#silver lining ragamuffins

[felinefractious]

🐱 RagaMuffin

📸 Silver Lining RagaMuffins

🎨 Black Silver Mackerel Tabby with White

[conduitandconjurer]

I posted 3,402 times in 2022

561 posts created (16%)

2,841 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@merrilark

@i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

@stcndupeight

@positiveautistic

@resplendent-ragamuffin

I tagged 2,259 of my posts in 2022

Only 34% of my posts had no tags

#ooc - 562 posts

#s3 spoilers - 247 posts

#ic - 156 posts

#sexy trash (self) - 149 posts

#show me my silver lining (self) - 129 posts

#klaus hargreeves - 87 posts

#meta - 81 posts

#face (robert sheehan) - 80 posts

#dumb puppy (nathan) - 75 posts

#sobriety is(nt) overrated (recovery tag) - 64 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#he's so desperate to get everyone on board with the character that he still doesn't like but whom he (mistakenly) believes has faith in him

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Okay but I’m going to cry at Klaus’s inherent selflessness.  For years the character has been accused of being the most selfish of the siblings, and I have never grasped where that comes from, aside a societal bigotry against addicts, an ableist victim-blaming mentality, but how can you watch the scene where he is dying, again, in excruciating pain, but using his ability to conjure to help Luther say goodbye to a woman they both just met like a week ago--and STILL call him fundamentally selfish?   He uses these bewildering abilities that have traumatized him all his life, to give comfort to his loved ones. 

I know Klaus is disastrously flawed (aren’t we all) but.  Please do not tell me Klaus is anything but ride-or-die for his family, and one of the most astoundingly accepting, compassionate people in the world. I think what’s so beautiful and compelling about it is that it can also be deemed a flaw--to be so forgiving and trusting that you would even let your primary abuser back into your life, thinking he could be “better now.” Being inevitably betrayed by Reginald again, in the most painfully resonant way, and STILL! STILL! Virtually MOMENTS later, having the capacity to show kindness to your brother so he doesn’t have to feel the pain you felt, of never having closure to say goodbye to the person you adore, and only having dog tags to remember him by. 

I love you. There is no courage quite like compassion.  You are braver than anyone knows. 

211 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

#4

I’m trying to figure out how to articulate how gutted and desolate I feel about the wedding reception scene, where Klaus goes to every single sibling shy of Allison and tries to convince them to figure out a way to save the world with Reginald.

I’m trying to understand why it makes me nauseous and weepy that he asks Five, and Five is for once the one who has given up and is seeking solace in substance abuse, and Klaus lets him with the first expression of annoyed disappointment I’ve ever seen on his face toward a sibling. 

I’m trying to process how I feel that Lila treated him like an agent of malice and threatened to torture him if he spoke to Diego.

I’m trying to not actually outright sob that he called Luther “baby” and “Lulu” and begged him as desperately as during the days when he was stealing money and valuables for another fix, to consider his new addiction--a fictitious, delusional idea of a real bond with their father, in order to “find his purpose”--and Luther is so desperate to not spend the end of their lives in any form of discomfort (understandable and actually, an interesting mirror) that he bellows at Klaus so loudly, that Klaus ends up curled into a ball, ears covered, audibly whimpering.  It was an exact replica of the times in S1 (in the rave) and S2 (being shot at by Commission agents) when he was covering his ears and freezing from a PTSD flashback.  The way when Luther apologizes and hugs him, he just hangs there in his arms and immediately placates with “sure, that sounds nice,” the way he is just USED to being dismissed out of hand by loved ones, even when they have not even a day of existence in all the universe left....

I’m trying to explain to myself and anyone reading this why this makes me sadder and sicker than the actual “bus-ball” scene in which he repeatedly killed himself to find that sense of purpose, of human value. 

How desperate do you have to still be, to be valued by somebody else, anybody else, that you’ll be complicit with your cardinal abuser, and help him to recruit your siblings in perpetuating that abuse? 

I’m the first person to say Klaus has grown in leaps and bounds this season. And yes, I know that his suicide in the White Buffalo Room marks that he has broken free of Reginald and really is beginning to grasp that he has value irrespective of all Reginald pretended to offer. But it’s still AGONIZING. 

And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that he still has this IMMUTABLE capacity to LOVE.  That he goes to Sparrow Ben and softens him and comforts him, gets him to “open up his kimono.”  That he, ONLY he, pays any attention to Allison, and escorts her onto the dance floor, WITHOUT snubbing Viktor:

That he treats Sloane with unreserved happiness, with compassion, and officiates the wedding.  Like look at his face in the bg when she comes off the elevator: 

See the full post

256 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#3

If he didn’t believe this about every single person whom he loves, he’d be so much better off...but then he wouldn’t be Klaus <3 

283 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#2

I know a thousand other people have articulated it better than I have, and I miss the days when people listened to my character meta (on other blogs) but it will never get old to me how Klaus cheerleads and emotionally supports others--sometimes deservedly, and sometimes not-- with the blind adoration of the biggest idiot,  yet you can tell it’s 100% pure and with 120% conviction: 

See the full post

299 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Klaus Hargreeves’s REAL superpower isn’t straddling both sides of the Veil or resuscitating and regenerating bodily damage or astral projection or levitation or even conjuring and exorcising ghosts....

It’s being able to get along with ANYONE and EVERYONE, lol.  It’s making people who hate everyone find him tolerable. It’s his irrepressible affability. Ingratiating is too strong and negatively-connoted a word, but it’s in that ballpark.  Got a new dangerous foe? Just send in Klaus, the funky queer Human Hug, to charm them into feeling relaxed, heard, and valued. 

“Why am I smiling and when did I start smiling?” they think, baffled. Because Klaus, that’s why. The “King of Death” is better than anyone else at making others feel ALIVE. 

961 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[governorsaburov]

@candleburningup

After a very late start to the day, courtesy of Bad Grief and Burakh’s painkillers, when Saburov finally does wake, it’s to the curious eyes of Murky, the little girl who was technically Artemy’s child- but not legally.

He sighs, half at the unexpected presence, half at the constant corralling, trying to get Artemy to understand the importance of the writ and accountability.

It’d be a lecture for later, he doesn’t like bothering the doctor, save for important things.

“Yes?”

No response from the grumpy-looking ragamuffin of a girl.

He quirks a brow in response, and then, just as mutely, begins to examine his clothes to dress himself again for the day. Now, in the brighter light, he can see that his coat, despite his best efforts to keep it clean, the coat still sported his blood on the inside, along with the missing button he spent to get the children to give up Grief’s location.

Giving up entirely on that venture, he elects to stay in just his dress shirt. His bandages would need changing anyway- the wet he feels seeping from them adds to the chill he feels all over.

He tears off another button from his coat instead. He’s not concerned about the repairs. There’s matching buttons in a sewing desk at the Rod, and a tailor right next door to him.

The little girl watches, curious of the gesture. He displays the silver button to her, a disc with an etched circle and four lines quartering the edge.

“Be a dear- ach, and fetch Rubin for me?”

He kneels down to her (a notable mistake, as he finds himself wincing with the effort), and displays the button as a small offering.

Murky snatches the button, like a gremlin, examining it before she nods, “Uhuh. Rubin? I’ll get Doctor Rubin.”

Clutching the little button in her hand, she trots off to go find the humble giant, and Saburov rises slowly from the ground to sit back atop the cot. He couldn’t leave until his dressings were changed and he had another dose of painkillers anyway.

[ye-olde-norrington-stan]

((Another little potc drabble I did a while ago. This takes place the same year Weebee and Lizzy leave England for Port Royal, shortly before they leave. They're taking a holiday in Bath, England, and my OC, Maevie Fielding went along as a companion to Lizzy, and James and my OC Edward Fielding show up. Then a woodle shows up to cause trouble. Have no idea what that is? Read on!!!))

Bath, England

August 10th, 1720.

Maevie Fielding had never seen a place more lovely than Bath. The soft rolling hills, the lush trees, the river curving like a large blue ribbon through the valley. The elegant buildings of honey coloured limestone that stood among the beautiful parks and avenues, where society could stroll, and of course the roman bath for which the city had been named, which waters were said to have curative properties, pillars of stone surrounding the gently steaming, jade coloured waters.

The parks to promenade in were dotted with bandstands, from which music always seemed to be flowing. Down by the river, a broad pavement path followed the curve of the river, and Lizzy's father, Lord Weatherby Swann, had told the girls that it was a favored spot for the height of society to stroll and show off the latest fashions, and of course there were assembly rooms aplenty for socializing.

"And then there's Beau Nash, the master of ceramonies here." Lord Swann had told Lizzy and Maevie upon their arrival. "He meets new arrivals to Bath and judges whether they are fashionable enough to join the select company who have pre-booked tables."

"And you were of course approved when first you came, weren't you, father?" Lizzy grinned.

"You must have been! No one is more fashionable than you, Lord Swann!" Maevie added. There was no doubt in her mind that Lord Swann had been accepted in. She had heard of this Beau Nash before, her brother Edward had once said that their parents had no doubt bribed Master Nash for a place at the tables.

Maevie doubted very much that her mother and father would have been turned away, for they were always dressed in the latest fashions, but the little joke was still amusing all the same.

"Oh of course! Who would turn away a swan for not being fashionable?" Lord Swann chortled.

"Father said Master Nash also matches ladies with appropriate dancing partners at every ball, pays the musicians at such events, brokers marriages, escorts unaccompanied wives, and regulates gambling," Lizzy lifted up her fan and whispered to Maevie from behind it in her lilting little voice, "by restraining compulsive gamblers or warning players against risky games or cardsharps."

The girls were enjoying a picnic by the river, Lord Swann nearby bird watching, though he kept near enough to keep a close eye on his charges. Maevie counted herself very luckily to have been invited on the Swann's holiday, and even more lucky that her parents had allowed her to go. It was a last hurrah before the Swann's left England in a fortnight, bound for Port Royal, Jamaica, where Lord Swann would be Governor Swann.

Maevie envied Lizzy the adventure she would be undertaking, but was excited for her as well, at the same time dreading the day her dearest friend would be leaving.

"Seems not a thing goes on here in which Master Nash is not involved with." Maevie mused.

"I wonder if Port Royal has a master of cereamonies, and if it shall be as lovely there as it is here, if there shall be anything as fun to do?" Lizzy wondered, leaning to rest her head against Maevie's shoulder. "It shall be dreadfully hot there, and no doubt terribly dull without you to sing to me, or tell me stories. I so wish you were coming, Maeves!" Lizzy lamented.

Lord Swann had asked Maevie's parents to allow Maevie to go along as a companion to Lizzy, assuring them he would care for Maevie as if she were his own daughter, but they had merely replied that they would think on it.

"Oh me too, Lizzy! There's a silver lining at least, they are thinking about it, and perhaps if I cannot leave with you, I may be permitted to join you later." Maevie told her friend.

"And if they should say no, I shall send for you in Nassau once we've sent the Spanish running, take guardianship of you, and send you to Port Royal to be with Lizzy!" A familiar voice said from behind them. The girls turned to see Edward Fielding and James Norrington striding towards them.

"Edward! James!" Maevie cried happily as she leapt up and rushed to her brother and his best friend, hugging first Edward and then James, both young men hugging her back tightly. "What a wonderful surprise!!! I didn't know you two would be on leave!"

"We wanted to surprise you!" Edward grinned. "And we've some news. Tell her, Jamie." Edward encouraged, swatting at his taller companion's shoulder.

"It's Lieutenant Fielding and Lieutenant Norrington now." James grinned, swatting Edward back.

"What?! That's wonderful news!" Maevie beamed. "Congratulations, Lieutenants!!" She remarked grandly, hugging them both again.

"How perfectly splendid! Congratulations, Lieutenants." Lizzy remarked as she joined them. "Well deserved promotions."

"Thank you, Miss Swann." Both young men smiled, tipping their hats to the little lady.

"And did you say Nassau??" Maevie asked Edward curiously. "That is where you're off to next?"

"Indeed. And James shall be..." Edward looked to James, raising his brows in a gesture for him to tell the news.

"I shall be off to Port Royal with Governor Swann and Miss Swann, if you'll have me as an escort, of course." He said politely to Lizzy, as if such great matters were hers to control!

"I suppose I shall allow it." Lizzy snickered.

"What's this I hear? Two new Lieutenants?" Came Lord Swann's jovial inquiry, and soon he was clapping both young men upon the back as he joined them. "Well done, well done indeed, to the both of you! And you're to join us in Port Royal, Lieutenant Norrington?"

"Yes, Governor Swann, thank you for your congradulations." James smiled proudly.

"Splendid! We shall be very glad to have you, and Nassau shall be lucky to have you, Lieutenant Fielding! This is cause for celebration! And a toast! Come come!" Weatherby exclaimed as he ushered them all toward the picnic, like a father swan leading his little cygnets.

Maevie was so very proud of Edward and James, and happy for them, but those feelings were twinged with a little sadness and worry, for they would be so very far away, and in danger. She was used to them being away at sea, that was nothing new, but they had never been quite so far before. As for danger, she was used to them being in that as well, for they had seen battle, always made it through, but she couldn't help but worry, for she cared so deeply for them.

A bit of jealousy crept in as well, that Lizzy and James would be going to Port Royal, and Maevie knew not if she would be joining them. What if her mother and father said no? And then said Edward couldn't send for her once things were safer in Nassau? She tried not to dwell over much on her unsettled feelings, focused instead on excitement she felt for those dearest to her.

"However did you two get past Master Nash?" Lizzy remarked cheekily to Edward a little while later, teasing but not unkind as they strolled along the river promenade, James walking aways back with Lord Swann.

"Are you suggesting, Miss Swann, that we are unfashionable?" Edward gasped. "And we got past him by way of diversion, of course. Released some doves and made a run for it."

"No!" Lizzy giggled.

"You're right, we didn't run. We took hold of the doves and flew right over him. Do tell me if you spot him so that I may have adequate time to conceal myself." Edward whispered loudly.

"Oh no! There he is!" Maevie pointed, Lizzy and her laughing as Edward dove behind a tree, the young man peering out cautiously after a few moments.

"Is it safe?" Edward called in a harsh whisper.

"Not at all!" Lizzy called back.

Edward crept comically to the next tree to conceal himself, like a high stepping villian sneaking about in a play. He placed his tricorn upon a stick and leaned it out, only to quickly draw it back, then slowly peered out before diving and rolling to the next tree.

"Master Nash will definitely throw you out if he finds you now! Look at the state of your coat!" Lizzy taunted.

"Positively dreadful!" Maevie agreed.

"Is it really that bad?" Edward asked as he stepped out, brushing himself off.

"Quite bad. You look a dreadful sight. A terrible ragamuffin." Lizzy teased as she twirled her parasol.

"A ragamuffin woodle." Edward replied as he looked around for some branches.

"-What- is a woodle?" Lizzy demanded, stopping the twirl of her parasol.

"Oh dear. Miss Swann, you mean to tell me you do not know what a woodle is? Best tell her, Maeverly." Edward suggested as he inspected different sticks.

"It's a terrible beast with branch like horns that eats parasols." Maevie whispered worriedly to Lizzy.

"No! Such a beast would not dare to come here!" Lizzy gasped back.

"They're very crafty, they can conceal themselves among trees." Maevie told her friend, before she went still and looked around wildly, quite one for theatrics, given the chance. "I think I hear one!"

"Wooooodle! Woodle wooooodle." Finding some sticks to his liking, Edward stuck them in his hat and stalked around a tree, shaking the branches. "WoooOoooooodle!"

"Our only hope is to run!" Lizzy cried, grabbing Maevie's hand and running back to hide behind her father and James.

"Lizzy, Maevie! What on earth??" Lord Swann laughed, twirling to look at them.

"It's a woodle, father!!!" Lizzy cried.

"He wants to eat our parasols!" Maevie exclaimed.

"Honestly, Edward. You're far too old for such things, and you look ridiculous." James chided as Edward drew near with his branch horns, brandishing a stick as well, which he used to slowly poke James in the arm, the taller man pushing it away.

"That is something someone who cannot fight woodles would say." Edward taunted in a croakey toad voice.

"Oooooooooooo!" Maevie and Lizzy exclaimed as they looked to James, their expressions speaking volumes: Are you going take that from a woodle, James Norrington?!

"A challenge if even I heard one!" Weatherby remarked solemly. "Good heavens, whatever shall we do?!" He lamented, indulging the girls and their silly game.

James gave a long suffering sigh and held out a hand. "Your parasol, if you'd be so kind, Miss Fielding."

Maevie handed over her parasol with much ceremony. "Your weapon, sir." She remarked gravely.

"Godspeed, Lieutenant. That looks to be a most crafty beast." Weatherby warned.

"Do not dismay, I can handle this...What was it? Woozle?" James drawled, folding the parasol down.

"Woodle!" Edward snarled comically, advancing with a swipe of his mighty branch blade. James parried, and the battle was on! Long and fierce it was, until the fearsome woodle was defeated with a piece through the heart (under the arm), the terrible creature giving a haunting death rattle before it fell down dead, James emerging the victor.

"Well done! You certainly showed that beast what for!" Weatherby chuckled, giving a little clap.

"Our hero!" Maevie cheered.

"That was certainly exciting! I should like to see a real battle someday!" Lizzy announced.

"Oh Elizabeth, do not say such things! Such games are one thing, but a true battle...Why that is another thing entirely! One you should never wish to see." Weatherby admonished gently.

"Quite right, Govenor Swann. I assure you, Miss Swann, it is nothing you'd want to see." James warned. "Nor something you should see."

Maevie, having had a similar talk from Edward and James before, said nothing and took her parasol from James when he handed it back to her.

"They're right. The stories we tell of the times we've seen battle may seem thrilling, but the thought of you two being near enough to see one...That is not a pleasant thought at all." Edward added to the conversation as James helped him up.

"There now, you see? Put such thoughts out of your mind." Weatherby gave Lizzy a tender look and her shoulder a pat.

"Oh very well." Lizzy sighed, clearly not agreeing with them, but she did not argue on the matter.

Weatherby gave a pleased little nod, before he looked to Edward and James. "You two shall join us for supper, won't you? The more the merrier!"

"Of course, Govenor Swann. Thank you." James inclined his head gratefully.

"I'm not one to turn down a supper invitation, especially one with such fine company. I'd be happy to join you, thank you." Edward smiled.

"Wonderful! You both must come and see the lovely estate we've let. I shall give you a tour, and then perhaps some parlour games?" Weatherby asked hopefully.

"We'd be delighted, Govenor Swann." Edward smiled.

"It sounds a lovely way to spend the afternoon, Govenor Swann." James nodded.

"Quite so! Come along." Weatherby beamed, offering Lizzy his arm and leading the way.

"You heard him, come along woodle and woodle smiter." Maevie grinned, handing Edward her parasol so she could link arms with the both him and James.

"Hah, I got the parasol in the end." Edward smirked, opening it and twirling it over his shoulder.

"Hush, you're supposed to be smited." James shuushed.

"I've recovered. That was subpar smitage." Edward teased.

"*hmmph*That's not even a word." James drawled.

"I'm going to miss you both so much." Maevie sighed, squeezing their arms gently.

"Oh chin up, Maevie. Surely your parents will allow you to accompany the Swann's to Port Royal, and Edward won't be too terribly far away." James comforted.

"I certainly hope so! It is my dearest wish to go. Well, second dearest." Maevie confessed.

"What's the first?" Edward asked innocently, as if he didn't know it was that Maevie wanted to marry James.

"That no harm befalls either of you out there on the seas." Maevie told them. It wasn't a lie, for it certainly was tied with her dearest wish. Eddie didn't argue her answer. "You're always in my prayers."

"As you are in ours." James told her fondly.

"If something horrid were to befall me, would you take care of me, Maeverly? What if I came back with a peg leg and glass eye?" Edward asked with wide eyes, Maevie looking uttetly distraught by the notion.

"Would be a vast improvement to your current visage." James remarked dryly. "And would serve you right for scaring Maevie with such talk."

"Heaven forbid! But of course I would take care of you, Eddie. And you, James, if anything ever happened to you." Maevie promised.

"That's very kind Maevie, but try not to worry about us. There's dangers yes, so do continue saying your prayers for us, but don't dwell overmuch on it." James told her.

"I shall try not to, James." Maevie promised.

"Good good. Have you learnt any new songs since last we saw you?" James asked, steering the conversation to happier things, for which Maevie was grateful.

"A few, yes." Maevie smiled.

"Let's hear one, then!" Edward encouraged, and Maevie happily sang to them as they made their way to the holiday house.

[ladyemberswrites]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: God of War Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Faye/Kratos (God of War) Characters: Faye (God of War), Atreus (God of War), Kratos (God of War), Baldur Additional Tags: If Faye Live Au, Baldur has a lot of mommy issues, also he has a thing for strangling women, Faye is a ragamuffin, I kind of picture as half wild child but at the same time very wise beyond her years, she prefers to fight barehanded, I love me some soft husband kratos, Kratos has to hold her back sometimes Series: Part 2 of Faye Lives Au Summary:

Faye did not feel good, she did not feel good at all. Something was wrong, very, very horribly wrong. These past few days were rough with weariness, and a strange feeling of ominous clutched at heart. Her heart would race at every noise, clank, or animal scurrying around through the forest. The nights had kept her wide awake, her eyes darting, back and forth at every corner. She wouldn’t let Atreus far from her sight, as the days grew longer.

Faye did not feel good, she did not feel good at all. Something was wrong, very, very horribly wrong.

These past few days were rough with weariness, and a strange feeling of ominousness clutched at heart.

Her heart would race at every noise, clank, or animal scurrying around through the forest. The nights had kept her wide awake, her eyes darting, back and forth at every corner. It got worse, to the point where she wouldn’t let Atreus far from her sight, as the days grew longer.

“Aw, how come?”

She didn’t have the answer for why-but, she didn’t want to scare her child “the forest is amiss.”

“A miss, like something bad?” she tries her best smile down at him.

“No. Not quite. However, I rather be safe than sorry. So, no wandering until I say so.” He was dejected, she knew, she hated spoiling his fun, his thirst for exploration. But, she rather have her son alive, and in one piece, and until this feeling pass, she wouldn’t let him out her sights.

So, she hoped it was just a feeling, just a silly old feeling, but it got worse by the week, to where she even made sure Kratos didn’t wander too far from home. And that by far wasn’t the worst of her worries, there was something entirely much smaller one at present, and she hadn’t a faintest clue what to do.  

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It was midafternoon, Atreus was busying himself with updating his journal, one that she had given to him for his recent birthday. He was far, from her leaning against one her enchanted trees. She was sitting upon the ground, her bare toes digging in the earth, and snow. Her head buried into knees. She was tired, so very tired. She desperately wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t.

“Faye.” She heard their front door open.

“Mhh.” she drew into herself a bit more.

“Faye?”

She heard the door close. Her husband’s hand big and warm settled onto her shoulder.

“Faye, we need to talk.” Faye felt herself snort beside herself. It was usually the other way around.

“Yes.” She peaked up to her husband’s searching gaze.  

“You have not been well lately.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure how-to response to her rather apathetic answer. To him Faye was anything, but apathetic. She was loud, she was proud, and passionate. But, lately it seems she had lost her vigor. She seemed startled by every little thing. She would toss, and turn during the night, or she would just randomly get up, checking on Atreus, not strange in the least, she would draw up his covers, brush her fingers through his hair, and kiss his check. Normally she would crawl back into bed, but she didn’t. she poked at the fire before retreating to get more wood. On any other day, she would nudge him awake to do it. It was like she was doing it as any excuse to stay awake. He watched her scurry back, she fell onto her hunches, feeding the fading flames. He couldn’t make out her expression from looking over his shoulder. Her gaze wandered over the room, carefully checking everything. She got up, and left his field of view, but heard her jangle the lock of the door, and windows before she went back to sitting next to the fire. It was all very odd.

“Tell me, what is wrong?” his voice was low, as to not alert their son, however it seemed he was far too engrossed in his journal lodging than he was about his parents. Something both were grateful for, at the moment.  

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“What! No. No. why would you think that?” she vehemently shook her head at his assumption. “It’s nothing you’ve done. I – I am not well.”

“Why?”

“I-I don’t know.” Well, partly she did now, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that little detail just, yet. She needed to be absolutely sure.

“Faye, you haven’t been yourself, as of late. You barely sleep, let alone eat. You nearly fall in hysterics if either Atreus or I so, much as leave your line of sight. Even, the boy is starting to notice.” She felt guilt swallow her whole. She expected her Husband to pick on it, despite his cold demeanor, he was observant, she knew she couldn’t hide her distress from him for very long, but she had hoped Atreus wouldn’t notice, and would have just shrugged it off, as his mother being slightly overprotective.  

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of creaking wood, and Kratos watched his wife nearly jumped straight out her own skin. Her eyes snapped towards their house, it was just the wind. It was just the wind.

However, this time Kratos had pulled her towards him, gripping her shoulders tightly, forcing her to look up at him. “Faye, what is wrong. This isn’t like you?”

“I -

“ I’m here, Faye.” He squeezed her tighter “Tell me.” His eyes were soft, his voice gentle, as she felt his fingers caress her bare shoulders. He was watching her with concern, and she had never felt safer, more secure. “Kratos, something-something feels wrong.”

“Wrong? Wrong how?”

“Like something bad is going to happen.” She sighs “Maybe I’m being silly. I’m just terrified something might happen to our son, or you.” She sniffs, wiping her nose with back of her palm.

Kratos didn’t say anything, he just listened closely to her ramblings, before he pulled her closer, resting her head against his chest, running his large fingers through her storm of long red, hair. He kissed the top of her head. “ It’s  going to be alright.” It was strange to hear, words of optimism coming from Kratos of all people, but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

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She didn’t want him to go, but they were running low on meat. He reassured her that he would be fine, and would not travel too far from the house, and that he would try his best to only be gone the entire day. It didn’t comfort her in least, but it was better than week.  

She kissed him goodbye, while Atreus gagged at the scene. Kratos placed his hand on top his son’s head, and told him to behave, and not to give his mother trouble. Not that he did, Atreus was good child, though rather-sarcastic in his ways, he was obedient, and did his best to help around the home, despite his recurring illness.

0-0-0-0-0-0-

The morning was filled with the tedious errand of weeding the garden, but the good news was that many of their corps were ripe for the picking. So, their morning ebbed away, cleaning, and shucking, and storing their corps for the winter that was soon approaching. Though, from the corner of her eye she could see Atreus peeking up at her often, his eyes wrought with worry. He did his best to try and lift the heavy stuff for her, though she declined his offer most of time, reassuring him that she was going to be fine. But, that didn’t stop him from trying. Afterwards, they went to gather fresh water, the river wasn’t far from the house, but she insisted that they stuck together. She could still sense her boy’s worry for her, she did her best to distract him one her stories, which he was all too happy to listen too.

Much to her mortification that day went by without a hitch. Maybe she was being silly, maybe she was fretting over nothing. However, she wouldn’t be completely free of fear until she saw her husband safe and sound. Maybe, just maybe things will be alright for a change.  

On their way back, a vase of fresh water in hand they made their way home with sun dancing right in the middle of sky, when she had heard a roar. A roar of a dragon. Puzzled, she hadn’t seen dragons in these parts of woods. A cold chill traveled down her spin. They were a few steps from their home.

“What was that?” Atreus wondered out loud, his eyes scanning the skies.

“Atreus. Come, we need to get inside!”

“Why? What’s wrong, mom?”

“I don’t know. But, we need to get inside, quickly!”

“Hold it, right there!” a voice shouted from behind them. Nonononononono. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. She dropped the vase, her head slowly turning towards the direction of owner of the voice. Atreus was already clinging to her. The stranger wandered out the woods, his eyes looking like that of a mix of annoyance, and boredom. His eyes scanned the through the trees, and over to their home before settling them back on her and Atreus.

~ Well, this isn’t what I was expecting! ~ it was unknown to her if he was talking to them, or himself. More likely himself.

“Mom.” Atreus yanked her robes “do you know that guy.”

“Shhshh.” She planted a finger to her lips. Her son nods, keeping close, eyeing the man wearily.  

~ I asked a question, you’re not answering! ~

“Who are you, and what do you want!” please, please she begged. Don’t be what think it is. But, she knew why he was here. Though, the only silver lining was that she wasn’t sure if he knew who she was, or what exactly, he was looking for.  

~ Ah. Ah. I’m that one who should be asking you that question~  he crossed his arms, bare all his weight on this right foot.

She snorts loudly “You come to my home, demanding who I am. Has anyone taught your manners!”

~ Ohhh. Feisty. I like that in a woman~ the stranger strokes his beard thoughtfully, eyeing her up and down.

She scoffs at his eyeballing.

~ But, unfortunately, I didn’t come here to sight see, I’m afraid. ~

“Really, what a shame. But, if your done with your “Sightseeing” I suggest you leave. You are not welcomed here. So, leave me, and my child be. We do not have what you seek.”

~ I’m afraid I can’t do that ~ he strides closer, Faye walks two steps back with Atreus in tow.

~I think your hiding something ~

“Think what you will.” she snapped.

~ Oh, believe me I do ~ he stalked closer, and closer.

“Atreus, get inside.”

But- “

“ Inside.” Reluctantly, the boy detangled his fingers from her clothing, he wanted to protest, but he hadn’t the means of which to defend his mother, or himself, so he did as he was told. He ran inside, and slammed the door shut. However, he stayed put by the door, his heart hammering in his chest, and one eye able to peek out from one of the holes that adorn the front door. His palms were sticky with sweat, his breathe labored. He coughed into his hand.

The stranger was now in front her, a foot apart. Her nose wrinkled, he smelled of mead, and ale. Maybe that was way acted as if he were drunk.

~I thought you would be bigger~ he leans back a bit, Faye scowls, he was barely taller than her, perhaps by a foot, not mention he seemed quite skinny, for a man his age. However, she would not overestimate him.

He snatched her arm yanking her closer, she didn’t struggle. Faye narrowed her eyes, inhaling through nose. ~Odin’s been looking for you, my dear. ~

“I know not what you speak off.”

“Were playing coy, are we.”

“I am not playing coy, I have nothing to hide, I am not who you seek.”

He chuckles darkly ~ I think your hiding plenty. ~ his face inches closer, until his cold breath is brushing against her face. She sneers in disgust.

~ Perhaps you need an incentive. ~ his icy colored eyes, peer at the entrance of her home. All her patience shrunk, without another thought, without another hesitation her arm struck out, slamming her fist into the center of the stranger’s face, dislodging his grasp on her upper arm, and flinging him a couple of feet in air causing him to plummet into the ground. He groaned loudly, shaking his head from the impact, his fingers digging into dirt.

~ It seems that your bark, is just as painful as your bite.” He laughs, amused.  

“You. Wil. Stay. Away. From. My. Son! she seethed through clenched teeth “Now, leave!”

~ Like I said before, I can’t do that. ~ He stood back up wiping the blood from his nose, and split lip. Ashame. She must be out of practice, she wanted to cave his skull in. His blatant haughtiness irked her to no end.  

“You can, and you will. I will spare you mercy, if you leave!”

~ Unfortunately, for you I don’t mind a struggle ~ like a flash of light, she barely caught it on time, he launched himself towards her aiming for her face, she was able to ram her heel out slamming it right into his lower stomach, in the nick of time, in attempt to fling him backwards, but just her luck he expected it, and dug his heels deep into the earth, to keep from flying backwards. He tossed himself forward, tackling her to cold, floor, he tried to wrap his hands around her neck, but she swung her elbow into the side of his jaw, hard enough that a tooth soared out his mouth. Not the least bit phased, he changed tactics, and decided to go for her face again. She blocked hastily, but the impact nearly knocked the wind out her, quickly she wrapped her legs around his waist.

~ getting frisky, are we.” She spat in his face in response, flipping him over, and nailing her knee right into his cotch. She moved away from him as far as she could

~  Now, that was low blow~ she didn’t bother to answer him. Her mind was at a loss on what do. Her thoughts were racing. What to do? What to do? If her speculation about her condition were true, then she cannot fully engage in battle, secondly, if this is who she assumes he is, then victory was far, far from her grasp. No not victory, escape, she needed to escape, she needed to get Atreus and escape. First thing, first she need to get him away from their home.

He moved towards the house again, all thought, and reason left her, as she launched her on top him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, he sputtered, and swayed trying to dislodge her, but Faye would have none it.

~ Your surprisingly heavy for a woman of your size~

Leave! My! Son! Alone! I will not repeat myself again! Baldur!

~ Oh, so you do know me. ~ he bent backwards, slamming her back into the ground, she grunted, as a low throbbing started in her back, her hold tightens.

~ Get. Off! ~ Baldur hissed.

“Then, Leave!” she bellows in his ear.

~ Not happening! ~ his hands grasp her wrist, he squeezes them forcefully, squeezing, and squeezing, she can her bones strain under his strength. She does not let go.

Suddenly, her world goes black, as the Aseir bucks his head with lighting speed against her face. She can taste her own blood, he does it again, and again until there’s a chink in her hold. She throws her off, this time she rams her whole body into his, knocking him off center, and slamming her foot in his blasted face. He doubles over. This time she runs Atreus, Atreus, Atreus. Her child the centerfold of her desperation, she nearly reaches the door, her feet were wiped from under her, she turns quickly, landing on her side, she hisses at impact. Bauldr flings her away from her door, her arms instinctively wrap around her midsection, as she hit one of her trees. Ah! She inhales through clench teeth to ward off the burst of pain. This time instead of going after her son, he’s kneeling in front of her. His expression has changed, from complete boredom, to something she couldn’t quite discern. His calloused fingers reach out, and tip her head back.

~ Tell me, woman why all the effort, for that defenseless brat, well not that it would matter once Odin gets his hands on you~ she growled at him.

“A mother would do anything to protect her child!” he paused for moment, as if what she had said had come alive and stung him.  

~ A mother knows best, huh ~ his voice goes dangerously quiet. She eyes him carefully. ~ A mother knows best.” He whispers “Even if that means stripping you of everything, taking everything from you. ~ she hadn’t the faintest clue what he was rambling about, but she didn’t dare move. ~ even if that means forcing you live a meager existence, unable to feel nothing! Mother knows best! What do you know, woman! ~ apparently, she had touched a nerve- his hands grasped her throat, she choked, instinctively her hands clawed at his arms. He pulled her off, the ground, slamming her into the tree, some leaves fluttered about, and bark chipped, and scraped against her bare skin.

~ I promised daddy, I would bring you home alive, but he was exactly specific about what state you had to been in. ~

“You are a coward.”

~ I’m the coward, me ~ he gestured towards himself “I’m not the one hiding in the middle of nowhere~

“Some leader you are, Laufaye the Just, what a joke, no wonder your people are nothing, but plant fertilizer, these days.”

She spat in his face again. This time it enraged him, the pressured increased, white spots fluttered about her eyes. She ripped his skin, and flesh, in desperation, however, she was only met with cruel laughter. Her lungs burned, and failed like a fish out of water. She gritted her teeth, and screwed her eyes shut, it felt like days, were passing in pure, agony, but the pressure was suddenly ripped from her, and air made its way back into lungs in such a rush in made her head spin, and stomach quake.

“FAYE!” Kratos. In the blink of an eye, Baldur’s fowl face was replaced with that her husband’s terrified one. She had never she Kratos so, scared, so fragile, as he checked her for serious injuries.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Are you okay, I was, so scared!” Atreus’ tiny arms enveloped himself around her, he was coughing, loudly.

“ Atreus, let your mother breathe.” He admonished softly.

“ Oh, Sorry.” He releases his hold.” Both her husband, and son’s hand are braced on either side of her shoulders. Her eyes dart around, until she found a Baldur shaped crater within a mountain of rock adjacent their home.

She places her hands on her throat, checking, there were no hands there anymore. However, relief was the furthest thing from her mind.

Her gaze met her husband’s “Leave. We need to leave!”

“Do you know that man?”

“ Yes, and no. He is dangerous. He’s a god, a Aseir god!

“A god?” Kratos seemed startled, he leered over at the Baldur shaped crater. The man hadn’t reappeared, yet.

“A god, you mean like father, a real god, an actually Aseir god. What does he want with us!?”  

Faye shook, it was hard to swallow. “ Kratos, we need to leave. If Baldur is here, who knows who else will show up.”  

He snaps out of his daze, his previous state of freight has all, but disappeared.

Can you walk, Faye?”

She tries to stand, but her feet wobble, he snatches her up with much effort.  He makes one glance towards the Baldur shaped crater before, gesturing for Atreus to climb on his back. They made their way to one of their boats, and either family member turned to look back.

[kdfrqqg]

The King's Ragamuffin

Crowley x Reader Fluff (One Shot)

Summary: The reader and Crowley have to go to a meet to buy an object but Crowley doesn’t want her to go with him until she gets a makeover.

A/N: I wrote this for my Fluff so Sweet it will Literally Rot Your Teeth Challenge. The prompt I stole was #27 – Pampered.  There are still some slots left if you want to join.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Light cussing, Dean being grumpy, Crowley insults you

The war room reeked of overly strong cologne and way too much testosterone as the Winchesters and the King of Hell had an all out pissing match in front of you about a Hand of God object that needed to be acquired.  “Yes, Squirrel, I understand what it means to protect it.  What you, act like you don’t trust me anymore?” Crowley smugly smiled.

“Crowley, I never have and never will trust you.  No way are you not going alone.” Dean spat.

“Well I’m not taking you with me to the meet.” Crowley paused, “or Moose.  Everyone knows you two flannel wearing morons.”

“Then take (Y/N)!” Sam suggested, making you raise your head to look him in the eye.  Sam simply shrugged assuming that Crowley would hate the idea.

Crowley turned his head towards you, “You cannot expect me to take this little ragamuffin as part of my entourage.”

“Hey!” You yelled suddenly feeling self conscious. “I clean up pretty well.” Your voice cracked

He began to stare at you and moved forward, “Hmmm, well, you aren’t completely homely.” He took your hand, “These nail beds are awful,” you pulled your hand away, “and will not do, you will need a full manicure.” He continued to examine you, “When was the last time you waxed your eyebrows?” You thought about it. “If you have to think about it, then it has been too long.” He snarked.

“Hey!” You almost had enough.

“And that brass color of your hair indicates one too many home dye jobs.” He sustained his criticism.

“Really, what the hell man?” You asked completely offended.

His hands touched your shoulders, “My dear if you are expected to represent me, you must look the part. I can’t have someone so unpolished, join me on this venture.” He pulled a silver cardholder from his pocket, “Here.” He handed you a very fancy business card to one of the most prestigious salons in the area. “I’ll set everything up. All you have to do, is go and they will take care of you.”

“Look we don’t have time if this.” Dean jumped into the conversation.

Crowley addressed Dean.  “The meet isn’t until 10pm tonight. She has more than enough time to get a little pampered and look like she belongs on my arm.” He turned to you and whispered, “It’s that what you want, my dear.” He words made you breathe a little faster, and all you could do was nod.  “That’s what I thought. Look, she wants to be a part of this.” He bent down and spoke softly, “I can’t wait to see how lovely you will look this evening.” How did he just go from insulting you to making you blush in just a few minutes? Then he just vanished from the room.  

You didn’t have to think about what to do, it was already noon and it would take you about an hour to get to Kansas City for your makeover. Crowley was right, you were in need of some pampering, so this may take the whole afternoon if not longer. You grabbed your bag and jacket walking towards the garage.

“What, you’re going!?” Dean asked.

“This is what you guys want, right? We gotta get the item.” You turned to them and they just looked at each other trying to figure out what to say. “Well Crowley wants me fully done up, then he will get me fully done up.”

“Well yeah, I guess.” Sam finally said something.

“End of discussion. I gotta go.  Either of you wanna come to Kansas City with me?” You asked being polite.

“What and wait for you to do your lady stuff? No thank you.” Dean scoffed and you shook your head before finally leaving for the garage.

The salon was in a cream color stand alone building in one of the nicest parts of the city, you took a deep breath pushing back any nerves you had, this was definitely not Great Clips.  The receptionist was a young and snooty with four or five different colors in her hair, long red nails and she wore a tight black dress, she barely acknowledge your presence when you walked up.  “And you are?” She finally asked looking you up and down knowing you didn’t belong in a place like this.

“I’m (Y/N). Mr. Crowley made an appointment for me.” You nervously said.

“Crowley!” Her eyes widened with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, it’s (Y/N) right?” You nodded. “I didn’t know.  Mr. Crowley said you were to get the works.” She rushed you off to a chair and placed a glass of champagne in your hands.  

Hours passed and they had put tin foil in your hair and you had new polish on your hands and feet not to mention the wonderful stone foot massage, now they were moving you onto the wax room.   The esthetician waxed your brows and upper lip the she said, “Ok, you can remove your jeans and panties.”

“Excuse me what?” You asked truly shocked.

“Did Mr. Crowley not tell you? He wanted you waxed down there.  Do you want just a bikini or full brazilian?” She informed you.

Why the hell would he want me waxed there? What did he think was going to happen? Shit the questions just kept running though your head as you sat up from the table. “Ummm…yeah…ah… what the hell lets go for it, full brazilian, please.”

You breathed out as she spread the warm wax on your sex, when she pulled up on the wax it didn’t hurt so bad. She was done in no time and you were all smooth and soft, wow you really felt sexy and stood a little more confidently.  

You left with approximately $300 worth of products that they informed you would help keep up your style, it was Crowley’s money anyways so who cares.  Catching your image in the mirror, you didn’t look like yourself, the dark eye makeup and new hair color were going to take some time to get used to.  

The sun had heated up your car to a nice toasty level as you blasted the AC, you thought about what you could wear tonight.  There was that nice boring black dress in the back of your closet, but you really wanted something to ‘wow’.  Your car went on autopilot to closest mall, with a stolen credit card in hand, you went in search of the perfect dress for this evening.  

Amazingly enough it only took you an hour or so to find a super sexy dress, shoes and accessories. Dragging a garment bag and various other smaller bags into the bunker, you meet the boys sitting with their laptops open.  “Well look at you.” Dean eyed you. “You bought a new dress?”

“Yeah, I have to look the part, dude.” You responded.

“And Victoria Secret?” Sam asked spotting the bright pink bag you tried to hide behind another bag.

“Ahhhh…This dress needed a push up bra, have you seen my bras?” Both men shook their heads knowing you wore very conservative undergarments. “Yeah, well then they weren’t going to work.”

You ran off to your room not wanting to hear them make fun of you or give you any lectures, quickly you threw off all of your clothes and took the expensive bottle of lotion out of a bag from the salon, spreading the lotion all over your body giving you a shimmering glow.  In the Victoria Secret bag there was a black lace thong and matching lace push up, you slid on the items never feeling sexier than right now.  Untying the bottom of the plastic garment bag, you pulled the dress off the hanger, you glided the soft silky fabric over your head.  The dark purple sleeveless dress had a plunging neck line and pleated ruching that gave you a structured look but showed off your curves.  You brushed your hair, powdered your nose and reapplied your lipstick, when you heard Dean yelling at you from down the hallway, “(Y/N/N), you ready?” Quickly you put on the new strappy black heels that showed off your pedicure and grabbed a handful of jewelry

“Yeah, I'm ready to do this.” You hooked your necklace around your head while you walked to the war room.

“Whoa!” Dean breathed out.

You heard Sam say, “Damn!” as you walked in.

“I look that good.” A smile crept across your face that turned into a small chuckle.

“My dear, you look positively ravishing.” Crowley strolled over to you kissing your cheek, “absolutley gorgegous.  I knew it would just take a little pampering to bring out the woman in you.” He came closer to your ear and asked lowly, “Did you opt for the waxing below?” He raised his eyebrow to you.

You couldn’t help but smile at how suave he was acting, “Maybe.” you giggled.

“You know the plan (Y/N). You and Crowely purchase the Hand of God and come right back here.” Sam interrupted your moment.

“Yeap, got no problems here.” You responded as your stomach grumbled.

“Did you eat today my dear?” Crowley asked grasping your hand.

“I had cereal for breakfast and few peanut butter crackers when I got home.”

“That is not a meal. Why don’t you let me take you out to a nice steak dinner after we are done?” He asked right in front of the boys.

Now you tried to hide your smile and excitement, “Really!?” You looked down at your shiny toes, “Sure, that would be really nice.”

“Did you really just agree to a date with Crowley?” Dean asked almost flabbergasted.

“Well I guess, I am very hungry.” You held onto his arm a little tighter.

“Seriously, I swear man, not a hair, not a hair!” Dean yelled thowing his hands up as Crowley and you vanished from the room.

He placed a hand around your waist when you and he met up with the rest of his demons at the meet.  Crowley moved a piece of hair behind your ear while he whispered in your ear, “Were you just trying to piss off Dean, when you said yes to dinner earlier?”

“No.” You said softly, “I like the way you look at me. I feel feminine.”

“And you are.” His lips pressed gently to your ear lobe and neck as his hand ran over your knee and up your thigh. Then the door opened and his contact came into the back room of the old warehouse, you disappointingly frowned during the transaction because you didn’t want to be interrupted.  As promised, Crowley returned you and the Hand of God object back to the bunker as soon as everything was paid for. “Here Squirrel!” He placed the gilded item on the table, “My dear, if you are still hungry, I’d love to take you out somewhere.” His arm snaked around your waist.

You turned pressing your bossum to his chest, “All of the good places are probably closed now.” You pouted. “Maybe we have I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

Crowley’s hand ran threw the hair at the base of your neck, massassing you head a little, your eyes closed as he captured your lips with his, you moaned slightly as you opened up to him going weak.  You could hear the Winchesters airing their protests but you put them out of your mind. “You know (Y/N) it is only 9 o’clock in Las Vegas. What you say, a little food, a little drink and a little gambling?”

You bit your lip smiling almost giddy before you kissed him back. “I say don’t wait up boys.”  Your giggles were all the Winchesters heard before Crowley popped you from the bunker as his hands were on your hips and his lips tangled with yours. If the rest of the evening was anywhere as wonderful as this day had been then this was going to be a great start to an amazing relationship.

I love all the likes and reblogs but I really do want your feedback. Please leave me a comment; let me know what worked or what didn’t. If you hated it let me know what I could do different. It may determine how I write my next fic.

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[dreamalittledreamoc]

7, 8, 15, 16, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31, 36, 38, 42, 49 for Saoirse!

Oh goodness. You asked for it!

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?

Growing up in a small village, Saoirse was keenly aware that she was different. The children of nearby families seemed almost afraid of her house. Which confused her to no end. Her parents were hard working and kind. Her Da loved doing tricks and giving presents to kids. But rather than delighting them, his magic made them think twice about even approaching him and the people he called family. Saoirse’s childhood was a bit lonelier than most. She did not play with her peers- when she tried it would usually end in the other kids making an excuse as to why they had to leave. On more than one occasion, a game of hide and seek turned into hours of waiting for a seeker who would never come. As time went by she became more adept at entertaining herself, and tried to save herself the embarrassment of rejection whenever she could. She engrossed herself in books and listened to her Da’s stories about the places he’d traveled. She learned more practical skills from her mother- though she found she had little patience for spinning. If she was to be put to work, she preferred to be sent out with the flock. She named every sheep and could recognize them by minute differences that were imperceptible to most. There was one occasion though, when she managed to make a friend. She must have been around 11 or 12 at the time. A group of travelers had made their way into the area, setting up camp near the edge of town. They brought stories, music, and wondrous trinkets from other lands to show off and trade. One evening, Saoirse snuck off and crept through the woods to the edge of the firelight at the camp’s center. She did her best to be stealthy. All she wanted was to listen to the music she had heard filtering across the fields. But with her shock of silver-white hair and vaguely elven features, she stuck out like a sore thumb. A roguish looking centaur boy was the first to notice her. He leapt across the log she hid behind, laughing as she startled and sprawled backwards across the forest floor. But after seeing the stricken look on her face at once again being unwelcome and the butt of a joke, he abashedly reached out a hand to help her get up. The colt’s name was Nikolai. His family was just one of many that comprised the travelers’ caravan. Centaurs, half elves, half orcs- any race that might have been considered a “half breed” seemed to be represented here. These were races that were either predisposed to wander, or that didn’t have a definitive racial home. The sense of kinship that Saoirse felt with them was immediate. She and Nikolai became fast friends over the course of that summer. Nikolai had plenty of stories to share, and Saoirse was the most enthusiastic audience he’d ever had. Her Da was a bit worried for her safety, but Mum understood. This was exactly what Saoirse needed. Unfortunately, summer passed quickly, and soon it was time for Nikolai’s caravan to move on. They promised to find a way to stay in touch, without much success. But every few years, the caravan would come back to town, and Saoirse would be reunited with her friend. The last time she saw him, he had gone from a ruffled ragamuffin of a gray-dapple colt to a tall and able centaur, who stood proudly in spite of how the more close-minded townspeople would whisper. That was several years ago, just before she left home to begin her own adventure. She is unsure if their paths will cross again, but she is very hopeful that they will.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Saoirse LOVES animals! She always enjoyed caring for the sheep, naming them and considering them like family. The first time a lamb didn’t make it through the winter, she was completely inconsolable. Her family had three herding dogs who helped protect the flocks. Ronan, Murphy, and Duff could always be found either out in the fields or at young Saoirse’s heels.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Mum always lamented that Saoirse lacked the attention span for refined cooking. She does a fair job of preparing the standard comestibles, but she usually keeps it very simple. It’s a rare, inspired occasion that would make her go above and beyond. It usually only happens when she tries something so good that she becomes determined to re-create it to satisfy her curiosity.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

Crystals, or even just shiny rocks, delight her. She keeps a small collection in one of the pouches at her waist.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

With her generally light hearted demeanor, Saoirse enjoys innocent jokes, bad puns, or things that are funny because they’re absurd. A chicken in a jumper? She’ll be in stitches. However, she does not take well to jokes that are made at other people’s expense.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

Saoirse is pretty much an open book. When she’s happy, she smiles broadly and will sometimes dance from toe to toe or spin if she’s especially excited.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

Saoirse is deeply empathetic, and what saddens her the most is the suffering of others. She does her best to conceal when she’s hurt, recalling her mother wiping away her tears as a child. “Don’t let them win,” she’d say. “When they try to break you down, you stand taller. You show them that you aren’t afraid. You smile. Because bullies will always be bullies, but someone who’s humble, hard working, and kind will go farther than they could ever dream.”

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Though she grew up an outsider in her own village, she was insulated from the worst of their potential reactions because her father never revealed his true form- except to his common law wife and to his daughter, once she started manifesting the abilities of her ancestors. Half elves may not be completely welcomed everywhere, but they’re certainly more understood and common than the progeny of a dragon. Saoirse’s Da stressed the importance of concealing her true heritage for her own safety. There was no telling who or what would come after her if they knew the nature of the magic that hummed in her blood. Saoirse wants to know what will happen to her as she ages. Why does she look the way she does, when others of dragon ancestry- like the entire dragonborn race- bear their forms in the open? But she is afraid of losing what little chance she has of fitting in. She has only just started making close friends. If they knew what she really was, would they hate her for it? Would they be afraid? Internally, she agonizes over the dual duties she has to protect her new companions and to protect herself. Externally, she puts on a brave face and tries to deflect any probing questions that might reveal the reason for her anxiety.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

If someone else is afraid, especially if they’re someone she cares about, she doesn’t pry into the source of fear. She just does what she can to validate, insulate, and support the person to help them overcome it.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Saoirse is happy when everyone else is happy, so a bustling tavern with good ale is one of her favorite places to be. When she’s drunk, her amiable personality is amplified. She becomes more physically affectionate, which has caused problems a few times. Her friendliness has been misinterpreted on more than one occasion. Surprisingly, she had never actually had a hangover, so she gets a little confused when she sees other people struggling to get through the day after drinking.

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

Magic, music, and storytelling. As a child, these were the things that Saoirse immersed herself in. They gave color and a sense of connection to her often isolated upbringing, and were also what gave her such a strong relationship with her Da. Her singing voice comes from her Mum, though. Sometimes party members might hear her humming old shepherd’s tunes passed down through her mother’s line.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

Saoirse is outgoing, but she struggles with imposter syndrome, for obvious reasons. She wishes that she could be more comfortable in her own skin, and that she knew who she wanted to be. She’s a bit of a social chameleon, tweaking her mannerisms to fit the group she’s a part of. She admires people who are unashamedly themselves. There is also a small part of her that thinks it’d be really fun to learn how to use a heavy weapon. She’s strong enough to lift them- she’s tried before- but she has always been too embarrassed to ask for a lesson in how to use one.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

More than anything, Saoirse wants to find out what will become of her, and to find a place where she belongs.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Her opal ring is her most visible connection to her family. She never takes it off, and would be absolutely beside herself if anything happened to it. Her robes were made by her mother,- a blend of the area’s traditional designs and the more exotic raiment that Lian sports- so she takes good care of them. Other than that, she doesn’t have many sentimental trinkets. Memories are more important to her than objects.

[travelworldnetwork]

In Syria, music runs deeper into the fabric of the place than anywhere else in the world.

Long before the modern state was formed in 1946, Syria had developed rich musical traditions over thousands of years. The diverse religions, sects and ethnicities that inhabited and travelled across the country over the millennia – Muslims, Christians, Jews, Arabs, Assyrians, Armenians and Kurds, to name but a few – all contributed to this eclectic musical heritage.

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Songs of ancient Syria

In the 1950s, archaeologists found 29 3,400-year-old clay tablets in a small cubicle – likely a library – in the ancient port city of Ugarit on Syria’s Mediterranean coast. They were mostly broken into tiny fragments, but one, which came to be known as H6, remained in larger pieces. Inscribed on it were lyrics, and underneath them is what researchers believe is the earliest example of musical notation anywhere in the world.

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These shards of clay are the beginnings of an incomparable musical heritage.

Academics have spent years literally piecing together the tablets, trying to work out what was written on them, what it meant and how the musical notation might sound were it to be played again. The text is in Babylonian cuneiform script, a system of writing that spread throughout the region several millennia ago.

We could read the script… but we didn’t have any idea what it meant

“The problem with this tablet is that – we could read the script because it was written in Babylonian cuneiform, and we know the value of the signs – but we didn’t have any idea what it meant,” said Richard Dumbrill, professor of archaeomusicology at Babylon University in Iraq, who has worked on the Ugarit tablets for more than two decades.

Dumbrill described how he attempted on many occasions to reconstruct the Ugarit tablets in order to translate the text and music inscribed on them: “I took photographs and I tried to build them as a puzzle, but some had been damaged beyond reconstruction.”

View image of Markings on a 3,400-year-old tablet could be world’s earliest example of music notation (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

The translation difficulties were a product of the text being written in a language known as Hurrian from the north-east Caucasus, probably in modern-day Armenia, but which ended up in Syria’s fertile lands.

“These people migrated towards north-west Syria – it took them a good couple of thousand years – and decided to use the Babylonian signs to write their text and their music,” Dumbrill said. “So it was extremely difficult to translate. However, I managed to find out that the text below the two lines were musical names that were Hurrianised – that is, they were Babylonian but had been transformed on contact with the Hurrian people. And I could find out that it was a melody. It took me about 20 years to translate.”

So what does the earliest musical composition tell us about the people who lived at that time? From Dumbrill’s translations, he believes they had catalogues of songs for occasions of all sorts and moods, not just hymns for religious events.

One song details a bar girl selling beer to her clients, but the tablet known as H6 details a more sober story.

“It’s about a young girl who cannot have any children; she thinks that the reason is because she misbehaved in some way, which is not mentioned,” Dumbrill said. “And from what we can understand of the text, which is quite limited, she goes at night to pray to the goddess Nigal, who was the goddess of the moon. She brings a little pot of tin with sesame seeds or sesame oil in it, which she offers to the goddess, and that’s all we know about the text.”

View image of H6 was the beginning of Syria’s incomparable musical heritage (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

An ancient musical workshop

But Syria did not produce only the earliest melody. Over time, a rich array of musical instruments on which to play them also formed across the region, such as the lyre, a stringed musical instrument with a yoke and a crossbar, and lutes, which evolved into the modern Arabian oud, a teardrop-shaped plucked string instrument that produces one of the most evocative sounds in the region.

At Mari, an Early Bronze Age city-state on the banks of the Euphrates river in eastern modern-day Syria, researchers in the 20th Century uncovered a number of records detailing the musical instrument-making business of the time.

“There in the palace [at Mari] we discovered a huge number of tablets which were mainly letters and receipts of material from artisans who were requesting leather, raw hide, wood, gold and silver for making instruments,” Dumbrill said. “Therefore we have a very good idea about the instruments that were made about 4,000 years ago. We knew the names of the artisans, we knew the type of instruments they made. They were already influenced by instruments which were not Syrian,” he added, citing the Iranian parahshitum as an example, a type of lyre that became very popular among the girls of the harem at Mari.

Production of musical instruments continued to flourish in Syria over the centuries, and many are preserved in collections open to visitors today.

View image of The Debbané Palace in Saida, Lebanon, houses a rich collection of Ottoman-era musical instruments (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

At the Debbané Palace in the Lebanese coastal city of Saida, for example, a collection of Ottoman-era musical instruments, dating from around the 19th Century, gives visitors an insight into the traditions present across both Lebanon and Syria before the formation of the modern states. Pieces from Syria include ouds and bouzouks (a small lute with a long, slim arm) inlaid with wood and ivory.

“People [visiting] ask, why are there so many musical instruments?” said Ghassan Dimassy, a guide at the Debbané Palace. “We tell them that this is an Ottoman house and the women used to sit and sing.” He mimicked the women playing a musical instrument and the men lying back and relaxing; here, music was the essential backdrop to any leisure occasion.

A music in exile

Last year, Syrian authorities launched a bid to have Aleppo, Syria’s second city, added to Unesco's Creative Cities Network as a ‘City of Music’ to commemorate its heritage. During the 17th Century, Aleppo was renowned for its muwashshah, a form of music combined with lyrics from Andalusian poetry, classical Arabic poetry, or, later on, Syrian or Egyptian conversational Arabic. Muwashshah are performed by a band playing the oud and qanun (a horizontal board with strings plucked to produce a haunting sound like trickling water), as well as the kamanja (a violin-like instrument), a darabukkah (drum), and a daf (tambourine). The form thrived in the city, where it was embraced by both Muslim and Christian populations.

However, significant efforts to preserve Syria’s musical traditions are now also found outside this country, which has entered its eighth year of conflict and where civilians have in large part been forced to focus attention on survival rather than exploring their cultural heritage. Some Syrian youth are making the best of a difficult situation and are bringing Syria's rich musical history into the limelight.

View image of The poetic lyrics of muwashshah music are often accompanied by traditional musical instruments (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

Long an incubator of creative talent, Beirut has become a crucible for preserving Syrian musical heritage. Me'zaf, an organisation founded in the Lebanese capital in 2015, aims to innovate, promote and preserve authentic music from not just Syria, but the Levantine region as a whole, showing how the Middle East’s rich musical traditions precede the modern nation-state borders introduced in the 20th Century.

“A lot of forms were created in Damascus or Aleppo and were taken to Cairo, then forms were created in Cairo and performed in the Levant,” explained Ghassan Sahhab, a Me'zaf leader and Lebanese musicology teacher, composer and qanun player. “We have a rich culture and we have to appreciate it and know our history in order to continue. At the moment, it’s a case of preserving heritage and culture.”

Another musical troupe that formed in Beirut is Assa'aleek, which consists of five Syrians and a Norwegian. The band’s name means ‘the ragamuffins’ or ‘the vagabonds’ in Arabic, and refers to a group of self-proclaimed Robin Hood-type characters who lived during the pre-Islamic era in the Arabian Gulf and tried to change the ways of the ruling class.

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“We are similar to the Assa'aleek: we were forced out of our communities and homeland for many reasons,” said Abodi Jatal, percussion player in Assa'aleek.

“It is important to preserve ancient Syrian music because this is our identity, it is history and it is civilisation, after all. This is what we have. This is what we are,” said Assa'aleek vocalist Mona Al Merstany. “It’s not just about a normal country – it’s one of the most ancient countries. It is important to show such things because all people have the right to see beauty.”

It is important to preserve ancient Syrian music because this is our identity

They see music as a way of fighting the injustices faced on a daily basis by people in the region.

“Our lyrics and songs, this is what they are built on,” Jatal said. “We wanted to fight against bad habits, such as harassment against women, and we saw that this is really similar to what the Assa'aleek did, so that’s why we used the name.”

As well as new songs, the band has been performing Syrian folk music since 2013, bringing music from across Syria’s diverse landscapes and communities to audiences in Lebanon.

Syrian music heritage has come a long way since the melody found on the clay tablets at Ugarit. Today, bands such as Assa'aleek are reinventing the definition of Syrian music, bringing it to new audiences.

View image of Over time, a rich array of musical instruments formed across what is now Syria (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

Meanwhile, they are developing the sounds that museoarchaeologists of the future might one day find, stored on computers, in files or drawers, in Aleppo, Damascus or Beirut, or even Paris, London or Berlin.

Al Merstany sums it up well: “When someone asks me what is Syria, this is what I have to say: the music, the art.”

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The post The world’s first song? appeared first on Travel World Network.

[alexmorrall]

The Emerald Seer

Chapter One

 Kaelyn woke to an empty bed, cool with morning dew. She rolled over, spraying a puff of sawdust from her mattress. Water flicked off her nose and soaked her blanket. It bled through cracks in her walls from the drip of trees above. A small price to pay for each day to begin with birdsong. Amaris was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t sleep like Kaelyn could, even wet and cold. An arrow thudded into a strawman outside. She bolted up, remembering this was her first Harvest Feast since turning sixteen. It was the last day of summer, and knights would arrive soon to pass judgment.

When her feet touched the dirt floor, she shivered. Something furry passed over her ankles. Straining her eyes, she saw Whiskerwinks dart back into the pantry. This time she rode five miles to Cyan Lake with the mouse, borrowing a horse from Remy’s stable. Leaving him in the forest, she said a solemn goodbye. Yet here he was, nibbling on bread and cheese once more. Kaelyn crossed their one room house to the pantry. Giving it a good kick, she hoped he’d come out easy. When he did not, she sighed and stepped outside.

Amaris brought an arrow to her ear. Both girls had green eyes, but little more in common. Kaelyn’s hair was silver and often tangled where her sister’s locked in red braids. Ami’s never got in the way when she swung an axe or shot a bow. Kaelyn’s was often caked in mud. Releasing the string, Ami’s arrow pierced the strawman’s heart. She knocked another arrow to her longbow, the weapon as tall as she was. Taking aim, lines in her muscles showed. Kaelyn had never seen a woman so strong. Her second arrow slid into straw beside the first.

“Enjoying the show?” Amaris gave her a wry look.

“I love to watch you shoot,” Kaelyn approached her sister.

“Too close,” Amaris brushed her away and took aim again.

“Did I break your concentration? In battle you won’t be so lucky.” Then Amaris turned, aiming the bow at Kaelyn’s feet. The girl jumped away. “Ami!”

“Want to take some shots? It’s time you hit the mark. Today could be your lucky day.”

“You know I can’t even pull the string...”

“I won’t always be here, Kae. When the knights come, what will you do?”

“They’ll not take me,” Kaelyn gave Amaris a long look. “I wouldn’t last a day in the mines. But you’d make them a fortune... I can see why you practice.”

“They won’t need to take me.”

“How come?”

“They just won’t, that’s why,” Amaris snapped. “Now, your garden looks like a weed bed. At this rate you’ll be selling dandelions this season.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Kaelyn went about her chores. She plucked weeds from her flower and vegetable beds, removed deadheads, and checked for mold. Then she brought a bucket to the town well. Remy’s villagers came for water to wash and cook for the feast. Listening to some women, she heard Lord Ryndale hired a new knight named Godfrey. He was said to be crueler than most and drank Karnath dry in one night. Hearing this, the local tavern owner Gascoyne abruptly left line. Waddling back to the Suckling Pig, he rolled his casks safely into the cellar.

It took Kaelyn an hour to fill her bucket, then she barely got back to the house without spilling half. Amaris was still shooting strawmen.

“Do you expect an army to come up out of the hills?” Kaelyn wondered.

“No, but perhaps some knights, a few rebels or if I’m lucky… Garzians.”

“You’ll take ‘em all on yourself, eh?”

“They’re just men, and they can be killed.”

“Can’t believe you’re working today of all days. You know the knights could kill you for dodging judgement.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“Well, don’t be late for the shift that kills you,” Kaelyn sucked air between her teeth, face going scarlet. She stalked away, grabbing a copy of Wilderwood Beasts and Legends on her way out the front door.

“Mornin’, Kae,” called Luc. The old man with blue eyes and skin like worn leather, stacked wood outside her door. Her house stood in the shadow of Edgewood Lumbermill. Luc helped them build their house, with wood gathered by Amaris and the other foresters. When Amaris turned sixteen, she asked to sign up for the war. She planned on marching west to kill the Bandit King. Hearing this, Luc adopted both sisters the same day. They were only with him a year, as Amaris was desperate to live under her own roof. Kaelyn could’ve stayed longer.

“Morning, Luc,” she waved. “Wonderful day for Harvest Feast, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’ll be a beaut’,” he nodded and grinned, going back to his stacking.

Kaelyn turned north, taking the main cart road. It wound for half a mile before leading to a meadow of bloodred poppies. As sun smiled down, she basked in Daphne’s grace. Finding her way to the river that curled around the Fairy Tree, she reclined on its bank. Warm light washed over, as fish looked up, bubbles rising to the surface. A breeze passed through the old oak, and sometimes it whispered to her. Soft, kind words eased her mind. It was a needed escape from villagers who called her “ragamuffin” and “witch” for her silver hair. It made her look old, and sometimes she felt it.

When she looked at the Fairy Tree, she thought of the Wilderwood. Its ancient groves grew tall as the sky. The Fairy Tree was much younger, but Luc told her it grew from a Wilderwood seed blown east on the wind. This made it a holy relic, and none would cut it down. Its branches spread like powerful arms to either side. Sometimes Kaelyn pressed her nose against its bark, hoping it would give her a hug. Ami had not given her one in so long. The trees, and the river, and the fish never looked at her with scorn. It was here her thoughts could wander in peace. When she cracked open her book, she found herself in the Wilderwood.

Kaelyn returned home at midday to break her fast. With a yelp, she remembered Harvest Feast was in full swing. In her excitement to leave the house, she donned a crown of daylilies but forgot to eat anything. Racing to Remy Square, a basket swung from her fingers, filled with blossoms and apples. Her pace slowed as people blocked her path. They wore their Daphne’s Day best: brightly colored tunics and dresses, hair braided or slicked with grease. Seeing Kaelyn, covered head to toe in mud, they let her pass. Slipping through, she avoided their glares, approaching the main event.

Arriving in Remy Square, Kaelyn delighted in the smells and sights of harvest’s bounty. The aroma watered her mouth and rumbled her stomach. Noise and light warmed the Suckling Pig. Gascoyne roasting a boar on the common, its flesh sizzling over hungry flames. Every man, woman, and child lined up for his famous pork, two if patience held. Children watched him cut, moving dutifully forward in line. Gascoyne handed one boy a wine-braised rib, his eyes turning big as apples. He tousled the boy’s hair, smearing it with grease, and called, “Next ‘un up!”

Nearly every villager of Remy filled the square, sauce spackling their faces. They drank ale, mulled wine, and mead, ate fresh bread with black jellies and buttery cheeses. Mashed turnips, glazed carrots, and buttered onions slipped from plates into mouths. Kaelyn offered flowers and fruit to those who had no meat and looked as poor as she. Most were too proud to accept charity, least of all from her. They slapped her offerings away. Most often her hands and hair were dirty, and today was no exception.

A mother steered her children away. “That girl’s mad,” she said, “Sleeps too much in the woods. Fairies addled her brain. Stay away now.”

Moving on, she found a hungry-looking child who might be more receptive. She offered her an apple and the girl took it, but her father’s face soured. “Oi, that’s Luc’s waif, ain’t it? Always said they live too close to th’ woods. That’s where demons’ll get ye. Drop the apple, lass. Leave it fer the worms.”

The girl dropped the apple and Kaelyn picked it back up. As they left, a dull ache throbbed in her head. It wasn’t just hunger. She wished she could tell these people they were wrong. Her brains weren’t addled, and she had no demons. Nowhere was the goddess closer than in the peaceful woods. So many forgot her way, claiming the gods turned their backs on the world. They’d never listen. None thought it wise for the sisters to live by themselves. Most were jealous they’d been taken in by Luc, the richest man in town.

Hands clapped, lutes strummed and proud songs of Larasu rose on their lips. She tapped her foot to the music and began to dance. As she moved, she caught the eyes of Laran, who also kept his distance. Wine and ale flowed like rivers, and the day passed in a haze. Villagers chose to numb their fears by singing songs of the rangers. Misha the Mouse, Sir Cadmus Featherstroke, Sheon the Silver Lady, Grian the Giantslayer, and Bloodless Barric, the Lion of Larasu. Most were still alive, yet many had begun to despise the rangers. Still, the songs were sung, and though few sought to join their ranks, many praised their deeds.

Amaris loved these songs, and never had she missed a feast day. All year the sisters looked forward to Gascoyne’s pork, Olson’s White Delcins, and the songs of Harvest Feast. More than enjoyment, Kaelyn wanted her sister here for what was to come. Soon knights would arrive for judgement. Any who failed to appear in Remy Square could be punished with death. Kaelyn would stand for judgement as she turned sixteen. It brought another jab to her belly, and she looked at the line for boar.

Last year they took children to work the Karnath Mines. Small bodies fit into tunnels and little fingers could repair tools. Few lived to twenty anyways. Their parents were paid, and the children got food and lodging for winter. Even if they came back whole, they were never the same. Their hands were claws, eyes creased, and backs bent. Light faded from eyes, and skin turned ashen gray. Just from looking, you could tell if someone had been taken, or Daphne forbid, taken more than once.

Kaelyn noticed the six robed men who inspected Remy’s three carts of grain. Stable boys hitched the collectors’ carts to horses. Each year ‘standard cartful’ seemed to grow a little larger. Going easy on them this year, the collectors climbed aboard their carts. They rolled from Remy Square, heading west back to Raven’s Hill, leaving a trail of grain. Any who went to gather the grain were bludgeoned by Remy’s bounders. Each winter a child died of hunger, and Kaelyn gave their family some flowers. These were rarely rejected.

“Line up!” bellowed Chief Olson, slamming a club on his shield. He was in a poor temper, as he usually was. Wearing leather armor, and a bronze badge of office, he and his men enforced Ryndale’s laws whenever possible. This was their proudest event of the year. With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he bellowed, “Judgement time.”

The crowd turned quiet, songs trailed off, and Gascoyne doused his cookfire. “Welp, fun’s over,” he announced. “Join me at the Pig if ye’ve seen one too many o’ these traditions.” Lumping the half-eaten boar over his shoulder, he carried it away. Most of the villagers over thirty years shuffled after him. They were exempt from being taken and refused to watch their children’s judgement.

Bounders slammed clubs on shields, barking at Remy’s younger villagers to form a line. A couple bounders were Kaelyn’s age, exempt from judgement due to their service. Under the hail of shouts, Remy’s men and women, boys and girls, age sixteen to thirty moved forward. Kaelyn joined them, pulling hair over her eyes, and smearing mud on her smock. She had no finer clothes, nor did she want to look pretty this day.

A thunder of hooves filled their ears. In years’ past, it gave Kaelyn chills. Now, it made her stomach turn in a knot. Three men in scalemail armor appeared on the cart road. A large man with a yellow mustache led the way. Dismounting before Saint Remy’s statue, a boy brought them ale. Under his helm, the mustache did little to cover pockmarks and scars that riddled his face. He gulped from a jug and dropped it to crack on the ground. The boy knelt to pick up the pieces. Heat welled in Kaelyn’s chest, despising this man already.

“I present you with Sir Godfrey,” said the bounder. “A knight from Annandale, newly entered into our lord’s service. He’s been honored with the passing of judgment this year.”

Godfrey growled, spittle flying from his cheeks as he advanced on Kaelyn and the others. Ripping off gloves, he revealed hands as rough as boulders. His mustache must have itched because it bristled as he looked them over. Kaelyn stifled a giggle, trying to ease her fear. When his roving eyes looked for her laugh, she was too short to be seen.

“First order of business: Lord Ryndale needs soldiers to keep the rebels at bay. Men, step forward,” his voice scraped like hooks on gravel. They advanced, some flexing or making fists. Godfrey walked the line, observing them in turn. “I see none. You’d not make it to sixteen in Annandale.” The men frowned, looking to each other and the ground. “You’re free to go. Blessed by your meekness. But if I see one of you at the Pig, you’d better buy me a drink.” A few men nodded and saluted. “Get out of my sight.” Most walked home or found spots to watch the finale, while a few marched to the Suckling Pig.

Godfrey paced before the women and girls now. They stood straight and tall, forgetting to breathe. Kaelyn slouched, breath catching in her throat. She was Remy’s youngest prospect, and under the dirt her face was smooth, free of blemishes. In childhood she rarely suffered flux, sweats, or pox. Most orphans were not so fortunate, and their faces bore the scars. Smearing dirt from her hair onto her face, she looked to the knight.

“Not sure how you put up with those men,” Godfrey chuckled, shaking his head. “Now ladies, I see some of you in gold or silver, trying to look your prettiest. If you’re wearing fine metals or stones leave them at the foot of Saint Remy. Then you may go.” To Kaelyn’s surprise, a handful of women came forward. She never knew such riches existed in Remy. Not that she owned any that may have helped her.

“Now,” his tone brightened. “I’ve an exciting announcement. Lord Ryndale seeks a new handmaid. All girls older than twenty may be dismissed.”

This left six girls and Kaelyn was one of them. Four of them were from good families. They trembled, tears filling their eyes. Next to her was a fellow orphan, Kendra. Raven hair fell to her shoulders and she wore a deerskin jacket and breeches. A dagger rested on each hip. Last time Kaelyn saw her, she’d been sixteen, of an age to leave the orphanage. Departing Remy, she went out into the wilderness and no one knew where she’d been the past four years. Now she returned on judgement day.

Though Kaelyn was called strange by many in town, Kendra was considered far stranger. Like Kaelyn, she suffered little in childhood. Her skin was pale as snow, from years in the orphanage library. While Kaelyn read much, she did so under the sun, listening to birds and squirrels. Kendra took to dark, cramped places, ones filled with spiders. She slept some nights in the orphanage attic, where she emerged covered in cobwebs, wasps buzzing in her hair. Not once was she caught for stealing books, though Kaelyn knew she had them. Abbot Arden deemed her the perfect disciple of Daphne and lamented her leaving town.

Godfrey marched down the row of girls. With each step, blood beat in Kaelyn’s ears. Finally, he came to stand before her and Kendra. Looking both over, he stroked his mustache.

“You,” Godfrey said, pointing at Kendra, “you’ll join me at the Pig. We’ve much to discuss.”

Kaelyn let out a breath she’d been holding for weeks. In the corner of her eye, she swore Kendra smiled. As villagers resumed festivities, she sprinted from Remy Square.

[lxiewrites]

Like a Human

Okay, this is the long awaited bedtime story for my friend @bleusarcelle!!! 

She wandered. Where? She didn’t know, didn’t particularly care about that detail. Somewhere…else…

The one who showed her the error of her ways left, someone she might have considered a friend or at least a companion. But at the very least the only person who has ever opened her eyes to the mistakes she had made.

She walked down the forest path; the sunlight through the trees dappled the ground in front of her. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. Somehow, unsurprisingly, it reminds her of all the people she supposedly “helped” what were the consequences of her actions? How many lives she ruined? Rifts created? Wars started. The mirror she created, or that magic christening, even that one king and his squire, how badly did her magic ruin their lives? When she heard of what happened in that kingdom it never occurred to her that it might’ve been her fault but now…

Perhaps.

Definitely.

How did she not realize how many lives she touched? The consequences? How many others had she cursed? No. She will learn from her mistakes.

The castle shrinking in the distance behind her she steeled her resolve. She will live like a human.

No more magic.

-

Dappled sunlit trails gave way to darkened dirt footpaths, mean trees, and rumored beasts. Deep into this shunned forest she found a small little patch entrenched in the darkened forest, undergrowth rampant, and little to-no sunlight through the crowded tree cover. Somewhere where no one would search for her or her eschewed magic.

She strode over to the nearest broken branch and dragged the abandoned arm across the small clearing, dry leaves dragging, before depositing it.

There. Without magic or help. She went to work.

-

Slowly, bit-by-bit, she had created her home. With nothing but grit and her two hands. Which, before, were smooth and soft, soon became calloused without the use of any magic. It was small, humble, and she gained a sense of pride as she finished what she set out, making her feel almost human. Her new home was clear of debris, made of tightly pressed logs slotted together and a mud mixture to keep the cold night air out. The occasional mortal trips for basic necessitates making this little house a home.

For the finishing touch she faced her sanctuary. Holding out her hands she closed her eyes and murmured a concealment spell to hide her and her magic from the rest of the world. With not even the slightest shimmer she disappeared.

-

For many years she lived in peace, shielded from the world, rarely using magic. For so long she thought that the world had forgotten about her.

Sadly, that was not the case.

-

When she came back from truffle hunting there was a short stranger pounding on the door, shouting for her to open up. She dropped her mushrooms and let magic flow through her core and into her hands, letting her fingertips tingle with the feeling of the rarely used magic.

Thrusting her hands forward she suspended the aggressive interloper. Twisting them in the air she magically bound their arms and legs together. Flipping them upside down, their short auburn hair falling away from their face, she confronted them. “Who are you! Why are you here?!”

Upon closer inspection the trespasser seemed to be a young girl, angrily twisting in the air as her hair fluffed out around her. “Let me down!” she growled.

The fairy kept her where she was. “Why are you here?” she growled back.

The trespasser stopped wiggling around and glared at her. “To look for you. You’re the former royal fairy, correct?”

She dropped the stranger on the ground, who let out an ‘oof’ as she landed harshly on her side, but kept her restrained. “That is correct, how did you find me? This grove is concealed.”

The girl wiggled like a worm on the ground, dirt clouding up everywhere, making the girl on the ground cough and spit. Twisting on the ground she flipped onto her stomach to glare up at her. “I’ll tell you if you release me.”

After a minute of debating she released the magic around her. She held up a finger in warning, blue and pink sparks flaring. “Be warned. Any sudden movements and I will not hesitate to bind you again.”

The girl scrambled up to her feet, dusting off the dry dirt. “I traced your magic, every magic user has a signature so I just followed it. I’m here because I need help. You need to help.”

The fairy tipped her chin up, adding that royal flair that is muscle memory. “What makes you think I’ll help you?”

“You owe me. You owe my brother, you cursed him.”

Hearing those words was like a blow to her heart. Not another one. “How—how could I? I’ve sequestered myself here so that it wouldn’t happen, I haven’t used my magic in years.”

“He disappeared and I know that it’s your magic, it has your signature all over it.”

She shook her head in denial. “I’m sorry, but it must be someone else, I haven’t used magic, let alone to make someone vanish, in years. It’s impossible.”

“Stop LYING!” The dirt covered ragamuffin stomped her foot. “No! It has to be you! It has to! I searched forever in the most obscure places, talked to the most infuriating people, just to find you, you have to know where he is.” Her voice dwindled until it was nothing but a chocked out whisper.

Allura could only stare as she witnessed the girl choke back small tears that slipped out anyway, creating clean tracks down her dirt covered face. She turned away.

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

The girl swiped her hands over her face, dirt streaking over her cheeks. “There is, I know that it’s your magic. Can’t you track him or find him? Please?”

The self-exiled fairy shook her head, silver hair waving around her like a cloud. She didn’t dare look at the girl, the inkling feeling of guilt sinking into her stomach like a stone. One small possibility at a royal christening years before… “I have sworn myself to never use magic again to prevent any more damage. I cannot.”

The tears dried as determination settled on her features. “I do not care if you are some all-powerful fairy. You have stolen my brother from me somehow but you will fix it. You can stay here and wallow in your sins but you can fix your mistakes and by whatever all-powerful deity there is you will fix this one.”

Then she turned and marched back to the forest.

-

She came back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

-

With all of the visits from the girl and the resulting information presented to her, proving that it was the magic residue left at the girl’s residence was a result of her magic, made her question her choice on fleeing to the forest.

It was the right choice, she told herself. The consequences of her magic extended too far. She couldn’t even help the boy who she cursed with happiness; the power was too strong and overwhelming. The loopholes too small or too permanent. She believed that she couldn’t help him, but did she try? The result of that disaster was he turning into pure magic, who knows what he’s doing now?

Was it possible that instead of helping the world return to normal with the absence of her presence she only ignored her errors only for them to fester?

-

“You’re allowed mistakes.”

Allura stared inquisitively at the girl bundled up in her rocking chair. “Pardon?”

“You are allowed to make mistakes. You might be a fairy but mistakes aren’t just for humans. It’s not the end of the world, as long as you fix them.”

Allura heaved a sigh. “And humans fix their mistakes?” Without looking for a response she went to the window that held a low and wide bowl filled to the brim with water, basking in the moonlight. Thanking the moon goddess for her energy and blessing, careful of her burden, softly stepped in front of the girl and set the bowl on the floor in front of her. Settling down in a kneel she peered in the water that still seemed to reflect the gentle presence of the moon.

Staring at the moon infused in the water her vision zoomed in; impressions of craters flooded her vision before she was flung toward a tree line, high above the tallest branches toward a kingdom war-torn and desperate. Darting between barren homes, dirty people, she flew through the window of the palace and the hallways until she saw a young king.

The king, himself, has seen battle, his right arm gone, a scar across the bridge of his nose, the light from his eyes gone but still kind. He sat on his thrown, discussing with his advisors, patient yet firm, occasionally gesturing with his hands. When the advisors responded he looked resigned as an official document was presented before him. Before his signature a young man, looking remarkably like the girl in her home stepped inside, large, grand doors resounding behind him.

He came up to the king, kneeled, and reported. The paper lowered, and light returned to the king’s eyes, kind and…fond. The man, lifting his head, held the same fondness in his amber eyes.

With that Allura’s vision zoomed out, tracing back the path her magic took her until she was back in her own body, sprawled on the floor as the girl hovered above her worriedly.

“He’s in the Marmorite Kingdom, he’s with the king, either an advisor or something more.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

-

Allura had given Pidge as many magical items she could carry. Watching the girl leave the forest for the last time she reflected onto what the young girl told her. Perhaps she should become more like a human.

With a small smile and a glint in her eye she set off into the forest, abandoning her home.

Perhaps it was time to actually learn from her mistakes.

[felinefractious]

🐱 RagaMuffin

📸 Silver Lining RagaMuffins

🎨 Black Smoke with White

[oneshul]

Behaalotecha: The High Priest of Midian

            Call me Chovav—or Jethro, or Reuel, who cares? I go by many names. I strive to be modest, but, truly, I am a vital part of the Israelite Saga. As Jethro, I was High Priest of Midian. One night, a dusty, travel-worn, exhausted refugee named Moses escaped from the slavery hellhole of Ramesses II, and found his way to my door, doubtless with the help of the Desert God about Whom he is constantly nattering. My own, dear Zipporah, eldest of my daughters, took pity on him and, after drawing water for his parched throat and belly, brought him to our home. After the ragamuffin washed himself, his manly beauty captured Zipporah’s heart. Myself, I thought him somewhat thin and nearly as old as I, but I kept silent.

           And so, Zipporah and Moses were married, by me, in my capacity as—ahem—High Priest of Midian. She swiftly gave birth to two sons. My son-in-law had a habit of gazing off to the distant mountains for—inspiration? (I have always thought Moses a bit demented, but said nothing to my daughter.) He named the elder Gershom, for, as he told me, “I am a stranger in a strange land,” and Elazar, for, “My Desert God has aided me.” No word of thanks to me for rescuing him from certain death, either at the hands of Pharaoh’s troops, or by his wasting away in the wilderness—oh, well. Moses is not the sort of fellow to acknowledge aid from mere mortals; his eyes are continually turned heavenward, where his Mysterious Deity dwells—or so he tells me. I have heard of sky-gods before; my Baal is one of them. At least, Old Baal can be trusted to bring thunder, lightning, and the healing rain for our crops.

           One day, the rapscallion departed: “I must free my people,” he announced to me, and, after Zipporah packed him a lunch of matzos and butter, he was gone. I was able to hear of his exploits from the caravaneers and merchant folk who passed through our territory. I was, finally, glad to hear of the Israelites’ miraculous deliverance by their Lord God. Immediately,  I bundled up Zipporah and the boys, and set out to find my arrant son-in-law: it was about time to re-unite their family, and the boys were eating up all of my winter stores.

            I found him seated before a veritable sea of Israelites—they called him “rabbi,” which means teacher, prophet, tribal leader, commander-in-chief, among other things—I cannot remember them all. Still, as a civil magistrate of much experience myself, I could see that he was wasting himself away with overwork, never taking a day off.. Day and night the people stood before him, for questions ranging from whether a chicken was kosher, to the highest cases of law, involving property, passion, or pelf.

           There he sat, beneath a jury-rigged sheet, meant to ward off the desert sun. It wasn’t working; his skin was nut-brown, and Old Sol was beating down on his baldy head. He looks old and unhealthy, I remember thinking. He precariously perched on a battered, tumbledown chair meant as a throne for the Prophet of the One True God, but, truly, he looked ludicrous. I remember that the chair had been decorated with gold and silver paint, which was cracked and crazed. There were cherubim on both sides, and a chipped bas-relief of Anubis gazed balefully over the Prophet’s left shoulder.

           “What is this you are doing, Son-in-Law?” I queried, after pushing my way to front of the line, elbowing aside a cobbler and a tinsmith who yammered loudly of problems relating to adultery.

           He sighed, and managed a careworn smile. “The people gather before me for legal, familial, and emotional advice,” he answered, “and I have no recourse but to sit here in judgment, night and day, and answer their questions. The arrangement seems to be working,” he said, but wavered somewhat, as if sunstruck.

           “It doesn’t seem effective—at least, not to me,” I retorted.

            My mooncalf son-in-law gazed upward to a nearby cloud where, I assumed, his Deity was seated, watching, listening, and judging. “If I cannot answer their questions, Father Jethro,” he replied, “I turn to the Lord God, and He supplies the answer. But it’s mostly me.”

            I took him by his skinny, sunburnt arm, lifted him from his Throne of Judgment, and led him away behind a terebinth. Well, what a chorus of cat music rose up from the crowd! But I ignored them.

            “Look here, Moses, my boy,” I said, striving to get him to turn away from his Vision-in-the-Sky, and down to more earthly matters,  “You know, faced with a similar situation in Midian, I found an easy solution—perhaps Baal the Thunderer supplied it to me: appoint judges of fifties, of twenties, and of tens—that way, you have a good chance of some sub-magistrate down the line finding the chicken kosher, while you can confine your efforts and wisdom to weightier matters.”

            I was happy to see him, in the coming days and weeks, apply my advice, and with good results.

            Now, he asks me if I would care to accompany him and his ragtag agglomeration of Semitic humanity deeper into the desert—no, thank you, Moses. Having seen what turmoil has arisen thus far from your people’s haphazard interactions with God, I long to return to my little town of Midian, where a man may worship, judge, and cogitate according to his conscience, not under the steady gaze and judgment of a demanding, Invisible Deity.

            Farewell, Moses and you lot! You will see me no more. Have a care to treat my Zipporah well—I have yet to see you take a day off; indeed, I worry about the stability of your marriage.. And your two boys, Baal pity them, fled long ago into the world; I pray for their safety and good health. Truly, it is not easy to be a judge of your people Israel; they are a headstrong, rebellious mob, indeed.

______________________________________________________________

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

[markjoeckel]

May 4, 2019. East Main Arts Festival. Here is the Final Artist/Vendor/Food Line-Up! Also 38 bands on 5 stages. Pet and kid friendly. Free Admission. 31:13 Eco-friendly Accessories 817 Arts Alliance A Bit of Earth Alex's Garden Studio Amy Artwick - Artist ArlingtoN NightS Arlington Public Library Arrow M Enterprises Art By Monday Baby Creations x 2 - Blessing Bad Brain Press Bath Bombs by Alicia G Beads Beautiful Beads Blastopolis Blueberry Ragamuffin Bottle Beauties Bri-Fi Design Camp Gladiator Camyda Creations LLC Candle Ghoul Chris Wilkins Sand Art Cindy's Crafts Cowtown Preserves Crafted By Kathie Cumi's Gems Dane Shue Art Danny McMahan - Artist Dina's Creations Edith Cunningham - Artist Elegantly Crafted EPicCreations Epoch8q Faces by Chelsea Keesler Football UTA Fused Designs Gibson Design Co Gitane's Treasures Glass Blooms Gypsy Trading Company Hard Silver Heavenly Creations Hippie Notions Hope Contreraz - Artist Jackdaw Folk Art Jazz's Legacy Arts JBW Vending, LLC Jeff Lyon Studios Jonathan De La Cruz Studio Juan Guerrero - Artist Kenna Reid Knights of Columbus 8895 KW Made L&M Rocks Ladybug Botanical Soap Lisa Redd - Artist Lisa Shoemaker - Wares Maria DeBusk Art Maroches Bakery Mary's Glass Creations, LLC Meraki Moon Studio Mistura Nature's Finest Art Patricia Dudley - Artist Paydunor PixelMoon Studios Plant-Artica Pokey O's Tarrant County Polynesian Arts & Crafts Reflection Glass Art RitaWorks Art & Illustration Ruby Leon Jewelry Rush Creek Soap & More S & J Designs Metal Artwork SC Imagery Sherie Pierce - Artist Shiny Penny Sidney Henderson - Artist Simply Fabulous Foods Small Packages Jewelry Social Fiber, LLC Studio Noin Sugar Momma Scrubs Sweet Southern Art T2CParacord Taleah Mitchell - Artist TATTOO JOE Tea Punk Teas, LLC Texas Beer Bus The Barkery The Colorful World of DeAnna Tidepool Productions Tracy Lawson - Wares Tulip Tree Designs Wallace & Sons Wesley Edwards - Artist Wild Sky Studio Woodpost Home Decor Woodturners of North Texas XYSTYN ART https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw-eQe8FgJa/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1qrmi7ayojmur

[ivyleagueheart]

booklr tag.

Just found this in my drafts, and it’s probably months late, but I figured I’d share it anyway.

Which book are you reading right now?

Les Misérables, not because I’m particularly pretentious.  It’s for my thesis.

What’s the best beverage when reading?

A soy Irish cream latte.  :)

What’s your favourite book quote?

“I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?”

Till We Have Faces | C.S. Lewis 

Are you looking forward to a certain book release? If yes, which one?

I’ve made a point this year to read the classics, so I haven’t paid much attention to contemporary books.

What’s your Hogwarts house?

SLYTHERIN

If you could get on a plane right now, where would you go? (And yes, fictional places are good as well. You could also travel via wardrobe/ train/ etc.)

Paris.  Duh I’m researching Victor Hugo.

What’s your favourite holiday read?

I normally re-read The Lord of the Rings because I only have the time on holiday.

Spell your name using book titles!

Catcher in the Rye | J.D. Salinger

Alice in Wonderland | Lewis Caroll

Romeo and Juliet | Shakespeare

Out of the Silent Planet | C.S. Lewis

Lord of the Rings | J.R.R. Tolkien

It’s Kind of a Funny Story | Ned Vizzini

Northanger Abbey | Jane Austen

East of Eden | John Steinbeck

Would you like Booklr to do something for Christmas/ New year?

Yes!!  I love photo book challenges.

Are there any books you want to recommend to the rest of us? :)

Aside from the ones already mentioned, I enjoy:

Blue Like Jazz | Donald Miller | NF

The Book Thief | Markus Zusak

Crime & Punishment | Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Hamlet | Shakespeare

In Cold Blood | Truman Capote

The Old Man & the Sea | Ernest Hemingway

Richard III | Shakespeare

A Separate Peace | John Knowles

A Severe Mercy | Sheldon Vanauken | NF

The Silver Linings Playbook | Matthew Quick

The Stranger | Albert Camus

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn | Betty Smith

An Unquiet Mind | Kay Redfield Jamison | NF

What is your favorite nonfiction subject to read?

It’s hard to choose just one.  I like religion, philosophy and psychology.

What types of book covers do you find most aesthetically pleasing?

Minimalist covers.

If you had to choose one bookworld to live in, which one would it be?

Narnia.

What is your favorite reread?

Narnia.

Which books are you planning to read next?

Narnia.

Just kidding!  On my to-read list for 2017 is:

Sherlock Holmes | Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

On the Road | Jack Kerouac

Aristotle & Dante | Benjamin Alire Sáenz

A Farewell to Arms | Ernest Hemingway

The Ragamuffin Gospel | Brennon Manning

The Goldfinch | Donna Tartt

Fun Science | Charlie McDonnell

Fahrenheit 451 | Ray Bradbury

Moby Dick | Herman Melville

Touched with Fire | Kay Redfield Jamison

Into Thin Air | Jon Krakauer

Questions added by sparkylovesbooks:

What was the last book you rated 5 stars?

Because of Winn Dixie | Kate DiCamillo

What book character do you identify the most with?

I want to be Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings, but let’s be real, I’m more of a cross between Hermione Granger and Holden Caulfield.

Does your family read a lot?

Yes, my family always encouraged reading!  My sis majored in English, and she loves poetry and fiction.  My mom enjoys historical fiction and non-fiction, and my dad mostly reads magazines and books about motorcycle design.

[torentialtribute]

Amir Khan suffers eye-watering low blow in sixth round as Terence Crawford takes TKO win

Amir Khan was beaten by the lowest of low blows as his bid to topple one of the The world's greatest boxers ended in a cross between farce and despair.

Khan had come back from a first round knock-down to trouble undefeated WBO welterweight champion Terence Crawford when he was hit below the belt by a vicious left hand

Referee David Fields cool time out, presumably hoping Khan might recover but as a doctor came to check on the British challenger he seemed to tire or waiting and waved his arms to signal the end.

Terence Crawford won by TKO after Amir Khan said he could not continue after being hit with a low blow

There was a horrible low shot from Crawford and Khan immediately turned away in discomfort from the punch

Khan's trainer Virgil Hunter spoke to his fighter and the welterweight was adamant that he could not carry on

There was confused speculation as to whether Crawford was being disqualified or the bout declared a no-contest – until Khan was abruptly declared the loser by technical knock out in the 47th second of the sixth round.

Khan should have been given a full five minutes to recover but he and his corner declined and pulled out of the fight.

He said: 'I took a shot below the belt and felt something in my stomach and my legs. I'm usually a warrior but I couldn't go on. I would never normally give up. I would have been knocked out .. '

There was no talk of a rematch, like Crawford and his promoter, canvassing for title unification fights.

If this is to the end of Khan's career, it's a terrible anti-climax. There is a third world title, no world shattering upset in America.

Maybe the long-awaited domestic battle with Kell Brook, who was at ringside, will provide a farewell but Khan said: "I will go

The former Olympic silver medalist was being well beaten on the night before the low blow from Crawford

Khan was floored in the opening round and endured a nightmare start, eating a massive right hand and then left

The British fighter grimaced after being sent to the canvas and stood up to taking the count from the referee

Crawford landed some heavy shots early on and tested out the often fragile chin of his opponent

But some the luster of the Brook fight was lost when he declined to take advantage of his recovery time and stayed in his corner.

The pity was that he had come back from a first round knock down to make the fight one of his usual thrillers before he chose to ring down the curtain on Broadway, this fight and possibly his long career.

This fight between a Nebraskan and a Lancastrian proved to be a hotter ticket than expected this Easter Saturday night on Broadway.

Negative predictions of a two-thirds empty Garden were confounded by a gathering which looked respectably close to this iconic arenas 20,000 capacity.

The crowd was boosted by a healthy assembly of Khan supporters who had made the journey from England

Still, not many of those in attendance would have been aware that Khan was bidding to pull off the biggest upset by a British boxer in America in more than half-a-century.

Lloyd 'Ragamuffin Man' Honeyghan achieved that distinction 53 years ago when he stopped the revered Donald Curry in Atlantic City to become the undisputed welterweight champion of the world.

Khan enjoyed a better fourth round and was brave enough to stand in the firing line and get his shots off

Crawford's undefeated record had also given him lofty esteem this side of the Atlantic and the massive odds on him here reflected his status as one of the world's best prize-fighters.

A feisty undercard gingered up the atmosphere, sharpened the appetite and excited expectations.

The only problem was the prolonged earlier action delayed, the national anthems and some knock- out videos on the giant screens delayed Khan's entrance until Easte r Sunday here.

It was midnight exactly when he came into sight to British cheers and a minute fits the witching hour as he set foot in the ring in his white robe.

Crawford has a reputation as a slow starter and Khan will have been hoping to catch him napping at this time of night. Unhappily, it was exactly the reverse. The American landed with a vicious right followed by a sharp left and Khan was down in the first. It was almost all over before it was ground but Khan clung on the bell.

It was the worst possible start to the biggest fight of Khan's life. He still looked unsteady on his legs at the start of the second and came under more sustained pressure but managed to see out this round, too.

Crawford, believing he was in for an easy nigh, feigned a mocking bolo-punch only for Khan to clip him behind the right ear. But for the most part Khan was boxing warily and the points were piling up against him.

Khan finally rouse the British in the house with some spirited assaults. A couple of useful combinations stopped Crawford in his tracks and as hey gift as good as he got in the more heated exchanges he finally started what could be a comeback.

The reprisal soon followed. Crawford upped the pace in the fifth and Khan did well to survive a heavy barrage. Again Khan was in a thriller but it looked as if he had damaged his right hand in furious action.

As Khan's speed ground to trouble him more, Crawford landed a terrible low blow. As Khan doubled up in the corner the referee ordered time out. David Fields waved it off.

Confusion reigned with the Americans fearing a disqualification until Crawford declared the winner and still champion by technical knockout . To more jeers.

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[tessyinfohub-blog]

See What Nigerian Celebrities Of Yesteryear Are Doing Now

See What Nigerian Celebrities Of Yesteryear Are Doing Now Emeka Ike Emeka Ike is one actor that many movie lovers wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He was a toast of the industry in the early 2000s. Often cast as a lover boy, Ike was that actor that many loved to hate because of his brash charaterisation of roles. However, the actor has been absent from the silver screen for some years now, even though he was the president of the Actors Guild of Nigeria at some point. The actor also owned a school which was shut down some years ago.In a chat with Sunday Scoop, the actor maintained that his business activities have been keeping him busy. Ike said, “I have many investments. I own a TV channel on TSTV and we will be going on Startimes soon. I used to own a studio in Surulere, Lagos, but it has been closed down. I also had a school, St. Nicholas College, which was one of the best in the area but my ex-wife shut it down on the day I travelled out of town. Our former students are doing very well in different parts of the world right now based on the foundation they got from the school. A professor recently called me from America and said he was amazed at how I was able to run the school so well.” The Not Man Enough actor added, “A school is a very capital intensive business and I spent well over N400m to run it. All the money I made in my youth was invested in the business. I stopped acting in movies because I had become a CEO and money maker. I didn’t see any reason I should continue going on set to make the kind of movies we were making then. The people who think I went into business because I stopped making money from acting can continue believing whatever they want.” Idowu Phillips Popularly called Iya Rainbow, Idowu Phillips was an absolute delight whenever she appeared on screen. Loved for the energy she infused into playing her roles, it was evident that she knew her onions when it came to make-believe. However, she abruptly exited the scene and many of her fans wondered why. She is now a cleric and in a chat with Sunday Scoop, she insisted that she was fulfilled with her current role as a woman of God but she still missed her days as an actress. She said, “I’m still interested in acting; and as long as I am alive, I still have action in my body. If anybody calls me, I can act in any type of movie except as a prostitute, and I can’t put tattoos on my body, or wear short, revealing dresses. I really miss my acting days. When we go to locations to shoot movies, we enjoy ourselves and interact with friends. We sleep in hotels and eat whatever we like in a relaxed atmosphere. I also enjoy myself in the church, but we do more of fasting and praying, and lots of vigils. “It is the work of God that I’m doing now. I go from mountain tops to pray, to America, London, Canada, and other countries to minister. I find joy being in the ministry. It is easy, and at the same time, not easy because it is a congregation of different types of people. People come to you with various problems, and it is my prayer that God should intervene in whatever issue they bring to me.” Meanwhile, she recently returned to public consciousness in a television commercial for a telecommunications company. Daniel Wilson In the nineties, Daniel Wilson, was one of the biggest artistes in the country. His song, Mr. Ragamuffin, helped to cement his popularity and he was the favourite of many music lovers of that time. However, his career failed to evolve beyond the nineties and not many people know what he has been up to since then. The singer has since delved into different spheres of business. He has been involved in manufacturing, advertising and politics. But the most notable of his business ventures is a bakery which is owned by his family. Speaking about his business concerns in a recent interview, he said, “I started by managing a food business that my late dad left behind. I got into it with my brothers and we took it from a one industry to about 11 industries. We spread all across Nigeria and we had factories in places such as Ilorin, Niger, Edo, Cross River. We were practically the biggest bread and confectionary makers in the country. We went to bread fairs round the world. Then, I moved into making plastics. From there, I went on to own an advert company and secured different contracts. At that point, the kids had started coming and there were bills to pay, so one had to be creative and start doing a lot of businesses to keep them going.” Last year, the singer released a song titled, Never Again. African China Singer, Chinagorom Onuoha, aka African China, thrilled a lot of fans with hit songs such as Crisis, Mr President, No condition is Permanent, among others. However, after he was involved in an alleged rape scandal in London, his music career experienced a decline. Not one to stay down, the singer has since diversified into other areas of business such as running a salon. In a chat with Sunday Scoop, he explained why he decided to become a businessman. He said, “It is always good for an entertainer to have other business. Even up and coming artistes need it so that they don’t have to rely on promoters, friends and family to fund their music. In showbiz, you cannot be there forever; so you need to have others. Doing so, you wouldn’t be stuck. “My businesses include a salon, boutique and I’m into real estate. I also have an entertainment outfit and I rent out sound and stage equipment. Right now, I’m planning to bring in more cameras for movie productions and other things.” Insisting that he didn’t diversify into other lines of business because his music career wasn’t doing well, he said, “People who think like that are myopic. And you will find out that such people don’t even have anything of their own. If someone like Jay Z, Jenifer Lopez and P-Diddy can have a clothing line and other businesses, who am I not to toe that line?” Ruggedman Michael Stephens, aka Ruggedman, undoubtedly redefined rap music in Nigeria. With hits such as Ehen, Peace or War, Baraje, among others, many looked up to him to go international with his craft. However, the rapper seemed to run out of steam after his 2007 album, Ruggedy Baba. Perhaps distracted by his beef with 9ice and Mode 9, the rapper didn’t pay much attention to his career. The emergence of younger rappers also contributed to his decline. But the rapper has always been business-minded. Even at the peak of his career, he launched a clothing line, Twentieth September Wears, and he has since invested in other streams of income. Telling Sunday Scoop about the businesses he is involved in, he said, “I own a virtual soccer gaming brand called Rugged Premier League. I also host events and TV reality shows. Only ignorant people would say that I went into business because I was no longer making money from music. I started working on Twentieth September Wears in 2004/2005. Some of the shirts we used in my videos, Peace or War and Baraje, of many years ago, were made by TSW. A lot of people are quick to say things despite the fact they cannot prove it or how silly it sounds.” Bisi Ibidapo-Obe Actress, Bisi Ibidapo-Obe, shot to limelight with her role in the movie, Bisi Omo Logbalogba. She appeared in a lot of movies after and many expected her to build a lasting career. However, she abruptly went out of circulation and stopped featuring in movies. At a point, she was reported to have had a baby for controversial lawmaker, Senator Dino Melaye. Some years ago, she established an adult shop, where she trades in lingerie and sex toys. In a chat with Sunday Scoop, she maintained that business has been good and she enjoys what she is doing. Liz Benson At a point in the nineties, Liz Benson was practically the biggest actress in the country. She dominated the movie industry and appeared in majority of the movies produced during that period. Known for movies such as True Confession, Witches, Diamond Ring, Chain Reaction, among others, she had movie lovers eating out of her palms. Loved for her sterling interpretation of roles, she won many awards and garnered a lot of acclaim. However, when many were expecting her to continue soaring, the talented actress took a bow from the industry. She is now an evangelist and lives in Delta State with her husband, who is also a cleric. Hilda Dokubo Hilda Dokubo was one actress whose portrayal of roles was always so believable that viewers were often confused as to whether she was acting or being real. She seemed to be able to cry on cue and the range of emotions she displayed endeared her to many fans. With movies such as Without Love, Jezebel, Evil Passion, End of the Wicked, Onye-Eze, among others in her kitty, Dokubo was a delight to watch. However, she took a long break from the industry and newer stars have since overtaken her. She once served as a special adviser on youth affairs to a former Rivers State governor, Peter Odili. She is also a cleric and an activist. Regina Askia Former actress and beauty queen, Regina Askia, was the delight of many whenever she appeared on movie screens. The one-time Most Beautiful Girl in Nigeria commanded the attention of many with her beauty and her face helped to sell lots of movies back in the day. However, she took a bow when the ovation was loudest and relocated outside the country. She currently lives in USA and works as a family nurse practitioner. She is also a healthcare and education activist, television producer, writer and public speaker. Saint Obi Obinna Nwafor, aka Saint Obi, was the quintessential bad boy in movies. Talented and prolific, he was the first choice of many movie producers and directors. He made waves in movies such as Sakobi: The Snake Girl, Fantasy, The Final Battle, among others. However, it’s been a while since the actor appeared in a movie. Not many people know that he is now a singer, consultant and social crusader. Source: PUNCH Read the full article