The Lord’s love never ends.
His mercies never stop.
They are new every morning.
Lord, your loyalty is great.
— Lamentations 3:22-23 | International Children’s Bible (ICB)
The Holy Bible, International Children’s Bible® Copyright© 1986, 1988, 1999, 2015 by Tommy Nelson™, a division of Thomas Nelson.
Cross References: Psalm 78:38; Psalm 89:1; Psalm 103:10; Isaiah 33:2; Jeremiah 3:12; Jeremiah 30:11; Zephaniah 3:5; Malachi 3:6 Hebrews 10:23
New found love for Valkyon
Not my dumbass literally falling in love for Valkyon because I accidentally played his route and now I’m in love with the only character I thought I wasn’t into, and now I must suffer because I know that he won’t come back god dammit why did I do this WHY
He has such a gentle, loving soul. I been sleeping on this husband. Nevra, I am so sorry for cheating so heavily (even though we apparently don’t owe eachother shit) ever since the break up that isn’t a break up. Also, @annie-mcl & @lacey03, if you’re reading this, I apologize for thirsting on your man, Lance, and apologize in advance for all the times I will do it again in the future. :’)
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Fandom: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Characters: Raelle Collar, Scylla Ramshorn, Abigail Bellweather, Byron (Motherland: Fort Salem), Tally Craven, Glory Moffett, Anacostia Quartermaine, Original Collar-Ramshorn Children, Edwin Collar
Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Random & Short, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunk!Raelle, exasperated but in love scylla, Friendship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Married Life, sometimes, So Married, Pre-Marriage
Series: Part 11 of Drunk Words - Sober Thoughts
A place for random little tidbits in the Drunk Words - Sober Thoughts Universe that are too short to warrant standing alone. Because this whole thing has grown into a monster that simply will not be stopped.
It had been a long day.
Scylla pressed the pads of her fingers to her forehead as she closed the car door and trudged up the short walkway to the small stoop. The strap of her overstuffed messenger bag threatened to slide down from its perch on her shoulder, and she absently nudged it up with a low sigh, fingers sweeping automatically toward the flap to check that the papers shoved in next to the heavy ancient texts and small moleskine notebook her daughter had gotten her to start the new school year didn’t jostle too much or slip free from their places in the somewhat orderly spots they’d been put into when she packed up her office for the night and clicked off the light, one of the last to leave the building that day.
Final exams were coming up, and many students were utilizing her office hours for the first time all semester.
She liked her students. Liked her job. Liked teaching witches about the intricacies and complexities of death and life. The powerful streams and links that few understood and even fewer appreciated.
But, the end of the semester was always a harrowing time and could make her question every life choice that led to her becoming a professor.
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