#Headstones Graves Gold Coast

[artistones]

Headstones Graves Gold Coast

Artistone offers dignified headstones for graves in Gold Coast, providing a lasting tribute to your loved ones. Our expert craftsmanship and personalized designs ensure that each headstone is a beautiful and respectful memorial, honoring the memory of those who have passed.

#Headstones Graves Gold Coast

[rufflesfunerals]

Funeral Pre Planning

Funeral Pre Planning allows you to set out your preferences and make arrangements before the need arises. It is a great way to ensure that the final service will be what you want and can save your family and friends time, stress, and money.

When a loved one passes away, families often have up to 70 decisions to make in the first 48 hours. This can be stressful and confusing for those left behind to figure out what their loved ones’ wishes were, which is why funeral pre planning is so important. When you pre plan, you can set out your specific preferences for a funeral service that will give family and friends a chance to say goodbye in a way that is meaningful to them.

Having your funeral planned in advance can also help to avoid family arguments and disagreements about what you would have wanted for your service. It can also remove some of the pressure that families often feel to spend a lot of money on your funeral, which can be difficult when everyone is grieving. Preplanning can also help you to lock in current prices, which will protect your family against rising funeral costs.

There are a number of different steps involved in Funeral Pre Planning, and it is a good idea to talk with your funeral director to get more information. The first step is to decide whether you would like to be buried or cremated. Next, you’ll need to decide where you want the service to take place. This can include a church, funeral home, private residence, or other venue. Once you have chosen a location, you’ll need to select a casket or urn (if you choose cremation) and determine whether you want a burial vault or container.

Other details that need to be arranged include choosing pallbearers, a eulogy speaker, and music for the service. Some people also prefer a visitation or viewing before the service. Lastly, you’ll need to determine how you want to be remembered in the memorial service and what you would like to be written on your grave marker or headstone.

If you are planning to prepay for your funeral services, it is a good idea to carefully review the terms and conditions of any agreement before signing. It is also important to read the fine print, as some companies may charge hidden fees or add on additional services not included in the price quote. When you prepay, you’ll typically have the option to choose between paying in full or splitting the cost into a payment plan. You can ask your funeral director for a breakdown of these charges to help you avoid any surprises when it comes time to use your pre-paid funeral plans.

Ruffles Funerals directors provide affordable burial and cremation funeral options in all areas of Brisbane, Ipswich, Moreton Bay, Logan, Redlands, Gold Coast and Tweed Heads. We are knowledgeable about the resources available in your community and respectful of all religious beliefs and customs.

#funeral plan management #funeral plans for pensioners #funeral pre planning #funeral plans for seniors

[farewellfuneralsau]

Baby Cremation Services

Considering Baby Cremation Services in Gold Coast? What are the different options available? Choosing the right type of service for your little one is important for many reasons. Some people prefer a traditional, religious ceremony, while others want to have a private gathering or a quiet prayer at the baby's grave. Whatever your preference, your chosen baby cremation service will be a meaningful tribute to your precious bundle of joy. Read on for more information.

If you are unable to choose a funeral director, a hospital funeral may be the best option. Hospital funerals are usually held by social workers or chaplains. They are open to family and friends. If you are unable to attend the funeral, you may want to arrange for someone to watch your children while you are grieving. There are many advantages to choosing a cremation service, so don't forget to do some research.

Many people find it comforting to visit their child's grave or the memorial place where the baby's ashes were scattered. Many families even include a special teddy or toy in the coffin. Others opt to leave the funeral arrangements up to a local pastor. In other cases, parents may opt to leave them to a hospital chaplain to comfort them during their time of mourning. Another Muslim woman explained to me that in her faith, it was the husband's tradition to arrange a funeral.

In some cases, a hospital may be able to arrange cremation for a child. The hospital can usually arrange for the cremation at no cost to the family. Some hospitals even return the cremains, though the amount varies depending on gestational age. However, some families prefer to bury their baby in a private cemetery. If you're planning a cremation service, you should ask your hospital about the standard practices for disposing of medical waste.

Compared to adult cremation, the cost of a baby's funeral is significantly less. This is due to the fact that a baby's body is smaller than an adult. Cremation can be completed in a shorter amount of time, utilizing fewer resources. Contacting a funeral home will help you determine costs. You can download a pricing sheet from the website of funeral service provider Eirene. This sheet shows standard cremation prices, as well as additional fees for burial or interment.

The cost of an infant funeral is a significant part of the bereaved parent's financial burden. Several cremation facilities may offer affordable infant urns and burial caskets. There are even funeral homes that waive the cost of cremation. Choosing the right cremation facility for your baby will be an important step toward healing. And if you're in a financial bind, the organization may provide financial assistance.

Music is an important part of the funeral service. While words cannot fully express our feelings, music can provide us with comfort. Depending on the deceased's favorite songs, music can be soothing and comforting. For example, a favorite baby song may be appropriate. If you're looking for a specific song to play at the ceremony, a favorite piece of music might be a perfect choice. This way, the music can be chosen with love and care.

A Death Certificate is also required for live born babies. Oftentimes, the funeral director will file this for you. If your baby died within two to three weeks of being born, it's best to use a cremation service. Alternatively, a burial service may be the more suitable option for your child's cremation. This choice should be discussed with loved ones and your family members before the baby's death. When it's time to decide on cremation services, remember to discuss the details of your wishes with the funeral director.

Personalized baby cremation services can be especially meaningful. Some will offer headstones, cremation urns, and religious memorial items. In addition, there are pet cremation services that will offer you a personalised cremation service, complete with a beautiful cat headstone or glass urn. Your loved one's ashes will be returned to you or your family. This is essentially a memorial service without a body.

[cotharach]

and the tide brought us here

           The trip to Rhodos Coast is an unusually lonely one, and the journey to reach its shores is one cloaked in silence. The saint finds herself unused to the empty space her father used to fill, and even more unused to the still quiet that surrounds her. She is nothing if not determined, however, and she manages to make the trek alone despite the small aches that plague her heart.

          She would learn to disregard this loneliness; she must, for there are needs far greater than her own that she must fulfill.

( though her sorrow is disquieting, there persists a small comfort, found in the idea that her mother might endeavor to call her mature should she see her... perhaps she would even stroke her head and shower her with praise... )

          The girl reaches the beach soon enough, and after moments of brisk walking, reaches st. cichol’s monument— or as she knows it better by, her mother’s headstone. Though it stood on the coast for centuries now, the marble looked untouched, and the small strip of sand it was erected on had barely eroded. The only proof of the passage of time were the wilted flowers that rested by its base.

          “Mother... I apologize, it has been some time, has it not? Why, your flowers have even wilted!”

          There is no response, of course, and no sound save for the constant crash of the ocean and the occasional call of a seabird, but the girl smiles anyways. Singing a soft, wordless tune, she carefully brings out a bouquet of forget-me-nots from her traveling pack, their twilight-blue petals slightly crumpled from the journey. She kneels, places them onto the ground, and hums with satisfaction.

          “There. It is fortunate that I thought to bring my own. I hope you enjoy them, ruffled and imperfect they may be.”

          Silence falls once more. Cerulean eyes travel from the grave to the horizon beyond it. The sun had long since begun its descent, evidenced by the streaks of gold and orange that painted the sea. Nighttime would soon be upon them, and with it, the darkness. She sighs.

          “Mother... I cannot stay with you for long. Truthfully, I am only here for my staff. Times have changed...” her voice wavers, “They have changed so very drastically, mother, and so I am forced to claim what was mine once more.”

           Regret finds its way to the pits of her stomach, fluttering like newly-emerging butterflies, fresh from their cocoons. She cannot help but feel a small pang of sadness at the idea that she came to her mother not to pay respects, but to ready herself for war. What a cruel world to live in, seeking steel and iron before seeking her mother.

          “...You understand, do you not?” she asks, traces of doubt lined in the wary edge of her tone, “You have always taught me to swim along the current... to not fight the tide, but to flow with it, and to be satisfied with where it takes you.”

          Her speaking soon fades. Her mother was strong; stronger than she could ever hope to be. Of course she would understand. Still, the melancholy lingers regardless. The Caduceus Staff’s weight was a burden she often found heavy to bear; little girls were not meant to wield staffs so young. Little girls were not meant to thread life into the dead; to weave broken flesh like crowns of gladiolus; to water the ground with their blood and watch the rosebushes bloom from the newly-baptized soil. Little girls were not meant to be strong; or sainted; or mature; or ashamed.

                                                        ( little girls were supposed to have their mothers. )

          But she is a little girl no more. No, she is a saint; and a student; and a healer; and mature. She is Flayn and she has outgrown the need for her mother. She is Flayn and she has gotten used the shock of death. She is Flayn, sometimes Cethleann, and she has grown enough to fit the hilt of the Caduceus between her palms comfortably, and to accept her saintdom without complaint. 

         The girl sighs, her exhale heavy, before nodding firmly.

          “Ah, but there is no use for grief. I suppose the tides have brought me here today— back to you, for a fleeting moment, and back to my duty to my staff. And I suppose it is those very tides that will soon take me away from you as well.”

          The girl-saint rises, dips her head low in a deep bow to her mother’s gravestone, and walks over to a small lockbox near the monument’s back to acquire up the very thing she had been seeking; the Caduceus Staff, wrapped in a linen so as to keep it immaculate and free from grime. She tucks it gently beneath her arm and turns to leave, but not without facing her mother one last time.

          “Well, I shall be going now. I hope our future meetings may last longer, and I hope I may give you your flowers alongside father next time.”

FLAYN HAS ACQUIRED: THE CADUCEUS STAFF!

#—❝∙◦○ ᴅᴜꜱᴛʏ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀʙʟᴇꜱ… (ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ) #((WE DID IT LADS WE FUCKING DID IT))

[areiton]

silver falling in my eyes - stony

Ok so what HAPPENED was--Pineapplebread shared a GORGEOUS piece of art on Twitter and I had sad feels. I apologize.

Read on AO3

~*~ 

After-- 

After, he thinks, he should be grateful that he can divide his life into that, into Before and After. 

After, he thinks, life has always been divided into pieces, before the ice and after, before Bucky and after and then again. 

Before Thanos and after. 

Before the War, and after. 

But this--this after--

It is a horrible thing, for heroes to grow old. 

He finds himself sitting on the grass next to a newly covered hole in the ground and the faces that had filled the crowd are sparse now, missing--Pepper was there, pale and grey and still beautiful but Happy wasn’t. Natasha had been gone for years now, but Clint was there, with Lila and Kate, pale and trembling between protege and daughter. 

Rhodey wasn’t--he went, happy, in his sleep, a few years ago, Nebula at his side. 

Nebula wasn’t either--she hugged Tony hard, after Rhodey’s funeral and vanished into space to chase Carol and stardust and, Steve thinks privately, to run from her ghosts. 

Thor and Loki were there, though, and they looked the same as ever, and Bucky stood at his side, and he could see his age, slow but inexorable, reflected in his brother’s eyes, Sam beginning to show his own years at Bucky’s side. 

Harley and Peter and Morgan were there, surrounded by their children, and he thinks watching them was hardest, harder almost than watching the coffin lowering into the ground. 

Almost. 

After--when his heart has broken and been lowered into the ground, when FRIDAY goes quiet and refuses her protocols, when the grave has been covered and the team that was never his returns to their never ending task of keeping the world from spinning into the abyss, when there is nothing but his griefs and unending reminders of the love that they shared--he leaves. 

~*~ 

Steve finds himself in the cabin for a few weeks, but it’s too much a reminder of everything he no longer has. They raised Morgan here, watched Peter propose to MJ here, held Harley when he went through his first heartbreak. Tony danced with him barefoot and beautiful here, on their wedding night, while firelight and the sound of their friends drifted through the windows. 

They had a whole life here and home was the Avenger compound, for most of their life, even after they stepped away from active missions, when Tony was nothing more than a tech consultant and Steve ran missions from a control room instead of the front lines. 

But when the compound wasn’t home, the cabin on the lake was, the place that felt most like home because it was filled with Tony. 

He lingers there, for a few weeks, and then, he murmurs a quiet goodbye to FRIDAY, and slips out of the house with a bag on his back and takes the motorcycle Tony built him, and--he goes. 

~*~ 

There’s a line of code that Boss built into her system, after Thanos, after Beck, after Karen was hacked by Osborne in one of Spider-baby’s battles. 

She waits, until the sounds of the motorcycle is gone and there is nothing but quiet. Her baby brother is waiting and she sends him to the Avenger compound with a single order. 

Be good to them. 

When the house is quiet and empty, FRIDAY says, softly, “Goodbye, Captain.”

And then she follows Boss. 

~*~ 

He realizes time has passed when his hair falls in his eyes, silvery and too long and a little dirty. 

It’s long, longer than he’s ever kept it, and there’s a moment, panic-stricken and crippling, as he realizes that Tony wouldn’t recognize him, like this. 

There’a familiar laugh, warm and grounding. I’d always recognize you, beloved. 

His hands tremble as he pushes it back, he makes a mental note to buy some of those ties Bucky likes, to keep it out of his eyes. 

~*~ 

He drifts. No one ever calls him out, calls him by name, and he’s happy to go by the name Grant Carbonell, what Tony liked to call him when they were forced into the rare undercover missions. 

It’s not hiding, really--he’s not delusional enough to think Bucky and his children couldn’t find him, if they wanted. He’s using a known alias and hasn’t done anything to disguise himself, aside from letting his silver hair grow out and his beard get a little unruly. 

But it’s running, and wherever he runs, he can hear Tony’s voice, echoing and familiar, Good morning, darling. 

~*~

The thing is--he travels, follows construction down the coast and chases a logging job up into Canada and then hops on a boat, backbreaking labor that makes his muscles ache and his mind go blissfully empty through the long fishing season in the Arctic--he gets tired. 

He doesn’t want to run forever, the lesson his Ma taught him too many lifetimes ago resonating in him still-- once you start running, you’ll never stop-- and maybe he isn’t hiding. 

But he’s running, and he’ll run to the ends of the earth and beyond, and never outrun Tony’s ghost. 

Then why are you trying, Cap? 

Steve stands on the edge of the water and laughs and says, “Fine, you stubborn ass. Where to next?” 

Tony doesn’t answer, but when he climbs back on his bike, Steve turns east. 

~*~

He’s old. 

He’s old and he can feel his age, some days, all one hundred and some odd years he’s walked the earth and lain sleeping under her ice. 

He’s old and some days he can feel it, every moment of an endless life that he never agreed to, when he took the serum, but most days--

Most days he feels as young as he did the morning he met Peggy, the morning he stepped into Erksine’s chamber, impossibly young and a life endless stretching before him. 

He feels ancient and young, both, and longs for the days when his husband brushed silvering hair from his eyes and smiled, sleep soft smiles and whiskey dark eyes, and kisses a promise of forever. 

I never wanted to leave you, beloved. 

Sometimes, on the very worst nights, he can’t help but ask--screaming into the void--

Then why did you? 

~*~ 

His hair is in his eyes, long and silver and he thinks Tony would have liked it, would have liked him on his knees, long fingers--metal and flesh--caught in tangled silver strands while he fucked Steve’s mouth. 

He always enjoyed that, when Steve’s hair got long, when he was needing to go get the sides shaved and the long fringe trimmed. 

He thinks, too, that Tony would hate to see him like this--beard scruffy and unkempt, hair too long, his undercut long since grown out. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sitting on the grass next to a black headstone engraved with gold. He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for his absence or his appearance or his lingering presence, when Tony waits for him. 

“I won’t be too much longer,” he promises, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes. 

As long as you need, honey. 

~*~

Bucky is still broad shouldered, powerful and beautiful in his way, but his hair has silver shot through the brown, and there are new wrinkles around his brother’s eyes that Steve thinks are from laughter. 

He deserves that. 

Alpine--the fourth or fifth Alpine, but Bucky could never be talked into naming the litany of little white cats he adopts anything but Alpine--jumps into his lap and purrs, ecstatic, while Bucky sits next to him in a quiet house. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hates himself, for how useless it is. Sorry doesn’t mean shit, when your world has crumbled away. 

“We had a good life,” Bucky says, and he smiles, tear-stained but bright. “It would never be long enough, Stevie. Not for you or me, or either of them. We’re greedy bastards--and I’d always want a little more time with him. But I had a good life with Sam, and you had a good one with Tony. That’s more than either of us ever thought we’d get.”

Steve nods, and there are tears, falling in his eyes, because he’s right, Steve knows he’s right--but it hurts. 

“It hurts,” he chokes, and Bucky makes a noise, low and wordless and reels him, and Steve crumples, falls to pieces against his chest, and stains his shirt with tears, and wonders if he’ll ever stop grieving. 

~*~ 

It’s good, being back, even if it does sting. 

He moves into Bucky’s guest bedroom, and it’s better, for both of them, not being alone. Sometimes, Bucky disappears to the compound, runs a mission for the New Avengers because he might be edging in on a hundred and fifty, but Bucky still has the Winter Solider lurking in the depths of his eyes, and one day, Steve follows him. 

Heroes grow old, but they’re still there, heroes in their bones.

~*~ 

Peter sees him at the compound, and he smiles, sunshine bright just like Tony and hugs him, like Steve hasn’t been running from his ghosts for the past few years. Like he didn’t run from his family, when they needed him. 

He hugs Steve and says, “Welcome home, Pops.” 

~*~ 

It’s not a bad life, really. 

Their kids visit on the weekends, and he holds his great-grandson, and Benji grins at him. “His name is Anthony Edward Parker.” 

The baby blinks up at him, whiskey dark eyes in a pale round face, and Steve’s hair--it’s shorter now, but not the style he wore for so many years, the style that Tony loved, because he can’t bear that again--falls in his eyes, and he’s not sure if the tears are grief or gladness. 

~*~ 

He sits on the grass next to a black and gold stone, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes and he closes his eyes, and waits for the day when he can rest, when he can close his eyes and open them to beloved eyes bright with love and happiness, and Tony’s familiar, Hey, winghead. I missed you. 

#arei writes fic #stevetony #stony fic #tattoo verse au #art inspired fic #steve rogers #tony stark #i'm so sorry y'all

[flowerflamestars]

Ivy Moon: Part 1

Nesta Archeron had grave dirt under her nails.

This was a usual occurrence. As a death blessed witch in a family of talents, being called upon to speak to the newly dead was her most regular and least favorite job. But as any good witch would tell you, no dead needed to rise to speak.

And dead werewolves certainly didn’t reappear out of the sky and happy to be found.

Or naked as a full moon night.

Nesta winced at the thought and resolutely kept her eyes up, locked on a tawny shoulder she had to tilt her head to reach. The werewolf was thanking her again, unabashed at his nudity and smiling brightly.

“-I don’t even know where I was, so”-

“You were dead,” Nesta interrupted flatly, and this time he seemed to hear her. Beautiful green eyes with wolf amber bubbling up inside them met hers in confusion, somehow even prettier than the rest of him. Gods, this whole damned night was giving her a headache. “Or at least, your brothers thought you were.”

She was going to have words with Rhys when this was done. What the hell had he dragged her into this time?

The wolf in front of her was still staring, chest heaving for all that he had run out of words. It was a physical effort not to stare back, chiseled golden muscle moving tangibly close to her face. Stupid werewolf strength.

Nesta threw out a hand, pointing behind her impossible companion.

“That,” she said sharply, frustration bleeding into her tone, “is your grave. We never found your body, but Rhys filled a casket in case it allowed me to call your spirit.” A grave of oak and amber and jade, for a full-blooded wolf with a talent for magic. If he focused hard enough, Nesta wouldn’t have been surprised if he could still smell the sorrow of his brothers here.

Wide eyed, Cassian pivoted to see the headstone.

Nesta actually bit her lip at the muscled back and long, bare, sculpted stretch that put right in her sight. Fucking werewolves.

Quickly, hoping he was too distressed to scent her, Nesta stepped forward to stand beside him. The witching hour had come and gone, the forest that hid this burial ground still and quiet. Even the wind rustled oaks were silent, leaving her with nothing but the growing moon and a man who most definitely was not dead.

She could feel the warmth of his eyes on her again. “You were trying to call my spirit?” Cassian asked at a low rumble, not giving her space to reply. “You’re Feyre’s sister, aren’t you?”

Nesta nodded, before tilting her head back to gaze dimly at the trees. Cassian swore.

“Fuck,” He repeated, dark hair falling into his face as he reached for her crossed arms. Out of the corner of her eye, it was impossible not to note the moonlight gleaming over Cassian’s bare skin. “Nesta Archeron, please tell me I did not crawl out of that grave in front of you.”

To her horror, Nesta snorted a laugh before she could stop herself.

“You were never in the grave,” She said, “You’re not even dirty. I don’t know what the hell curse you’re under, but I guarantee it isn’t effecting your memory.”

She saw the interest flicker across his face, mouth twisting into a grin much more flirtatious than rueful. “You could look closer,” Cassian offered, “Who knows where grave dirt could hide. A witches touch reveals all truth, doesn’t it?”

No- no, that was it.

Nesta turned on her heel and began walking away without a word, the crisp crunch of leaves under her boots endlessly satisfying. She was cold and tired, and had nearly been struck by lightening. Lightening out of which had appeared the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, naked and perfect and grinning at her like sin itself.

A gorgeous man who was, of course, the supposedly dead brother of the underworld mob boss her baby sister was shacking up with.

She was done. Done with the night and this freezing forest. She wanted a cup of coffee and some gods damned answers, both of which could be found at home.

Cassian caught up to her ground eating stride easily, moving with perfect grace in the dark. He seemed as unaffected by the low light as he was by his total nudity and the biting cold, content to silently lope by her side as Nesta stomped through the trees to her car.

It was only after the third time he reached out to catch her, righting Nesta’s stumble over something she couldn’t see that he broke the silence.

“Rhys and Az really think I’m dead?” Cassian asked, voice low as he gently tugged her upright.

Nesta didn’t particularly want to think about what kind of mess they were all in until she had more information. A curse that powerful, that undetectable? Something old and bloody made that magic.

But she couldn’t deny the brother’s sorrow had been real, a devastation that reverberated through the Archeron’s deep and true.  She’d come to the funeral, stood beside a white knuckled Azriel, ready to fight to world to bring his brother home.

She’d never met Cassian, but she was intimately acquainted with the hole his absence had left in his pack and her family.

“You went missing a month ago,” Nesta murmured, matching his tone. “I tried to track your magic, Elain scryed for you, but there was nothing. And then Rhys told us you were dead.”

They’re reached the edge of the forest, moonlight bright enough for Nesta to track the shaking hand Cassian raked through his hair. Dark curls sprang back with a levity that made her hands itch. So she found herself saying, voice stupidly soft, “I’m taking you to them, everyone’s out at our house.”

Cassian stopped walking.

Nesta was tugged to a stop too, the hand he’d used to steady her still wrapped securely around her wrist. When she opened her mouth and looked up to protest however, she found Cassian looking down at her, a softer twin of his initial smile on his lips.

“Sorry about earlier,” Cassian said. “I say really stupid things when I’m nervous, Az calls it fuckboy mode.”

It took physical effort not to smile back at that devastatingly handsome face. Nesta tilted her head instead. “Fuckboy sounds about right. Aren’t you a couple centuries too old to lack brain to mouth filter?”

He huffed a laugh. “Beautiful women bringing me back to life is a singular weakness.”

Nesta’s eyebrows went higher, unable to resist a smirk. “You were never dead.”

“I don’t know,” Cassian murmured, grin grown wide and crooked, “Pretty sure my heart stopped when I saw you, sweetheart.”

His grip was still a lovely, gentle pressure on her wrist. Nesta jerked it out of his grasp, she didn’t need him knowing how fast her heart was going. And if he didn’t know, she could perfectly well pretend it wasn't happening. Nesta wouldn’t be admitting to the burst of laughter his words dragged from her either.

Gravel crunched as she rocked back, away from the tangible heat of his body and toward the hedgerows that hid her car. Warm eyes followed her, gone wolf bright amber and gold between one blink and the next.

He followed her, eyebrows crinkling as she wrestled with the tie of her coat while she walked.  Finally, centuries since she’d seen it last, Nesta came to a stop in front of her car to shrug off her long green jacket. Keys fished out, she balled the garment and tossed it at Cassian.

He caught it easily, arm staying raised in confusion.

Nesta crossed her cold arms with huff. Gods, she couldn’t wait for coffee. “You’re not getting in my car like that.”

“What?” Cassian started, and stopped, her coat held out in front of him. “Oh god, I didn’t even think- we’re in the woods, and its close enough I can feel the moon.” He fumbled the fabric around his hips in haste, pointedly looking away from her. “I am so, so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

He sounded so horrified Nesta snapped back, “I am not uncomfortable.”

The flare of light as Nesta unlocked the car was enough for her to actually see the moment he breathed in her scent. Cassians head tilted in question, mortification slammed its way through her chest as his nostrils flared, catching the interest and attraction, the hint of arousal in the air with those wolves senses.

Fucking werewolves.

And then Cassian blushed.

Nesta wrenched her eyes away, and threw the car into reverse the second he’d settled inside. The road was dark and empty, she’d focus on that. She would not think about the color blooming on his olive cheeks, the half seconds gaze that left her sure that when Cassian flushed the color went down and down and down.

The radio crackled to life in static, the charmed car responding to her tension. Cassian reached to silence it before she could, wincing.

“Sorry,” He apologized again, as her fingers brushed over his arm in slower reflex. “Werewolf hearing.”

Nesta put her hand back on the steering wheel and resolutely did not think about acres of bare tawny skin. She had other problems to deal with, like what could be possibly be powerful enough to fool Rhys’ senses.

She hadn’t been happy to find out her sister was engaged to the man who watched over the east coasts supernatural underworld with an iron fist. In fact, she’d set a small forest fire before her temper was in check. It wasn’t just his work - of protection and acquisition, which he was damn good at- but her baby sister just had to go and fall in love with the only dhampir alive.

Amren had spent half an hour putting out the fire, because she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to focus.

Centuries old, with blood that was poison to vampires, magic that repulsed the fae, and bone that would once have been a witch relic, Rhysand was deadly. Born of a soul bond between a werewolf and a vampire, he had the instincts of a hunter- and he’d use every single one to destroy those who stood against his family.

Nesta was lucky enough to be counted among that small number.

It also helped her estimation of him that he loved Feyre like the world was ending.

Old, powerful, and ruthless as he was, he’d been sure his brother was dead and gone. What enemy was there that could actually fool him? And whose magic had she inadvertently broken through?

Like he couldn’t stand the swell of silence, like he knew what she was thinking, Cassian began to speak. “You said curse, earlier. Why do you think that’s what happened?”

Nesta shrugged. “You disappeared,” She ticked off the points on her finger, a list fully formed in her head. “Untraceable by magic, or scent. You have no memories of what happened, which is classic cursework. And you came back completely intact when whatever it was broke.”

Cassian tapped lightly at the foggy window, eyes flitting over her face. “I don’t know anything about death magic, so humor me. How do you know that you didn’t accidentally bring me back from the dead?”

Nesta sighed.

“Okay, first of all? I’m not a necromancer.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him nodding. “There hasn’t been one in at least a thousand years, and by all accounts they were never human to start with. Someone coming back,” She waved a frustrated hand in his direction, “In their original body, power and mind intact? It doesn’t happen.”

It couldn’t happen, and Nesta had been trying to explain this nuance since she was a teenager first sought out for her prodigious gifts.

“But you can speak to the dead?” Cassian asked. “Feyre explained it to us like Elain was good at life magic and you with the dead, with her skills somewhere in between. But I know it has to be more than that, because I tried to get sense of your power earlier- and honestly, I couldn’t tell where it started or ended.”

“Rude,” Nesta teased, before she could stop herself. That crooked smile was on Cassian’s face again, streetlights as they cut through town on the way to her families sprawling home painting him in hazy gold. Wolf eyes still gazed back at her.

“I’m death blessed,” She said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel before she carefully continued. “I keep the dead and the dead keep me.”

A crack of laughter escaped Cassian, making her jump. The rich sound didn’t last long, but it was enough to raise the temperature in the car by several degrees. “Do you know wolves say that too?” Amusement tangled in his words, “You keep the pack and the pack keeps you.”

Oddly enough, that made her feel braver. “I’ve got one foot in life and one in the beyond. I can talk to the dead, but that also means I can kill almost anything. Makes cursework come easy, any kind of banishment or destruction really. I’m very, very good with fire.”

In the brief, surreal moment of stopping at a red light in the predawn hours, Cassian caught her gaze. “Of course you’re good with fire.” It was a low murmur she barely heard, but felt.

The car lurched forward, racing away from civilization and down onto the long road her grandmother had commissioned. Nesta kept speaking, unwilling to break the moment, but just as eager to hide away from it. “Elain has earth and wind, and Feyre water.”

“You’re a triumvirate,” Cassian breathed.

Something coiled against Nesta’s senses, warm as magic. Not fear, but awe. “That’s what our mother called us.” Death, Life, Creation. Their grandmother had older words for it- Crone, Maiden, Mother. Born not in the straightforward order of natural law, but in reverse, witches to practice magic not under the sun, but in the hidden and bright spaces of the night sky.

Thick trees and foggy hills rapidly gave way as Nesta drove recklessly fast toward the ordered wildness of Elains flower farm, wards a comforting hum as Nesta came to a stop beside a field of roses. Cassian followed her out of the car, stopping only when she reached for his hand.

“Sweetheart,” He drawled, and the dark, honeyed sound of his voice had her reaching for the magic faster, a quick flash of power slashing at both their palms. Nesta laced their fingers together so that blood raced with blood, and pulled Cassian forward. He let her, bleeding and curious, lead him into a veil of magic.

If Nesta didn’t know any better, she’d swear that blush was back on his cheeks.

You make him nervous, her brain murmured to her. The attraction was so absolute it felt like an enchantment itself, heady and out of control in her exhausted state.

Cassian let out a low whistle, looking around as though he could see the magic hanging thick in the air. “That’s some boundary spell.”

“It’s a ward,” Nesta corrected, “The first time one of us has to let you in personally, and then walk you all the way in of our own power.”

Cassian shook his head in something like respect and turned her hand in his, not relinquishing his hold when Nesta pulled back. Under the blood starting to dry tacky and dark, his palm was already healed. Amber eyes flitting to hers, Cassian pushed out a gentle thread of power, healing her in the space between heartbeats.

It would have been smart to step back.

This night was already too fraught and complicated to muddle further, but for a moment- for long minutes under the light of the waxing moon, Nesta let herself close her eyes and chase the feel of that power.

It came by increments, the sleek slide of sunny warmth against her senses. Cassian’s magic felt like the wildness of every full moon night, overlaid with the comforting safety of the sun on bare skin. Instinct and longing and power run free, tempered by a home that could never be lost.

She felt as he let her in further, wolves senses overtaking her own. How Cassian could smell the heady scent of Elain’s enchanted roses like a fog, how close his wolf was to surface, ready to lean against her side. Nesta felt how keenly Cassian sensed the touch her hand cupped in his, how some wild untamed part of him wanted to lick the blood from her palm to find her skin perfect and beautiful beneath it.

Nesta’s eyes snapped open with shiver.

This was not the time, and not the place- and- and this was Rhysand’s brother, for gods sake. This was a bad idea. But Nesta knew, shoving away the overwhelming feel of his magic, that she’d want to see more. Stupid, gorgeous werewolf.

Eyes with nothing human left in them were locked on her face.

Nesta straightened her spine. She was not doing this right now. “Ready for a family reunion?”

—

The second lightening struck and Cassian appeared, Nesta had decided not to warn anyone she was bringing him home.

To ensure they believed her and stop anyone from panicking, of course- not because she wanted a small, happy revenge for almost being killed by his magical reappearance, of course.

But Nesta had underestimated the sheer length of the walk across the estate to her families house. And how long she could stand the tangible temptation of a naked werewolf who kept blushing at her, somehow abashed and cocky all at once.

A werewolf who was looking at her from under a furrowed brow, eager to get back to his family and confused as to why they had stopped in a birch grove to make a phone call.

Amren answered on the second ring, voice just irritated enough to let Nesta know her friend was worried about her. “Please tell me baby werewolf had a very specific revenge plan to tell you, and that’s why you’ve been gone all night.”

“Not as such,” Nesta drawled, watching Cassian mouth baby werewolf indignantly. “Can you go steal a pair of pants from Rhys’ drawer in Feyre’s bedroom and meet me in the spell garden?’

Cassian waved hand in front of her before speaking, as though he didn’t want to be rude. “I’m taller than Rhys,” he said, “If Az is around, stealing the change of clothes he keeps in the trunk of his car would work better.”

“Is that?”- The strange wind noise that Nesta knew enough to assume was the sound of Amren moving at supernatural speed cut into her best friends words. “Nesta, what the burning hell? Am I hearing Rhysand Jr Jr?”

“My name is Cassian,” He growled back, Nesta an unnecessary intermediary between two shape shifters with super hearing. She jabbed him in the ribs before stepping away, not that it would help. He’d hear every word they both said.

“We’re by the birches,” Nesta muttered, drawing the the heel of her boot through the thick grass.

“Fuck,” Replied Amren, eloquently. “I’m on my way.”

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Nesta turned to find Cassian leaning against a thin tree truck, hands brushing over the carved marks on a branch above his head. Luminously golden eyes flitted up to follow her movement, every line in of his body held a little too casual to be real.

“These aren’t magic,” He noted, the question plain.

Nesta crossed her arms with a huff. For so clearly wanting to get to his brothers, maybe he didn’t want to think about the circumstance either. “They’re practice, from when I was small,” She admitted. “I had to learn to burn the sigils without lighting the trees on fire.”

It was one of her clearest memories of grandmother, before Genevieve had passed, leaving the estate and it’s safe haven to her eldest granddaughter. A place where no one could touch Nesta if she didn’t want them, where plants bloomed at her passage instead of crumbling in death.

A place where the dead couldn’t speak to her and the living couldn’t harm her.

Cassian’s ever present smile was dancing over his features. “I heard you started a Siberian forest fire.”

It was like a challenge, her magic wanted to reach out at the sound of his voice. “You would too,” Nesta quipped, giving into the fire in her blood, “If your baby sister agreed to marry a dhampir she’d known for two weeks.”

If Cassian was surprised at fire bursting to life in the air, a hundred molten balls of light, he didn’t show it. He tilted his head back to see them waft through the air, grinning like the wolf he was. Sharp jawed and no less rugged for delight, he reached a hand out toward one, fingers skating close to flame before Nesta willed it away.

“You’ll get burnt,” She said, smirking.

The crushing beauty of his wolf bright gaze settled on her once again, taking in her face like she were magic too. A heat that had nothing to do with fire or power filled the air between them.

“I’d like,” Cassian said carefully, stepped away from the tree, “To see how close I can get.”

Nesta wondered if were he listening to her heartbeat. She could feel the pulse in her throat, the blush starting over her collar bones. As Cassian walked toward her, all unashamed hunters grace, Nesta wanted nothing more than to stride forward and meet him half way.

Until her best friends voice cut through the dark.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Amren swore, appearing from thin air. “How are you alive, wolf man?”

Cassian actually jumped, teeth bared, as a petite dark hair woman emerged to his left. He reined in the reaction fast enough to impress Nesta, face rueful as he caught the clothes Amren threw at him. “I know even less than you do, actually.”

“That, you’ll find, is always true.” Amren tsked, walking to Nesta’s side. “No go put on pants.”

Which a final look at Nesta, Cassian did as he was told and walked further into the grove. It took all of a breath for Amren to easily pull Nesta in the opposite direction, sniffing at the air for signs of injury.

“Are you okay?” She demanded, coming to a stop beside an ivy covered trellis. “What the hell happened out there?”

Nesta started pulling pins from her hair, exhaustion making her sag as she finally relaxed for the first time since she’d walked into that forest. “Have you ever heard of anyone appearing out of a lightening strike?”

Amren worried at a ring on her left hand, a confection of ruby and diamond someone with less keen eyes might assume was costume jewelry. Nesta had been present when Amren picked it up in payment from a Russian prince, part of the royal dowries worth of jewelry they’d been paid to break the curses on an old palace.

“Someone without a drop of fae blood?” She raised her eyebrows, disbelief such a perfect mirror of what Nesta had been feeling that she wanted to laugh. She’d been awake long enough now that she was starting to feel punchy with it.

“A curse,” Nesta said, what they were both thinking.

Amren hummed in agreement. “That explains why you both reek of hellebore.” She pointed an accusing finger, this one crowned with three overlapping golden rings, “It doesn’t explain why you smell like blood and lust and wolf. He’s a damn sight better than Rhysand, but I had no idea werewolves were your type after all.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, and waved her still bloody hand. “I had to key him into the wards,” she said, ignoring everything else.

“Mhmm,” Amren replied, her disbelief cut off by Cassian striding out of the trees to them, saving Nesta from her fate.

He walked around Amren to Nesta’s side like he belonged there, bare feet silent. Amren didn’t try to hide her snigger.

“Alright,” Nesta sighed, “Cassian the not dead brother, meet Amren, the other member of our family.”

Amren waited until Cassian had grasped her hand in greeting before flashing fully silver eyes, sharp smile going fanged. If she’d expected intimidation, what she got instead was the bright laugh Nesta was beginning to realize was very, very Cassian.

“You’re the dream dragon!” He burst out, unaffected by Amrens snarl at his words. Nesta tried and failed to hide a laugh behind her hand.

Her best friend huffed and began walking without them, grumbling. “You let one human see you in the eighties, and its all jokes.” Even in heels and with a much shorter stride, Nesta had to scramble to catch up.

“You should have eaten him,” Nesta told her, knowing Amren wasn’t truly offended as she linked an arm threw hers.

“I should have,” She agreed, and then turned her head to call back to the wolf following at Nesta’s heels. “You ever call me that again, baby wolf, and I’ll eat you too. Even canines taste good fire roasted.”

Nesta swore she heard Cassian laugh again.

Reckless, but some buried deep part of her quite liked the fearlessness. Cassian was no more afraid of Amren than he was of Nesta.

Together the three of them rejoined the long, winding gravel road that led to the heart of the estate. Neither shifter commented as they slowed their pace to match Nesta’s determined, but tired steps. Here, in her home, she could let herself be exhausted.

Past gardens that had provided generations with magical plants, beyond the glass greenhouses where Elain grew flowers from other worlds, through guardian oaks that lit with their passage from pools of alchemic moonlight Feyre had devised; Nesta led them home, her every step guarded by a wolf at her back.

—-

Azriel took one look at his younger brother- alive, breathing, wearing his stolen sweater and lupine grin- and silently collapsed like every string that held him together was cut. The breath that rattled from Cassian was audible even to Nesta before he sprang up the steps of the Archerons' porch, tackling his brother the rest of the way down to the wood floor.

The weathered boards groaned in protest, hiding from Nesta whatever Cassian was saying in a low voice.

Inaudible to her, but not to their older brother inside.

Rhysand slammed through the doorway like they were under attack, purple eyes wide. He froze at the sight before him for several heartbeats, a long, long time for someone with vampire reflexes.

And then, just like that, Rhys had thrown himself down to the floor too. All three brothers laughing and crying, a tangle of muscled limbs as they wrestled with one another. Scenting their pack- their small wolf family- alive and unharmed.

If Nesta allowed herself a sharp, happy smile before she turned to go around the house to the back door, Amren didn’t mention it.

—

Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful person Cassian had ever seen.

Feyre had crashed into his life like the little sister he’d never asked for, a vampire on her tail and a determination to do absolutely nothing about it, because the gallery show she was getting ready for was that much more important.

He’d seen her run out of gas and charm her car with an illegal, completely dark energy spell to get it going again.

He was protective of her and loved her, but looking at Nesta’s eyes, the exact same shade and shape, was something else entirely.

Cassian had been joking when he’d told Nesta his heart stopped when he saw her. But in reality, it seemed like a distinct possibility. If he were dead, or if this were a dream it would have made more sense- how absolutely fascinating the witch who’d found him in woods was.

Not just beautiful- though she was sharply gorgeous and so utterly perfect that he ached to touch her- but smart and strong, with clever eyes and magic that lit up his senses like a supernova. His wolf hadn’t ceased clawing to surface yet, so eager to cherish and protect.

This was not normal.

Cassian knew damn well what was happening, but he couldn’t let himself think the words. Not here in her kitchen, listening to her and her dragon friend debate what could have happened to him.

Not here with both his brothers, who could probably smell the emotion welling inside him. Azriel was already smirking, tracking the ever shrinking space between where Nesta sat, perched on a counter, and Cassian.

He was so, so fucked.

And lucky, he knew. Lucky beyond measure to have found a mate, the person his every cell was made for- to love, to protect, to care for. To a wolf like Cassian, it was the greatest stroke of fate imaginable.

But it was also a fucking disaster, because Nesta was a witch.

Cassian couldn’t imagine there was a good way to convey to anyone not a werewolf that he’d known all of ten hours and met standing naked on his own grave, that he’d love her until the day he died.

With a sigh that had Azriel grinning at him, light in his dark eyes that made Cassian want to get into the sort of brawl they hadn’t indulged in since they were teenagers, Cassian let himself casually drift until he was leaning no more than a foot from Nesta.

“What I don’t understand,” Nesta was saying, eyes narrow on Rhys, “Is why you were completely positive he was dead in the first place.”

That had the other Archeron sister Cassian had finally been able to meet looking up as well. “Yes,” Elain murmured airily, blonde brows high as she poured hot chocolate with the same intensity as Cassian might use in knife fight. “What exactly did you not tell us before you insisted my sister, summon a dead wolf under a nearly full moon, a week before Samhain?”

If Rhys were capable of coloring, he would have under the perfect censure of that tone.

Instead, he shot a weary glance at Azriel, who only dimpled back at him, the plea for help ignored. “The pack bond went dead. Cassian was gone.”

Purple eyes flitted over Cassian, love and concern in each warm breath he took. He couldn’t imagine what that would feel like- the bond of family and pack inside him as vital as his lungs or ribs.

Amren made a snickering, scathing noise into her glass of whiskey.

Gaping in her frustration, Nesta only shook her head, empty coffee cup clinking down next to her as she crossed her arms. “Are you kidding me?”

Slowly, hoping not to be noticed, Cassian plucked up her cup.

Nesta had been drinking cup after cup since they’d come into the house, seemingly untouched by the caffeine. It tangled in her scent- coffee and chocolate, blood on her skin- like something bittersweet he hadn’t known well enough to crave.

Silently, Cassian stepped away to refill it for her again. This kitchen, this whole place, was like a fairytale of witchcraft. Pale stone floors and aged beautiful wood, there was nowhere that didn’t reek of magic. It was all around them- blood wards on the building and land, plants blooming in the sisters wake, elemental charms and light spells and the sisters themselves; so powerful together in this place that made them that Cassian’s wolf was finally pushed down.

Halfway through stirring in the two sugars that Nesta preferred and Cassian had scented carefully to guess, Elain shoved a second cup into his free hand.

“Chocolate for life,” She said, cheerful and sharp all at once. “Welcome back to the land of the living, and to the family, Cassian.”

He stared first at the perfect swirl of whipped cream and then at her face, watching him carefully. Welcome to the family? Cassian knew one of Feyre’s sisters had a touch of foresight, but gods help him, he didn’t remember which one. “Thank you,” He settled on saying, taking a sip.

Dark, rich chocolate melted on his tongue as Elain’s face softened. She patted him on the shoulder. “We really are glad you’re not dead, you know.” Abruptly, she clapped her hands together, the sound lost in the rising tone of Rhys and Nesta’s argument. “Now, give me Nesta’s cup. If you really want to get on her good side, you need whipped cream.”

Blinking, he handed it over.

In Feyre’s stories, Elain was gentleness made manifest: baking cakes, making world renowned perfume, bringing Feyre back magic materials from her business trips to France. Cassian was learning fast that might be true for the much younger sister of the family, but to the rest of the world, Elain was just as terrifying as Nesta.

“Rhysand,” Nesta was snarling, as much a dragon as Cassian would have expected of Amren, “Just because you’re more than a wolf doesn’t change how curses fundamentally work.”

Elain handed Cassian back the mug with a sly smile before joining Azriel at the table.

“You’re giving us a list,” Nesta went on, jabbing a fire makers hand toward his brother. “Of every single person you’ve pissed off in at least the last century who might have a connection to Seelie magic.”

Cassian returned the cup to precisely where Nesta had set it down, unprepared for her to startle and meet his gaze. Wordlessly, he pressed it into her hand. Pale eyes still blazing, something softened around her mouth.

“Thank you,” Nesta said lightly. And then she smiled.

And Cassian was lost.

It was only a small smile, a quirk of full pink lips, but he’d caused it. Amren caught the look on his face, safe from Nesta’s gaze as she was busy glaring at Rhys over the rim of her coffee, and snorted so hard smoke and sparks came out into the air.

—

Some exhausting hours later, Azriel found Cassian watching the sunrise from the Archerons front porch.

“Amren owes me a hundred dollars,” His brother said in greeting, crossing his arms to lean beside Cassian. Before them, mist was rising through trees and grass, the dawn light silvered and pink.

Cassian raised his eyebrows in question. Azriels easy, knowing smile sliced across his face.

“She bet me if you two met, Nesta would sooner rip off your balls than ever bare her throat,” He said, bumping his shoulder into Cassian. “I guess neither of them know you’re not quite that sort of wolf. Yet.”

Cassian wasn’t proud of it, but he groaned.

“She made a joke, last night, about Rhys and Feyre getting engaged after two weeks. And they’re not even mates.” He shook his head, unruly curls falling in his face. Cassian raked them back with a growl.

“Oh, she’s going to eat you alive,” Azriel agreed, cheerfully.

“Fuck, I hope so,” Cassian said. “I had god damn wolf eyes the entire time I was alone with her, probably could have transformed right there without the moon at all.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair again, words a tide overflowing. “She smells like open skies and bloody, deadly magic and the best sex ever. I honestly want to listen to her talk about curses and magic and work for the next century, just so I can learn how her brain works.”

Azriel guffawed, the traitor, watching the moment Cassian’s thoughts caught up with his mouth and he gaped in horror.

“Elain got you good,” His older brother said, still laughing as he clapped Cassian on the shoulder. “Truth potion in the chocolate. Welcome to being vetted by the Archeron sisters, baby brother.”

Cassian threw off his hand with a huff.

“But really,” Az went on, visibly fighting his mirth, “Did you not notice you’d somehow managed to scent her on the way here?”

He opened his mouth to deny it, because he wasn’t that much a prick- he’d just met Nesta, it didn’t matter that she was it for him, he didn’t have any claim on her. But- in the woods, steadying her as she walked, catching her when she fell.

Her wrists, her elbow, even her neck as he’d pulled a leaf from her hair. Bright moon take him, Cassian had gone for her pulse points without even realizing it. It even made sense if he was thinking about it rationally.

From the moment he appeared, his wolf had been right on the surface. Cassian hadn’t been focused on anything but Nesta and safety, the moon intoxicating above them. Awareness of himself, of the rest of the world, hadn’t trickled back to him until they’re emerged from the trees.

Of course he’d made an utter ass of himself.

Light streaked across fields and hills, birds beginning to break up the silence. He could smell the disarming sweetness of enchanted flowers in the distance, blood and salt for the power on the land. But also something that he wanted to just call wildness- elemental magic, harnessed by witches with old blood who belonged to a wolf pack, guarded by a dragon.

This whole place was a dream made real, and Cassian wanted terribly to belong to it.

Cassian’s face must have been pitiable. “I bet Amren,” Azriel told him, smug even in his reassurance, “That the two of you would get along like a house on fire.”

@bon-bon-salvatore @strangeenemy @sannelovesreading @maddieimhot @ladyvanserra @rhysand-darling @empress-ofbloodshed @highfaenesta @marianaftm @illyrianinterrasen @tntwme @the-smoldering-illyrian-beauty @jahelyden @sjmasstrash @rairrai @rhysanoodle @a-trifling-matter @eastside-divebar @happy-smiling-things @missanniewhimsy @abillionlittlepieces @poisonous00 @macomafastraash @sunsummoner @vampwitchel @symwinter @acotarfanfic @rapunzel1523 @the-regal-warrior @wolffrising @tswaney17 @they-call-me-cuatro @queenofillea1 @neverlandoftimespacefuckery

#this got so long in edits I you're getting it in two parts! #part two on original release date #can you tell its the most self indulgent thing I've ever written? YES #Cassian to Cassian all of part one: #Fuck she's perfect #I'll just learn everything I can about her #and try not to flirt like an ass #and be there for her completely #and hope ONE DAY she looks at me the way I look at her #meanwhile #Nesta to Nesta #Oh no #GUESS I JUST HAVE TO SLEEP WITH HIM #nessian #feysand #witch nesta #werewolf cassian

[weloseeveryweek]

28 OCTOBER 1865 | The world’s first black professional footballer, Arthur Wharton, was born in Jamestown on the Gold Coast.  His father, a minister, was half-Grenadian and half-Scottish, while his mother was part of an African royal family. 

Wharton moved to England at the age of 19 and the next year set a world record in the 100-yard sprint. In 1885, he played in goal for Darlington, then moved to Preston North End in 1886. By 1889, he had signed a professional contract with Rotherham Town. His stint with Sheffield United saw him become the first black player to play in an English First Division match.

Wharton also played for Stalybridge Rovers, Ashton North End, and Stockport County before he retired in 1902. He died poor in 1930 and was buried in an unmarked grave. He eventually received a headstone in 1997, thanks to an anti-racism campaign led by the Football Unites, Racism Divides project.

In 2003, he received a posthumous induction into the English Football Hall of Fame in recognition of his status as a pioneer.

#arthur wharton #football #history #soccer #throwback

[immomoto]

Tennessee Governor Bill Haslam Memorializes Seven Service Members during 2018 Memorial Day Service

Tennessee State Government

Nashville, TN – Tennessee Governor Bill Haslam, First Lady Crissy Haslam, Tennessee Department of Veterans Services Commissioner Many-Bears Grinder and Tennessee Military Department Adjutant General, Major General Terry “Max” Haston paid tribute to seven service members who gave the ultimate sacrifice during the state’s Memorial Day service.

Tennessee Governor Bill Haslam and First Lady Crissy Haslam

U.S. Army Private First Class Reece Gass PFC Reece Gass

U.S. Army Private First Class Reece Gass of Greeneville was presumably killed on January 14th, 1945. Gass was serving in Belgium in World War II when he was killed in action when enemy fire destroyed his tank. He was 20 years old. He was buried in an unmarked grave in Luxembourg under a headstone that read “Here Rests in Honored Glory a Comrade in Arms Known but to God” until he was exhumed and identified in 2016.

Gass was laid to rest on June 10th, 2017.

U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant William O’Kieff U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant William O’Kieff

U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant William O’Kieff of Murfreesboro was presumably killed while serving in support of the Vietnam War on November 27th, 1970 along with five other American crew members, 73 Republic of South Vietnam service members and their wives and children. The Flight Engineer from Middle Tennessee was 38-years old at the time of the crash. His remains were not recovered until the 1980’s and were not identified until 2017.

O’Kieff was laid to rest on June 17th, 2017.

U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Michael Nelson U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Michael Nelson

U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Michael Nelson of Antioch was killed in the line of duty during a night time training exercise off the coast of Oahu on August 15th, 2017. Two 25th Aviation Regiment UH-60 Black Hawks were involved with the exercise, when the flight crews lost contact with each other. Nelson was 30 -years old and served 11 years in the Army.

His service included previously being stationed with the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, two deployments to Afghanistan and a deployment to South Korea.

U.S Army Staff Sergeant William Turner U.S Army Staff Sergeant William Turner

U.S Army Staff Sergeant William Turner of Nashville was presumably killed on December 13th, 1943 while serving in World War II. Turner was part of the flight crew of “Hell’s Fury” which was one of 219 B-26 aircrafts flying from England to Holland for a bombing raid when they were struck by anti-aircraft artillery. The 20-year-old Aerial Engineer’s remains were not recovered until 2007.

Turner was finally laid to rest on August 22nd, 2017.

U.S. Marine Corps Corporal Henry Andregg U.S. Marine Corps Corporal Henry Andregg

U.S. Marine Corps Corporal Henry Andregg of Whitwell was presumably killed during the Battle of Tarawa in World War II on November 20th, 1943. Andregg was among the first wave of heroic troops assaulting the island at the time of his death and was among 1,000 Marines and Sailors killed in the infamous battle. He was 22 -years old at the time of his death and was buried in an unidentified grave until 2016 when he was exhumed.

Andregg was identified in May, 2017 and laid to rest on August 25th, 2017.

U.S. Army Corporal Thomas Mullins

U.S. Army Corporal Thomas Mullins of Harriman went missing on November 2nd, 1950 while serving in the vicinity of Unsan, North Korea during the Korean War. He was 18-years old. A former prisoner of war explained to American authorities that Mullins died while being held in Prisoner of War (POW) camp in North Korea. Mullins remains were not turned over to Americans until 1993 and were not positively identified until 2017.

Mullins was born on March 29th, 1932, declared deceased by the Army on March 29th, 1951 and was buried on March 29th, 2018. (No photo available for Corporal Mullins)

U.S. Army Corporal Jason Hovater U.S. Army Corporal Jason Hovater

U.S. Army Corporal Jason Hovater of Lake City was killed in the Battle of Wanat in Afghanistan on July 13th, 2008. Hovater’s unit was attacked by more than 200 enemy fighters in what has been deemed one of the deadliest battles in the war in Afghanistan with the U.S. and coalition soldiers outnumbered by at least 2 to 1. Nine soldiers were killed and 15 were wounded.

Hovater was posthumously promoted and awarded the Silver Star for valor. Hovater’s father and mother, Gerald and Kathy Hovater, received the Gold Star Family proclamation as well as the Honor and Remember flag, during the ceremony.

“By observing these lives lost, we have walked through 75 years of wars and quite a bit has changed since the call came to serve in World War II,” Haslam said. “The observance of Memorial Day is a time to merge the past, present and future to ensure every generation remembers the sacrifice of these heroes and their families.”

“As I look at the flag, I think of the threads that bind us to the legacies of each of these heroes,” Grinder said. “They took several steps that made several decisions before they took their final breath and we are connected to those steps through our freedom and our flag.”

“Over this Memorial Day weekend it is important to remember why we have this holiday and remember those who have given the last full measure to the protection of this country and the freedoms we enjoy,” said Haston. “Tennesseans have a proud heritage of always answering the call to duty and many of those have paid the ultimate sacrifice.”

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101sst Airborne Division, 25th Aviation Regiment, Afghanistan, Antioch TN, B-26 Aircraft, Battle of Tarawa, Battle of Wanat, Belgium, Bill Haslam, Crissy Haslam, Fort Campbell, Greeneville TN, Henry Andregg, Jason Hovater, Korean War, Lake City TN, Many-Bears Grinder, Memorial Day, Michael Nelson, Murfreesboro TN, Nashville TN, North Korea, POW, Prisoner of War, Reece Gass, South Korea, Tennessee Department of Veterans Services, Tennessee First Lady, Tennessee Governor, Tennessee Military Department, Terry Haston, Thomas Mullins, U.S. Marine Corps, UH-60 Black Hawk Helicopter, Vietnam War, Whitwell TN, William O’Kieff, William Turner, World War II, WW II

united way original

Clarksville, TN – The community spirit that drives United Way’s mission is often reflective of the boundless love and hard work of mothers everywhere.

In celebration of this spirit, United Way of the Greater Clarksville Region and Elliott’s Jewelers partnered to sponsor a Youth Jewelry Design Contest that tributes mothers dedicated to giving a building a better future for their children.

Stephanie and Cameron Robertson. (United Way of Clarksville) Clarksville Police Department – CPD

Clarksville, TN – The Clarksville-Montgomery County law enforcement memorial ceremony was held today at the Clarksville Police Department as part of National Police Week which pays special recognition to those law enforcement officers, locally and across the nation, who have lost their lives in the line of duty for the safety and protection of others.

It also serves as time to remember all the other officers who passed away over the years who dedicated their lives to serving our community.

Clarksville-Montgomery County Fallen Officers were honored today at the Clarksville Police Department Headquarters.

Thursday, May 10th, 2018

Clarksville, TN – The Clarksville Gas and Water Department sewer lateral line rehabilitation contractors have added Park Lane in North Clarksville to this week’s work schedule, May 7th-11th, 2018.

More details about sewer line rehabilitation can be viewed on the Gas and Water website,www.clarksvillegw.com, or please contact Y’hanna Perez-Ortiz, P.E., Civil Engineer, at the Clarksville Gas and Water Engineering Department, 931.645.7418.

Clarksville Gas and Water Department Administration and Engineering City of Clarksville – Clarksville, TN

Clarksville, TN – Clarksville Mayor Kim McMillan joined Clarksville Police Chief Al Ansley, Montgomery County Sheriff John Fuson and other dignitaries Monday morning for the annual observance of Police Memorial Day and National Police Week.

Each year during this week local leaders conduct a solemn ceremony to remember local officers who died in the line of duty, and to honor every law enforcement officer, past and present, for their dedicated service to the community.

Clarksville Leaders Gather To Honor The Fallen Nashville Sounds

Memphis, Tn — Frankie Montas delivered a complete game, but the Nashville Sounds fell to the Memphis Redbirds, 2-1, Monday afternoon at AutoZone Park.

Montas used only 93 pitches to breeze through eight innings. The right-hander yielded a pair of solo home runs to Redbirds’ right field Tyler O’Neill. The solo blasts were enough as Nashville squandered two golden opportunities in the middle innings.

O’Neill hit a solo home run in the second, but Nashville’s Anthony Garcia answered with a solo blast in the top of the fourth to even the game at 1-1. The tie didn’t last long as O’Neill launched his second homer of the day in the bottom of the fourth to give Memphis a 2-1 lead.

Nashville Sounds Baseball Clarksville-Montgomery County has 2nd Cheapest Gas Prices in Tennessee

Tampa, FL – Gas prices rocketed higher last week in most markets, due to reductions in domestic supply and the oil market’s response to the President’s decision to leave the Iran Nuclear Deal.

Tennessee gas prices rose 3 cents during the past week. The average price in Tennessee now sits at $2.62 per gallon – the highest daily price since November 2014. See today’s price.

Gas Prices Rise as Motorists make Memorial Day Plans.

Written by Sgt. Sharifa Newton 40th Public Affairs Detachment

Fort Campbell, KY – Private First Class Caden Emmons, 541st Transportation Company, 129th Combat Sustainment Support Battalion, and Sgt. Stephen Calderone, 58th Signal Company, 101st Special Troops Battalion, both with the 101st Airborne Division Sustainment Brigade, 101st Airborne Division, were recently named Soldier and noncommissioned officer of the year.

To attain the title of Soldier and NCO of the year designated individuals competed head-to-head in several events.

Sgt. Stephen Calderone, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, a Satellite Communications System Operator-Maintainer (25S) from 58 Signal Company, 101st Special Troops Battalion, 101st Airborne Division, shoots pop-up targets during the qualification portion of the 101st’s NCO, Soldier of the Year at Range 9 on Fort Campbell, Ky., April 24. (Sgt. Sharifa Newton, 40th Public Affairs Detachment) Instant Peay Play – APSU Sports

Clarksville, TN – Austin Peay State University’s spring sports continue to shine and impress, as baseball, softball and track & field continue to add to what has been a very successful school year for the Governors.

First, the Governors softball team (39-17) earned its first appearance in a national postseason tournament, with its selection into the National Invitational Softball Championship – the NCAA Division I softball equivalent to the men’s N.I.T Basketball Tournament.

Austin Peay Softball, Baseball and Track & Field are having a successful year. Terri Jordan

Springfield, TN – A selection of the paintings on view at the gallery of the Copper Vault in Springfield during the month of May are from a new series entitled “Given What You’re Given” by artist Terri Jordan. The new works include objects from the artist’s past homes and experiences.

Jordan says of the suite, “As in all my work, there are subtle symbols and points of reference within the landscapes of canvas. But in this suite, the works exhibited are part of a reflective moment. Since reaching the age of fifty, I continuously find that I am looking to my past while at the same time considering what I have left and what I will be leaving my son in guidance, memories, and a sense of being”.

Going Back Yesterday – Terri .Jordan APSU Sports Information

Fort Collins, CO – Austin Peay State University’s softball team continues to make history this Spring by earning selection into the National Invitational Softball Championship, as announced Sunday night by the NISC Selection Committee.

It is the first national postseason appearance by the Governors (39-17) in the program’s 33-year history, after posting school bests with a second-place finish during the Ohio Valley Conference regular-season and a third-place finish in the conference’s championship tournament.

Austin Peay Softball to play in National Invitational Softball Championship. (APSU Sports Information)National Campaign Brings Awareness to Life-Saving Capabilities of Building Codes Tennessee State Fire Marshal

Nashville, TN – As the prevalence of new construction continues to increase across the Volunteer State, Tennessee Governor Bill Haslam has declared May 2018 as Building Safety Month to increase public awareness of the critical role building codes play in ensuring fire and life safety.

The International Code Council (ICC) created Building Safety Month 38 years ago to reinforce the importance of code adoption and celebrate the victories of building codes in saving lives during disasters. The Tennessee State Fire Marshal’s Office (SFMO) is proud to join Governor Haslam and the ICC in promoting the annual campaign.

«Read the rest of this article» Nashville Sounds Nashville Sounds

Colorado Springs, CO – The Colorado Springs Sky Sox jumped on the Nashville Sounds early and cruised to an 8-1 win at Security Service Field Wednesday afternoon.

Sky Sox catcher Jacob Nottingham set the tone when the launched a three-run homer off Sounds’ starter Eric Jokisch in the bottom of the first inning. The blast came right after a fielding error by Franklin Barreto and a free pass issued by Jokisch.

The deficit grew to 4-0 in the second when right fielder Nate Orf singled in Keon Broxton. Orf went 4-for-5 on the day and has nine hits through the first three games of the series.

Nashville Sounds Fall to 4-10 Away from First Tennessee Park. (Nashville Sounds)

Written by Maria Yager Blanchfield Army Community Hospital Public Affairs

Blanchfield Army Hospital – BACH – Fort Campbell KY

Fort Campbell, KY – It was NOT what patients were expecting during their visit to Blanchfield Army Community Hospital April 25th, 2018. Best-selling author of pregnancy and parenting “What to Expect” book series, Heidi Murkoff visited new and expecting mothers at the hospital in conjunction with her USO Special Delivery Baby Shower on Fort Campbell.

“We are celebrating military moms-to-be and military moms who are having their babies and who may be far from their family and friends and network of support. So this is our way of celebrating them and appreciating them,” said Murkoff.

Best-selling author of the What to Expect series, Heidi Murkoff, signs a copy of her book What to Expect When Expecting for Spc. Savannah Tuepker, a participant at an orientation session for active-duty Soldiers at the Women’s Health Clinic at Blanchfield Army Community Hospital, April 25th. (U.S. Army photo by Maria Yager) Austin Peay Sports Information APSU Softball

Clarksville, TN – Austin Peay State University softball pitcher Morgan Rackel has added two more weekly honors to join her adidas® OVC Pitcher of the Week accolade, by being named both the collegesportsmadness.com Player of the Week for the conference and the Tennessee Sports Writers College Pitcher of the Week.

«Read the rest of this article»

Runners can register for the 5K or One Mile Event

Clarksville Parks and Recreation Department

Clarksville, TN – The 40th Annual Queen City Road Race, scheduled for Saturday, May 5th, 2018 is quickly approaching and there is still time to register in person or online.

Online registration can be completed at www.cityofclarksville.com/parksrec and is available until noon on Friday, May 4th. Participants registering in person may come by the Clarksville Parks and Recreation Office, 102 Public Square, through Friday, May 4th or register on-site at Austin Peay’s Foy Center the morning of Saturday, May 5th.

Queen City Road Race celebrates 40 years Great American Clean-up 2018 Montgomery County Government Tennessee

Montgomery County, TN – On Saturday, April 28th, 2018 more than 400 people came out to the annual Clarksville-Montgomery County Great American Clean-up event. Participants cleaned up litter in various areas of the community from the industrial park to downtown.

The event is promoted through the Clarksville Area Chamber of Commerce and organized through Bi-County Solid Waste Management.

Montgomery County Mayor Jim Durrett speaks to the volunteers on the Historic Courthouse stairs before clean-up efforts began. Austin Peay Sports Information

Clarksville, TN – Austin Peay State University’s Cheerleading Team has announced the dates of its official audition dates for the 2018-19 team.

Coach Shandy Ellis-Brown will host official auditions for the 2018-19 team over three days – May 4th-6th – at the Memorial Health Building (The Red Barn). This event will select the members of the APSU Cheerleading Team for the 2018-19 season.

Austin Peay Cheerleading Team to hold tryouts May 4th-6th at the Red Barn. (APSU Sports Information) Public invited to see highlights from City of Clarksville Departments City of Clarksville – Clarksville, TN

Clarksville, TN – Clarksville Mayor Kim McMillan is committed to an open and transparent budget process and encourages citizens to attend a series of budget presentations May 7th-10th, 2018.

City of Clarksville Departments will present their budget highlights to the Mayor, which then will be considered as she prepares her full Fiscal Year 2019 budget proposal to be presented to the City Council.

Clarksville Mayor Kim McMillan

Written by Pfc. Beverly Mejia 40th Public Affairs Detachment

Fort Campbell, KY – Bright and early on a cool April morning at 5:00am, 101st Airborne Division soldiers were called out to their company; they are told to arrive promptly in uniform, with their gear fully packed, ready and set to go.

Spring is the time for renewal and beginning, for these soldiers, it will be the beginning of training once more.

Today, they will endure miles of foot marching followed by hours of intense training out in the hot wood-lines of Fort Campbell.

Pvt. Brandon Lehner, Spc. Zachary Cockrell and Sgt. Jose Acosta from 2nd Platoon, Alpha Company, 39th Brigade Engineer Battalion, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) drive pickets into the ground with a picket pounder during a platoon counter-mobility training event, April 18 on Fort Campbell, KY. During this training the soldiers familiarize themselves on how to construct a Triple Strand Concertina Wire Obstacle. (U.S. Army photo by Pfc. Beverly Roxane Mejia, 40th Public Affairs Detachment) Hypertension Journal Report

Dallas, TX – Elevated blood pressure before becoming pregnant and early in pregnancy may increase the risk of pregnancy loss, even if the woman doesn’t have a hypertension diagnosis, according to new research in the American Heart Association’s journal Hypertension.

“Elevated blood pressure among young adults is associated with a higher risk of heart disease later in life, and this study suggests it may also have an effect on reproductive health,” said Carrie J. Nobles, Ph.D., lead author of the study and a postdoctoral fellow in the Epidemiology Branch of the Eunice Kennedy Shriver National Institute for Child Health and Human Development (NICHD) in Bethesda, Maryland.

Women pregnant at age 40 or older face a greater risk of stroke and heart attack later in life than those pregnant at a younger age. (American Heart Association)NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory NASA – National Aeronautics and Space Administration

Pasadena, CA – A week before NASA launches its next mission to Mars, U.S. Vice President Mike Pence toured on Saturday, April 28th, the birthplace of numerous past, present and future space missions at the agency’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California.

The afternoon visit by the Vice President, his wife, Karen, and daughter Charlotte, included a stop in JPL’s Mission Control, where engineers will communicate with NASA’s Interior Exploration using Seismic Investigations, Geodesy and Heat Transport (InSight).

JPL Director Michael Watkins gave Vice President Mike Pence, right, a plaque during the Vice President’s tour of JPL on April 28, 2018. The plaque features a view of NASA’s Curiosity rover on the surface of Mars. (NASA/Bill Ingalls) Nashville Sounds Nashville Sounds

Colorado Springs, CO – A back-and-forth affair in Colorado Springs went to the Sky Sox as the Nashville Sounds dropped a 10-6 decision at Security Service Field Tuesday night.

The Sounds had leads of 2-0 and 5-2, but it wasn’t to be as the Sky Sox came back with a pair of late four-run innings to win game two of the four-game set.

Consecutive run-scoring base hits by Anthony Garcia and Slade Heathcott gave Nashville a 2-0 lead in the fourth inning. Colorado Springs quickly bounced back with a pair of runs against Sounds’ starter Kendall Graveman in the fifth. Keon Broxton’s RBI double made it a 2-1 game, and Nate Orf’s sacrifice fly evened the game at 2-2.

Nashville Sounds Falls Below .500 at 12-13 on the Season. (Nashville Sounds)

Source Article

Learn More: http://www.immomoto.com/tennessee-governor-bill-haslam-memorializes-seven-service-members-during-2018-memorial-day-service/

[itcapital]

Gov. Haslam memorializes seven TN service members

NASHVILLE, Tenn. (CLARKSVILLENOW) – Tennessee Gov. Bill Haslam, First Lady Crissy Haslam, Tennessee Department of Veterans Services Commissioner Many-Bears Grinder and Tennessee Military Department Adjutant General, Major General Terry “Max” Haston paid tribute to seven service members who gave the ultimate sacrifice during the state’s Memorial Day service this week.

U.S. Marine Corps Corporal Henry Andregg

U.S. Army Private First Class Reece Gass of Greeneville was presumably killed on January 14, 1945. Gass was serving in Belgium in World War II when he was killed in action when enemy fire destroyed his tank. He was 20 years old. He was buried in an unmarked grave in Luxembourg under a headstone that read “Here Rests in Honored Glory a Comrade in Arms Known but to God” until he was exhumed and identified in 2016. Gass was laid to rest on June 10, 2017.

U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant William O’Kieff of Murfreesboro was presumably killed while serving in support of the Vietnam War on November 27, 1970 along with five other American crew members, 73 Republic of South Vietnam service members and their wives and children. The Flight Engineer from Middle Tennessee was 38-years old at the time of the crash. His remains were not recovered until the 1980’s and were not identified until 2017. O’Kieff was laid to rest on June 17, 2017.

U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Michael Nelson of Antioch was killed in the line of duty during a night time training exercise off the coast of Oahu on August 15, 2017. Two 25th Aviation Regiment UH-60 Black Hawks were involved with the exercise, when the flight crews lost contact with each other. Nelson was 30 -years old and served 11 years in the Army. His service included previously being stationed with the 101st Airborne at Fort Campbell, two deployments to Afghanistan and a deployment to South Korea.

U.S Army Staff Sergeant William Turner of Nashville was presumably killed on December 13, 1943 while serving in World War II. Turner was part of the flight crew of “Hell’s Fury” which was one of 219 B-26 aircrafts flying from England to Holland for a bombing raid when they were struck by anti-aircraft artillery. The 20-year-old Aerial Engineer’s remains were not recovered until 2007. Turner was finally laid to rest on August 22, 2017.

U.S. Marine Corps Corporal Henry Andregg of Whitwell was presumably killed during the Battle of Tarawa in World War II on November 20, 1943. Andregg was among the first wave of heroic troops assaulting the island at the time of his death and was among 1,000 Marines and Sailors killed in the infamous battle. He was 22 -years old at the time of his death and was buried in an unidentified grave until 2016 when he was exhumed. Andregg was identified in May, 2017 and laid to rest on August 25, 2017.

U.S. Army Corporal Thomas Mullins of Harriman went missing on November 2, 1950 while serving in the vicinity of Unsan, North Korea during the Korean War. He was 18-years old. A former prisoner of war explained to American authorities that Mullins died while being held in Prisoner of War (POW) camp in North Korea. Mullins remains were not turned over to Americans until 1993 and were not positively identified until 2017. Mullins was born on March 29, 1932, declared deceased by the Army on March 29, 1951 and was buried on March 29, 2018. (No photo available for Corporal Mullins)

U.S. Army Corporal Jason Hovater of Lake City was killed in the Battle of Wanat in Afghanistan on July 13, 2008. Hovater’s unit was attacked by more than 200 enemy fighters in what has been deemed one of the deadliest battles in the war in Afghanistan with the U.S. and coalition soldiers outnumbered by at least 2 to 1. Nine soldiers were killed and 15 were wounded. Hovater was posthumously promoted and awarded the Silver Star for valor. Hovater’s father and mother, Gerald and Kathy Hovater, received the Gold Star Family proclamation as well as the Honor and Remember flag, during the ceremony.

“By observing these lives lost, we have walked through 75 years of wars and quite a bit has changed since the call came to serve in World War II,” Haslam said. “The observance of Memorial Day is a time to merge the past, present and future to ensure every generation remembers the sacrifice of these heroes and their families.” “As I look at the flag, I think of the threads that bind us to the legacies of each of these heroes,” Grinder said. “They took several steps that made several decisions before they took their final breath and we are connected to those steps through our freedom and our flag.”

“Over this Memorial Day weekend it is important to remember why we have this holiday and remember those who have given the last full measure to the protection of this country and the freedoms we enjoy,” said Haston. “Tennesseans have a proud heritage of always answering the call to duty and many of those have paid the ultimate sacrifice.”

Source Article

Learn More: http://www.itcapital.net/gov-haslam-memorializes-seven-tn-service-members/

[jo-shanenarooma]

Heading South

 5/01/2018: It was a late start today with no rush to get out of bed. Apart from a brief getaway with Jo having a few days off after the Christmas break, we deliberately chose this area as one of Jo's descendants, her great, great grandfather William Ringland, settled here some time ago and made a name for himself sailing ships up and down the coast transporting goods and such.

Captain’s ticket

William was born in Cumberland, England and married Susan Gallagher in 1848 in Sydney. That same year a daughter was both born and lost and on Boxing day 1849 their first son, also named William was born. During this period William earned a living as a sea-going mariner out of Port Jackson. By 1854 two more children, Joseph and Margret were born after which William changed his vocation to victualler and made a living out of working from the Fortune of War Inn in Pitt Street where in 1856 another son, James was born. Within two years he had pulled up stumps and moved everyone south to Greenhills on the Shoalhaven where he obtained a publican's licence to run the Settler's Home from which another child appeared, Henry in 1859. Around 1861 after Alfred was born, he and Susan again relocated, this time to Wagonga near Narooma where he took up the role of Master Mariner. On Christmas Eve 1864 the last of the tribe, John was born.

Image of William Ringland (they think)

First thing on the list today was a swim. Shane set off for a swim at the beach, Jo and Zac swam at the pool and Soph stayed in the cabin. Refreshed, we regrouped and planned the day ahead while Zac cooked up some bacon and eggs for breakfast. Ringland’s Point and Bega was the plan.

Lagoon at the end of Handkerchief Beach

Heading back north toward Narooma, we took a turn to the left before hitting the township and entered a new housing subdivision called Ringland’s Estate and a little further on Ringland’s Point overlooking Ringland’s Bay. After moving to the area, William and Susan purchased a substantial plot of land overlooking Wagonga Inlet where they built a small home for the family. It was around there that Susan would stand and keep watch for her husband returning home from his seafaring duties, captaining his tall ship up and down the coast.

Wagonga Inlet

Joanne considered that there was enough Ringland presence in the area to file for a land rights claim.

Old shot of Ringland’s Point. Ringland’s Bay to the left

After a good look around we headed to the Narooma Visitors centre and found a book that mentioned William as well as regattas that were held at Ringland’s Point during the 1920’s. While at the point a phone call to Jo’s brother, Michael, gave us an extra task for the day. William was buried at Bermagui to the south. He moved there after Susan died and lived there until his death in 1898. She died of the palsy while he was at sea during 1866 and is buried at Ringland’s Point, somewhere on the shores of Wagonga Inlet. No evidence of the gravesite or any indication of its location exist today.

Could be sitting on her

Having looked around the visitors’ centre, its local history and seafaring memorabilia, we had to keep moving and with Bermagui added to our agenda, southward bound it was. Predicting a late finish for the day we stopped to pick up more groceries and took them back to the cabin on the way through.

The turn to Bermagui was a few kilometres along the Princes Highway, not far but the continual grey nomads and their caravans made the trip much longer than anticipated. A few kilometres further and we were back on the coast, passing small waterfront communities and across Wallaga Lake, a picturesque and seemingly shallow waterway via a rickety old timber bridge and long causeway.

Attractive surrounds and popular

Next stop the graveyard, but not before having to navigate the busy Bermagui waterfront with heaps of families, young’uns and boats everywhere. All enjoying the sunshine.

The graveyard was just out of town off of Bunga Street, across from the beach. Except for the trees in the way it everyone there would have a good view. Its dried grass was representative of the whole of the east coast at the moment, dry as and in drought. The beware of the snakes sign gave credence to the time of the season. At first, we just looked around as we find cemeteries interesting. They represent local history. Further down the hill, Jo found what she had been looking for, William’s grave, albeit a little more modern than anticipated, buried with his son Joseph, who died in 1937. There was also a commemorative plaque dedicated to Susan. Jo was somewhat moved by the experience as she was standing at the grave of her great, great, grandfather.

William and Joseph Ringland R.I.P.

Jo ended up spotting some flowers near the graveyard entry (not another grave) and after a quick dash to the fence line to pick some mauve and white agapanthus along with a few ferns, a quick bouquet was put together on left at the headstone.

We regrouped, decided not to drive to Bega, and much to Isaac’s disgust, headed back. It was almost three and Bega was still an hour away. An interesting town that we detoured through on the way down was on the cards. Tilba, founded in 1873, looked interesting with numerous old buildings turned into shops lining the main street.

Central Tilba lied in the shadow of Mount Dromedary, known as the sacred mountain Gulaga, ancestral mother of the Yuin people. During the late nineteenth century, gold was discovered on the mountain, starting a gold rush (bet the locals were happy) which led to the establishment of Central Tilba, where we were and just down the road Tilba Tilba. We drove through the main drag and pulled up adjacent to our first stop, the ABC Cheese factory.

There were still plenty of people around but the factory seemed to be finished for the day. The large glass display windows meant to show us how things were made was empty. Nobody around except to clean up. Nothing inside to tickle our fancy neither.

Cheese kept the town afloat after the gold rush

A bit of time was spent here but not too much. Shop after shop, from the cheese factory to the war memorial were just commercialised “cottage industry” rubbish. A few interesting tid bits, like the candle shop but in a nutshell the place was Morpeth revisited. We didn’t even go to the pub. Instead we took a break in a fifties style lolly shop that served milkshakes with malt. We all had one. Dad suggested that everyone have malt which we did. It didn’t go down too well with the kids though.

The Dromedary Hotel. A man is not a camel

We finally reached the war memorial at the end of the street, crossed over to it and headed back towards to car. Directly in front of us though, was the Bates Emporium and Post Office which gave us a blast from the past. Old post boxes and an old letter box. We went inside to look around but not for long. On our way out the old dude shop keeper remarked to Shane how lucky he was to have Jo as his wife. Shane replied “so I’ve been told”. Old dude “who told you that?” to which we both replied “she did”.

Resting at the Post Office

The area was nice to look at but nothing more than a Venus Fly Trap for kitsch and targeted at cashed up tourists. A couple of candles and a milkshake done us.

Back to the cabin. We were planning a BBQ and some dominos. While Isaac was doing the cooking, Shane was chatting up a couple of old sheilas staying next to us. One was from Vic Rail and the other looked like Judith Lucy. We seen them on the beach this morning which got the conversation going.

Blue bottles, work and holidays were mostly covered while the sausages and steak sizzled away, under the watchful eyes of number five son.

Isaac the cook

Before we returned to the cabin with the food, the ladies recommended that we head down the beach to the channel feeding the lake. They had done it earlier. They jumped into the lagoon and relaxed as the tide took them a few hundred metres inland while taking it easy. Once finished, they got out and walked back to the start to do it again. Sounded like a good idea. We’ll do it for sure.

Dominos to finish off the night

Tomorrow, we’ll head north on another fact-finding mission.

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Bone White

Bone White

by Wendy Corsi Staub

on Tour April 1-30, 2017

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Synopsis:

In Mundy’s Landing, bygone bloodshed has become a big business. During the rigorous winter of 1666, all but five colonists in the small Hudson Valley settlement died of starvation. Accused of unimaginable crimes, James and Elizabeth Mundy and their three children survived, but the couple were later accused of murder and executed. Left to fend for themselves in a hostile community, their offspring lived out exemplary lives in a town that would bear the family name. They never reveal the secret that died with their parents on the gallows… or did they?

“We Shall Never Tell.” Spurred by the cryptic phrase in a centuries-old letter, Emerson Mundy has flown cross-country to her ancestral hometown in hopes of tracing her ancestral past—and perhaps building a future. In Mundy’s Landing, she discovers long lost relatives, a welcoming ancestral home… and a closet full of skeletons.

A year has passed since former NYPD Detective Sullivan Leary solved the historic Sleeping Beauty Murders, apprehended a copycat killer, and made a fresh start in the Hudson Valley. Banking on an uneventful future in a village that’s seen more than its share of bloodshed, Sully is in for an unpleasant surprise when a historic skull reveals a notorious truth. Now she’s on the trail of a murky predator determined to destroy the Mundy family tree, branch by branch.

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller/Suspense Published by: William Morrow Mass Market Publication Date: March 28, 2017 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 0062349775 (ISBN13: 9780062349774) Series: Mundy’s Landing #3 (Stand Alone) Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

July 20, 2016 Los Angeles, CA

We shall never tell.

Strange, the thoughts that go through your head when you’re standing at an open grave.

Not that Emerson Mundy knew anything about open graves before today. Her father’s funeral is the first she’s ever attended, and she’s the sole mourner.

Ah, at last, a perk to living a life without many—any—loved ones; you don’t spend much time grieving, unless you count the pervasive ache for the things you never had.

The minister, who came with the cemetery package and never even met Jerry Mundy, is rambling on about souls and salvation. Emerson hears only We shall never tell—the closing line in an old letter she found yesterday in the crawl space of her childhood home. It had been written in 1676 by a young woman named Priscilla Mundy, addressed to her brother, Jeremiah.

The Mundys were among the seventeenth-century English colonists who settled on the eastern bank of the Hudson River, about a hundred miles north of New York City. Their first winter was so harsh the river froze, stranding their supply ship and additional colonists in the New York harbor. When the ship arrived after the thaw, all but five settlers had starved to death.

Jeremiah; Priscilla; their sister, Charity; and their parents had eaten human flesh to stay alive. James and Elizabeth Mundy swore they’d only cannibalized those who’d already died, but the God-fearing, well-fed newcomers couldn’t fathom such wretched butchery. A Puritan justice committee tortured the couple until they confessed to murder, then swiftly tried, convicted, and hanged them.

“Do you think we’re related?” Emerson asked her father after learning about the Mundys back in elementary school.

“Nope.” Curt answers were typical when she brought up anything Jerry Mundy didn’t want to discuss. The past was high on the list.

“That’s it? Just nope?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“How about yes?”

“That wouldn’t be the truth,” he said with a shrug.

“Sometimes the truth isn’t very interesting.”

She had no one else to ask about her family history. Dad was an only child, and his parents, Donald and Inez Mundy, had passed away before she was born. Their headstone is adjacent to the gaping rectangle about to swallow her father’s casket. Staring that the inscription, she notices her grandfather’s unusual middle initial.

Donald X. Mundy, Born 1900, Died 1972. X marks the spot.

Thanks to her passion for history and Robert Louis Stevenson, Emerson’s bookworm childhood included a phase when she searched obsessively for buried treasure. Money was short in their household after two heart attacks left Jerry Mundy on permanent disability.

X marks the spot…

No gold doubloon treasure chest buried here. Just dusty old bones of people she never knew.

And now, her father.

The service concludes with a prayer as the coffin is lowered into the ground. The minister clasps her hand and tells her how sorry he is for her loss, then leaves her to sit on a bench and stare at the hillside as the undertakers finish the job.

The sun is beginning to burn through the thick marine layer that swaddles most June and July mornings. Having grown up in Southern California, she knows the sky will be bright blue by mid-afternoon. Tomorrow will be more of the same. By then, she’ll be on her way back up the coast, back to her life in Oakland, where the fog rolls in and stays for days, weeks at a time. Funny, but there she welcomes the gray, a soothing shield from real world glare and sharp edges.

Here the seasonal gloom has felt oppressive and depressing.

Emerson watches the undertakers finish the job and load their equipment into a van. After they drive off, she makes her way between neat rows of tombstones to inspect the raked dirt rectangle.

When something is over, you move on, her father told her when she left home nearly two decades ago. She attended Cal State Fullerton with scholarships and maximum financial aid, got her master’s at Berkeley, and landed a teaching job in the Bay Area.

But she didn’t necessarily move on.

Every holiday, many weekends, and for two whole months every summer, she makes the six-hour drive down to stay with her father. She cooks and cleans for him, and at night they sit together and watch Wheel of Fortune reruns.

It used to be because she craved a connection to the only family she had in the world. Lately, though, it was as much because Jerry Mundy needed her.

He pretended that he didn’t, that he was taking care of himself and the house, too proud to admit he was failing. He was a shadow of his former self when he died at seventy-six, leaving Emerson alone in the world.

Throughout her motherless childhood, Emerson was obsessed with novels about orphans. Treasure Island shared coveted space on her bookshelf with Anne of Green Gables, The Secret Garden, The Witch of Blackbird Pond…

She always wondered what would happen to her if her father died. Would she wind up in an orphanage? Would a kindly stranger take her in? Would she live on the streets?

Now that it’s happened he’s down there, in the dirt … moving on?

She’ll never again hear his voice. She’ll never see the face so like her own that she can’t imagine she inherited any physical characteristics from her mother, Didi—though she can’t be certain.

Years ago, she asked her father for a picture—preferably one that showed her mother holding her as a baby, or of her parents together. Maybe she wanted evidence that she and her father had been loved; that the woman who’d abandoned them had once been normal—a proud new mother, a happy bride.

Or was it the opposite? Was she hoping to glimpse a hint that Didi Mundy was never normal? Did she expect to confirm that people—normal people—don’t just wake up one morning and choose to walk out on a husband and child? That there was always something off about her mother: a telltale gleam in the eye, or a faraway expression—some warning sign her father had overlooked. A sign Emerson herself would be able to recognize, should she ever be tempted to marry.

But there were no images of Didi that she could slip into a frame, or deface with angry black ink, or simply commit to memory.

Exhibit A: Untrustworthy.

Sure, there had been plenty of photos, her father admitted unapologetically. He’d gotten rid of everything.

There were plenty of pictures of her and Dad, though.

Exhibit B: Trustworthy.

Dad holding her hand on her first day of kindergarten, Dad leading her in an awkward waltz at a father-daughter middle school dance, Dad posing with her at high school graduation.

“Two peas in a pod,” he liked to say. “If I weren’t me, I’d think you were.”

She has his thick, wavy hair, the same dimple on her right cheek, same angular nose and bristly slashes of brow. Even her wide-set, prominent, upturned eyes are the same as his, with one notable exception.

Jerry Mundy’s eyes were a piercing blue.

Only one of Emerson’s is that shade; the other, a chalky gray.

***

Excerpt from Bone White by Wendy Corsi Staub. Copyright © 2017 by Wendy Corsi Staub. Reproduced with permission from William Morrow Mass Market. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

New York Times bestseller Wendy Corsi Staub is the award-winning author of more than seventy novels. Wendy now lives in the New York City suburbs with her husband and their two children.

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