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orthodoxydaily · 3 years

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Saints&Reading: Sat, May, 8, 2021

April 25/Sat 8

The Holy Disciple and Evangelist Mark (63)

The Holy Disciple and Evangelist Mark, named also John-Mark (Acts 12: 12), was a Disciple from among the Seventy, and was also a nephew of the Disciple Barnabas (Comm. 11 June). He was born at Jerusalem. The house of his mother Mary adjoined the Garden of Gethsemane. As Church Tradition relates, on the night of the Sufferings of Christ on the Cross he followed after Him, wrapped in a linen winding-cloth, and he fled from the soldiers catching hold of him (Mk. 14: 51-52). After the Ascension of the Lord, the house of his mother Saint Mary became a place of prayerful gatherings of Christians and a lodging for certain of the Apostles (Acts 12: 12). Saint Mark was a very close companion of the Apostles Peter and Paul (Comm. 29 June) and of the Disciple Barnabas. Saint Mark was at Seleucia together with Paul and Barnabas, and from there he set off to the island of Cyprus, and he crossed over the whole of it from East to West. In the city of Paphos Saint Mark was an eye-witness, of how the Apostle Paul had struck blind the sorcerer Elymas (Acts 13: 6-12).

After working with the Apostle Paul, Saint Mark returned to Jerusalem, and then with the Apostle Peter he arrived in Rome, from whence at the latter's bidding he set out for Egypt, where he became founder of the Church. During the time of the second evangelic journey of the Apostle Paul, Saint Mark met up with him at Antioch. From there he set out preaching with the Disciple Barnabas to Cyprus, and then he went off again to Egypt, where together with the Apostle Peter he founded many churches, and then also at Babylon. From this city the Apostle Peter directed an Epistle to the Christians of Asia Minor, in which he points to Saint Mark as his spiritual son (1 Pet. 5: 13). When the Apostle Paul came in chains to Rome, the Disciple Mark was at Ephesus, where the cathedra-seat was occupied by Saint Timothy (Comm. 4 January). The Disciple Mark arrived together with him in Rome. There also he wrote his holy Gospel (c. 62-63). From Rome Saint Mark again set off to Egypt. At Alexandria he made the beginnings of a Christian school, from which later on emerged such famous fathers and teachers of the Church, as Clement of Alexandria, Sainted Dionysios (5 October), Sainted Gregory Thaumatourgos ("Wonderworker", Comm. 5 November), and others. Zealous with the arranging of Church Divine-services, the holy Disciple Mark compiled the order of Liturgy for the Alexandrian Christians. Later on in preaching the Gospel, Saint Mark also visited the inner regions of Africa, and he was in Libya at Nektopolis. During the time of these journeys, Saint Mark received inspiration of the Holy Spirit to go again to Alexandria and confront the pagans. There he visited at the home of the dignitary Ananias, for whom he healed a crippled hand. The dignitary happily took him in, hearkened with faith to his narratives, and received Baptism. And following the example of Ananias, many of the inhabitants of that part of the city where he lived were baptised after him. This roused the enmity of the pagans, and they gathered to kill Saint Mark. Having learned of this, the holy Disciple Mark made Ananias bishop, and the three Christians: Malchos, Sabinos and Kerdinos – presbyters. The pagans pounced upon Saint Mark when he was making Divine-services. They beat him, dragged him through the streets and threw him in prison. There Saint Mark was granted a vision of the Lord Jesus Christ, Who strengthened him before his sufferings. On the following day the angry crowd again dragged the holy disciple through the streets towards the court-room, but along the way Saint Mark died with the words: "Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit". The pagans wanted to burn the body of the holy disciple. But when they lit up the bon-fire, everything grew dim, thunder crashed and an earthquake occurred. The pagans fled in terror, and Christians took up the body of the holy disciple and buried it in a stone crypt. This was on 4 April in the year 63. The Church celebrates his memory on 25 April. In the year 310, a church was built over the relics of the holy Disciple Mark. In the year 820, when the Mahometan Arabs had established their rule in Egypt and those of this different faith oppressed the Christian Church, the relics of Saint Mark were transferred to Venice and placed in the church of his name. In the ancient iconographic tradition, which adopted symbols for the holy Evangelists borrowed from the vision of Saint John the Theologian (Rev. 4: 7), the holy Evangelist Mark is depicted by a lion – symbolising the might and royal dignity of Christ (Rev. 5: 5). Saint Mark wrote his Gospel for Christians from among the gentile-pagans, since he emphasises predominantly the words and deeds of the Saviour, in which particularly is manifest His Divine Almightiness. The many particularities of his account can be explained by his proximity to the holy Apostle Peter. All the ancient writers testify, that the Gospel of Mark represents a concise writing-down of the preaching and narratives of the first-ranked Apostle Peter. One of the central theological themes in the Gospel of Saint Mark is the theme of the power of God, doing the humanly impossible, wherein the Lord makes possible that which of man is impossible. By the efficacy of Christ (Mk. 16: 20) and the Holy Spirit (Mk. 13: 11), His disciples are to go forth into the world and preach the Gospel to all creatures (Mk. 13: 10, 16: 15).

The Monk Sylvester (Syl'vestr) of Obnorsk (1379)

The Monk Sylvester (Syl'vestr) of Obnorsk was a disciple and novice under the Monk Sergei of Radonezh (+ 1392, Comm. 25 September and 5 July). After completing obedience at the Trinity monastery, the Monk Sylvester received blessing for wilderness-dwelling. In the deep forest at the River Obnora, flowing into the River Kostroma, he set up at his chosen spot a cross and began to asceticise. For a long time no one knew about the holy hermit. His cell was by chance discovered by a peasant who had lost his way. He told the distraught hermit, how he had come to this place, over which earlier he had seen luminous rays, and then pillars of cloud. The monk shed tears of sorrow, that the place of his solitude had been found out. The pilgrim besought the saint to tell about himself.

The Monk Sylvester said, that he was already living here no short while, and that he ate tree bark and roots. At first he became weak without bread and fell on the ground from his weakness. But then an Angel appeared to him in the guise of a wondrous man and touched his hand. From that moment the Monk Sylvester did not experience any distress. And then the peasant another time, this time deliberately, came back to the monk and brought him bread and flour for reserve supply. This one meeting was sufficient for the exploits of the hermit to become known to many. Soon peasants began to come to him from the surrounding though not close settlements. The Monk Sylvester did not refuse them to build cells alongside him. When the brethren had gathered, the monk himself set off to Moscow and petitioned of Sainted Alexei (1354-1378, Comm. 12 February) blessing for the construction of a temple in honour of the Resurrection (Voskresenie) of Christ. The sainted-hierarch entrusted to him an antimins ["antimension" or 'corporal" for the altar‑table, needful for celebrating of Divine Liturgy], and made him hegumen of the monastery. With the construction of the church the number of brethren quickly grew, and the monk frequently withdrew for prayer into the dense forest. This spot received the name "Commanded-Grove", since the Monk Sylvester commanded that no trees should be cut there. In the thick of this grove the monk himself dug out three wells, and a fourth – on the side of an hill at the River Obnora. When the monk returned from his solitude, there usually awaited him around the monastery a number of people, and each wanted to receive his blessing and hear his advice. When the saint fell into a fatal illness, the brethren, who were distressed about his going off into solitude, were even more distressed about the impending end of the saint. "Grieve not over this, my beloved brethren, – the monk said to them in solace, – for in everything is the will of God. Keep the commandments of the Lord and fear not in this life to suffer misfortune, so as to receive reward in Heaven. If indeed I have boldness before the Lord and my deed be pleasing to Him, then this holy place will not diminish with my departure. But pray the Lord God and His All-Pure Mother, that ye be delivered from temptation of evil". The monk died on 25 April 1479 and was buried towards the right side of the wooden Resurrection church. There has been preserved from the year 1645 a record of miracles of the monk, in which 23 miracles are described. In quite a number the monk healed from demonic‑possession (12 cases) and delirium, and from eye-afflictions (6 cases). A lesson‑teaching miracle occurred in 1645. The priestmonk Job of the monastery directed peasants to cut down the interdicted forest-grove for firewood, and for this he was struck blind. After four weeks he acknowledged his sin, repented and gave a vow not to act on his own will, but to do everything on the advice of the brethren. The priestmonk finished out the molieben in church, after which he was brought up to the reliquary of the Monk Sylvester, and there he regained his sight.

Mark 6:7-13 (St. Mark)

7 And He called the twelve to Himself, and began to send them out two by two, and gave them power over unclean spirits. 8 He commanded them to take nothing for the journey except a staff-no bag, no bread, no copper in their money belts- 9 but to wear sandals, and not to put on two tunics. 10 Also He said to them, "In whatever place you enter a house, stay there till you depart from that place. 11 And whoever will not receive you nor hear you, when you depart from there, shake off the dust under your feet as a testimony against them. Assuredly, I say to you, it will be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for that city. 12 So they went out and preached that people should repent. 13 And they cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick, and healed them.

Luke 10:1-15

1 After these things the Lord appointed seventy others also, and sent them two by two before His face into every city and place where He Himself was about to go. 2 Then He said to them, "The harvest truly is great, but the laborers are few; therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest. 3 Go your way; behold, I send you out as lambs among wolves. 4 Carry neither money bag, knapsack, nor sandals; and greet no one along the road. 5 But whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house.'6 And if a son of peace is there, your peace will rest on it; if not, it will return to you.7 And remain in the same house, eating and drinking such things as they give, for the laborer is worthy of his wages. Do not go from house to house.8Whatever city you enter, and they receive you, eat such things as are set before you. 9 And heal the sick there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.'10 But whatever city you enter, and they do not receive you, go out into its streets and say, 11 'The very dust of your city which clings to us we wipe off against you. Nevertheless know this, that the kingdom of God has come near you.' 12But I say to you that it will be more tolerable in that Day for Sodom than for that city.13 Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works which were done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. 14 But it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the judgment than for you. 15 And you, Capernaum, who are exalted to heaven, will be brought down to Hades.

#orthodoxy #orthodox christianity #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #wisdom

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avaria-revallier · 3 years

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Chapter 9 - The truth

Masterpost

AO3

“Master Bofur,” she turned around in surprise.

The dwarf with the funny hat was leaning against the railing of the balcony. He stood in the shadows, only the gleaming of his pipe let her make out his position. The sweet scent of the pipeweed tickled her nostrils and slightly burned in her eyes.

Stepping out into the dark of the night, a welcoming cold made her shiver. Now that the lights of the hallway no longer blinded her she could see Bofur quite clear. Underneath his hat he never seemed to be without, she could spot the familiar smile on his lips. Knowing, a bit sad, but always ready to cheer her up.

His twin braids bounced as he stood up and stepped into the light. In his other hand she could spot a bottle of wine. Most likely it had been out of Lord Elrond's cellars, a present from Thranduil. Not that it mattered, the King of the Woodland Realm had more than enough in his own cellars. A shudder ran down her spine as she remembered the cold prison, the endless wandering through the halls and the continuous calling of the ring on her finger.

“Here,” he took off his cloak, hanging it over her shoulders and draping it in a motherly gesture around her.

The warmth of the large cloak was reassuring. Thorin's harsh words echoed through her mind. He said them in anger, but they still hurt like a knife to her heart. Bella had endured his cold glances and comments on her every move. She was used to them by now. Still, there had been this tiny bit of hope it might be different this time.

Her hands clutched the soft cloak, pulling it closer around her. Bofur had always been there for her. Looking out and after her. When she had dangled from the cliff he had been the first to search. When she was lost in the woods, he had been the first to notice.

Bella turned around, her gaze meeting his eyes. Yes, she could trust Bofur. She could tell him and he surely wouldn’t deem her mad. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed a bit.

“When Dwalin knocked on my door, I had the feeling as if I had woken up from a very long dream,” her gaze trailed off into the starry night sky, “I had dreamed of an adventure. I would leave my trusted home to run off into the blue. I would go onto a journey together with thirteen dwarrows and a wizard, to face a dragon. One of them would hold on to a map and a key, granting them access to a secret passageway into the mountain. On our way we would meet the elves, stumble into a fight between giants and escape from goblins. We would ride eagels and befriend a giant bear, run from long forgotten enemies only to lose our way temporarily. We would break out of a prison, to nearly drown. And finally… we would face the dragon,” she paused, turning around to look in his eyes.

After listening to her words Bofur eyed her carefully. There was something in the way she looked at him, something in the depth of her eyes he couldn’t identify. Her gaze wandered from his eyes to the floor and up to the stars again.

From his position it looked like there had been a veil surrounding her, which now was removed. Right now in this moment he could see the true her. Too curious about what she would tell him next, he didn’t dare to move nor ask all the questions that were burning on his tongue. Bofur only took another sip from his drink, waiting for her to continue.

“The dragon died… Erebor was reclaimed, but the worst was still to come,” her voice broke.

He could see her hands clenched around the railing, trembling. Suddenly the air felt cooler, the wind harsher and in the distance he could hear cries, and smell iron and wet earth. Her small silhouette looked bigger, stronger. She had the air of a steeled warrior around her, the aura of pain, loss and heartbreak.

Bofur swallowed, it felt as if there was a completely different person standing in front of him. This didn’t feel like the gentle hobbit lass he had traveled with. He realized that they knew nothing about her. Nothing about her past, nor her family or the reason why she joined them on their journey.

“The battle… I had never seen something like that before. So much death… Blood everywhere. I still have nightmares. Every night. I see them lying before me. Beaten, bloodied… dead. I was too late, we all came too late. I lost my friends, my family, my… love. I saw them die before my eyes, unable to stop it. If I just would have been a bit stronger, a bit faster!” her fist slammed down onto the cold stone, which made Bofur nearly jump, “I hear them cry, beg, accuse me every damn night,” again and again her hand slammed into the stone.

Her whole body started to tremble and he could hear the muffled sound of sobbs. She was crying, bitterly. Honestly. His hand was just about to touch her shoulder when she abruptly straightened herself. Her eyes fixed onto a point in the distance.

“I thought for a long time I might have lost my mind. I lost my mind and nobody would believe me. I apologise, it must be quite confusing for you. But this life is different. I will be fine even if I lose my mind. For them… for him, I don’t mind,” her voice trailed off, only leaving the grave-like silence of the night.

It took Bofur a moment to take in all the new information he had acquired. Wait… ‘love’? ‘for him’? He took a step closer. His back leaned against the railing, tapping out the pipe. The cheerful grin had vanished from his face. From his position he could see her face clearer. The full moon came forth between the clouds, illuminating her features and filling her eyes with a ghost-like silver shine.

“I believe you. This story is too crazy to be made up… Answer me just one question… who?” his eyes locked onto her, waiting for a response.

“He kissed me,” her voice broke as she gently brushed over her lower lip, “with his last breath he called me something. Even now I do not know the meaning of it. Out of fear, I guess. I don’t want it to hurt all the more,” a single tear ran down her cheek.

Bofur's stomach tied itself into a tight knot while his heart felt as if a giant, ice-cold hand was clenching it tightly. He bit his tongue so as not to ask the question burning like hot coals on his tongue.

“I tried!” she cried out, scaring two birds out of the trees, “I went to the far east, all the way up north and then down south. I climbed so many mountains and traveled the skies. I’ve been among the clouds. I tried it all, but I can’t get him out of my mind. I am not able to forget him because he is my home,” her voice broke again, turning into a suffocated sob.

Bofur did the only thing he could think of and pulled her into a tight hug. She was shaking like a scared rabbit facing a wolf. How had she been able to endure this madness all by herself? Without a second thought he brushed over her hair and back, trying to calm her down. Something wet hit his shirt and through all the sobbing and fabric he nearly overheard her words.

“He is so stubborn… always had been,” well, that applied to all dwarrows he knew of.

Dwalin? No, otherwise she wouldn’t have accepted him as her brother. Bombur had a wife and Bifur would have told him surely. Kili or Fili? Too young to worry about such things. Thorin? No. Thorin was, well, Thorin. His thoughts were interrupted by another wave of sobs.

“I-I love him. I do. I should have told him that. Even now I search for reasons to stay near him, to be close, because I need him. I don’t want to lose him again. I wouldn’t be able to survive that. I just... can’t,” he rubbed her back in circles as he had done so many times before with his family as they mourned the fallen.

“He was… He… He called me ‘amrâlimê’… Before he kissed me… Before he…” died, finished Bofur her sentence as her voice trailed off once more.

Bofur froze in his very motion. Did he hear correctly? Amrâlimê? Surely he had misheard. She shifted in his arms, stiffening. As she straightened herself his coat slipped off her shoulders. The sobbing had subsided and nothing but the faint red shadow around her eyes indicated that she had been crying.

“Stupid stubborn ass of a king,” he heard Bella mutter while staring up to the stars, “I made up my mind. I will no longer live in the past, because I can change the future.”

“Thorin?! You mean like in our Thorin?!” Bofur gaped at her, dropping his pipe, “Wait, wait, wait… this is… Thorin? Really?”

Fili and Kili had entered the grand hall some time earlier, proudly boasting about having gained a sister. They had whispered with Balin, stealing glances at Thorin. The king could have guessed what all of that was about. His guess was proven as Balin came over to him, a meaningful look in his eyes and a determined expression on his face.

“You have to talk to her, Thorin. She is essential to our quest. And all of us can see how you look at her, the glances you give her when you think nobody is looking, how you care for her wellbeing. Taking breaks when she tires, slipping parts of your rations into her pack and making sure she is safe when the path gets rough. I am advising you as a friend. You ought to do the right thing. Apologise. You know as well your words were too harsh. Best you don’t let my brother hear about this, or you may get more than just an earful,” Balin spoke in a stern voice.

The older dwarf patted Thorin on the shoulder before he left to join his brother. Thorin watched his company, his friends, merrily playing with the food, singing and enjoying themselves. Was Balin right? He did care for her and caught himself red-handed more often as time had gone by, watching the gentle creature. He made sure she slept near the fire and that she was never too far from him or Dwalin. He worried constantly when she rode alone in the back or disappeared in the evenings. He gritted his teeth when he saw the hobbit lass hugging Dwalin or sleeping nestled in the other dwarves’ arms.

Bofur had just slipped back inside as Balin had finished his lecture. Immediately the mood got a bit lighter. It might have been his cheerful personality, but more likely the message he brought with him.

“Aye, our lady is all better and hungry like a little pebble!”

Thorin relaxed and exhaled the breath he had held in. He raised his head as two familiar, furry boots stopped right in front of him. The dwarf owning the shoes wore a completely unusual expression on his face. Was that grief and deep-rooted pain he spotted behind his brown beard?

“You better not ruin it again. She had been through more than enough already. Most of which was your fault!” Bofur grumbled, right before turning around and squeezing himself between Bombur and Oin.

Thorin had no time to answer, nor to fully process what was going on. Suddenly the room went silent. The dwarrows turned their heads, just like they had done when Bofur entered. Gandalf and Lord Elrond interrupted their conversation to watch the hobbit lass enter.

She was wearing a plain white dress, the curly hair openly flowing over her back. Mahal, she was beautiful. How come she could converse with the other dwarrows so naturally? How come she could smile so easily with them? How was she able to converse with those bloody elves?!

He wasn’t staring, was he? Hastily he looked away, but his gaze would always be drawn right back to her. Thorin noticed the red puffiness around her eyes, the faint biting marks on her lower lip and the slight tremble of her fingers whenever she gestured or pointed something out. She didn’t eat as much as she would need to.

Wait, was she coming over? After all he had said, how could she still come over so casually? He had obviously hurt her very much, he had no right to talk to her, no right to see her.

Once again he caught himself staring. He lowered his head, inspecting the tips of his shoes with way too much interest. Two furry large feet stopped right in front of him. The room went quiet, if it was due to Bofur jumping on the table or being close to the burglar, he did not know.

“May I have this dance?” the soft voice of his burglar brought him back.

Like an idiot he stared at her extended hand. Such a small palm, slender fingers and soft skin. How could he have brought this gentle creature on their quest? Now her skin was bruised and split open where the hilt of the sword had dug deep into her flesh. He had no right to ruin her life. Bofur was right. So why, why couldn’t he say no to those eyes?!

“My pleasure,” he grumbled into his beard, she probably wouldn’t have understood it.

To his surprise she giggled, grabbed his hand with much more strength than he would have ever thought she could possess and dragged him into the center of the room.

Bella placed her hands in the rough palms of the dwarven king, a warm tingly feeling rushing through her body. This was like a dream coming true. It had been so long since she had danced, danced with her love and a heart lighter than a feather.

Bofur's song cleared her head and filled her with joy. She lifted her head and their eyes met. It felt just like back then, but this time his hands were warm, no blood wetted the ground and she wasn’t losing him.

“I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, always have and always will. When you left me I never thought I might get another chance to ever see you again, but here we are. Together once more. When you entered my home for the second time now, I considered just not letting you leave. But for that to happen I most likely would have needed to break your legs. I also thought about letting you leave on this cursed mission of yours, but the uncertainty of what might have happened to you would have brought me to the grave. So I came along. And I would have followed you a thousand times more. I can’t stand a world without you any longer, I experienced it once, that was more than enough,” she looked him in the eyes, the words withering on her tongue like a whispered cry for help, and pressed her lips tightly together, swallowing the truth and with that her feelings.

Not a single word left her mouth.

His face was straight, unmoved by the dance, by the music… by her. Only in his eyes she could spot the hint of something familiar. For a moment there he looked just like ‘her’ Thorin. But he wasn’t ‘him’.

“I-” he averted his gaze from her eyes, “I should apologize for my rude outburst earlier, I-” she interrupted him by letting go of his hands and stopping their aimless spinning through the room. She opened her mouth as if to say something and nearly set free the words she had held back earlier. Instead she raised her hand, telling him to wait.

“I missed this, I missed you. And no matter what you say I will follow you. I will not let you die again,” she spoke, staring in his deep blue eyes, her vision slightly blurred from another wave of tears, but a smile let her glow from the inside out.

This would have to be enough for the moment. Yes, this was fine. Being able to stand by his side was enough for now.

Thorin flinched at her honest statement, the meaning of her words still hadn’t reached him fully. She missed him? How could she have missed him? He had never met her before that day he had knocked on her door, before he had dragged this gentle creature out of her home and her peaceful life.

For a moment his mind wandered back to the second he first laid eyes on the small hobbit lass. So soft and weak, yet headstrong and fiercer than a cornered dragon. Beautiful. So beautiful he couldn’t help but to stare. He had been rude and mean even though she had shared her home and food with them.

Even now he could only stare at her, stare at this wonderful creature Mahal had let him meet. He wanted to say something, ask her what she meant. Ask her why she would miss him, why she was able to make him question all his decisions, even himself. Ask his hobbit how she was able to give him the feeling of home, of peace.

“I am still a bit drowsy and the wounds keep acting up, so I should probably retire early today,” she said apologetically.

Both of them knew it was not true. She moved too fluently, too gracefully in the king's eyes for her injuries to still hinder her. She bit her lip again, like she did more often these days, forcing herself to smile at him, hoping her face looked reassuring and calm and not like the painful grimace it felt like.

His hand twitched. He needed all his willpower not to just grab her and trace the bite marks on her lower lip with his thumb until they disappeared. A thousand promises and ideas rushed through his mind, which he could whisper into her ears to make her forget the sadness, the pain, his own idiotic behaviour. He just wanted to see her smile again.

“Bel… Bella-”

“Good night, master Oakenshield.”

She didn’t even call him by his name. This fact felt like one of Dwalin’s punches right in the stomach. Why did she not call him like she had when they had first met and when the trolls had attacked them. Thorin would never admit it to himself, but it felt right when she called him by his name, he felt at peace.

Only now the whole meaning of the words she had spoken earlier reached him. That last sentence she had whispered, what was the meaning of her words? Not letting him die… ‘again’?! Something was not right. Before he could even try following her, a large muscular figure stepped into his way.

“What did you say to my sister? She left so fast I wasn’t even able to speak to her.”

His best friend towered over him. With a short nod towards the king's nephews, Dwalin managed to send them after the hobbit. Thorin worried about her wellbeing more than he would like to admit, she hadn’t eaten nearly enough. Maybe it would be better to follow her, after all. Sure, his nephews would look after their new sister like Dori watched over Ori, still… there was this uneasiness inside him, whenever Bella was out of sight.

“Tell me the truth, Thorin. Do you like her?”

Masterpost

AO3

@stuckupstucky @shrimpsthings

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jungkookienoona · 6 years

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The Arach (M)

|Masterlist|Ko-Fi|

Happy Birthday Jungkook!

Summary:

In a time of magic and gods. Of mythical creatures and sacrifices, you were to meet your fate. You were to be offered to the arach.

Genre: Smut, Celtic AU, Mythical/Supernatural, Crackish

Pairing: Dragon!Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Situations, mentions of human sacrifice, claiming

Word Count: 6106

Vocab: tuath = tribe, ri = chief/king, fine = family, arach = dragon, filid = seer/soothsayers

For months the shadow of a great winged beast had passed over your tuath’s land, cows and sheep disappearing once every week since it’s appearance. Your father, the tuath’s ri, had sent your twin brother to fetch a druid once he caught wind of the first sighting.

You had been first in your tuath to see it, having been under the wing of the tuath’s bard for training. Just two more winters and your training would be complete.

You had been practicing the art of voice when the light of the midday sun was blocked, causing you to cast your gaze towards it. Your breath caught in your throat when golden scales shimmered in the day’s glow. Though hot on its tail were rolling dark clouds, thundering as they spread and trailed behind it. A storm. The beast had bought a storm with it. It wasn’t long before shouts filled the air, others finally noticing what was in the sky.

The sun was beginning it’s journey westward by the time your brother had returned with a druid in tow. The druid was bought into your father’s home to discuss the beast and its presence. As you were the first one to see the creature before the clouded sky obscured its silhouette, you had been allowed to join them. The priest was quick to tell you that the beast, the arach, was a good omen. One of fertile land and a good harvest as well bringing the power of mother earth with it since arachs were chosen by the gods to be the guardians of wisdom and the known world. And the fact it bought rain with it seemed to be further proof that the arach’s presence was a blessing.

The druid encouraged your father to make sure the arach stayed, and to make offerings; to turn a blind eye to any livestock that went missing and to send the beast sacrifices.

And so your father followed the advice given. He didn’t fuss over the odd sheep going missing, but when weapons and precious materials started disappearing, he started the practice of making sacrifices.

At first he sent the non-freeman, those who broke the tuath laws, only for them to return with heads bowed in shame and carrying a message:

“The arach wishes to be sent only young maidens who are of age but no younger than 18 winters.”

When word caught your ear of the demand, your stomach dropped. Yes, it was an honour to be sacrificed to a great being, but there was only few who fit the category of appropriate offerings. You were one of those few and since your father could not find you a willing suitor and your bard training soon to come to an end, it was highly likely you would be offered. Once you had finished your training, you would not be allowed to wed either. Your father and brother had been particularly desperate to find you a suitor before it was too late but all were driven away by your brash behaviour. A side effect of having no female figure in your life since your mother died in childbirth, just like the goddess Macha. A woman-turned-goddess who died while birthing twins, exhausted from being made to race against steeds by her husband.

You watched as once a month, a girl around your age would disappear into the forest, never to return. Then the day arrived. The day you were chosen for sacrifice. Your father had made a speech to the rest of the tuath about how it honoured him greatly to give up his only daughter to the arach. Your brother, on the other hand, pleaded for you to leave the tuath. To run to safety, even though it went against his own training as a soon to be druid himself. He could not bare to lose his only sister, his twin and other half. But you refused. Running away would bring a curse onto the tuath. You couldn’t let that happen. So with a heavy heart, your brother offered you the only protection he could offer: a prayer to Cernunnos before you entered the woodland to the east of your lands, to where the arach’s den laid.

“I don’t see why I need protection when crossing through the forest when the other sacrifices did not.” You complained while the elder women of your father’s fine fussed with your hair and clothing. You had to look presentable for your death.

They braided your hair, weaving freshly picked flora and beads into the intricacies they created. Designs that were memorized and passed down through generations. A torc adorned your neck, the gold resting heavily on your collar bones. As daughter of the ri, golden rings decorated your body. They proudly situated on your arms, wrists, fingers and ankles. You were dressed in purple floor length tunic, sleeves short as to showcase your golden bands. Intricate designs had been sown into the tunic in a lighter shade of purple while a simple gold chain girdle rested on your hips.

“It is Ostara, the day of the goddess Eostre, the animals and creatures are in rut. We need you to reach the arach untouched.”

You gulped, “Do… do you think I will remain untouched when I join mother in the Otherworld?”

Your brother placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, mindful of the hard work of the fine.

“Ask the filid when it is time for you to be offered. They will have the answer, I cannot see into the future.”

You stood in front of the forest, in the same place where the offerings before you had stood. The filid was beside you, a cloak around her shoulders, her hood down to show her painted face. The twisting patterns holding ancient meanings.

“Filid, may I ask, when I join my mother… will I be untouched?”

The filid gave you a gentle smile, “Do not worry about the Otherworld, arach silliin, you have the blood of Macha with you. It is time for you to meet your fate. Recite the prayer your brother gave you.”

With a shaky breath, you staightened your back, wishing your father would tell them to stop. You looked over to him only for him to give you a nod.

“G-God of the green, Lord of the forest, I offer you my s-s-sacrifice.” Your focus went back to the forest, “I ask you for your blessing. You are the man in the trees, the green man of the woods, who brings life to the dawning spring.” A light began to shine within the foliage, “You are the deer in rut, mighty Horned One, who roams the autumn woods, the hunter circling round the oak, the antlers of the wild stag, and the lifeblood that spills upon the ground each season.” Your voice grew in confidence as it approached, “God of the green, Lord of the forest, I offer you my sacrifice. I ask you for your blessing.”

From the light emerged an almighty stag.

The filid gave you a gentle push towards it, “Cernunnos has come to escort you. He gives you his blessing and accepts you as the tuath’s sacrifice.”

The stag lowered onto its front legs, as if bowing to you. You took tentative steps towards it and it gestured to its back, was it a silent command to hop on? Did the manifestation of the Lord of the forest really want you to ride it?

“Go on child of Macha, this is an honour only few get to have.” She took your hand and led you closer to the stag, helping to seat you on it’s back, “You are the daughter of the ri, silliin to the arach and child of the gods. This is your birthright.”

The filid untied a crown of flowers from her own girdle, placing it on your head with the utmost gentleness. And with that, the stag rose to it’s full height and turned away from your tuath. It took all your strength not to cry. You would be meeting your mother in the Otherworld soon enough.

The midday sun was at its peak, you were having difficulty staying awake. Until a soothing bartone filled your ears.

“We are there, daughter of Macha.”

“W-who said that?”

The stag turned it’s head to look at you as it continued forward, entering a clearing, “I did, child.”

That couldn’t be. There was no way Cernunnos was speaking to you through his avatar. The stag once again lower to allow you off its back. Though it did not leave. Instead, it lowered itself further to lay on the lush green grass in front of you.

“Why are you shocked? You are a daughter of Macha, descendant of a goddess from the Morrigan.”

You couldn’t have been more confused, “What d-do you mean?”

The stag tilted its head, apparently confused itself, “Do you not know of the blood that runs through your veins? The lineage you inherited from your mother?”

“She died in childbirth. I never met her.”

The stag nodded in… understanding?... “Only the filid must know of your bloodline then, since your mother came from a neighbouring tuath. Child, Macha was your mother’s mother’s mother.”

You were about to question the stag further when a great wind blew into the clearing, bellowing, as a shadow appeared over you. The arach had arrived. The arach had arrive and you had just found out your were a descendant of a goddess. You couldn’t die. Not now. You had so much more to learn.

You turned towards the beast as it descended into the clearing, golden scales shimmering, catching the light. Unbeknownst to you, the stag stood back up as the arach landed, the arach’s wings folded in as it bowed to the stag. And with that, the stag left back into the woods.

Lightning crackled around the beast, building up to a blinding degree before disappearing with a flash. There, before you, was the most handsome man you had ever seen. Long dark hair the colour of the skin from a ripe cherry framed his face, complimenting his aureate skin. Wide eyes, silver like the moon, took in your own features and his nose scented the air before his lips split into a toothy grin. Golden scales covered his shoulders and sides, leaving his undersides like his stomach uncovered… He was naked…

“My my, aren’t you the bejeweled one? You must be from a wealthy family. And from the purple gown… you’re royalty in your tuath. The ri’s daughter perhaps?”

Even his voice sounded gorgeous. Why did death have to greet you like this? Couldn’t it have stayed as a giant beast?

“A… Are you the arach?”

“No shit. You just saw me transform. And I have a name. It’s Jungkook.”

Jungkook…

As hard as you tried your eyes kept wandering downwards. Sure you had seen the warriors of your tuath bereft of clothing but none were as attractive as the creature that was approaching you in slow measured steps. Jungkook appeared to be sizing you up.

“Could you m-maybe cover up? The only man I should see like this is my future husband.”

Jungkook laughed, his eyes gleaming deviously, “You are here to be sacrificed, maiden, there is no future husband for you.”

A furious anger made itself known inside of you as he mentioned your lack of a future.

“I am not ‘maiden’. I am Y/N of Cauci. My father is the ri of the tuath, and my mother's lineage is of the great goddess Macha. You will not kill me and you will stay on my tuath’s land.”

“Kill you? I don’t plan on killing you, my little demi-god. If I wanted a dead sacrifice, I would’ve asked for a grand ceremony, a public spectacle.”

Silence filled the space between you as Jungkook’s eyes glimmered with mirth. You weren’t going to die… but if that was the case…

“What happened to those before me?”

He smiled, surprising you with how… human… his teeth looked. You were expecting rows upon rows of daggers, like a lynx.

“They’re safe. I delivered them to different tuaths. A person rejected by an arach is dishonoured, an omen. A person gifted by an arach is treated with respect.”

You took Jungkook’s word for it and breathed a sigh of relief. Arach’s didn’t lie after all. The other girls were safe… Did that mean the same for you? Would you be taken across the land only to be dropped at some other tuath’s land? No longer the Ri’s duaghter, your training as a bard abandoned? Would you be forced to marry?

It was strange how easily you accepted the prospect of all this earlier when you thought you were facing death. But now you knew that death wasn’t what the deities had planned for you… You’re chest began to constrict.

“So… so… You’re going to make me leave my home behind… for the sake of my honour?”

Jungkook scoffed, seemingly having closed the space between you while you were caught in thought. His hand coming up to cup your chin, eyes staring into your own, amusement swimming within them.

“Little demi-god, your honour is mine. I’m making you leave your home because it is the fates will. Why else would you be bought to me by Cernunnos during Ostara?”

You blinked up at him as the pieces began to fit together in your head. Ostara, the time beasts and animals alike went into rut… An arach asking for maidens of age… He was looking for a suitable partner to state his needs.

You took a step away from him, “Do you honestly believe I’d let you… lay with me?!”

Jungkook looked taken aback, clearly thinking you wouldn’t question fate’s will. You crossed your arms as he shook his head, that smirk of his returning.

“Maybe I was too… arrogant… I’ll be as clear as possible. We, you and I, are tied by fate. I am of age and have been searching for my life mate. My silliin.” He took a tentative step forward to once again close the distance. “I knew I had found where they were when flying above your tuath. I could smell them. But I couldn’t tell who it was. From the scent I knew they were a maiden of age.”

Your eyesbrows drew together. The filid and Cernunnos had referred to you as silliin. Had this been what they meant?

“And… You think I’m her?”

His tongue snuck out, wetting his lips, “I know it is you.” He leant forward, towards your neck, and sniffed, “Definitely you.”

Fate sure had a strange sense of humour. The daughter who couldn’t find a suitor was destined to be the life mate of an arach. AN ARACH… A gorgeous one at that…

“Why should I accept you?”

He straightened up to look down at you, concerned and uncertain, “Because you want me? The spice of your arousal is colouring your scent so deliciously.”

You huffed, “At least others tried to court me-”

“Arach’s don’t court. In fact, this is the closest to courtship you’ll get from my kind. My mother literally spotted my father and swooped down, carting him off to her home.”

Your jaw dropped and he chuckled, arms sneakily wrapping around you.

“Will you accept me, my little demi-god? I can provide you with shelter, food, protection… freedom to see the world if that is your desire. And in return all you need do is be the mother of my children.”

Fear crept into your veins, travelling to your heart and constricting your throat. None of the women on your mother’s side had survived childbirth from what you knew. It was always twins and certain death.

“I-I- I’ll die-die if I-”

He cut you off by pressing you to him, “Can you feel it? My heart beat? Once we consummate our joining, we’ll share it. Your heart will beat with mine for as long as I live. Don’t be afraid, Y/N of Cauci.”

And you could feel it. Strong against your own chest, already beating in time with your own erratic one. He was just as afraid as you. Though he was afraid of rejection, you were afraid of dying.

You barely noticed how close his face had drawn to yours, too caught up in his silver eyes that grew darker the longer you stayed pressed up to him. Well, you barely noticed until he spoke again, his lips brushing against yours, sending tingling sparks across them.

“Will you accept me? I need your answer.”

What was the point in rejecting him? You no longer had a fine you could return to. At least he offered you a choice on how you would proceed in life.

"I lost everything as soon as I was chosen to be a sacrifice, I have nothing more I can lose.”

You heard what sounded like a faint whine, like the arach was distressed by your words.

"Accept me and you don't have to lose everything. I'll remain by your tuath. You can still go see them. My mark on you will let them know you are not dishonoured."

You didn’t have to lose everything. Your brother’s face flashed before your mind’s eye. With that thought in mind, you gave him your answer.

“I… I accept-”

His lips were on yours in an instant, lightning suddenly coursing through you in place of the fear that once gripped you. Was this what all kisses felt like? Cause you could’ve gotten addicted to them. The building heat radiating from him was seeping through your tunic, contrasting the chill of the spring air against your back.

You were the one to break the kiss, panting for breath as more sparks spread through you where his hands ran up your back and down your sides, making quick work of your girdle. The metal snapping under his strength.

“Say it again, I won’t interrupt you this time.”

His eyes had turned pitch black save for a few flecks of silver that survived, making it seem like the night sky was trapped in his gaze, much like you were.

“I accept you… Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes slid shut as he visibly shivered, taking a deep breath before opening them again.

“You won’t regret this, I promise.”

He then proceeded to rip your tunic down the front. Didn’t he know how expensive purple dye was?! And exposing you to him with no hesitation either? The nerve. One arm flew up to cover your breasts while the other shot downwards to cover your most intimate area. But he paid you no mind, taking the remains of your tunic and laying it out on the grass beside you. It’s not like he wasn’t affected by your nakedness if the hardness between his legs was anything to go by. You’d admit to being confused by his actions.

At least you were until he patted the material he had lain on the ground, “Care to join me down here, Vahdin?”

You took a moment to truly look at him. How the breeze gave his long tresses life. How his scales caught the sun and glittered like jewels. A creature that was indeed blessed by the gods themselves yet nothing like how legend described. No tale ever told to you, that you learnt from the current bard, mentioned an arach taking human form. Heat built in your chest and spread up your neck, to your cheeks and settled on your ears. From his beauty or his simple act of attentiveness, you didn’t know.

Taking tentative steps towards him, you stopped once your feet were on the rich fabric. Slowly, you lowered onto the remnants of your clothing, still covering yourself with your arms.

“Do… Do you want me to remove my jewelry?”

He shook his head, “They’re a sign of your status. That would be like asking me to cut my hair.”

You gave him a quizzical look.

“I’ll explain it later. We’ll have all the time in the world to learn about each other.” He reached up and removed the flower crown from atop your head. You were surprised it had stayed on at all. “Let’s focus on the now. The offering of each others bodies.”

“Ha-have you done this before?”

He chuckled, “Of course not. My body is for you, my silliin, and you alone.”

You were taken aback by his gentleness as he gripped your wrist and moved the arm covering your breasts away. His eyes widened, reminding you of the forest animals when they caught sight of a human. But that wasn’t the case with him. His eyes didn’t hold fear. They held reverence. Taking in the details of you at his leisure. He muttered things to himself in a language you did not know. Did arach have their own tongue? One word you did understand - Lugh.

His hands travelled to your breasts, cupping them delicately, “Soft. So soft. I’ve been blessed with such a fine mate.”

“Fine? Am I simply fine?”

His eyes snapped towards yours, a playful smile on his lips, “You’re more than fine. I would say you’re perfect but I’d like to see and feel all of you before I decide.”

Your free hand went to his chest, marvelling at it’s firmness and the difference in texture from skin and scale. Both gave way under the pressure of your hand. But where his skin was soft yet firm, his scales were rough yet smooth.

“Do you even know how to… to…?” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish your sentence but he seemed to catch on to your question.

His cheeks were dusted rose, a first for the confident arach, “I’ve stumbled across humans… mating on my travels searching for you. And my father explained the male side of things, my mother explained the arach side.”

You remembered coming across amorous couples A-maying during Beltane when you had gone herb picking in the forest for your brother. The memory made your own cheeks colour.

“O-oh. Is it different for arach?”

Jungkook coaxed you to lay back, his hands having moved to your shoulders, “We… uh… we mate for life. We show that bond through a claiming mark-”

“Like a marriage knot?”

“...I have no idea what that is.”

You blinked up at him, “You… don’t know… what a marriage knot is?” He avoided eye contact, choosing to once again focus on your breasts, massaging them under his palms. “It’s uh… um… stop distracting me… it’s what’s-ah! What’s tied around the hands of those who want to be paired for life.”

He stopped tweaking your nipples to look at you in confusion, “They spend the rest of their lives literally tied together?”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. It just slipped out. And once it did you couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re only tied together in the ceremony. After the hand-fastening has been done they exchange and wear rings that act as proof of their union.”

“So humans have two types of marking? One temporary and one permanent?” You nodded as he traced a pattern onto your stomach, “Arach only have one way of marking. It is forever and is etched into skin with our lu. It’s part of the mating process.”

“Oh…” You were feeling somewhere between shocked and awkward, “Will… will it hurt?”

His hands traveled even lower to rest on your hips, his head coming down to settle on your breasts, looking up at you, “No. It won’t feel good or bad. My dad said his mark felt like someone was blowing a design onto his stomach. Which makes sense since my mother is an arach of the wind.”

“What kind of arach are you?”

“I am an arach of lightning, blessed by Lugh himself.”

“So how will your mark feel?”

Jungkook smirked at that question, mischief in his eyes, “Probably like this.”

With that he turned his head and captured one of your nipples between his lips, tongue sweeping across, sending tingles through you. You gasped and instinctively arched into him, fingers twining into his cherry locks, to pull him closer or push him away, you did not know. Your grip tightened when his teeth grazed along the stiffening bud, a small noise of… approval rumbling in his throat. To your embarrassment you felt your own body reacting to it, heat pooling in your stomach and becoming a sticky wetness between your thighs. You had felt this before so it was not unfamiliar but before this moment you only knew the sensation from heated dreams and the sweaty mess you’d wake up as.

He released the pebbled bud with a lewd pop, gaze travelling southward as his nose twitched, “Fuck. You’re like this already?” He groaned, “So wet for me, from my touch. Zu'u nox rah tol vorohah hi fah zey.”

You didn’t have the chance to ask him what he had just said as his hand that had been resting on your hip trailed a path of sparks to your core. His fingers pressed against your slit then swiped upwards, flicking the little pleasure nub you had down there. (You knew it was something that made you feel good, but you did not know if it had a name.) Jungkook lent back, making sure you had a good view of him as his bought his essence covered fingers to his mouth, tongue slipping out to sample you before lightly groaning and sucking on his fingers. Something warm dripped onto your thighs, distracting you from his little display. Your eyes flicked down to the spot, coming upon a small translucent puddle of white there. Another drip. You retraced it fall to… the arach’s hard red cock. Curiosity led your actions as one of your own hands left his shoulders to swipe your index finger through the little puddle. You found yourself rubbing the substance between your finger and thumb, feeling the consistency before copying Jungkook’s actions.

Your nose scrunched up at the salty taste and slimy texture, making a mental note never to let that stuff come near your mouth again. Jungkook tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“Why did you do that?”

“I-I was copying you. Why did you?”

He chuckled and leant down to nuzzle his cheek against your own, “I did it to double check you were fertile. Your scent gives a small indication but the only true way for me to know is to get a taste of you.”

“I-I-Is it important that I am?”

He sat up and shook his head, “Not for the bonding. But it is Ostara, remember.”

You paled. Having just found out you were a descendant of Macha, who ruled over fertility amongst other things, it was more than likely you would end up with child after the bonding. You prayed to the gods that the arach was right in saying you wouldn't die in childbirth.

Jungkook offered you a gentle smile, a hand coming up to caress your cheek as if to brush away your worries, “Breathe, Vahdin, everything will be alright.”

His other hand grabbed your ankle to reposition one of your legs over his shoulder before positioning his member at your core. His tongue once again swiped across his lips as he leant down to capture your own in a heated kiss. Those addicting sparks coursing through you intensified as he pushed himself into your heat, stretching you out on him, taking your maidenhood. It created a dull ache, almost like a slow growing burn but his lips moving against yours, tongue asking for entrance, distracted you until he was fully sheathed.

You broke the kiss with a shaky gasp, your body adjusting to the foreign object buried deep inside you, sparks tingling from your connection. Panting drew your attention to the male above you. His arms were shaking, brows furrowed in concentration. He seemed more affected than you.

“Shit… so hot… so tight.” He groaned, “I want to fuck you so bad… Please tell me I can.”

“J-j-just give me… a moment. You’re bigger than my fingers.”

Jungkook’s eyes went comically large, “You’ve touched yourself? Fuuuuck~”

His hips rolled forward, grinding against yours, the friction it created making you both moan in pleasure. The motion had caused him to brush against somewhere in your core that felt so good you involuntary clenched around him.

“Fuck! Lugh... give me strength... “ Jungkook took a deep breath and let out a strangled groan as you wrapped your free leg around his waist, pushing him further into you, “Why did you have to be the descendant of a goddess who rules over sex magik?”

If you weren’t so focused on how he felt and how his pelvis rubbed against that special nub, you would’ve asked him what the fuck he meant. But, lucky for him, you were thoroughly distracted. Everywhere your skin touched his had sparks flying through you. Something aside from pleasure began to build inside of you. A type of pressure. One beside the release you had known from your alone time.

What the? What was happening?

You noticed that the leg strewn over Jungkook’s shoulder was glowing red like a fire. Though you did not have a moment to dwell on this as the arach shifted, pressing ever closer to you, sweat dripping as you felt the slight scratch of his scales.

The pressure releases, causing you to scream in ecstasy, drowning out the utterances of the arach as a hand pressed into your stomach, what felt like lightning spreading out from his touch to encompass you.

Everything turned black.

You awoke in a place entirely unfamiliar, on plush animal pelts, torches keeping the cold and dark at bay. Aching, you sat up, pausing to note how much… lighter you felt. Strange. Looking around you realised you were in a cave but it was littered with things such as gold, jewelry, cured meats, weaponry and clothing items. The bard had told you stories of places like these, passed to him by those who did not follow the same gods as your people. Those who stole from arach and lived to tell the tale. This was a den.

Memories from before you fell unconscious resurfaced in your mind. You had sex with an arach. The Arach! You looked down to find intricate blue markings adorning your stomach in a design that was actually familiar to you. It was a ceremonial marriage knot. A sign of your union.

It really did happen.

You had agreed to spend your life with Jungkook.

But that wasn’t the only thing adorning your skin. You had scales! Golden scales! What in the fuck? They were on the outer parts of your arms and thighs, your calves covered but your stomach and inner thighs bare.

“You’re awake then now, dii mal hef ekrah.” Jungkook drawled with a smug smirk, appearing from behind a huge pile of clothing, somehow still naked.

You hastily covered yourself with one of the pelts, “What happened to me?”

The arach plopped down beside you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“It appears you became connected with your divine heritage. You even have Macha’s fiery hair now. Happened after you became all glow-y and passed the fuck out while cumming on my dick.”

Your cheeks heated at his crude wording. You didn’t dwell on it for long though, grasping a handful of your hair to find that it really had changed. This made no sense. What was going on? Where you put under some kind of trickery magic? Was this real?

“You’ve got to be fucking with me…” You whispered in utter disbelief.

Jungkook laughed, “As much as I’d love to, I remember a certain maiden making a big fuss about courting.” He held out a bundle of fabric you hadn’t noticed before. “Put this on and I’ll take you back to your tauth.”

You were confused.

“Why?”

“So I can court you, hefhah.” He rolled his eyes at you, “Macha would skin me alive if I did wrong by you.... But not only that. It’s what you wanted and as my equal, dii vorey hef, what you deserve.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden. You were going home. You were going to see your fair and brother. The arach was keeping to what he said, you didn’t have to lose anything. Grateful, you took the blood red fabric from him, struggling to dress yourself while still covering your nakedness.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, silliin, no need to hide that body of yours from me, let me admire my handy work.”

You blinked owlishly at him, “Your handy work? I thought this was from being a daughter of Macha; apart from the mark on my stomach.”

He shook his head and chuckled, “The hair and glowing was Macha’s lu. The scales are from my lu too. It’s a side effect of it at least.”

Oh. That made sense. Sort of.

“We’re courting, you can’t see me naked until I say so.”

True to his word, Jungkook returned you to your village, taking his human form again once your feet were safely on the ground. Your tuath was confused at first, not recognising you, but an explanation from the filid about your change in appearance soon had them understanding. She was the first to welcome you back with an embrace, followed swiftly by your brother and finally your father himself.

You and Jungkook lived separately after that, he in his den and you in your roundhouse. He would come to visit you at least once a week, bringing the life giving rain with him along with gifts to win your affections. Gifts ranging from instruments and jewelry to weaponry and thick clothes made of toughened animal hide. Clothes that were put to good use when you insisted on sparing with him, all members of tuath could defend themselves in armed combat, you weren’t about to let your skills get rusty because your monthly cycle had stopped. You were the descendant of a war goddess afterall.

After 7 moon cycles, when your stomach had grown large and round, Jungkook had found a place for himself in your heart. The arach was loyal, protective and kept to his word. He did his upmost to make you happy. Though it was his smile that made you fall for him, how it made him look like a hare. And so you finally agreed to live with him in his den, officially bringing the courtship to an end. Well it would’ve done if he hadn’t insisted on a human marriage ceremony.

You went into labour during the 9th moon cycle since your bonding to Jungkook. Terror swimming through your veins as painful contractions started getting ever more frequent. You were led on a bed of fresh pelts, Jungkook wiping sweat drench strands away from your face.

“You can do this, lokaal, just breathe. You’re going to be alright.”

You whined in distress, “But what if… w-what I l-leave them like h-h-how my mu-ah! Mum left me~!”

That was you biggest concern, at first it had been the thought of death, but that had been replaced with the fear of abandoning your children.

You gripped his hand as you wailed in agony. You couldn’t die. You couldn’t leave them. You prayed to the gods that you would make it through this. You prayed Jungkook’s words were truth and not mere assumption.

Dread caused your stomach to sink when a lone raven flew into the den. The marker of those soon to die. Oh god no. Please no.

“Don’t fear my child, I am here to help.” The raven spoke, like Cernunnos many moons ago except feminine in tone.

Before your stinging eyes the raven transformed into a red-haired woman donning a cloak of black feathers. It was Macha. The goddess Macha, herself, had come to aid you in birthing. Your prayers were answered.

“Took you... long enough... to stop your... lineage from dying...” You got out between pants.

The goddess sent you a sombre look, “Most died before I could reach them.”

Well now you felt bad.

It wasn’t long after her arrival that two beautiful arach babies were held by mother and father, the small tuffs of hair a mix of their mother’s fiery red and father’s ripe cherry. Their scales were not golden like their parents, one was ocean blue while the other was lavender purple. Both were girls and for the first time in generations, daughters got to know a mother’s love.

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imperium-romanum · 5 years

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Welcome to 2019, everyone!

I spent the last week and a half at my family’s shack, enjoying the company of close family and friends, and Kali the #ClassicsCat, of course! I’m excited about the fresh start the New Year brings. 2018 was a difficult year for me personally. I haven’t talked about it on the blog because I prefer to focus on positives but as I prepare to face this New Year head on, I would like to reflect on some of the major hurdles that I had to overcome in 2018.

In January, my partner and I were forced to get a restraint order against my neighbour of six and a half years who became aggressive and threatening due to severe (suspected) drug-induced paranoia. We moved in with my parents while we went through the process to have the temporary restraint order confirmed. The restraint order was confirmed in February – a win – but we were not able to return to our unit. The local council, after 11 years of my parents owning the property, decided that our unit was not a legal dwelling. Bureaucracy at its finest.

During March and April, we fought the council for an explanation and started to try and resolve the problem. It seemed we were much more willing to work with them than they were to work with us, though. Shortly before the Easter break commenced my parents received a threatening letter from the council claiming that we were still living in the unit and that we would be fined approximately $20,000 AUD for the violation. This claim was blatantly false, but we still had to go through the process of overturning the impending fine.

We continued to try and solve the problem with our unit in May, but this was soon put on the back-burner when our cat, Kali, developed ketoacidosis due to undiagnosed diabetes. Within the space of 12 hours, she went from being her bright happy self to knocking on death’s door. She spent four days in constant care. I am forever grateful to my parents who paid for her care, which quickly tallied in the thousands. Without their compassion and love for her, we would have been forced to put her to sleep. I recieved many well-wishes during this time from followers, and I am thankful for the support and kindess you showed.

Left: Kali at AHVEC, weighing just 2.7kg. Right: Kali snuggling me and my fiance at a much healthier 4kg.

Kali's struggles weren't over, in June. She again visited the emergency vet hospital after getting into the bin, pulling out a wedged in chicken container, and eating the silicone absorbent pad while we were out for a half-hour at most. We still don’t know how she managed to do it! Thankfully it wasn’t serious in the end; she brought it all back up and suffered no consequences apart from all the dirty looks that my family gave her because of the panic she caused.

After a couple relatively quiet months, my fiancé’s family dog, Jess, also developed diabetes. She was not as lucky as Kali, however, and did not respond to treatment. Within weeks she went completely blind, among other problems. At only 9 years old, my fiancé’s parents were forced to make the difficult decision to put her to sleep. While I do not regret being there for them, it was the first time I had to deal with death in such a confronting way and it was a terrible reminder of how lucky Kali was to survive.

I hit perhaps my lowest ever point mental health-wise around this time. Although the semester was very rewarding, after such an intense period of balancing my personal life and commitments, PhD research, studying a language, and tutoring both academically and privately, I felt emotionally and mentally used up. The best way to describe how I functioned during this period is that I was on auto-pilot.

Although 2018 was undeniably the most difficult year of my almost 26 years of life, there were plenty of positives too. In January I completed my Confirmation of Candidature, which involved presenting a 20-minute paper on my research topic. Then, in February, I was very lucky to upgrade my car by 12 years. Again, I am very grateful to my parents and very aware of how fortunate I am that they are willing and able to assist me financially, with work flexible enough to fit in with a PhD being so hard to come by.

I entered my second year of candidature in late February. It was a reasonably uneventful couple of months until, over two days, I gave two more presentations in May – one at Pint of History titled ‘Catastrophic Crassus: Parthia, #EpicFails, and the Death of Rome’s Richest Man’ and one at the Humanities Showcase at my university, titled ‘It Speaks! The Voice of the Door in the Roman Paraclausithyron’.

I also secured a casual job at UConnect, UTAS’s student services. I had four weeks of nearly full-time work at the start of both semesters which allowed me to save enough money to get me through each semester.

In June, Kali’s glucose curve stabilised, much to ours and the vet’s relief; she has settled into diabetes life well ever since.

July was a month of firsts. I went to New Zealand for the first time and attended my first conference, Amphorae XII. At Amphorae XII, I presented my first conference paper, ‘Pompey’s Eastern Settlements: Considerations and Consequences’. I met some wonderful people, including some mutual followers! I also visited some of the sights, including the Auckland War Memorial Museum, Auckland Art Gallery, Hobbiton, and Hamilton Gardens.

When I returned from New Zealand, I enjoyed another four-week stint working for UConnect and, through the semester, I was also lucky to tutor the first years for HTC104: Introduction to Ancient Rome. This was my first time tutoring in an official capacity and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

When September came around, I received the good news that my abstract had been accepted for ASCS40. My fiancé and I were also finally able to move out of my parents’ house and back into a place of our own. The situation with our unit is still up in the air, unfortunately, but it is moving slowly forward. Still, it’s important to appreciate the small milestones, so to celebrate our return to relative independence we established a small succulent garden in the back area and grew far too many tomato plants.

In November, I reached a major milestone in my PhD journey by completing the necessary coursework element (what UTAS calls a Graduate Certificate in Research) of my degree. As a result, I now have the equivalent of a minor in Latin on top of the Certificate itself. Imperium Romanum also reached its first anniversary!

Finally, in December, my fiancé and I spent many weekends at the family shack enjoying the blessedly warm weather that usually skips Tasmania. Over the Christmas-New Year break, I went to the beach a record three days in a row. Sometimes, you just need to enjoy the simple things.

And so I must turn my attention to 2019. This, like the years before, will be another big one. I’m venturing into the third year of my PhD candidature in late February and, with the GCR finished, I’m looking forward to devoting my time to research. I’ll be attending not one but (hopefully) two conferences this year. The first is ASCS40, 4 to 7 February, at the University of New England in Armidale. It’s now only 33 days away – my funding was approved in December and I’ve booked my flights, accommodation, and hire car. As with Amphorae XII, I’ll be live tweeting the conference and blogging about my adventures in Armidale, which I have not visited before. I’m also hoping to attend Roman Memory: Pacific Rim Roman Literature Seminar 33 in July at the University of Newcastle – I’ll keep you posted on that one.

To finish up, I have a few New Year’s Goals that I would like to share with you. I won’t call them resolutions as I find that term comes with a lot of negative connotations; I’m not solving problems nor do I need to ‘better’ myself. Instead, I want to focus on enjoying all aspects of my life, from the private sphere to the academic.

1. Read more fiction.

I love reading, yet, over the last few years, I’ve noticed that I do very little reading simply for the pleasure of it. Because the last six years of my life have been so academically focused – having gone straight from a Bachelor to Honours to a PhD – I’ve spent so much time reading for university subjects and research that the thought of doing more reading, even fiction, is exhausting. I could probably count the number of new books I’ve read (that haven’t been set for a class) on my fingers. I’ve set myself the goal of reading two to three new fiction books every month – if I can read more, great!

2. Do more activities.

Last year, I went on a fantastic one-day road trip with two friends to Freycinet National Park on Tasmania’s east coast. Then, through December, I enjoyed many more small adventures with my fiancé. Even though I’ve never been particularly fit, I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors. Now that I’m equipped with some top quality hiking boots, I want to get out more – do more bushwalking, walk more rugged and rocky coastlines, and explore more of Tasmania’s wilderness.

I also want to spend less time playing computer games (much as I enjoy them), and more time making things. I’m no artist, but I still love to create things. I’m going to start off by making a pom pom rug in my Harry Potter house colours – Ravenclaw – to go under my desk. I won’t be posting my creations of Imperium Romanum, but I will be posting about them on Instagram and Twitter for those who are interested.

3. Participate in a ‘100 Days of Productivity’ challenge.

While I have a reputation for being a productive student with good grades, the truth is that I am a chronic procrastinator who happens to be very good at whipping up strong assignments last minute. Even outside of the academic sphere, I’m somewhat of a procrastinator, thanks in part to anxiety. So, while I will continue to bring you the latest Classics news, there will be some changes coming to Imperium Romanum as I turn more attention to the everyday realities of studying Classics and my experiences as a student. Life can often be overwhelming, and acknowledging this and finding a better way to tackle the day-to-day burdens before the month-to-month or the year-to-year is going to be a major focus for me. I think that a productivity challenge is an excellent way to do this. Starting January 3, I’ll be documenting my productive efforts via Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. While I expect most of my days will be related to research, I have no doubt that the challenge will have a positive impact on my life outside of university.

And with that, I’ll wrap up. To all my followers, old and new, I wish you a very happy and prosperous 2019. I hope you’ll share your adventures with me too, and I encourage you to share your New Years Goals – my ask box and submissions are always open!

~ Admin @sassy-cicero-says

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poeticandvaguelysweet · 6 years

Text

Til Kingdom Come

Jurassic World

Summary: Claire and Owen celebrate a wedding anniversary

Part: 9/12

Words: 3,358

Two in one week it’s almost like I found my groove again!

Thank you for being so patient when I wasn’t writing. I am really appreciative of that respect to my downtime, you guys didn’t make me feel rushed or like I had to come back to finish posting for you.

AO3

TIL KINGDOM COME - PART NINE

‘East Court will replace the livestock you lost.’ Claire announced, civilian standing a few feet from the throne she occupied. Owen kept his distance, knowing the loss of livestock had been his fault. More accurately, blame lingered over the heads of the four beasts that followed him. ‘And I promise, if my husband’s wolves cause you any more grief, I will see to it myself that they are punished.’ He had not announced himself or made a noise, regardless, Claire’s eyes found his in the room, gaze unforgiving in just the way she had promised.

She could be kind and cruel. She wanted the opportunity to prove it and Owen was pleased to see her sat in East Court, throne supporting her as Grady subjects trusted Claire to pass the right judgement. Two of the wolves she promised to end had their skirmishes continued sat on either side of her throne. They were unbothered by the words she said, the threat of their lives only causing a slight twitch in their ears as they sat tall beside his wife.

He loved watching her. Claire commanded the room with a power he had never seen. Theon never had the patience for the civilian court, to hear out civil debates and keep the grounds peaceful. Anyone who came to Owen with complaints of a threat to their livestock or land was seen to personally. He took too long to solve issues because he refused to send someone else. Owen thought himself wholly responsible for the people that lived off his father’s land.

‘You’re blind to those beasts.’ Claire hummed, East Court closed for the rest of the afternoon as she left the throne and crossed the room to join him. Owen shrugged with a wide grin. ‘I understand that you love them but they are wild animals and they are being destructive.’

‘I’ll feed them more.’ He was dismissive. ‘You don’t know that it was the girls.’ Claire crossed her arms over her chest, her disgruntled stance resting atop the large swell of her belly. He wanted to chuckle, share his mirth in how humorous she looked, trying to be mad whilst heavily pregnant. But, Owen knew her anger was scornful. She would hurt him if she felt it was well deserved. ‘There are wolves in the woods you know.’

‘The farmers say the wolves in the woods don’t approach the properties.’

‘And you’ll believe the farmers over my word?’ He was defensive, a little annoyed and trying not to allow the temper to bother him. Owen didn’t show up in court to start an argument, he came to seek her out, knowing they were closing the doors a few minutes before he arrived.

Claire readjusted her stance, shoulders rolling as she peered around his side. ‘Where are Blue and Charlie?’ She felt that statement would prove her point. Owen liked to boast the domestication of his animals but he wasn’t in complete control. His two head girls were missing from his side, her husband answering that he didn’t want them in court with civilians.

‘I ain’t here to argue with you, Princess.’ His hand found the back of her elbow, squeezing softly as he tried to direct her outdoors. The truth of the matter was, Owen had occasions where he didn’t know where the girls were. He respected their space and they were never gone for long. He didn’t own them, considered them to be wild but trusted that they had his and Claire’s wellbeing at heart.

Claire sighed, falling into step beside him as they left Grey Castle’s court. ‘I’m just saying, your father cannot afford to replace every chicken, sheep or cow that gets devoured in the night. We live off what they farm too.’ Owen hummed, humouring her. ‘You know, this is how empires fall.’ She was trying to be helpful and he loved that she was aware of these issues, concerned about the livelihood of his people, but these were his animals that were at blame and Owen couldn’t sit there and take it. ‘It’s okay to admit that you don’t know where they are sometimes.’

Owen shook his head. ‘They never go too far.’ Was all he told her as he beamed, sun greeting their faces, castle breaking away from their backs. Blue and Charlie were sitting outside, lying really, Blue with her head on Charlie’s back. Echo and Delta picked up their step, no longer trailing behind their masters as they moved to join their sisters.

‘Where are we going?’ Claire asked, spotting her horse saddled up and tied beside Owen’s. Her husband shrugged, grin climbing across his cheeks as he took her hand. ‘Are you finally going to share whatever it is you have been doing in secret?’ She teased, interest getting the better of her as his glee squeezed her hand.

‘Are you going to be okay to ride?’ He asked, caution suddenly dawning on him.

Claire propped a hand on her hip. ‘I’m pregnant, not confined to my bed.’ He could argue that she was a few months earlier, pregnancy sickness keeping her tucked between the sheets of their bed as she hid for days on end, willing the dizzying headaches to go away. She was mobile again, her churning stomach turned solid as she went about her duties in East Court or continued to pester Owen for a real sword between small hunting trips.

That was when she could find her husband. He had been mysteriously busy, promising he had something planned for her but unwilling to share in what exactly. Claire was sure he just didn’t want to be bothered, the man growing impatient with a lack of space between them as her activities were restricted.

She pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek fondly, her hand tight on his shoulder. She appreciated his worry, no matter the capacity or how he expressed it. He was right to be concerned, Claire was sure, with her belly as round as it was, that she should not be mounting a horse. Despite all that, Claire was going to follow no matter where he was taking her.

Owen watched her for a second, internally accessing whether it was right to potentially put his pregnant wife in harm's way. She only stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her swelling belly, face defiant as she stared him down.

[…]

It was a nice day for a ride. The perfect kind where the sun shone, warmth broke by a slight breeze as the trees whistled above their heads. Owen kept the pace excruciatingly slow despite Claire’s complaints that she could walk faster.

He was being cautious and if she took a minute to breathe rather than being annoyed by his care, Claire would be in awe. It was refreshing to know her husband wanted her safe and sound, secure and comfortable which had been a promise long before their child made an appearance in her womb. Claire felt settled in the security of his watch, comforted that he had her back despite the threats of his father looming over her head. It could easily have gone the other way, boy standing by the man who raised him no matter the risk it would take on other lives.

She was trying not to think about it too much. Instead, Claire wanted to focus on the cool air on the bare skin of her neck, how she wished it could blow right through the dress she wore to caress her hot skin. She listened to the movement in the woods, the rattle of leaves and the crunch of twigs underfoot. If she was quiet and her focus was drawn just so she could hear the scurry of little animals or the chirp of small birds.

She knew where they were going before the journey was over. They had been out there a few times in the last handful of months and even though Claire had not ventured out there recently, she recognised the path he was taking.

It wasn’t long before the cliffs broke out in front of her, wide expanse of the ocean stretching before her eyes as she soaked it all in. Claire felt settled, every fibre of her being relaxing in the open grass and wild waters.

Her eyes teared, husband beside her helping Claire down from her horse as he kissed her cheek. ‘I have missed this place.’ She told him softly, breathless as she inched closer to the view, Echo bumping against her leg as the wolf followed her closely. His beasts had been weaving in and out of the horses’ way the whole ride, causing amuck as they hunted down rabbits along the path. For the most part, they stuck by Claire and Allegra.

Owen had made good on his promise. A small cottage stood tall and proud just before the woods stretched into tall trees. It was set back from the cliffs, almost hidden at the end of the clearing but noticeable to Claire’s watery eyes. Her husband had to turn her towards it before she realised.

She gasped, surprise catching in the back of her throat as her hands clung to his arm, squeezing tight as she turned her face to gape at him. ‘I promised.’ He told her, leaning in to kiss her again. ‘And, it’s our wedding anniversary. I thought you deserved something of your own.’

‘I — Owen.’ She wanted to blame her tears on the baby, her head in the wrong place as she stared at the thatched roof and the shutters, every small detail making it look more and more like a cottage from the edge of town. ‘How did you?’ It explained why he kept disappearing on her, his men conveniently unaware of their Lord as Bart tried to distract her for an afternoon or two.

Her husband shrugged, arm enlaced with hers. ‘Called in a lot of favours to have it finished quickly. You deserve it, Princess. You deserve the world.’ He kissed her again, this time capturing her chin with his thumb and forefinger as he directed his mouth to hers. She gave in without a fight, kissing him back with gusto as her disbelief transferred itself to her lips.

‘I don’t even know where to begin in thanking you.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re giving me a son, that is thanks enough.’

It was perfect. Enough to make her forget they were the heirs of a throne for a few days or a few hours. Claire could think herself and Owen as simple folk with no worries as their son slept peacefully in the fresh air away from the cold and hostile stone of the castle.

It was exactly the escape she had dreamed of.

‘Here, I want to show you something.’ He took her hand, pulling Claire towards the cottage and leading her inside.

The place was spacious and fully functioning as a home. They had a kitchen and a table to eat at, a warm fire to sit in front of and cosy chairs to hold them captive. The cottage only had one room, sitting on the second floor with full view of their living space. The bed was wide, Claire was sure it was a little bigger than the one they had in their cambers, this one designed to fit themselves and their toddler son, who would hopefully still be eager for a cuddle. Owen wouldn’t admit it out loud and Claire would pretend the idea hadn’t entered her mind but there was space for all four of their girls to climb up and nap with them if they so chose.

That wasn’t what Owen was trying to show her. He wanted Claire to be wooed by the whole cottage but the surprise came in something smaller. She noticed it when he helped her climb the stairs, instructing her to sit on the edge of the bed as he gallantly gestured towards a crib pressed against the wall.

Claire praised the piece of furniture, getting up to touch it as she ran her fingers along the engravings, touch inspecting the make as she stood in awe. ‘I made it.’ Owen told her, shyly. ‘It’s where I’ve been — out here, overseeing the cottage and chippin’ away at this.’ Claire caught and imperfection here and there, the wood bowing, something not quite linear but the crib was lovely, darling, the exact sort of thing she wanted her baby to sleep in. It was only better that her husband had made it.

‘I know I haven’t been the best husband.’ Owen announced, voice soft as he took a place on the edge of the bed, eyes not quite watching his wife with the crib he had made. Claire opened her mouth to protest. He had been nothing but kind and patient. He treated her to such lovely things, new clothes and a sparring partner worthy of her time. He built her a cottage and made a crib for their child. Claire would not hesitate in announcing he made her extremely happy.

Owen shook his head. ‘I have not been able to protect you from my father.’ She wanted to argue that Theon had not touched her. Beyond his words and her personal fears, she was safe from the man. ‘I should be doing something about him, Claire, I should —-‘

‘You know that it is treason.’ She warned. ‘You’re a smart man, Owen, you would not put me in danger like that.’

‘But I have hurt you and I have let you be hurt.’

Claire frowned, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him, waiting for the man to spit his words out. ‘You have done no such thing.’ She was stern.

Owen nodded. ‘Our wedding night.’ His words were so soft she barely heard him, Claire blinking as she watched his drooping shoulders.

‘Was our wedding night and despite it being less than pleasant it had to happen.’ Owen shook his head. ‘Owen, look at me.’ She waited for a beat, watching as the man dragged his eyes to hers. ‘You knew what your father would do. What he is capable of. If we did not consummate our marriage vows he would have been done with the both of us. We would have been over before we even had a chance. You knew that. Don’t you dare act like there wasn’t anything at risk.’ The lines on his face were angry and thick, the man nodding as he looked towards the window above their bed. ‘We were married a year ago. What was done is done and it is long behind us. I wish you would stop bringing it up just to torture yourself and to frustrate me.’ He nodded, grunting at her softly. ‘I did not want to fight with you today.’ It had been their third argument since waking.

‘The crib is beautiful, so is the house. Thank you for this life even when you think it isn’t perfect. I am happy, Owen.’ They had started off on the wrong foot a year ago but they had quickly realigned their path, the two of them caught on each other. ‘You need to worry less, everything will work out fine.’

She sat beside him. The bed dipped under her weight as Claire sighed. A damper had been put on the mood and she suddenly found herself lost in the situation. Claire shuffled to the middle of the bed, legs crossed as she watched the side of her husband’s face. ‘You know, he doesn’t have a name.’ She told him, a hand rubbing across her swollen middle.

‘We haven’t talked about that, have we?’ He turned to her, half mirroring her position as a single leg dangled off the side of the bed. Claire shook her head. They had not discussed the prospect of names for their child.

'I always thought I would name my sons after my brothers but given recent circumstances, I do not want to see my sons follow their footsteps.’ Claire had once admired her brothers, Merrick and Henry were everything to her as a girl. They had power and persuasion, everyone looked to them for an opinion and advice no matter the problem. Her brothers were confident, controlled and destined for greatness. She considered them role models, her heroes until Merrick shipped her off and neither Henry nor her father put in a good word to keep their sister and daughter around. ‘They are nothing to me now and if my sons dare to do what Merrick did, they will have to face my wrath.’

She was still trying to put her finger on the pulse of her betrayal. Owen had turned out to be the best match for her but Claire was not ever going to forgive the cold and ruthless way Merrick had shoved her out. She was lucky that Owen was good and kind. Her brothers were lucky that Owen was good and kind, they would not have seen their sisters wrath coming if they had sent her to a wicked man. They were not entirely in the clear. If Theon harmed her baby, not only would she tear the man apart but she would seek out Merrick and make him pay for it to.

Owen shook his head. ‘Our child should have his own name. Something strong like James or Adam.’ His wife crinkled her nose, displeasure colouring her cheeks. ‘What?’

‘They’re not very good.’

Owen laughed, the sound a bark as Echo jumped up on the bed between them. ‘You are ridiculous.’ He grinned at her, rolling his eyes as her hand found Echo’s soft fur.

‘I want to name him Humphrey.’ She told him, watching the same dissatisfied crinkle appear in the lines on his nose. ‘It means peaceful warrior. I thought you might find that fitting.’ She could see that he still didn’t like it but was trying to come around to the idea.

Owen’s grin was sly, slow as it crawled across his face. ‘Whatever makes you happy, Princess.’ He was sure that he could find a name to call his son when his wife wasn’t listening. She grinned, copying the sly quirk of his lip like she could read his thoughts.

‘Why so agreeable?’ She asked, smile climbing up her cheeks as she watched a fire start in his eyes.

Owen lent in without a word, only another quirk of his lip as he kissed her softly. ‘I love you, Princess.’ She met him for another kiss, their lips touching gracefully as her smile relaxed to something akin to peace. ‘It scares the shit out of me, but by the Gods, I love you.’

She watched him through lidded blue eyes, lashes kissing her cheeks as she blinked. He frustrated her beyond means on occasion, but he also did crazy wonderful things. He had a cottage built for her, secluded in a place she loved. He built a crib for their baby with incredible detail. He put her needs before his own and ensured she felt safe even when the odds were stacked against them. ‘Well, I love you.’ She told him, hand reaching out to wrap her fingers around his. ‘You insufferable man.’ She giggled, pulling back as the lovely look on his face melted away to realisation.

Owen laughed, lunging at his wife despite the small gap between them as her back hit the mattress with the aid of his hands lowering her down. She squealed with glee, Echo jumping to a stand as she growled at Owen, in the protective mode before she realised they were playing.

‘You insufferable woman.’ Owen teased, rolling them so Claire was straddling him, back bending as she lent down to press her lips to his. ‘Happy anniversary, my love.’ He pulled himself up, half sitting as he met her for another kiss, one hand supporting the curve of her stomach, his fingers splayed across the width of their growing child.

‘We are going to conquer the worlds.’ She told him ever so quietly, her words a whisper and a promise that he almost missed.

#clawen #jurassic world #claire dearing #owen grady #claire x owen #owen x claire #til kingdom come #my fics

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evolutionsvoid · 6 years

Photo

As an experienced natural historian, I have dealt with a wide variety of flora and fauna that can be found throughout our world. I have studied Great Mottled Caecilians in the rainforests, traveled with Trolls across great mountain ranges and nearly froze my roots off trying to track Arctic Wolf Fleas across the icy tundra. Not to praise my own petals, but many see me as one of the top researchers in this field. Despite all that, though, I have to question if I am qualified to even write an entry on such a species. While I could write about anatomy, behavior and reproduction of other species with ease, these creatures defy a lot of things I am used to. Honestly, I don't even know if I completely understand how their anatomy works! A part of me thinks that a mage would be better suited for such an entry, but I will do my best to tell you about these strange creatures. I probably know just as much about Sphinxes as the next guy does. The first thing to note about Sphinxes is that they do not appear to have a preferred habitat or environment. This is due to the fact that they seem to not even live on the same plane of existence we do. Much like the Aelf, they appear and disappear at will, showing up without rhyme or reason. This is baffling and frightening to many because Sphinxes are pretty big. They reach the same size as some dragon species, making them quite intimidating when they happen to appear in the middle of town. They are quadrupeds, preferring to walk about on all fours, strutting about with the elegance and ego of a really big cat. That is honestly the closest comparison you could have between a Sphinx and an existing animal, they act like giant cats. The way they walk or jump, the way they stretch when they are tired or bored, the way their tail swishes about without a care and the way they gain entertainment from the suffering and despair of others. It's kind of unsettling how close those two match.

While this comparison may make one assume they are just big dumb cats, one must realize that Sphinxes are incredibly intelligent creatures. Their knowledge blows scholars and mages out of the water, which is surprising when they drop an incredible piece of wisdom with the nonchalance of someone ordering gravy off a menu. Though one may appear on the southern continent, they can easily tell you about things out east as if they had just finished vacationing there. It is obvious that I bring up the riddles and puzzles that they so enjoy, which attests to their knowledge. One thing to know, though, is that they are not all-knowing. As legends and encounters say, there are things Sphinxes do not know, they just happen to know a lot. You won't trip them up with common knowledge, you will need to delve deep into a subject to start finding things they haven't learned yet. On the subject of riddles, it is time we bring up the motives of this species, or what we think is a motive. History has seen several famous Sphinxes appearing over time, each different from the last, but each sharing some common themes. Some Sphinxes have terrorized the countryside, deploying deadly puzzles and devouring the losers. Others have created great lairs and dungeons in which they rule and hoard. Certain encounters have had some showing up to toy around with people, speaking of riddles and puzzles but not eating those who come up empty. It is a strange spectrum of behavior, ranging from voracious tyrant to bored, playful titan. The one theme we can find that connects them is entertainment. Saying it out loud is a little weird, but that is the best we can come up with. Sphinxes who show up in our world seem to be looking for some kind of amusement. Much like how each person has different hobbies, each Sphinx has different ways to amuse themselves. As I mentioned before, some may become monsters who ravage the lands and take entire towns hostage as they play the role of some demented tormentor, while some find fun in bamboozling people with riddles and tricks. Intricate lairs and dungeons formed in mountains and valleys may be an enjoyable hobby to one, as they take pleasure in making elaborate traps and thwarting eager treasure hunters and monster slayers. It all depends on the individual who arrives. So if a Sphinx appears outside your town, pray that it is one who prefers logic puzzles over the taste of human flesh. Though not every Sphinx is a destructive monster, each is well equipped to take down foes (prey is probably a better word, though). Their sheer size and strength already makes for a tough fight, but their intelligence and magical abilities makes slaying them an extraordinary feat. Their magical prowess allows them to unleash devastating spells and they are clever enough to use such powers to create traps and set ups that can take down foes before they even realize their mistake. Though large, they are quite fast, which combined with their size allows them to turn their bodies into battering rams. Their tails are prehensile and can act much like a boneless arm, slapping away foes or snaring them in its grip. The "wings" they possess are tipped with venomous barbs which can paralyze the muscles of those they sting. These stingers are often employed by Sphinxes who enjoy playing a deadly game of riddles. When one fails to answer their riddle, the stingers will whip down and paralyze them, allowing the Sphinx to devour them with ease. Speaking of eating, that mouth is another thing you have to watch out for. With broad, cracking teeth, they can crush metal and stone within their jaws. An odd thing to point out is that the huge mouth on their chest isn't used for talking. Instead, their voice seems to come from the organic vents that are positioned below their eyes. It's quite bizarre. Also, to top it all off, Sphinxes have the ability to create portals out of thin air. With a mere thought, they can open up a gate between places and stroll from one land to another in the blink of an eye. These portals have a wide array of uses, like catching fleeing victims without moving, redirecting spells in complex patterns, hopping from one place to the next and even creating complex dungeons that defy reason. Those who have triumphed over Sphinxes in their lairs have claimed that large chunks of these domains simply blink out of existence with the departure of the creature. I guess it explains how they are able to make such massive labyrinths in such tiny spaces. Now I cannot go too far into this entry without bringing up my encounter with a Sphinx. For the longest time, I had never seen one. They rarely appear in this world, and often disappear just as quickly. Having one show up anywhere near me during my travels was like praying for a miracle. For years, I would hear stories about them, but I could never be around when one showed up. It is more frustrating than the situation with the Aelf, because I at least know it is impossible for me to meet one of those, but the mere ounce of a chance of seeing a Sphinx was excruciating to deal with. At last, though, my time came. I was out studying Rock Dragons in the canyons when a messenger raven dropped a letter at my camp. One of my associates had written to me saying that a Sphinx was spotted out on a plateau that was a five day journey away from me. He said he didn't know when it originally showed up or when it would disappear, but he thought to let me know. I immediately dropped everything and rushed to the scene, writing back to my friend mid-journey. I traveled without rest for days, moving as fast as I could so that I didn't miss my chance. There was not telling when the Sphinx would be driven off or would decide to go home, so I hoofed it the whole way. I did the five-day journey in four, and I was at the verge of collapse when I finally finished my climb onto the plateau and looked to find it empty. Words cannot describe the sheer anger, frustration and disappointment I felt at that moment. I would have burst into tears if I had the energy to do so. All that effort was wasted, the Sphinx was gone. I was ready to give a good cry when someone awkwardly coughed behind me. I turned around to be stunned by the Sphinx, who was just sitting there. I later learned that he had caught wind of some "explorer" who was dying to meet him, and he figured it would be an amusing event. To make things more fun, he hid during my arrival just so he could pull this mean prank. What is with people pranking me all the time? What have I done to deserve this? Anyways, I rejoiced at the sight of him, as I finally had the chance to meet a Sphinx, despite the fact I was moments away from dropping from exhaustion. I introduced myself to him and told him about my background. He seemed to find amusement in me, so he agreed to talk with me further. However, my fatigue made such an interview difficult, so I asked if I could meet with him tomorrow. Thankfully he agreed to that as well, so I went to set up camp. Before I could even open my backpack, there was a flash of light, a mighty shove and I tumbled into the front desk of an inn. Originally, I thought I had just woken up from a dream after some traveler hauled my exhausted carcass to an inn. The terrified owner didn't give me any details, he just threw me my keys and pointed me to my room. Never had a bed felt so good! I passed out the moment I hit the hay! Dream or not, a good night sleep was the greatest thing at the time for me. I don't know how long I slept, but sunlight was what woke me the next day. The blinding light roused me from my slumber and I opened my eyes to find myself in a bed that was sitting in the middle of the plateau. I practically screamed when I saw the Sphinx staring at me like a creep! Thank goodness I had the thought to wear a sleeping gown that night! Of course the Sphinx thought it was hilarious as I scrambled to figure out what was going on. Turns out he dropped me at the inn last night to get some rest, then teleported the whole bed back the next morning to give me a scare! I pointed out to him that this prank seemed more creepy than funny, which he found endlessly amusing. No matter who I deal with, someone is always trying to pull a fast one on me. After changing into proper clothes and collecting my faculties, I finally had my chance to talk this Sphinx. My first question was his name, which he told me. I then promptly asked him to say it again, as it was some sound I couldn't comprehend or even write. I wound up calling him "S" as that was the first part of his name that sounded remotely similar. I immediately threw dozens of questions at him, eager to learn more about his kind. S quickly cut me off and told me that such knowledge came at a price. I thought he meant a dual of riddles, which would put my life on the line. I have to honestly say I would have agreed to such a game. I know that sounds foolish, but discovery requires risk. Thankfully he did not go that route, rather he wanted to do what he called "Quid pro quo." How it would work is that I would tell S a piece of trivia or some kind of fact that I gathered from my journeys. If he did not know this fact, or found it amusing, he would allow me to ask a question. If I failed three times in delivering satisfying trivia, he would cut the interview short and call it a day. I agreed to the game and readied my journals. It was time for the duel to begin! Surprisingly, I actually got him with a few. A part of me was worried I would botch it three times in a row and fail, but I actually interested him with a few pieces! It seems that Sphinxes don't know as much about the Underworld as other places. I am guessing it is a tight fit down there for them, so they avoid it. I was able to ask him four questions before I bungled it, but that was good enough for me! My first was asking if his kind had any sort of culture or society, which S said yes to, only clarifying by saying "it's looser than you would think, but the others force a bit more order to things." My second was asking about Sphinxes and the Aelf, and what their relationship was. S said that the Aelf are a bunch of stuck up, self-serious, doom-sayers who really need to learn how to let go of a grudge. The Sphinxes aren't at war with them, but the two sides often get into arguments and fights. He joked about how Sphinxes are a funner bunch (despite the fact their kind sometimes devours people and terrorizes cities) and that they know that grudges are silly to hang on to. He did grumble, though, that there was one Sphinx that everyone seemed to despise. He mumbled something about how "she ruined the best one for the rest of us." The third thing I got to ask him was how their anatomy worked. It was a pretty broad question, but I figured I would try. S replied by going into detail about Sphinx reproduction which I quickly cut off and refuse to write down here. Clearly that reply was a joke, albeit a rather gross one. He did say that they have skeletons, but they weren't made of the same thing as people "from these parts" have in their bones. My fourth and final question was the big one. I had two strikes at the time, I knew it was now or never to ask the burning question. I looked to S and asked why the Sphinxes came to our world. What did they want from us? What did they seek? S rolled onto his back to catch some sun and told me that "everyone needs a good rumpus room." He said nothing else, and I blew my chance when I failed for the third time. Before I could try and bargain with him, a portal opened up and he batted me into it. One nauseous second later, I found myself sitting in my old camp, where I had been studying Rock Dragons previously. S seemed to be done with me, having gotten all the fun he wanted at the moment. Though disappointed I didn't get to ask more, I was grateful I had the opportunity. That brief conversation I had with him will forever be burned in my mind. Happy with my luck, I turned to my camp to continue my research to find the hotel bed flattening my tent. S was done with me, but apparently still had to squeeze in one more gag. Funny enough, a few days later, when I was watching a family of the creatures drink from a river, I was caught off guard by their hatchling appearing right behind me. The inquisitive thing tried to nibble on me, thinking I was a cactus, which I was forced to fend off. This angered the mother, and I wound up running from an enraged female for the next two hours. Later that day, I received another message by raven saying that S had disappeared from the plateau for good. Something tells me that the "sudden" appearance of the hatchling was some kind of parting "gift" from him. I have to believe he was sitting somewhere that day, chuckling as I scrambled up monoliths to avoid being trampled. And that is all I really have to say about Sphinxes. They are an odd lot who just seem to show up in our world for their own amusement. A part of me hopes to see S again, as there are hundreds of more questions I wish to ask him. The other part of me, though, kind of hopes I don't, because I am starting to get sick and tired of being the butt of every joke. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

#monster #creature #sphinx #art #drawing #alien

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 7 years

Text

The New World - Part 10

Warnings: Language, Smut, Canon-divergence

A/N: Finished up Chapter 10 a little earlier than I thought, so here it is! This is a Daryl Dixon x Reader story, and maybe there is some Daryl & Reader, and maybe not. You’ll just have to read and see what happens!

Words: 5897

“I don’t know who, or what, if anything, is listening anymore. But, if there is something out there, please… please let my boy be ok. Please let him not be too sick. Please let Daryl get to him… please…”

The sobs that caused your already weary body shake, felt like they would never stop. Unable to sit upright any longer, you laid down on the cool moss, curling yourself up into the fetal position and closing your eyes. Bringing Daryl’s face into your mind, you had a desperate need to feel his arms around you. As you drifted off to sleep, you dreamt about him rescuing you and bringing you back home.

The dream felt so real, that hours later when a pair of arms did wrap around you, lifting you up, you thought it was your husband. You wanted to open your eyes, but still being so heavy from exhaustion, they wouldn’t cooperate. In your groggy state, you smiled as well as you could at the person you thought was Daryl.

“Baby…” you whispered, “you found me.”

“C’mon,” the familiar voice said, “let’s get you home.”

It was an hour later that you finally woke up completely. The little bit of sleep you had was more like a waking dream, then actual sleep. After everything that happened at The Hilltop, and the image of Daryl finding and rescuing you, it was hard to remember what was real and what wasn’t.

Sitting up from the ground, you felt the warmth of a fire in front of you. Opening your eyes, you could see the outline of a man sitting on the other side of the flames. The deep throb from within your head made it hard to focus, but eventually, his features cleared, and you saw Morgan staring at you.

“You’re up,” he smiled. Bending down he pulled a can from the fire and poured it into a thermos. “Here, drink this,” Morgan motioned for you to take the container.

Still confused, you took it and gave it a quick sniff. “What is it?”

“Tea, but drink it slowly. The way you were babbling in your sleep and your complexion, I’m guessing your dehydrated and hungry.”

You looked at him wearily and sipped the tea. Wrinkling your nose at its taste, you gently put it on the ground and tried to get a feeling of your surroundings.

“Where are we?”

“Not far from where I found you near that field. Just moved in a little further for some cover,” Morgan tended to the fire but continued to look back at you as if waiting for you to say something more.

“Ok, but where?” you asked, “how far from home? From the Kingdom? From the Hilltop?”

The Hilltop, your mind flashed back to Negan and all that had happened there.

“Negan…” you whispered and looked up at him in a panic. “Morgan, Negan’s escaped… I have to tell the others,” you started to stand, and when you swayed Morgan was up in a flash to catch you.

“I’m sure they’ve figured it out by now Y/N, you need to sit,” he said as he helped you back to the ground. Handing you the thermos, Morgan encouraged you to drink more.

“It tastes terrible,” you objected.

“It’s supposed to. Drink it.”

You did, and despite the aftertaste, you relished in the warmth of the liquid as it coated the inside of your throat. “Morgan… Abraham is he alright?”

Morgan nodded and smiled softly. “He is. Fabian came back and Susan made sure to have him come up straight away. That’s how I knew something was wrong,” he sat on the ground next to you and poked at the fire. “Doc came back without you, said he didn’t even see you there.”

“So, you came looking for me?”

Morgan nodded, “I did. I walked the trade route to the Hilltop thinking maybe you had been hurt, or had an accident. I was almost there when I heard gunfire, so I went off the main road and was sneaking through the woods to see what was happening. That’s when I found you.”

“Thank you, Morgan,” you said and sighed. “I should never have gone there…”

“You were trying to help your son Y/N, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I should have listened to you, I should have waited…”

“Not like I haven’t given you a reason to not listen to me,” he smiled again, but there was a sadness behind it. “I know what it’s like to live with ‘shoula’s’, don’t do that to yourself.”

You shrugged and shook your head as if trying to shake off the memory, not interested in rehashing another traumatic event involving Negan. “I really want to get back; can we go back to the Kingdom now? I need to see my kids Morgan… I need to get back to Daryl.”

“We’re only about an hour from dawn, I’d like to wait until then if we could. Better chance of finding our way safely. I’m not entirely sure how far off course we are from the trade route.”

“Just an hour?”

Morgan nodded.

“Fine… one hour,” you said and sipped the tea, finding that you were getting used to the taste of it.

When the hour was up, the first light of dawn began glowing in the east. Morgan stamped out the fire and helped you up on your feet. He handed you the gun and knife he’d found you with and you prepared yourself for the journey back to the Kingdom.

Walking along the road, you checked a dozen or so cars before finding one that had keys and actually started. The road ahead was an unknown one outside of the trade routes, but you were both sure if would take you back towards your destination.

Daryl waited until Maggie had fallen asleep in the big bed with Shelby before grabbing the duffel bag and quietly leaving the room. The entire walk from the dorm to the Kingdom’s fleet of vehicles he felt a lot of guilt for leaving the kids the way he was, but knowing Maggie was there was what enabled him to do it.

He was going to get his wife back, and there was no way he was leaving it up to anyone else to get the job done. Tossing the duffel into the back seat, he started the engine and drove through the lot until he was on the main route back to the Hilltop.

Daryl turned past one of the barricades and directed the car down a long, dark stretch of road. His thoughts went back to Maggie waking up to his note, and how pissed she was going to be. He had promised he would stay, but knowing Y/N was anywhere near Negan drove him insane and he couldn’t sit around waiting any longer.

After driving for a couple hours, Daryl noticed some lights from a head. He had been driving with no headlights, but the car in the distance had not made the same choice. Slowing his vehicle down a little, he waited until the other got closer, trying to make out if it was a friend or foe.

When the vehicle was within a hundred yards, Daryl sped up and turned on the lights, blinding the driver of the other car. They veered off the road as Daryl whipped his car around and followed it as the other one went out of control through a few abandoned yards.

Finally coming to a stop, Daryl threw his car in park and jumped out of the driver’s seat. His gun was drawn and pointed at the car that had spun out beyond his. The hood was crumbled as smoke poured from the engine. The driver was moving inside and slowly opened the door. When the driver finally exited their hands were up as they took tentative steps towards him.

“Who the hell are you?” he barked, keeping his gun firmly fixed on the figure approaching him.

“Daryl?” Morgan asked unsurely. When he was able to see through the smoke and headlights, he did see that it was Daryl standing there.

Morgan slowly lowered his arms as Daryl lowered his weapon.

“Morgan? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“On our way back to the Kingdom. Why are you…” he started to ask, and an understanding swept over him. “You were going after her.”

Daryl looked at him confused, “How’d you know? I ain’t seen ya to tell ya what happened.”

“You didn’t have too,” he smiled and turned back towards the car.

Daryl looked beyond him as the passenger side door opened.

Your head was throbbing even harder now, and through the haze of pain and confusion, you could’ve sworn you heard voices. You knew that you’d just been in an accident and that it wasn’t bad, but you’d hit your head against the window when the car spun out, leaving a ringing in your right ear.

Taking off your seatbelt, you finally got free of it and opened the passenger door. It took a minute for you to have enough confidence that your knees wouldn’t buckle, but you managed to get out of the car and close the door.

Holding up your hand to shield your eyes from the bright headlights, you saw him standing there, but didn’t trust that your eyes were telling you the truth.

“What the hell?” you heard him say, and knew that Daryl was really there; it wasn’t a trick of your imagination this time. Your husband was only standing a few yards away and the realization of that brought on a fit of tears.

Daryl’s eyes grew wide with surprise, and he was at your side in a matter of seconds.

“Y/N?” he whispered as his arms wrapped around you, enveloping you into him.

You draped your arms around his neck and buried your face into his chest as the uncontrollable sobs took over. Daryl held you tightly, gently rocking you back and forth as he whispered your name over and over.

The sound of his voice was the most soothing thing in the world, and the feeling of his arms around you made you finally feel safe again.

“Are you ok?” he asked breathlessly, as his hands ran through your hair, letting the strands sift through his fingers. The sensation of it was heavenly and made you just want to bury yourself into him further.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I’m fine now.”

Daryl lifted your face to his. “Look at me,” his eyes were intense and fixed on yours. “Are you alright?”

You tried to relax a little, not wanting your emotional ineptitude to be the thing that sent him flying off into a rage. You nodded, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Daryl seemed to relax a little after that and hugged you close again, taking in a deep breath of your scent. He turned to Morgan and offered him a nod, “Thank you.”

Morgan returned the gesture, “We should probably get back. I don’t know what’s going on there,” he motioned down the road towards the Hilltop, “but it’s not good. We should get her back to the Kingdom.”

“Abe, is he ok?” you asked Daryl, hoping that he had seen your boy.

“Yeah, he’s good. Doc’s got it under control. He keeps askin’ for ya though. I promised him I’d come get ya,” Daryl traced his hand down the length of your cheek. “I couldn’t break my promise.”

You smiled wearily and reached up to lightly kiss his lips. His large hand cupped your face as he kissed you back. Feeling his mouth against yours was better than you thought it would be. It pushed all the images from your head of what you were forced to watch while under Negan’s command. Your eyes were closed and despite all the exhaustion and hunger you felt, Daryl’s kiss was all you wanted. There was a desperate ache to feel him against you, and if it couldn’t be in the way you truly needed, just having his arms around you would have to do.

“Babe, we should go,” he said reluctantly breaking from your kiss. “Morgan’s right, we gotta get back.”

You nodded and Daryl started walking you back towards the car. Before everyone climbed into Daryl’s vehicle, you stopped him. “Will you stay with me in the back, please? I’m just not ready to let you go yet.”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled and kissed your forehead as he opened the backdoor for you to slide in. He turned to Morgan, “you mind drivin’?”

Morgan gave him a nod and Daryl climbed into the backseat with you. He pulled the door shut and immediately drew you into him. You settled into the crook of his arm and closed your eyes, a small smile on your lips.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “you gotta tell me what happened.”

“I will Daryl, I promise. But right, now I just need you to hold me. Please,” you looked up at him, and whatever it was that he read on your face, was enough for him to not ask again.

When you finally arrived back at The Kingdom, morning activities were well underway. Morgan navigated the car up to the gates and turned to Daryl in the backseat.

“Go on and take her in, I’ll return this to the lot and grab the bag,” he motioned to the large duffel on the floor.

“S’lright, I got that,” he said, grabbing the handle and opening the door.

Daryl helped you out of the car and leaned back into look at Morgan. “Thanks again man, for everythin’,” he shut the door before Morgan could say anything in return.

You and Daryl walked through the main gates, one of his hands firmly gripped in yours and the other carrying the bag. Though you’d only been gone a couple days, the familiar surroundings of The Kingdom were a very welcome sight. The sounds of life and laughter were a pleasant change from the eerie quiet of The Hilltop.

“I want you to go see the doc, make sure you’re alright,” Daryl said, he wore an expression that pleaded with you not to argue. You started to shake your head, and his brow furrowed. “Sweetheart… please.”

“Fine, but not until after I see the kids,” you compromised, and he agreed.

Walking towards the dorms, you heard a squeal just as you saw Shelby running towards you and Daryl.

“Momma!” she yelled and barreled right into your waiting arms. Maggie was following quickly behind her, her grin wide across her face as she saw you.

Picking Shelby up and hugging her tightly, Maggie embraced you both and laughed. “You ok?” she asked pulling back from you.

You nodded and just continued to hold tightly to your daughter. “Abe? Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine hun, sleeping soundly right now. This one was gettin’ bored, so Susan said she’d watch over him, so Shelby could down and ride down with Lana.”

Maggie turned her gaze to Daryl and even though her face remained pleasant her tone was full of frustration. “You lied, and then left with nothin’ but a note…”

“I had to go Maggie,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I had to,” Daryl shrugged and placed a hand on the small of your back as you snuggled Shelby.

“I wanna go see Abraham and I desperately need a shower,” you said looking up at him.

“You promised to see the doc.”

“I will Daryl, but give me a minute, okay? I need to see my son and take a fucking shower,” you snapped at him unintentionally, earning a cross look from Shelby.

“Momma, no bad words,” she pouted.

“I’m sorry baby, mommy is tired and wasn’t thinking. But I do need to go check on Abey, so why doesn’t Aunt Maggie take you to the stable for a ride, and when I see you again, I promise I’ll feel better and not use any bad words.”

“C’mon Shel, let’s go see who Lana’s got saddled up for you today,” Maggie reached for her and you passed her over.

Mouthing the words thank you to Maggie, she nodded and smiled, then took Shelby’s hand and led her down the path towards the stable.

Turning to Daryl, you took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, it’s just…”

“You don’t have to. I get it… let’s go back and see Abe. You can shower and then we can talk.”

“Talk? Like, maybe you talk to me about what’s in that duffle bag, and tell me what exactly you planned on doin’ when you got to the Hilltop?”

Daryl was quiet as you walked back to the dorms, not saying a word until you were outside the door to your room.

“Y/N, I was willin’ to do anythin’ to get you back. Anythin’…”

“I know Daryl, but that still didn’t answer the question,” you eyed the bag again and before he could respond, Susan was opening the door and jumping back in surprise at your presence there.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed and hugged you. “He’s going to be so thrilled to see you!” She moved aside for you to enter, and you saw Abe sitting up on the bed.

Once you were at his side, you felt that his little head was cool, and that his color was starting to return. A wave of relief overcame you and you felt the tears start falling again.

“Hi momma,” he said, his small voice weary but happy.

“Hey Abe… how ya feelin’?”

“Better,”” he smiled, and you felt your whole body rejoice.

“Good, that makes me so happy! Just try and get some rest, ok? I’ll be here when you wake up.” He nodded slowly and turned over on the bed, falling back asleep quickly.

Daryl was still leaning against the door when you got up from the cot. He moved off the frame and walked over to you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

“You wanna shower?” he asked lowly, as not to wake up Abe. You simply nodded and went into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind you.

Looking at your face in the mirror, you stared at your reflection. Your mind flashed back to the day before in Negan’s bedroom, to the images burned into your brain of him fucking Rosita. Shaking the memories loose, you went to the shower and turned it on, allowing time for the hot water to steam up the bathroom.

Slowly stripping out of your clothes, you recalled how you felt as Negan pulled down your shirt and ran his fingers along your bra and over your breasts. Your stomach started to turn and the tears you successfully had been holding off, started falling silently.

Leaving a pile of clothes on the floor, you finally stepped into the shower. Closing your eyes and looking up to the water cascading over your face, your memories continued to betray you. You were so lost in the recollection of being tied to the chair, that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open and then close again.

Leaning your forehead against the wall of the shower, you let your emotions go completely. The sobs left your shaking body cold even under the warmth of the water. Just when you didn’t think you’d be able to stand up much longer, you felt a hand glide over your shoulder making you turn with a start, as Daryl joined you in the shower.

“You ‘lright?” he asked just barely above a whisper.

Slowly, you shook your head and turned into him. He kissed the top of your head and turned you around so that your back was to him. He reached around in front of you and grabbed the washcloth from the hook and lavished it with your favorite soap.

Daryl moved your hair to one shoulder, as he began to gently rub the washcloth over your neck and shoulders. He continued to wash-down your arms and back, then around to your stomach as you leaned back into him, feeling better with each pass of the cloth against your skin.

The hot water rinsed the subs from your body, and when it was free of the soap, Daryl kissed your shoulder and the lobe of your ear.

“I ain’t never gonna come that close to losin’ you again,” he purred as his fingers traced the contours of your arms.

You could feel his erection starting to grow as it began lightly pressing into the soft swells of your ass. Daryl took a step back and grabbed the shampoo from the shelf.

“Lean your head back,” he ordered softly, and you did as you were told. He poured the liquid in his hands and slowly massaged it into your scalp. You chuckled as it ran down into your face, and swiped at it before it hit your eyes.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he said, catching another stream before it went into your other eye. “I ain’t so good at this.”

“You’re doin’ fine babe,” you said quietly, revealing in the feeling of his fingers tangled in your hair.

He moved you, so your head was directly under the water and helped rinse all the soap out. Leaning your head back again, he stood in front of you now, and made sure to get all the shampoo out, leaving your (y/h/l) (y/h/c) clean and you feeling refreshed.

When you lifted your head back up from the stream of water, you caught his eyes and your stomach instantly got that fluttery feeling, as if you were ascending towards the peak of the roller coaster and you were about to tip over the edge. The way he was looking at you made you want to forget everything and just lose yourself in him.

Biting on your lower lip, you reached up to kiss him. Daryl kissed you back gently as if he was afraid to hurt you. The feeling of his lips on yours just increased the ache growing between your thighs. Betraying you again, your mind flashed to Negan’s hand slipping into your pants and you did your best to push it again.

“Baby,” you whispered into his mouth as his lips parted for yours, “baby, I need you. Please. I need to feel you, everywhere.”

Daryl moaned at your pleading request. His fingertips digging into your flesh and yanking your hips into his. His erection was at full length and already pushing into the warm folds between your thighs.

Pushing you back against the wall of the shower, Daryl pushed his long, now soaking wet hair from his face. You loved when you could see all of him like this. His deep blue eyes drinking you in while his ran his tongue across his lips as if he was just waiting to devour you. He went to turn you around to have you from behind, but you stopped him.

“No, I want to see you… need to see you,” you begged him and wrapped your arms up around his neck.

Daryl kept his eyes fixed on yours as his hand slipped down into your folds. The water from the shower mingled with the wetness from your sex, giving him a sleek and ready place to enter you.

“You want me that bad?” he asked, a type of smirk on his lips that he had only when he knew how badly you wanted him to fuck you.

“Yes,” you purred and softened your eyes. “You’ve no idea baby… please.”

He lifted you up, and waited just long enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist before allowing the tip of his cock to tease the ridges of your pussy.

Slowly, he moved his hips forward, the sensation of his dick rubbing against your clit was euphoric. Talking a step forward, Daryl rested your back against the shower wall, allowing one of his hand to lightly rub across your breasts, and brushing against your nipples. He ran his hand up your wet skin to your neck, and caressed the back of your head.

Without warning, Daryl suddenly thrust forward, completely filling you with his full length and eliciting a cry of pleasure from you. You automatically buried your face into his neck, unable to make a sound.

His breath was hot on your ear, his chest fully pressed on you as he rocked his hips slowly with yours, but there was no urgency. He used his tongue to lightly tease the contours of your neck between whispering how he’d missed you.

With every thrust into you, he was touching that place deep down that continuously sent bolts of pleasure through every inch of your body. The more your husband made love to you, the further the ordeal with Negan got from your mind. Daryl was enough to fill you in every way possible, and as he brought you closer to your climax, you loved him more in that moment than you could ever recall.

“Fuck…” he moaned into your neck, his hips starting to move faster. The new movement caused an intense friction against your clit, making your eyes roll back and close, your head resting against the palm of his hand.

Daryl kissed your throat, then ran his tongue up to your chin; his lips crashing down on yours just as you felt his cock starting to throb into you. Pressing his forehead against yours, you could feel him release inside you. You loved watching his face when he was this lost in you, because you knew how good it felt to get lost in him.

He thrust up into you as hard as he could, and bent his head down to take your nipple between his teeth, biting and flicking it with his tongue.

“Oh ffuu… fuck!” you cried out.

“Cum for me baby, let me feel you,” he growled and brought his face back up to yours as he thrusted into you as intensely as he could.

You cried out his name into the crook of his neck as your own orgasm rippled through you with a fierce wave of force and pleasure. “Fuck, baby!” you whimpered as he slowed his hips until he was just resting you against the wall as your limbs continued to quiver.

Catching your breath, he held onto you tightly, just leaving his head resting against yours. Daryl gently lowered you to the floor, and moved you so you were back under the warmth of the water.

“I don’t want ya to get cold,” he said and brushed a wet lock of hair from your face. “I meant what I said, I ain’t never gonna get that close to losin’ ya again.”

“I know,” you whispered, you could feel your eyes starting to grow heavy and at the same time your stomach rumbled with hunger.

“Alright, woman… that’s it,” Daryl let the water rinse him off quickly before shutting it off.

He grabbed a towel and wrapped you up in it, then scooped you up as if carrying you across the threshold on your honeymoon and carried you into the bedroom. Abe was still sleeping peacefully on the cot in the corner, when Daryl laid you down carefully on the bed.

He went to the set of drawers and took out a pair of sweats and one of his t-shirts that you liked to wear to bed. Laying them on the covers, he returned to the top drawer for a pair of underwear and socks.

“Get dressed, and I’ll go grab you some food. Think they got lunch going on at the cafeteria.” He quickly dried himself off and grabbed his own clothes. Once Daryl was dressed he stopped to watch you pull the t-shirt over your head and pull your damp hair up off your neck.

“What?” you asked feeling suddenly shy.

“Sometimes I forget,” he said, chewing on his lip.

“Forget what?”

“Just how pretty you are, ‘n how much I love ya,” Daryl shrugged sheepishly and closed the distance between you. “I know why we did what we did, splitting up and all, but from now on, we stay together, ‘lright?”

“Yeah, I am one hundred percent fine with that,” you promised and smiled at him wearily.

“Lay down,” Daryl motioned towards the bed, “probably ain’t slept proper in two days,” he grumbled and pulled back the covers.

You climbed into the bed and closed your eyes the moment your head touched the pillow. You felt Daryl kiss your head, and whisper “I love you,” before hearing the door close as he left to find you some food.

Drifting off to the first real sleep you had in days, you felt a smile ghost your lips. You were home with Daryl and your kids, Abe was feeling fine and you’d just reconnected with your husband, whom you loved beyond any sort of reason.

The one thing you didn’t count on was the affect your ordeal with Negan would truly have, not just on you, but most of the people around you.

Tags: @srj1990 @kazosa @soythedemonqueen @jodiereedus22 @his-paradox @rhyatt-deauxtreve @zombeeemomeee @tiquismiquis @sorenmarie87 @redm81 @kingdixonreedus @reedusteinrambles @aquivercactus @buckyscrystalqueen @see-you-then-winchester @hyphymanatee @adixon13 @rawr-bitchess @kgbrenner @fictionaldemon @thewalkingbucky @bikerdaryldixon @lefthologramdeer @youandyourstupidrope @addiction-survivor25

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #twd fan fiction #Fan fiction #fanfic #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fan fiction

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untiltheribbonbreaks · 7 years

Text

HEART OF THE MATTER

A statement of intent by P . L . Winfield

“Everything potentially always, all is forgiven” - Petrichor

Something occurred to me today: our name has taken on a new meaning. As a child, I would tape the radio onto cassette, fanatically watch VHS tapes the adults left out, and play both ‘until the ribbon broke,’ cementing a life-long obsession with the marriage of sound and image. Our first record was a genuine attempt to capture the sense of wonder in first discovering that magic. An exercise in atmosphere, texture and nostalgia.

When left in the sun too long - when unpreserved and unattended to - cassette ribbon begins to unravel and warp, often trying to escape the safety of its own plastic housing. And in the months and years following our first release, and to a large extent whilst promoting it, I most certainly unraveled. Spilling, unspooled, my life eventually became unmanageable. The crippling anxiety that I had spent so many years masking had finally succumbed to the influence of its most tyrannical friends: Alcohol and Benzodiazepines.

To some degree, I think a large part of surviving the uncertain and chaotic experience that is the human one, is the ability to lie to oneself; pathologically and convincingly. At any cost. In bright white rooms before we walked onto stage, I would stand, gently trembling, tsunami approaching and whisper gently to myself:

“One. More. Drink. No. More. Fear.”

A drink before one stands, vulnerable, in front of a large room of people is, in isolation, a perfectly reasonable reaction to an understandable level of anxiety. In moderation. Just one. Early night. Early start.

But the difference for someone like me, is fundamental. To an alcoholic these words are impossible theory. A brick by brick instruction manual for the Wall of China. There is no moderation, only the promise of oblivion and for me, the temporary quieting of a loud, pervasive and almost constant voice of anxiety.

“Anxiety, I’m pulling down the blinds” - Black and White

Every day and night I tried to quieten that voice. Pushing it away, trying to starve it, bury it, drown it out. Every day it came back harder, louder, more and more vicious. I poured fuel on that particular fire until I couldn’t fight it anymore. In the end, I no longer knew if I was drinking because I was anxious, or anxious because I was drinking.

I couldn’t leave the house without drinking vodka straight from the bottle and worse, I had accepted it. I had lost the fundamental belief that anything of any worth was on the other side of the door. Congratulations! I had, knowingly, torn down every aspect of my life, spitefully, on purpose.

“No more courage in the bottle, I’ve got people I can’t let down” - Meru

In September of last year, I had reached the end of my rope. I could no longer hide from myself, or those still around me. I will be forever grateful to the two people who sat down with me one fateful afternoon and helped me devise my escape route from madness. The start of a journey that was to define my recovery and the very reason that there is even a body of work to speak of.

“The only way out is through” (Alcoholics Anonymous)

Far from the environment that had enabled my addiction, I began treatment, treatment that would change my life forever and help me to reconnect with another voice. A voice I had long forgotten. For three months, I worked. A daily routine of physical and spiritual practise, shedding old skin, changing old stories, reconnecting the dots. Finding a way back.

There are of course names for what we did, there are words for the practices rooted in various schools of thought and belief. Practices that have existed in both the East and the West for hundreds of years. But I find the language of such things needlessly flowery and over-complicated. In layman’s terms however, which have always sat better with me, I believe that any crisis of the soul is a detachment from your true self, the part of you that patiently sits behind all of the worry, all of the pain and discomfort and waits quietly for your return.

So that was our aim, that’s what we set off to find. Some peace of mind, the same peace of mind we all start life with, in my case, long buried under the old, dead weight of fear, shame, and clear, strong liquor.

“C’mon now kiddo, we’ll be alright” - Count the lightening

I had my daily practice, I had my mentor and I had the ocean. As I started, day by day, to feel better, I could feel a kind of shift creatively. I could feel something start to come into focus. Words, sounds, images. Gradually filling up the spaces in my mind, previously occupied by grey, a light was coming on. I set up a makeshift studio in my cabin and went to work filling the spaces on a record that I had previously thought was finished, with a sense of wonder and love for writing, that I had all but lost. But here it was, words and sounds, in my every grateful, waking thought.

It is worth mentioning at this juncture, that whilst in the midst of madness and my subsequent recovery, Elliot had been patiently waiting, wondering if his oldest friend and band member was ever coming back to some kind of normalcy, let alone to music. Never one to sit on his hands, my best mate, also navigating his own turbulence (his story to tell) took it upon himself to learn how to produce and engineer, creating a studio of his own at home on the west side of LA, making loops, ideas and creating fundamental additions to a slowly, surely forming, completed album.

Once back together and with an incredible amount of renewed energy in making music and being a band again, we finished the record, creativity and friendship, two hugely underrated aspects of recovery, I think, from anything.

So here we are today. I find myself writing this with trepidation. I can feel that old knot in my gut forming and my heart rate start to quicken a little. Anxiety of course, is incurable. We need it to survive - it is after all only trying to protect us - but it’s not a perfect mechanism. Much like us.

It’s been 8 months, 243 days since I last had a drink. My life is, by design, more simple now. I go to A.A meetings, I cycle along the seafront, and I make things. I paint, I make music, take photographs and edit film. These are now the things that quiet that negative, critical voice in my head. It’s still there of course, chattering away, but crucially I now have distance from it. I know what it is now.

I think sobriety can mean many things to many people. In my mind, you can get sober from anything that is a negative force of energy in your life. It’s not about alcohol; that was just a symptom, a temporary and ultimately flawed solution. The only real way out for me, in the end, was to look long and hard in the mirror and pull it all apart.

Nothing is coincidental if you look hard enough. You just have to allow a little light in, accept a little serendipity. Be open to a power greater than yourself and submit control. These are the lessons I have learnt in the last few years. These are the simple practices that keep me open, honest and vulnerable. There is no solution to the pains of simply being. There is no quick fix, only radical acceptance, compassion and empathy of what really is: of who you really are.

And yes, cassette ribbon can unravel, but it can be saved (if you are old enough to remember) by lodging a pencil into the reel hole and winding the ribbon back. This, I believe, is why this collection of songs in particular - this record - is self-titled. It’s time to give something its name, to take responsibility for it, to hold up a sometimes trembling hand and say, “I’m Pete, I’m an alcoholic and I’m grateful to be alive, thank you for listening to my story, until we meet again, until the ribbon breaks”

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elevenhoursinfront-blog · 7 years

Text

11th November 2017

I had work at 1400 which didn't feel like much time after waking up around 1030. It is plenty of time to the average individual, but I like to feel like I have a day to myself before work. I say have a day, it doesn't really include anything particularly important either. It usually means a lazy day, watching as many films as I can. I love me some motion picture.

We had our lazy morning (as we do every day), and I got ready for work. Steve came to work with me to research stuff on our laptop using their wifi. It's a pretty popular destination for anyone from either hostel in Cardwell to just sit with their phones and laptops.

Work was absolutely mental for the first 2 hours. I had two new girls from Finland I was trying to train but their English isn't very strong. It's not their fault, as I always, always say. It's just really hard when they're stressed because customers are waiting and I'm running round like a headless chicken trying to sort as much out as I can.

It's so awful being the only one who knows what's going on, or what to do. When it's busy that is. If it's quiet, then perfect. I can take the time to train them as best as I can. It's annoying because it's been so repetitive lately, new person after new person.

Today, I was training a new girl called Ana (Anastazia), from Germany. I actually have met Ana before, as I worked with her at Bushy's when we were packing. Ana got her second year visa through the banana farm but is back in Cardwell to save money for a couple of months after doing the East Coast.

Ana is a fast learner so it wasn't really a problem to teach her everything. I only had to tell her a few times so I was pleased, especially when it became busy with the buses.

A man came in and asked to buy a bus ticket. He wanted the Greyhound bus from Cardwell to Townsville, which is about a 2-3 hour journey. He had a concession card which gave him a 10% discount. All older people get concession which is great.

I showed Ana how to book his ticket, what to do with our ticket of his ticket etc. I gave it to him and said that it leaves today, explained the half an hour break prior to leaving. He went to pay the $36 and decided he didn't want it. Usually, a 3 hour journey for Greyhound is roughly $55. He started getting extremely irate towards me to which I simply said, 'it's a non-refundable ticket, this is where you wanted to go'. He said that it was too much money and that he now wanted a ticket to Ingham. I told him that I wasn't going to book him another one, as he may just do the same and waste our money by declining. He started swearing at me, pointing and waving his hands about. I told him to wait outside and I'd ring the manager for him.

We were really busy at this point, so I continued to serve other customers. He came in, and out, in and out, waiting. I explained that I was the only person till trained so he would have to wait a few more minutes and then I would help him. He was outside for a while, f'in and blinding. As they do...

I rang Theo, explained the situation and Theo asked to speak with the man. The man disappeared, funnily enough. I could hear Rachel in the background on the phone basically saying that it was my fault for selling him a ticket... Because, you know, I was meant to know that he was going to refuse payment. I can't pay first because it doesn't give a price. It wouldn't surprise me if they deducted the ticket from my wages.

I was in a bad mood from then on, purely because I was doing my best and it still was going to be my fault in the end. Theo asked for a description of him and he would watch him on the cameras.

Steve was still outside on the laptop. He said that the guy was really racist whilst he was waiting for me to be finished serving. He kept on calling me 'an f'in pommie'. He also went up to an Indian family and said 'Are you lost?'. Luckily, they didn't understand and just replied with, 'No, we're just coming here to eat'. Steve said he was getting angry by the way this man was acting. He was about 60 years old, just pacing up and down shouting about the foreign people in his country... He went up to an Australian family to ask how they felt about it. Steve tried his hardest to keep his mouth shut which was good. I didn't know about this until I saw Steve later on in the day, mind you.

He left and went home about 1900.

By 2000, I received a text off him saying “I just had to drink a saucepan of mixed alcohol in Ring of Fire”. Oh brilliant, he's going to be absolutely slaughtered by the time I get home. He can't handle his alcohol that well in his old age now! I wanted to be out of work so I could enjoy some time with everyone.

Ana and I worked as quickly as we could. We probably would've been done slightly earlier if Ana knew what she was doing of course. I was trying to do jobs but show her, as well as getting her to do others.

We got out by 2200, which is pretty good. I grabbed the car keys and I dropped Ana off to the other hostel before going home. As I pulled up, I heard everyone in the entertainment room – they were so loud.

I went straight there, rather than to the room as I knew Steve would be there. I walked in and there was almost 3 tables full of people, half of them I'd never seen before... It was like old times, except I had hardly any interest in going round and introducing myself which I know is rude.

I sat at the table with Steve and Louisa, the boys and whoever else. Steve was drunk, but Louisa was smashed! I was so jealous – everyone was telling me about the drinking games and it sounds like I missed out on a lot of fun!

Louisa had to dance on the table but fell off, Steve had to stick his tongue up Ben's nose, Louisa then had to do a mooney but ended up pulling her shorts down too far, Steve drank a saucepan of wine, rum and beer mixed together.

Everyone was completely steaming. Steve said to me after about 10 minutes of me sitting there, “Can we go now”. After catching up with everyone, we went back to the room. Steve said the room was spinning. I got him a bottle of water out of the fridge to drink. He said that he tried to be sick earlier but he only burped. Steve is a right sicky drunk, I've held his hair about 3-4 times. He has never held mine!

I quickly FaceTimed my mum as she was off work, before I went to sleep. Steve was laying next to me and Mum was laughing so much at him. After a half an hour phone call and me forcing him to drink water, he passed out. He's going to feel great in the morning!

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muneerahwrites · 7 years

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BHM: Autobiography of Malcolm X

I am a little late because it’s already mid-November and I’ve only just finished “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” that was meant to be reading for Black History Month in Oct ahhaha.

Anyway, I was looking forward to reading this because I admit as much as I knew that Malcolm X was an icon and role model for civil rights movement for the Black community and Muslim community worldwide, I did not know specifically what he stood for. More importantly, I did not understand his journey. I heard snippets of his talks from the Nation of Islam days and then some during his Hajj journey. These snippets confused me most of the time because they were at times, contradictory.

In 2013, I was at a Malaysian event for youths and they asked us to shout out notable Muslims, so Malcolm X came to mind. Muslim, famous, black, American, (different from the other figures that everyone else named, for eg, Salahuddin, Hasan Al Banna etc) I shouted his name.

“Malcolm X!” The room stilled and even the MC was stunned. He brushed his shock off quickly and said that he could not be counted in this list because he was a controversial figure. I am ashamed to say that even though I was thrown aback but that statement, I did nothing to learn more about this man and why he was so misunderstood.

So fast forward 4 years, I am glad I dedicated three books to 3 Black figures and I am glad to finally understand Malcolm X as he himself wishes to be understood.

His autobiography is a great read, I took a while to read it because I was re-reading certain chapters. His life is truly remarkable.

Who was Malcolm X?

I think this section can be answered by his book – YALL SHOULD READ IT PLEZ. The whole time I was reading his book I kept thinking that Allah’s tarbiyah (development of the self) is really tailor made.

Malcolm X (he claimed that his slave name was Malcolm Little, adopted by slave owners so he disowned his surname and referred to himself as X) was also known as El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz.

Malcolm Little, was born in Omaha, Nebraska. He grew up in a myriad of locations in the United States including Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Lansing, Michigan, Boston, Massachusetts, Flint, Michigan and New York City. He was assassinated in New York in 1965.

Malcolm X was raised by a Baptist minister, he had an understanding of Christianity in his youth. He led a life of hustling, crime, drugs, dancing, women etc. (When we watched the movie, my younger brother was so confused, he didn’t know Malcolm X’s past). This was so important in hindsight and just shows Allah’s wisdom in putting him through so much pain and suffering. This period was so important in terms of him understanding racism, systemic racism, the attitudes of White people, the attitudes of Black people and the different struggles, poverty cycles that are violently placed on the Black community.

“I believe that it would be almost impossible to find anywhere in America a black man who has lived further down in the mud of human society than I have; or a black man who has been any more ignorant than I have; or a black man who has suffered more anguish during his life than I have. But it is only after the deepest darkness that the greatest joy can come; it is only after slavery and prison that the sweetest appreciation of freedom can come.” – Malcolm X

He was in prison for seven years. Honestly, for me, these chapters were the most captivating and it truly showed how pivotal this time in confinement was for his journey. He discovered Nation of Islam in jail, as well as the importance of reading and knowing the language of your oppressors.

“I certainly wasn't seeking any degree, the way a college confers a status symbol upon its students. My homemade education gave me, with every additional book that I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America. Not long ago, an English writer telephoned me, asking questions. One was, "What's your alma mater?" I told him, "Books.” – Malcolm X

Autobiography of Malcolm X review

Stage 1: The Nation of Islam

Before he went to Africa and for Hajj, Malcolm X was quite a bit more militant (I’m not placing a value on this word, it’s neither moral nor immoral. He was just fiercer and less willing to sit defenceless/passively. He said things like:

I am a Muslim, because it’s a religion that teaches you an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. It teaches you to respect everybody, and treat everybody right. But it also teaches you if someone steps on your toe, chop off their foot. And I carry my religious axe with me all the time. – Malcolm X (not from Autobiography: https://hollowverse.com/malcolm-x/#footnote_2_6100)

His period of his life from Chapters “Savior” to “Out” was intense. We get an understanding of the physical, emotional and systemic violence and racism that went down in the US against the Black community. I got an understanding of how Nation of Islam was an organised Black nationalist movement that had a religious rhetoric (and also a very specific unorthodox/fringe understanding of Islam).

As a Muslim myself, when I was reading about the practices and the rhetoric of Nation of Islam, I immediately knew that the organisation was not religious per se. The practices and rituals were not orthodox (what Muslims around the world do). It is particularly a US creation and institution, that can’t be found in Sunni, Shi’a, Sufi, Wahabbi teachings etc.

Nation of Islam was most defined by its leader Elijah Muhammad, who put forward a very clear, conservative code aimed at black spiritual, mental, social and economic improvement --- using Islamic rhetoric and toughing on some aspects of Islam but not truly Islamic? Its interesting because I felt as though Islam was used solely as an anti-thesis to Christianity, aka “the religion of the white man/the oppressor”.

They called for/preached about:

- The complete separation of races

- the created narratives and mytic views of the creation of the Black man

- Black separatism

- Black capitalism: economic self-reliance and empowerment

- Return of African American to Africa / creation of a separate state

Read more here.

Stage 2: Transition post Hajj/Africa

Reading his recollections of how he was betrayed and how he broke off with the Nation of Islam was actually heart breaking. And we see this too often, when the time is dire and in need of unity and strength, we see organisation breaking apart with different allegiances and leaders being goaded by power and delusions. For someone who was loyal and so committed to the cause, I felt the pain and emotional confusion of Malcolm X.

This was when I realised what a great man he was. Through and through, Allah kept seeing that there was a diamond in the rough, misled by the system, by circumstances and by people. He was tested in terms of his sincerity to the Truth and in this phase we see it manifest.

It really is quite sad that we were not able to witness the development of his philosophies and how this more refined, more open understanding of Islam and the situation in America could have played out. But Allah knows best.

For more detailed understanding of his life please read the book! Or read here.

In 1963, Malcolm X travelled to Africa, the Middle East and Europe where he met white people of whomhe could find no reason to hate, no matter what colour they were. Furthermore, Malcolm X discovered hypocrisies and deceptions within the Nation of Islam that caused him to question his allegiance to the organization. At this time, he changed his socio-political worldview as well as his religious tone, saying things like:

[Islam] is the one religion that erases from its society the race problem. Throughout my travels in the Muslim world, I have met, talked to, and even eaten with people who in America would have been considered white, but the white attitude was removed from their minds by the religion of Islam.

“America needs to understand Islam, because this is the one religion that erases from its society the race problem. Throughout my travels in the Muslim world, I have met, talked to, and even eaten with people who in America would have been considered white, but the white attitude was removed from their minds by the religion of Islam. I have never before seen sincere and true brotherhood practiced by all together, irrespective of their color.”

― Malcolm X

His commitment to Truth and speaking it to power.

He was an important figure and an inspiration to all of us in terms of speaking Truth to power – truth in terms of speaking out against the oppressor and its systems as well as being committed to searching for the ultimate Truth.

“I’ve had enough of someone else’s propaganda… I’m for truth, no matter who tells it. I’m for justice, no matter who it is for or against. I’m a human being first and foremost, and as such I’m for whoever and whatever benefits humanity as a whole.”

Powerful quotes

(Reading his book was one experience but searching up his speeches, now THAT was another experience. He was really really charismatic, mashaAllah)

“So early in my life, I had learned that if you want something, you had better make some noise.”

“Hence I have no mercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people, and then penalize them for not being able to stand up under the weight.”

“And because I had been a hustler, I knew better than all whites knew, and better than nearly all of the black 'leaders' knew, that actually the most dangerous black man in America was the ghetto hustler. Why do I say this? The hustler, out there in the ghetto jungles, has less respect for the white power structure than any other Negro in North America. The ghetto hustler is internally restrained by nothing. He has no religion, no concept of morality, no civic responsibility, no fear--nothing. To survive, he is out there constantly preying upon others, probing for any human weakness like a ferret. The ghetto hustler is forever frustrated, restless, and anxious for some 'action'. Whatever he undertakes, he commits himself to it fully, absolutely. What makes the ghetto hustler yet more dangerous is his 'glamour' image to the school-dropout youth in the ghetto.These ghetto teen-agers see the hell caught by their parents struggling to get somewhere, or see that they have given up struggling in the prejudiced, intolerant white man’s world. The ghetto teen-agers make up their own minds they would rather be like the hustlers whom they see dressed ‘sharp’ and flashing money and displaying no respect for anybody or anything. So the ghetto youth become attracted to the hustler worlds of dope, thievery, prostitution, and general crime and immorality.”

House Negro and the Field Negro (THIS WAS SOOO SIMILAR TO FANON’S OBSERVATIONS in “Black Skins, White Masks”): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kf7fujM4ag

By any means necessary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dfSpjyCplg

Who taught you to hate yourself?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaXPhR7aWvo

#black history month #malcolm x

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bighandslittlefeet · 5 years

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Catching up!

Hello Everyone!

Oh my glob. I’m literally the worst at blogging. But hey, cut me some slack, we’ve been busy. So where were - ah yes, it was 2018 and summer was brewing nicely, we expected the pot to whistle at any moment…

So we set off from Seal rocks, bumping poor Val’s under carriage as little as we could by going at a measly 2 Km an hour. The road turned from dirt track back to sealed tarmac and soon the odometer was ticking over at a far more respectable pace. We decided to head for Port Macquarie, which I now retroactively know, having read around a third of Bill Bryson’s Down Under, was named for Lachlan Macquarie a colonial administrator who lent his name to pretty much every conceivable geographic oddity he could. At the time I only knew it was a place where we could see Australia’s only Koala hospital.

We arrived in town and parked up. Little did we know we had run Val’s battery down overnight and she had struggled to keep the fridge cold. At the expense of our future physical comfort, but hopefully our digestive grace, we parked in direct sunlight to keep her fully action ready. We needed to pick up an air mattress for our guests that were arriving soon and who would be travelling with us. We ventured into a nearby K-mart, a purely nomic marvel to us, no other reason, and soon left with a queen size self inflating mattress. Later on we would find it would not fit in the tent even after careful measurements. We walked into town along the harbour edge and wandered around looking for somewhere to eat. I immediately spotted Pancake Palace, bedecked in Braziliana, great toucans, flopping banana leaves, and grinning colourful monkeys, the connection between north american style pancake meals as advertised in their window and the home of the largest remaining rainforest on Earth still escapes me. All I knew is I like bright colours and pancakes. Becca declined - much to my surprise - what thought would be thoroughly rewarding dining option. We instead made our way towards a delightful eastern eatery and had a snack there.

Bikes were high on my list. If we could find some to rent then we could do a delightful ride around the harbour. We made our way towards Greg street a place we had been recommended by a bicycle shop as doing rentals. We dutifully trekked across town and found their rates and wheels to be quite good - we took a card promising to be back tomorrow. We visited the local tourist information point and picked up leaflets and noticed there was a quaint strange gallery behind frosted glass but that alas it was shut today. Again, we would be back.We started to hunt for a campsite and settled on one right in the crook of the harbours arm. We arrived and a lovely woman who had emigrated 10 years prior and yet still retained her Mancunian accent greeted us and let us know that Macquarie was fab, loads to do, but we must must must leave promptly on Wednesday as the entire campsite was being transformed into a weekend folkrock festival. We noted as we drove into the site proper and could see hoards of burly folk hoisting huge metal fences into place, we could see the gap between the site and the harbour wall rapidly closing so we made our escape from Colditz as fast as we could!

The Harbour at Macquarie is lined with fantastic painted stones. I’m not talking fantastic quality but of fantastic meaning. These stones are memorials to family holidays, student tours, and indeed memorials to grandparents long passed. One moment you could be reading a heartfelt thank you to the class of ‘97 the next a moving record of the life of Charlie - gone but never forgotten and taken too soon Sept ‘06 - Feb ‘08. It was an odd rollercoaster journey of emotion, laughter, deep sadness, quirky laughs. Another odd theme started to present itself to my mind also. Many of the rocks were for family holidays to this very campsite. But they stretched back continuously, one family to one rock, each year marked off in slightly bright less flaky paint than the previous, for more than 20 years! And the families! How large and prodigious. I began to suspect mormons. And then low, the watchtower emerged from the rocks! We had somehow found ourselves in a Jehovah’s Witness hotspot with a particular kink for very very large families - presumably to spread the good Word. I began to feel a little out of place, felt the searing glances of Patriarchs, a hundred toddlers tied to their waists marching up and down the wall looking for Dolphins, suddenly turning their gaze to me and noting quietly, yet certainly that I was not one of them. One of the flock. Then a teenager with a bandanna and no top flew past on a skateboard and screamed ‘Fucking ripper shred man!’. My entire being sighed an existential sigh of relief. I belonged.

The next day we noticed another couple in a van had parked up in the spot next to us. We were listening to the stellar podcast ‘My Dad wrote a Porno’ and we were stifling giggles as they walked past. We were determined to make some friends on this trip and so Becca went over and said hello and introduced us and wondered if they were up for going for a drink that night? They seemed friendly enough and said they would! With a possible mate date looming we set off for the Koala Hospital. Port Macquarie is home to the only Koala hospital in the country - people who find Koalas that seem unwell or injured are reported and the team comes and takes a look at them, if they need rest and recuperation then they are taken to the hospital. Its a fab volunteer run enterprise, started by a lady in the 60’s. Its since expanded due to a bunch of kind donors but its mission statement is the same. We saw a koala who was a lifetimer at the hospital - she had been found when a driver saw that a koala was lying by the side of the road, she was dead, but in her pouch was the newborn joey. The hospital took her in and a volunteer fed her every 2 hours for 3 weeks. As she grew she showed signs of development that were unusual. She had received brain damage during the accident that had killed her mother and she was blind. We practically sobbed learning that she just didn’t climb trees like the other patients as she had never learnt how. She was completely blind, and as such could never be returned to the wild. We met many other Koalas and learnt that they are not bears but marsupials, as some of you keen readers may have already noticed from the pouch reference, and learnt that they really don’t like to be held and usually do a stress poo - the hospital did not offer holding sessions and implored its visitors not to hold koalas if given the chance. Poor buggers. They also all had adorable names due to their geographical naming convention. Koalas are extremely territorial and have trees for all kinds of purposes, bedrooms, eating, defecating, socialising, grooming, etc. And if they lose a tree it really confuses them - deforestation is a real issue and leads to most road accidents involving koalas as they attempt to travel deforested areas to find their home range. As such when a Koala has been treated and deemed ready to return to the wild it needs to go back as close as possible to where it was found as this will reduce the likelihood of it having to travel to find its home range and thus lower its chances of being injured again. Our favourite name was this Opal Falls Allen. Named for the place where he was found, Opal falls, and secondly the person who calls them in gets to name them - we loved the idea of some person just being like ‘Ah mate, he looked like a fair dinkum Allen to me, no drama, he’s out here by bloody Opal Falls and he don’t look to ripper, can ya send someone quick!?’

We returned from the hospital with a bittersweet feeling - knowing that folk were helping and hindering the happy existence of the koalas through the hospital and through cutting down gum trees respectively. We found a nice bottle shop and soon had a bag of chilled goon in our fridge box and were ready to meet our neighbours proper! Nicole and Addy were from Oxford, a P.E. Teacher and Carpenter respectively, they were visiting a relative in Sydney but had taken a couple of weeks to rent a camper and drive up the East coast to Byron. We got on like a house on fire and were soon wandering the harbour wall into town to the hotel where we got a bottle of wine. We laughed and talked and soon made our way back to camp to finish off the goon we had started earlier. Somewhere in the midst of all this carousing, we exchanged travel notes and discovered we were both heading to Coffs Harbour next. We promptly booked in at the same site as them and bid them good night and safe travels!

It was safe to say we had not had a night of drinking any real amount of alcohol in some time and our heads were sorrier for it the next morning. Nevertheless there were the folk in golf carts still fervently assembling the wire fence for the festival. It looked a tad grey and we couldn’t stomach riding bikes around so we opted to wander back into town and go to the art gallery we had seen before. Sadly the frosted glass did not hide the visual delights we had imagined but instead the airbrushed efforts of a local artist whose aesthetic sensibilities we did not share - alas, it takes all sorts to make a world. We made our way back to the campsite, had a spot of lunch and then paddled in the pool as grey skies broke into a halfhearted drizzle. I always enjoy a swim in the rain.

The next day we were on the road waving goodbye to Nicole and Addy saying that we’d see them at the next stop. We drove on up the A1, Bruce Highway, and in a few short hours were driving into Coffs Harbour. We made our way into town to do a food shop and got our first taste of Australian poverty. The town seemed very like the more austerity afflicted Northern towns of England, empty shop fronts, job centres adorned with fluorescent graffiti, notably more fast food shops and people who frequented them. Tourism seems to be the main industry of the East coast. The only other industries I have heard of are the coal power, and associated mining industries. It seems inequality strikes here too - but I guess that's no surprise with a government that thrives on the traditional conservatism that feeds into the local fears of the outsider, but more on the politics of Oz later! Right now a culinary intermission:

Golden gaytimes. What a wonderful and tasty morsel. Golden gaytimes for the uninitiated are a unique type of ice-cream to Australia. A sort of burnt sugar cinder toffee flavour golden foamy ice cream rippled with a vanilla ice cream coated in chocolate and rolled in crushed biscuit. Really really quite delightful. As we were eating our new favourite sunny day snack we waved at Nicole and Addy who were driving into camp as we returned shopping bags in hand. That night we suffered through a long and hearty downpour, we had forgotten that the top flap was open and so had to improvise a pan for a pooled puddle that was slowly dripping onto us. In the light of the morning we were very thankful to see that there were no proper leaks and Val was still holding up admirably to the elements.

We set off to explore the bicycle path to the coast and found ourselves walking along boardwalks, gravel paths, and dirt tracks, through swamp, field, and pasture, until we came alongside the estuary. Its broad sweep was azure blue and shallow, we saw many people wading in it, which encouraged us with respect to the local flora and fauna, and soon were passing the dolphin sanctuary on our right. It had a distinctly seaworld vibe with vans of tourists outside and adverts proclaiming hourly swim sessions with the fishy inhabitants. We steered clear and dove into the river. We waded our way up to the coast and wandered around until we found some fish and chips. Fish and chips isn’t the same. We asked for fish and chips and they asked how many pieces. We said one. It turns out they don’t do cod or haddock they do barramundi or hoki. Both of which are quite small. The chips too - thin and crisp, like french fries - not the soggy sad affair of the british chip that I and Becca had our hopes and cravings up for. But our stomachs were satisfied and it was rather good. They love aioli here and it came with that which helped! However, lunch was not a peaceful affair. Ever since I was attacked by a seagull in Cornwall, Fowey to be precise, a very nice Cornish ice cream was lost, and a set of red claw marks were left along the side of my neck, Becca has a bit of a fear of gulls. I was the one who was attacked. My ice cream lost to the avian gods of hunger. My neck raked with webbed feet. And yet as we sit on a bench tucking into our ‘fish and chips’ Becca is the one growling at the encroaching flock of gulls. A periodic stand up and arm waving procedure was developed to minimise lunchtime distress.

From there we walked out along the arm of the marina which connected the coast to Solitary Island. We didn’t know it, but it was a nature reserve and as we stepped off the magnificently abstract concrete artwork that was the marina wall we found ourselves reading some fascinating information boards on the history and biology of the island. Home to a particular species of burrowing bird whose name escapes me now, it was connected to the mainland by the marina wall in the 50’s and rats promptly invaded the island killing most of the birds and eating their eggs. It was also the home of the aboriginal ‘moon man’ who took his rest on the island and was said to exact punishment on overly confident young men in the tribe who took too many eggs of the burrowing birds. The path to the top of the island was steep and paved with a herringbone brick pattern. It was bordered by spectacularly beautiful plants that hugged the earth wind blasted as they were by a stiff sea breeze. They bore an astoundingly bright purple fruit, like a blueberry, but larger, and iridescently purple. The view from the top was excellent and I refer you to the pictures to do it justice.

That night we sat with Nicole and Addy and played Uno talking about the day and where we were heading to next - we were both headed to Byron Bay.

And so dear reader, that's probably a good place to pause for the moment. I’ll start writing the next one now but post it in a little while, hopefully this will keep you all going!

With lots of love,

Sam and Becca

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aostaxmountains · 5 years

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Aosta Mountains

Chapter Two

Naomi

The summer wind blew gently through the valley, and could practically be heard swirling around the blades of grass. The faint chatter and laughter of people carried in the same breeze, towards one of the barns that Rivendell housed. This particular stable could hold two dozen horses in individual stalls. It was beautiful, elegant, yet had a modern simplicity to it that gave Naomi a homey feel whenever she walked into the place. The stalls were of finished wood and black metal, that slid open and close, but even when closed, the ‘window’ part of the door could slide open individually, which they normally were. The horses were taken out into the paddocks in shift groups and paddock depending, so everyone got equal time outside for the most part. Some of the older horses were kept inside during bad weather, of course. The stables were equipped with two paddocks, a large pond, three round pens, and both an outdoor and indoor arena for riding, exercise, and training. The indoor arena in particular had a wall of windows, looking through to a lounge area that was previously meant for parents to wait for their children to finish lessons, most likely. Now, however, it was restricted to only staff.

The lounge area was complete with a real fireplace, and it broke off into a kitchen and dining room, as well. Above the long row of stalls, there was an upstairs ‘cat walk’ that lay directly over each row of stables, and connected together like a track – and a shortcut bridge in the middle. There were a couple rooms above the stables where some of the workers stayed, including Naomi, who had the best suite there; she was, after all, the barn manager. There were other rooms, such as the tack room, where all equipment for the horses were kept, and all organized for one shelf per individual horse, all fit and measured to them exactly. Including the reins of a horse, which only came off during a scrub down and otherwise stayed on – they were recently all replaced, however, when Naomi arrived. Now, every rein had a metal tag installed right into the leather, embroidered with a number in braille. Of course, Naomi knew which number was assigned to the name of the horse, but this way if a horse got older and died, the reins could still be used.

Unlike Cordelia, Naomi had been in Rivendell for years now, along with her sister, Nadia. She grew up on a family owned horse ranch, so upon arriving, it was clear she was most qualified for the job, and replaced the man who had currently been running the place. Her sister, had gotten the stable on the opposite side of the valley, and had been running that one, as well – until she opted out in favour of becoming a guard. Years in a place really allowed one to be able to take in surroundings, and that included Naomi. She no longer needed her collapsible walking stick (though still carried it with her) as she moved about the stables. She knew that place step for step, and knew each horse and their personality better than anyone. Including the three horses, she, herself, had brought with her; Scout, Solstice, and Spartan.

The young blind woman had a system that improved work load and efficiency, so her taking over, despite her inability to physically see, was soon seen as a gift and not a hindrance. Naomi, herself, was patient beyond all measures, and genuinely kind. She didn’t judge and had an open mind, in which she attempted to keep from bias – or, at least, recognize when she was being bias. She studied Buddhism, and when she spoke, her words came out softly, in a slower pace that wasn’t rushed. In a way that made you listen. For she may not of been able to see, but in no way was she without vision. The young woman was short at barely two inches over five feet tall, but she carried herself with purposeful grace, all the same. Mostly because under it all, she was incredible stubborn, and embarrassed rather easily when tripping or walking into something. Her eyes were a glossy hazel brown, and even blind, almost bore right into anyone having a conversation with her. Which did have much to do with her ability, which although didn’t allow her to see, it allowed her to feel the exact position of another human being. However, when it came to inanimate objects, it was mostly useless.

The mutant ability Naomi carried with her was an incredibly powerful one, dulled only by the fact she could no longer physically see, and by her own morals. For she refused to use her ability to intrude on the privacy of others, whenever she could. It was come to be known as Telempathy – not quite telepathy, but certainly a huge upgrade from empathy. It was a complicated ability with set backs of nose bleeds, migraines, and even comas from over usage. It couldn’t be turned off, only filtered, making the manifestation of this particular gift, one that had been dangerous and painful for the young woman.

“She’s all full up.” The voice came from one of the stable hands, whom had helped her pack up a horse drawn caravan – or, it use to be one before it was gutted and was now used as transport for supplies. The stable where Naomi worked, was far out from any houses, and was much closer to where they kept a couple fields for crops. But even further out, to the edge of their sanctuary, was the main gate; at the east. Supplies were often dropped at the stable as a part way point, and Naomi delivered them to the guards at the gate, who worked three teams in three shifts, for seven days, before having seven days off.

“Thank-you, Kyle. Did you manage my strawberry jam in there, as well? It’s been a hot summer, and I thought they could use a treat.”

“I did, yeah. Jars are in a box, tucked in a corner where they won’t break.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Kyle. Thank-you again. Why don’t you take one of the jars from the table in my suite? As a thank-you for your help. Are you able to bring Scout out to me? He’s already all tacked up.” Naomi finished connecting one of the draft horses up to the caravan, offering many pats and lots of love in the process. It wasn’t rushed, and the horse really knew the drill by now, making it much easier for Naomi. Kyle brought Naomi the horse in question – he was a grey and white horse, who was tall by even regular standards. The male horse looked big next to a six foot man, so next to Naomi, who was nearly a foot shorter, he looked absolutely massive. Of course, Naomi could of hoped on the caravan, herself, and just rode that, but she couldn’t see where she was going, meaning she couldn’t guide the horse that way. Plus, she didn’t feel it was necessary to add another hundred and ten pounds to the already heavy weight. It also gave her a nice trail with one of her horses.

She chose Scout for the journey to the gate, because it was the shortest supply run she made and he was getting older, though not elderly yet. He knew the route best, and together, they lead the draft horse where they needed to go. A horse was much smarter than a guide dog, and learned routes much faster, as well. Surprisingly, the tiny woman pulled herself up on the massive horse with ease, settling herself into the saddle. It was a pleasant enough ride, as it always was, and as always, Naomi sung softly as she rode or spoke to the horses. As she came into view of the guards on the wall – it was much like that of a castle, with two tall towers on either side of the gate, and a tall, thick, fortified wall stretching to either end – Naomi felt a wave of excitement from someone familiar, and it wasn’t long after that she heard a voice. It belonged to a woman named Penelope, whom Naomi had grown quite fond of in her time here. She could practically see the woman creating a slide purely of ice and sliding down to greet her like she normally did. She chuckled to herself as the dimpled woman drew near, bringing the horses to a stop.

“I was hoping to see you today, Penelope.”

“You always know it’s me, don’t you?” The woman with dirty blonde hair and a husky voice came to a stop before Naomi, raising herself with ice to be on the same level as the other.

“It’s hard not to recognize the people I’m rather fond of. I brought my jam today – I know you’ve been looking forward to the first batch of the year.”

“Maybe I just look forward to a reason to see you.” Penelope reached out, gently touching Naomi’s arm first, before moving her hand to tuck dark strands behind the shorter woman’s ear.

“Penelope..” Naomi spoke softly, a deep blush running through her cheeks as she worried her lower lip for but a moment, reaching out to take the older woman’s hand in her own, smiling softly. How could she ignore that? Perhaps if she asked, Penelope would agree to go on a date. However, before she opened her mouth, the warning siren went off rather loudly.

“You need to leave!” Penelope called back, quickly moving to free the draft horse from the wagon, knowing very well Naomi wouldn’t leave without the horse.

“But the hor-”

“Already on it. No one but the Guard is allowed being this close to the gate when the siren sounds. Ride hard and fast, and be safe, okay? For me?” Penelope handed the reins to the other horse to Naomi, creating a staircase of ice so she could step up and place a gentle kiss on Naomi’s cheek. “Now go!” And before Naomi could interject, she felt the presence of the other woman leaving to rush to the wall, possibly to defend it. After all, it wasn’t a common occurrence for the siren to sound; it meant someone was approaching their hidden piece of paradise somehow.

#Aosta Mountains

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josephkuli-blog · 6 years

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Hello,

My name is Joe This wall of text to follow is my story as to how I got into fitness. Once upon a Reese cup, I found myself staring at myself in disbelief. I spent a good portion of my life just ignoring the obvious truth that I was not healthy. Eating fast food, downing sodas, being apathetic and overall grounded. After a visit to the doctors do to improper eating, I got a scare of my life. The scale, that I avoided for so long, read 314 LBS. Blood tests indicated I pre-diabetic and with these results I got scared. I stared at little photos that I was in. I saw a man who was blinded by his passion of food and the comfort of sitting in the house. It's strange when people comfort you with " No Joe you look fine," and help me not realize where I was.

With the reality check of my doctor visit I decided to quite the soda and hit joined the gym (Anytime Fitness). With much intent I signed up with a trainer and took on a fitness journey. With that journey I was part of the struggle bus and pushed myself. Within years' time I had shaped myself into a better person. I lost 34lbs and felt healthier. Then came July 2016 and I plateaued. I lost inspiration, my 4 days a week fell to 1 maybe 2 days a week and my eating habit came back to bad. I went from 270lbs and crept back up to 300lbs.

I had run a local charity obstacle course race and the gym manager had asked me if I had wanted to run a Spartan race with the gym at Citizen bank park that September. I was sketchy at first. With some consideration I decided to run the race. With running that race, I got the hardest reality check in my life. I failed several obstacles and in total had to do 125 burpees. It was the most grueling thing I had done.

In the past, I would of saw that grueling race as something I’d never do, but in truth I saw something that could help me set new goals for myself. That November I had a changing of trainers and began a new focus and motivational gym regime. That December I decided to sing up for my next challenge Palmerton, PA’s spartan race on Blue Mountain. With the signing up I focused on trying to run more and be consistent with my training. In the beginning of 2017 I noticed my gym had a group training session going one evening of people who I ran with at Citizens.

I took a leap of faith and joined the group every Friday evening, when I could, and added to my weekly work out routine a grueling, sweat filled, soul crushing work out. It was with this group that my fitness grew with leaps and bound. The trainer, Jason Silva, mentored the group of us designing these high intense workouts through the year that tested us, strengthen us and brought the entire group’s fitness level to better standard.

Then May came, that month a Spartan sprint was happening up in New York at Citi Field and with another leap of faith I deiced to do a test run with the group I had been training with. It was a grueling race that went better than my Citizens race and truthfully was a fun rainy race. It was then I realize the progress I had made. I’d slim down, I felt better and my fitness level was way better than it was 6 months ago.

Palmerton came and I was scared and excited for it. This was my first Spartan mountain course. Many had said this was one the hardest East coast courses, hence why there was only a Sprint and Super on this course and boy did I discover just how brutal. The common joke about gingers is “They eat your soul” well if I wanted to characterize Palmerton, it was a ginger and it ate my soul. On that course I finished strong, battle heat exhaustion and general fatigue. At the end I was happy. I completed my goal of running a mountain course.

I did a few obstacle course races after Palmerton, which I was on the tail end of Palmerton and performed way beyond what I expected in terms of running wise. I had already signed up for my Citizens, which I dubbed my anniversary race.

Citizens was fun in the 2017, it was hot and grueling. It was at this point I began to slowly rescind on my progress that year. This race I felt like I did the year before. At the end of it, I did less burpees, but my general well being wasn’t 100%. In my mind, I had already made up my mind I was going to do the next challenge, complete a Trifecta. That December, I invested in my next step and purchased my Trifecta pass. I chose to go in reverse order Beat(Jersey), Super(Palmerton) and Sprint(Citizens).

I heavily made excuses in the beginning of the year of not training as intense in the gym due to shoulder injury. The gym manager, who got me into Spartan, ribbed me in the beginning the year about my lack and commitment to the gym where I only showed up 4 times in January. I laughed it off and said I would get back in I swear. If I were have pinkie promise I would of broke that pinkie.

Jersey came and it wasn’t the prettiest experience. The first 6 miles were good, I had friend who stuck by my side pushing me to do better. Then it came to the remaining 6 miles. The agony of cramps set in. My pace slowed to snail pace. I knew I had let me teammate down who would constantly call out to me to encourage me to keep going. Nearly 10 hours later I completed the Jersey beast, despite the dangers of Rain and Lightening, I was able to complete the race.

It was then when I got the opportunity to see race photos taken by friends and Spartan I saw my reality check this year. My progress had dropped and I was back to where I wasn’t. The scale told the truth. At the time being, I weighed 270lbs. The previous year I was touch and go with 230lbs. The photos showed the old curves I had gained back. Despite feeling somewhat conditioned, my lack of gym time showed.

My workout routine picked up a bit after Jersey. Palmerton was only 3 months away. Those 3 months were no walk in the park. My commitment was still lack luster, but at the time being enough to give me some more breathing room for Palmerton. This time with Super, my overall experience was better than Jersey. This was my first 8 mile spartan and the cramping wasn’t as bad. It was tough though. In the back of my mind I had known I still wasn’t up to speed. In the last mile of it, I felt like crap. Literally I felt sick at the end. My body was in shock and I barely made it to the finish line.

I reflected on Palmerton and saw that I needed to get serious. I had one more race to complete my Trifecta and in no way was I going to go sub-par for the next two months before Citizens. It was then I decided to put in my time. My gym time in the gym and outside the gym increased. My dieting got a tons better. My weight dropped from 270lbs to now 235lbs. Over the course of the two months I aspired to be the better me, the one that was more well balanced.

My mile run went from 10 minute to 8 minute. My team that I’m running with, recognized my growth and progress. My transformation was noticeable. I even had one say they were concerned with my absence throughout the year at the gym and group training. It was then she said how proud she was of my progress.

It’s because of the love and caring nature of my fitness family that I was able to get back to where I needed be. It’s because of their drive and encouragement that I am at my best condition since beginning my fitness journey 3 years ago when I became a Spartan. The list is long I wanted to thank Jason, Chris, Kelly, Julie, Anthony, James, Ron, Rob, Chris, Justin, Jess, Courtney, Kari, James, Brendan, Mark, Sydney and all the Spartans that words of encouragement on and off the course motivated me to keep pushing. I look forward to completing my Trifecta this weekend and running with my Anytime Fitness Delaware family. AROO!

#fitnes #spartan #obstaclecourse #reflection #journey

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jenmedsbookreviews · 6 years

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Made the most of the beautiful weather this weekend and went for a lovely walk early on Sunday morning. A few miles and several steps covered, I also cleared 40% of an audiobook so it is all good. Productive day for me then. Whoop whoop.

So – how has your week been? I’ve had a bit of an emotional one again this week unfortunately. Took my little kitty to the vets as he’s been under the weather and we’ve been monitoring him for the week. Sadly, this time he hd lost more weight and the vet felt a mass in his intestinal tract which doesn’t look good. He’s on steroids to manage his condition and hopefully improve his feeding but we both know it is simply a matter of time before I have to say goodbye to Mars too. I am trying to psyche myself up for it, but I have to be honest, as nice as the gesture was, it didn’t help that the same evening I came home to a card from the Vets with their best wishes after the loss of Kaycee the other week. Can anyone guess who was an emotional blubbering mess? No? That would be me. Again.

I did manage to complete two of my three online courses, which sounds like far more of an achievement than it actually is, but hey. I now have certificates. Go me, lol.

Taking my mind off things, I had a meeting in Crawley on Thursday so I took the opportunity for a quick stop off in the city the night before to attend the launch of Roxanne Bouchard’s wonderfully lyrical crime thriller, We Were The Salt of the Sea. The event was hosted by the Canadian Embassy, the venue and the evening amazing, and a big thanks to Karen Sullivan for the invitation. Certainly a very memorable event with brilliant readings by translator David Warriner (in English) and Roxanne herself (in French) which made the night perfect. Might have picked myself up a sneaky signed copy of the book too, courtesy of the lovely Karen again. The dedication is in French but I have just about enough knowledge of the language to translate. It was lovely to meet both Roxanne and David and their respective partners, and to see a number of my good blogging pals too.

You know my theory that book post is like buses? Well – proven again this week. While I was away I received three letters/parcels. The first was a book-plate for The Craftsman by Sharon Bolton. If I hadn’t been expecting it then it would have been quite unnerving lol. The second was a copy of Her Name Was Rose by Claire Allan from Avon Books. The third was something pretty special – a finished copy of The Ice Swimmer by Kjell Ola Dahl where I am quoted on the cover!!! My first (and probably only) time as a cover girl. I will treasure this for sure. Might even have to get it signed by the man himself as a super special copy.

Saturday saw me attending the blogger author meet up in Stoke organise by Stephanie Lawrence and Kerry Parsons. It was fab to catch up with some old friends and make some new ones. I am crap with pictures so there is no evidence to be found on this blog, but if you search about you may find some in existence elsewhere.

I’m probably a very naughty bunny – depending on your perspective – but I did go onto Netgalley again this week, In my defence, I had to as I needed books for blog tours … I just might have strayed and requested a couple more while I was there. Whoops. I picked up The Date by Louise Jensen, Follow Me Home by DK Hood, The Puppet Show by MW Craven and Strangers on a Bridge by Louise Mangos. I also received an advance copy of After He’s Gone from author Jane Issac, the first in a brand new series which I am really looking forward to tucking into soon.

Purchase wise – not so well behaved I’m afraid. I made a few pre-orders (as you do) and picked up a couple of bargains too. As well as preordering Follow Me Home, The Puppet Show and Strangers on a Bridge, I picked up Dead Blind by Rebecca Bradley; The Adulterer’s Wife by Leigh Russell; The Dying Place by Luca Veste; The Promise by Katerina Diamond; Dark Winter and Original Skin by David Mark. No audio books, the then I think I have enough to be going on with, don’t you?

Books I have read

Absolution – Paul Hardisty

Sequel to the critically acclaimed The Abrupt Physics of Dying, The Evolution of Fear and Reconciliation for the Dead. Claymore Straker returns in another gripping, page-turning, socially conscious thriller, with more at stake than ever…

It is 1997, eight months since vigilante justice-seeker Claymore Straker fled South Africa after his explosive testimony to Desmond Tutu’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. In Paris, Rania LaTour, journalist, comes home to find that her son and her husband, a celebrated human rights lawyer, have disappeared. On an isolated island off the coast of East Africa, the family that Clay has befriended is murdered as he watches.

So begins the fourth instalment in the Claymore Straker series, a breakneck journey through the darkest reaches of the human soul, as Clay and Rania fight to uncover the mystery behind the disappearances and murders, and find those responsible.

Events lead them both inexorably to Egypt, where an act of the most shocking terrorist brutality will reveal not only why those they loved were sacrificed, but how they were both, indirectly, responsible. Relentlessly pursued by those who want them dead, they must work together to uncover the truth, and to find a way to survive in a world gone crazy. At times brutal, often lyrical, but always gripping, Absolutionis a thriller that will leave you breathless and questioning the very basis of how we live and why we love.

The final Claymore Straker novel but by god what a hard hitting, emotional read, full of social conscience and a clear passion for his subject. Paul Hardisty takes us on a roller coaster rise as Straker seeks to reunite himself with Rania, possibly the only woman he has ever loved. Full of action, tension and subterfuge this book has many facets, covering environmental and humanitarian issues whilst providing a compelling story told in such beautifully crafted language. Action with a heart. Loved it. It’s available now in e-book or from 30th May in paperback so you can pick up or preorder a copy here.

…

The Reckoning – Yrsa Sigurdardottir

A chilling note predicting the deaths of six people is found in a school’s time capsule, ten years after it was buried. But surely, if a thirteen-year-old wrote it, it can’t be a real threat…

Detective Huldar suspects he’s been given the investigation simply to keep him away from real police work. He turns to psychologist Freyja to help understand the child who hid the message. Soon, however, they find themselves at the heart of another shocking case.

For the discovery of the letter coincides with a string of macabre events: body parts found in a garden, followed by the murder of the man who owned the house. His initials are BT, one of the names on the note.

Huldar and Freyja must race to identify the writer, the victims and the murderer, before the rest of the targets are killed…

The best thing about long drives down to London are the hours of audio book I can consume while travelling. I devoured the previous book in the Freyja and Huldar series and couldn’t wait to read this one. I was not disappointed. A dark central story and a very chilling aspect to this novel as a whole, not just its setting, but by god was it a good read/listen. You can pick up a copy here and I’ll be sharing my review soon.

…

Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill – Emma Davies

Take an endless stroll through wild meadows and breathe in the sweet aroma of flowers in full bloom. The first ever guest at the little cottage on the hill is looking for an escape, but her past is not far behind her…

Thirty-two-year-old ‘ice queen’ Isobel slams the cottage door and pulls the curtains shut. She has just six weeks to practise for a secret project that could save her career and no one must know she is here.

When Tom, the local thatcher with eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, hears the sound of her violin on the breeze he feels a tug at his heart-strings that reminds him of happier times. Who is this mysterious new lodger, and why does she look so familiar?

Desperate to find out more, Tom is devastated when Isobel refuses to enjoy everything the farm has to offer. He won’t give in, but just when it looks like Isobel is coming out of her shell, someone recognises her and the troubles from her past threaten to take away everything she has been working towards.

Will the lessons Isobel learned at the little cottage help her to stand up and face the music? Will Tom ever find a way to unlock the emotion she needs to move on?

After all the darkness I needed a little time in the light. And it doesn’t come much lighter and brighter than summer days in the beautiful gardens of Joy’s Acre, in my home county of Shropshire, the setting for Emma Davies’ Little Cottage on the Hill series. More romance, friendship and feel good story telling and a set of recipes and delicious sounding dishes to get your mouth watering. I’ll be sharing my review soon but you can pre order a copy here.

…

Thirteen – Steve Cavanagh

THE SERIAL KILLER ISN’T ON TRIAL.

HE’S ON THE JURY…

‘To your knowledge, is there anything that would preclude you from serving on this jury?’ Murder wasn’t the hard part. It was just the start of the game.

Joshua Kane has been preparing for this moment his whole life. He’s done it before. But this is the big one.

This is the murder trial of the century. And Kane has killed to get the best seat in the house.

But there’s someone on his tail. Someone who suspects that the killer isn’t the man on trial.

Kane knows time is running out – he just needs to get to the conviction without being discovered.

I have been intrigued by the sound of this book since I first heard about it late last year. I’ve had it on preorder since before christmas and it was one of my most anticipated reads of 2018. I will admit – this was my first time in the witness box with good old Eddie Flynn but it will not be the last. Dark, twisted and ingenious, I loved this serial killer thriller with a twist. I’ll be sharing my review in a couple of weeks as part of the tour but you can order your own copy here.

…

Four. Been better been worse. I am also slotting in short stories from the Ten Year Stretch anthology too along the way, so it’s not all bad really. Busy week on the blog – highlights below.

Dead Blind by Rebecca Bradley

Ten Year Stretch Part 2: Ten Years of CrimeFest.

The Retreat by Mark Edwards

Book Love: Sandra Danby

Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe by Debbie Johnson

The Louisiana Republic by Maxim Jakubowski

Ten Year Stretch Part 3: Ten Years of CrimeFest

The week ahead is a little slower. I’ve a few blog tours lined up and perhaps a couple of reviews if I get a chance to type them up but my main focus (other than the cat) will be attending CrimeFest in Bristol from Thursday. Really looking forward to it. Be prepared for much tweetage as a result.

Blog tours are for The Old You by Louise Voss, Fault Lines by Doug Johnstone, Dying Truth by Angela Marsons and Freefall by Adam Hamdy.

Hope you have a fabulous week all. I’m not sure if I’ll be back with a post next Monday – it really depends on how I feel after CrimeFest lol. We will know by this time next week if I am funny though so that will be nice.

Enjoy your week,

Jen

Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 13/05/18 Made the most of the beautiful weather this weekend and went for a lovely walk early on Sunday morning.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

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thandisizwemgudlwa · 6 years

Text

A Journey Toward Reviving the African Humanism for a 'New World'

01 August 2017, 12:34 NEWS24

THANDISIZWE MGUDLWA

So much of African literary work remains suppressed through this day.

The time has come for Africans from all walks of life to play their meaningful role. In the restoration on constructive African values, systems and philosophies. This is to be done in the name reviving the humanness the continent and the world desperately lacks.

Either through colonial oppression. Or Satanist arrangements. Through to the lost of the African soul.

Africa must find place. Africa must rise. Africa must shine the light to the rest of the universe.

Through his work as a writer, educationist, artist and activist, South Africa, Africa and the world need to re-vibrate Mphahlele's message and the spirit of Afrikan Humanism, back into our daily actions.

In marking Africa Day on May 25, this year. António Guterres, You know him? His the United Nations Secretary-General. He said all of humanity will benefit by listening, learning and working with the people of Africa.

Yes, you read that right.

“Africa Day 2017 comes at an important moment in the continent’s endeavours towards peace, inclusive economic growth and sustainable development," he said.

Guterres, further said. The international community has entered the second year of implementing the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development.

He said this was an all-out effort to tackle global poverty, inequality, instability and injustice.

Africa has adopted its own complementary and ambitious plan, Agenda 2063.

"For the people of Africa to fully benefit from these important efforts, these two agendas need to be strategically aligned.

But can Africa reach its full potential when the continent's greatness is still a stranger to the African majority?

As Billy Selekane, Africa's #No1 Speaker. That one. Recently said on his Monday inspirational talk on 'Leadership' on Radio2000. Which is one of South Africa's fastest growing radio stations, with the tendency to play a lot of African music. A good one. Selekane remarked, "We live in times when the abnormal is being normalized." Selekane didn't necessarily mention Prof. Mphahlele by name. But he certainly was talking about his kind when he noted that one of the qualities of a true leader was love for what he does and love for the people. Prof. Mphahlele was born on the 17th of December 1919 in Pretoria, South Africa. And he left this world on the 27th October in 2008. He was born Ezekiel Mphahlele. But the genius in him pushed him to change his name to Es’kia. This was in 1977. Goodness. Prof. Mphahlele. The clever one. Is celebrated as the Father of Afrikan Humanism. By the clever ones. Accepted. Ubuntu/Botho or Humanity sounds like Afrikan Humanism. Alright. We'll call it that.

Es'kia life’s work embraces his philosophy of Afrikan Humanism. It offers over 50 years of profound insights on Afrikan Humanism, Social Consciousness, Education, Arts, Cultural development and African Literature. A great man. The critical thoughts expressed in his writing. They show the deep vision of a man who challenges us to: "Know our Afrika intimately, even while we tune into the world at large," as Es'kia once put it. From the age of five. He lived with his paternal grandmother in Maupaneng village, in Limpopo. Here they made sure he herded cattle and goats like the boys. His mother, Eva. Had taken him and his two siblings to go live with her in Marabastad (2nd Avenue) when he was 12 years old. He married Rebecca Nnana Mochedibane (Mphahlele). Whose family was victim of forced removals in Vrededorp, in 1945 (the same year his mother died). Sad. Rebecca was another clever one. She was a qualified Social Worker. With a Diploma from Jan Hofmeyer School, in Johannesburg. Together with his wife, Mphahlele had five children. When he left South Africa going for exile. First in Nigeria. He even left behind his family but wife and children. Understandable. He once tried taking advantage of a British passport before Nigeria’s independence. He applied for a visa through the consulate in Nairobi. He needed to get home to visit Bassie (Solomon), his younger brother, who was ill with throat cancer. Sadly, his application was turned down. And earlier. At the age of 15. He began attending school regularly. He enrolled at St Peters Secondary School, in Rosettenville in Johannesburg. Johannesburg once a city of gold. But now more a city of drugs. So where's the gold? Some say, it has been converted to cash and is gaining interest in the Swiss Bank accounts.

The young Mphahlele finished high school by private study. That became his learning method until his PhD qualification. The brainy Mphahlele obtained a First Class Pass (Junior Certificate). He received his Joint Matriculation Board Certificate from the University of South Africa in 1943. While teaching at Orlando High School. Mphahlele obtained his B.A. in 1949 from the University of South Africa. Majoring in English, Psychology and African Administration. Still in 1949. He received his Honours degree in English from the same institution. While working for the black magazine, DRUM. Mphahlele made history by becoming the first person to graduate M.A. with distinction at UNISA. His thesis was titled : The Non-European Character in South African English Fiction. He achieved this remarkable milestone in 1957. From 1966-1968. Under the sponsorship of the Farfield Foundation.Mphahlele became a Teaching Fellow in the Department of English at the University of Denver, in Colorado. This is when he read for and completed his PhD in Creative Writing. Legend has it. In lieu of a thesis. he wrote a novel titled The Wanderers. He was subsequently awarded First Prize for the best African novel (1968-69) by the African Arts magazine at the University of California, in Los Angeles. Mphahlele had obtained his Teacher’s Certificate at Adams College in 1940. He served at Ezenzeleni Blind Institute as a teacher and a shorthand-typist from 1941 to 1945. He and his wife moved their family to Orlando East. Near the historic Orlando High School, in Soweto. As he joined the school in 1945 as an English and Afrikaans teacher. He protested against the introduction of Bantu Education (inferior education system which was meant for Black South Africans by the Apartheid regime). And a result of revolutionary actions. His teaching career was cut short. And he was banned from teaching in South Africa by the Apartheid government. Mphahlele left South Africa. And went into exile. First stopping in Nigeria. He taught in a high school for 15 months. For the rest of the stay, he taught at the University of Ibadan, in their extension programme. Mphahlele also worked at the C.M.S. Grammar School, in Lagos. He worked in the Department of Extra-Mural Studies at the University of Ibadan. Travelling to various outlying districts to teach adults. Each day. He taught a class from 5pm-7pm.

While based in Paris, he became a visiting lecturer at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He also lectured in Sweden, France, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Sierra Leone, Ghana, Senegal and Nigeria. Mphahlele spent twenty years in exile. He spent four years in Nigeria with his family. “It was a fruitful experience. The people of Nigeria were generous. The condition of being an outsider was not burdensome. I had time to write and engage in the arts” Mphahlele had said of his exile experience. He was working with the best in Nigerian; playwright, poet and novelist Wole Sonyika; poets Gabriel Okara and Mabel Segun; Amos Tutuola, a novelist; sculpture Ben Enwonnwu; and painters Demas Nwoko and Uche Okeke, and so on. But Africans mostly are deprived of the works of things legends. Even now at liberation. Or is western controlled liberation? His visits to Ghana became frequent.With each trip adding more literary giants to his list of networks and colleagues. The University of Ghana would also invite him to conduct extramural writers’ workshops. That is where he got to meet Kofi Anwoor (then George Awoonor Williams), playwright Efua Sutherland, poet Frank Kobina Parks, musicologist Professor Kwabena Nketia, historian Dr. Danquah, poet Adail-Mortty and sculptor Vincent Kofi. Mphahlele attended the All African People’s Conference organised by Kwame Nkrumah in Accra, Ghana, in December 1958.

“Ghana was the only African country that had been freed from the European colonialism that had swept over the continent in the 19th century. Most of the countries represented at Accra were still colonies,” remembered Mphahlele. In Afrika My Music. Mphahlele recalled meeting with the late Patrick Duncan and Jordan Ngubane who were representing the South African liberal view.

It was at this conference where he met Kenneth Kaunda. And listened to Franz Fanon deliver a fiery speech against colonialism. Rebecca. His wife returned to South Africa towards the end of 1959, to give birth to their last born, Chabi. They returned in February 1960. They were in Nigeria when they heard about the Sharpeville Massacre. “Yes, Nigeria and Ghana gave Afrika back to me. We had just celebrated Ghana’s independence,” Mphahlele had noted then. Mphahlele moved his family to France in August 1961. Their second major move. And then he was appointed as the Director of the African Program of The Congress for Cultural Freedom. And went to Paris for this. They lived on Boulevard du Montparnasse, just off St. Michel. Their apartment was soon to become a kind of crossroads for writers and artists. Ethiopian artist Skunder Borghossian, Wole Sonyika, Gambian poet Lenrie Peters, South African poet in exile Mazisi Kunene, Ghanaian poet and his beloved friend J.P. Clark; and Gerard Sekoto. It was during his stay in France. When Mphahlele was invited by Ulli Beier and other Nigerian writers to help form the Mbari Writers and Artists Club in Ibadan. They raised money from Merrill Foundation in New York to finance the Mbari Publications. A venture the club had undertaken. Work by Wole Sonyika, Lenrie Peters and others were first published by Mbari Publishers before finding its way to commercial houses. He edited and contributed to the Black Orpheus. The literary journal in Ibadan. He toured and worked in major African cities like Kampala, Brazzaville, Yaounde, Accra, Abidjan, Freetown and Dakar. Mphahlele also attended seminars connected with work in Sweden, Denmark, Finland, West Germany, Italy, and the US. He then went on to set up an Mbari Centre in Enugu, in Nigeria. Under the directorship of John Enekwe.

In 1962.At Makerere University, in Kampla, Uganda. tThey organised the first Africa Writers’ Conference. The only South African who were able to attend were himself. Bob Leshoai who was on tour. And Neville Rubin who was editing a journal of political comment in South Africa. Two conferences. One in Dakar and another in Freetown were organised in 1963. Their aim was to throw into open the debate of the place of African literature in the university curriculum. They wanted to drum up support for the inclusion of African literature as a substantive area of study at university. Where traditionally it was being pushed into extramural departments and institutes of African Studies. Mphahlele had only planned to stay in Paris for two years. After which he would return to teaching. As those experiences had made him yearn for the classroom again. John Hunt. The Executive Director of the Congress for Cultural Freedom suggested that Mphahlele establish a centre like the Nigerian Mbari in Nairobi. Mphahlele arrived in Nairobi in August 1963. And October had been set for Kenya’s independence. By the time Rebecca and the children arrived. He had already bought a house. Prior to that. He had been housed by Elimo Njau, a Tanzanian painter. Njau suggested a name everyone liked- Chemchemi, kiSwahili for “fountain”. Within a few months. They had converted a warehouse into offices. A small auditorium for experimental theatre and intimate music performances. And an art gallery. Njau ran the art gallery on voluntary basis. He mounted successful exhibitions of Ugandan artists Kyeyune and Msango, and of his own work. “My soul was in the job. I was in charge of writing and theatre,” Mphahlele said on Africa My Music. Their participants were from the townships and locations that were a colonial heritage. Mphahlele would travel to outside districts to run writers’ workshops in schools that invited him. Accompanied by the centre’s drama group. Their traveling was well captured in Busara. Edited by Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Zuka, edited by Kariara. When the Alliance High School for Girls (just outside Nairobi) asked him to write a play for its annual drama festival, in the pace of the routine Shakespeare. Mphahlele adapted one of Grace Ogot’s The Rain Came, a short story, and called it Oganda’s Journey.

“The most enchanting element in the play was the use of traditional musical idioms from a variety of ethnic groups on Kenya. A most refreshing performance, which exploited the girl’s natural and untutored acting,” remarked Mphahlele. After serving for two years. He felt he had done what he had come for. As he had indicated before taking the job. That he would not stay for more than two years. He turned down a lecturing post at the University College of Nairobi as they could only offer him a one year contract which he could not take. Mphahlele moved his family to Colorado in May 1966. Here. They rented a house. Fixed schooling for the children. And prepared for the plunge. Mphahlele was joining the University of Denver’s English Department. He was granted a tuition waver by the university. For the course work he had to do before he could be admitted for the PhD dissertation. Notably. He paid for the Afrikan Literature and Freshman Composition himself. It was during his primary school days (as he recalls in his second autobiography Africa My Music). When he started rooting everywhere for newsprint to read. He recalled always looking for any old scrap of paper to read. He further recalled a small one-room tin shack. The then municipality called a reading room. On the western edge of Marbastad. Prof. Mphahlele. Remembered it being stacked with dilapidated books and journals. Junked by some bored ladies in the suburbs. He dug out of the pile Cervantes’s Don Quixote. And went through the whole lot like a termite. Elated by the sense of discovery. Recognition of the printed word. And by the mere practice of the skill of reading. Cervantes stood out in his mind, forever. Another teacher that fired his imagination. Was the silent movies of the 1930s. He enjoyed a combination of Don Quixote. And Sancho Panza. Together with Laurel and Hardy, with Buster Keaton. Mphahlele would read the subtitles aloud to his friends. Who could not read as fast or at all. Amid the yells. and foot stamping and bouncing on chairs to the rhythm of the action. While still based in Paris in the early 1960s. He published his second collection of short stories, The Living and Dead and Other Stories. In 1962. The year he called “The Year of My African Tour”. Mphahlele published The African Image, in Nigeria, Bulgarian, Swedish, Czech, Hebrew and Japanese, and Portuguese were to follow. His first autobiography. Down Second Avenue was doing so well such that it was translated to French, German, Serbo-Croa. And in 1964. He published The African Image. In December of 1978, South African Minister of Justice took Mphahlele’s name off the list of writers who may not be quoted, and whose works may not be circulated in the country. Only ‘’Down Second Avenue’’, ‘’Voices in the Whirlwind’’ and ‘’Modern African Stories’’ which he had co-edited could then be read in the country. Other publications remained banned. The first comprehensive collection of his critical writing was published under the title ES’KIA, in 2002. The same year that the Es’kia Institute was founded. Es’kia Mphahlele’s life and work is currently found in the efforts of The Es’kia Institute.This a non-governmental, non-profit organisation based in Johannesburg. Mphahlele had set foot on South African soil again on the 3rd of July, 1976, at the Jan Smuts Airport (now called the O.R.Tambo International Airport). He had been invited by the Black Studies Institute in Johannesburg to read a paper at its inaugural conference. “I was emerging on to the concourse when I was startled by a tremendous shout. And they were on top of me – some one hundred Africans, screaming and jostling to embrace me, kiss me. Relatives, friends and pressmen from my two home cities – Johannesburg and Pretoria. I was bounced hither and thither and would most probably not have noticed if an arm or leg were torn off of me, or my neck was being wrung. Such an overwhelming ecstasy of that reunion. The police had to come and disperse the crowd as it had now taken over the concourse,” Mphahlele remembered. Prof. Mphahlele officially returned to South Africa in 1977, on Rebecca’s birthday (August 17). “When I came back, things were much worse. People were resisting what had become a more and more oppressive government. We came back at a dangerous time. It was a time when we knew we would not be alone, and that we would be among our people,” Mphahlele said in 2002. He waited for six months for the University of the North to inform him whether he would get the post of English professor which was still vacant. The answer was ‘no’. The government service of Lebowa offered him a job as an inspector of schools for English teaching. While, Rebecca had found a job as a social worker. In his autobiography Afrika My Music, he describes how the ten months of being an inspector was like. “I had the opportunity of travelling the length and breadth of the territory visiting schools and demonstrating aspects of English teaching. I saw for myself the damage of Bantu Education had wrought in our schooling system over the last twenty-five years. Some teachers could not even express themselves fluently or correctly in front of a class, and others spelled words wrongly on the blackboard”. Then in 1979, he joined the University of the Witwatersrand as a Senior Research Fellow at the African Studies Institute. He founded the Council for Black Education and Research, an independent project for alternative education involving young adults. In 1983. he established the African Literature Division within the Department of Comparative Literature, at the University of the Witwatersrand. Where he became the institution’s first black professor. He was permitted to honour an invitation from the then Institute for Study of English in Africa at Rhodes University. This was a two months research fellowship where his proposal of finishing his memoir Afrika My Music, which he had began in Philadelphia was accepted. After his retirement from Wits University in 1987, Mphahlele was appointed as the Executive Chairman of the Board of Directors at Funda Centre for Community Education. He continued visiting other universities as a visiting professor teaching mostly African Literature. He spent two months at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Education teaching a module on secondary-school education in South Africa. His Professional Experience include, 1992 University of the North, Sovenga Honorary Professor of Literature attached to the Department of English; 1992 Community College in Lebowakgomo, Limpopo. Initiated a steering committee for the college’s establishment; 1992 Graduate School of Education, at Harvard University he spent two months teaching a module on secondary education in South Africa; 1989 University of South Carolina (from 1988) Visiting Professor in the Department of English; 1989 Funda Centre for Community Education Executive Chairman until 1995. Others include, 1987 University of the Witwatersrand Retired and awarded designation: Professor Emeritus; 1985 University of Pennsylvania (from 1984) Visiting Professor in the Department of English; 1983 University of the Witwatersrand Established the division of African Literature within the Department of Comparative Literature, becoming its first Professor and Chairman. 1982 University of Denver (from 1981) Visiting Professor in the Department of English; 1980 Council for Black Education and Research, Johannesburg Founding Chairperson and contributing editor to the Council’s journal Capricon; 1979 African Studies Institute, University of the Witwatersrand Senior Research Fellow; 1979 Institute for the Study of English in Africa, Grahamstown Research Fellow (He also completed his second autobiography, Afrika My Music) Earlier engagements include, the 1978 Government Service of Lebowa Inspector of Education as advisor in English teaching at secondary-school level; 1977 University of Pennsylvania (from 1974) Full Professor of English; 1974 University of Denver, Colorado (from 1970) Associate Professor in English; 1970 University of Zambia (from 1968) Senior Lecturer in the Department of English; 1968 University of Denver, Colorado (from 1966) Teaching Fellow in the Department of English. He also read for and completed the PhD in the Creative Writing Programme during that time. 1966 University College, Nairobi (1965) Senior Lecturer in English; 1965 Chemchemi Creative Centre, Nairobi (from 1963) Director; 1961 Centre for Internatioal Studies, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge Visiting Lecturer on African Studies; 1963 Congress for Cultural Freedom (Now International Association for Cultural Freedom)(from 1961) Director of Programmes; 1961 University College Ibadan, Nigeria (from 1957) Lecturer in English; 1957 Drum magazine (from 1955) Fiction editor. Also, the 1954 St Peter’s Secondary School English teacher (paid by the school as a private teacher), 1953 Blind Institute, Roodepoort (from 1952) Secretary (He had been banned from teaching in any State-controlled school in South Africa as a result of campaigning against the Bantu Education Act); 1952 Orlando High School, Soweto (from 1945) English and Afrikaans teacher; 1945 Ezenzeleni Blind Institute, (from 1941) Teacher and shorthand-typist. Other publications include, the 1947 Man Must Live and Other Stories, African Bookman, Cape Town; 1959 Down Second Avenue (autobiography), Faber & Faber (London) Seven Seas, A Journey Toward Reviving the African Humanism for a 'New World'1962 (Berlin); Doubleday, 1971 (New York It was translated into ten European languages, Japanese and Hebrew. It was also banned in South Africa under the Internal Security Act 1962 The African Image, Faber & Faber (London) Praeger, 1964 New York (1964); Revised edition by Faber &Faber (1974); Praega (1974) It was banned in South Africa under the 1966 under the Internal Security Act 1966 A Guide to Creative Writing (pamphlet),East African Literature Bureau. And the 1967 In Corner B & Other Stories East African Publishing House, Nairobi It was banned in South Africa from 1966-1978 under the Internal Security Act; 1971 The Wanderers, Macmillan Co., New York Fontana/Collins (pb), London (1973); David Phillip (1984) It was banned in South Africa under the Internal Security Act 1971 Voices in the Whirlwind and Other Essays, Macmillan, London Hill &Wang, New York (1972); Fontana/Collins (pb), London (1973) It was banned in South Africa under the Internal Security Act from 1971-1978; 1980 Chirundu, Ravan Press (Johanesburg) Thomas Nelson, 1980 (London); Lawrence Hill, 1981 (New York). Further, in 1981 The Unbroken Song: Selected Writings (Poems and Short Stories), Ravan Press (Johannesburg); 1981 Let’s Write a Novel: A Guide”, Maskew Miller (Cape Town); 1984 Afrika My Music (second autobiography), Ravan Press (Johannesburg); 1984 Father Come Home (novel), Ravan Press (Johannesburg); 1988 Renewal Time (short stories), Readers International (New York); 1987 Let’s Talk Writing:Prose (A guide for writers), Skotaville Publishers (Johannesburg); 1987 Let’s Talk Writing:Poetry (A guide for writers), Skotaville Publishers (Johannesburg); 2001 Es’kia, Kwela Books with Stainbank & Associates Shortlisted for the Sunday Times Alan Paton Award for Non-Fiction; 2004 Es’kia Continued, Stainbank & Associates (Johannesburg). Selected papers include, 1997, March The Function of Literature at the Present Time University of Fort Hare; 1992 The Disinherited Imagination University of Limpopo (then The University of the North) 1991, April Notes on African Value Systems in relation to Education and Development” Institute for African Alternatives; Johannesburg 1991,Feb The State of Well-being in Traditional Africa(Seminar Theme: ‘Social Work and the Politics of Dispossession Council for Black Education and Research. Soweto 1990, November Educating the Imagination (Published in the College English, Boston, MA National Council for Teachers of English Conference; Atlanta 1990, May Education as Community Development (Published by the Witwatersrand University Press in 1991) Centre for Continuing Education, University of the Witwatersrand (Dennis Etheredge Commemoration Lecture). 1990, March From Interdependence towards Nation Building University of Limpopo 1987; May The Role of Education in Society Education Opportunities Council Conference; Johannesburg 1984, June Poetry and Humanism: Oral Beginnings Institute for the Study of Man in Africa, University of the Witwatersrand (Raymond Dart Lecture: Published as Lecture 22 of the Raymond Dart Lectures, Witwatersrand University Press) 1984, May The Crisis of Black Leadership Funda Centre. Soweto 1981, Feb Philosophical Perspectives for a Programme of Educational Change Council for Black Education and Research, Durban 1980, June Multicultural Imperatives in the Planning of Education for a future South Africa Teachers’ Association of South Africa, Durban (Asian) Awards and Research Fellowships. A Journey Toward Reviving the African Humanism for a 'New World' He has been the recipient of other numerous international awards that have sought to pay tribute to the efforts of his tireless scholarly work. In 1969. Mphahlele was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature. And in 1984. He was awarded the Order of the Palm by the French Government for his contribution to French Language and Culture. Prof. Mphahlele was also the recipient of the 1998 World Economic Forum’s Crystal Award for Outstanding Service to the Arts and Education. And a year later he was awarded the Order of the Southern Cross by former President Nelson Mandela.

The African voice and word remains silenced or unheard. African literature, arts, science, technology, history and cultural development mostly are neglected and somewhat abandoned.

In schools, colleges, universities, books stores,libraries, mainstream media, theatre and film the African perspecrtives is still over shadowed by foreign cultures and programmes.

Just like the generations before them. The current and future generations will suffer the same of fate of growing to taught that if it is foreign then it is best.

How our Africa and the world need to restore the wisdom of Afrikan Humanism rather than suppress it, at these times of great uncertainty and confusion.

Prof Mphahlele's work does at least provide us with guideposts to build on and let the African word and wisdom water and nourish the tree of a better and more humane 'New World'.

Awards/Fellowships

2005 Lifetime Achievement Award, National Research Foundation, South Africa 2004 Honorary Doctorate, University of Pretoria 2003 Sunday Times Alan Paton Literary Award Finalist 2003 Honorary Doctorate of Literature, University of Cape Town 2002 Founding the Es’kia Institute 2000 Titan Prize in Literature as the Writer of the Century 1999 National Silver Award of the Southern Cross, South Africa 1999 Honorary Doctor of Human Letters, University of Denver, USA 1998 Crystal Award for distinguished service in the Arts from the World Economic Forum, Switzerland 1995 Honorary Doctor of Literature, University of Limpopo (former University of the North) 1994 Honorary Doctor of Humane Letters, University of Coldorado, Boulder, Colorado, USA 1989 Professor Peter Thuynsa of African Literature at the University of the Witwatersrand published a Festschrift in honour of Es’kia Mphahlele entitled Footprints Along the way 1986 Honorary Doctorate of Literature, Rhodes University, South Africa 1986 Awarded the ‘Orders des Palmes’ by the French Ambassador to South Africa for his contribution to French Language & Culture 1983 Honorary Doctorate of Literature, University fo Natal, South Africa 1982 Honorary degree of Doctor for Humane Letters, University of Pennsylvania, USA 1981 Research Award by Ford Foundation (from 1979), New York (Recording an oral poetry in seSotho, Tsonga and Vhenda, and having it translated into English) 1969 Nominated for Nobel Prize in Literature 1969 Elected to Phi Beta by the University of Denver, USA 1969 Awarded First Prize for the novel ‘The Wanderers’ by the African Arts/Arts d’Afrique at the University of Californis, Los Angeles (The book was judged as the best African novel in 1969) 1968 Scholarship by the Farfield Foundation of New York to read for the PhD in English at the University of Denver, USA (from 1966).

Some of Prof. Mphahlele's best quotes include:

“It is not right for us today to write off our past generations and pretend that history began when we were born.” Es’kia Mphahlele, 1986

“School knowledge & activity should reinforce our need for one another; it should reconfirm our traditional compassion & impulse to share.” Es’kia Mphahlele, 1982

“We need to know our Afrika intimately, even while we tune into the world at large.” Es'kia Mphahlele

“It is no use talking in the abstract about an Afrikan worldview based on traditional values, if at the same time we are content to live in a physical and human landscape created or determined by a European worldview.” Es'kia Mphahlele 1975

"Early on the last day the ANC shows clear signs of winning. Euphoria overtakes the country, mounts steadily and rises to a crescendo in the evening: sheer ecstasy... I feel the same tingling sensation down my spine, tears welling in my eyes, that I experienced when we watched President Nujoma taking over power and the white ruler's flag lowered and the new Namibia flag hoisted."

Es'kia Mphahlele in SO SOON, SO LATE-NATION TIME (1994) - published in A Lasting Tribute

"When the events of the next two days unfold and the voting figures roll up or stand still, I can sense the pulse of a nation being born. Gradually a shaft of warm light shoots through my being. So this is it, I tell myself, as if the chemistry of my heaviness were getting the juices to course through my being."

Es'kia Mphahlele in SO SOON, SO LATE-NATION TIME (1994) - published in A Lasting Tribute

"I must, without rejecting historical inevitability and the bigness of this chapter of it, internalise the event, store it for the near future. For the likes of me, it is more than the actual experience of an event... It is the resonance it will create."

Es'kia Mphahlele in SO SOON, SO LATE-NATION TIME (1994) - published in A Lasting Tribute

As South Africa commemorated 20 years since her first Democratic elections, shared extracts from SO SOON, SO LATE-NATION TIME (1994), in which Ntate Es’kia Mphahlele speaks on his personal voting experience and the resonance created by South Africa’s first real election.

"We wake up on Tuesday am April 26. Today the country goes to the polls, the black majority for the first time in our lives... I should feel elated, but I am my calm, brooding self. My wife Rebecca, she's her usual exuberant, demonstrative self. She is already in front of the television box to catch the first news bulletin of the day. "I want to soak it all up," she declares. "If I live to be able to relate this to my grandchildren these moments will have been worth observing."

[Source: A Lasting Tribute]

"Literature has seldom been taught as a social cultural act, an act of language, an act of self-knowledge. It has been, and is still being, taught as a specialized body of knowledge far removed from the doings and vocabulary of human beings in a familiar environment in contemporary times. Under the circumstances, learners are not inspired, cannot feel the story they are reading – prose or poetry or drama or essay." Es'kia Mphahlele, 2002

"Voters create politicians and then the latter run all our lives, up or down, over the cliff – as in the folktale about the nation of frogs who wanted a king. They asked stork to be King and he was happy to oblige: he began to gobble his subjects one by one." Es'kia Mphahlele, 1977

“Should we not forever be trying to create literature, discover philosophic constructs, rediscover the essence of religious truths as we experience them in Afrika, cultural practices that shape the paradigms we want, in short that express us.” Es'kia Mphahlele

“I consider everyone born in Africa, who regards no other place as his home, as an African.” Es’kia Mphahlele, 1962

"One hopes that the NEW Education helps free us from the dominant white images that make up both our dreams and nightmares."

ES'KIA MPHAHLELE, 1993

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