#because maybe if he denies it he could keep samuel safe

[shirtlesssammy]

5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight

Then:

The End is Nigh

Now:

Davenport, Iowa

We begin this episode with Pestilence paying an ailing woman a visit. He’s riddled her with more diseases than she can handle. What an experiment!

One Day Earlier

At Bobby’s, Sam’s getting an earful from Dean about his plan to say yes to Lucifer. Dean gets a call from Cas. Dean wants to know where he is --they all thought he was dead. He’s in a hospital. He’s not one for conversation at the moment, but does tell Dean that he just woke up in the hospital. Dean tells him their next step: get Pestilence. 

For Hospital Bed Science:

Cas groans in pain and tells Dean he can’t fly anywhere. He’s thirsty, and his head aches, and he has a bug bite, and he’s all so very... Dean finishes his thought with, “human”. Cas needs money for pain meds and travel expenses. 

Also, he stops Dean from hanging up and says that he owes him an apology. “You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be,” he confesses. Dean’s awkward about such a solemn apology. I’m soft about how soft this moment is. 

The brothers head out to scope out the convalescent home where Pestilence chills. They knock out the security guard to watch video footage of the place. 

Eventually Sam notices the camera flickering with one person. They head out to find him. 

As Pestilence is taking care of Cold Open Celeste, a demon comes in to warn him about the Winchesters. He’s upset over what they did to his brothers, and wants revenge. The demon reminds him he’s not supposed to hurt “the vessels”. He doesn’t care and starts hurting everyone in the building. 

Sam and Dean start coughing, and struggle to keep walking. They both collapse outside Pestilence’s door. They’re now riddled with disease, just like Celeste. While the boys struggle on the ground, Pestilence gets to monologue a bit about the frailty of humans. 

Enter one VERY human-like angel. Yeah, poor Cas is just as affected as the Winchesters. Pestilence laughs, “There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?” Cas then lunges at him, and cuts his ring finger right off. “Maybe just a speck.” Oh Cas, you badass. Never change. 

The demon attacks, and he knifes her. Pestilence disappears, but not before ominously stating, “It’s too late.” 

And now they have three rings. 

At Bobby’s, Dean asks for some good news. Bobby tells them that Chicago is about to get hit with the storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die. 

GOOD NEWS, Bobby! Or as Cas deadpans, “I don’t understand your definition of ‘good news’.” 

Bobby points out that Death will be there. They still need his ring. 

Sam wonders how Bobby knows all this. Enter Crowley. 

Bobby admits to selling his soul to Crowley. Dean demands that Crowley give it back. Sam wonders if Bobby had to kiss him. Bobby denies it --but Crowley’s got proof. Of course. 

Crowley won’t give back Bobby’s soul as insurance that the Winchesters won’t kill him. I mean, I kind of have to side with Crowley here. He’s being REALLY generous even considering giving back Bobby’s soul. Bobby sold it fair and square. He’s getting information from Crowley in return. 

Later, by the Impala, Dean and Sam talk. Sam admits that he has his doubts about his plan as much as the rest of them. “You, Bobby, Cas...I'm the least of any of you.” Like, OUCH, Samuel. We deep dive into Dean’s self-worth issues on the regular, but let’s just pause and reflect on the younger sibling right now. 

Sam’s all they got though, so they have to try. 

Crowley interrupts the broment with news about the world. It seems that Pestilence was spreading Swine Flu, and Sam’s old buddy Brady’s company was cranking out the vaccine --only it was full of Croatoan virus not a cure. If this vaccine is distributed nationwide, it’ll all be over.

Cas and Bobby pack up the van. Cas is...moody. He mourns the loss of his angelic might. The only thing he has available to him now...is a shotgun. (Starts humming) Bobby tells him to quit whining and load the truck. 

The teams finish packing for their respective hunts. Sam waxes nostalgically about the simpler days of hunting monsters. Dean doesn’t think it was ever simple. Crowley interrupts and presents Dean with Death’s own scythe (in travel-sized form). 

Crowley urges Bobby to stand up and get ready to fight. He reveals that he inserted a little healing clause into Bobby’s soul deal that healed Bobby’s paralysis. Bobby stands up triumphantly. 

Later, Sam, Bobby, and Cas drive towards the Croatoan virus operation. Cas reflects on Sam’s idea to toss himself into the pit along with Lucifer. He thinks it’s a solid plan. 

Cas passes along some new intel about the archangel prize fight: Michael has taken Adam as a vessel. He warns Sam that failing to control Lucifer means that the apocalypse will happen, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Oh, and “there’s also the demon blood…” Sam will have to drink gallons of blood in order to be strong enough to contain Lucifer. BLEGH.

The next morning, they lurk at the distribution facility. A truck tries to leave and Cas takes out the driver and jams the gate controls. Sam and Bobby head into the warehouse, only to find that the demons have already infected some of the workers with Croatoan. Sam races off into the warehouse to save (uninfected) civilians. 

Dean and Crowley enjoy their first date, tracking Death to a little warehouse.

There’s a lovely clip where Crowley mentions that the area is swarming with reapers, and we get a reveal…

Crowley zaps into the warehouse, discovers that Death isn’t there, then meets Dean outside again. He suggests hightailing it out of Chicago and waiting for the next doomed city in order to find Death. That’s not good enough, though. Dean wants to find a way to save people, even if they can’t track down the Horseman. While Dean despairs, Crowley peers into a little pizza place and then heads back to Dean. He found Death! With his work done and not even a high five to show for it, Crowley zaps out of there.

Back at the warehouse, Sam’s finishes evacuating the uninfected civilians. Just as they think they’re home free, Sam gets attacked and Bobby’s gun jams. Enter Castiel, who shoots Sam’s attacker and says, “Actually these things can be useful.” 

For Angel with a Shotgun Science:

Dean creeps through the pizza parlor, which is full of dead patrons and waitstaff. Death’s scythe heats up in his hand and, agonized by the red hot handle, Dean drops it. The next thing he knows, his Death super-weapon is safely by Death’s side. 

Death sits at a table savoring a piece of pizza, and invites Dean to join him.

Dean wants to know if he’s about to die, but Death informs him that he has other plans for him. Death quietly reminds Dean that he’s as old and vast as the universe. No biggie though. Dean’s a bacterium, practically, but it’s fine. Death serves Dean a slice of pizza and I desperately long for some good Chicago deep dish. 

Death says that he’s as old as God, and maybe older. “At the end, I’ll reap him too.” (And while I appreciate that they didn’t kill Chuck in the traditional stabby manner, I’ll always mourn that we didn’t get to see this line fulfilled in one of the finale’s endless montage sequences, and that Billie didn’t survive to do the job.) (Boris, huddled in the corner: Death didn’t reap Chuck because he won, and the story isn’t over yet...)

Anyway, Dean’s appropriately awed by Death’s power. “This is way above my pay grade,” Dean mutters. Death reveals that he’s been waiting for Dean to catch up to him - Lucifer’s spell has prevented him from directly seeking out the Winchesters. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum,” Death spits. Preach! Death proposes depowering Lucifer’s Death weapon. He’ll hand Dean his ring willingly.

“What about Chicago?” Dean asks, ever the hunter.

Oh, Chicago can survive. Death likes the pizza. He hands Dean his ring and tells him that he has to do whatever it takes to trap Lucifer. “You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?” Dean takes the ring as Death issues one final warning. “You know you can’t cheat Death.”

Back at Bobby’s, Dean looks at the rings. They’ve got all four of them and together, they form into a magic little bundle of rings. Bobby finds Dean for a little heart to heart. 

Dean reveals that he lied to Death - he’s not okay with Sam tossing himself into the pit. However, Bobby thinks that Death may be right about Sam’s plan being their best option. Bobby watched Sam save all the civilians in the factory before they blew it up, and he thinks that Sam can handle it. “Sam will beat the Devil, or die trying. That’s the best we could ask for. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”

O, Quotes:

I don't understand your definition of good news

We'll catch Death in the next doomed city

Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you

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[anonthenullifier]

Alright, my headcanon/prompt that's been living in my mind rent free is the idea that Vision doesn't buy Wanda flowers, he buys her vases with sprouts on them, new life ready to grow. When he first heard of people gifting each other flowers he didn't fully understand why you would kill something, and make your loved one watch it slowly wilt away, when you could get them something they'd help survive. After watching so many loved ones die, I just think Wanda would be really touched to help something live and grow (just like her love for him blossoming)

I love this head canon so much. So damn much! I’ve written a story before (It’s About Thyme) that has them planting a garden and nurturing it as a way to mirror their relationship so to say I like to think about them with plants is an understatement. And then your gorgeous head canon looks at it in a way I never thought about and it’s perfect. Thank you for sharing it!

Here’s a little fic that came to mind as I was reading your ask. I hope you like it!

—

To say Vision is perplexed would be an understatement. Which is itself surprising because he has come to a tentative theory that to be human is to be irrational, and yet this, this crosses a line of reasoning he cannot begin to fathom. Typically he would have Wanda here to volley his concerns towards and to then explain in however many examples and phrasings that it takes for him to understand. Except he is here covertly, under the expert opinion of Sam, to procure a token of affection for all that Wanda provides him. Which brings him to a standstill of indecision waltzing along with a niggling horror at all the implications.

Luckily for him, he hopes, there is a sales associate close by. “Pardon me?” The man turns towards him, brown apron emblazoned with stitched on daisies and a name tag that reads Samuel, a fitting name since the other Samuel in Vision’s life suggested this course of questionable action. “I was advised that purchasing and gifting flowers is a socially appropriate way to convey affection.”

Samuel’s eyes squint for half a second, a common reaction whenever Vision goes out in public. “Uh, yeah. What does your special um,” this scanning over of Vision’s body is also common, uncomfortable, but he does his best to act unperturbed otherwise it might stoke potential fear into ire from his observer, “individual like? We’ve got roses, carnations, lilies, daisies, asters. Anything float your boat?”

If this decision were a boat it would be taking on waves at the moment. “But all of these have been removed from their roots.”

“Yeah, kinda the whole point of making a bouquet.”

The sass is not appreciated but Vision believes in remaining polite because the attitude of the man could be compounded with mistreatment from other customers or negative life events and not solely due to Vision’s inquiry. “Does that not mean they will wilt and die?”

Samuel does not share the distaste for this thought, a simple shrug and a rather unhelpful piece of advice given, “They all come with flower food, helps them stay fresh a bit longer.”

“I see.” Vision determines this issue may be best cogitated alone, so he sends a polite, tight lipped smile towards the man, “Thank you, Samuel.”

“Yep.”

The man leaves and Vision continues his stare down with the beautifully variegated display case in front of him. The differing colors and petal shapes form a kaleidoscope of awe, one that feels romantic and wispy and desirable. Except they will all wilt, the petals will curl up and fall to the ground, and within a week it will be in the trash. His love is not so brief, so fragile and he is perplexed as to why he would present Wanda with a token that cannot survive. Would it not imply his love will fade? That he will, even if fed her own love and passion and attention, eventually fall away from her? Even if she were to dry them out, like he has seen Laura do at the Barton farmhouse, it would require her to keep them someplace safe and to never touch them, the lifeless remnants too delicate and brittle for anything other than distant observation—a poor metaphor for his intended message.

Wanda has endured so much already, the memories as vivid as the Tiger Lily in front of him, days of listlessness and tears, evenings brimming over with invasive memories of all the deaths and all the pain, the only salves he could offer were strong arms and gentle reassurances. Why would he gift her something that will also die? Provide a further suggestion that her life must always be dictated by loss? Why would anyone, rational or not, believe temporal brevity a better show of love than something lasting?

Vision turns away from the bouquets, prepared to leave the store and find somewhere quiet to reassess his gift. It is this defeated swivel that brings a small display into his view, one tucked away as if it was an afterthought. On it are simple clay pots of various sizes, bags of potting soil heaped on the ground next to it, and a little table top rotating kiosk of seed packets awaiting to be planted and nurtured into a long and beautiful life. Vision’s lips curl up at the new idea in his head.

————

There is a subtle chime to her left, in the general vicinity of her door. It is the closest he ever gets to a knock. Wanda puts her book down and waits for the unmistakable gleam of vibranium and the glow of Vision’s phasing to come through the wall located mere inches from her fully functioning door. “Hey Vizh.”

He pauses, irises twisting rapidly to the left and lips puckered as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. Which would be not using her door and yet he still persists and still always makes this face, and it’s a welcome joy in her day. “Good afternoon, Wanda.” Unlike usual, his hands remain behind his back, pulling the threads of his synthetic sweater into a tension similar to his body. “I, um, brought you something.”

Hoping to ease his nerves, she shuffles to the side a bit and then pats the mattress, inviting him to come over and haltingly lower himself to the bed, body remaining twisted to hide whatever it is. “What is it?”

Slowly he brings his arms into view and in his right hand is a clay pot with a little seed packet inside, all wrapped up in a red bow, and in his left is clenched a small bag of soil. Wanda shares her gratitude with a smile, scarlet twining around the gifts and bringing them to her hands to inspect them closer. “I had been informed by a trusted associate that flowers are considered the socially acceptable gift for conveying affection.”

Gently, soothingly she offers a minor correction, knowing he doesn't like to be embarrassed by misinterpreting social advice. “Usually they mean a bouquet.”

A grave nod accompanies his, “I am aware.” Vision lifts his hand, waving it around to help usher out the full story, “But it seemed incongruous to provide you a fleeting gift for a sentiment that is not so,” he hesitates, maybe because he realizes the implication himself or because he can see it in the growing smile on her face, either way he’s committed to the admission of how long he sees this new relationship going and she’s hoping he won’t back down now. And he doesn’t, even if he stammers through it. “brief. I would rather my affections be shown in an appropriately long lasting form.”

Experiencing the fascinating way his mind works is always a pleasure and, due to listening to him and learning the way he thinks and feels, she understands it perfectly, feels a deep, warming thankfulness at this chance to play a hand in allowing something to live and grow, a chance she’s been denied so much before. Wanda ropes him closer with her powers and firmly plants a kiss to his nervous smile. “Thank you.” She unwraps the bow and studies the picture of a happy sunflower, a little confused. “I didn’t think these were indoor plants.”

“Oh well,” now that an explanation that is not tied to emotions is needed, he loosens up, “they are meant to be started and nurtured indoors and then, once large enough, can be moved outside or to a greenhouse.”

“Do we have a greenhouse here?”

Vision considers this, lips parted as his thoughts tick away. “Well no, but it could be enjoyable to convert one of the older equipment sheds into such a structure so we could have a year round garden.”

This simple gift blossoms into something bigger, something rooted in a hope for a future together. “I think it would be fun.”

“Yes,” Vision slips back into a slight, carefully paced cadence, “I selected this particular flower because it is often symbolic of adoration, loyalty and um,” he acts as if his actions have not already made it clear, as if his words should be a surprise, one he isn’t certain she’ll like, “longevity.”

Wanda offers a sunny smile, hoping to sear away any question as to her appreciation and reciprocal feelings, “I love it.” An equally exuberant curve forms on his lips. “Want to help me plant it?”

His instantaneous and joyful, “Of course,” is all it takes to settle them into a path towards a life and love they’ll nurture together.

[carothepoet]

Perspectives

If anyone had asked, Jack would have said that he fell in love first. Somewhere in the murky middle of fiery blue eyes daring him to dismiss her capabilities, the comforting squeeze of her hand when an alien device pinned him to a wall, her uncanny ability to manipulate the laws of physics to save his ass over and over again, and the moment on a Goa’uld vessel with an energy field separating them and death staring them in the face, Samantha Carter had gotten possession of his heart and soul and taken up permanent residence there. That last instance was when he had known it for sure—looking into her panicked eyes and realizing he had two choices: leave her or die with her. Knowing also that there was no choice to be made, because there was no version of him in any reality that could go on living in a world without Carter.

Sir, just go!

NO.

It was a staggering revelation, and it complicated things a whole hell of a lot. He kept it to himself until it was forced out of him, and then he and Carter looked into each other’s eyes, counted the cost, and vowed to never speak of it again. The fate of the galaxy was too important. But no amount of pretending could change the reality, which was that he still loved her beyond all comprehension. He went about the days as normally as possible, leading his team and fighting the endless alien wars, trying not to think about the possibilities of someday, when it was unlikely either of them would stay alive that long. He hoped, at least, that he would go first. There is only so much loss a man can take.

Four years later, after he had saved the planet countless times and nearly died in every single instance, he was offered a position at the Pentagon. He jumped at it. Maybe now. Maybe? It seemed too much to hope.

He told Carter. You once asked me what might have been if things had been different. Well, now they’re different. Still interested in finding out?

He’d never forget the light that flooded her eyes, her smile out-dazzling the sun, as she practically launched herself at him and smothered him with a kiss eight years in the making. He’d kissed her once before, when the SGC had been trapped in a time loop. But this was better. This was real. She was kissing him, and she would remember it this time.

And with any luck, there’d be many more kisses to follow.

*

If anyone had asked, Sam would have said that she fell in love first. Even on the day they met, when Jack been a condescending ass and acted like she wasn’t worth his time, he’d changed his attitude the second she stood up to him. And then he’d insulted Samuels just to get a reaction out of her and she’d smiled before she knew what she was doing. I shouldn’t encourage him, she’d thought to herself, and he must have read her mind and considered it a personal challenge, because he’d had her choking back laughter and smothering smiles ever since.  

It was unprofessional, of course, these forbidden feelings for her commanding officer. But she couldn’t help it, any more than she could help laughing at his stupid jokes. She thought, sometimes, that maybe he felt it too—there was a certain tenderness in his eyes when he smiled at her, and he often sought her out in her lab when she was buried in experiments.

Watcha doing? he would ask. She would explain. He would pretend to be too dumb to understand, say something absurd, and she would laugh. Get some rest, Carter. That’s an order.

He said her name like an endearment, and she held on to those moments and savored them. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe he didn’t love her. But she loved him, and she would follow him to the ends of the universe and save his ass as many times as he needed her to.

It ended up being a lot of times.

She went through hell and back trying to keep him safe, and she couldn’t decide if the revelation that he loved her back made it better or worse. Some days it was definitely worse.

She held on to hope until she couldn’t anymore, and then proceeded to almost make the biggest mistake of her life--nearly marrying Pete Shanahan. But when her father was dying, it was not Pete who stayed with her, who wrapped his arm around her and promised to be there for her, always. Sam looked into Jack’s steadfast brown eyes and saw the rest of her life.

By the time Jack was promoted to the Pentagon, she’d made up her mind. If he didn’t bring it up, then she was going to. She was damned if she would wait another single second when they both knew.

In the end, he brought it up. He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth before she found herself kissing him, and the amazing thing was how familiar it felt, as if her lips had belonged on his since the beginning. His arms were home and his lips were both lazy Saturdays and off-world adventure, and every bit of pain and struggle and longing had been worth this perfect moment.

Stay with me, Carter?

Always, Sir. Always.

*

If anyone had asked, Teal’c and Daniel would have said that they knew Jack and Sam were in love long before those two idiots were aware of it, and that they had an ongoing debate on how long Jack and Sam could hold out before the unresolved sexual tension became too much to bear. Teal’c, for his part, maintained that both of them were far too professional to ever let their feelings get in the way of missions. Daniel wished they’d just get a room already and to hell with the consequences.

But it went on. And on. And on. For eight years. Eight years Daniel and Teal’c had to witness the yearning and the pining and the noble self-sacrifice; had to watch them fall apart with fear whenever one of them went missing; had to watch them try not to fall apart with relief when the other one finally turned up again.

Oh, you have returned! I worried about you a completely normal amount. I definitely did not push my health to the very brink of functioning in an attempt to rescue you. I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe, but, like, platonically. Of course.

It was exhausting.

No one was more relieved than Daniel when, on the same day that Jack accepted his position in DC, he came to Daniel’s house with the news that he and Carter were officially A Thing, but they did not want a big deal made out of it; and furthermore—

Fucking finally, said Daniel.

Jack grinned wickedly. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

*

If anyone had asked, General Hammond would have categorically denied knowing anything about it. Not that he didn’t see things. He saw pretty much everything that happened at his facility. He saw, for instance, the way Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter sat just slightly too close together at the briefing table; her knee brushing up against O’Neill’s arm as it rested on the armrest. He saw the looks they exchanged with each other; the way they could communicate paragraphs with a single glance, with a subtle lift of the eyebrows. He saw how O’Neill’s eyes softened when Carter entered the room; how Carter’s whole body lit up with suppressed mirth when O’Neill uttered whatever absurdity had made it past the brain-to-mouth filter.

He saw Carter’s desperation when O’Neill was stranded on Edora, and O’Neill’s despair when Carter’s brain was taken over by an alien entity.

I know Major Carter means a great deal to you.

She’s a very valuable member of my team, Sir.

Even with Carter’s likely and imminent death staring him in the face, O’Neill would not accept comfort from his trusted commanding officer if there was even the slightest risk it might damage her reputation. But he sat at her bedside and refused to leave it until she came back to herself.

Hammond often questioned whether their obvious attachment made them an asset or a liability. But time and again, SG-1 came through and saved the world, and he knew the effectiveness of that team came down, in large part, to the deep bond between O’Neill and Carter. Splitting them up could put the whole planet in jeopardy.

So, officially speaking, he saw nothing. And privately, unofficially, he was rooting for them. Because, damn it, the both of them had been through their own kinds of hell and they deserved to be happy.

He retired and left the facility to O’Neill. He was taking a final farewell look around his office when O’Neill swaggered in.

Hammond smiled. Are you ready for this?

Oh, absolutely, Sir. Not the slightest bit of…trepidation. O’Neill’s face belied his words, and Hammond reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

There is no one better for this job than you.

I will do my best to fill your shoes, Sir.

Hammond turned to go, hesitated, and faced O’Neill one last time. Jack, may I give you a piece of advice? As a friend.

O’Neill’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he gave a quick nod. Sure.

I have been a military man for most of my life. But I am also a family man. And while I would never advise you to break regulations—

General—

No, hear me out. Hammond put both hands on O’Neill’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. If you love her, find a way to make it work. You won’t ever regret it.

O’Neill blinked, perhaps in shock, and then his eyes began to twinkle. I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.

Of course you don’t. Hammond gave him an understanding clap on the shoulder and walked out.

Eighteen months later, when the wedding invitation arrived in the mail, he knew he should have been surprised but he wasn’t. On the back of the invitation, in Jack O’Neill’s distinctive scrawl, were two words:

No regrets.

Hammond threw back his head and laughed.

It was about damn time.

[a-swines-baptism]

🎂 [hewo I'm coming with either Samuel or Bass, whoever you prefer :3]

If we’re mutuals, send 🎂 and I’ll make you a treat!

{For this treat, @the-bastard-entity, I’m going to give us a look at one of many possible futures. Nothing nsfw, but cut for length.}

Amanda was a terribly good killer when she wanted to be. Some killers take too long to get to the kill, some play with their food, and some take the time to try and fraternize with their prey-- though a correction is always quick to follow those contemptible few. But the Pig, she’s industrious. Head down, methodical, ruthless. Even when she toys with the Survivors, placing those brutal deathtraps on their head, it’s always efficient. Not unlike a butcher, just another day at the slaughterhouse. Frankly, it’s for this reason that the upstart Entity usually doesn’t pay all that much attention to her trials. They just aren’t nearly as entertaining as they could be-- and they could be amazing. Her mind is built for cruelty in such a unique and special capacity. But with the attitude she carries out her games with, even watching the timer on a trapped mask go off and rip someone’s jaws apart can get old. The only exceptions seem to be when Jude’s involved. Seeing the way they have to dance around conflict with each other, it’s very dramatic. Pulls at the heartstrings, and when they’re placed on opposite sides like this there’s at least a chance for a trial worth watching. Otherwise, it’s just... old hat.

Anyways, his angel’s not there now. In the trial, that is. There’s no reason for the Entity to be watching Amanda go through the motions again, beyond the slight sliver of awareness he holds across the entire Fog. Or at least, that’s how it seems at first. The only thing that keys him off to any difference is a faint pulse of displeasure, coming from one of their fellow Entities... whichever one of their kin the Pig happens to be feeding this time, no one they’re familiar with. It’s a simple task to shift his awareness away from his personal realm, like looking over one’s shoulder-- and he’s greeted with a grisly spectacle as the pig-headed killer punches her knife through the hand of a screaming survivor, nailing it to their throat and twisting the blade for good measure. A memento mori... from her of all people? Now this is unusual.

As he watches, the Pig stands from her kill and starts to chase after the next one... and kills him the same way. And then the third meets the same fate. The Entity can feel frustration pouring off his brethren, denied food like this, but his interest is too piqued to do anything but watch as she runs down the last victim. What is she doing, what would possess her to break from her habits so hard...? The Pig’s cornered the last survivor now, and this time she pauses before doing anything. Looks around, locks eyes with the nearby crow that the Entity is currently watching through. And then she places a bear trap over their head, sets the timer, and with a deft stroke draws her blade deep across both their wrists.

Now he gets it. Somewhat.

Curiosity piqued, the Entity lets himself draw inwards, appearing out of the fog as the trial evaporates and standing behind Amanda. “That was quite the show,” he remarks, a smug grin pulling across his face as she turns to face him. “I’m sure you’ll be paying for it later. But I’ll admit I’m a little curious, what’s got you trying to attract my attention like this, little piggy?” He half-expects her to bull rush him any moment, not that it would end well for her. The killer is nothing if not headstrong, after all, especially when it comes to what she hates. But the attack doesn’t come; instead, there’s a moment of silence. “Go on, say your piece,” he prompts after a moment of staring down her pale blue eyes through her mask, his own golden eyes narrowed in a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You went through all this trouble to get me here, there’s no point in wasting each other’s time like this.”

There’s another beat of silence, shorter this time, before she speaks. “Do you like Jude?” There’s a hesitance in her voice, blunting the usual aggression (although it’s certainly still there). “--Not as a plaything, either, you know what I mean.” He raises an eyebrow at the question, the faintest hint of laughter behind his words. “Amanda, dear, I know you hate me, but you can’t possibly be getting jealous, can y--” “Answer the fucking question.” She cuts him off, actually taking the young god aback the slightest bit. Not because of her nerve, but because of the odd lack of malice in her voice. “--Please. I know you’re gonna fuck with me, I know that’s what you do, but I’m asking for a reason. Tell me.” That’s all. No insults, no smartass comments, she’s actually minding herself for once. It’s odd, just adding to the pile of oddness that this entire encounter is. And the Entity finds himself pausing, actually considering her question— purely out of curiosity, mind. He wants to know where she’s going with this.

“Jude is many things... beautiful. Fiery. So very sweet, I’m sure you’d agree with all that,” he responds, tapping his chin idly in mock thoughtfulness. “He is many wonderful things, and these things outweigh his annoyances. So I would say I am fond of him. Does that satisfy you?” He grins a smug, condescending grin as he regards the curious killer. “I’m an Entity, piggy. Caring about his kind is like asking you to care for an ant. But I am fond of him, sure.” Amanda seems to process this for a second, before she sighs and shakes her head. “Fine, then are you ever going to punish him again?” Her tone is still as unusually controlled, but the Entity can hear loathing pulse under the skin of her words. Again, a strange question, doesn’t she understand what he is? Granted... well, surely Jude’s learned by now. “...Not unless it was required.” Hardly a guarantee, hardly safe. But as good as one could expect from such a god. “Now it’s your turn to answer a question, though. Why does anything I say about it matter? Sure, you’re scared for Jude, but your mind’s already made up on me, isn’t it? Tell me, Amanda, what warrants all this?” He gestures again to the trialground, to the bodies.

There’s a very long pause before she speaks. “Yeah, my mind’s made up on you. Kind of hard to feel anything besides hate after you did... what you did, to both of us. To him.” She stops, hesitating. “--But for some reason, whatever you did to him... he can’t feel the same way. I see that, and... I don’t fucking know, maybe this is me feeling like I can keep him safe? Or make things easier... I don’t know. But the fucking tension here is gonna get him hurt one way or another, so... I have to do this.” She seems to direct the last bit at herself, before raising her hands and clenching them nervously. Snap, out comes the blade, and the Entity just watches, bemused. A long claw spiders quietly out of the ground behind her, tensing to strike--

And then she relaxes her hands, and the knife withdraws. And she’s left with her hands up, a gesture of surrender. And it’s just enough of a surprise to cause the readied talon to pause. “--I want to be your killer. If he’s going to go with you... I’m not letting him go alone.” The fog is quiet. And the Entity has a choice.

[floosies]

Tiene Tumbao

pairing: Sam Wilson x mob!oc!reader

summary: people say that sometimes a person leaves your life after teaching you a lesson. Sam didn't get the chance to learn his lesson from an old friend, Gabrielle.

warning: cursing, angst, smut, violence, betrayal lol jk...unless

A/N: This is another project that I wanted to make for an underrepresented character in terms of fic. He’s a gorgeous man and deserves a series, so I hope you enjoy this.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3

The nano tech that Shuri had perfected in Wakanda was Wilson’s saving grace. He’d been invited to brunch with the Rosendo’s at Gaby’s place. It’d been over a decade since the last time he saw her parents. His parents sat next to hers at the graduation ceremony, they thanked him for being a good influence on their daughter. Sam never felt like he had any influence on her, but maybe they saw something he didn’t.

He tried not to get too dressed up, and carefully placed the mic on his shirt. You couldn’t even tell it was there, yet it could record up to three days worth of conversations with high quality sound. Perhaps whatever they were going to talk about would be incriminating enough that it would make this mission end soon. Enough for him to be left alone, and never return to Harlem. Once he took down Rosendo the borough would no longer claim his as one of them. It hurt to think about it, but it was true. 

All good holds a cloud of bad and this was that situation. His ties to Harlem were thin now any ways, his parents had moved out of Harlem only a year or two after he graduated and settled in New Orleans with some old family. He told Barnes to listen for when the recording started and make a copy of it in case the recorder was broken. It was always better to be safe than sorry. With that he left to her lavish place. 

When he got there, he was about to knock, but he stopped himself. A part of him didn’t feel ready for all this mess. Did he really want to do this? Without really thinking it through, his hand moved to knock on the door. There was no way to stop a moving train. Gabrielle opened the door, the sound of her step father arguing with her momma in spanish. It didn’t sound too good and from the eye roll she was giving him, it most likely wasn’t, “come in. I don’t want my neighbors complaining again.” 

As he stepped in, he was met by their gaze. Suddenly the argument was over and now they had to be gracious hosts, Don Rosendo got up from his seat, “Samuel! Look at you! Como cresiste!” The man then gave him a hug, he smelled like his uncle, the same cologne all old heads used. Mrs. Rosendo shook his hand, “how’s Harlem’s super hero doing?” Her voice was supposed to sound cheery, but to him she just sounded annoyed. If he was right, she was mad because he looked like Gabrielle’s real dad and according to Gaby, that was one thing she couldn’t stand; being reminded of her first husband.

They all sat down for the supposed brunch which was really just lunch at that point. Sam still hadn’t answered her question. He figured he should as quickly as possible, “I’ve had better days this whole trial situation is very-” the Don cut him off, “now listen whatever you need. Lawyers, a place to stay, money- anything. We will help you, you have taken care of Gabrielle in the past. It would be my honor to repay the favor.” Gaby nodded along, he played it off as best he could. Of course, he knew all this was going to be recorded, “gracias Don, lo aprecio. The whole team has lawyers that Stark got, but honestly I think I might not get lucky.” They all started a small rumble of “don’t think like that” Gabrielle looked heartbroken.

The meal wasn’t incriminating per say, but he understood they talked in code. He understood most of the spanish, even if he couldn’t speak it fluently. Most of the real incriminating things were always spoken in the main language. As soon as it was over they left the apartment to the garage, “where we going?” He asked her as he tried to keep up. She didn’t say anything just for him to get into her car. It was a quiet ride and he was beginning to wonder if she had caught on to him. Then they pulled into an empty parking lot, “I gotta meet up with someone real quick. Wait for me here yeah?” He nodded watching as she walked out, he noticed there was no one else around. It was one of the forgotten parts of the borough. 

Carefully as possible he recorded what he was witnessing, she was getting her money. Gaby came back into the car with a spot of blood on her sneakers, she sucked her teeth “these were brand new too.” He didn’t say anything, “listen you already knew what I get up to. I know you’re in a bad spot maybe I can help you get into something easier than saving the world.” He raised an eyebrow, “from hero to slanger? Damn girl, I don’t know.” She sighed giving him a sad smile, “I don’t want you going to jail-” “I don’t wanna go either, but we both know it’s gonna be the case anyways.” Again, quiet and then she kissed him. So this was the feeling he’d missed in high school. Sam always wondered what her lips felt like. 

She had a safe house around block from where they were. No time was wasted, she’d done that already. It looked hasty, but that didn’t matter. As soon as they stepped into the house everything was off. Sam’s lips latched to hers, to her body, anywhere they could get to until they trailed to her thighs. Lace looked good on, but it looked better when it was off. His tongue lapped at her core, her hands caressed his head as she grinded into his face. She could feel it building up, the deep warm feeling came rushing, her legs felt like jelly. Her chest rose and fell, “we’re not done yet baby. Lay down,” he whispered to her. His voice had gotten raspy, it only made her want him more.

Nodding at his command she watched him, “you sure you want this?” Gaby giggled, “boy if you don’t hurry and come get this.” Sam smiled leaning down to kiss her. She could taste herself on his lips and then she felt him enter her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The whimpers and moans she gave him as he thrusted into her only made him speed up. “Fuck papi, don’t stop,” she gasped out as bottomed out and thrusted deeper into her. 

He had her how we wanted her, she felt like heaven. Was it wrong? Very wrong, but deep down he’d always wanted this and why would he deny himself something they both wanted for a long time. He knew she was close, he could feel her clench around him, “almost there mami, almost there” he whispered in her ear as he pounded into her. His hand wrapped around her neck as he held her up, the new angle making her whimpers louder. She couldn’t last much longer, she came moaning his name frantically as she rode out her high. He wasn’t far behind with a final thrust he filled the condom with his ssed. 

The room was humid and smelled of sex. They laid down her head pressed into his chest, “damn I guess you’re not so square after all.” He shrugged, “can’t judge a book.” She kissed him again, “stay with me?” Sam was quiet for a second, “yeah. I’m just scared is all.” Her eyes were all big and doe like, “don’t be. You got me now,” yeah he did.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Songbird of Jamestown Chapter 3 (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader

Summary: The year is 1620. You have arrived at the Jamestown colony along hoping for a new life, friendship, and possibly marriage. Falling in love with the already betrothed company recorder and gaining unexpected enemies wasn’t a part of the plan, though.   

A/N: Checking this, it seems my writing got somehow deleted and I was not a happy camper!!! So here it is again!!

One scene of this chapter was inspired by a scene in @bluesfortheredj​‘s masterpiece A Beautiful Mistake. So all credit goes to that work and its writer! Please read their work and give them all the love and support and reblogs!!! Here we start with a very lovely, sweet scene that includes some fluffy flower picking. Enjoy everyone! But the drama is just beginning and poor Reader is in for it soon... 

Content Warning: brief physical abuse. Attempts at historical accuracy.

Word Count: 3122

“Alice! Are you sure?” you asked.

She shrugged and said, “I have to. I won’t be alone. No matter what I think I…I must do it. I’ll be back home soon to you.”

Home. Already this place that was her little shelter away from her trauma was her home. Not the place she was bound to. The place you now knew the family was in debt in order to have her.

She gave you a look that everything was alright, despite its tiredness and walked off with the family. You clenched your fists and stared until she had disappeared. Just to be sure.

Off to see the lands that she would have to manage soon. Lands that would support her.

Yet at what cost?

The next few hours were quite typical. Church dulled everyone. People turned to chatter and gossip and scatter as soon as that final amen boomed the white, wooden walls. Jocelyn walked out with her nice hat and clean cloak and walked before the many men of the council. She was like a shadow behind them as they walked into the courthouse and she had vanished. Nothing different.

But what was different was Samuel approaching you.

“Miss Y/L/N, have you, by chance, seen the field yet?” he questioned.

You shook your head and gave a slight bow, though propriety inside of you demanded you keep your eyes to his polished shoes, you kept looking up. At least while he was still free, you could enjoy what you saw.

“No, Master Castell, in between chores and church I have not,” you answer politely.

“Well, I have had some of my duties relieved and I have been gifted a free afternoon. Might I accompany you there? I know it’s nearby but…you may feel a little safer.” He suggested. 

He even stretched out an arm for you to hold onto.

You nodded eagerly, took his arm, and walked by his side. A few townspeople looked up in a little bit of amazement. Samuel Castell walking in public next to a young woman who was not his servant.

Especially not his fiancée.

But you tried your best to ignore such squinted looks and enjoy how the sunshine felt on your cheeks and the slight green sea of grass beyond the gate.

It was a rare day in Virginia that did not feel burning compared to England. The field outside the gate was green as could be. Samuel pointed to the east and walked next to you. Soon enough, as he promised, near the woods, there were the promised flowers. Colors filled up your eyes, more colors than you could even imagine. Far more colors than England. Yellows. Reds. Whites. The greens and browns of the trees, grass, and soil.

In a few feet of walking, you spied the flowers. A whole, long crowd of them springing proudly up to that endless blue sky. You let go of his arm and raced out. A bit of childish cheering let out of you. But how long has it been since you had seen flowers?

“This land is rich in many things, not just gold,” he affirmed, calling out.

At once, you began to sit a little in the grass, picking up what you could eagerly. It felt like grabbing for bread. You brought a few yellow blooms to your face to take in that warm, earthy scent. You even spotted a small purple flower, as fragile and tiny but proud.

“Master Castell!” you said. You turned around where he had stood close by, merely watching under the shade of some trees.

You picked up the flower and brought it to him.

“I’ve never seen purple in a flower before!” you said happily.

“It’s lovely,” he agreed with a smile that made you feel even warmer.

He took it in his hands, and you admired how long and smooth his fingers looked as he twirled the little flower around, his hands were large, befitting a very tall, broad man and he could have easily crushed it. Yet he didn’t.

He handed it back to you, pressing two of his hands between yours, feeling the coolness of his rings.

“I think Alice would love it, dearly!” he boasted.

“She would!” you look around and then at him. You had the urge to pause. A slight breeze picked up and you felt bits of your hair drift off.

It was getting too warm. You wanted to take it off, to have the back of your head feel free and light. To not put in another strand or hurry somewhere to tuck it into your bun at least.

But the words on your last day at the boat were still there. And you were in a man’s presence, too.

“What is it, Miss?” Samuel asked. He walked forward and leaned a little closer to you.

You lowered your eyes.

“Would you not like to keep a few flowers? I thought a few would light up the little house I have, but perhaps you would like some as well?”

“Well I…yes, I think I would,” Samuel answers. He blinks in surprise but delighted surprise.

You stifle a laugh at the thought of making a purple flower crown and standing on your toes to crown it on his brown head. But you settle for choosing a couple of white and yellow ones and then handing it to him. The wind picks up slightly and you feel a few more untucked strands fly out. So much for propriety.

“I thought yellow because I remember that was what you were wearing when I walked off the ship,” you say.

He smiled a little, “really?”

“Well, no other person was wearing the color! So you popped out quite a bit like these flowers!”

He looked down at the blossoms. You wondered if he would comment on how his fiancée or even his servant would love them. But he was quiet, only smiling. Sweetly as well.

“I will keep them safe, my lady.” He praised tenderly.

He looked at you, breathing a little quickly. His eyes darted around a bit.

“Miss Y/L/N…” he began.

You turned around and sat up.

“I…I mean…” he started. He looked up at you and down at the flowers, twiddling the flowers a little.

“I thought this morning I heard you with the blacksmith and before that, you were singing that ballad….

It is a pleasant melody, old, but sweet. Yet I cannot remember all of the words. Only the first bit.” He explained. He fiddled with the rings on his left hand.

“Greensleeves? Well, I can…” you say shyly.

You begin to gather some flowers as you busy your hands, trying hard not to look at Samuel and sing them, or else you know you would feel something inside you break.

“Your vows you’ve broken, like my heart

Oh, why did you so enrapture me?

Now I remain in a world apart

But my heart remains in captivity

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold

And who but my lady Greensleeves

I have been ready at your hand

To grant whatever you would crave

I have both wagered life and land

Your love and good-will for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold

And who but my lady Greensleeves”

When you peeked back at Samuel, he looked a little flushed himself.

“Well, I may have to write them down!” he quipped.

He looked at you for a moment, those last minutes finishing the garlands.

Your beautiful, smiling face underneath the sunlight. With the grass, the faint chirrup of birds, and the colorful flowers all around.

How your skirt bloomed around you gently, like a rose blossom among these.

And your sweet, soft humming, recalling and even repeating the lyrics of that old Tudor lament for memory. There was something inside him that refused silence.

He didn’t know when it started, perhaps when he noticed how you defended Alice and got to see the true nature of your character, one of bravery in the midst of danger, utter devotion to those close to your heart, empathy, and determination to fight for those who have been hurt in spite of what others in that position would choose.

Maybe it was your eyes in church, tired, but a little bright. Half in the earth, half in heaven. But which part of you came from which half was sometimes even unknown to him.

Perhaps it even started when you stepped off of that boat. Shy, a little hurried, clearly worn from the journey, yet still hopeful, curious, looking for a bit of good in spite of the grey, dirt, and rocks, and clutching a book in your hand. The only other person in all of Virginia interested in books. Other than him.

He wanted to admit it, for the first time to himself, out loud, what was locking him up. The reason for those sleepless nights he had. For when he was alone, those thoughts would not go away. Especially not in dreaming.

There was so much he wanted to say at that moment, yet all he could get out was about bloody Greensleeves lyrics.

“Are you done, my lady? Allow me to walk you home, Mercy might need assistance with supper…”

The next morning, when you woke up you noticed something at the window. A spy, perhaps? You leaped out of bed and ran forward.

But no, it was a small gathering of primroses!

“Alice, look!” you gasp, shaking her awake.

She hurried out, still in her nightgown and returned with the pink flowers in hand.

“Why, they’re beautiful! Are you going to make this hut a garden?” she wondered, sniffing them and looking at the other wildflowers around your house.

You shake your head. “Oh, no! Not at all! I didn’t pick them yesterday!”

There is no note, no object, no sign at all who the flowers are for. So you both are quiet until you start poking at her.

“I think it’s Silas…or James!” you joke.

“What, no!” Alice denies, though her blushing betrays her.

“Oh, Alice! You’re a coquette! Admit it!” you tease lightly.

Alice smiles a little bit, hits you lightly, and sniffs the flowers a second time. She collects a tin cup to put them in on the table. You both smile at how it is another pinch of color among even the wildflowers you had managed to decorate in the place.

The simultaneous gurgling of both your stomachs interrupted the scene.

“Is there any bread left? I’m famished and we can’t eat flowers!” Alice wonders.

She walked over to the small kitchen area. There was only enough for two slices. She looked in the pot and saw that there was only so much milk that the goat was letting out at a time for two grown women to drink.

“We will be out soon…” you fret. “Do you have any spare coin for a bit of meat for later?”

Alice shook her head. “Not much, because I’m about to be…”

A little exasperated from hunger you groan “uggh! There’s hardly anything!” You almost go over to kick the pail but you stop yourself, feeling Alice’s warm hand grab your arm so tightly you feel the bone.

You pause a bit, Alice turning pale at the reminder of who would be providing for her for the rest of her days.

“Sorry…I have a rather nasty temper sometimes…I just need to work, that’s it…” you correct.

Besides, you weren’t Alice. You didn’t have men falling at your feet with the promise of income with just one word from you.

If you wanted to have enough to live, you needed to do it yourself.

Alice chews her lip.

“Maybe…if you went around town and spoke to a few people, you might find something. Though, one never knows what will happen, Y/N!” she shrugs.

You put on your outing cloak and tuck your hair into a cap and head off into town. If you looked carefully, amid the clang of James’s iron, the polite tipping of hats, or the smell of fires being kindled, there would be a way to make some wages.

Well, to respectfully make wages. Prostitution was at least extreme and at most possibly illegal.

But as you passed the Meeting House, there you caught two faces you had not seen in public outside of the church. One was the golden head of Jocelyn, and the other was the white-capped head of Mercy. Your mouth opened a little as if to call out her name impulsively.

But you had barely taken a step further when Jocelyn reached an arm up and slapped Mercy across the face. The servant girl was so surprised the hit pushed her to the ground.

You jumped, letting out a cry in surprise the same as Mercy. Mercy looked up, red-faced and tears welling up. Her tiny hands were full of dirt.

“That’s what you get when you won’t hold your tongue!” Jocelyn hissed, her hand was still up and her fist clenched.

Samuel had just hurried out when he saw the scene. His blue eyes seemed squinted, confused, and shocked, looking between the three women. Only you went down to catch Mercy’s hand while Jocelyn laced her arm around Samuel, sighing.

You look up at Samuel, then back down to Mercy, leaning down to pull her up.

You looked back at the two, then at Mercy.

“Mercy…you should have…well…” your mouth moved faster than your brain and Mercy was still sobbing.

“I will look after her and then return, safely.” You promise the couple and then head off.

Samuel stole one last, sad look at you as if to memorize how your footsteps sound on the ground. Merely giving him a worried glance, you turn your head to Mercy.

“Oh…it’s you! Oh, you are such a good soul!” Mercy blabbered as you reached your home.

“I know your mistress well, Mercy. I slept near her on the ship. I was going to tell you that you should have known better than to do something to provoke her…but with Jocelyn, who knows what will provoke her,” you sigh.

The heavy smell of all of the flowers hits you even just outside the door. You lead her inside and decide to give her a bit of water.

“For you, Mistress Mercy,” you say.

Mercy returns it, the memory of your mistake shining in her eyes.

“My mistress was in a foul mood…well, my soon-to-be mistress. She kept telling me she wasn’t feeling well and my chatting was making her worse but…” she began to cry again into her cup.

“My tongue! My bloody tongue!” she wailed.

You begin to hush her and even hold her hand. Mercy cried, shaking, and then paused. Tears now were arriving much slower. Her chest was heaving far slower too.

“Miss Y/N, it’s been told people hear you sing as you do your chores,” she whimpered.

“Oh, really?” you reply with a blush.

“Do you know anything nice? Anything comforting, please. I haven’t worked for so long I can’t remember any.”

You begin singing one of comfort to her and she only looks at you, occasionally sipping her water.

and assure it’s alright when you hear a knock.

Arriving, it is Samuel again. You could have jumped if you weren’t so used to him surprising you.

“Is she alright?” he asked, leaning down to look you in the eye.

“A bit in shock, but yes, she is. She just needs a bit of time…” you answer. You turn your head back to see Mercy has set her cup down and jolted up to stand for her employer.

“I just wanted to say…thank you, for looking after her. Mercy is a gentle soul. She doesn’t even burn my bread without a hundred apologies after I was…shocked too.” He added.

“Is your…your wife at peace?” you ask, not resisting the bitterness.

“No, not yet. She is feeling very ill, she claims but Christopher will…”

“She should not have hit her,” you blurt.

“I agree.” He huffs.

Mercy’s eyes grow wide watching you both. She starts to make her way back down to her seat and keeps drinking her water.

You walk outside with him and close the door, better to leave the poor girl in peace for a second.

“Master Castell…” you begin and he looks at you.

Why? Why are you marrying her? You wanted to ask. Can’t you see who she really is?

“Master Castell…are you happy?” you manage to question.

There is a little pause. You both remain in the shadow of the house for a while as it stretches with the setting sun. “Almost, Y/N.”

You were a little shocked.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” he apologizes, he even steps back.

“It’s alright!” you insist, raising your hands peacefully.

“I’ll pay for it; you can call me Samuel.”

“Alright Samuel, would you like to talk to Mistress Mercy?” you offered, lightening the mood.

“I will walk her home when she is ready. I will speak with her then and Y/N…thank you. Endlessly.”

You went back to Mercy. Her face was still red and her dress dirty. You wiped off the dirt with a cloth and asked her something to distract her.

“Do you know of any work? I can sew, but I’m bad at cooking,” you list, counting skills on your fingers.

“Some gentlemen need maids for their wives and servants, I know of a few. With so many men, women are getting married every day.” Mercy reports. She sets aside her cup and curiously fingers through the flowers.

You thought of the upcoming Castell nuptials. It was probably the day after tomorrow, from the rumors you heard. As you got a cool cloth for Mercy’s cheek, you made silent plans to visit Verity’s tavern and wheedle her for as many ales as you could possibly drink that very night so you could forget…

“All it seems except my mistress…”

Your head whipped around and you nearly dropped the cloth.

“What! I mean, what do you mean?” you hiss, aware of who might be right outside the door.

“Oh, it must be one reason my mistress struck me. She doesn’t like living where she is, the bed’s too hard for her and she has to try to clean and cook like a servant, she claims.”

“Mercy, what about your mistresses’ wedding?”

“Master Castell is delaying the day of the wedding by a month!” she exclaimed.

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

6?

things you said under the stars and in the grass

What up, this got super dark! I recently found out that the little bitch of a mental problem I have stems from ~trauma~ according to science, and becuase Ripley clearly hasn’t suffered enough, I played around with some of the symptoms of this ~absolute bullshit~ illness. Anyhow, vague references to ideation and intrusive thoughts of s*lf harm, so…read with care? Don’t worry too much, I know ya’ll come here for the cute shit and there’s plenty of that too.

“We don’t have to go home,” Ripley says, angry at herself for using the word ‘home’ instead of Luna and implying her preference of locale. Angry, too, that she grew roots, angry that she was satisfied when she only ever had been a drifter, leaving the second that things felt safe and warm, preferring the honesty of the cold detachment to past jobs, neighbors, and various places. 

“You’re very strange, you know.” It’s a kind way to phrase ‘absolute headcase’ and she knows well that he wouldn’t ever call her that, or think it, but she knows too that it’s true. A plethora of complexes and traumas and fears that make her once short fuse a non-existent one. 

Anymore she’s a pile of gunpowder in a world of small fires, and just two days ago she dropped the (plastic) sugar jar over coffee and began screaming, shaking in anger and rage that felt like it materialized out of thin air, so much awfulness coming out that she didn’t think she could stop, knowing it was absurd, knowing she was having a temper-tantrum like a child, but if she stopped screaming a string of profanities aimed at the jar, at herself, at the whole fucking satellite, she thought for sure she’d implode, guts boiling over. 

They had already chosen the dates for a camping trip, a first trip to Terra (dumb as hell, she knew that too, to take him to the middle of fucking nowhere instead of some city, some cultural center where he could see humanity and maybe learn something, feel something. Maybe she was afraid his intelligence and curiosity would take away his focus from her, unlike here where he’d be forced even closer to her, and sure she’s the first to deny that he’s a PA program, but really what was she using him for? 

Ripley loved this wonderful person, yes, but there was always that nasty cloud in the back of her head that reminded her she loved the way Chris treated her, and loved the attention and dedication, and maybe that was why this person so far removed from anything she’d ever wanted before appealed to her so much.

“Why do you say that?” she says, the racing thoughts making her words faster to make up for the time between what he said and when she answered, anxious that it was too long, knowing logically it was just a moment.

“Becuase you’re still under a great deal of mental duress, and you choose to sleep in a tent that provides only minimal shelter, and spend your time with me, still, after over a year of being back in human company. Becuase you’re offering a computer with legs the choice of where you spend your future.” 

She considers his words, spoken with an admiration close to hero-worship, a distant form of love she has to keep pulling him back from, she’s only a human, and a very poor one at that. This hatred of nothing, maybe of herself, definitely of herself, possibly of other things, but this raging blind hatred that forms a drastic black cloud over so many slight inconveniences, that turned her world into stark extremes (he’s late, clearly he’s not coming home, go fuck yourself, it’s your fault, you should just–), perhaps she’s always had it.

You have to have something foul in your shriveled heart to have murdered again and again without immediate feeling (but I didn’t, I hurt so horribly with fear and grief each time I thought I would fall over), without remorse (every day, every fucking day, I feel it). 

A machine programmed to be dedicated to its owner is the only thing that ever stayed around you. 

The last thing that she wants is to be touched right now, but oblivious to what she’s containing in her head, aware that whatever is going on in his mind is likely of an unpleasant nature too, she doesn’t fight off when he reaches out and takes her hand in his, a little tighter than what would be considered comfortable. 

“Hard to think of it, isn’t it?” he breaks her silence again, and she doesn’t care, doesn’t give a fuck what he’s doing with this bullshit small talk, can’t they–

“What?”

“Luna. The moon. Seen from down here as humans only ever saw it, and to think there’s a city there now, sprawling, an expansive training base….our home. All contained in that silver glow.”

“Pearl.”

“Pardon?”

“Every fucking poet and shit alway wanted to call the moon silver, and it’s not, it’s fucking pearl, it’s one lonely sad little orb on the horizon and–”

“Amanda?” He sits up onto his elbows, and Amanda forces her eyes shut against the burn of angry tears.

“Fuck. Sorry. It’s not silver.”

“No,” he says softly, lying back down, “I suppose it isn’t.”

“If you like it better here, we don’t have to go back.” She says it out of duty, out of consideration, because this kind and patient man deserves the world and he’s trapped himself with her, and they’re out here looking at stars like they’re young and ignorant that there are monsters out there, and every moving speck of light could be carrying them like a fucking plague ship full of ghosts, corpses, and demons. Later he’ll surprise her with something else, like the wine he had brought last night, or the popcorn he taught himself to make over a fire their first night, and then he’ll climb into the two sleeping bags they had zipped together, hold her like she’s something special and–

“Would you like to go home?” he asks her, ignoring her previous question.

“Why the hell would we cut this trip short?”

“You haven’t been….You aren’t yourself this week, maybe resting in your own bed could be better for you?”

Whatever God that could be that could ever give a shit about her worthless soul still help her, she almost told Samuels to fuck himself.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,”

“I feel like this all the time, it’s always there, even if it’s not loud it’s just…fucking there like some annoying white noise and yes, I’m myself right now, becuase this is what I am. A fucked up asshole.”

“I’m not going to debate with you on that, or argue about how you feel. I’ll never know, I never could know. I haven’t seen what you have or done what you’ve had to do without choice, or lived the life you have, but I’ve seen you smile and laugh, and I’ve seen you light up with joy like stars,” she’s still looking at the sky, afraid to look at him, so angry and so scared at once that it feels like something is eating at her heart and for a terrified second she puts her hand over her chest to feel if something’s about to claw out of it.

She glimpses to the side; he’s still focused on the sky too.

“Amy,” he inches closer to her, and it makes her feel like a cornered animal.

“What?”

“If I told you that you were coming down with the flu, would you allow me to take care of you, assist you in caring for yourself, or take you for professional human medical attention?”

“Not this analogy again,”

“You’re broken, that doesn’t mean you can’t be helped, or mended entirely.”

The bubble of anger is about to burst, and she came close to hitting him once in the past, lashing out becuase he was unlucky enough to be there and ask her to stop screaming.

“I don’t want to talk about it, I really don’t,” she was suddenly all too hot, and sat up enough to take off her sweater, dressed down to her sports bra and shorts. 

“You’ll freeze,”

“You’re warm enough,” she said, the closest thing to affection she could state right now, and when she didn’t flinch at his further motions to approach, he wriggled up against her, moving his arm so she could rest her head on his shoulder–harder than the autumn ground, but at least warmer than it was.

“You’re a good person, love. I’ve met so many bad ones, I would know,” he said, and kissed the top of her head softly.

[damijon-supersons]

A safe place - by Jonathan Samuel Kent

He’s wearing a green mask, so you can’t see his eyes. But I know more than anyone that if you could, they’d look peaceful. One thing my super-senses are good for are noticing the little things, like how I can hear Damian’s heartbeat slow contentedly, and how I can see his posture soften the tiniest bit. Even with his mask on, I can tell—every time he glances my way, he can see something wonderful. It was something that you couldn’t see but it was real, something that lets Damian stop to breathe, to talk, to feel.

Every time he looks at me I know he sees it—a safe place.

Damian’s dad, my dad— Dick, Jason, Tim, Kara and so many others—keep saying that Damian got a lot more talkative ever since we became friends. Damian will try to deny it, but you have no idea how true that is. Just take it from someone who spends time with him on a daily basis. He’s loud, he’s rude, he’s snarky and sarcastic. He’s sometimes insensitive, speaks from his gut even if it hurts, he teases and complains.

But I know he talks because he feels he finally can.

Whenever we’re together, it’s so easy for him to say what’s in his mind. I can hear the hidden sounds he makes when he hesitates or has to think of his words to hide a lie, and whenever it’s just us, I don’t hear them at all. I’m not the dad that he wants to impress, I’m not his brothers that he wants to measure up to. He doesn’t have to prove anything to me, and maybe it’s because of that that his mind is free. And even when we end up teasing each other about every silly thing, I can hear the relief in his sarcasm and the comfort in his grin.

Some people ask me why I put up with him. My answer is always ‘I think I’m the only one who can’. I know better than anyone how easily people can find Damian annoying, and I know too well how people can easily hate him. But unlike them, I know Damian more than anyone could…because I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to have a dad the world looks up to. I know what it’s like to be scared of never living up to their legacy. Because we had that in common, it was so easy to understand each other in ways besides that. It gave us a chance to know each other without the capes and masks.

Without the costumes, we were just boys—two kids who wanted more than what our dads said we could be. I knew, and his smile did too, that we’re the only ones who could ever see each other that way.

So are we really friends? You’d never catch Damian saying so. I can’t even say he’s my best friend. We don’t have to say anything, really. Just watch us together—even best friends don’t do the things we do.

Damian never really needed me as a partner in his patrols. In almost all our cases, he could’ve solved them alone. He could beat anyone I ever could, and he didn’t even need the superpowers I have. But what he did need was someone to talk to, someone to tell him his idea was genius or that his plan sucked so hard. What he needed was someone to jump with, to crash into the mud with, someone whose shoulder bumped against his when fighting together against ten other bad guys.  He needed someone to grab the prize with, or someone to rant to after losing. He needed someone to catch him when he fell and hold him close—and trust me, contrary to popular belief Damian appreciates hugs.

The truth is, Damian never wanted me as a partner, and he never needed me to help. What he needed was me…for me to be there.

And that’s exactly what I’ll be doing because I know more than anyone what his eyes looked like behind his mask. Every time he glances my way, I can hear the relief in his smile.

 I know that with me…he’s in a safe place.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

HI Crumbz, I was wondering if you have any married kidge hcs? (I say it every day but I just love the way you write about these two

NOEHNRAWOEN BLUW;E!!! Oh My Lanta do I ever!!! I’m gonna have to put this under a read more because it got Hella long!

These are all Married-Before-Children headcanons, so if youwant Kidge-as-Parents, a part two will need to be done! >:3c

First things first, they designed the house together.

·        Being universe-saving Paladins of Voltron kindaearns them some free stuff. Which includes getting to either select a home thatis currently available or taking a plot of land to build on. They decide to start from scratch and have their home built from the ground up specifically for them.

For Keith, it’s about making his own foundation – both physicallyand emotionally – for the future he wasn’t sure he’d get to have.

·        I mean, he’s married to the literal smartestbeing in the universe who loves him because he’s just him? And they get to betogether, out of danger and safe? Sign him right the fuck up, my friend!

For Pidge, it’s about having a place to call not only her own,but their own.

·        Most of their lives, they’ve been kinda livingin spaces – or literally space - that were lent to them, and that has alwaysbeen kinda jarring for Pidge.

·        Like, the Garrison dorms? Not really theirs.

·        Their rooms on the Castle of Lions? Kinda closerto being their own space/s, but it was still kinda under theYou-Are-Paladins-And-Need-A-Place-To-Rest kinda deal.

·        The house, though, will be all theirs. It willbe Pidge’s space, and Keith’s space, and just generally their space. No moreworrying about having someone else walk in on their private moments. No moreworrying about Hunk hijacking her tools to use. No more worrying about Lancestarting up a pissing match with Keith while he’s trying to train. No moreblaring emergency alarm. They can just exist together holy shit

In the time between, they live with Pidge’s parents.

·        Colleen and Samuel are respectful of theirboundaries but they encounter some of the same issues involving privacy as withthe Castle of Lions.

·        Also, the sex life? Yeah, that ain’t happenin’when the in-laws are just one door over and can hear when the motion of theocean starts a rockin’.

·        Other than that, Keith likes getting to knowmore about Colleen and Sam, as well as watching Pidge squirm when they share embarrassingstories. He likes having an extended family as fun as the Holts, ngl.

The house design is pretty simple, with a generous amount ofrooms and space.

·        It’s technically two stories but also has abasement because these two are hyper-cautious about having plenty of space.

·        They have two garages; one for regular cars andone for the Lions. Yes, I said Lions. Keith is piloting something before the end of Season 6 and anyone who disagrees can fight me -

·        They also get a fireplace because Keith has fondmemories of roasting marshmallows with his Dad and Pidge can’t deny her mansomething sentimental.

·        They have a generous living room with anadjacent work room with both their computers, desks and filing cabinets in it.The dining room table is also in the work room because they’re both workaholicsand figure it makes the most sense to put it there.

·        They have a quaint little kitchen with all newappliances – and they are all stainless steel at Pidge’s insistence – and acute little breakfast nook to go with.

·        They have one master bedroom, five bedrooms, andthree bathrooms. They select this much space specifically for familyget-togethers/ visits from the other Paladins.

Keith does all the interior decorating. Pidge doesn’t reallycare much for that stuff and she actually really likes the colors and patterns and such Keith ends updeciding to go with. She even likes the goofy, old-style Saturday Morning Pressportraits he hangs in the living room, as tacky and outdated as they are.

The regular garage becomes Pidge’s hands-on workplace andKeith is totally cool with that.

·        Keith and Pidge agree that she isn’t supposed todo particularly high-risk experiments when she’s home alone.

·        One time, he left for a diplomatic mission withthe Coalition for two days. When he returned, the entire inside of the garagewas torched and required -near-complete rebuilding. Like, even the tools were meltedinto nothing!

·        “Pidge, how did you even…?”

·        “I think it’s better you don’t know.”

·        “… Yeah, you know what? Forget I asked.”

The two of them are just naturally good at co-existing and docute shit without even realizing it.

·        Pidge could be working on something in thegarage and Keith will just slip in and get comfy with a book on the littlecouch she keeps in there for him.

·        Keith can be working on something at his deskand Pidge will come out and settle the back of her desk chair against the backof his and pull out a journal or handheld game with the volume off.

·        They can be on the couch sitting next to eachother watching television and within twenty minutes they end up snuggled upunder the little throw blanket they keep draped along the back of the couchwithout a word or acknowledgement.

·        Sometimes they’ll settle in and just listen tomusic and do basic, pleasure-tasks in the same room and just enjoy thecomfortable ambiance between them.

·        Additionally, they don’t mind doing things inrooms separate, either. Sometimes Pidge will be working in the garage and Keithwill be working out in the basement and there’s no tension or stress aboutbeing apart.

They are pretty even about splitting the chores andhousework.

·        They take turns making meals. Keith mostly makesbreakfast, though, and Pidge mostly makes dinner, just because of their wake-uphabits.

·        They take turns with the dishes in that whoevercooks the meal doesn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. Whoever starts thedishwasher doesn’t have to unload it, though, just to make it fair in that regard too.

·        Keith takes care of most of the yard work. Pidgedid her stint with the Nature Thing, she doesn’t need more. Plus, Keithfinds nature peaceful, so he actually enjoys the task and takespride in how their yard is kept. He maybe starts a little garden after theirfirst child is born and old enough to toddle around but that’s neither here northere just saying

·        Pidge takes care of any/all repairs to thingsaround the house in regards to technology/appliances/stuff of that ilk.

·        Pidge cleans the bathroom as well as mops thefloor in the kitchen. Keith vacuums their room and the front two rooms.

·        They do the laundry together. One of them startsit, the other switches, and they work together to fold and put it all away.

Okay, now to get to some of the more Romance-Centric CoupleStuffs.

·        Keith is an absolute morning person, so henormally gets up early and goes for a jog. Pidge wakes up briefly to whineabout him leaving because she was enjoying the company and warmth, thank youvery much, but he just kinda laughs her off. He’ll typically come back, take ashower, make coffee and start breakfast, and bring Pidge her cup to coerceher out of the comforter cocoon she has made for herself.

            Pidge likes to occasionally slip into the gymwhen Keith’s working out and pretend like their strangers and just openly flirtwith him. He low-key adores it and plays along.

“Hey there, beautiful. Come here often~?”

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“You can help me by giving me those digits, hotstuff~!” *winks with left eye*

“Excuse me, I am a happily married man.”

“What your wife don’t know won’t hurt her~!”*winks with right eye*

·        Date nights for them are typically low-key funstuffs. They make practical use of the fireplace to make popcorn or roasted marshmallowsfor s’mores while they watch movies or play video games or other things like that.

·        Some nights they’ll make more complicated mealstogether and sit at the dinner table and pretend they’re at some ritzy restaurantbecause they’re just two stupid dorks in love. They’ll sometimes move to theliving room and use the fireplace for chocolate fondue – the pot was a weddinggift from Hunk – and have wine.

·    ��   The fireplace might also be phenomenal moodlighting for nights where they’re feeling a little frisky~! ;3c

·        They’re both cuddly af. Keith tends to go to bedbefore Pidge, so normally he’ll wake up with her arms and legs splayed over hisback and legs respectively, face pressed into the spot between his shoulders. Shegets super mumbley and whiny when he moves to get up. On the rare occasionswhere Pidge goes to bed first, she wakes up with Keith pulling her so herback is against his chest, his arms looped around her waist and his facenuzzled into the top of her hair.

           Keith and Pidge came to a mutual agreement that Sunday mornings are for sleeping in, no ifs ands or buts about it, and it’s actually both of theirs favorite day of the week. It’s Keith’s favorite cause there’s something nice about sleepy pillow talk with the Missus about all the nothing they’ll be doing that day, while it’s Pidge’s favorite because sleepy Keith is an adorable sight she doesn’t get nearly often enough.

·        They’re both just… so affectionate in privatebecause they feel so damn comfortable being themselves with each other!

I think that’s everything for now that I had in my mind!WHIOSDFJIBSSDAS HOPEFULLY IT WAS ALL GOOD!!!

[caitlinmacleod]

Cursed Child - July 23rd 2017

This is just going to be me rambling about how much I love Cursed Child, but I wanted to get my thoughts down so I can remember how incredible this day was! After seeing the play at the end of June we thought we wouldn’t be back until we bring our friend in April, but then 4 weeks later my sister was lucky enough to win Friday Forty! It was such a surprise, and definitely worth the trip back down to London! We were sat in BB8 and BB9. The other two times we’ve been we were in the Grand Circle and Balcony, so I was so so excited to be so close. Words cannot describe how much better the whole thing was, being able to see all the facial expressions and small gestures etc that I hadn’t previously noticed. I’m going to write some things about some of the actors and then put other general notes at the end:

Samuel Scorpius has always been my favourite character and Samuel just makes me fall in love with him even more! I think it would be very hard to find someone who comes out of that theatre not loving him. He had the audience eating out the palm of his hands and laughing at all the right places. Every scene, every line you could feel the emotions radiating off of him. All his lines were executed near perfectly (he nearly messed up the ‘I didn’t much like my life without you in it either’ part but managed to save himself really well!). He has so much energy, how he can keep it up for so long I don’t know – all the jumping about and hand gestures and the crying!!! I hadn’t ever been close enough to see the actual tears before and it made me cry even more than before. And at curtain call he just looked so happy and overwhelmed. He is literally so sweet at stage door as well. I could talk about him for ages, but I’ll just say that he said that he reads all the letters that fans send to him, even if he doesn’t reply.

Theo I love Theo’s Albus so much, you can definitely feel that he’s a 14 year old teenager just trying to fit in and navigate all his problems. The chemistry with him and Samuel is amazing, I could watch the two of them do scenes together for hours and hours and not get tired of it. I especially love the two of them in the Malfoy the Unanxious scene when Albus is imitating Scorpius’s hand movements, it’s very sweet! Lots of tears from him (and therefore me) as well throughout. At stage door my sister thanked him for his reply to his letter, and he said he remembered and that he still had the card she gave him in his dressing room which is super lovely!

Jamie I really like Jamie’s Harry, I think he plays him very well and is extremely believable. He made me so pissed at the ‘you don’t need to like me, you just need to obey me’ part, and I’ve never felt that much anger to him before. Maybe it was just because I was so close and could see clearly Albus’s response. And the last scene in the graveyard was particularly well done. Jamie is so incredibly lovely at stage door (I feel like I’m going to say this about everyone, but it’s true). He is always so keen to talk about various aspects of the show, this time we chatted to him about the polyjuice scene and he said that it’s quite hard to do the squeaky voice parts sometimes but he loves imitating Scorpius.

James Howard James as Draco is my favourite thing. I love how he looks so done half of the time, and that eye roll when Hermione is talking at the start of the first EGM. He also breaks our hearts by touching his wedding ring when he talks about Astoria, and when he was saying that he wanted to be happy. Tom Aldridge Tom is great as Ron, he was so funny. Especially during the polyjuice scene, after he had to kiss Hermione and he’s wiping at his mouth, you can really believe that it’s actually Albus who’s mortified that he just kissed his Aunt. And the baby or a holiday part continues to be one of my favourites.

Nicola Alexis For this show we had 4 understudies on, including Nicola as Hermione. She did an absolutely amazing job! A stand out scene for me was in the alternate timeline at the start of Act 3 with Hermione, Ron, Snape and Scorpius and she nailed it! You would never have been able to tell that she wasn’t the original Hermione if you hadn’t known.

Special mentions to: Joshua Wyatt who had me and my sister laughing so hard when he was Dudley, mainly when he was hiding under Petunia’s dressing gown. James Phoon for when Craig’s trying to stop the adults from going into Albus and Scorpius’ dormitory and he’s standing fiddling around with the tie on his dressing gown – another little thing I hadn’t noticed before. And also for wishing us a safe journey home when we spoke to him and Sarah (who recognised us as the ‘Scottish twins’) at stage door – they are two of my favourites to talk to! April Hughes because I love her as Myrtle so much. Definitely a scene-stealer and the way she interacts with all the other characters is just amazing and her portrayal and voice etc is just spot on.

Other notes: • My sister asked Theo and Samuel how old they were, in case any one else is interested. Theo is 24 and Samuel is 21 (one of the youngest in the company, he thinks). • I started crying at the staircase scene because damn, those lingering looks and the sad little wave is even more heart-breaking up close. • Also the library scene was just… I honestly can’t think of the words to describe how I was feeling then. • The ‘wand dance’ scene is still my favourite thing ever. • After they come back from Godric’s Hollow when he’s talking on the stairs with Albus and Rose comes in, Scorpius said ‘hey, hey’ in a very deep voice, obviously trying to be manly. Pretty sure that didn’t happen last time. Also I loved how he stuck his leg out and does that awkward pose when he’s talking about letting Rose pursue him. • The audience cheered/clapped at two parts – when Snape says ‘at least I’m not married to him’ and then when Scorpius comes back out of the lake after the AU to see that everything is back to normal and he shouts ‘Harry Potter!’ • My sister made me burst out laughing when Scorpius is like ‘she didn’t kiss me, did you notice?’ by whispering to me ‘I would kiss him.’ Not important but I thought I’d share anyway.

I am still in awe at how completely magical Cursed Child is, and feel so blessed that I’ve got to experience it so many times. All the music and tricks and transitions still blow me away. I understand that some people don’t like the script, and that’s fair enough. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But whether you like the plot or not, you can’t deny that this play is one of the most incredible, intense, well-done pieces of theatre ever to have been on the West End and is such a wonderful addition to the Harry Potter universe. I am so thankful for everyone involved for all their hard work and can’t wait to see it again next year when the cast will have improved even more!

[strivingscribe]

ILIC ~ Ch 26

It’s Lost Its Charm by  MsMoon

Chapter 26 ~ Take me to Church

Chapters: 26/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,16, 17, 18,19,20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26,

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age,

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence,

Relationships: I feel like it’s a little early for that…

Summary: As dreams went, she supposed being inside Dragon Age wasn’t too bad… At least she wasn’t the Herald (again). Or the Warden (again). Or Hawke (again).

Notes: I always want to apologize so much for not cranking chapters out at a consistent pace. But then I feel bad for keeping you guys from the new chapter, so go! Go on! We have time for all this later!

As always, prompts, links, and tidbits are always available here on Striving Scribe. Hey :) If you like what I’m about, and you want to help me navigate an Ikea warehouse, you could totally follow my tumblr and heart some entries :3 That’d be cool of you.

And hey…thanks :)

Solas did not sulk or stomp because such methods of expression were beneath him. However… he was in quite the sour mood, and no amount matured grace could disrupt that. He was only moderately irritated to find the two new elves—Magpie’s long lost clansmen—sitting inside the quarters they’d all been sharing while tending to Amy. “Solas?” Magpie, ever the keen eyes on her, focused on him for all but two seconds before realizing he was not quite as content as usual. She did not elaborate her question, only letting it hang in the air. Allowing him the option of an out… “Forgive me. I hope I am not interrupting. I must pack.” “Pack?” A continuation of the previous question, further focused. Solas drew a settling breath before reporting back. “I have been informed that Samuel along with myself, Sera, and the Iron Bull will be leaving tomorrow morning before first light.” He crossed the room, retrieving his pack from beneath the bed frame where he usually kept it when he was back in Haven. There was a beat of silence as he began placing items, mostly clothing, into the pack. “Does Amy know?” Of course, that would be Magpie’s first question. “I am not in charge of that.” Solas murmured, something he had heard Amy say at one point which Magpie had parroted. “Is there anything you’d like us to do while you’re away?” this came from the male elf—Tunan, Magpie had called him earlier. Solas half turned to stare back at him, expecting that to be some sort of glib form of sass…. but looking between the two newcomers, he saw only sincerity. He blinked rapidly before looking to Magpie who seemed… smug. “Yes, Hahren.” Magpie cooed, looking far too pleased with this circumstance. “Isn’t there anything you might want us to do?” He narrowed his eyes, still not sure what any of this was about. “Other than keeping Amy safe? There’s little more that I could ask for.” “The little lady in the tavern that everyone gathers around?” Tunan asked with a neutral look on his face. He nodded. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.” “You might be surprised.” Magpie half grumbled. “Especially with the mood she’s been in lately.” “She has been relatively compliant, all things considered.” Solas reminded. He had expected opposition from Amy, same as the Commander, but… the breakaway to the stables notwithstanding, she had been a diligent patient. Even he couldn’t fault her for wanting to take care of her animal. “Yeah, maybe.” Magpie still seemed reluctant. “What?” Solas’s focus sharpened on her. “Have you noticed any inconsistencies?” Magpie’s mouth skewed sideways before she finally confessed. “It’s just… that song of her’s has gotten so much more aggressive.” “She’s been singing?” Solas couldn’t keep the surprise (and the twinge of betrayal) out of his tone. “No!” Magpie was quick to rebut his question. “I mean…” she lay her palm out on her chest and thumped it twice. “Her song.” He felt himself straighten, his arms go slack. Magpie’s eyes remained on him, pinning him in place. “You know what I mean.” He blinked rapidly, trying to think of some way to plausibly explain away the implausible. “You mean that weird music that just follows her around?” this came from the female sibling—Tunen. “I mean, it’s not really common...but some mages with really strong magic can do something like that. I remember one of the old mothers used to do that around the littles—” “She isn’t a mage, though.” Magpie confided. “Or at least, she wasn’t till...before this whole mess with the breach.” “It’s also not something that everyone can hear.” Solas continued. “This...this music is unique to Amy. It is not entirely auditory, and…” he shook his head. “What?” Magpie asked. “What is it that you keep trying not to say, that you want so badly to say to someone?” He sighed, looking at her. “I thought only mages could hear it.” Solas confessed. “Siheta, Elossa, Baxtien, they’ve all experienced it, and while you have responded to it.. I theorized that perhaps it wasn’t because you heard it so much as you were...reacting to it subliminally.” Magpie scrunched her lips up in a pout, glaring at him...though there was less anger and more resentment. “You could make that argument for Elossa with ease. She’s even sung with Amy, but anytime you ask her where she knows the song from she just says that it’s a song she’s always known, or some other absent minded dismissal.” Solas’s eyes dart between the two twins. “And the two of you hear it as well?” They nodded. “And you are not mages either.” “That’s assuming a lot.” Tunen said with a smirk. Solas met her eyes before looking to the bow slung on her back and the many throwing daggers on her belt. Tunan had propped the enormous sword he’d come in with against the wall, but there was no denying his muscular biceps. The boy's was wider than most elves Solas had seen... though if that had to do with training or nutrition, he could not tell. Still, the evidence of a swordsman was right in front of him. “Let people make their assumptions.” Tunan replied. “The best skill to have is the one that’s hidden.” He returned to his seated position against the wall, half reclining there. “So. Watch out for the woman. That all?” “And each other.” Solas murmured, letting them think they had effectively changed the subject. “That goes without saying.” Tunan murmured. “This music business is strange though. It’s fairly rare in magic-users, and someone who has no magic?” He shook his head. “...yet... to find that others can hear it or respond to it.” “Siheta says that where Amy’s from, magic is different. It’s all internal, with no external source, like…” she shrugged. “Like there’s no Fade….or, if there is, it’s locked away behind an internal veil.” she shook her head. “She explains it better than I do, but they have her running so many errands for Flissa and Adan just to justify her mobility as a mage that it’s hard to have a sit-down with her like we used to.” “Where is this woman from, exactly?” Tunen asked, confused and a touch repulsed by Magpie’s description of where Amy is from. “Don’t know. Not here.” was all she said, though Solas got the sneaking suspicion that she knew more than she was letting on. “That explains certain things…” Solas murmured, returning to stuffing his pack. “It also seems… that the concept of the self-renewing system would be more valid.” he relented begrudgingly. Magpie cocked her head just slightly before slowly murmuring. “Which means...observation would be better than abstinence…” she suggested. “Especially if it’s the sort of thing that helps to sustain her…” Magpie’s eye sharpened as Solas looked away. “What? What is it that keeps you from agreeing with Siheta?” Magpie felt her molars grind before muttering, “I swear, Solas, if this is a point of pride…” Tunan snickered and mumbled. “Solas. A point of pride.” Tunen joined in with her brother, the two of them giggling like four year-olds. Still, Magpie couldn’t quite fault the humor in the statement and even Solas was fighting a smirk. “It isn’t that...entirely.” Solas finally relented. “However…” he searched for the right words to say even as he began folding clothes for packing. “However, I am reluctant to relent my position with a subject so delicate.” “Please…” Magpie pleaded. “Don’t let Amy hear you refer to her as ‘delicate’.” “What sort of fool do you take me for?” Solas joked. “Firstly, I’ve no intention of taking you at all. Not until you clean up your act, at least.” she sniffed, attempting a haughty air. “And Secondly, the sort that might divert attention onto something else just to see how another would weather a storm.” Magpie put her hands on her hips. “Like how you happened to tell Sam and Cullen where Amy and I would be eating.” Solas’s eyes flickered in Magpie’s general direction before returning to the task of packing. Magpie let that continue without comment or confrontation for a moment before sighing. Her shoulders relaxed a touch, and she mentally reminded herself that this wasn’t a fight she wanted. “Still, I know that you’re genuinely worried. I just wish you wouldn’t deflect so much, because then we could address the actual problem.” Solas stalled, taking perhaps a touch too long to evaluate one pair of breeches that were very nearly ready to fall apart and crawl away on their own. “I’m just saying, when you’re concerned, I’m concerned.” Magpie continued, finally gaining a glance from him. “Mostly because you’re so damn slippery.” she grumbled. “I can peg the others and all that they’re concerned about.” “Can you now?” Solas asked, only a touch skeptical. Her insight had been fairly accurate. He had been able to semantically feint in order to throw her off here and there, but… it never worked for very long. Magpie shrugged. “Sam’s worried about Amy getting hurt. Cullen too, for the most part. Leliana’s worried about that, but mostly because she sees Amy as a resource. Sure, she wants to exploit Amy, but she'd rather keep her alive, and she's willing to fight to do it.” she let out a slow huff. “Josephine’s worried about how Amy will translate in a more grand arena. Bull… Bull’s worried that Amy’s gonna break his world… and Varric’s worried that the world will break Amy.” Her eyes narrowed. "Blackwall's harder to peg. He doesn't spend as much time around Amy as the others... He's worried about something..." Solas took a deep breath. “I like to worry about things from multiple angles. Suffice to say… There are many variables concerning Amy’s circumstance.” Magpie’s eyebrows twitched up. “Well… you’re not wrong.” Her eyes trained on the wooden wall to her left, as though she could map out her problems in the wood grain. It possessed no secrets as far as Solas was concerned, but whatever she saw there seemed to decide her. “Come on, Tues.” she said, looking between her twin friends. “Haven isn’t big, but you still need to know the in’s and out’s. Besides,” she smirked back at Solas. “the old man probably needs his rest.” “Always so thoughtful.” Solas muttered, raising a single eyebrow. She only wore a half smile, but it shined in her eyes in a way that...he wasn’t quite used to. Not that he hadn’t noticed it before now… It has been present more often than not lately. That look softened her taunts significantly. Magpie half sauntered-half skipped through the doorway like the precocious child she often was, while the twins seemed more befuddled. Their rounded eyes slipped back and forth between Magpie and Solas, regarding their clan-mate with shock and Solas with a strange form of...reverence? Their regard was new to him, as though they were waiting for instruction or permission of some sort. The male twin reacted first. With a shrug, he hefted himself up and took up space by the doorway, holding it open while his sister darted out after Magpie. He then hurried through himself, closing the door behind them. Leaving Solas to ponder this strange change between his and Magpie’s typically frigid encounters. Once the door was shut, Solas surveyed his traveling pack. He’d find no answers there, but it wasn’t going to fill itself. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The room did not smell bad. The scent was odd because there was so little in the way of scent. It was absence of scent, only cold stone...which wasn’t fragrant in the least. Even so, Amy knew that this train of thought was most persistent because she was trying to convince herself of it. Perhaps the facts were more important at this stage. The room was longer than it was wide. Standing in the center of the room with her arms stretched out, Amy couldn’t quite touch the walls...but one hard lean to one side or the other, and she’d definitely have contact. Still, she could probably get away with a cartwheel and a half from the back of the room to the doorway. “As I said, it is rather small.” Mother Giselle reminded, in the way that matronly figures say ‘I told you so’ without actually having to say the phrase. Amy smiled. “Don’t nehheed space.” Amy said. The summons to the chantry had been a bit of a shock for her since her movements had been so closely guarded of late. It turned out Mother Giselle had rolled high on initiative, and was addressing the need for Amy to have a distinct space in the chantry. She had spoken at length about a place where Amy might stay, now that she was going to be there for most of her time. Somewhere out of the way, where she could be found and consulted privately... Amy had felt shell shocked upon hearing it. She knew this discussion would happen, of course, but any planning had been left to the four winds. With no concrete plans in place, it felt like a vague and distant wave, looming before it crashes into a beach all Day-After-Tomorrow-style. And so, Amy had felt detached when Mother Giselle began to discuss places she could stay during the day. Of course, Amy assumed she would need to be both accessible and out of the way. In the game, companions were just… around. They were usually in places they’d probably linger anyway. Of all the options given, Mother Giselle had mentioned this small room in the hall between the kitchens and linen wash in an absent fashion. Amy had seized upon this. Like any good Hufflepuff, Amy would be just beside the kitchens! It was perfect! Well… not perfect, but honestly. Being upset was one thing, but refusing to make the best of the situation you have is ridiculous. Mother Giselle had seemed somewhat surprised, but not at all taken aback enough that she didn’t simply nod and commit to making that room as presentable as it could be. “I did warn you…” Mother Giselle was saying from the doorway. “It is not as grand as… well, shall we say, Madame Vivienne’s area. Or even Josephine’s offices really. It’s about half that size.” “S’ perfect.” she’d assured. She stared up the length of the walls. “Don’t need much.” She reminded. Amy looked back to Mother Giselle, hovering just inside the doorway. “Sleep here?” she asked, pointing down. The woman laughed, albeit abruptly. “Of course not, child.” she shook her head. “You’d freeze!” Amy shrugged, “Been thru worse.” “I have spoken to Lady Montilyet concerning your sleeping quarters.” she paused, evaluating the words she chooses next carefully. “Evidently, it is Sister Leliana’s wish that you remain very close.” Amy hummed in acknowledgment. That was...well. Understandable, she supposed. “What sort of furnishings would you like?” Mother Giselle queried. Amy thought about it for a moment before signing. “Chair… sihm-pal table or desk…” she eyed the long walls. “Sheeeelves.” she shook her head. “Sparse.” “You’re not worried about offending chantry sensibilities, I hope.” Mother Giselle said with a small smile. “You know that you don’t have to adopt an austere taste simply because you reside inside the chantry?” that smile seemed almost coy. Amy smirked. “Sim-pel best for now.” Amy shrugged before opening the door and keeping it open for Mother Giselle to walk though. “ ‘Specially since… I still don’t know...what I’m doing.” Mother Giselle’s smile was sympathetic. “New roles take some adjustment. I’m sure everyone will understand.” As Amy closed the door to her new space, she felt a strange fluttery feeling in her stomach. It made her vision sway, and she found herself leaning rather heavily against the now-closed door. She felt Mother Giselle’s hand delicately rest against her shoulder. “You are still unwell.” “Comes and goes.” Amy murmured, closing her eyes for a moment before reopening them. She was hoping that she could focus on a single point to reorient herself. There was a pause as one of the servants, Amy couldn't tell which at the moment (from this vantage point especially) it was.

“Does this happen often?” Mother Giselle asked, her voice low. It was then that Amy realized she was keeping her voice down so that they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. A nice thought, but servants saw everything. It wasn't as if they wouldn't know her situation was rapidly changing, what with all the gossip and her routine changing so drastically. 

“Hazn’… not since…” Amy took a deep breath, feeling her ribcage expand to the point near pain. She held it for a scant second before letting that air filter out slow. “Since.. beeee-for tavern.” She took another breath before pushing away from the wall and willing her body to cooperate. Mother Giselle kept pace, giving her a surveying look from the corner of her eye. “That’s right. You were often given over to fits of weakness or dizziness before you began working regularly in the tavern.” Mother Giselle thought that over. “Is that something that typically happens to you when you are sick?” Amy considered her past life, restricting her memories to a simple survey of the facts before nostalgia and melancholy could pull her down. Typically, Amy slept a lot when she was sick… but even when she had to push herself, she tended to run fevers and need frequent breaks for water and to gulp in oxygen. She’d never had any sort of vertigo… and even when she had experienced vomiting, it had been swift and not lingering. This sickness, if that’s what it was, was a different animal. “No.” she said simply. Mother Giselle hummed thoughtfully at that. “Then perhaps there is something here, something unique, that you’re reacting to.” Mother Giselle shrugged as they reentered the Chantry proper. “It could be a great number of things.” Amy didn’t make eye contact or comment on this. The last thing that she wanted was another person diagnosing her. Jaga only knew what a chantry mother would think of her. “And to think, your health had improved so much.” Mother Giselle sighed. “Even your speech was strengthening.” She was right, of course, and that was so disappointing. Amy’s physical condition before this attack had been damn near prime. Her speech, while still impaired was vastly improving as well. True, long words and vowel sounds still got her at times… but she could speak small words in short bursts all together and sound out the rest. She only hoped that she could recover any physicality she’d lost quickly. “Ah. Chancellor Roderick.” Mother Giselle said by way of greeting when the chancellor happened to walk by. He paused, clearly in a huff on his way to or from somewhere. “Mother Giselle.” His eyes landed on Amy, narrowing before surveying her carefully. “Miss Amy.” Amy had met the good Chancellor in passing twice before now, and both times he had regarded her with what she interpreted as… confused disdain. She nodded her head, dutiful in her regard for his position if not for his attitude. “Chan-sel-or.” “I am overseeing Amy’s permanent transition to the Chantry.” Mother Giselle informed him with a smile. Amy had to wonder why. It wasn’t as if Mother Giselle approved of Roderick’s position, or that she was beholden to dole out information to him. Still, at her words, the Chancellor’s chin tilted just to the left. A strange smile settled on his face; 'strange' for the simple fact that it was odd because Amy wasn’t used to seeing it. “That is a relief to hear.” he said, his posture relaxing if only a touch. “The incident on the field is irreprehensible, and the long hours you work..” he shook his head. “It’s a pity this Inquisition,” he spat the word, “has done little in the way of providing for its workers, and the rumors spreading about you are absolutely vile.” Amy winced. “You cannot possibly blame the Inquisition for that, Chancellor.” Mother Giselle chided in an almost grandmotherly fashion. “Any young lady who spends her nights in a tavern is bound to garner a bit of ill repute.” That wasn’t news. Chancellor Roderick’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not that. Those rumors are infantile in comparison.” “What old bone are you guarding now, Roderick?” Sam grumbled as he sauntered up to them. He winked at Amy as a substitute for a greeting. “The heretical blasphemy your organization is spewing.” “Isn’t most blasphemy heretical by nature?” Sam poked with a smirk that only made Roderick’s scowl more severe. “This poor child has worked herself to the bone, first with the servants and then in your tavern, and for what? For you to parade her about as a false prophet!” “Haaah?” Amy looked between the two of them in horror. “She doesn’t even know what you’ve done, does she!” Sam had the good sense to look sheepish for a moment, but it changed to an almost begrudging humor as his eyes found Amy. “Well.. you have to admit, Charmer, there was another figure whose song changed the hearts and minds of the people.” A sheepish smile spread over his face. “Someone with power in her song...” his eyes wandered to one of the effigies of Andraste before meeting hers again. Amy stared at him, not quite understanding...until she did.

She recoiled. “No.” she growled. She put up both of her arms and crossed them like an X in front of her face. “No, no, no-no-no!” Chancellor Roderick’s posture straightened noticeably as he nodded in her direction. As though he were seconding the motion. “Ok, first off,” he pointed to the Chancellor who was opening his mouth, most likely to issue some furiously righteous rant. “this,” he made a circular motion to their surroundings, “isn’t my anything. Not Haven, nor the Inquisition. If anything, I have been sequestered by madmen.” he took a deep breath. “And secondly, literally no one in the Inquisition instigated those rumors. Certainly none of the advisors, or myself, or Seeker Pentaghast.” “Sam.” Amy commanded, demanded, unyielding and furious though in a very quiet sort of way. Her mother would be so proud. Sam, for his part, seemed to hold his breath for a second before finally letting it out and deflating with it. “Charmer, I swear, the Inquisition had no intention of drawing any parallels between you and Andraste—” Amy’s mouth fell open, hearing it nearly made her head spin. “geeeh.” she breethed in disgust. “but! But, when it did surface… well, it’s better that people think of you as saintly than as a whore, right?” “No!” Amy crowed. “Whore’s are...are honest! Is oldest pro-fess-shun! Straight for-ward! Most saints are...are...char-let-tons!” she pointed at him. “I… am an honest...girl!” Sam smirked, sheepish now that he was good and scolded. “Better an honest whore than a sideways saint?” Amy nodded. “Just...just cuz I’m diff-rent…” she shook her head, looking down as she crossed her arms tightly. “Don’t know whu-why I am, but I am… and just cuz I am, doesn’t mean… I’m touched or speh-shial or sig-nif-ih-cant.” “You’re right.” Sam smiled. “You’re significant and touched and special for a lot of other reasons.” Amy stomped a foot (which her mother would not have endorsed). “Don’t be nice wah-hen I’mad at’chu.” she grumbled, making him chuckle. “Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.” Sam said, tossing his head back like the muscles in his name had just given out. “Look…” he grumbled. “I don’t know why you think this is an ‘Inquisition’ issue.” he said to Roderick. “The rumors started in the chantry, here, that day when Charmer was singing.” Amy winced, remembering the song she’d sung for Sam. Amazing Grace had been an emotional memory as well as a fragile wish that Sam would garner some inspiration from the words of the song. Amy had been right about the acoustics of the chantry, and because of those acoustics, she’d been heard by many in the building. “So, this concept of her returning to the chantry for shelter from rumors started by my sinister organization is a complete load of crap.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Even you can’t deny Amy’s words and songs are powerful, because you certainly didn’t the entire time those rumors began brewing here, in-house as it were.” Chancel Roderick looked somewhat chastised, though his face puckered in a begrudging scowl. “I will not deny that the Maker has given her a great gift.” he said, and Amy marveled over how easily he surrendered those words. “What is so troublesome is the Inquisitions dash to allow those rumors to spread beyond this Chantry.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Because rumors are so easily controlled.” “They are, when your Nightengale decides they are detrimental and slanderous against your cause.” Chancellor Roderick growled evenly. “Is too late now.” Amy grumbled, lifting a hand to her forehead. The crown of her head felt tense and heavy now. It made for a tightness around her eyes that caused her vision to blur slightly. “You ok, Charmer?” Sam asked, his tone softening as he took his focus off of Roderick. She sighed, the breath puffing her chest and shoulders up before they fell in a dramatic slouch. “Fine.” “Hm.” he murmured, not convinced. “Well. I wanted to let you know that we’d be leaving tomorrow.” Amy blinked up at him. “At first light, Bull, Sera, Solas, and I are… gonna be hiking up the Frostbacks a bit.” he said, a clever glint in his eyes. “Seeing about those precautions you mentioned, to better strengthen fortifications and all.” That sounded like a more casual parroting of something Cullen had said. So, they were scouting for Skyhold… “How looohng?” Sam shrugged. “Solas seems to think it shouldn’t take too long, since we’re such a small scouting party. Maybe two days. Three tops.” Amy’s eyebrows rose. “Guess he’d know.” she mumbled. There hadn’t been a lot in-game to gauge exactly how long the trek from Haven to Skyhold was… One source she’d read surmised that it’d taken the freshly-attacked fledgling Inquisition an entire month to get there on account of unprepared civilians and pack animals being in tow. At the same time, the Inquisitor had seen Corephyus reopen the breach and gotten down the mountain in what seemed like no time at all… though… there was really no telling how much of that was just a game mechanic. “Oi. Stop pouting.” Sam snipped. “We’ll remember to be careful and drink water and take breaks.” he overly exaggerated the list, dulling his voice a ‘yes mom’ sort of tone. She scowled at him. “An’ be kind. Solas doesn’t ...get on well wif Bull’n’Sera.” “No, he really does not.” “We hafta re-mem-ber t’be kind… to each other.” Amy reminded, sighing heavily. “World is so un-kind.” Sam looked directly at Chancellor Roderick. “It really is.” While this didn’t do anything to lessen Chancellor Roderick’s scowl, it didn’t mean the expression didn’t change at all. In fact, a strange sort of pensiveness settled on the Chancellor’s face. His eyes seemed to drift sideways. Sam had the softest smirk on his face that Amy had ever seen. It was at once teasing and comforting. In moments like these, he reminded her so much of Connor… Wretched beauties, those memories. Happy little glimmers that brought a tightness to her chest that she had to chase away before it rooted in too deeply. “And when you return, we will no doubt have Amy well settled.” Mother Giselle assured, stepping forward. With all of Sam and Chancellor Roderick’s posturing, Amy had very nearly forgotten about her. “Good to hear.” Sam said with a nod. His eyes rose towards the daunting chasm that was the chantry’s ceiling. “Guess I should pack and rest up for tomorrow.” he said, his voice both measured and forlorn. Chancellor Roderick sniffed. “A Herald’s work is never done.” Sam blinked, looking over at him with confusion puckering his brow. “Did you just make a joke?” Amy chuckled, more at the ridiculousness of the scenario than anything Roderick had said. Sam looked somewhere between curious and almost frightened, and Roderick, though still stiff, looked almost smug! “Sick. Burn.” Amy grunted. And somehow the tension was gone. Amy understood what it meant, because it had been one of the biggest parts of her life. She had been a mediator between her brothers, between her parents, between her parents and siblings, even between classmates. She knew what it was to hear about both sides and sap the tension with a touch of perspective. “We still have much work to do.” Mother Giselle reminded in that gentle way she had. “Indeed.” Chancellor Roderick agreed, though Amy still wasn’t sure exactly how the Chancellor occupied his time here. And before she could think of how to politely ask him this, he had left. Sam shrugged, waved goodbye before backing away, and then took his weary eyes with him to pack. “No rest for the weary.” Amy half sang the words, and was instantly disappointed and relieved. It was the strangest sensation. She felt guilty for singing against Solas’s instructions, and at the same time, there was an almost flash of comfort in her muscles. ...curious. A million facts about placebo effects and psychosomatic coping mechanisms ran through her mind. All things she didn't want to stop and squint at… “Go and gather your things, child.” Mother Giselle instructed before starting off on her own tasks. Amy didn’t have much in the way of things, really. But she could take the time to find Solas and Magpie and Varric and let them know that she was being moved. She found Solas staring at his own packed bag, though it appeared the bag had been taken care of for quite a while. Solas was simply staring at the receptacle as though he could somehow scry through it. His attention snapped to her as she entered the room. "Amy." It was more of a greeting or acknowledgment of her presence really. He took a breath, and she waited. It was the perfect definition of their relationship, really

“Solas.” Amy prompted, at last garnering some much-needed eye contact. “Say it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward before he began. “I have been considering your condition, both what I know now and anything I can garner of your previous state…” Amy held her breath waiting for whatever travesty waited just around the river bend. “While I will continuously advise caution in all things, I do not think it would be terribly detrimental to your health if you were to sing again.” 

Amy felt her eyes grow wide, while tears stung at the edges of her vision. She let out a tiny half sob of breath before hiding her face in her hands.

Before Thedas, music had been a constant in her life. She woke up to it, she lived her life to it, she went to sleep to it. Driving to and from work, at the dojo, even alone in her home… music was constantly part of her environment.  To the point that she had no idea how crucial it was to her reality.

If you would’ve asked if Amy fancied herself much of a singer, she would’ve laughed off her response. The truth was, she sang constantly, she embraced music in every eternal spec of her essence… But Bridget McManus’s utilitarian world view had skewed her daughter's estimations. Singing was not what she did on a professional level, and she was not acknowledged by any peers, therefore it wasn’t a factor.

Not there. Not back home. But in Thedas...

“Amy.” Solas’s voice was tentative. A careful hand on her shoulder, his concern making her face him even with tears in her eyes.

The door creaked open, Varric barging his way in—and it was his place too, so why shouldn’t he?

“Whoa, there, Chuckles. What’d you say to her?” he worried, drawing close.

Amy huffed out a laugh as best she could, shaking her head.

“Only that she should not feel a need to constrain herself...if she desires to sing.”

Varric’s smile held a hint of, ‘what are we going to do with you?’. “Been holding it in there, eh, Charmer?”

Amy took a deep breath and let it out in a near whistle. “So luk-ee. Movin’ bak to chant-ry today. Woulda eh’noyed the piss outta ya.”

Varric chuckled. “Seems like a small price to pay.” he said with a smirk. “Come on. Chuckles and I can walk you back.”

“Will we?” Solas asked, with an arched eyebrow. He didn’t offer any resistance when Varric placed a gentle hand at the small of her back to lead her outside again.

He could be that way...compliant but still salty about.

… Maybe he wasn’t Canadian...maybe he was English.

“You complain, but you know…” Varric began, with his best shit-eating grin. “It’s a nice day for a song.

Solas rolled his eyes but was still grinning.

“How ‘bout it, Charmer? You got a good song in you?”

Amy knew a good prompt when she heard one.

“There's a line where the sky meets the sea and it calls me! But no one kno~ows, how far it go~oes.” she was only too happy to belt that to the open sky.“All the time wondering where I need to be is behind me. I'm on my ow~wn, to worlds unknow~wn.” Amy did a happy little twirl before half skipping forward. “Every turn I take, every trail I track, is a choice I make, now I can't turn back, from the great unknown where I go alone, where I long to be…” She took a deep breath, scanning the horizon and finding the lazy moon on the horizon. “See her light up the night in the sea, she calls me! And yes I kno~ow that I can go!” It felt so good to breathe deep, like a much-needed stretch. “There's a moon in the sky and the wind is behind me, soon I'll know how far I'll go~o!” For a moment, there was nothing but the echo of her voice as it rang out into the open sky.

“Well, well, well, sounds like someone’s got a bit of her own back.”

Amy knew her smile was radiant through the warmth of the blush on her cheeks and the responding smile Magpie gave her.

“I thought you were taking your clan mates on a tour.” Solas queried in a way that was both a statement and a question.

“She did. Turns out Haven is tiny.” Tunen said with a shrug. Her brother only smirked at this. “It was worth it to come, even if all we were to receive was that song.”

“Indeed.” Tunan droned in a husky timbre. “Your voice is a marvel.”

Amy felt her blush intensify at their genuine praise. She bent slightly at the waist in a modest bow. “Thank. You.”

Magpie smirked and the twins exchanged baffled looks. Amy was oblivious to this interaction, but Varric and Solas could tell Amy’s behavior confused them. The girl flinched back, a sour expression on her face but her brother shook his head, before cocking it to the side. They looked to Magpie, who gave them both a smug grin. The twins weren't used to shows of respect, especially not from humans. While Tunen thought it could be a joke, Tunan was certain that wasn't it...but was still perplexed to see such behavior at all.

Amy came upright at this point, reaching for Magpie. The slip of an elf darted forward, looping her arm with Amy’s as if she’d done it all her life. “Where are we off to now?”

“Chant-tree.”

“Amy is being moved there.” Solas informed, his voice staid.

“Really…?” Magpie sounded… hesitant.

“No worries.” Amy said. “Weh...wheel… we will… find a place.” she comforted.

“All four of us?” this was Tunan, the brother, who asked.

“Whoa...all three of you elves are just going to shadow her now?” Varric asked.

“That is our intention.” Tunan responded, seemingly so nonchalant. “We’ve little desire to be separated from Magpie after so long, and...after everything..” he heaved a sigh.

Amy’s free hand patted at her own throat as she felt a lump swell there. Magpie had never spoken of the party of hunters she had come here with, and no one asked her about it. Ever. As Amy felt Magpie’s forehead brush against her shoulder, she made a show of combing her bangs back before nodding.

“All four.” she announced as if it were obvious. Of course. That had been the plan all along.

“I wonder how the Chantry will feel about that.” Solas mused.

“No in-tent-shun to ask.” Amy murmured, making Magpie chuckled.

“That’s what I like about our Charmer.” she said, seeming significantly brighter than she had only seconds ago. It was easy to assume that she had been referring to Amy’s blatant disregard for the Chantry… but really it was more ambiguous. Really… Magpie just liked how much better she felt after speaking with Amy. She just had a way of making things feel… “Consistently better.”

End Notes: Finally! 

Oh, this is such a relief! I swear, I've been sitting on bits of this chapter for what feels like ages. And it has been! It's been ages. But first finals, and then moving, and struggling with financial aid, and physical therapy, and family visits, and D&D, and I just... I just got out of the habit of writing. And I'm really sorry about that guys. 

And every time, every time! I would look at this chapter and feel like it wasn't good enough to post. And the longer I went without posting, the more pressure I put on myself to do more with this chapter =..= My self-esteem might be self-defeating, but at least there's someone out there I can defeat. 

And I feel really horrible if I don't reply to your comments before I post a chapter. I honestly just don't feel like I deserve the love I get for this fic, and that really stops me from writing... and it just won't do. So, I'm doing things a little differently now. 

I have a steady schedule now. I'm going to keep to it. So... hopefully, it won't be too long before I pop my head back up again :|

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4: New Game Patch (January 12th. 2017)

Remove all MODS and Custom Content before updating your game!

Update: 01/12/2017 – PC Version 1.26.96.1010 / Mac Version 1.26.96.1210

Hey Simmers and Simmodlers,

What’s New?

Toddlers.

Wait you skipped right to the what’s ne… what the whaaat?! Toddlers? Toddler toddlers… toddlers? Um, did you just say toddlers?

Perhaps. But the long standing ‘no talk’ of toddlers talk may be toddler blocking me. And, as such I can neither confirm nor deny their tiny toddler toddling presence in this release. I can however, say that any resemblance to a toddler in this toddler release is purely todd-idental… ler.

I am also required by the Toddler Coalition for the Betterment and Care of Toddlerhood to provide a few disclaimers:

For you and your toddler’s safety, please keep all toddlers at least 5 feet from all toddler messaging about toddlers.

In case of fire do not break glass, but grab the nearest toddler and exit the building in an orderly fashion.

Also, for a toddler lasting more than 9 days, turn aging on.

Batteries not included, so feed your toddler.

For identification purposes, this is a toddler: o>-<

Once safe, please take a moment to find the toddlers parents if the toddler was not yours.

Not actual size

Well whew! We’ve just had 24 toddlers already born in these release notes (make that 25). I feel there may be more toddlers on the way… so Woohoo*!

*Woohoo will not directly produce a toddler, but provide for the groundwork for a future toddler.

Argh! So… TELL ME ABOUT TODDLERS already!!!

Ok, ok alright. All things Toddlers…

Let’s start with

“How do you get a Toddler”?

Add your toddler in Create a Sim!

You can add them to a new or existing household through Create a Sim. And customize them as you would any other Sim:

Ok, now that the Caregiver bit is over with… let’s get into the other customization options.

Select their voice, gender, and ASSIGN A RELATIONSHIP

Sorry for the caps, but this is kind of important. Toddlers have a special relationship with caregivers.

Mothers, brothers, fathers, sisters, or anyone you choose via the in game interaction Adopt as Caregiver (found under the toddlers Help… interaction menu) are caregivers.

Being a Caregiver will ensure that the caregiver Sim cares for the toddler, while other Sims may be less inclined to answer the crying calls of your average toddler.

8 new traits to pick from!

Presets for the various toddler body and head parts to assist in your customization, as well as the same ability to modify the body and face parts that other Sims have.

All the same skin tones as adults (yes, Aliens too!)

Plenty of Styled Looks to choose from.

And of course all the usual stuff…

Angelic, Fussy, Silly, Charmer, Independent, Wild, Clingy, and Inquisitive

Does it make sense that that toddler wears an alien sized diaper?

No, no it doesn’t. But, it’s really cute!

Full body outfits, tops, bottoms, socks, leggings, and shoes.

Glasses, hats, hairs (and hair colors), freckles, and teeth.

Did we talk about the new teeth yet?

Yes, teeth for all ages! Head in to Create a Sim, click on your Sims head, click the Face category, and then Teeth to customize your Sims smile.

I like the braces.

Adopt your toddler!

Choose the Household… Adopt option on the computer, to adopt your very own toddler!

They come fully toddler-ized, ready for your snuggles.

Or, if you want to do things the old fashioned way, age up your baby!

It starts with… look it’s a birds and bees thing. There’s a flower, some pollen, and the bee… um, go ask your mom.

So, now you have a toddler…

How do you care for them?

Bathe, and Bubble Bathe them. Be aware of the possible splash back.

With a Potty Chair they can Go Potty, and Ask for Potty Help… or just use their diaper.

Sleep, Nap, Ask to be Read to Sleep or Tucked in, Sit and Chat all on a Toddler Bed.

Toddlers prefer the high chair where they can Ask for Food or Drink, and of course Eat.

Be hugged, snuggled, talked or played with, or listened to.

And of course, non-toddlers will have to Clean the Potty, and Change the Diaper.

But they may find their food more fun than edible.

And as they do ‘things’ they learn skills like communication, movement, thinking, imagination, and potty.

And their caregivers can be available to mentor and help them along.

But they want to have fun to, right?

Of course, and there are many ways for toddlers to have fun, or… not.

They can cry, laugh, yell, and throw a tantrum. Or babble in the mirror, tell stories, talk about dinosaurs, princesses, superheroes, parties, art, the day, their favorite animals, or just Ask Why… over and over and over.

Or play in things, find out what that is, splash in the toilet (hopefully you are a neat Sim), ask to be picked up, or talk to strangers (stranger danger).

Maybe they want to watch toddler videos, play Simshape or Blicblock Baby, draw with llama on the Wabbit Tablet. Or build a tower, study shapes, or ask others to help them build and study with the Nesting Blocks.

They can hit, hug, or talk to their giant stuffed animals.

Read or ask to be read a toddler book.

Look at flash cards, and learn animals, basic needs, letters, or objects.

Play with the toybox toys, and the dollhouse. Dance and listen to music (including the new Lullaby and Kids radio station).

Just to name a few…

Woah, ok… um, I hate to ask but can toddlers…

No, toddlers do not die. They are fireproof.

No, no... NO! I wasn’t… look, I just wanted to know can toddlers…

Yes, they can climb stairs, run and walk – but you’ll have to improve their movement skill.

Stop that, I just wanted to know can toddlers do anything else?

Yes, toddlers can…

…be your little sister or brother, son or daughter. Try your patience. Be loving but a handful. They can take all your time, or be ignored. They can travel with you, or go to daycare. Or you can stay at home, and hire a nanny. They can provide special moments for you and your Sims. And they can grow and learn, as they age up into children, teens, young adults, adults, and eventually elders. They can’t die, but they can be taken away. And ultimately, they can be part of your Sims family, and your stories.

Anything else?

Yes, in addition to toddlers, and I strongly suggest you pick up a couple of these if you intend to have a toddler, you can find the following items in Build Mode under the Kids Room sort (just click on the 3 blocks in the image):

2 Toddler Beds

3 High Chairs

Wabbit Tablet

Nesting Blocks

Chomper the Devourer toy box

A toddler sized Dollhouse

A Bookshelf and 12 toddler books

2 Potty Chairs

6 new toy box toys (bus, kitty, bear, ducky, butterfly, and Tentacle Tom)

And…

2 Curtains, 5 wall decals, a light for floors and a light for ceilings, a dresser, a rug, a wall shelf, an end table, a wall sculpture, a living chair, 4 decorated toddler doors, AND 7 walls and 2 floors.

That sure is a lot. Did you address any issues?

Just a couple, er some, er what is five in the verbal shorthand? And is couple really short for two? It has three extra letters. I’m so confused…

You can now use the Design Tool on a bassinet containing a baby, because sometimes your baby just doesn’t match your room.

Walls can now be built along all four edges of penthouse lots, rather than just three.

We addressed an issue that could cause the game to freeze while playing the Doctor Career or when hiring a Nanny in some languages.

Confident children will no longer get a whim to practice pick-up lines.

We addressed an issue that could cause doors to be stuck ajar.

And you can’t change the baby. Put down the baby safe paint and brush, and just back away.

*childish moment* Playing doctor, hehe.

Your door is ajar.

No, it’s a door.

And on that toddler’ish joke, that’s the update folks. In the time it took you to read these release notes, the following toddlers came to be in the Sims…

Abigail a toddler, Aidan a toddler, Alex a toddler, Alexander a toddler, Allison a toddler, Alyssa a toddler, Andrew a toddler, Anna a toddler, Anthony a toddler, Archer a hog of war, Ariana a venti-toddler, Ashley a toddler, Austin a toddler, Ava a toddler, Avery a toddler, Benjamin a toddler button, Brandon a toddler, Brayden a toddler, Brianna a toddler, Brian not a toddler because he turned aging off and stayed a baby, Caden a toddler, Caleb a toddler, Cameron a toddler, Chloe a toddler danced the tables, Christian a toddler, Christopher a toddler, Connor a toddler, Cruz a toddler, Daniel a toddler, David vs toddler-iath, Dylan a toddler, Elijah would a toddler?, Elizabeth a toddler, Ella a toddler, Emily a toddler, Emma a toddler, Ethan a toddler, Etta at last a toddler, Evan a toddler, Gabriel a toddler, Gavin a toddler, Grace a toddler, Hailey a toddler, Hannah a toddler and her sisters, Hunter a toddler, India a toddler, Isabella-watcha-doin-toddler, Isabelle a toddler, Jack o’toddler, Jackson a toddler, Jacob a climber, James a toddler, Jasmine a toddler, Jayden a toddler, John a toddler, Jonathan a toddler, Jordan a toddler, Joseph a toddler, Joshua a toddler, Julia a toddler, Kaitlyn a toddler, Katherine a toddler, Kayla a toddler, Kaylee a toddler, Kylie a toddler, Kyra a toddler, Lauren a toddler, Lily a toddler, Logan a toddler also known as James, Lucas a toddler, Luke – use the toddler, Mackenzie a toddler, Madeline a toddler made with flour, eggs, lemon, sugar, and vanilla, Madison a toddler and an avenue in a popular board game, Makayla a toddler, Mason a free-toddler, Matthew a toddler, Maya a toddler, Megan a toddler, Mia a toddler, Michael a toddler, Morgan a toddler, Natalie a toddler, Nathan an uncharted toddler, Nicolas a toddler, Noah a toddler on an ark, Olivia a toddler-newton-john, Owen a toddler, Plum a toddler, Rachel we miss you a toddler, Riley a toddler, Rosemary’s toddler, Ryan a toddler, Samantha b toddler, Samuel a toddler on snakes, Sarah a toddler, Savanna a plain toddler, Sean a toddler, Sophia a toddler, Sydney a toddler-mate, Taylor a toddler, Thomas a toddler, TK-421 a trooper, Toddler a toddler, Tyler a toddler, William a tell-toddler, Zachary a toddler, and Zoe a toddler.

We look forward to your stories, and we wonder who your toddler will be?

-SimGuruGnome’dler

[komizenkun]

The death dream.

I had a rough yesterday. The one thing that has been bothering me was feeling lonely.

And then yesterday some dude named Samuel ashby put up a status asking people to put up a pic. So I put mine up and he put up a vomit emoji.

So I started seriously considering maybe I’m ugly. And then a bunch of people came out of the woodwork and said i wasn’t but most of them are people I never would hear from otherwise.

So I still felt hollow. I still felt unappreciated.

So this morning I fall asleep and I have a dream.

In the dream I beat someone at a game and was given this ring. It looked like the fake vampire fangs kids get but was a huge gold ring.

And then I found out by talking to my friend Mayo that it was actually a symbol of a violent gang and somehow that had made me a member. So I got rid of it and threw it away.

Then I found out they heard about it and were coming after me. In the dream I was living in the second floor of an apartment by the opposite side of the bridge from where I live. I retreat there and prepare for the worst. So they start invading my place which I thought they wouldn’t know where I lived.

So with them funneled in I start taking them out one by one as they enter the door. By like the fifth or sixth one I was wearing down. And then Mayo comes in with a dude with a shotgun. Turns out mayo was a member and he snitched that I “disrespected” them.

They shoot me with the shotgun. As I’m on the ground dying, I somehow felt relieved. Everything turned to black and white. Then he stood over me and delivered the final shot.

I awake at an intersection not far from there wandering. Outside of the intersection there are nondescript officers. If you try to walk past them they first push you back toward the middle to be sorted. I didn’t test them further. I discover that I am supposed to go to this liquor store/ casino. Due to the look of it and the white and red logo, I take this as a sign that I’m on the “going to hell” side of death. I breakdown crying and yelling out.

“But I was good! I looked out for people! I didn’t want to even be in that gang! I did what I was supposed to!!!”

And an officer pushes me inside, telling me to be patient. Resigned to my fate I head in, sad. Then I second later I flash to a chart of moments from my life. I assume this must mean I get to pick a point in life to do it over from. I was gonna pick college but instead decide to play it safe and pick my childhood. I was actually happy cuz I could finally do things differently and better.

Next thing I know I find myself in a wheelchair being pushed by a Latino guy thru the back alleys of Catonsville where I lived when I was very young.

So I get to the back door of this town home and the person answering the door was the downstairs neighbor from where I had lived at the time of the attack. It was at this point I realized that I had survived the attack. All that in between was just a near death experience.

The saddest part was I was actually the most sad at that point in the dream. I had fully embraced death and reincarnation at an earlier point in life. The fact that I had to live on in this world where I could be killed by a gang I didn’t even mean to join, a world that no matter how good you are the worst people will succeed and be loved, a world where good guys never prosper and nice guys finish last and alone...

That was worse than the fear of being shotgunned, worse than the fear that I was gonna go to hell. The defeated feeling I got know I had to keep living, and not only that amongst people who suffered due to the coincidence of the situation (I’m assuming they were attacked as well) was the worst feeling of the nightmare. Then I woke up.

And now I’m numb. As I type this I just don’t care. If I live, this world is still gonna suck. If I die, there are a few people who are gonna care enough to be sad for a few weeks but mostly no one will be changed by my absence.

For all my effort the dream clarified more of my feeling that I don’t matter in the big scale of anyone’s life.

No matter how good I am, I hurt.

Try to be there for depressed passive Brandon? He turns into a cocky thot and doesn’t even remember that you were there for him when he felt like he had no one.

Try to be a good musician and even accept a very low rate? Get constantly denied the chance to make the music ministry great and then outlast the church.

Try to be a good big brother to Dalvin? Get left out of all the fun time pictures, barely hear from him except when he is coming over and stays for about an hour then leaves.

Try to be there for Oden and as soon as I stop defending his heinous actions and freeloading now I get called the “asshole”.

Be there for Kenji who has lived a hard life? Get snapped at every time he has a bad day.

Be there for Malik who own parents aren’t there for him? Get to watch him invest his time in Rodney the same horribly selfish ex boyfriend that used to abuse Brandon.

Be a good boyfriend? Well let’s see, first boyfriend can’t even have a real conversation with me, the second passed away young, the third caused arguments because he didn’t know how to live without drama and couldn’t handle a boyfriend actually being trustworthy. And fourth boyfriend decided to go back to a promiscuous lifestyle calling me a goody two shoes.

Be an interesting person with passions, interests, and caring and responsible? Get attention mainly from basic people who just see potential dick.

I’m so tired of feeling like I try the most to never be petty or irresponsible. I try so hard to just be good. And life beats me up for it constantly.

I am both black and gay and disabled and in a church that doesn’t like gays. I’m in a country that is so opposed to me. I’m about growth and challenging viewpoints and being open to new ones. I have a can do spirit normally. And this world would rather rest in cliches and categories and random sex and revel in the pettiness and not be loyal and hate entire groups and laugh at horrible things.

None of that is how I operate. And when I woke up I was numb. I don’t feel like my normal optimistic self. I just exist. Unfortunately. If it wasn’t for the few people that would be hurt by me dying I would end it. I’m tired of living in this world.

I’m tired of the laziness. The pettiness. The greed. The hate. The way they rush to love assholes, the way they accept freeloading lazy bums. The way they stubbornly stand by stupid old beliefs instead of being open to better ways. The way they think of themselves over others. The way they will step on anyone to get what they want. They way they don’t even cherish team mindset. The way they can’t be vulnerable. The way they drown in drugs and shallow things and material things, happily. The way they worship these things. The way that they have no standard for hard work.

I don’t know if I care anymore about most things.

Sorry to end on a sad note.

But I wish my story was over. I wish I could start over. I wish I could change someone or something for the better. I wish I could matter. But I don’t.

Heres a positive. If you die in a dream you don’t die for real. Unfortunately.

[netmaddy-blog]

The Desolate Woman - A Biblical Perspective on Rape

New Post has been published on https://netmaddy.com/the-desolate-woman-a-biblical-perspective-on-rape/

The Desolate Woman - A Biblical Perspective on Rape

A huge kingdom in a faraway land, a beloved king with a beautiful daughter, and a handsome prince who is heir to the throne the story has all the makings of a lovely fairy tale, yet it is a horror story. The kingdom was Israel under the rule of King David and the handsome prince was David’s oldest son, Amnon, who just so happened to be in love with his half-sister, Tamar. Found in 2 Samuel 13, smack dab between David’s affair with Bathsheba and the revolt of David’s sons against their father is the passage about the rape of Princess Tamar.Nathan the prophet told David that “the sword will never leave your household” only a few chapters earlier and spoke of the turmoil that would erupt in the king’s family as a consequence of his sin. The unraveling of the kingdom began with this rape.

It all started when Amnon became lovesick over his sister, Tamar. He lamented to his cousin, Jonadab, that he couldn’t do anything to her because she was a virgin. Jonadab concocted a terrible plan, which Amnon carried out. Jonadab advised Amnon to feign illness and request Tamar’s presence from the king. King David did not deny his firstborn anything, so naturally, Amnon’s request was granted Do Enjoy Life.

Tamar, being the dutiful daughter, came to her brother’s house to prepare him a meal, which he refused to eat. Instead, he told all his servants to leave and then said, “Tamar, why don’t you bring the food here to me in my bedroom? I’m too weak to eat on my own so I need your help.” Tamar brought the food into his bedroom. All of a sudden, Amnon grabbed Tamar and demanded that she join him in bed.

Aghast, Tamar refused his offer begging, “Don’t force me, my brother! Such a thing is not done in Israel. Don’t do this wicked thing. What about me? Where could I get rid of my disgrace? And what about you, you would be like one of the wicked fools in Israel. Please speak to the king: he will not keep me from being married to you” (13:12-13, NIV.) Tamar’s plea fell on deaf ears. And because Amnon is “stronger than she”, he raped her (18:14.)

There are a few interesting things that can be pulled from Tamar’s emotional statement. When Tamar said that things like this are not done in Israel, she was speaking of the law which forbade a man to have sexual relations with his sister. (Lev. 18: 9, 11) Disgraced, she could have been either put to death for having such a relationship or considered “unmarriageable” because she was no longer a virgin. However, Tamar then said that the king would allow Amnon to marry her, which was also forbidden by law (Lev. 20:17; Deut. 27:22.) Perhaps Tamar hoped this would dissuade Amnon for the moment so she could escape or she thought David would bend the law for his children. Whatever the reason, Tamar’s statement was ignored.

Tamar’s plea cuts to the heart of any girl or woman who has been sexually assaulted. Please don’t do this to me; do not take this from me. Yet often because a man is stronger than a woman, he takes violently what is not his to take. The woman is often left alone and confused, picking up the pieces of what she thought would be a good life.

After Amnon raped his sister, he sent her out of his house and said, “Get this out of here!” Again, Tamar pled for justice on her behalf and begged, “No! Sending me away would be a greater wrong that what you have already done to me” (13:16.) Modern women recoil at this passage wondering why Tamar would want to keep the company of her rapist. However, in the Jewish culture at that time, a woman who had been raped was deemed unmarriageable. Young girls and teenagers who were victims of rape were not only robbed of their innocence but their hope of marriage as well. The Jewish law made a provision for these women if a man raped a virgin, he was required to take the girl as his wife (Deut. 22:28-29.)

The love that Amnon felt for Tamar before the rape turned to rage after the rape so Tamar was sent away disgraced and ashamed. The Bible says that she then put ashes on her head, tore the ornamental robe that the king’s virgin daughters wore, and wailed loudly-all signs of extreme mourning. As soon as Tamar’s full brother, Absalom, came upon her, he surmised what had happened. He told her to keep quiet about the incident, which she did. She was then taken to Absalom’s house and lived “a desolate woman” (13:20.) This is the last mention of Tamar in the Bible that she lived the rest of her days as a desolate woman.

I imagine that Tamar, being beautiful and young and the daughter of King David, had a lot of promising prospects when it came to marriage. Like many teenage girls, she may have dreamed about her Prince Charming, her marriage, her children, and her future. Yet in an instant, her dreams came crashing down around her. It is not mentioned how old Tamar was in this passage, but she was probably in her early-to-mid teens-only a teenager. Full of hope, full of promise, full of life, and then desolate.

Unfortunately, in the time Tamar lived, rape against women was not a serious offense. Sure, God had laws against it, but since women were demeaned and treated as property, rape wasn’t seen as brutal and damaging in that culture. Yet the women who endured it felt the hot shame on their cheeks. They never felt safe again, some were even scorned publicly. Since Tamar’s rape was kept a secret, many may have assumed that Tamar willingly slept with Amnon or someone else. Her ornamental robe of virginity was gone-I’m sure the rumors ran rampant.

King David somehow received word of Tamar’s rape and was enraged just like any father should be when his daughter is violated. Instead of demanding justice for Tamar, David did nothing. It was Absalom who waited patiently for two years before he killed Amnon for raping his sister. It was Absalom who eventually turned against his father and slept with David’s concubines on palace porch for all Israel to see. Not only was Tamar affected by David’s inaction, Absalom, the next in line to the throne, was as well.

The story of Tamar is horrible and hard to read; especially when one considers the real and raw emotion Tamar must have felt. Yet this story is in the Bible, not only to show the downfall of David’s household, but to teach readers something about rape, to show women who have been sexually assaulted that they are not alone in feeling shamed, unloved, and desolate. Sadly, women in your ministry, both youth worker, and students, have been or will be victims of rape or sexual assault. While you may not want to take a student or youth worker who has been a victim of sexual assault to this passage right away, it is a helpful reminder that rape did exist and was mentioned in the Bible. Here are a few things youth workers can pull out of the story of Tamar that is universal in a women’s experience of rape.

*Tamar’s virginity and purity are compromised. Anyone who is a virgin when she is raped is still a true virgin, though she may not be one physically. True virginity is a spiritual matter. No one can take that away.

*Tamar’s pain was emotional. She showed her deep distress by putting ashes on her head and wailing loudly-both signs of deep grief. She is called “a desolate and bitter woman” in the Message Bible. Desolate may mean she never had sex again or it may mean that she simply never recovered after being raped.

While there is no time limit on grief, and a rape survivor should be allowed to express her rage, sadness, fear, and other emotions freely, God wants to heal His Child. He does not desire His daughters to be desolate physically, emotionally, or spiritually. He wants to fill the empty void, cover His daughter’s shame, and fully restore her as only He can. What man has taken away, God can restore and He so desperately longs to comfort His children. Point your youth worker or teen to the God who weeps with His daughters.

*Tamar’s pain was also physical. Tamar’s tearing of ornamental robes is significant, because this speaks to how her life was torn apart, but also because her vagina may have been torn and bleeding from a potentially violent rape. When a female virgin has sex for the first time often her hymen (a thin layer of tissue around the opening of a woman’s vagina) is ripped. While the hymen can be ripped for other reasons, including molestation, throughout history a woman’s virginity was determined by whether or not her hymen remained intact.

Women, especially virgins, may bleed or become sore from sex, especially violent sex. A youth worker or student who is raped may also need to make regular trips to the gynecologist, which can be terrifying. Her health may be forever affected if she received an STD, severe vaginal trauma, or other brutal treatment.

*Tamar was unmarriageable and may even have been suspected of being promiscuous. How often do we hear men say that a woman was “asking to be raped”? No means no every time, all the time, no exceptions. After one girl in my former youth ministry was raped, she was called a “slut” by other students at the school. While she may have been a bit of a flirt, she said no and was violated anyway.

Today girls who are raped do get married and lead fulfilling lives; they do not necessarily live as “desolate women.” Girls and women who are raped often feel “damaged and violated”. They feel unfit for relationships and even marriage. This is simply untrue, but girls need to work through these feelings, which can take years. Counseling is essential to achieving a semblance of emotional wholeness in a rape survivor’s life.

*Tamar wasn’t allowed to talk about the rape. Tamar was told by her brother, Absalom, “Be quiet…Don’t take this thing to heart” (18:20.) Perhaps he just didn’t want her to worry about the situation because he avenged her honor by killing Amnon, or maybe he just didn’t know how to react. While it is unknown if Tamar was ever allowed to talk about her rape to close confidants, it seems in this passage she was denied the opportunity to tell her story. She needed to tell her story and even receive support from others who may have been raped.

*Tamar was denied justice. David, the king of Israel, could have punished Amnon for violating his daughter, but in refusing to do so he failed as a king and as a father. Even though Absalom killed Amnon, he may have seen Tamar’s rape as a slight against him and defended his honor, too. Survivors of rape should never be denied justice. Again and again, God refers to Himself as a God of justice, who hates injustice (Ps. 9:16, 11:17, 33:5; Is. 30:18, 61:8.)

Even though Tamar is never again mentioned in the Bible, a potential bright spark in her life can be found later in 2 Samuel. Verse 14:27 says that Absalom was the father of three sons and one beautiful daughter, who he named Tamar. Ironically, the names of Absalom’s sons are not mentioned, only his daughter, Tamar. While the passage does not say that Tamar was her niece’s namesake, I’d like to believe that. Despite all her hurt and heartache, I still want a happy ending for Tamar and perhaps it comes in the form of her beautiful little niece. While Tamar may not have lived happily ever after, she still lived, was taken care of by her brother (until his death anyway), and spent time with her nephews and niece.

Sometimes I wish every story was a fairy tale, yet far too often girlish dreams are shattered by harsh realities. Rape is like that reaching across time, space, and culture to affect millions of women throughout history. It can happen to anyone even to the daughter of a Powerful King who lives in a Kingdom that is not of this world. Yet that Father always wants justice for His Child and will never leave her to be a desolate woman.

Amy Sondova is a writer specializing in media writing, including interviews and reviews, as well as blogging. Having interviewed over 30 of the top musicians, writers, and speakers in the Christian media, Amy has also written countless columns, reviews, and articles on various topics including mental illness, self-injury, working with teenagers, and Christianity. As well as holding a B.A. in communications, Amy also has an M.A. in biblical counseling and has worked as a professional therapist. You can visit Amy’s blog at check out her online e-zine,  a faith-based site focusing on God, culture, music, counseling and photography.