, even the dusting of dark hair across her pate.
It is nearly sundown by the time Jacob comes, and Dinah has fallen asleep against Gabriel’s chest. He returns her to Leah’s arms then, so that he and Jacob might conference with one another.
His own arms seem emptier, after.
It seems only a little while later he is walking in Shechem, when he passes a woman—no different than any other woman in the street, except that her eyes are large and dark, full of an inherited tenderness, and there is a place where her mouth tucks in, as though it were cut by the sharp, celestial edge.
Dinah, Gabriel says, faltering. He almost does not recognize her, this woman who is flint and sun and nothing of softness. It had not seemed so long by the reckoning of angels, but—he can see ruin in her wake now, grief and strength in her visage.
She stops. Do you know me? Dinah asks.
I—no. No, I do not know you, Gabriel says, for angels do not lie.
I hope the makers of this are ready to be millionaires
WHERE CAN I GET THIS
drink until the homicidal thoughts pass
I need this in my life
Sammy’s life is hard
Later, you will say you met down by the river, that he offered to help water the sheep—oh yes, Rachel was not the first to offer that particular excuse, when a father asked why a young man with a hard mouth was before him, daring.
The truth is something closer to this—there was a man in the shade of a tree, eating a handful of dates and watching you swim. That when you emerged, he tilted his head back so he might meet your gaze, instead of his eyes lingering on your breasts, the swing of your hips.
I am called Tamiel, he says when you ask. I am a messenger of the One True God. Be not afraid.
You are not (though you thought him just a man, then) so you do not feel strange in asking, Do you have a message for me?
No, says. His face is guileless. I just like it here.
Very well, you answer, sitting beside him in the shade. After a moment, you steal one of his dates from his palm, and watch him smile.
Tamiel is still there the next day, and the day after that. You are not sure he has left, since that first meeting. You begin to tell him stories of your sisters, your father, and he shows you miracles in the dust, makes pebbles dance through the air or shows you distant sights—mountains of ice, strange creatures and whole lands covered in lush greenery.
When you ask him to show you his home, he goes cold and cruel for the first time in your knowing him. I have no home, he says.
You do not ask again.
(The first time you kiss him, he tastes like the lime he conjured from a handful of grass—sour and sweet at once.)
In the dark, he cannot always remember what shape to stay in—the number of fingers on each hand, whether his skin has scales. If his mouth should make you ache or bleed, or both. He fumbles with your body, unsure of what to do with it as with his own.
But you hold him fast, and when he thrusts inside you, there is a moment when you carry all fire and air and divinity in the circle of your arms.
Afterwards, he settles his wings around you. In your innocence, you think of it as a wedding bower.
One day, he is not there by the river. You never learn why.
Nine months later you give birth to a daughter with too-long fingers and winedark eyes, small wings slick with fluid and crumpled against her back. The midwife is the only one who will touch her, and only then to cut the cord, to set her—heavy and warm, skin tinged with green—in your arms.
Your daughter has small scales at the nape of her neck, and she does not cry.
You call her Avigáyil, her father’s joy.
does my messy hair and the dark circles under my eyes in combination with an oversized shirt and slutty underwear turn you on
"Go right to sleep because you can’t sleep in tomorrow…. or any other day for the rest of your life."
- My Kindergarten Eve Peptalk to my 4yo
SIR I AM GOING TO NEED YOU TO NOT
i can’t get over the knife scene in cap2 because the winter soldier is trying so hard to stab steve
but he keeps on dodging
which makes him so frustrated he just pushes him away
like gOD LET ME FUCKING FINISH THIS
# GOD STEVE JUST LET ME STAB YOU
sam appreciation week - five things I love about sam
» the darkness inside him & his anger
#god i fucking love rage!sam so much jfc #yesss #and can i just say i love how well rounded the characters in this fucking show are? #most shows would put him in the straight-man/nice cop category and call it a day #or just make him outright dark and walking the line between good and evil #but spn lets its mains be multifaceted #be heros and villains #lets sam be gentle and empathetic and angry and vicious #and basically i just love this character ohgod (via sammysexual)
he started to get up then decided to give up
My favourite part.