#like... a man named miriam

[muffinrag]

thinking about changing my name to mjiriam so people are forced to ask how it's pronounced

[beaulesbian]

#i understood that reference

(part 2)

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: You are a new maid for General Marcus Acacius.]

Dubcon smut

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then..”

What you would give to have a different life…

Constantly sold to be placed as a maid for the different rich men of Rome, except this time you were placed with someone you didn’t expect.

General Marcus Acacius

The man was a well known respected gladiator yet it was the last place you wanted to be. He was constantly buying any woman he wanted for self pleasure, you hated the idea of it. Thankfully servants weren’t meant for that type of pleasure, still, you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

Standing in a room alone you soon were met with an older gentleman who explained to you that the General would be out very soon. Why the hell were you nervous?

After what felt like forever the front door slowly opened and there he was, General Marcus Acacius. Wearing white and gold his presence made your heart skip a beat. Walking towards you he stopped just a foot before you, his eyes taking in everything he could as you looked away intimated by him.

“You must be the new servant”

You swallowed nervously looking back up at him.

“Yes”

His eyes trailed over you as if he was expecting something else..someone else.

“Is there a problem General-“

“Marcus” he quickly corrected you.

“Marcus” you whispered slightly hesitant, it wasn’t common to be on a first name basis as a servant.

“Nothing is wrong at all. You are just not what I expected..” not for a servant anyways, he thought.

Maybe a mistress, a prostitute but not a servant. Servants were usually much older women in their seventies who strictly were made to clean and cook.

“I apologize if-“

“Don’t apologize. I’m not disappointed” he assured you.

“One of the other servants will come find you and explain your duties and where you will be staying, I expect to see you bright and early in the morning”

“Yes, Marcus.” You nodded and quietly bowed before he took one last look at you and left the room.

Marcus went on to his duties for the evening and that night was welcomed in a room by a group of young women. The women bought for him as a gift from a man that felt he was in debt to him. Gifted with women was a usual thing for Marcus, yet was never spoken of.

Miriam was the servant who introduced herself to you and explained everything that would be needed from you. She warned you that you may encounter ‘certain female guests’ from time to time. It didn’t surprise you, that’s what these men did.

Miriam explained to you that Marcus liked his food a certain way, his room set up a certain way and his warm baths at a certain time.

She explained that some times when entering his room he might be with certain guests in view but she reminded you to ignore it.

“You do not look, you do not speak to him, you knock, you walk in and you walk out. Understood?”

“Yes” you nodded as she handed you things that you needed to leave in his room and patted your back before walking away.

Taking a deep breath you knocked on his door and anxiously waited to hear his voice.

“Come in!” He called out. Quickly you opened the door and just as you were warned, there he was on the bed with three women. Instantly you froze feeling awkward as you rushed to the other end of the room and placed his belongings down. Hearing the women laugh together you turned your back to them and continued your duties. Never had you been in a situation like this, the only time you had ever been sexual with a man was with your husband whom died years ago. You couldn’t understand how women enjoyed being sexual peasants to these men, of course the luxury that came with it must’ve been nice but you despised men for this. For a moment you turned, your gaze catching him sticking his finger in a woman’s mouth. Whatever he was doing you could tell he liked, the look on his face almost hypnotizing you. Something seemed so erotic about General Marcus when suddenly his eyes caught yours. Quickly you turned away ready to leave before accidentally tripping over your own foot and falling to your knees. Marcus quickly sat up slowly pushing the woman to the side as you gathered what you had dropped and quickly stood up walking towards the door. Yet, just before you could reach it, he caught up to you.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head looking down at you.

“I apologize I was just-“

“Are you alright?” He repeated his question sternly.

“Yes” you answered without looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean to…interrupt”

“You didn’t interrupt anything” he assured you. Marcus could tell this wasn’t something you were familiar with in any way yet before you he could say another word you quickly excused yourself and bowed. Marcus watched as you ran out closing the door behind you while one of the women from the bed stood up and came up behind him.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” His attention elsewhere.

“Not tonight” his response taking them by surprise.

“Seek another” the women knew they couldn’t argue. Quickly grabbing their clothes they ran out of the room unaware of where to go.

Standing in the kitchen with Miriam you watched as the women whom were just naked in the Generals room came running down the hall and out the front door.

“That’s a first” she uttered under her breath when Marcus appeared at the door.

“General Marcus” Miriam quickly stood up straight nudging you with her elbow. With your chin up beside her you stood still as he walked towards the both of you, stopping right before you.

“May I have a moment alone with my dear new servant?” He looked at Miriam whom seemed rather shocked by his request but quickly she obliged and left the room.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked anxiously. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you, a smirk slowly appearing on his lips.

“Did you want to join us?”

Your eyes widened by his question.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“I saw you looking-“

“And I-I apologize for that. I will never do that again, it was a mistake and-“

“You were curious” he sounded amused.

“No” you attempted to defend yourself but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. Marcus took another step closer, his body an inch away from touching yours.

“Tell me..” he slowly tilted your face up to him.

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then”

“Excuse me” you moved your face away from his hand.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help but notice when a woman is lacking physical touch-“

“I am not” you lied. God, it was like he could see through you.

“Is that so?” His large hand took hold of your face again as you looked up at him. Your lips moved but you didn’t make a sound, yet you didn’t have to. Marcus smiled and slowly brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. Never had you experienced this in any other place as a servant, it wasn’t suppose to happen. You would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tingly sensation in between your thighs, a form of excitement you hadn’t felt in years and you couldn’t control it.

“Would you like me to make you cum?” His question snapping you out of your trance. You instantly took a step back and gasped.

“Excuse me- what do you think I’m here for?”

“To serve me, yet here I am asking to serve you” you shook your head in confusion. Confused that he spoke to you like if you were a mistress, more confused that part of you wanted to say yes.

“I have to go” you panted before running off to your bedroom not caring about any rules when leaving his presence. General Marcus was left with amusement and didn’t say a word.

The next day you woke up thinking over and over what Marcus had said to you the night before. You found yourself having a dream of him that you didn’t expect to have, a dream that left you…aroused. Why the hell were you so turned on by this man? This wasn’t like you in any way.

Meeting Miriam in the kitchen she looked over at you curiously as you prepped for the day.

“Good morning”

“Morning” you uttered softly.

“What happened last night?” She asked distracting you.

“Nothing, why?”

“I didn’t see you again after General Marcus spoke to you and he has specifically requested for you to prep his bath after he’s finished training in the evening”

“Isn’t it suppose to be you today?”

“Mhm” she nodded.

“Just don’t say too much, don’t look him in the eyes and make sure you always address him as the General” she whispered unaware that Marcus had already strictly approved you calling him by his first name.

“Yes, thank you” you whispered with a nod as you began your duties.

As the day went on you couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he could possibly want later on that evening. The thought of facing him made your heart race, were you suppose to act as if he hadn’t asked you such a vulgar direct question?

That evening you decided to get a head start and have his room prepped trying to find a way to avoid seeing him.

Of course, that didn’t work.

Humming to yourself you placed his freshly clean clothes on the bed as he walked in the room silently. Slowly walking towards you he waited until he was just a foot behind you and cleared his throat. With a loud gasp you jumped with your hand on your chest.

“Marcus!” You turned to him not expecting him to have been in the room let alone so close. He chuckled with his hands behind his back, moving closer, towering over you.

“Did I frighten you, my dear?” Your eyes tracing over his armor he wore ready to train.

“N-no…I just…I wasn’t expecting you just yet”

His tongue sliding slowly between his teeth as he looked down at you analyzing your every feature, taking in your every breath.

“Marcus…I believe there was a misunderstanding last night”

“Is that what you think?” He bit his bottom lip with a smirk.

“I am simply your servant, no more than that.”

You spoke hesitantly taking a step back.

“Then answer me this question” you took a deep breath wondering what his question would be.

“Did you feel something…between your legs when I spoke to you last night?” He moved closer, his question making it hard to catch your breath.

“Did you feel an ache to be touched..” his words somehow once again making that very same feeling form.

“Stop it” you whispered practically rolling your eyes back.

“I haven’t even begun” his lips brushed against your temple, searching for yours when he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you. In shock you whimpered unable to push him away. Once he pulled away he left you gasping for air, a look of confusion as your heart raced.

“What are you doing?!”

He pulled you against him as you placed your hands on his chest attempting to push him away. The more he touched you the weaker you felt, he knew you wanted him just as much. But you couldn’t let this happen, the only man to ever kiss you and touch you was your husband. For seven years since he died, you had never wanted another. This wasn’t right to want this, let alone with a man who only wanted to use you. Once again you attempted to push him away but his hold was much stronger.

“I will not be one of your whores!” You yelled when he reached behind you and grabbed a chunk of your hair, with a hard tug he made you gasp. He didn’t say a word, forcing you to look up at him you felt his hand slowly make its way beneath your dress.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered as he parted your legs with his foot.

“I’m gonna make you cum-“

“No” your hands attempting to reach for his but he tugged at your hair harder making you scream. His hand brushing along your inner thighs until he slid his fingers beneath the fabric that covered your womanhood. His eyes focused deeply on yours as they widened feeling his finger slide between your folds. He moaned deeply once he felt how aroused you already were.

“Marcus..please-“

“Shhh” he slowly began to move his finger in a circular motion on your clit watching as you became hooked on the feeling he was giving you. A soft moan escaping your lips before you once again attempted to push his hand away but again he yanked at your hair making you whimper. Moving his hand faster he felt your legs grow weaker, his legs holding yours against the wall as you began to pant uncontrollably.

“Marcus wait-“ your hands now grabbing onto him as he stared down at you serious waiting for you to explode. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to, he breathed heavily moving his hand as fast as he could when your legs suddenly bent and gave out. A feeling you never thought you would feel again taking over your entire core, you moaned loudly as Marcus held you balanced between him and the wall.

“Oh my-“ your legs shaking not allowing you to stand straight as the electric waves of pleasure ran through your body down to your toes. Attempting to catch your breath Marcus unexpectedly picked you up and sat you on the near by windowsill immediately removing his armor.

“Wait, we’re not suppose to-“ aggressively he grabbed you by your legs and pulled you towards him.

“Marcus!” You gasped just as you felt him plunge into you. Both of his hands dug into your hair as he gritted his teeth and continued to slam himself into you. Locking eyes with you he made you take all of him deeply. You couldn’t speak, your mouth open as your body felt something it hadn’t felt in years.

But it was different.

Why did it feel so intense?

“Fuck!” Sweat beginning to form on his brow and the center of his chest, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him pulling him closer. His hands moving down your waist pulling your body to the edge as he kissed you erotically, you were about to cum again and he could feel it.

“You’re gonna cum again aren’t you?” He whispered roughly out of breath.

“Oh-oh-“ he grabbed your face watching as your eyes rolled back, your hips jerking against him as you felt as if your body was floating. You cried out in pleasure as he waited for it to move throughout your entire body before he’d let himself cum. And when he did he made sure he spilled every drop of himself inside you, with a groan he pushed your body against the window and held himself in place.

Out of breath you could feel him throbbing inside you, you hadn’t expected him to release himself in you yet you didn’t say a word at first.

Marcus slowly pulled himself as he grabbed a towel and dried his face. Slowly letting yourself down to your feet you grabbed onto the wall feeling how your legs felt like jello. Fixing your dress you watched as he wrapped a towel around his waist silently before you found the courage to speak.

“You…you finished inside me” your words making him look up at you.

“Of course I did” you looked down slightly disappointed making him slowly walk to you and tilt your face up to him.

“You didn’t like that?”

“No- I mean yes- I mean no- I…look I’ve only had sex with my husband, I’m not used to this. I never had children-“

“Are you afraid to be with child?”

Silently you swallowed nervously unsure how to answer his question, it was something you never thought of.

“We shouldn’t have done this” you whispered.

“May I be excused” Marcus stared down at you silently noticing the tears you held back, a hint of guilt forming in his chest. Without saying a word he moved aside motioning with his arm for you to pass and you quickly did…

[lorynna]

Day 298493 of saying that religions are - without exception - mysogynistic.

Specific topic today is husband and wife not being allowed to touch during certain times in orthodox judaism, which a woman named Miriam elaborates on. She owns a Tiktok account and regularly talks about her religious practices and jewish customs.

She has mentioned this custom before in reference to her period, through which she and her husband are not allowed to touch each other and have to sleep in seperate beds.

Now, recently she has had her 5th baby and talks about the fact, that she is also not allowed to touch her husband directly after birth, all the way through postpartum until the moment she stops bleeding, continues to have no blood for 7 days straight after and then has immersed herself in the water of a jewish bathhouse, called Mikva. This also includes not being allowed to directly hand things to each other. She claims this is not due to impurity of the woman but spiritual reasons.

Miriam has spoken about this matter before, where she states that waiting for 7 days after any uterine bleeding stops to touch again, for example after a period makes the husband and wife reunite again when the woman is in her fertile window again. In this video she only slightly touches on this topic by making a comment on what is advised by midwives/doctors for when a husband and wife are allowed to engage in physical intimacy again after childbirth, which is generally 6 weeks after birth.

Due to listening to Miriam I get the idea that she wants to make this seem like all of this happens in order to protect women in these circumstances but I cannot help finding these "means of protection" regressive, outdated and exhausting. Imagine bleeding for weeks after childbirth, now having 5 children you have to care for and always having to think about not touching your husband when both of you try to manage daily life after birth.

I'd really like her to dive deeper into why she thinks that this spiritually even makes sense. Again, for me it just comes across as "the woman is dirty for bleeding, a man can't have sex with her anyways plus she's not able to get pregnant during that time so let's just tell her to stay away during that time".

I feel really sorry for women following any religion. All it does is add more unnecessary rules to abide by, each day. More mental load to consider each day.

[hideawaysis]

i miss my old ocs so here's a list of all of them

lizzy the labrador: THE OG!!!!! MY VERY FIRST FURSONA!!!!!! she was a fnaf oc at first (hence the animatronic versions of her) but eventually she just became a Regular Dog. she had a sister named lisa i think and she was dating littledawg (pictured below)

littledawg (second image made by jennycaro70 on scratch): he was a character i got as a prize for winning a coloring contest! i remember i couldn't think of a drawing i wanted as a prize so i just said "a green dog with a red paw screeing at the camera" and that's what i got! he died in a car accident and came back as a zombie demon dog :3

cotton candy: she was a fox who was lizzy's ex-girlfriend and she was CRAAAAAZYYYYY and liked to kill people. i think she was a princess too. also heterochromic...smh what's wrong with a man and a woman marrying... /joking

shigo: another old fursona! he was just a wolf with cool dyed hair, didn't really have any lore apart from being Me. i originally made him for an old youtube intro where his name was rika and then i picked him back up when i first came out as trans and renamed him to shigo! i love him

kaiz and snake (they're heavily related so i'm listing them together): these two were brothers! i originally made them for someone else but then i got too attached and they gave them back to me...snake was based on a childhood drawing apparently but my memory is so bad i don't remember which one lmao

lillypad: this character was originally a warrior cats oc! but then she became a fursona of mine not related to warriors. i honestly don't remember much abt her, but she still means a lot to me.

nyx/jinx: i don't remember much abt this character either apart from the fact that she used to be named jinx until i gave her the name nyx instead...also she was CRAAAAAAZYYYY and liked to kill people ig. she had a half cat half dog son iirc. girlboss. let her kill

flappy: THIS IS THE ONE THAT HAD ADHD AND STIMMED BY FLAPPING HIS ARMS. he's so silly i love him. he was CRAAAAAZYYYYY but he did not like to kill people. also he was friends with littledawg

REV (second image drawn by moonpaw12345 on scratch): OHHHH THIS GUY he was a robot dog that was nervous more than half the time but was so so sweet...i remember when i was younger i got a popular person on scratch to draw REV (the person who drew the second image) and i was SO excited about it...i need to draw him again he was Cutes

miriam: i originally made miriam for a series of horror games! she was the result of a father experimenting on his own daughter and killing her and so she turned into an evil dog demon that haunted an old video game and would break through the screen and kill people. moral of the story: human experimentation is bad and also don't abuse ur kids

i owned way more characters than just this but it'd honestly take forever for me to list them all LOL so here's all the main ones i owned and the ones i cherish the most!

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Are you willing to write a kingdom of heaven fic where the reader has a child from a previous marriage that ended when her previous husband died. A girl like 6-8 years old who is shy at first

♡ New Family - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for your request! This is such a cute idea, so sorry its taken so long to get to. I hope it's what you had in mind! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Mention of Death, Mention of Domestic Violence (Not Baldwin dw), Nightmares/PTSD, Mention of Trauma.

It was a warm spring day when y/n and Baldwin were wed.

Their marriage was one of preference instead of arrangement after the two had met at the Jerusalem market.

Y/n ran a silk stand with her daughter, Miriam, when the king had decided to attend the market himself one day instead of sending a servant. He had been feeling well lately and wanted to take the opportunity to get some fresh air.

When their eyes met, it was love at first sight. There was no denying it.

However, there was one small problem. Y/n was a widow. Her husband had died in battle and as much of an inconvenience as it was, she couldn't help herself but feel slightly relieved.

He was a cruel man, a harsh man who believed in discipline for both wives and children. So needless to say, y/n couldn't help herself but feel relieved when she received news of his death.

But because of this, it was expected that she would not be married again and for a time, she had no issue with this. That was until she met Baldwin.

At first, she thought of herself as ridiculous when he had come by her stall. He was the king! And she was a widowed peasant who already had a daughter. It was simply not possible she had thought, until a servant came by her stall with an invite to the castle sent directly by the king.

Their love bloomed from there and despite being frowned upon, they were wed.

Y/n’s daughter was a naturally shy girl. The first time she had met Baldwin, she hid behind her mother and peeked out at the man from behind her robes.

His metal mask was less of the issue when it came to her fear (even though it did make him look far less human to her), it was more the past with her father.

At only seven years of age, she had experienced so much which was a great pain to her mother.

When they first met, the king gifted her a small carved, wooden horse as a present. She loved it and even approached him to take it from his gloved hand.

She was still nervous around him in the beginning, but she began to enjoy the benefits of becoming royalty. She loved the teachers who taught her all kinds of things that a peasant would simply not have the resources to know and she enjoyed playing with her cousin, Baldwin V.

She thought it funny that he had the same name as her step father and looked up to him as a big brother and he protected her as such.

Miriam’s nervousness around the king ended in just one night when her mother was away on royal duties overnight.

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

It was late at night when the girl’s eyes snapped open and she came awake, sweating and shaking.

She was prone to nightmares from the incidents with her late father.

Usually, Miriam would run to the royal chambers and call for her mother, who was a vastly light sleeper due to her own trauma. She would comfort her and bring her back to her own chambers. Y/n would read her a story and hold her until she fell back into sleep, but this time she was not there to do that.

The girl sat up in bed, her heart racing. All she could think about was her mother. She knew she was not going to fall back into sleep easily and would most likely lay awake in bed, with the fear of her fathers undead spirit returning and harming her.

Then she remembered Baldwin.

She was incredibly nervous approaching him about the subject.

It was late at night as she assumed he would be sleeping, she caught herself wondering if he slept in the mask or not. After a few minutes of thinking, a small noise made her practically jump out of her skin and she sprinted to the royal chambers.

Stopping outside the door she realized that her body had made the decision for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door as quietly as she could and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside she was greeted by a comforting warmth and the distant sound of the king's quiet snoring. Taking another deep inhale, she focused on her footsteps as she approached the bed.

Her heart was pounding.

What if he was angry at her for waking him? What if he told her to get over it? No, he would not do that. He was a kind man, a gentle man. The opposite of her father.

He had told her the day they met that “if you ever need anything, I am here when you are ready”, and she really needed him now.

Finally, she reached the side of his bed.

The moonlight that shone through the window illuminated his face that was covered in.. bandages? His cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin were all covered with clean, white bandages. That explains the mask.

Seeing him like this took her nerves away instantly.

He looked entirely human without his mask. Without it, he was just a man. A human, like herself.

He had soft curly blonde hair that spread out on his white pillow like the halo of an angel, this was completely different to the harsh, rough textured brown hair of her father.

He lay on his back with one hand resting on his chest, the plush blankets covered his body and he looked quite comfortable.

Miriam observed him for a moment longer as she decided whether to wake him or not. Finally, she made up her mind.

Reaching out an arm, she touched his shoulder softly. His night clothes were just as soft as she imagined them to be. She pulled her hand back quickly when he shifted.

Baldwin groaned and stretched as his body awoke from a deep sleep. He turned his head, fully expecting Tibarias to be standing there with important news as he had done countless times before.

His eyes widened at the sight of Miriam standing beside his bed, her cheeks stained with tears.

“Miriam, are you okay? What happened?” suddenly realizing the absence of his mask, the king panicked and reached to his bedside table for it.

“No, don't! I like your face without it” the girl said urgently. Baldwin smiled slightly at that.

“That's okay. Are you alright? What are you doing here?” she was surprised at his concern for her over his concern for being woken in the dead of night.

“I had a nightmare” she whispered. Baldwin’s face turned from one of slight panic to one of sorrow and concern.

“Oh angel, it will be okay. Come on, let's get you back to bed and you can tell me about it if you would like?” he offered, she nodded quickly.

Baldwin sat up from the bed, desperately attempting to keep his face free from a pained expression as he stood slowly.

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

Once back in the girl's chambers, the king tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the her bed.

“Would you like to tell me about this nightmare of yours?” he asked, his voice was so kind.

Miriam nodded and began to tell him all about the recurring nightmares that she had been having since she was five years old.

The nightmare consisted of her father returning from beyond the grave to kill her mother and eventually her, after he forced her to watch her mother be torn appart.

The king listened to her words intently as she spoke.

“That sounds awful Miriam, I am so sorry” he told her, a look of sincerity on his bandaged face. She thanked him and gave a weak smile.

“Would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?” he asked, returning the smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes lighting up at the words.

Baldwin walked to her bookshelf and retrieved a short story book that he recognised from his own childhood.

He sat down on the edge of the bed when Miriam spoke, “could you sit here?” she asked, gesturing to the space right beside her, against the headboard of the bed.

The king smiled at the innocent request and shifted positions to where he was sitting right next to her.

She moved closer to him, leaning against the side of his body.

Baldwin tried his best not to smile, it was the first time she had requested his affection. This was a massive step in their relationship.

“Could you stay with me the whole night, father? I don't want to be alone” she whispered, causing the young man's smile to widen.

“Yes of course Miriam'' he replied, relishing for a moment in the fact that she called him ‘father’.

Baldwin moved his arm and placed it around her, pulling her close as he began to read.

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

Around twenty minutes past when the king looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against his side, her eyes were shut peacefully and her chest moved up and down silently.

The smile returned to his face at the sight, before he moved his hand to cover a soft yawn.

The king gave his daughter one last look before letting his eyes fall shut, joining her in sleep once again.

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

The following morning, y/n arrived home early. The sun had only just started to peek above the horizon when she entered the castle.

Entering the royal chambers, she expected to see her husband sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. But he was not there?

Placing her bags down, she assumed he must have left to attend his duties early.

Y/n decided to check on her daughter, since she missed her greatly overnight.

She entered the room and a wide smile crossed her face at the sight before her. Baldwin and Miriam curled up against each other, sleeping soundly as the first rays of sun streamed in through the window.

She walked up to her daughter's bedside, pulling the covers further over the two.

This certainly was the progress that she hoped would happen while she was away.

Y/n bent down and kissed her husband's forehead gently.

“Im so proud of you” she whispered to him before turning to leave her beautiful family in peaceful rest.

[felix-lupin]

In Coraline, there’s a recurring theme with names and identity, and I personally don't think it's talked about enough. 

(As a note, this is dealing largely with the book, not the movie, although there are some hints of this theme in the movie as well)

Coraline’s neighbors constantly get her name wrong, calling her “Caroline” and not “Coraline”, to which she persistently corrects them. Despite her attempts, they never get it right, until chapter 10, in which Mr Bobo (Mr Bobinsky) finally gets it right.

"It's Coraline, Mister Bobo," said Coraline. "Not Caroline. Coraline." "Coraline," said Mr Bobo, repeating her name to himself with wonderment and respect. "Very good, Coraline."

It should be noted that, until this chapter, Coraline did not know Mr Bobo’s name either. In fact, it had never even occurred to her that he had a name. Up until then, she had just been thinking of him as “the crazy old man upstairs”, not as a person with a name. This moment, with her learning his name and him getting her name right, is a moment of genuine understanding and connection between the two, humanizing them both to each other.

Coraline’s other neighbors get her name wrong, which is representative of them not listening when she says anything, really, such as her telling Miss Spink and Forcible that her parents are missing and them literally not even acknowledging it at all??

"How are your dear mother and father?" asked Miss Spink. "Missing," said Coraline. "I haven't seen either of them since yesterday. I'm on my own. I think I've probably become a single child family." "Tell your mother that we found the Glasgow Empire press clippings we were telling her about. She seemed very interested when Miriam mentioned them to her." "She's vanished under mysterious circumstances," said Coraline, "and I believe my father has as well." "I'm afraid we'll be out all day tomorrow, Caroline lovely," said Miss Forcible. "We'll be staying with April's niece in Royal Tunbridge Wells."

Mr Bobo gets her name right after being corrected (only after being corrected alongside her using his name, mind you, showcasing her making an effort to listen to and understand him as well), which is representative of him actually making an attempt to listen and understand her. This point is further illustrated by a conversation Coraline had with the Other Mr Bobo in chapter 10.

As Coraline entered he began to talk. "Nothing's changed, little girl," he said, his voice sounding like the noise dry leaves make as they rustle across a pavement. "And what if you do everything you swore you would? What then? Nothing's changed. You'll go home. You'll be bored. You'll be ignored. No one will listen to you, not really listen to you. You're too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don't even get your name right."

He equates those in the real world not getting Coraline’s name right with them not listening to her, and fundamentally not understanding who she is. So, somebody getting her name right, then, shows them actually listening to her, and being willing to understand who she is.

The mice in the real world know more than they should be able to know, and they also get Coraline’s name right.

"The message is this. Don't go through the door." He paused. "Does that mean anything to you?" "No," said Coraline. The old man shrugged. "They are funny, the mice. They get things wrong. They got your name wrong, you know. They kept saying Coraline. Not Caroline. Not Caroline at all."

They seem to know about the other world, somehow, on some level, and the dangers it presents. Them getting her name right represents them knowing more than they should know, more than they are told. Animals in general seem to have this type of quality in Coraline, actually.

The cat does not have a name. It says so in chapter 4, that cats do not need names. It says that this is because cats know who they are. But humans need names, because they do not.

"Please. What's your name?" Coraline asked the cat. "Look, I'm Coraline. OK?" The cat yawned softly, carefully, revealing a mouth and tongue of astounding pinkness. "Cats don't have names," it said. "No?" said Coraline. "No," said the cat. "Now, you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names."

The cat shook its head. "No," it said. "I'm not the other anything. I'm me." It tipped its head on one side; green eyes glinted. "You people are spread all over the place. Cats, on the other hand, keep ourselves together. If you see what I mean."

This shows that, in humans, names are connected to our identities and who we are. Names are used to individualize and distinguish ourselves from each other. But cats do not need names to recognize each other, or be recognized.

"Oh. It's you," she said to the black cat. "See?" said the cat. "It wasn't so hard recognising me, was it? Even without names."

With or without names, it is still the same cat.

During the Other Miss Spink and Forcible’s performance, in chapter 4, they begin quoting Shakespeare. The specific quotes that they use are interesting to me when looked at under this lens of the importance of names, especially Miss Forcible’s.

"What's in a name?" asked Miss Forcible. "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"I know not how to tell thee who I am," said Miss Spink to Miss Forcible.

Now, of course, this is just them quoting Shakespeare. But. Why these quotes specifically? They’re at the very least notable when discussing Coraline’s recurring theme of names. Especially the quote about the rose. It makes me think of what the cat said earlier, about how cats are sure of who they are so they don’t need names, about how Coraline didn’t need the cat’s name to be able to recognize it for who/what it was.

But, of course, this does not apply for humans. We need our names to be able to know ourselves, to be able to tell others who they are.

In chapter 6, Coraline wakes up and is disoriented. This disorientation is compared to the feeling one might experience upon being suddenly pulled out of a daydream. In this comparison, forgetting one’s name is equated with forgetting who one is and where one is.

Sometimes Coraline would forget who she was while she was daydreaming that she was exploring the Arctic, or the Amazon rainforest, or darkest Africa, and it was not until someone tapped her on the shoulder or said her name that Coraline would come back from a million miles away with a start, and all in the fraction of a second have to remember who she was, and what her name was, and that she was even there at all. Now there was the sun on her face, and she was Coraline Jones. Yes.

The ghost children have also forgotten their names, and with it most of who they were. In chapter 7, when Coraline is locked behind the mirror in the Other World, one of the ghost children says that names are the first things that one forgets after death.

"Who are you?" whispered Coraline. "Names, names, names," said another voice, all faraway and lost. "The names are the first thing to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names. I still keep pictures in my mind of my governess on some May morning, carrying my hoop and stick, and the morning sun behind her, and all the tulips bobbing in the breeze. But I have forgotten the name of my governess, and of the tulips too." "I don't think tulips have names," said Coraline. "They're just tulips." "Perhaps," said the voice sadly. "But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange-and-red, and red-and-orange-and-yellow, like the embers in the nursery fire of a winter's evening. I remember them."

The ghost children may have their memories, but they have largely forgotten who they were. They may remember their tulips, and certain strong memories, but there is very, very little left of them, and they have forgotten who they once were, they have forgotten their names.

"That is why we could not leave here, when we died. She kept us, and she fed on us, until now we're nothing left of ourselves, only snakeskins and spider-husks. Find our secret hearts, young mistress."

"She will take your life and all you are and all you care'st for, and she will leave you with nothing but mist and fog. She'll take your joy. And one day you'll awake and your heart and soul will have gone. A husk you'll be, a wisp you'll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten."

The Other Mother stole their hearts and their souls and their selves. She stole who they were away from them, their identities and names and the names of those they loved, leaving nothing in her wake.

The same ghost that talked about the tulips and the names of the tulips struggles to answer when Coraline asks their gender, as well, and when they do eventually give an answer they seem somewhat unsure of it, as shown by the word choice of “perhaps” and “I believe”

"A boy, perhaps, then," continued the one whose hand she was holding. "I believe I was once a boy." And it glowed a little more brightly in the darkness of the room behind the mirror.

(I personally take this quote, specifically it "glow[ing] a little more brightly" after coming to this conclusion, to mean either that the ghost is happy at realizing that he was once a boy, or even to mean that he has become somewhat more tangible upon this realization; upon remembering something about his self, and his identity.)

As an aside, it's noteworthy to me that we never learn the Other Mother’s true name. She is simply “The Other Mother” and “The Beldam.” Never is an actual name applied to her, only titles. We do not truly know who, or what, she is. Beings without names are shrouded in mystery (or should i say mist-ery). The ghost children are benevolent mysterious beings, the cat is an ambivalent-leaning-helpful mysterious being, and the other mother is a distinctly malevolent mysterious being.

"Who are you?" asked Coraline. "I'm your other mother," said the woman.

"She?" "The one who says she's your other mother," said the cat. "What is she?" asked Coraline. The cat did not answer, just padded through the pale mist beside Coraline.

But in conclusion, names in Coraline are extremely important. I’m sure there’s probably more that I'm missing, and feel free to add onto this, but basically—

People need names to know and remember who they are, and forgetting one’s name is the first step to losing the rest of who one is. Names humanize a person; with a name, they are less shrouded in mystery, more clear.

Knowing somebody's name helps one connect to and better understand that person; it is the first step in getting to know them and see them as a full person, the transition from “the crazy man upstairs” to “Mr Bobo”. Names, to people at least, are one of the fundamental building blocks of who we are.

[sleepyangelkami]

BUTTER ICING d.grayson

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

DICK GRAYSON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - thinkin' about dick grayson taking care of his baker!so who sometimes forgets to take care of herself.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of eating? fluff, pet names, reader is mentioned to be short, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

yet another call from his ex-bulter had dick rolling out of the bed at, according to his beautiful girlfriend, you, 'ungodly hours'. he had pressed a mere kiss against your forehead, telling you that he'd be home soon and joking for you to 'be good'. you'd merely giggled under the blankets, thankful no one was waking you at such an hour and snuggling back into the comfort of your bed.

and he couldn't help but admire you. one would think after so many phone calls for him to leave whether it was early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night, you'd be somewhat mad. but you understood dick and his line of work and his especially impatient father.

he truly didn't deserve you.

he kept his promise, somewhat. he wasn't exactly home 'soon' but he was home as soon as he could be. getting bruce off his back was like a work out he hadn't prepared for. but nevertheless, it was around seven in the evening when he was walking through the door, charming smile on his lips. "honey, i'm home!" he'd joked in a sing-song voice. he did this every time he stepped through that front door. he could only imagine you rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

"kitchen!" you'd yelled back as he found himself walking towards that very room, discarding his bags near the living room door, deciding to deal with that later on. all that was on his mind was you.

and there you were, in the kitchen as you'd told him. only you weren't standing up, instead you were knelt on the kitchen counter, attempting to reach past the top cupboard where your containers for your baked goods were. "darling?" he received a hum from you, your tongue darting out between your two lips. "what are you doing?"

finally, you turned with a huff. "i can't reach the containers." his eyes glanced to the kitchen table which held a multitude of cupcakes. they were all decorated with yellow butter icing, little chocolates placed delicately on top. the smell of cupcakes was rather rich in your shared kitchen.

he could only chuckle softly, his hands moving to your under arms and gently lifting you down from the counter. if you kept climbing up there, you were bound to get hurt. "you shouldn't put them where you can't reach them then." he spoke, a playful smile on his lips as he reached his long arms up, taking down one of your containers. "who are these for anyway?"

being a baker had it's perks but being the baker's boyfriend was even better. he could eat as many treats as he liked and he didn't even have to lift a finger. "miriam." you spoke, thanking him softly for getting the container before loading the cupcakes in. "she'll be here at eleven tomorrow." as you turned your back, dick eyed you before taking one of the cupcakes into his grasp. by the time you turned around, half of it had been emptied into his mouth. you just blinked at him. "you know, i make extra cupcakes just because i know you'll eat them all."

with a mouthful, he spoke. "sorry." but you could only smile at him, placing the other cupcakes into the container and leaving a couple extra scattered across the counter for the dog to eat, oh, my bad, for dick to eat. "you can't just make cupcakes and expect me not to get hungry."

your eyebrow raised. "you were at the manor all day, don't try to convince me that alfred wasn't practically shoving food down your throat."

god, he did love alfred's cooking. "a man's gotta eat." he shrugged. "what'd you have for dinner."

he watched as your eyes widened. "crap! i was supposed to make―"

"shh." he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. "i'll make some spaghetti bolognese." he was already moving toward the fridge where he new the contents lay.

you often times forgot to go shopping, it was always him that was stocking up the fridge, making sure you didn't go hungry while he was away. don't get me wrong, you still went to the manor with him more often than not. but as a baker, as a home-working baker, you often had to spend your days cooped up in the kitchen so you couldn't join him on his trips.

"dick, you don't have to do that." you were standing behind him, all bashful as your fingers fumbled together.

dick loved taking care of you, don't get me wrong, he just wished you loved it as much as he did, perhaps then you wouldn't be forgetting to feed yourself. you were often times forgetting to do the simple things, the things that involved caring for your own mind and body but when it came to others, you were in tip top shape, ready to care for the next person who walked in the door. he loved that about you but he really wished you'd care about yourself as much as you cared about others.

but it was okay, because as long as he was alive and breathing, he'd make sure you were taken care of.

he'd turned around, his hands finding your waist as he gently soothed the skin. he watched as your cheeks heated up and your smile couldn't wipe from your cheeks. dick was well aware of the affect he had on you. "let me cook you dinner, baby." and when he talked to you like that, well who could refuse?

"okay." you mumbled gently. "thank you."

"don't mention it." but he still leant down, pressing yet another kiss to your face only this time it was to your lips, short and sweet.

by the time dick had started cooking, you were sitting up on the counter, your legs dangling as you took a giant bowl into your hands. dick glanced over, his brows furrowed. "what's that?" he questioned, watching as you lifted a finger from the bowl, covered in butter icing. he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "you know, i think eating mouth fulls of butter icing is probably worse than a couple cupcakes."

you merely shrugged, licking your lips clean. "a baker's gotta have some relief." and it was true.

you didn't just bake because you thought it was rather easy, you loved baking. baking was both a stress reliever and a way to calm down whenever you needed it and hey, it also got you money. but your all time favourite thing about baking? licking the bowls, spatchala's, really anything you could get your hands on, clean.

especially the sweet butter icing.

"here, lemme taste." and as you moved, your hand turning towards the drawer so you could get him out a spoon, you were cut off by the feeling of his lips on yours.

you practically melted into him, allowing him to kiss you sweetly yet slightly rough. you didn't care, feeling your mind go hazy at the mere feeling of his lips. dick always had such an affect on you, you should have been embarrassed yet you simply couldn't find it in yourself to be.

he was the first to pull away, watching as you blinked up at him, slightly dazed. "hmm, sweet." he commented before turning around to the frying pan and using the wooden spoon to turn the contents around.

you, whose stomach had turned to a swarm of butterflies, hopped off of the counter. "I'm gonna..." your head feeling slightly floaty. god, you thought, pull yourself together. "gonna go fill the dishwasher."

and dick, who didn't even bother looking up from the frying pan, wore a little smirk that tugged his lips upwards. "okay, pretty girl."

he really was going to be the death of you.

however, you were sure you could die a happy girl while eating the dinner he'd made for you. sure, you liked to bake but nothing did taste better than one of dick's homemade dinner's. you'd been seated across the couch, your legs had been on dick's lap before he'd gotten up a couple minutes ago, pressing a kiss to your lips and not telling you where he'd been going.

you assumed it was to go eat more of your cupcakes and this theory was proved right as you turned your head over the couch, spotting him bent down slightly to read the calendar, chewing on a cupcake while another was in his hand. "sweetheart?" he called out, not bothering to move his gaze from the calendar.

"yes?" you leaned yourself up on the couch, laying your arms flat on the back of it and placing your head down on top of them, admiring your pretty boyfriend. he truly was beautiful, even when he was stuffing his face and he had a smudge of butter icing on his nose.

"when's your next day off?" he questioned, standing up straight again as his eyes flickered back to you.

you shrugged your shoulders. "had a big cancellation for sunday, why?"

"then it's settled." he spoke, opening the buncase of the next cupcake. "i'm taking you out for dinner on sunday."

"wha― you don't have to do that." finding your heart soften at the mere offer.

"it's only fair." he spoke, shrugging his shoulders. "i ate half of your cupcakes."

the perks of being the boyfriend of a baker.

the perks of being the girlfriend of a billionare's son.

main masterlist/dick's masterlist

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Found my way back to you

A/N: Something for our CACW broken and sad boi Tony? Written for @fandom-free-bingo Here ya go. Special mention to @nicoline1998enilocin for proofreading, love you girl 💛 Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger! F! Reader (our reader has Falcon-like abilities and Red Wing as well)

Warnings: Angst, hurt comfort.

Word count: 4.3k ish

Square filled: “Please don’t go.”

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

.

“Please don’t go.”

You weren’t sure you heard it at first as the voice seemed fainter than a whisper. Collecting your forgotten phone from the conference table, you were almost out the door when you heard him speak. Tony Stark sat at the far end of the table, nursing a glass of whiskey, his eyes downcast and shoulders drooped. There was a pleading in his voice that you couldn’t turn down.

Ever since Pepper left him for good, Tony had been heading towards a steady downfall of self-destruction. He was never one to talk but the team knew it, you knew it. You silently prayed that he would seek help and not be so stubborn for once. But you knew better than to push your teammate.

“What happened today, Tony?” Grabbing the nearest chair, you slid into it and waited for Tony to speak. You frowned as he took in a deep breath, as if preparing himself to relive whatever he was about to say.

“I met a lady named Miriam Sharpe today at MIT. She had a son, Charles Spencer. Great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia. He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” he raised his eyes to meet yours finally, guilt and regret swimming in them, almost drowning his soul with it. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you remained silent. How does one process this kind of information anyway?

“He would have been working at Intel come fall. And now…She blames me, Y/N. And she’s right. I blame myself. I created Ultron. It’s my fault.” his voice was so low, you had to strain to hear. You could see his guilty conscience eating him alive, and your heart broke for the man.

“It’s not all your fault, Tony. We all share responsibility for what happened in Sokovia. Could we have done without the blood-thirsty artificial intelligence that threatened an extinction-level genocide? Sure. But you have to stop blaming yourself for Ultron. We got him, he’s gone. The world is safe again, the Avengers made sure of that. You made sure of that, remember?” you reached out to place your hand over his, he didn’t resist, instead he gave you a small nod indicating he understood your point before offering you a small but grateful smile. Your words provided him comfort, temporary though, yet he was battling a world of obsessive thoughts on the inside.

Excusing yourself, you headed out the room once more, only for Tony to grab your attention once again.

“The world is only safe until the next big threat, Y/N. And then what? Another conference where I meet another parent of yet another child that didn’t deserve to die? We need to be kept in check.” he muttered assertively, downing the rest of his glass before heading out the door himself. Leaving you to ponder over his words that somehow rang true the more you gave it a thought.

.

“So you’re really going to leave huh?” Clint Barton knocked on your door softly before he made his way to your room, followed closely by Natasha Romanov.

“Yep. I’m really leaving.”

You were packing the last of your suitcases, cramming one of the many photo frames that held a picture of you with the team. A Midgardian suit-clad Thor stood tallest brandishing his humongous glass of beer, right next to Steve, Nat and Clint; Tony had decided to go for dramatics as he laid down in front of all of you, his suit jacket discarded as he laughed pointing at Bruce who had just spilled his drink down his shirt - all thanks to Red Wing - your trusted device that you secretly used for a jump scare. It was worth it. Taken at one of Stark’s parties, everybody looked happy, less frown lines, less stress. Good old days, you thought.

“That was a good night.” Clint chuckled, pointing at the picture and making you nod in agreement.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Natasha pulled you in for a hug, making you tear up in the process. She didn’t try and convince you to stay, she was probably the only one who truly understood why you chose to step away, even if she didn’t agree with the decision.

“I’ll miss you too, Nat. More than you know. You too Legolas. Don’t die on us.” you chuckled after hugging Clint. The nickname Tony gave just sort of stuck around, and it irritated Clint the most which is why you always chose to call him that. Both of them were the closest thing to family around here for you.

“I feel like I’m probably gonna be the only one who miraculously survives, Y/L,N.”

“Seriously though, be careful you guys. I have a feeling this is not going to end well.” you added, zipping up the last of your bags. Saying their final goodbyes, they left you alone.

Your room was now empty, all packed up into boxes, the space looked smaller somehow, even though it wasn’t. It was time for you to start a new chapter of your life and close this one. It came with unfinished business but you chose to move on. Whatever moving on from a superhero life meant.

.

“Please don’t go.”

Those three words rang in your ears months after they were uttered. As much as your heart wrenched, you had to leave, it was time.

The Sokovia Accords lay on the polished oak table, bringing dreadful silence across the room. It was hard to believe what your world had come to, and yet here it was. A choice. A choice that nobody benefitted from, except maybe the government. The accords meant that the Avengers would no longer function as an independent association, instead, the government would control and track their moves and influence their decisions. Not signing them would be considered as retirement, so there was no easy way out of it.

Did you agree with them? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? Probably. What shocked you most was that Tony Stark had agreed to comply, in fact he was coaxing each and every one to sign the papers. You knew what was about to happen. And you knew where you stood.

It didn’t make sense for you to stay anymore.

So you left. Retired as the government had you call it. And Tony tried to stop you, once. He assumed you would fight by his side no matter what. And for a brief moment, so did you. You wanted to be by his side, however, what Thaddeus Ross had asked of you was simply unacceptable. You could never live with your freedom taken away from you like that. It wasn’t regulation, it was manipulation and you couldn’t believe Tony for siding with it. It broke your heart.

And so with that broken heart, you fled town. Bought yourself a country home and a small farm with animals, you made a good life for yourself. A life so distinctly different from the one you previously had. No fights, no aliens dropping from the skies, no threats, but no Avengers either. And more importantly, no Tony.

It came as a huge shock the day King T’Chaka was killed in Vienna, and the terrorist later identified as The Winter Soldier only was going to make matters worse, you knew that.

A part of you felt guilty for leaving, while another part was relieved to be away from it all. The constant tug of war gave you several sleepless nights. The main cause for those was the fact that you left without saying goodbye to Tony. You wondered if he hated you for it. He probably did. The two of you were…complicated to say the least. The nature of your relationship was never clear, it came with baggage, one you were more than willing to carry before you were presented with the Accords. There wasn’t much left to say when Tony Stark became spokesperson for regulating and controlling the Avengers under the government’s shadow. Arguments seemed futile when the man was determined on what needed to be done to keep the team in check.

.

An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever. - Helmut Zemo

Tony Stark was a man left wounded by many battles, some he drew upon himself, others he didn’t. The Sokovia Accords had caused a schism in the Avengers, a public feud with Steve Rogers and those he trusted at an airport in Germany. He had now the burden of involving a child in the fight, and the fact that he almost lost his best friend. Rhodey was built an exoskeleton to aid him in walking after he recovered, that was the least Tony could do. Although James never blamed him for anything, deep down it cut him that he was responsible for most of mayhem caused.

And then there was you.

You had left the team, left him without a goodbye. Disappeared one night without a trace. Tony felt abandoned by the one person he had hoped would never leave, and yet you had. He had had many sleepless nights thinking about you, hoping that one day maybe out of the blue you would come back and explain yourself.

And now you were gone.

.

Tony,

I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion all by yourself. We all need family.

The Avengers are yours, maybe even more so than mine. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And, I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t.

I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand.

I wish we agreed on the accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should do.

So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us—if you need me—I’ll be there. The team may be scattered for now but I believe if and when the time comes, we will assemble as one. And it’s probably not my place to say this but, Y/N stepping down certainly does not mean she’s no longer with the team. She is out doing what she always dreamt of, living a normal life. Something all of us wish for every now and then. I hope you guys work it out someday. Take care, Tony.

Tony stared at the letter after reading it for the fourth time, the flip phone that came with it still in his hands. His mind invariably wandered to the last bit of Steve’s message. You.

Over the past few years, Tony had come to realize how integral you were, not just to the team and your contribution but to his life too. He had on many occasions found himself seeking you out for a chat, it always made his heavy heart just a little lighter. From the moment you joined the Avengers, you had intrigued Tony Stark. He admired you for your abilities, you were more capable than you were given credit for, you were compassionate, kind and a team player. You never said much but whenever you did, you always knew the right things to say, especially to Tony.

He recalled many occasions where you had leant a listening ear when he had wanted to rant, provided a logical solution when things seemed to get out of hand. He would never forget the comfort you provided when Pepper left him. You were there, holding his hand, hugging him tight when he asked to be left alone, knowing how much he needed a human touch. He didn’t fight it, instead he had let himself be held by you, by arms that provided safety, touches that soothed him and words that rendered all the uncertainties silent.

And yet you had left the compound without a word, or maybe without a conversation with him. It angered and worried him in equal parts.

The more he thought about it, the clearer the picture became of your possible whereabouts. One particular conversation stood out indicating where he might find you, memories of that evening brought a smile to his face as he recalled.

“Farm animals, definitely. I will get myself an alpaca, call her Ms Brain.”

“Are you serious?” you giggled, looking at Tony incredulously. The man was always full of surprises. You were lying on your backs on the compound lawn, it had been a particularly eventful day. Tony found you out here all by yourself, staring up at the gray sky. Getting him to lie down with you wasn’t easy but you managed, bribing him with his favorite whiskey later.

“What about you, Y/L/N?”

“Hmm..Let’s see. I want a huge backyard where I will grow my veggie garden, make the most delicious foods, and have a cat since I’ve always wanted one. Somewhere peaceful and quiet, away from the city, of course. Some place that’ll show me actual stars instead of these twinkling airplane lights, you know?” you murmured, chuckling as a plane flew right above, its red lights mixing with the gray smoke and clouds before it disappeared, effectively making its point.

Tony remained silent, turning his head towards you so he could see your face, your eyes still focused on the sky, he gazed at you fondly. Admiring you for having the courage to dream of a different life so freely, something he used to be able to do but now it all seemed too far off.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Y/N?” Tony murmured, reaching his pinky finger out to entwine with yours.

“I’m just picturing you on a farm with Ms. Brain on a leash.” You smiled looking down at your hands.

“Do you think about running away from it all?”

“All the time.” Tony replied promptly, turning his body to face you as you did the same.

“What stops you from doing it then?”

As if on cue, his phone rang, disturbing the quiet of the moment. He murmured a ‘that’ under his breath before sitting up to answer it, thereby ending your little heart-to-heart.

.

It was a lovely spring morning when you awoke. Your usual wake up call was meowing his way up your bed, demanding to be fed. Once the cat had his fill, you made yourself a cup of coffee and breakfast and went about your day.

Your life out here was simple, just the way you wanted it to be. Your savings had bought you a decent sized house with a large enough backyard garden for you to grow your veggies - something you always dreamt of having. The difference was so stark, it took you a while to adjust to this new life. But eventually you did. The peace and quiet it brought you was indescribable. But that didn’t mean you didn’t miss your Avenger life. To be more specific you missed the team, mostly Tony Stark.

You felt horrible for leaving without notice, especially after finding out about the fight that took place in Germany. You often found yourself wondering how he was dealing with everything. Did he have anybody by his side? You knew the answer to that. Did he get back with Pepper Potts? You didn’t want to find out the answer to that.

As evening rolled by, you poured yourself a glass of wine and got started on dinner, hearing a sharp knocking sound on your door right after. Frowning, you wiped your hands on a napkin and went to open it. You weren’t expecting anyone.

On the other side of the door stood the man you least expected to find, and yet the same man you were hoping to find all this time.

Tony Stark.

He wasn’t the Tony Stark you recognized. No. He seemed different, and not in a good way. His face was still the same, handsome, striking and yet it lacked the usual charisma. There were several bruises decorated all over his face, some healed, others on their way but definitely promised to leave a permanent mark. Words had escaped your vocabulary as you stood there dumbfounded, until he cleared his throat.

“Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re um, you’re here.”

He gave you a nod, grateful that you stepped out of the way to let him in, still trying to process. Red Wing flew in after him, having scanned him for being a potential threat. It was a habit you couldn’t shake off, even in retirement, you were prepared for the unexpected.

“You turned Red Wing into a bellboy? You should’ve left with Dum-E, he would’ve been the perfect lawn mower.”

He made you chuckle, immediately reminding you of the Tony you had missed all these months. A part of you was relieved to see him, your heart beating with excitement now that there seemed a possibility that he was here to see you.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

He shook his head in a no, explaining he had had too much coffee before, his trembling fingers spoke for themselves. Wordlessly, you made your way towards the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water to make him a cup of chamomile tea instead.

“Will you stay for dinner? I was only just getting started.” you offered, taking his noncommittal shrug as a yes.

He seemed to be busy digesting your new home, the surroundings that now glowed under the light of the setting sun. Your cat jumped out from his hiding spot, greeting Tony by walking between his legs, rubbing his scent over him, already claiming the man as his.

“He’s never that friendly with anyone.” you pointed out, smiling a little when Tony bent down to scratch him behind his ears, causing a cat to purr in appreciation. You brought him a cup of piping hot tea which he accepted wordlessly, taking a seat on your couch where you joined him. Several moments of silence passed where you watched him blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

“You left without saying goodbye to me.”

Tony’s words fell on your ears but cut right through your heart. You should’ve been prepared for this to come up.

“Would you have stopped me from going, Tony?”

“No. Probably. I–I would’ve wanted you to stay and fight back, Y/N.”

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at the thought.

“Fight you, you mean? You know I was never going to sign those Accords. I was not going to fight by your side, Tony. You knew that.” your voice shook as you spoke, getting up from your seat and heading back to your kitchen, you put some distance between the two of you.

“Then you should’ve fought me! Anything was better than leaving unannounced, Y/N.”

His words made you turn around, his eyes shone under the candlelight, burning with embers of unanswered questions. You stood quiet, your breathing shallow now.

“Clearly I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Is that what you think? You’re wrong, Tony. It’s because you meant the most to me, Tony. I couldn’t say goodbye to you because if I had, I wouldn’t have survived. And I couldn’t stay. So forgive me for running away, alright? I took the easiest choice at hand because the alternative was just too damn difficult.” you had a few tears strayed down your cheek by the time you finished, your heart now pounding wildly against your ears as you stood gripping the dining chair so tight your knuckles had turned white.

Tony sat still for a while, his brain comprehending your words before a hint of a smile made its way on his face, a sense of temporary relief - something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something inside of him had led him here, the longing to see your face, questions that needed answers, the loneliness he felt that only grew more and more once everything that could go wrong went wrong. And yet, as he sat here after finding you, his heart felt lighter. Like he had made the right choice in what felt like forever.

“You haven’t asked why I am here.” he murmured, turning his attention back to the cup of tea in his hands.

“Wasn’t it to donate Dum-E to be my trusted lawn mower?” you jested, taking a seat on the chair you were previously clutching.

“I found out it wasn’t a car accident that killed my parents. They were murdered. By James Buchanan Barnes.” Tony stared ahead, gripping the cup tightly in his hands as he spoke.

“Oh my God, Tony…”

“And Rogers knew. He knew, Y/N.” he whispered, the anguish and hurt in his voice evident. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The Avengers having a difference of opinion was one thing, but this piece of information was enough to cause a definitive crack, you knew that.

“It wasn’t Barnes, Tony. It was the Winter Soldier, he was being controlled.”

“They’re still dead.”

That made you understand he wasn’t looking for a logical explanation, at least not now. What he needed was comfort. Without another word, you made your way back over to the couch, placing your hand on Tony’s back to let him know you were there for him.

“I almost lost Rhodey. I saw him fall to his death from the sky, Y/N. I couldn’t make it to him in time. And now our team is scattered. Gone. All because I–”

“Because of the Accords, and a difference of opinion, Tony.” you shifted closer, placing the cup away to grab his hands in yours.

“But I signed them. I failed.” his words broke your heart, unshed tears now made their way into his eyes as he tried his best not to break down in front of you.

“Hey, it’s okay, Tony. We’ll figure it out, like we always do, right? It’s okay, come here.”

Wrapping him in a hug, you held him close to you as he broke down, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. He held onto the light sweater you wore like you would disappear in his grasp, shoulders burdened heavy now shaking in silent tears as months, maybe years of pent up and unaddressed feelings resurfaced.

“Shh. You’re okay, Tony. Let it out, I’ve got you.” You carded your fingers through his hair softly, blinking your own tears away.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Tony. I should have been there for the team, for you. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head slightly, the movement a little difficult with his head safely tucked against your chest. After his tears subsided, you clasped his hand and led him upstairs to draw him a bath.

Tony Stark hadn’t known what it felt to have someone else care for him in a long time. He didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable the way he had now, because for the first time in forever, he knew felt safe. Safe enough to show his scars, his wounds. As you wordlessly undressed him, your eyes scanned the bruises littered across his skin, old scars and new. Your fingers traced them delicately before you nudged him to step inside the tub while you sat out. He needed this more than you at that moment.

The warm water healed his sore muscles, the ache that had settled deep within them slowly slipped out as your hands massaged the knots away. There was no way he could express how thankful he was for you in words. He chose to express it all with a kiss instead.

Right after you were done washing his hair, he held your hand to pull you closer to the edge of the tub, his gaze lowered as his face inched closer to yours.

As your lips met, you felt yourself melt against him. There was still a lot to work through but for now, you let yourself be lost in Tony Stark. All of him. You let him consume your senses. He was all that mattered.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Hmm?”

Your question seemed irrelevant, you probably guessed it had been a while since the man got a good night’s rest. Now that you were out in your backyard, lying on a soft blanket you’d brought out to watch the night sky. Tony held on to your hand, placing it right over his chest where his arc reactor once was.

Several stars twinkled in the inky black sky, a visual you had missed in the city life. You remembered the nights you laid out here alone, rethinking past choices. You were content then, but you only understood peace now. There was no one else you would rather be here with than Tony.

His heart was beating steadily against your hand, his breath calm, features relaxed. This was the Tony you knew and loved.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I found my way back to you.”

[rmoony12]

Hebraizinng the names of the Marauders & co.

𝗛𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 (definition) - Hebraizing names means adapting or translating non-Hebrew names into Hebrew, often to make them sound more familiar or culturally aligned with the Hebrew language and Jewish tradition.

𝗥𝗲𝗺𝘂𝘀 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗟𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗻

בנימין יהונתן זאבי - Binyamin Yehonatan Ze'evi

(Benjamin Johnathan Ze'evi)

𝗕𝗶𝗻𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻 - youngest son of Jacob and one of the 12 Tribes, last son of Rachel. Like with the name Remus, Binyamin doesn't mean Wolf, but it as connection to wolf.

Jacob bless each of his sons, each one with a different metaphor and unique blessing."Benjamin is a ravenous wolf; In the morning he consumes the foe, And in the evening he divides the spoil" - translation of the Hebrew bible.

𝗬𝗲𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻 - one of the names that in translation to English can be shortened to John. Yehonatan was also the son of king Sha'ul, and they are part of Binyamin's tribe.

𝗭𝗲'𝗲𝘃𝗶 - basically means "Wolfy" in Hebrew.

𝗟𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗘𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘀

שושנה חנניה - Shoshanah Hanania

𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮 - "Shoshan" is the name of the lilies flower in Hebrew. Adding "ah" and the and makes the name female and is also considered as adding part of HaShem to the name. The name Shoshanah is often shortened to "Shoshi"

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗮- the name Evans comes from the name John (Johnan/Yohanan) and means god is gracious or god has shown favor: "Yo" - god, "hanan" - grace/favor. Another word for grace is Hen, which also means beauty.

Though Yohanan isn't usually a surname, so I chose Hanania, aince it has the same meaning: "Hanan" - grace, "ya" (ia) - god.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗰𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗱

מרים בן-מלך - Miriam Ben-Melech

𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗺 - the original name for Maria/Mary. Miriam was Moshe's (Moses') older sister. Common nicknames for Miriam are "Mira" or "Miri".

𝗕𝗲𝗻-𝗠𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝗵 - meaning son of king, as the "king" usually referred to god, who is the king of all and the ruler of the world.

McDonald means son of Donald", and the name "Donald" itself means "ruler or king of the world".

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗲 𝗠𝗰𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻

מרים יוספי - Miriam Yosefi

(Miriam Josephi)

𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗺 - the name Marlene has similar origins as Mary, both have an Hebrew origin which is Miriam.

𝗬𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗳𝗶 - Mckinnon means "fair born", someone who was noted as having been a beautiful child, youthful look and attractive. One of the first things the Tanakh (Hebrew bible) tells us about Yosef is "handsome in form and appearance" -translation of the Hebrew bible.

𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘄

שימעון קטן - Shim'on Katan

(Simon Katan)

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗺'𝗼𝗻 - Peter is a the name Jesus gave to on of his apostles, who his name was originally Shim'on Ben Yonah (Simon son of Jonah).

𝗞𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻 - the Hebrew word for little/small, just like Pettigrew means small.

𝗦𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸

יזהר שחורי - Izhar Shchori

(Izhar Shchori)

𝗜𝘇𝗵𝗮𝗿 - unlike the name Sirius, this name doesn't have a "dog" origin, but the name Izhar means "will glow" or "(one who) sparkles".

𝗦𝗵𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗶 - means "blacky" in Hebrew.

𝗦𝘆𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘄𝗻𝗲𝘆

חנה בן חורש - Hana Ben-Choresh

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗮 - one of the seventh prophetesses in the Tanakh, mother of Shmu'el. In one of her prayers to HaShem for a son, the Cohen Eli saw her moving her lips without making any sounds, and thought she was drunk.

𝗕𝗲𝗻-𝗖𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵 - Meaning "son of the forest", works well as an hebraization for Trelawney, which means "town of the grove".

𝗣𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗮 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱

חוה לב-טוב - Hava Lev-Tov

(Eve Lev-Tov)

𝗛𝗮𝘃𝗮 - Hava (Eve) was the first woman to ever exist, and she committed the very first sin, eating the fruit if knowledge. In many cultures there is a similar story - back in the beginning of time, a woman who was curious about something she new she isn't allowed to do, and did it anyway. Usually the woman in the story is tempted by something god(/s) created specifically for the test, and even more specific - to test the man, and not the woman herself. In Greek mythology, the woman is called Pandora.

𝗟𝗲𝘃-𝗧𝗼𝘃 - a combination of the words "Lev", meaning heart, and the word "Tov", meaning good.

𝗝𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿

יעקוב עשהאל - Ya'akov Asah'El

(Jacob Asahel)

𝗬𝗮'𝗮𝗸𝗼𝘃 - James is one of the names that their origin is Jacob.

𝗔𝘀𝗮𝗵'𝗘𝗹 - one of King David's heroes. His name means "made by god" or "god is the creator".

Potter is used in the bible to describe god, and in the Hebrew bible, instead of potter it's "Yatzar", meaning "(one who) created" . The word "Asah" means "(one who) made".

𝗫𝗲𝗻𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗳𝗼𝘆

גרשום אמיתי - Gershom Amitai

𝗚𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗺 - was the first born of Moshe & Tzipporah (Moses & Zipporah).

The name means "a stranger there". Moshe name his son that way because he was a stranger in an foreign land when he met Tzipporah. "Ger" in Hebrew means a stranger, a foreigner, a person from a different place or someone who converted to Judaism (disclaimer! Ger is not a slur or an insult).

𝗔𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗶 - Malfoy means unfaithful or bad faith. Amitai is quite the opposite, it means "truthful" or "my truth".

Sometimes Jewish people hebraizing their surname to a more positive version of the original name meaning, usually because they want the name to be full of luck and purity.

˚𓍢ִ໋✡︎˚

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's A Real Fucking Legacy: All of You, All of Me

Word Count: 968 Warnings: Uh.... death talk? Author's Note: SHE'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT, BESTIES.

TARFL Masterlist | Author Blog

It’s been years in the making at this point.

You, Joel. Baby. Except her name isn’t Baby anymore and it’s not Thomasin either.

There was a lot of discussion, a lot of broken hearts and tears from all parties involved. Tommy was touched but he ached. Even when he got over it, found somebody else, he ached so deep in his being that there were nights he thought he’d split himself in two.

Because at the end of the day, he still believes—with all his heart—that your little girl should be his, too. He believes that when you took the last name Miller, it should’ve been gifted over from him.

“I’ll hold onto this hurt for the rest of my life, sweetheart,” he’d said.

Said he’d accepted that he’d caused it but that didn’t make the pain go away. Didn’t soothe that raw, bruised part of his heart—his soul.

There was no begging, Joel was on board from the beginning. Joel was on board before anybody else. Change her name, something more appropriate for who she is to you and Joel and this world. A gift.

A second chance.

Or third. Fourth. Fifth.

One hundredth and many more than you deserve after years and year over this life; this way of living. 

Especially for Joel, your strong, broad mountain of a man who believed himself irredeemable in the eyes of everybody but especially yours. He cradled her with such gentleness, even as she grew, that it was hard to believe he was capable of any kind of violence.

So, after a year of late night and early morning talks whispered across the pillows, decisions had been made. A lot of them, actually.

Joel admitted that he felt his humanity pouring back into him with every breath he took beside you; every moment he held your daughter in his arms. He bloomed as father, color darkening his cheeks with emotion every time he looked at her. He felt like before in some sense of the word, like he was being given the gift of fulfilling the only thing he ever felt he was good at. 

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you know where that thought would often go. Silent promises to himself that he wouldn’t fail this time. Or, God help him, he hoped his failure was no longer being in this world to protect her when it came down to it.

In the registry office of town, where all the records of who was who and where they were were kept, you both signed as a new birth certificate was made. 

Clara Miriam Miller. No Thomasin, no Baby. No placeholder for who she was or name to carry as if she were some memorial, just Clara. 

It means bright. Clear. Joel joked that she was the only light in the darkness he’d ever seen or needed.

It was good, beautiful even. As you finished your signature on the page detailing everything you could remember about her birth—bloody, loud, an early morning surprise that still exhausted you to this day—Joel cleared his throat.

Trying his best to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind your ear and failing, he took a deep breath and finally said, “will you marry me while we’re here?”

That’s the last piece to his puzzle, always has been. The thing he always wanted before—-companionship. Love in such an intimate way. Not that your relationship lacks that as it is but there’s something about being official.

There’s possession to it and there’s this bit of submission as you vow to give all your life and love and hurt and pain and, even, your death to one person. 

No. No doubts in your minds about this one either. He loved so fiercely, so deeply, and he’d whispered all his insecurities and broken parts in all the nights you’ve lived together. He didn’t have it before, not when it happened. Selfishly, you’re glad that he didn’t, that his wife had walked away from him years and years before that. If he’d lost her the way he’d lost the others, the way he fears losing you or losing Clara…

But if that had been the case, there would be no you. Not for him. There wouldn’t even be a Clara, there would be somebody else with somebody else.

Or maybe nobody at all. 

Your vows are even more selfish as you tell him how grateful you are that you found one another through all this and the more that life tried to throw at you; that you went to him the way Tommy had said to when there was trouble even though it scared you so much to knock on his door.

It scared you to tell him the things you told him, to make the decisions for yourself and decide you were tired of pretending it wasn’t love that you felt for him. 

In the end, with Clara’s small face tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, he took your hand, looked at his brother and apologized with gratitude tacked onto the end. 

Looking back at you, he smiles and you reach out to touch your thumb into the hidden dimple as it wells deep into his cheek.

“When I go, I hope it’s peaceful,” he says. “I hope it’s beside you, Mrs. Miller, and I hope it’s only after years. And, selfishly, I hope it’s not a pain or absence you have to feel for long because I am going to be mighty pissed off if you make me wait for as long as I did to have you in my bed in the first place.” 

Going back to your signature on Clara’s paperwork, you pick up the pen and add -Miller to the end of your name. 

[whencyclopedia]

Mary, Mother of Jesus

Mary of Nazareth, the mother of Jesus Christ, is one of the most venerated women from the ancient world. Her most common epithet is "the virgin Mary." She is celebrated by Eastern Orthodox Churches, Catholicism, and various Protestant denominations as "the mother of God." In Islam, Surah 19 of the Quran, the surah of Maryam, is devoted to her.

Stories of Mary evolved over time. Our earliest source for Christianity are the letters of Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles. Written before the canonical gospels, Paul did not name her. We have only: "But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his son, born of a woman, born under the law" (Galatians 4:4).

Mary in the Gospels

Ancient cultures shared a conviction that great people often had a miraculous birth, usually with the mating of a god with a human woman.

The gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John (70-100 CE) are our sources for Mary. Confusing at times, there are many women named Mary in the gospels. Then (as now) people named their children after famous figures. The name Mary derived from the Aramaic Mariam, in koine Greek, Maria. Miriam was the sister of Moses.

The earliest gospel, Mark (c. 70 CE), began in medias res, with the adult Jesus beginning his ministry in Nazareth:

On the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, "Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?" And they took offense at him.

(Mark 6:2-3)

Although not described as a follower in the earthly ministry, we know that his brother James was a historical figure because Paul visited with him twice, and he is referred to as "James, the Lord's brother" in Galatians 1:18. In Acts, James is one of the leaders of the new movement in Jerusalem. Early Christianity understood the siblings as other children of Mary after the birth of Christ.

Matthew and Luke both began their gospels with a nativity story (a birth story) of Jesus. The motivation was most likely to convince people that Jesus was the messiah, predicted by the prophets of Israel. They did this through references to the books of the prophets in the Jewish scriptures. At the same time, ancient cultures shared a conviction that great people often had a miraculous birth, usually with the mating of a god with a human woman.

Matthew's gospel describes the birth of Jesus as follows:

Now the birth of Jesus the messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the holy spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the holy spirit." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: "Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus."

(Matthew 1:18-23)

The holy spirit at this point was not the third entity of what became the Trinity in 325 CE. It was a reference to the spirit of God, which animated Adam when he "breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being" (Genesis 2:7). It was the spirit of God that possessed the prophets with the ability to speak in God's name and perform miracles.

Readers are sometimes confused with a reference to divorce, as they were not married yet. Both betrothals and marriages were done through a legal contract, exchanging the property of the father to the new husband. To undo an original contract, another contract, that of divorce, was required.

Continue reading...

[dalishious]

The Dragon Age Fandom’s New Favourite Charming Slaver

There is nothing wrong with appreciating and enjoying villainous characters, especially when they are done so well. Everything about Rezaren Ammosine makes a him a remarkable and fascinating villain. He’s very intelligently depicted; all aspects of his character matter to how he presents in the story. His design is that of a handsome young white man. He is animated with a graceful and gentle flow, not just in how he casts spells but literally how he carries himself. His voice has a soft and soothing tone, and he uses that soft tone as part of his powerful charisma and sway he has over the people around him, like Tassia. In fact, Rezaren uses all of these characteristics for his benefit. Because just like in real life, abusers do not always wear “I’m a shithead” signs on their chest. To the outside world, they are charming and gentle people who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly, could they? But make no mistake. Rezaren Ammosine is a villain to his core. And treating him as anything other than a villain is a grossly disrespectful interpretation to fans of colour, given the nature of his villainy.

From his very introduction, we see that Rezaren is used to getting his way, and becomes easily frustrated and angered when his will is denied. When he summons a spirit of memory to interrogate about the circulum’s creation, the spirit warns him that answering too much would be unwise. Rezaren ignores these warnings and orders the spirit to continue, to the brink of turning the spirit into a pride demon. This is called back into further example when Miriam refuses his plans for her. Again, he becomes easily angered and physically lashes out, using his magic to flare up the pain in her wound. Then to solidify the power he has over her, says ��You live because I will it.”

Rezaren explains to Tassia, “Her name is Miriam. She's my sister. My mother owned her. She was to be my personal spy, assassin. Whatever was needed. My left hand, as it were. But she raised us as siblings.” Except we see how Miriam and Neb were really raised in flashbacks. We see how they were beaten for Rezaren simply tripping while playing with them. We see how they were forced to do hard labour, and told they were not allowed to own anything. And we see how Rezaren’s mother sacrificed Neb so that Rezaren would not become an abomination during his Harrowing, sending the demon into Neb’s body instead. And that raising has obviously shaped how Rezaren views this so-called siblinghood, because while he may call Neb and Miriam his brother and sister, make no mistake, he still views them belonging to him. Rezaren has no respect for their autonomy. Even in death, he defiles Neb’s body by using blood magic to put a demon inside it and controlling him. And Miriam? He cannot bare to accept that she refuses to submit to slavery again, no matter how pretty a picture he paints of them being like family. But you don’t own a sibling. “Selfish bitch! You and your ungrateful brother. You were mine!” he shouts at the very end, before Miriam fatally stabs him.

So, Rezaren is a villainous slaver. Why is it, then, that people are writing reviews praising his character while calling Miriam and her party the real baddies? Why are people saying he “deserved” a redemption arc? The only assumption I can come to is simply that people are so not used to the white guy being the one to lose in the fantasy genre, that they’re willing to bend over backwards to try and paint the only white person in the show as a victim of the #mean brown woman. Think about it. How many stories are out there where the hero is a white man? White people are conditioned to always be the centre of attention, so when they’re not for a change, they need to seek it out by shining a spotlight on whatever white man they can find. This is of course nothing unique to the Dragon Age fandom, but rather a disease found in fandom spaces as a whole. Hell, look at the Star Wars sequels, and how the bizarre love for and babygirlification of Kylo Ren was so strong it led to ruining the second and third films. This is why it’s such a relief to me that Rezaren dies in the end of Absolution, because otherwise it would truly end up a fear to me that the writers would try the same with him.

When you’re pushing Rezaren into the spotlight, you are pushing Miriam out of it. And Miriam is such a treasure of a character, it’s a crying shame to see her get so much disrespect. I have nothing against people who like Rezaren, but if your like for him goes to the extent of putting down Miriam in order to put him up, then we have a problem.

[priestly-prince]

I never reposted my theory here so here goes

I know it's nothing because this isn't how Airdorf styled him, but I often think about why John is blue when the other priests are grey. And I'm sure it's just a matter of making him distinct as the protagonist, but I couldn't help but think on it and such. Like colours are important for clerical dress.

And certain colours are only used in specific situations and for celebrations and such, and blue is the rarest colour, only ever used in one, called the "Feast of the Immaculate Conception", as blue represents the virgin Mary. And I'm like... ok...

Because we learn that John's mother's name was Meredith, which can often be shortened to "Mary". And as we've been given little information outside of this, we know nothing of John's father. And I'm like... This probably doesn't mean anything but WHAT IF???

Like, there is something about John specifically which makes him both a perfect vessel, and also favoured directly by God. And also possibly targeted and tricked by the devil himself. Also the line by Garcia that only he can enter the crucible.

There's one line I used in my fic, which was from one of Gary's notes, the one about "only those who reach the greatest heights can reach the lowest depths", and that stuck with me because like, that's a clear parallel to Lucifer, but can also be applied to John. Like if he is so favoured by God, why him specifically? There must be something about him that the big man himself has to intervene to stop the cult from having him, otherwise who knows what he might become?

And the thing about the final boss too. If we take it at face value, John receives direct intervention from God, which is obviously an almost unheard of thing. Then there's how he was almost certainly groomed to be a vessel as a child with whatever Miriam did to him and Lisa, which just makes me curious as to how he became a priest, because I'm figuring someone from the church must have found him, realised what he was being prepared for, and how important it was to absolutely not let that happen. A kind of like, nature vs nurture thing? Like, he's been prepared to be a vessel, and now they must do everything they can to turn him away from it. But, it's still under there.

So like, what if John is "the antichrist" that Gary mentions? What if he always was intended to be The Unspeakable's host?

[disventurecamptakes]

DCAS is like. the worst season of DSVC ever and not only that but it’s so much worse than even TDAS. which, like, the bar is in HELL so it should be impossible to not make a better show than that but somehow ONC managed to make it THE WORST.

three love triangles, almost zero real development, almost no good plotlines. if you didn’t bring back half this cast and just ended their stories with their respective seasons, not only would nothing have been changed, but they’d have been BETTER.

likd, the only people who actually got something good out of DCAS were alec & fiore because they made up. say you don’t bring back tom & jake - they get a hopeful ending. don’t bring back gabby & ellie - okay, they’re happy anyways. don’t bring back miriam - she won! who cares! don’t bring back james & aiden - they’re together, they’re happy. don’t bring back grett - she gets a hopeful ending. don’t bring back ashley - who the FUCK cares about ASHLEY she did NOTHING for the story. don’t bring back huntessally - who cares they’re all mid-tier characters at best. don’t bring back connor - everybody forgot he existed anyways. don’t bring back yul - please GOD do NOT bring back yul.

like. name me one character besides alec and fiore whose story was significantly changed by being in DCAS. gabellie? they had a mild disagreement then went back to being okay. tomjake? they literally returned to that hopeful ending they got in season 1. jaiden? james was kicked out first and aiden was just stuck in between tomjake the entire season.

and also, oh my god i could’ve lived happily without ever having to deal with trevek again. man FUCK trevek they have zero chemistry from day one. they piss me off sm they’re like tomjake but a bit older and so so so much stupider and meaner on dereks part.

all ONC did with DCAS was show us they genuinely 1) do not care about their characters whatsoever, unless it directly benefits them and 2) cannot. fucking. write.

.

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Twenty-One Su-zakana

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Attempted Murder, Cannibalism, Framing, Guns, Animal Death, Psychopathy

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

HANNIBAL LECTER'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will sits next to Y/N and Jack Crawford sits across the couple as the fish is placed between them. Hannibal pours wine. “Truite saumonée au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. Beautiful fish, Will.” Hannibal comments with delight. He’s Back.

“It was my turn to provide the meat.” Will responds and I take a deep breath. This man obviously doesn't care for his safety, but I guess I don't either if we think about it. “More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials  of his wild existence find their  way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I hope "providing the meat" doesn't  mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table. As Hannibal sits. Will doesn't answer; Jack answers for him.

 “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.  Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness. Chilton has many victims besides the dead.” Jack looks at Will, nods at this. “We will absorb this experience and it will change us. We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.”

“Makes us tastier.” Hannibal considers Will. “None of our actions were personal.”

“I tried to have Hannibal killed. Isn't that personal?”

“You thought I was a killer. a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials of his wild existence find their

way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I don't blame Miriam Lass for shooting Frederick Chilton. I wanted to kill him myself.“Jack looks from Hannibal to Will. Unwilling to commit.

“Greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we've shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We're the only ones who will know what this feels like.” Hannibal says with looks towards me and Will. 

“This fish is delicious.” I eat my Food and hold Hannibal's gaze.

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Hannibal studies the dead horse's face, running a hand across its neck, almost unconsciously. Jack standing over him. “I agree with the pagans. The horse is divine. All beasts of burden are sacred animals.” I walk over to them,  “This kind of mutilation often presents as cult activity.” Jack says as he watches as  BRIAN ZELLER unpacks his kit next to the WOMB WOMAN, now lying on a sheet of plastic. JIMMY PRICE stands over the horse, photographs the sutures and incision. He cranes his camera, trying to get a good angle in the abdominal cavity. “When an animal's sacrificed, it's presumed the power of the beast will be psychically transported to whoever's offering up the goods.” says Jimmy.

“Which is why sacrificial animals should be healthy, without any defects. This horse was dying.” I say in my approach. I greet everyone with a smile as I sip my coffee.

“Its womb was more or less intact.” An ULTRAVIOLET LIGHT suddenly shines down on her revealing a constellation of SMALL BRUISES on her throat. Brian Zeller is holding a PORTABLE ULTRAVIOLET LAMP. “Victim was deceased before she wasenwombed. Ecchymosis of the subcutaneous tissue is consistent--She was strangled.” Zeller tucks the lamp away, grabs a flashlight and peels back an eyelid to find the whites of the eye are BLOOD RED.

“She was scrappy. Put up a fight.” Y/N, Jack and Hannibal watching and listening nearby.

“The horse is a chrysalis, a cocoon meant to hold the young woman until her death can be transformed.” Hannibal comments, “Transformed into what?” Jack looks at Hannibal with curiosity. I blankly stare at the poor woman who was taken too soon. But the person who carefully sewed her into the womb of the horse is not the same person who killed her out of rage.

“Life. A new life. This is a birth. Or it was intended to be. This is every bit as much about giving life as it is taking it.” I say as i finish my coffee. “What's the thinking?” Y/N studies the macabre madness laid out before her.

HANNIBAL LECTER’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal sits in his chair, observing Margot by the window. “Mad dogs are put down.”

“That what you hoped to accomplish when you attacked your brother?” Hannibal Inquires “Apparently, I went about “putting him down” the wrong way. He’s still alive. Should have waited until my arm was healed.” Margot says turning her head towards him slightly

“Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. Did you feel good trying to kill your brother?” Hannibal tilts his head slightly. “Trying wasn’t terribly satisfying.” Margot blinks. 

“What’s your relationship with your brother now? Has it changed?” 

“I think he thinks I’ve calmed down.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, I’m calm.”

“Are you going to try again?” Margot stares, studying Hannibal. “This is where therapy gets tricky.” 

“It doesn't have to be tricky.” Hannibal says calmly. Margot snorts. “I could confess to a murder and you can’t say a word. I could’ve killed someone this morning and you can’t say a word. But if I’m planning to commit a murder…”

“I am ethically obligated to take action to prevent that murder. Be that as it may, if there’s no one

else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would actually have been more

therapeutic if you had killed him.” Margot considers Hannibal's loyalties –

 BAU - MORGUE - DAY-

Jack observes as Zeller and Price hover over Sarah Craber on the examination table.

“She was a horse groom at the stables where her body was found. She was reported missing last week.” Jimmy explains, then Zeller continues. “Her throat's obstructed. Soil. Someone packed it down there pretty deep. There's none in her teeth.” He uses a small tool to remove a CLOD OF DIRT from her throat. There's a RUSH OF AIR as Zeller unplugs the clog. Jimmy leans across the body with an evidence bag, collecting the dirt clod Zeller pulled out and fishing for others.

“I'll check the pH levels, see what organic matter or trace elements we come up with. Should be able to find out where it came from.” Suddenly, Jimmy jumps back, a frightened look on his face.

“She has a heartbeat.”

“She was in rigor–”

“There's no pulse.” Zeller feels for a pulse on her carotid. “She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy swears as he points to her chest. “She has a heartbeat. We have a hand-spread on her neck, but we haven't found anything on her but horse uterus.” Zeller says as he feels her chest.

Zeller opens the victim's mouth. Shines a light inside.

“The uterus isn't always such a safe, nurturing place. Shark fetuses cannibalize each other in

utero. And chances are very good that everyone in this room has absorbed a twin. Mine survived. She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy says as Jack steps forward, feels the woman's chest.

“Something's beating.”

He cranks the rib spreader and CRACK. Zeller continues to crank the rib spreader, cracking the ribs as they spread. A moment as he leans in for a closer look at the chest cavity. A still moment, then: FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP A ROBIN flutters out of the corpse's chest cavity and flutters wildly about the room. As Zeller and Price cover their heads, Jack stands his ground, unfazed.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Horses in the stable stalls. Nervousness communicating between them like an electric current.

WILL GRAHAM Walks backward from FRAME right across the stable in front of the horses, their heads turning to follow him. Will holds a thick case folder under one arm. WILL STOPS. Looks down at the folder. It is open to a CRIME SCENE PHOTO of the barn. The dead horse and Sarah Craber's body. Will closes his eyes. 

The ORGANIC HUM of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM is loud in his ears. A PENDULUM swings across the blackness behind his eyes. FWUM. FWUM. It clicks into place. WILL'S EYES OPEN. He now stands --

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Deep rural darkness. Will looks to the horses in the stalls. Nervously moving and stamping.

“I don't want you to see me. I don't want you to see what I do. I want to calm you, comfort you.”

He slides cloth hoods over the horses' heads. Strokes their necks. Murmurs gently. Calming them.

“There's so much comfort in darkness. But not for one of you.” Now Will is leading a horse from its stall. The dead horse to-be. It too is hooded and stands calmly as Will strokes its neck. And then slides a large needle into its neck. Will holds the horse's head lovingly.

Will stands over the now-dead horse. WIDE on the open stable doors framed like a proscenium arch. Centered within them is Will Graham; the dead womb woman in his arms. He bears her gently, like Lear carrying his beloved Cordelia. Will carries her to the dead horse. Places her gently on the ground.

next to her, a small, DRAPED CAGE. Will pulls away the drape to reveal the robin which immediately begins to flutter inside. “I took your life and then tried to give it back to you.”

The robin flutters in its cage. Sarah Craber stares, her face smeared with dirt, mouth full of soil… Will takes a KNIFE and begins to slice open the horse's abdomen. It's hard work and takes real effort.

“I find its womb, place you inside.” Will's back to the birdcage. It is now empty. Sarah Craber is gone, too. TIME HAS PASSED and Will is now stitching up the wound in the horse's belly. “I hope that the forces of death and biology will bring you rebirth.” Will stands and stares at his handiwork.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Will holds the open file in his hands. “It's a coffin birth.” Y/N and Jack standing nearby. “I thought it was, Decomposition builds up gasses within the putrefied body and pushes the dead fetus out of its mother's corpse. It's really more of a prolapse than a birth.” 

“Not to whoever did this.”

“Whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. Knew Sarah Craber. He's familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn't get caught. He works here or maybe used to. He has medical knowledge of animals, but isn't a veterinarian. He considers himself a healer.” Will says he walks over next to me.

“How is this healing?”

“Sarah Craber was reborn. And a mother and her child are finally on the same side of life. This wasn't murder, Jack. This was grief.” I say to Jack as he is considering our next move –

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Two weathered buildings stand in a rustic setting, the animal rescue and, beyond it, a LARGE-ANIMAL BARN where the black horse looks out over its stall door. The SUV pulls up and stops. Jack and Will in the front seat.

Will and Jack approach the doors and find them open. Share a look and then Jack pulls the door aside and they enter. It is dark inside, but full of low noises...

SCRATCHING, SKITTERING, SQUEAKS and BREATHING. Like the room is somehow alive.

Jack KNOCKS on the doorframe. And the room explodes with NOISE. On every wall, floor-to-ceiling metal cages contain small WILD ANIMALS in different stages of medical care. Raccoons, skunks, squirrels and birds of all kinds. All now going crazy with AGITATION.

“Scare them when ya' knock like that.” Y/N, Jack, and Will turn to find PETER BERNARDONE, a weathered, lean man. Wild-looking himself. A scar on his forehead. “Peter Bernardone?” Jack asks as Peter moves past them, his focus on the animals as he lowers DROP CLOTHS over the cages, immediately quieting them.

“You don't seem curious who we are.”

“Who are you?”

“Agent Jack Crawford. FBI. This is Will Graham. And Dr. Y/N L/N. We'd like to ask you about someone you might have had contact with when you worked at Blackbriar Stables. Sarah Craber. Her body was found recently in very unusual circumstances.” Jack explains as he approaches the wary man. “I heard.” I notice that Peter doesn't like to make eye contact. He’s fidgety, but not erratic.

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” I ask softly, Peter stiffens slightly: “Is 

“Yes.” A flicker of relief flashes across Peter's face. “Who's taking care of it?”

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack asks, not entertaining any talk of the bird. “I didn't know her.”

“Would you mind looking at a photograph for me?” Jack pulls out a picture. Peter shakes his head, turns and murmurs to his animals. “I know who she is, I just didn't know her.”

“Just to be sure.” Reluctantly, Peter takes it. Will is watching him closely.Taking a deep breath, Peter turns his line of sight away from Jack. Reaches for the photo. Looks at it closely, then

repeats the same pattern. Looks away from Jack. Then hands him the photo. Under this, Me and Will exchange looks.

“Peter, you had a head injury when you worked at the stables.” I ask Him gently. “I was kicked by a horse.” Jack looks at Me. “It's an atypical motor response. Peter's ability to look and touch can only happen as separate events. Aggravated by stress, isn't it?” Peter glances at Me, exposed and somehow understood.

“Are you feeling stressed?” Asks Jack. “I'm worried about the bird.” He plays with his fingers anxiously as he looks at the animals. “A woman is dead, Mr. Bernardone. And you're worried about a bird.” Jack says, frustrated. “I'm sad for her, I'm sad for the horse. But I can't help them. I can help the bird.” He turns away and goes to the cages. 

As We walk back to the car: “He knows the victim. He knows the animals involved.” Will says logically. Jack nods. “We'll need a warrant.”

“I don't know if he's the killer, Jack. If he is, he never meant to be. If he isn't, he knows who is.” I say knowingly and usually I am right. Peter might not be the one who killed her but he definitely is the one who sewed her body into the horse's uterus.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Will sits with Hannibal. Mid therapy session. “You were able to reconstruct his fantasies. One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim's new beating heart. Her soul given wings.” 

“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic. en reborn. en reborn. Wasn't that the goal of my therapy?” Will adjusts himself in his seat. Manspreading. “How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time it nearly destroyed you.” Hannibal Tilts his head.

“Last time you nearly destroyed me. At least I still have Y/N.” Hannibal sighs. “After everything that's happened, Will, you still believe–”

“You can stop right there. You may have to pretend, but I don't.” Hannibal stares at Will, smiles, then: don't. Not with me.

“I don't expect you to admit anything. You can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don't lie to me.”

“Will you return the courtesy? Why have you resumed your therapy?”

“Can't just talk to any psychiatrist about what's kicking round my head.” Hannibal gauges Will thoughtfully, then asks: “Do you fantasize about killing me?” “Yes.”

“Tell me. How would you do it?” Will considers that a moment, then: “With my hands.”

“Then we haven't moved past apologies and forgiveness.”

“We've moved past a lot  of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed. And another when I heard Y/N almost died”

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

“Yes. And that I would do anything to keep Y/N safe.”

“I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Will.”

“I don't want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter, not now that I finally find you interesting.”

on Hannibal as He slides a FBI file towards Will, The Intitials, C.E.B. on the tab. Y/N Elizabeth L/N. “What’s this-?” Will asks confused. “You should know who you're protecting.” 

FIELD - NIGHT-

That the grave is at the center of FIFTEEN other graves. Nowwe see POLICE VEHICLES. BAU TECHS move in and out of FRAME. Large SPOTLIGHTS turning night into day. Brian Zeller stops his work as he sees Will Graham approaching in long strides towards Y/N. A long beat. Then he approaches Will.

“I owe you an apology.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“I thought you were a killer. Didn't want to hear anything else. So I wouldn't consider anything else.”

“The evidence was compelling.”

“Didn't stop Beverly questioning it. If she thought we'd listen, maybe she'd have come to us.” She didn't. And there is the pain for all of them. Brian Zeller holds out a hand. Will shakes it. As they part, reveal Jack Crawford and Y/N standing behind them, letting them get it done. He looks at Will. “We tracked the soil in Sarah Craber's mouth to this vicinity. Methane probes did the rest. Found her empty grave. Then found fifteen others that aren't so empty.”

“If Peter Bernardone knew about Sarah Craber's grave, then he knew about all of them.” 

“Still think he's not a killer?”

WILL GRAHAM’S CAR - DAY -

I get into the passenger seat of Will’s car. We sit there for a moment in silence, watching the FBI personnel vehicles leave. “Y/N…..” I turn my head and look at him. What's that look on his face? Why is he looking at me like that? What does he know? Will sighs deeply. “Why didn't you tell me you killed your mother….”

My eyes widen. No. Those files were sealed. Jack assured me- “Will- I- How-” “Hannibal had the file” My brows furrow. “He shouldn't have had access-” “Y/N just tell me-” I look down at my Hands, flashes of the gun, bodies and blood splatter comes back. “I had just come home from cheer practice…..I was sixteen and I was the oldest of 7 children…..” I tear up remembering my Brother's Faces. “I was the only girl ...When I got home that day…. I didn't expect to see my Brother's bodies on the floor……” I hear Will take a deep Breath. I've told this story many times…but it's never easy.

 He grasps my Hands. “I tried to look for a pulse on any of them but ...they were all gone. Even my dad. When i saw my mom i was holding my youngest brother Peter. Mom was covered in blood but didn't have a scratch on her….”

“She Had Killed my family, and she was going to kill me too” Will lifts my chin, “I’m so sorry….” He hugs me as I cry in his arms.

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Will sits on one side of the examination table. Peter sits on the other side. The bird is between them, acting as a buffer as Will coaxes conversation out of Peter. “Said you're worried about the bird. Thought you might like to see it.”

“Isn't this evidence?”

“I'm not FBI. I used to sort of be FBI. But now I'm really not.”

“What are you?”

“I'm figuring that out. You might say this is some kind of therapy.”

“I've already got a social worker.”

“Therapy's not for you, it's for me. The agent I was here with. He's coming back with a warrant. He'll arrest you, impound your animals. And it will break your heart.” Will says 

“I didn't kill anybody. I didn't, but that's not always relevant. What did you do, Peter? They found Sarah Craber's grave. How did you find it?” Will says  Peter's attention drifts from Will, focusing on the robin. “Funny how you can develop an individual language with an animal only you can understand. No one else knows, not even other animals. This one's already speaking to me.”

“This one's spoken to you before. At some point, almost every culture believed birds carried our souls the afterlife They can't all be wrong” “You think I think this bird is Sarah Craber? She's gone, she's everywhere and nowhere.”

“Tell me who killed her.” Peter goes still, thoughtful. He regards the bird. “After something so ugly, I just wanted something beautiful for her.”

“You were grieving her. You couldn't save her, but you could bring poetry to her death.” Will says calmly.

“I wanted you to find me. If you could find me, you could find him.” Peter says as he watches the bird. The caged bird. Maybe Peter himself is the caged bird, trapped by his shadow. “Do you have a shadow, Peter? Someone only you can see. He's someone you considered a friend. He made you feel you weren't alone. Until you saw what he really is, and it made you even lonelier.”

“No one will believe me. He'll make sure no one will believe me.”

“I'll make sure they do.”

BAU - INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT-

Y/N is with CLARK INGRAM, late 30s, neat, smiling. The TWO-WAY MIRROR is at Y/N’s Back. Mid conversation: “Every social worker enjoys some aspects of the job more than others. There are cases that you reach and cases you don't reach.” Clark regards, “Your notes on Peter Bernardone's file are drastically different than the ones from his last case worker.” I say as I go through his reports and look up at him. 

“The social services system is far from perfect. It's common to omit certain information on difficult cases to clear a path in the world for those stuck in the weeds.”  I nod my head softly,“His sort of traumatic brain injury can make someone more vulnerable to psychological disorders.” 

“Post-concussion syndrome. He's had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage. Would have refused his case if I'd known.” He says his eyes are emotionless. Hello shadow…..“You don't seem to feel sorry for your client. A surprising lack of empathy in a social worker. “ I say looking into his eyes.

“Bernardone has accused me of murdering sixteen women.” He says with a clench of his jaw but his composure never breaks. “How does that make you feel?” I write down his actions, and what I observe. “Right now I'm feeling inconvenienced. I'm being detained on the word of one very damaged individual.”

“You're not being detained, you're being interviewed. The FBI is just being thorough.”

I bend to scribble a note. Ingram's smile falls. When she looks up, he smiles again. Automatic. A mask. “What are you writing down?” “An observation.”

“About me?” I smile at Ingram and seemingly instinctively reaches out to touch Ingram's hand on the tabletop. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pulls his hand away. His face changes, eyes become still and cold. Then he smiles again, forcing charm back through.

“Did you know Sarah Craber?”

“No. Peter talked about her extensively during my house visits. I'd say he was obsessed with her.”

“You think Peter Bernardone is capable of murder?”

“I'm not a psychiatrist, Dr. L/N.” Y/N nods, makes another note.

“I'm curious, Mr. Ingram. Why did you become a social worker?”

“Society needs caring people.”

“It also needs a few psychopaths to  keep the rest of us on our toes.”  He leans forward, the smile gone now. “There is no evidence I did this. It's a statement of fact for him, not of innocence. And if you want to know how I feel, I feel like I don't want to be here anymore. If I'm not being detained, I'd like to be on my way.” I watch him without speaking.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Oddly quiet and still. Dark inside, but the low noises we've heard before are absent. Peter walks inside and senses something is wrong. Turns on a light to find – THE WALLS OF CAGES Are all empty. Their doors thrown open. The food and bedding tossed haphazardly about.

Peter moans deep within himself. Turns and exits --

Peter comes out running and heads for the large-animal barn. He rushes inside.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

The horse lies dead on the floor amidst the pens and stalls. Bleeding out from a head wound,  next to a bloody hammer. Peter drops to his knees and strokes the horse's head. A shadow falls across him and he turns to see Clark Ingram standing behind him. Incongruously, Ingram holds a bloodied hammer, a tuft of black horse hair stuck to the blood.

“What have you done, Peter? I'm worried about you. You've been expressing a lot of rage recently.” Peter stares at him as if he were mad, tears welling.

“So often in my line of work, I see people take out their resentments on those closest to them. It's a sad fact of human nature. And your brain injury leaves you prone to extremes of emotion. The way you think is compromised. Peter, you're destroying your life.” Peter is realizing how realistic this version of events sounds. Shakes his head. Agitated. Hating the kernel of truth behind these lies.

“Sarah was a sad reminder of all the things you'll never have. And that's the very horse who

kicked you in the head.” Peter looks at the horse. “She was scared, she didn't mean to.”

“Some will say this was a long-time coming. I know I will. Already have. Sixteen women, Peter. You killed the first shortly after your accident. You killed them because you weren't worthy of them.” Clark sounds so plausible. He smiles at Peter, suddenly his eyes are so cruel. “You Killed them”

“If I had killed them, it's because I decided they were worthy of me.” His cruelty and malice are too much for Peter who quietly eyes the hammer in Clark Ingram's hand .

 ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Hannibal's car comes in and Will exits. Will rushes toward the shelter with a now awake Y/N trailing behind him. Will and Y/N enter. Scan the room. Realizing the place has been ransacked. Will stares at the devastation. Hannibal appears behind him. Will draws his gun, turns and rushes back past Hannibal.  Y/N and Will run across the yard to the large-animal barn.

“Peter?! Peter Bernardone?!”Will enters the barn.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

Peter Turns and looks at Will and Y/N. His face is streaked with blood. A cut on his head. Peter is kneeling before the dead black horse, a pool of blood spreading around him from the terrible wound in its abdomen which he is fin Hannibal appears at Will's shoulder. Will lowers his gun.

Will and Hannibal are still looking at Peter on the floor by the dead black horse.ishing stitching. The horse's belly is horribly distended. “Peter….is your social worker inside that horse?” I ask softly. Peter nods.

“We are hardwired to see human beings everywhere. Every animal. Every life. We're all human.”

“Even God is personified.” Hannibal says softly. “He couldn't see that. He forfeited his humanity. I forfeited mine. I used to have a horrible fear of hurting anything. He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal  situation is normal behavior.”

“He deserves to die.” WILL, sad for Peter. “But you didn't deserve to kill him. I want you to come with me, Peter.” Peter nods, stands and allows Will to lead him from the building and out into the darkness beyond. HANNIBAL Taking in the scene, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air as he sniffs it. He turns away and considers the night sky.

the dead horse in the background. The flesh undulates. Guts spill. And then, as a BLOODIED HAND forces its way out, grasping for ground.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT -

Peter Bernardone moves sadly through the wreckage, righting things, picking up cages, etc. Like a bereft mourner in the space of a lost loved one. The absence pains him  “Cowbirds lay their eggs in other birds' nests. Tricks them into raising their chicks. But a robin knows when it's being used.”

“Did you know?”

“I didn't want to know. If a robin removes a cowbird's egg from its nest, the cowbird will destroy that nest, eggs and all.” “Out of spite?” “It's not spite. Spite is uniquely human. We just don't understand why the cowbirds do it.”

“What was done to you was cruelty for cruelty's sake.” Peter opens empty cages, as if to coax the animals home.“Some of them will survive on their own. Some of them won't. Some of them will come home. But I won't be here when they do, will I?”

“No.” “I hate him.”

“I envy your hate. Makes it much easier when you know how to feel.”

“Makes what easier?” “Killing them.”

“I didn't kill him. I wanted him to wake up in death and choke on it.”

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT -

the black horse's body to reveal Clark Ingram as he stands, fouled with blood and slime. Hannibal has his back to Clark. Smiling as he feeds a handful of meal to a PIG in a stall.

across the floor, past Hannibal, toward Clark. As we get close, we RACK FOCUS from Clark's nightmarish slick face to the steel of the hammer still clotted with gore… He bends and picks it up. Reveal Hannibal watching, bemused and impressed.

“Mr. Ingram.” Clark stands still, momentarily thrown by this polite greeting.

“Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what's good for you.” Hannibal turns his head and Will Graham steps out of darkness, coming INTO FOCUS as he enters the barn, gun raised before him. Hannibal steps to one side. Watching, fascinated. Will approaches Ingram.

As Will approaches with the gun, Ingram sees murder in his eyes and drops the hammer. it drops into the dirt and falls sideways. Clark holds out his arms and drops to his knees like a

penitent. Smiles up at the advancing Will. 

“Officer, I'm the victim here.”

“I'm not an officer. I'm a friend of Peter's.” His face falls as Will cocks the hammer. “Peter's confused.” the barrel of the gun to the cocked hammer and then Will's face beyond.

“I'm not. Pick up the hammer.”

“Will.”

“Pick it up.”

Will's finger tightens on the trigger. His gaze and expression become steely and inscrutable.Hannibal moves to Will, a devil on his shoulder, whispers: “It won't feel the same, Will. It won't feel like killing me.”  “It doesn't have to. I know what it will feel like. It'll feel good.”

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. Not for Mr. Ingram's victims or their many friends and relatives who would love to see him dead. If you're going to do this, Will...You have to do it for yourself.” I say as I kiss him on the cheek softly. My hand stroking his arm.

“Please don't.”

“You would be wise to remain silent, Mr. Ingram.” I say firmly. To see him dead would make me glad. Wish i could do it myself, but not today…not right now. I want to see what Will would do.

“This is not the reckoning you promised yourself, Will.” His finger so tight --the trigger CLICKS -- the hammer FALLS -- HANNIBAL'S FINGER, between the hammer and firing pin. Will looks at Hannibal as Hannibal slides his hand around Will's and pulls the gun away. Hannibal talks quietly to Will and I: 

“With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict either of you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me. You truly are a Butterfly Y/N.”