#amazigh woman

[bnt-2dadheen]

« الــلَكتة، الـعسل، والـفاميليا أَساسيان للصحة المُمتــازة »

« Ayc, Θḥama, akk Θidjil n wemdan s-sin n θmetta »

A sort of ✨introduction✨ for anyone who comes across my blog/page 💅🏼 || This’ll include some various infos about me, my life, & my interests; as well as some DO’s & DON’Ts considering my dm’s will always be ✨OPEN✨ for new friends or anybody who wants someone to yap to 🤗

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Do’s - Be able to hold conversations! Be a good person! Be Interesting! Be drinking water! Be happy! Be curious! Be open with your personal interests & hobbies! Be funny but don’t try too hard!

Don’ts - Don’t be gross! Don’t be creepy! Don’t be dry! Don’t harass me in anyway! Don’t ask for pictures! Don’t be racist or homophobic! Don’t be antisemitic! Don’t be sexist! Don’t be close-minded in general! Don’t dm me with the intentions of a relationship!! Don’t attempt to RP with me!

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HELLO 👋🏼 you can call me Rosa, I’m Moroccan Amazigh & I’ve got AuDHD! I was born on the 8th of March, 1997! I’m super super suuuuper into things like languages, conlangs (i wanted to make my own conlang & have the basics in my notebook, somewhere lol) countryballs, dinosaurs, (alt-)history, ancient or obscure religions, anthropology, palaeontology, philosophy, Star Wars, Lord of The Rings, Stargate SG1, Bladerunner, music, travelling, culinary, baking; anime like JJBA, AoT, Black Clover, Goblin Slayer, Cowboy Bebop; video games like Bangon Balls, Crusader Kings 3, Hearts of Iron 4, EU4, BG3, Stellaris, WH40k, Fallout, Rimworld, TW series, Telltale TWD, Assassins Creed & honestly learning anything in general; I love to learn new things!! I like camping, hiking, swimming, doing cardio or squats for work out stuffs, rock-climbing, cave-diving; i just enjoy being outdoors in general & because of this love for the outdoors, i also play Soccer, Volleyball, & Softball :D I’ve lived all over the place & visited lots of different countries. ☺️

I’ve worked a few cooking jobs here & there; baking sweets & pastries, making pizzas, italian cuisine, spanish cuisine, making candy, japanese cuisine (kokunai), etc. in a couple different countries!! but I’m currently working in an apprenticeship for electrical maintenance in units like HVAC or digilocks thru a few hotels in my region, as well as studying to get my PhD in Historical Linguistics! Next goal will be a PhD in Palaeontology! 🤩 or maybe Palaeoanthropology? or perhaps Palaeoclimateology? 🤔 Too many choices!! I can speak Darija, Djebli, Tarifiyt, English, Turkic (not Turkish), Farsi, & Kurdish (not Sorani or Kurmanji)!! I can also speak C1 Romani, B2 interlingua/saber, & A2 Interslavic!! I’d love to learn more languages but I don’t think my brain can handle anymore 🪦 I have insta & twt but don’t be upset plz if I refuse to give them out 🤲🏼

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« أشـــهَدُأن عشق علي حيـــاة »

« ⴰⵢⵛ, ⵝⵃⴰⵎⴰ, ⴰⴾⴾ ⵝⵉⴷⵊⵉⵍ ⵏ ⵡⵎⴷⴰⵏ ⵙⵙⵉⵏ ⵏ ⵜⵎⴻⵜⵜⴰ »

If you have ✨any✨ questions, concerns, curious-inclinations, or just want to talk some more about whatever then you should ✨definitely✨ dm me & let’s be moots !! 🤗 ♥️

[orphees-corner]

If Poseidon is based on Anzar, is Anzar part of the PoseidonVerse? :3

"please don't associate me with those stupid fishes."

( @messymoonmad i think it might make you laugh)

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Looking for help with naming a character 🙏

This one is for an Inheritance Cycle OC who comes from the Wandering Tribes (same as Ajihad and Nasuada). Paolini pretty clearly based them on irl North African cultures (Tuareg, Nubian, Hausa...) and I'd like to give the character an actual name from one of those cultures instead of just making something up as the author seemed to have done, but so far my research has been unsuccessful. If this reaches anyone from these cultures or anyone who has good sources, I'd greatly appreciate any help🙏

[mimok]

Amazigh Elegance: Street Photography and the Threads of Discovery

Today, the bustling lanes of the Global Village in Dubai led me to an extraordinary encounter—a Moroccan woman adorned in the intricate head jewelry of the Amazigh tribe. Her radiant smile was warm and welcoming, as she sat with her argan oil stand. Her radiance drew me closer to strike up a conversation as I captured her portrait. When I asked her about the jewelry, she explained that it was a…

[tyrannoninja]

Dea Africa

This is my portrait of Dea Africa, a Roman goddess-like entity who personified the imperial province of Africa (which to them meant the area of Tunisia and the northwestern coast of modern Libya). Roman artists traditionally depicted her wearing a helmet modeled after an African elephant’s head and with braided or dreadlocked hair, but otherwise made her look more Italian than African in accordance with their prevailing beauty ideals. Nonetheless, I wanted my version to look, well, African even without the elephant helmet, with some ritual scarifications and Amazigh-style tattoos to boot.

Dea Africa is unlikely to have been a major deity in the Roman pantheon, but sometimes she was associated with a cornucopia (horn of plenty) to represent fertility, which may refer to Rome’s North African provinces serving as a breadbasket for the Empire.

[awomanontheinternet]

☾

[algerian-lady]

I did that, idk what is that, but I did it on color so yay. (haven't done anything digital in months)

[kashilascorner]

I began to read Thérèse Raquin and titular character lowkey reminds me of Heathcliff in that both are of ambiguous upbringing and have a certain racial distinction that's apparently never addressed in media or adaptations

(it's an unfair comparison, I'll admit it, in that the racial component is important to Heathcliff's character and how others perceive him and he is visibly othered, while apparently Thérèse isn't)

[friendswithclay]

“Amazigh woman walking in the snow.” Agouim, Morocco, c.1975

[folkfashion]

Amazigh woman, Algeria, by melissa_titri

[senlair]

Just for once

Three weeks ago, I got on the train, just as I do every Thursday.

To ensure I could find a seat

I had taken the opposite direction

Stations are usually empty on the other side

I wonder sometimes if my seats and where i should be is also on the other side.

Dead rather than Alive.

The train was unusually delayed hours passed, and it still didn’t move.

A young man boarded with his friends

blond with a reddish tint to his hair, short, dressed in military attire.

He looked to be in his mid thirties and was strikingly handsome.

He spoke Amazigh fluently and quickly, laughing loudly and often.

When he smiled, faint lines appeared around his eyes very beautifully

In the middle of his conversation, I thought I heard him say something in English:

“Just for once.”

For a moment, I felt like i was imagining it or was a random inspiration for writing,

but he truly spoke English fluently.

Which was unusual for men that looked like him in an arab county

He was remarkably handsome and elegant.

I watched him for a long time.

He only asked me about the station’s name, then walked away.

I wonder if prophets were as handsome as he was, Or if inspiration itself is what’s beautiful.

A week later, the boy I had loved for three years without return sent me a message. He asked me why I left.

Why?

The answer was as simple as the beauty of the strangers smile line.

“Just for once.”

“Just for once.”

He had never sacrificed anything for me. “Just for once.”

He had never loved me.

“Just for once.”

He had never called me “my love.”

He never remembered anything about me What I loved, what I hated,

My mother’s name or my father’s,

Or even whether either of them was alive. He never tried to understand my circumstances.

He never softened his heart toward me.

He never held my hand.

He never made me any promises.

“Just for once.”

“Just for once.”

The handsome young man on the train was right.

For once, I hadn’t truly been loved.

For once, I wasn’t another woman among all these women.

For once, no one kissed my cheeks out of love instead of desire.

For once, I wasn’t a human being with worth, deserving of love.

For once, I didn’t exist.

“Just for once.”

[thattunisiandude]

A young Tunisian Amazigh woman

[thecupidwitch]

Anzar (ⴰⵏⵥⴰⵕ): Amazigh God’s Of Rain

Introduction:

Like in Greece or Egypt, pre-Islamic Amazigh people across North Africa also had their own mythology, gods, rituals and sacrifices. Anzar was god of the sky, waters, rivers, seas, streams and springs and rain. "Anzar" is an amazigh world that mean "rain", he also has others names such as Agellid n Ugeffur (King of the Rain) Agellid n Waman (King of the Water) and Agellid Anzar (King Anzar) among others.

The God Anzar is with no doubt of particular importance in the beliefs of the Amazigh people since antiquity, as he is the personification of rain itself. Ambivalent in nature, tyrannical, ruthless yet vital and essential just like rainfall, his tradition has came down to us thanks to the ancient fertility rites of "Tislit n Anzar" still practiced today in some Amazigh regions and villages. Sadly over the decades these ancient festivals receded and came to disappear almost completely due to religious zealotry and fanatism denouncing native pre-islamic traditions as despicable pagan rites.

The Myth:

According to oral folklore and poems:

There was once a time where gods took human forms, a powerful Sky God named Anzar; Master of the rain, water, seas, clouds and thunder fell madly in love with a beautiful peasant girl of marvellous beauty. She shone like a full moon on the water. Her face was resplendent and luminescent, her clothing of gittering silk. She was accustomed to bathe in a river of silver reflection every night. Transforming into a giant eagle he came to contemplate her everytime ; one day he spoke to her and asked her to marry him. But the frightened girl refused his request and fled, she would shy way from fear everytime the Master of rain approached her.

This rejection made Anzar so furious and angry that lands and crops started to be turned into piles of dust, famine was imminent as it would have ended up affecting the herds, cattle, the rivers, lakes and all the essential resources for the survival of the tribes. But Anzar didn't give up hope of seducing the woman he wanted most. And he threatened her;

- "Like the thunder I have split the immensity of the sky, O You, Star brighter than the sun itself, lend me your treasures, or otherwise I will deprive you from this water!"

The beautiful woman, frightened and in complete shock responded to him;

- "I beg you, Master of the skies, of coral crowned head. I know we were made for each other... but I fear the wrath of my people and what they will say..."

With these words the rain God abruptly disappeared once again and turned the ring he wore on his finger to make the entire river she bathed in suddenly dry up.

Out of desperation and fear for her people, the girl fell to the ground in sadness, and began to call out for Anzar as she bursted into tears. She remained naked as she stripped off her silk dress, and then cried to the sky:

- "O Anzar, O Anzar! O You, blossoming of the meadows! Let the rivers flow again, and come take your revenge!"

The latter suddenly appeared in the shape of an immense lightning, he took her and hugged the young girl tightly against him. After that they flew across the sky and all the rivers across the country began to flow again as the whole earth was covered with lush greenery.

With this romantic and supernatural ending, this myth comes to an end, which gave rise to an ancient ritual. Berber tribes began to symbolically sacrifice a virgin girl by offering her in a nuptial ceremony during any time of drought to summon Anzar, ask for his help and call for rain. Since then, every time after it rains, the legend says that Tarenza appears in the sky, in the form of a rainbow. She sacrificed herself for the greater good of humanity and left her people to become an immortal entity who spreads her iridescent colours across the sky after the fertilizing rainfall. Nowadays in the Amazigh language, 'Tislit n Anzar' simply means 'rainbow'.

The ancient ritual was based on five main steps:

In early autumn during the plowing period, take the most beautiful girl in the city, prepare her and addorn her of the most expensive and luxurious bridal jewelries and clothings.

Villagers have to organize processions and accompany her to the doors of the sanctuary or temple with an escort of women standing on the threshold to spray holy water on her.

Offer the ritual sacrifices (food, candles etc) in the sanctuary.

After having undressed the bride, go around the sanctuary 7 times begging and praising Anzar, and as the women sing, dance and praise Anzar, the young girls all have to play a game before dusk named Zerzari in which the ball is supposed to fall into a hole undergound prepared for the ritual.

Make a somptuous meal (generally chicken couscous) to share with the all the people in the village. One can be sure that a few days after the celebration of Anzar, the rain will begin to fall again.

This sacred ritual has survived to some extent and has taken different forms all across North Africa. The ritualistic ladle which now bears the common name of Tarenza, Ronja or Tarundja depending on the region, is always dressed as a bride and is worn by women in a parade all across the village or a nearby sacred mountain, while all singing for the God of rain to bring good harvests.

Several observations and accounts suggest that the current ladle doll is only a simulacrum and parody intended to replace the real original bride offered to Anzar. As it is stated that originally women were supposed to offer themselves completely naked to the Sky God. With the arrival of Islam in the 7th century, such traditions couldn't be tolerated and by then the practice changed and adapted to better suit the new religion. Since then the wooden ladle or spoon now called 'Tarenza' represents the coming of holy waters.

*Sources: [x] [x] [x]

Tip Jar

[ilys00ga]

𝐓𝐈𝐙𝐈𝐑𝐈 (2/2)

Tiziri (n): often used as a feminine name within some North African communities, tiziri is an Amazigh word that means 'moon' or 'moonlight'. It reflects and symbolizes the tranquility, serenity, and beauty associated with the moon. (proud amazigh moment)

: ̗̀➛ pair: yoongi x f reader/oc

: ̗̀➛ tags: supernatural/superpowers, sorcerer!yoongi, belly dancer!reader/oc, private entertainment worker!reader/oc, arabian/middle eastern older eras settings, use of weapons (rifles and daggers), time traveling, no smut.

: ̗̀➛ synopsis: In a world of simplicity and ordinary, Yoongi was only a teenage boy stuck in a turmoil of his indentity and purpose in life when he embarked on a long, tough journey of endless obstacles and ignorance. For years, he traveled the world and crossed paths with all kinds of humans and characters, all kinds of situations and dangers. He worked on honing his powers and bringing honor to his kind, despite, and despite, and despite. However, nothing could ever compare to a certain set of eyes. Not that he would ever believe that himself, anyway.

OR: when a powerful sorcerer falls to his knees in front of a belly dancer’s eyes.

: ̗̀➛ A/N: it's here!!!!!! finally. as I said before, there will be a "sequel" to this, so don't worry, it's not the end 😆 anyway, I hope u like it! stay tuned for more lolol. also, PLEASE interact with the post, I have no idea why the first part got such low reaches, and I don't really mind tbh, but I really like this fic and I worked hard on it 😕 so rb, and all that. and ofc, ur feedback is always welcomed and appreciated! have fun <33

: ̗̀➛ warning: this piece of fiction does not represent any community or ethnicity or group of people. I was inspired by the arab/middle eastern culture (as a semi arab myself), but it's all a product of my imagination. I hope this point is clear.

- unrevised, ignore the mistakes tyvm 🙏

★ MASTERLIST.

★ CHAPTER INDEX.

Deeper into the night, the moon was hanging high in the dark night sky. A full round disc shining down on the noiseless alley of the big, old village. The only faint sound that could be heard was that of crickets singing their nocturnal songs somewhere in the distance.

For a good, long moment, Yoongi stared at the dagger that woman was holding in her hand. Long blade and sharp point dangerously close to his waist.

The air between them carried a new tension. He lifted his gaze and met her cold one. Her teeth gritted in what could only be pain as she continued putting pressure onto her injured shoulder. Her figure was slightly slumped, soft pants still leaving her mouth, but her brown eye held a seriousness he found intriguing. He wondered where she’d been hiding the object all this time—or more accurately, where she'd get all of that stamina from after running in that state.

“One wrong move and I'll bury it in your chest.” She started, confidence unwavering in her tone.

Yoongi chose silence, debating whether he should make the pointed object slip out of her hold or make the effort of taking it out himself.

“Answer my question, I know them objects did not move on their own.” She added. “Talk.”

After a long moment of careful observation, Yoongi finally spoke, his voice calm yet strict and rigid. “Put that down.”

She parted her lips, ready to spill something in return to his command, when he quickly pinched the air with his thumb and index finger, sealing her lips shut together. He ignored her startled expression and listened attentively to the rushing footsteps approaching their corner, not forgetting to throw a warning glare at her.

The area they were in was still and quiet. The clear sound was growing closer and closer. He carefully stepped back, pushing her further into the small spaced nook they were hiding in.

A few more intense seconds passed, and three figures sprinted right past them, completely unaware of their presence. Yoongi could tell from their attire that they belonged to the same group that was chasing after them minutes ago.

They stayed like that for a little while, until an eerie silence took over the alley again. He slapped the dagger out of her hand with ease and spoke, “There's no time for this. We need to move.”

He stepped out of the alcove, eyes scanning the area warily, when he noticed her odd silence. “Oh right.”

Her hand flew to her mouth once he snapped his fingers and unsealed it again. “Goodness! I knew it!!”

Yoongi ignored her exclaim and turned to glare at her again, his voice low and empty of debate. “Start walking or stay here, I don’t care. I’ve already done enough.”

Not waiting for a response, he took one of the many bends and turns in the street, blindly making his way through the streets.

“Stop!” She shouted. Yoongi lifted his hand up, inching his thumb and pointer finger slightly closer to one another and making her lips twitch as a result. A quiet, wordless warning from him.

He didn't stop, walking towards another turn in the many options of alleyways the village presented before him.

“Foreigner, you're heading towards the local market again.” She tried again, her voice a little harsh this time, annoyed.

Yoongi stopped at that, slowly turning around to face her with a blank face. She eyed him for a brief moment, her shawl hanging around her shoulders, one side was soaked with blood. Then, she sighed again. “That man who was chasing after me was a high ranking one, somewhere close to the Sultan himself. He saw you with me, there’s no way you can get away now.”

A deep frown appeared on Yoongi’s face as he listened carefully. She continued talking: “I know a place nearby, come.”

“It’s still dangerous out there. This…inn is all we have in this area.” She said, before making her way into it. Yoongi kept a watchful eye on his surroundings as he followed her inside.

They stood in front of a desk. The man sitting there was smoking. He looked like he wanted to be smoking a hookah at a local coffee shop while reading a daily magazine instead of sitting there.

His brows rose up as he observed Yoongi first, then at the woman beside him and her injured shoulder. Back and forth, until his gaze settled on the sorcerer.

Yoongi cleared his throat. "Two rooms.”

A brow lift was what he got in return. “Two? We only give one room service.”

“Just give us the keys.” The woman intervened.

The worker looked like he wanted to say something as he eyed her up with a faint smirk, but he remained silent and tossed a key on the desk in front of them.

She picked it up and began walking towards the room they were granted.

Yoongi wasn’t sure what he was expecting for an inn to look like in that village, but something told him it wasn’t something that looked like the one they were in—or at least not usually.

There were only two floors in the building. It was easy to conclude the small space of each room from the number of doors in each level, just like the one they’d ended up in. It didn’t have much in it, simply a king size bed and a small bedside table. a small round rug beside the bed, and a small window that affords a view of the street outside. After further inspection, Yoongi found a small bathroom too.

She sat down on the bed with a hiss. Her face was a little paler than it was moments ago, and the hand of her injured shoulder was trembling slightly, but her face held onto a serious expression nonetheless as she studied him carefully.

He could feel the question sipping out of her mouth before she even moved it to speak. But then, a series of muffled noises came from one of the other rooms, or maybe more than one, it was hard to tell. He could tell they were a mix of groans and whimpers, even some creaking noises could be heard here and there.

It wasn’t hard for him to put two and two together to figure out what type of place he ended up in that night, and a strong urge to palm his face and sigh almost overwhelmed him, but he fought against it and kept his face emotionless.

She was the one to break their tense staring battle. A faint blush—so faint he could’ve easily missed it under the dim light of the candles scattered in the room—appeared on the apple of her cheeks for a brief moment.

He watched as she sighed, loaded with heaviness and tiredness, before she spoke, “this is the only place we can afford to stay in this area of the village.”

A pause took place between them after that. Their silence was louder than the muffled noises that lingered longer than Yoongi was comfortable with, though he didn’t show any sign of that, as per usual.

He cleared his throat, seeking to brush the weird surge of emotions that settled in his core all of a sudden, then said: “Let me see your injury.”

Her head snapped up to meet his stubbornly blank stare. “What? No, it’s alright.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to do so.”

When she didn’t provide an answer, he continued to speak: “I can cure it. Let me see.”

She breathed in, let it stay in her lungs for a second, then let it out with a scoff. “Fine then. Just be quick.”

Without further ado, Yoongi stepped closer to the bed. He stood at the edge, putting a small distance between them as she removed her shawl, uncovering her wound. Though he did not show any signs of it, he did feel relieved when he saw that it was nothing but a semi thin slice across her shoulder. He could tell the sharp object digged decently enough for it to leave a painful sting behind, and he wondered how she still managed to bear it all that time.

After eyeing the injury up, he asked, “How did this happen?”

“The bastard stabbed me.” Noticing his questioning look, she added, “that man you saw holding a gun earlier, he was going to stab me in the chest, but I moved just in time and this happened.”

He wordlessly reached for a pouch he had hung at his waist, taking out a small piece of cloth that had enigmatic words and symbols all over it, then a tiny jar filled with an unusual purple liquid.

After putting the pouch back on his hip, Yoongi grabbed the fabric of the sleeve around the injury and tore it open. Her eyes blew open at that, a frown appearing between her brows.

“Relax. It needs treatment.” He said, voice surprisingly soft.

The persistent noises coming from the other rooms did a wonderful job at making the situation less at ease than it should’ve been, but she pressed her lips in a thin line and let him clean the blood around the cut with a wet towel he'd grabbed from the bathroom.

After cleaning the area as best as he could, Yoongi took the cloth and put it atop the injury, covering it entirely. A soft, barely audible gasp escaped her lips when it latched onto her skin almost immediately, as if it had a life of its own.

“It feels weird.” She said.

Yoongii allowed his finger to brush the skin around the cloth when he noticed her confusion. He wasn’t sure why he did that, but his touch was so soft, it left goosebumps in its wake. “Drink this.” He gave her the tiny jar with his free hand, then moved to lean against the wall, eyes fixed on her figure.

The way she was eyeing it up in her hand, a mix of fascination and cynicism all over her face, did not go unnoticed by him. “It’s a medicine. A potion if you will. It will help recover your energy in a few seconds.”

After hearing his words, she glanced up at him. Her face was inscrutable, her brown eye roamed his own face, searching for something in its curves and sharp edges. “Are you a witch? A magician, perhaps?”

One of Yoongi’s brows arched up at her guesses. It’s in his blood, a sorcerer's biggest displeasure is being referred to as such lower ranking species. He pushed a light breath out of his lungs, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. His little confession came out with some irritation in his tone. “I am a sorcerer, not a witch. And definitely not a magician.”

“Same thing..” She gave a small roll of her eyes, then drinked—in his words—the potion in one go. Her face scrunching up as soon as the bitter taste of it hit her buds.

“Why didn’t you just say so when I asked?” She asked.

“Humans are not to be trusted,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Her brows jumped up at his words. “So you trust me now?”

‘No.’ His response came almost immediately.

A silent beat followed that small conversation. The noises no longer lingered in the air, Yoongi was thankful for that. He proceeded to speak again. “Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid?” She scoffed. “Please– I meet all kinds of males on a daily basis.”

He arched a brow. The more he talked to her, the more intrigued and taken aback her twists and turns made him feel. A combination he wasn't a stranger to, but it all seemed different right there and then, for some reason.

“I knew you were an interesting one the moment I saw you back there.” She continued to say.

Yoongi studied her more. There was a smile that looked way too sly for his own liking stretching on her lips the more she talked. “Oh, right. You don't recognize me. Let me show you something.”

He watched as she began removing her eye patch with her uninjured arm. The same eye patch he'd been finding himself curious about the more he'd glanced at it.

For the very first time since she'd bumped into him in that alleyway, both of her eyes traveled up to meet his own. As soon as he caught the sight of that ice blue orb again, his breath hitched, and he was pulled back to that lounge room. In front of that group of dancers, in front of her.

Min Yoongi—as the powerful sorcerer with years and years of training and experience—found himself stuck in his spot in front of that pair eyes again.

How couldn't he notice before? Why can't he figure out how to breathe properly? Why was his body moving on his own?

For these questions, he could not think of an answer. And all of a sudden, he found himself crouching right at her legs, staring deeply into her eyes. His body continued moving forward, all on its own.

Maybe it was just his eyes playing games with him, or maybe he'd lost all sense of logic the moment their eyes met, but he could see that ice blue orb of hers glowing in his face. He could feal the dust of its light, little tiny drops of glitter floating and falling on his cheek.

The distance between them got thicker by the ticking seconds. He could feel her warm breath caressing the skin of his face, could feel the warmth radiating off of her entire body from up close.

Her lips were close to his. So, so close. They lingered in the distance, barely a breath apart from his, but he didn't move. He froze up in his place and didn’t chase that warmth, finding himself putting a lot of effort into rejecting the weird grasp that refused to let him go. So much more effort than he should.

Sensing his resistance, she leaned forward, seeking that electric, fierce closure between them. To feel the softness of his skin touching hers. She was met with his finger pressed against her mouth with a gentle push, his eyes bore into hers with a new coldness in them.

For a brief moment, she looked taken aback, before switching to a confident smirk.

“A man with a strong control of self is a fine man.” She whispered, voice hushed and sultry.

One of his fingers traveled up to caress the skin under that special orb of hers, his touch soft and tender, unlike his intense gaze. Something about it kept playing with the strings of his restraint really hard. The more he looked, the harder it pulled. He did not like that.

Noise broke out down the corridor, pulling him out of the mayhem of his own desires and thoughts. He quickly flinched away from her, sucking a deep, silent breath in and bringing himself back on earth.

He felt confused, like he’d just woken up from a long, hot summer afternoon nap. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He did not like that, did not like whatever was happening to him, whatever was behind his state.

“What’s that noise?” She asked, her smirk lingered a little longer as she watched his mystified appearance, before turning into an alerted sharpness as she looked towards the door.

Once he got a stricter grip on his surroundings, Yoongi stood up and pressed his palm flat against the door, sensing the area outside.

Silence stretched inside the four walls they were in. The only noise palpable in the air was that of the chaos creeping closer and closer towards their room. The sound of shouting and struggling coming from different people at once.

Yoongi didn't move an inch, devoting his senses into analyzing the situation behind that door. That was until he suddenly jumped back from his spot, and the door flew wide open.

Two masked men burst inside, pointing long rifles in their faces. One of them, the taller one who fixed them with a piercing stare, moved with an impressive speed and targeted Yoongi with his weapon, delivering hit after another using its butt.

Yoongi muttered a curse under his breath as soon as his back hit the floor. A curse for both his beater and the universe for feeding too much superpower into his being, neglecting a very important element in the process: his physical abilities.

Sure he was a good fighter, he could punch and kick hard to save his life, but his body of an excellent sorcerer had its own limits.

On her end, the belly dancer rushed to put her dagger to good use, a new found energy bursting through her limbs now that her shoulder was healed.

She rushed to the other masked man, dodging a bullet and stabbing him right in the stomach. A pained shout left him bent down, clutching onto his wounded abdomen.

As he saw his companion getting attacked, the one who put a firm, almost deadly pressure onto Yoongi's neck as he stepped on it raised his rifle towards her, ready to fire. But Yoongi growled, unclasping one of his hands that were wrapped around the leg abusing him to raise it in the air.

Within a second, the rifle flew right out of the man's arms, making him gasp. Yoongi was quick to take his chance and pull his leg hard, pushing his body up and letting him fall in the space behind him. He then quickly reached out to grab the woman's arm and drag her out of the room, towards the stairs that lead to the floors underneath them.

Just when they made it to the first few steps, a loud, booming sound echoed in the entire building.

Yoongi felt her arm slip from his grasp, falling to the ground. And when he looked back, his heart sank. She laid there, limpless on the head of the staircase.

The sound of their chaser's feet hitting the ground of the corridors grew louder. Yoongi ducked away just in time, avoiding another bullet targeting him.

His heart thumped in his chest. His legs moved on their own as he carried himself up and continued making his way down the stairs.

Bringing his wrist up to his lips, he started muttering incoherent, barely audible words into the chain that wrapped around it at a full speed. Its pendant flickered with a bright light, glowing as he chanted more words onto it.

Light burst in the entire floor, swallowing him and his surroundings whole, like a deadly, angry ocean wave.

Yoongi closed his eyes shut, then everything around him fell silent. The sound of his own pulse and ragged breathing dissolving into the light.

[christinevioletart]

The Wise One Pen and ink on paper 29.7 x 42 cm

In my latest illustration, I explore the archetype of the wise old woman.

Folktale and myth origins

The wise old woman is a character that often appears in old fairy tales as a bestower of knowledge that will aid the hero in his journey. Alternatively, she can be a moral presence in the story that tests the hero through different challenges. The most well known examples of this archetype are Baba Yaga from Slavic folklore or the Crone aspect of Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft.

The water and moon symbolism

The old woman sits on a black vast ocean surrounded by galaxies denoting her timeless nature. She lives at the edge of consciousness, imparting her wisdom to the astral traveler - the dreamer.

From the Jungian point of view, she represents a spiritual function surfacing out of the subconscious. This function is the feminine instinctual nature of the psyche.

Both water and the Moon symbolize this instinctual, subconscious side of the Self. The Moon is also a storehouse of dreams, ancestry, and emotional ties from past lives that reflect themselves in our behaviors and patterns. This is where the old woman appears in initiatory dreams to signal to us that it is time to outgrow old stagnant structures, clean up our mental home, and revitalize our lives so that we welcome new energy in. The water here also represents this idea of purification of the Self.

The Serpent Symbol

The white serpent at her feet is another symbol of renewal and the life-death-rebirth cycle. The snake is a common symbol found in almost any culture. It’s interpreted either in its revelatory aspect - as a keeper of ancestral wisdom or as a symbol of death, darkness, and decay - the lowest point we reach before we begin a new cycle.

The significance of the old woman in dreams

The presence of an old woman in dreams can sometimes appear as a detached, cryptic or frightening presence to the dreamer. The more we suppress those negative aspects of ourselves or avoid facing destructive habits and patterns that keep us from growing, the more of a creepy old hag she appears to us.

The cross symbol

Lastly, i want to mention the North African Indigenous cultures that i used as reference when drawing her. The clothing and tattoos on her face and hands are inspired by the Amazigh, nomadic desert tribes living in Northwest Africa for more than 20,000 years. The symbol she holds in her hand is a Tuareg cross. Its main role is apotropaic, a talisman made of silver for protection against evil that is given to a person when they are traveling.

The wise old woman archetype embodies both light and darkness. She is that wild, healing side that we find in ourselves when we’re lost in darkness and suffering. She is always there waiting to impart her knowledge no matter how cruel it sounds because she can pierce through illusion. She is truth and discernment.

[sarahbasly]

Moroccan Amazigh Woman 🇲🇦