#I thought I lost it along with the larger cathedral but it was just sitting in windenburg this whole time

[braveclementine]

Chapter 26

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (Please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

𝕴 𝖘𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖓 the edge of the lakeshore, eyes puffy and swollen. My wand, socks, and shoes were on the rock next to me, along with my bow and arrows. I wondered if Firenze would be told what I had done and how proud he would be. I wondered if perhaps the centaurs would be impressed enough that I could go and live in the forest with them. 

There was something tempting, about leaving the wizarding life behind. Living in the forest with the centaurs. I knew Firenze would care for me. I half-way even wondered if it would go in a romantic direction. 

"Elizabeth." It was  not a voice I had ever before, and it was American accented, heavily. I looked up to see the most out of place man in the world. 

He was clearly a muggle, wearing a white lab coat with a blue button down shirt underneath and a tie. He even had a clipboard and pen in his hands. He wore glasses and was probably about 170 inches tall (5ft 7 for the Americans). He had white hair and wore square glasses. 

"Are you lost?" I asked, confused. Clearly, he knew my name, but how could he possibly be here? I glanced over my shoulder but no one had come out of the school yet. 

"No, I am not Miss Everdeen." The man said. "I want to show you something." 

He stepped to the side and I stood up slowly, seeing a door simply standing there. It had no doorway to be sitting in, not any hinges from the looks of it. It was a standard door as well, simple and made of wood, except for the fact that it was turquoise in colour. 

"The Starless Sea. . ." I whispered, walking towards it slowly as though in a trance. All thoughts of Severus or Dad or Fred or even my children were dissipating. Any thought of anything besides what laid behind the door was gone, only fleeting flickers of thoughts. 

"Not quite. But please, be my guest." He gestured to the door. 

I opened it, finding that there was a dark staircase instead of the tree that should've been on the other side of this door. 

I stepped inside, walking down the stairs. The door closed behind me, but instead of plunging me into darkness, candles lit up on the walls, showing me the path forwards. 

I stop as I reach the last stair, finding myself in a room that looks like a cathedral, with sweeping high ceilings intricately tiled and buttressed. There are six large columns of marble, also tiled in patterns though some tiles are missing here and there, mostly near the bases, leaving bare stone visible beneath. The floor is covered with tiles woven down to the stone beneath, mostly the ones near my feet and in a loop around the perimeter of the round space, with heavier wear near the other entrances. 

There are five entrances not counting the stairwell that I just stepped through, the doctor coming to a stop next to me. Four are archways, leading off in different directions into darkened halls. 

I recognize the room from my drawings in my sixth year. There are chandeliers, some hanging at irregular, chandelier- inappropriate heights, and others resting on the floor in illuminated piles of metal and crystal, their tiny bulbs dimmed or extinguished entirely. A larger light above is not a chandelier at all but a cluster of glowing globes hung amongst brass hoops and bars. 

I look up to see if there is the same detail as the drawings- and there is. There are hands at the end of the bars, human hands cast in gold and pointing outward, the tile above them laid out in a pattern of numbers and stars. In the center, the midpoint of the room, a chain drops from the ceiling, terminating in a pendulum that hangs inches above the floor. 

Unlike in my drawing however, the pendulum does not seem to be in action, hanging quite still. 

"Lead the way Miss Everdeen." 

I step forwards cautiously, unsure of where I was supposed to go. But my curiosity got the better of me and soon, I was heading down one of the hallways. 

Almost immediately, it branches off into other rooms. I peer into them as I pass, but none of them catch my interest until I see one that is perfectly round and I step inside. The walls are lined with bookshelves, much like the rest of the rooms, but there is something that calls me here. 

Most likely, it is the grand staircase in the direct middle of the back wall that seems to lead into another room with books, with another staircase that leads up to a reading area with a large circular window to look out at whatever laid out there. Foliage lined the stairs and hung from the ceilings, giving it a rather mystical look. 

"Please, sit." The man says. It isn't until I turn to look at him that I realized I don't actually know his name. 

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly. I sit in the chair across from the one he sits in. 

"Ah, yes, my name is Dr. Anthony Gates." He introduced himself. "I come from the real world and you are my patient, Elizabeth Everdeen." 

"Patient?" I asked. "Real world?" 

"It will be simpler if I explain from the beginning." He said. Tea was on the table now, although I wasn't actually sure where it had come from. He pursed his lips and suddenly it turn to coffee. I looked at it shocked, before it reverted back to tea after he had served himself. 

He sipped the black drink and then started. "Five years ago, you were admitted to the hospital with a terminal illness. Fatal. No cure. It was in the brain, you see. You lived in the hospital and you read your books when your friends weren't visiting you and watched movies when they were." 

He sipped his drink again. "But then, there was a technological breakthrough. You had nothing to lose, so you ah- volunteered." 

I frowned. "It doesn't sound like I volunteered." 

He waved his hand like this detail was of no importance. "This technological breakthrough was based off of Virtual reality technology, except even more in depth. You would actually be teleported into the world. Meanwhile, you wouldn't die of your illness, or so we hoped." 

"I was the first clinical trial?" I asked, doubtful. 

"Well, considering how successful this has been. . . I am quite certain some lines were crossed previously. It is of no matter." 

"So am I laying on a bed somewhere in a coma like state while my brain creates this?" I asked, confused. 

"No, no! See that's the genius part of it! You are here, flesh and blood! And what's more, you are truly a character Miss Everdeen! It was unprecedented. In fact, we thought we failed when you were nowhere to be found in this world. Then, something unexpected happened. Lily and James Potter gave birth to not only Harry, but a mystery girl, and we realized what had happened." 

"So. . . I am a part of this world?" 

"Very much so! More than the other characters in fact!" He laughed. "I mean, it's extraordinary." 

I pondered it over. "How old was I?" 

"Ah yes, you were twenty-three. We believe this is one of the reasons you have been so successful in your relationship with Snape despite the perceived age difference in this world, because you are much older technically than the people of your characters' age. And while you clearly have no memory of the other world, somewhere in your subconscious, you had recognized to be with an older man who is closer to your real age. Had the two of you been in the real world, you would be considered twenty-seven and Snape thirty-six." 

It was definitely not as big an age difference as before. Hearing Severus' name though also made me realize that my children were waiting for me to return. And yet, I had so many questions. Once more, everything above this new dimension I was in faded away. 

"So. . . this world is a book?" I questioned. 

"Yes! And movies, of course. It's a huge hit back home." 

"That's why I see the future." I said slowly. "It's not the future at all, it's memories from reading the book." 

"Yes! Yes! Exactly!" He said, his hand scribbling notes on the clipboard. "Except for one thing. In your sixth year when Bellatrix and Greyback attacked the Weasley house. That was something that only happened in the movies. It was certainly strange that it happened here. Quite fascinating. Some of my fellow doctors think that perhaps when you were pregnant, the movie line took precedence over the book since the book is more complicated. But that's just a theory." 

"And I'm assuming this is what the Sorting Hat meant by 'I had been sorted into Hufflepuff long before I got there'?" 

"Yes, back in our world there is a website called Pottermore. You took the test three times and was sorted into Hufflepuff every single time." 

It was overwhelming. It was the most bizarre conversation ever and yet. . . being in the Starless Sea, talking to a man from America whose accent was disappearing and I sounded like him now was just as bizarre. 

"What about Trang?" I asked after a moment of silence. 

"Ah, yes, Trang. We really aren't sure about her." He frowned now. "There was never a character in the books by her name or description. Nothing about her parents being Death Eaters or their names in association with Greybacks' WIKI bio. But back in this world, you had a friend named Trang who looks identical to her. It's possible that you simply manifested her out of the desire to keep your best friend." 

"But she's real?" I asked slowly. "She's not going to turn into a puff of smoke if I stop thinking about her?" 

He shrugged. "It's quite uncertain." 

"Why have you revealed yourself now?" I finally asked after I couldn't think of anymore questions to ask. 

"Because we believe it is time for you to return home." He said. "Your parents and brothers are waiting anxiously for your return. They cannot wait to see you again." 

"What happens to my children if I left?" I asked. 

"We are not sure. It is possible they will continue to exist. Trang and Harry and the Weasley family will raise them I am sure. Your belongings would be found on the lake shore and speculations will be made about your disappearance. No body will ever be found. Perhaps you will become myth and legend. Or. . . perhaps because your presence is gone, the world will revert back to how it was if you had never existed." 

My children would cease to exist. 

I stood up. "I want to return to the surface. I want to see my children." 

"Please, Elizabeth." He raised a hand. "Let's not be hasty." 

I huffed, moving away from him towards the bookshelves. My eyes roamed the titles until my eyes landed on a title called 'The Starless Sea'. I pulled the book out slowly loving how it felt in my hands. The cover was black except for simple gold paint designs surrounding the bee, key, and sword. 

I opened up the first couple of pages and found the copyright. 2019. My mouth went dry. It was only 1997. How could I be having visions and creating art from scenes of a book that was written 22 years in the future. 

"What year is it?" I whispered softly. 

"You were admitted to the hospital in 2025. Today it is October 31, 2030." the man said. 

The day my parents died in their world. Somehow, it seemed poetic. 

"If you are worried about the pain of losing your husband and father, let me give you two notices of comfort. They weren't real anyways Elizabeth. They are simply book characters whose fates were written in ink. You were never going to be able to stop their deaths, it was. . . inevitable." 

I looked back at him in hatred. 

"And once you are back, your pain will fade. How does that book put it. . . ah yes. 'Occasionally a visitor will become overwhelmed, disoriented, and dazed by all there is to explore, the space closing around their lungs and their heart and their thoughts, and they will find their way back before much time has passed, back to the familiar surface and the familiar stars and the familiar air, and most will forget that such a place exists, much less that they set foot in it themselves. It will fade like a dream. It will fade like a dream Miss Everdeen. You will not feel the pain."

I had already made up my mind. 

"I am going back to my children." 

"What about your real family?" The doctor asked, fishing a photograph out of his pocket. Like most normal photographs, it was still. I recognized myself right off the bat, though much younger in this photograph. The man I presumed to be my father looked kind, though old with pepper hair and a beard with white mixed in with it. 

The woman was about the same age, with red-brown hair and grey-blue eyes. She wore glasses and her smile was marred by a small scar on her lip, keeping her from truly looking happy. The smile didn't reach her eyes. 

Then there were two boys, one  much taller than me and the other shorter. The taller boy looked a lot like the woman, with red-brown hair and glasses. He looked bored while the other boy smiled cheekily, his face dotted with freckles and his short brown hair was curly. 

"They miss you Miss Everdeen. You can't keep them waiting." 

"Do they love me?" I asked softly, putting the photograph back down on the table. 

"They do. Very much." 

"Then you need to tell them to let me go." I whispered. 

He chuckled shortly, "Like that Tom MacDonald song? Those random lyrics that play through your head and you don't remember listening to the song? That's Tom MacDonald, someone you start listening to in 2020. You are being selfish." 

I looked him straight in the eye. "Selfish because I want to keep living? If I go back I'll still be sick, won't I?" 

"Yes, but this was always supposed to be temporary. We have found a new, potential cure, Miss Everdeen. You could live in the real world." 

"This is my real world." I said heatedly. "And all I can remember now is pain. Pain and suffering and a want to end it all. I refuse to go back to that and you can't make me." 

He grimaced and that was when I realized it. "You actually can't force me to go back, can you?" 

The room around me changed. We were no longer in a library and the book dissolved from my hands. We were in an interrogation room now, with a metal table and two metal chairs with nothing else for decor. The walls were black and there was no window and a single door. 

"I guess now that I don't want to play along things become a little unfriendly." I whispered. 

"I am begging you to reconsider." He said urgently, pushing his glasses up on his face. "You can always return, Miss Everdeen, but for the sake of the experiment. . . I mean you worked so hard to get this position." 

I clutched my head in sudden pain, getting a glimpse of my real past. I was in a wheelchair, sitting by a river. The doctor whispered something in my ear and I slowly let my head go, letting the vision fade away. 

 "Is that what you call hard work?" I whispered, disgusted. "Really?" 

He shrugged. "You're here, aren't you? I figured it was worth it." 

"I'm leaving." I said, moving to the door. "Goodbye doctor." 

He shook his head, opening another door behind him. "You've truly made the wrong choice Miss Everdeen. I pity you. I wonder how your family would react when they find out you don't belong in their world." 

I opened the door in front of me without looking back, stepping back out onto the shore of Hogwarts lake. I looked around, disoriented and then gasped as every emotion came rushing back to me, as though I had suppressed everything down in the Starless Sea. 

Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks now as I looked around. It was still silent, bodies gone from the front of the castle. I wiped my tears, my heart pounding slightly. I wondered how much time had passed down below. After all, seventeen years for me had been five for them. What if months had passed? Years? 

What if my children were three? Five? Twelve? Adults? 

I raced across the rocky surface to where I had been sitting when the doctor had approached me. I breathed out a sigh of relief that my wand, bow, and everything else was still where I had left it. I put my wand in my pocket. It had been stupid of me to leave my wand behind. 

I sighed, sitting once more on the edge of the lake, tense now. There were so many other questions I wanted to ask now. Was I on camera? Had they seen every moment of my life like the Truman Show? Including the sexual parts? Were they still watching me? Could they harm me in here? 

"Hey." A voice made me jump and I looked up to see Harry. He sat down beside me on the shore. "How are you feeling?" 

"I couldn't celebrate." I whispered. I decided right then and there that I wouldn't tell a soul about me being from another world. I didn't want Trang questioning everything she was and I didn't want anyone to question that I belonged to this world. I didn't belong anywhere else. 

"I know." Harry said quietly. I noticed he was holding his picture album in his lap. "There's no pictures of us." 

I looked over at him and then slowly pulled my locket out from underneath my shirt. I hadn't worn it all year, but I had taken it out last night to put on for the fight. 

I opened it up and grabbed the small folded up picture out of practice as it jumped from the locket, before unfolding it. 

Harry took the photo gently, looking at baby me play with the cat while he sat in our parents lap. Sirius was in the photo too, so it was sort've like being able to see everyone at once. 

I also showed him the photos in the locket. How he was sitting with Lily, and I with James. I duplicated the photos while he held them, letting him take the copies so he could put them in his photo album. 

I leaned my head on Harrys' shoulder and he put his arm around me, hugging me close. We watched the giant squid swim about like nothing had happened and for a few seconds, I could feel like everything was normal. 

I heard footsteps cross the grass and then Kingsleys' voice said, "You two should come inside." 

I sighed softly, getting up off the rocky surface, Harry following my lead. 

I turned to face Kingsley and froze, my eyes on another figure behind him. 

"Severus." I whispered, taking a step forwards. And suddenly we were running at each other. I couldn't even think, didn't know how to breathe, but I launched myself into his arms and he wrapped them around me, pulling tight to him. 

"Oh my God, oh my God." I sobbed, burying my face into his chest. 

"I'm here, it's okay. It worked." Severus whispered, smoothing my hair back. "It's okay Elizabeth." 

"You were d-dead!" I sobbed. 

"Yes, I was." Severus whispered. "And then my heart started again. It was just. . . luck." 

He petted my hair and I felt this extraordinary feeling of happiness inside of me. My husband was alive and safe. Everything was going to be okay. We were going to be okay. 

"Come on sweetheart." Severus murmured, "let's go see our kids." 

I nodded, wiping my eyes. 

Kingsley and Harry were both still there, looking extremely awkward. Harry stepped forwards first. "I owe you an apology Sir." 

Severus looked cautious for a second, like he wasn't sure if he should slip back into his cruel demeanor. But then he held his hand out. "None are necessary Potter." They shook hands and then let go. 

"I've been selected as temporary Minister of Magic." Kingsley said. He didn't look the most pleased with Severus, but I was glad that he didn't seem to hate him either. "There will be a trial of course, but with both Harry and Elizabeth here as your defense, along with Voldemort's own words with hundreds of witnesses, you won't even get a fine. And I'll be pardoning you as Minister anyways." 

"Thank you." Severus said, squeezing me tightly. Harry headed back up to the castle and I turned to Severus. 

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up. I just want to talk to Kingsley for one second." 

He nodded, kissing my cheek, before slowly heading back up to the castle as well. 

I stepped forwards and kissed Kingsley gently on the lips, before pulling back, "Thank you." I whispered. "For everything you would have done for us. I know what you were willing to sacrifice for that." 

"It wouldn't have been a sacrifice Elizabeth. I would gladly have done it in a heartbeat." Kingsley said just as softly. I knew what he was saying in that sentence and I said nothing more, squeezing his hand, and then rushed to catch up with Severus, who wasn't that far away. 

Severus took my hand in his and murmured, "Going to have to keep and leash on you if you're going to kiss others." He smirked darkly and turned red. 

"Never again." I promised, blushing red, "It was a thank you kiss, that's all." 

"I know." He said softly now. 

We walked into the Great Hall, pausing in the archway. People murmured, turning to look at us, hand in hand. I took a deep breath and we walked through the Great Hall, looking around. 

"DWADDY!" 

Remus toddled across the Great Hall, which made many of the people around us smile. Severus fell to his knees, sweeping the little boy up in his arms, actually crying, clutching him tightly. The sight lifted my heart and I looked over at the nearby table Remus had run from, expecting to see Trang with the other little ones. 

But my eyes landed on a different person instead and my heart stopped completely for a whole beat, before speeding back up. I raced past my husband and son, before skidding to a stop in front of the table, surveying the person before me. 

"Hi." Dad whispered looking down at me, tears in his eyes. 

I punched him. 

"How could you do that to mean!" I sobbed, not loudly this time at least, pounding my fists against his chest. "I thought you were dead!" 

"I just did what felt right Elizabeth. That was all. It was like. . ." 

"The potion was talking to you?" Harry finished softly. 

"Exactly." Dad said, taking my hands into his as I stopped hitting him, sobbing against his chest. "I'm sorry it caused you so much pain Elizabeth. I'm so sorry." 

I had forgotten that liquid luck did strange things to you. The entire reason that Harry had even gotten the information he needed from Slughorn was because the potion had told him to go to Hagrid. Whatever the liquid luck had told dad and Tonks, it had been to help us win. 

I wiped my tears away, only nodding my head since my throat was to closed up to speak. 

Severus came over next, Remus on his hip. Our son was playing with his long hair, looking rather content. 

"Severus." Dad said, getting to his feet, holding out his hand, which Severus shook. 

Trang was sitting at the table with Tonks, who looked sheepish, along with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Oliver. Ginny was holding Minerva while Luna cooed softly to Elijah Kingsley. 

Professor McGonagall was the next person to come over, looking rather hesitant. Severus beat her to it though. "You don't owe me an apology Minerva." 

Professor McGonagall pretended to be offended. "Who said I was giving you one?" 

Severus smiled a little. 

She smiled gently. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad- Oh is that her!" Her face turned to surprise as she laid eyes on the little girl. Severus looked more startled now and Ginny quickly handed Minerva up. "Well hi there sweetie." I raised an eyebrow, watching my strict Professor coo at the baby in a completely different voice. "You're so beautiful." 

Severus and Remus were both gaping now while I laughed softly, shaking my head. 

I left them for a little bit, checking on all of my friends, seeing who survived. Zacharias from Hufflepuff hadn't stayed, fleeing with the underage students long before the fight started. But Ernie, Hannah, and Susan were okay. I didn't see Justin though. 

Then I checked on the Weasley family, finally able to share their pain in Freds' death. Mrs. Weasley turned to me, with the rest of the family. 

"I am so sorry-" Mrs. Weasley engulfed me into one of her hugs, sobbing in my shoulder. Tears ran down my cheeks once more, as I was sure they would for many days to come. 

Percy, surprisingly, hugged me next. "It wasn't your fault. You tried." He said thickly, squeezing me tightly. 

I was hugged by all of them, George last. "George. . ." I whispered as he took my hands into his. "I. . ." 

He just pulled me into him, crying. "He was happy, Eliza. His ghost was happy. You showed us him one last time." 

I hadn't really thought about it like that. I had gotten to see them one last time too. Uncle Moody and Sirius and Cedric and Dumbledore and Dobby and everyone I had loved and known. 

"I just wish I had saved him." I whispered. 

"You saved him in other ways." George murmured, finally letting me go. 

And lastly, I stopped over by Firenze, who was being treated by some other Centaurs. Ivagio and Ronan were helping him out. 

"You did wonderfully with the herb bandage Elizabeth Kane." Ivagio complimented me before I had even knelt down next to them. He was reapplying the bandage tightly and Firenze gritted his teeth in pain. 

"Thank you Ivagio." I said softly. "Will Bane keep his promise?" 

"Promise?" Firenze asked sleepily. 

"I asked if he would take you back to the forest after the battle was over." I said softly, stroking his blond hair back from his face. "He said he would, but now that it is really over, I want to know if he will keep it." 

"He will." Ivagio promised me. "We always keep our promises." 

I nodded. "Good." I hesitated and then said, "I hope this is not the last time I see you." 

Firenze took my hand. Ronan got up, trotting over to some of the other Centaurs, but Ivagio stayed beside the two of us. "I have seen the stars. It may be many years, but we will see each other again Elizabeth." 

I squeezed his hand, before leaning over and kissing his cheek. "As fate says." I whispered, then stood. I squeezed Ivagios' shoulder and walked away. 

"Are you ready to go home?" Severus asked as I rejoined him. 

I scanned the room once more. The Malfoys were reunited, simply sitting on one of the tables, isolated, as though they didn't know whether to leave or ask someone if they should be arrested. Lucius met my eyes and he nodded once, before turning away. 

"Almost." I said softly, seeing Lee sitting by himself, his head bowed and his hands folded as though in prayer. "There's one last thing I have to do." 

⬅️➡️

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us: What’s in your Head

If we were to step into your characters' psyche, what would it look like?

Sloane 

When you enter Sloane’s psyche you step into a vast forest, trees so large you cannot see their tops and canopies so thick you cannot see the sky between them. However this forest is neither dark or uninviting. Bird songs punctate the background noise and you can hear a stream somewhere in the distance. Walk for long enough and you’ll eventually stumble on the old cabin Sloane called home on Eden-4. You can find the present version of herself there tending to her daily business, Persephone curled up in the corner of the room watching Sloane work.

Just outside the cabin is an impossibly large painting sitting on an easel, on it the world turns into childish scribbles. If you approach it you’ll find that not only can you step into it but when you do you also turn into a childish scribble version of yourself. Sloane’s childhood lives inside this easel, the innocent young girl who never knew she was going to become a Siren. You’ll find that this part of her psyche operates a lot like a children's picture book,Child Sloane doesn’t think in words she thinks pictures, concepts, colors. Mommy and Daddy are green and calm one moment but can turn red and angry. Things grow and shrink here with little regard for actual proportion. If you encounter Child Sloane she’s very trusting, she assumes you're a friend. You are a friend? Aren’t you?

Or perhaps you see the stone bricked path leading to the right of the cabin, as you walk down it the sound of the forest disappears and a thick fog covers the sides of the path. The only way to go is forward. If you look out into the fog you might be able to make out the shape of something you aren’t sure what and it never gets any clearer. All you know is it is massive, it is ancient, and it is sleeping. You stay on the path and soon enough you’ll be in the dream of Vanagard, an old abandoned temple with a fountain in the middle that runs despite all logic saying it should have stopped years ago. Leda and Steele can be found here sitting on the edge of the fountain or walking around the temple proper. You get the feeling that this is something you could never fully comprehend, but you feel at peace here. Steele will not talk to you, you are not Sloane, She is here for Sloane. Leda is more chatty, you get motherly vibes from the moment you start talking to her, she wants to know what your relation to Sloane is, oh you’re friends? Make sure she’s not working too hard, she’s doing her best.

Maybe the sounds from just beyond the forest call to you and walk abruptly into the Pandoran desert. There are so many people here, a crowd that stretches on forever and they are loud. They turn to you, their eyes are flowers and vines spill out of their mouths yet still they talk, still they beg for absolution. You press on through the never ending crowd until you meet a wall, the Cathedral of the Twin Gods towers over you and towering over it are two silhouettes the only defining features on both red and blue siren markings.

“What’s the Password?” Shadow Tyreen asks her mouth full of razor sharp teeth, you stumble and guess things you know are important to Sloane, Flowers,Vines, Persephone.  Shadow Troy laughs gilded fangs ever present. “There is no password shitweasel, but good try.”  His mechanical arm lifts you up by the scruff of your shirt and puts you over the wall. You realize now the wall has no gate, the only way in was to be brought over by the shadow twins, they are protecting the temple only they decide who goes in or out.   Inside the temple things are much more welcoming, the people have faces and you recognize them. They wear the outfits of temple priests but their all Sloane’s friends, you see yourself among the priests and get a feel for what Sloane’s idealized version of you is like, it's all your best qualities. You walk into the throne room, it’s bathed in pink light and upon the dais sit idealized versions of Tyreen and Troy. It’s a little off putting to be fair, these are manifestations of what Sloane loves about each twin, they are far far friendlier than either twin would ever be in real life. Tyreen says things like “Dear brother, would you mind fetching Sloane, she’s running late for our date.” batting her eyelashes and talking in a too sweet tone. Troy is much the same, there's no tension here no anger or sadness. Everything in this temple is the best of Sloane’s life since joining the CoV and it’s welcoming enough you almost don’t want to leave.

But when you do and find yourself back at the cabin, it’s probably for the best that you don’t investigate the gated garden, as you step towards it the sky darkens and a chill runs through you. This gate creaks open and if you ignore your better judgement and enter anyway you’ll find that the garden is overgrown, weeds and giant thorny vines have taken over what was once clearly a vegetable garden. Continue on and you’ll watch as the vines destroy and overtake anything in their path.  You come across a young Sloane covered in cuts and scrapes.

“I don’t wanna go! Don’t let them take me!” she cries but as you reach to protect her the vines spring from behind wrapping around her legs and midsection pulling her kicking and screaming back into their mass.  Continue forward and you find bodies of scientists wrapped in the tangle, syringe or scalpel still in hand. “This is for your own good.” you hear them say as you walk past along with Sloane’s protests. You will continue to encounter the young Sloane desperate for you to save her but the vines will always win.

Eventually you come to a throne of thorns towering over the landscape,built on the bodies of all the people she’s ever killed, and on the throne, literally one with it, her legs lost in the tangle of vines sits the queen of thorns; Sloane but her markings replaced with thorny vines that cut into skin and bleed constantly. This seems of little consequence to the queen of thorns who merely laughs and fills her chalice with the spilling blood. Her smile shows gilded fangs and when you look her in the eyes, you know that all she wants is to see the world burn. To see humanity laid low for its treatment of her.  But she cannot leave the throne, it is her prison and you feel  safer knowing that this creature, this aspect of Sloane will never see the light of day.

Tyreen

Entering Tyreen’s psyche is entering a place that you cannot easily make sense of. It is a vast Eridian ruin with hallways that curve upwards and stairs out of Escher painting. 

In the center you find Tyreen sitting idly on a sofa that looks entirely out of place. She’s picking her fingernails or her nose, being casual really. What’s really off putting is the fact that every so often an image of Nyriad flashes into existence around the room. She doesn’t say anything but she’s there just long enough to unnerve you. 

If you follow a hallway long enough it’ll lead you somewhere, like Nekrotafeyo. Hostile and cold, the mantas are three times larger than they should be but when they get near you they turn to dust. Young Tyreen sits outside the ramshackle shack her parents built poking bugs with a stick. If you go inside the world turns grey and you feel a tangible sadness wash over you. Leda and Typhon sit vigil at the sides of a bed and in the bed, a sickly young Troy. He’s so small, and he’s getting smaller and smaller. 

You go back outside Tyreen’s a teenager now and Troy’s there too despite having just been in the house. He’s chained to her at the wrist she looks at it and promises she’ll find a way to get it off, that they’ll be free one day. 

Again if you look closely enough around the edges, Nyriad steps in and out of existence.

Or perhaps you see the neon city of Promethea stretching upwards higher and higher. Do the buildings ever stop? People walk past, they walk through you, you don’t exist to them. Tyreen sits on the street corner begging for food, shelter, for help. No one notices her. 

Again Nyriad flickers into being. 

The way to the great stone temple of Vanagard is shattered. You can still walk the steps but they are shaky and uneven. The fog is thick here and in it you can hear the pained noises of a creature beyond. The temple is shattered in two when you get there, literally half of it flowing into oblivion.  

“Not your fault... Shouldn’t be like this...We aren’t a monster…” The words of Nyriad fade in and out. She’s more solid here than anywhere else but you can tell she can’t stay in one place. Her image flickers and vanishes when you try to get close to it. 

Beyond the sofa that Tyreen sits on in the middle of her mind scape is a door and when you open it the darkness of the ruins is bathed in golden sunlight. You walk in and find a room made of gold. Women nude save for their faces which are covered by the solid white masks of the handmaidens. They lounge on daybeds and chaise lounges holding grapes and offering them to you. There is however one person with a visible face, Sloane, who sits demurely on a throne dressed in a lavish gown. Everytime to you try to reach her though the throne gets slightly farther away. It’s not until she laughs at your attempts to reach her and approaches herself that you get any closer to her. Like she willingly has to choose to want to be close to you for that to be allowed to happen at all. 

The atmosphere changes when Sloane steps off the throne though, all the other women disappear, the gilded chamber turning to a comfortable house instead. 

You thought you were heading back to the main chamber but instead you find yourself in a black empty void. 

“T-Ty….help me.” You hear Troy call from all directions. His pain is palpable in the air.  You aren’t even sure what direction you're going in but the cries for help get louder. 

“You lied to me! You lied, again Tyreen!”

“No! That should have worked! Why didn’t it work? This was a mistake we never should have left…” you think that the space might be shrinking. You feel walls you can’t see closing in around you. Just before you can be compressed into a cube the blackness explodes. 

Towering above you is a massive vault entrance. An eye peers out of the vault inhuman and angry, the destroyer. Tyreen stands at the base of the vault  so small in comparison.  

“I understand. We could be gods. That would save Troy. Thank you.” She whispers to no one in particular. Nyriad stands behind her shaking her head frantically, her vision misinterpreted; she tries to touch Tyreen to get her to turn around but fades from existence before she can. 

You stumble out of the void you found yourself in and follow instead an iced over path walking down it you end up in a statue garden in winter. You look at the statues, they're all Tyreen’s friends and family. She sits in the middle of them all crying, she never wanted this to happen.  She reaches for the one of Leda, but it cracks and crumbles as she touches it. 

“Can you ever forgive me, mother.” 

Troy

When entering Troy’s psyche you find yourself in an editing room with only one computer turned on. Troy sits at it working away cursing under his breath. Something about nothing ever turning out quite the way he wants it to. If you try and approach he’ll put up a hand and push you away. Can’t you see he’s working?

A screen lights up despite being off a second before you walk towards it and fall into the screen. You’re on Nekrotafeyo, at least you think you are? Chunks of it open up in gaping holes in the sky and ground visual representations of the holes in his memory. They leak sweat and blood, it’s getting hotter out here. You have no choice but to run for the shack at the edge of it all.

Inside you are very small. An ant, while everyone else is so much taller, Typhon, Leda, a young Tyreen perched on the bed. All the giants speak in soft whispers.

“He’s getting sicker you know.”

“He’ll be alright.” Leda promises.

The temperature in the house is rising again. You climb the tree sized bed post to get to the top. You see Leda cradling her young son in her arms offering him her siren energy. The house begins to cool again things seem calm and serene almost. You’re no longer ant sized, you can make it out of the house again. The computer is waiting for you.

Falling back through the screen you notice things have changed, You’re on the bridge of the Centurion now. Troy stands next to his sister desperately trying to break free from the chain that binds them left wrist to left wrist it’s blue on her end and red on his.

“I don’t want to do this Tyreen! You lied to me! You lied to me then held this” he thrusts the chain at her. “Over my head. What kind of loving sister does that. Oh you’ll die if you don’t come with me, what the actual fuck Ty?”

“I… I didn’t mean it to hurt you. You don’t understand now but you will Troy, you will. This is for both of us.” Tyreen begs as she talks the chain morphs into a two headed snake sinking its fangs into both of them but neither seem to notice this.

The stone stairway is missing every other step and you have to take care not to fall into the fog. It seems hostile like it knows it should be here. The other half of the  Vanagard temple is here but it’s a collapsed heap on stone and rubble, the fog covering most of what remains. The broken half of the Eridian rune that sat above the door flickers with red light every so often but it is swallowed by the fog. Take care as you leave, you wouldn’t want to fall.

The cathedral is a medieval castle, with everyone in time period appropriate clothing. Peasants begging for an audience with their king, the broken and forlorn being allowed in to speak with him. You note that half  the castle staff are all disabled in some way but this does not seem to hamper them, they are valued here. You walk into the king’s chamber Troy sitting on a regal throne, a gilded crown on his head and a matching golden prosthetic replacing his oversized one.

“I’ll send what help I can.” He tells the serfs before sending them away. Tyreen is seated next to him though she’s snoozing away letting her brother deal with the diplomacy.

“Troy!” A high pitched voice comes from the window and in flutters a pixie Sloane who lands on his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard all day, you should come out to the garden and relax.” She says in a singsong voice poking him on the nose.

He laughs and agrees with her, shaking Tyreen awake and then all heading out to the garden.

You try and follow after but find yourself instead in a junkyard. Hundreds of broken toys and robots all piled up on each other.

“Broken.” The wind whispers. “You’re broken. You will never be anything but a broken little man.”

Troy sits in the middle of it all, but only the left side of him. The right is a void that he claws at desperately.  The void pulls in anything to close to it including you as you try and get away but it takes you anyway.

You find yourself back in the editing room but now Sloane is there, perched on his desk. Sunlight shines from behind her as she smiles and asks what he’s working on. He answers and she laughs at the light spreading across the room enveloping him. Flowers start blooming in the cracks in the tile.

You get the feeling everything will be ok in the end.

[ultradiplr]

Devotion

A Priest!Sigma/Reader fic.

Plot: You’re showing the good father your devotion.

Tags: BJ. Priest Kink. Church Sex. Reader is gender neutral.

A/N: Yeah, I have no excuse for this other than im nasty. I actually already had this written up like months ago for an unnamed character so I just slapped Sigma on it to tide me over. Enjoy, and also I’m sorry, but I'm also not. :)

Xx

“Tell me, what do you seek here, child?”

Father Kuiper’s voice, ever steady in its deep monotone that warmed your skin and chilled your bones, asks above you as you kneel in prayer in front of him. Although you don’t have the guts to look at him you can imagine him, tall, broad, larger than life, dressed in his beautiful black cassock standing with his back toward the crucifixion hanging over him.

“Forgiveness.” 

You repeat like you’ve always had during his sermons, except this is not one of his sermons. There is no congregation to drown out your one measly voice, instead you are alone with him in the church and your one voice booms it’s rehearsed answer.

“Is that all, my child?” 

He sounds unimpressed, uninterested even and wants something more, deeper. You gulp at  feeling his intense stare on you as he prowls around you. You know he is walking with a rod straight back, long graceful strides hidden by a long cassock, he is careful in his steps, calm, collected and in no rush. He would have his long arms held firmly at his back, hands clasped as he observes your with an ever calm face always on the precipice of a smile. you watched him for so long you know his every move, his every expression, the timing in his strides and the evenness of his breaths. And yet you are terrified to be so close to him, terrified to disappoint him.

“Acceptance.”

You try not to stutter and speak clearly, eyes glued firmly down at your entwined hands in front of your and the cold, hard floor. He stops behind you and you can faintly feel the heat from his legs at your back. your breathing quickened ever so slightly as you waited for him to answer, head already swimming from the thought of him standing so close.

“And what kind of people does God accept?”

He says in a soft tone, kind and caring but never less deep and haunting to you/ You jump a little when a warm hand gently appears on the top of your head but you quickly lean into its heat. 

“The devoted.” 

You say with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to pet your head softly, fingers pulling slightly at the strands of your hair. You lean into his touch and your back hits his legs. Slowly he tilts your head up to face him and his fingers frame your face. your eyes open to look at him for the first time. He is looking down at you, an expression you have only ever caught from afar, hungry and angry. You felt your skin burn again but your body became ice, terrified and excited at the same time.

“And are you, my child?” 

His question is pointed and his calm voice is tipped with unusual severity, the unfamiliar change makes your stomach churn, like your gut was telling your something bad was going to happen. Yet you  didn’t want to leave, didn’t want his warm hands to leave your face or sturdy presence to disappear.

“Always, Father.”

You speak in an intake of breath and holds it there, staring up at him and waiting. You were truthful, you ’ll always be devoted to the words of the Lord and in turn you’ll always be devoted to him. He was your Shepard, your leader, you ’ll always follow him, listen to him, be loyal to him.

“Show me.”

He says deeply, softly and calm but it sent a shiver down your spine with the implication. You let out your breath as he stroked your cheek with his thumb which you leaned into before kissing his palm, staring at him to gauge if you were correct. He sighed softly at that and you felt warmth spread through you with happiness.

You turned your body to face him still kneeling, watching his stone cold face, slightly hungry, slightly surprised, watch you in turn. His hands returned to your face, one stroking your head while the other cupped your cheek. His thumb traced your lips carefully, and without thinking, you opened your mouth slightly to take his finger. His breath hitched and you  felt another wave of happiness that ended in your core. You sucked his finger in a way that made you blush harder, knowing what he was thinking, knowing what he wanted. Your heart was soaring, aroused at knowing that your dear priest wanted you so carnally. You know the way he looked at you during church, the way he sounded when you came to him for confessions, the way he watched as he gave you communion every Sunday.

He pulled his finger from your lips with a soft pop, his tongue slipping out of his own mouth to wet his dry lips, his eyes lidded with lust. His thumb grazed your lips again, smearing the little saliva on it on them.

“What do you want, child?”

He asks strained. Its permission he wants and are a little saddened he does not already know the answer. He always had your heart and soul in his care, and will always have. You tilt your face and kiss his palm again with a smile, looking up at him with loving eyes.

“You, Father.”

He huffed at your answer in a sort of laugh of disbelief. He uncups your face and brings it to his crotch, parting the cassock to reveal his black pants underneath and begins to fumble with his belt one handed, intent on keeping one hand on your head, perhaps needing to hold on to you to make sure this was real.

Seeing an opportunity of praise, you glide your hands up his legs to sit on his thighs. He looks at you, blushing even more as he moves his hand to let you do it yourself, both hands now on your head, moving excess hair out of your face.

You blush deeper as you feel his growing erection under the thick fabric of his pants and cant help but bite your lip when he finally gets free. Long but slim and sitting in a pool of salt and pepper pubes. You couldn’t help but see the resemblance of him in it, as silly as it was. You were confident in saying his was above average and a lot nicer than it could be for someone his age. You held it gently in one hand, gauging the shafts weight while the other gently massaged his balls eliciting a first true moan from him.

You looked up at him and smiled as he watched you with a piercing stare, 

“Show me your devotion, child.”

It was a breathless and strained demand, like he was trying to keep his composure still, and you  happily obeyed, spitting in your hand and beginning to stroke him. He wasn’t thick and you  could wrap your hand around him but he was long and you  wondered if you ’d be able to swallow him, sure he’d hit the furthest reaches of your throat. For now you  just focused on preparing him and stroking him, licking occasionally and responding to what you gauged he liked by the way he gripped your head or huffed a groan. 

Slowly you  began to suck on him, just the tip at first as you  let him adjust to the feeling, before slowly taking more and more of him in every other bob. Before long you  had worked down to maybe and inch from his base, tears spilling from your eyes from the strain and lips puffy from the constant rubbing. 

He was no longer looking at you with his head thrown back in bliss but still audible in his praising groans and sighs. You knows he's close from the tightness of his balls and shaft, the quickness of his breathing and the uncontrolled thrusting of his hips. You yourself are lost in lust looking up at him, his tall frame towering over you in holy black, backed by the high ceiling of the cathedral and their intricate paintings and carvings hidden by the night. He was worth every bit of worship as the things that surrounded him to you.

He hunched over suddenly and stilled, staring down at your again, breathing heavily and looking mad with his dishevel. He gripped your head tightly as his periwinkle eyes darkened to almost purple locked with your tear filled ones intensely.

“Swallow.”

It was a harsh, strained, and very uncharacteristic command as he pushed you the last inch to his base and came violently down your throat, scrunching his face up and bowing himself over you. You  swallowed, not like you had any other option, and felt the warm, thick liquid dribble down your throat in a trail. When he pulled out a string of saliva followed and he looked utterly destroyed. 

As he was lost in the afterglow, you smiled and placed kisses all along his shaft, lost in the moment for your love for him, for your need to praise him and show him your care. The gentleness brought his attention back to your and he watched, humming pleased in seeing your devotion for him in your eyes.

“All of that for me?” 

He asks as he pets your face, relaxed and amused, giving you true, blissed out smile. He laughs at your eager nodding and bends down low enough to place a kiss on the top of your head. He puts himself away and helps your stand, wrapping an arm around your and kissing your head again.

“I think you have earned a special reward for your devotion.”

He says as he leads you toward the back of the church. The night was still young, and the good father was never one to leave a person of his congregation unsatisfied.

[anne-lister-adventures]

Wednesday, 12 March 1840

5 35/’’

11 50/’’

Reaumur 10º on my table (our breakfast and washing and writing table – Our only one) at 6 1/4 a.m. Quite ready – Washed and at breakfast at 5 55/’’ – Not bit here tho’ abundance of the sort of beetle and another sort of little insect likish a small beetley (hard back) ant? Do these larger insects that the people never seem to disturb and that swarm on the walls, keep them free from insects of worse kind, bugs &c.? 

Just after breakfast Gross came in flippantly saying ‘a great misfortune’ – Beginning to enlarge upon breaking my St. P-[Petersburg] thermometer – This too bad – The loss too great – I never uttered ∴[therefore] his talking useless, and he wisely went away – A-[Ann] never uttered about it then or afterwards – Nor I – 

Gave a blue note (= 5/-) to the old woman of the house (the old mother?) – She very well satisfied – One of my old thin leather gloves missing – Must have fallen out of my fur glove in the Prince’s Kibitka last night – Seeking it (the glove) detained us a few minutes – The only thing I have lost since Norway – Domna lost her little sac with p.[pocket] handkerchief scissors pins and needles &c. &c. = 4/-? She said, on Sunday night at Kopanowskaya (vide bottom of p.[page] 70) – off from Soroglazinskaya at two minutes before 7 – Ha Волга, on the Volga – 

(станица Замиянооскя) at Zamianowskaya at 9 1/4, a poor and picturesque little fishing village – Unpainted board, little, cottage-like Station House but the best house in the village? We might have slept there – Neat little church – Had slept most of the way to here – Much snow in the river latterly – Fine morning – Not much wind – Have written all the above (in pencil in my note book) without glove on without my warm hand getting starved or even cold – Proof how much warmer it is today than yesterday – 

Wattled farm yards – Hay stacked on the tops of the sheds, but little to be seen now – 2 Calmuc tents in farm yards – Large iron cauldrons lying about – Using for boiling fish grease – An undulating desert of fine red sand all immediately around the village – On rising ground at a little distance there seems a roughness as if of some low shrubby vegetation – 

Off at 9 3/4 down again upon the Volga – The village lies along the sand bank close above the river – The right bank has sometime since lost its boldness (from Tzaritzine) – It is now little different from the sandy bank on the left side – Wherever a stick will grow, there is willow which fringes both banks more or less – Read Russian Grammar and sleep – Right bank low bare sand as last station – Left bank low but a line of wood – 

At 12 1/4 Lebajinskaya (the village and good church at some distance) – Station House – Lone house – Large unpainted-board Government Station House, the Imperial Eagle as usual in the pediment of the front end – Forlorn – Getting out of repair – A sort of fosse all round the house, to clear it of the surrounding sand, now 3 or 4 ft.[feet] higher than the bottom step of the 5 or 6 up to the ground floor – As if the sand avait envie de l’engloutir – Sauntered about on the bare sand hillocks while we changed horses – The very desert of the great Zahara – Fine red sand that must blow about terribly – Picked up some of the white prickly low stuff that every where covers the sand where and as much as anything does cover it hereabouts – They say there is pasturage at some distance – 

Off at 12 40/’’ at 1 25/’’ pass near under little village left bank – Is it not on an island? Our route yesterday and today has seemed very much au milieu du fleuve – At 1 50/’’ the Courier called attention to a man and boy going at a good rate on a huge camel – The 1st we had seen – The Prince’s (Prince Cerdebjab de Tumen) people, from near his garden – The large wooded island alongside us (left – a little distance) all belongs to him – In fact, he is Sovereign Prince of the Calmucks all along from here to Astrakhan – 

The camel female – À double bosse – When fat, each boss stands upright – Now that the animal is poor, and hard-worked, and has just had a young one, these bosses hang down like 2 thick flaps (perhaps 8 in.[inches] broad and 9 or 10 in.[inches] long?) when they stand upright said George the animal is four archines high – Now she is only 3 – I should guess her to stand now (to the top point of the shoulder) 6 ft.[feet] 6 in.[inches] English that is 19 1/2 hands high! I asked if she was one of their tallest – Yes! And certainly the one we saw a little while afterwards stood 2 or 3 hands lower – This man has 2 camels – Some have 20 – The laine George called it woolly hair, is cast every Spring and is worth 16 Rubles per pood – She herself is worth 100/- all this took us 12 minutes the long line of wood near (left) is an island belonging to the Prince – Gave the man a 20 Silver Kopek piece – He well pleased – The nose of the animal pierced thro’ the ligament above the nostrils and a smooth hair cord run thro’ to which the cord (rein) is tied, and by pulling this the animal lies down for the people to mount or dismount – She chewed her cud all the while – 

A Kalmyk and his camel. (Image Source)

We had been about 7 or 8 minutes in our Kibitka again when Nikolai (the Courier) called our attention to a fishing party – We alighted again, and stood from 2 10/’’ to 3 5/’’ over the square hole in the ice intently watching the outdrag of the net – The draught of fishes – It reminded me of the N.[New] T.[Testament] the manner of this being probably much the same as in the time of our Saviour – The net seemed never ending – They had got some little of it hauled out when we arrived, and it certainly took 3/4 the time we were there before we came to the end – 

The mesh seemed about 1 1/2 in.[inch] square yet 2 moderate sized frogs and good sized prawn had not escaped – The net was a good deal torn yet there was a tolerable draught – Some hundreds of fish – Perhaps a tank of 2 cube yards would have held them  

2 yards x 1 yard and 1 yard deep – There was one Poisson Blanc = 20 lbs.[pounds] at -/80 per lb.[pound] at Moscow might be had perhaps for 2/- here on the spot – This the most valuable because they salt this kind – There were 2 or 3 Sadocs nearly as large as the Poisson Blanc, or perhaps that would weigh said George 15 lbs.[pounds] and the Courier bought one (Sadoc) for us = 10 lbs.[pounds] and another sort of fish that George seemed to call something like Lyash – All the fish taken were of these 3 kinds – The latter not much valued – Our Sadok = 10 lbs.[pounds]) -/15 and the other fish was given? – There were about 30 men – Pay 25,000/- per annum for the right of fishing here – A certain extent of river – Could not learn how great – Water here about 2 archines deep and ice (said George) 1 a.[archino] thick – 

Fishing on the Volga, near Astrakhan. (Image Source)

Off again at 3 5/’’ – At 3 50/60 at Dowinowskaya – Neat red-yellow painted board Station House at this end of village on our left – We had never stopped before having our Station on our left – It seemed as if we had got to the other side of the river – How is this – Neat white green roofed church – Village apparently small and not good – Merely a fishing village – 

Off again at 4 1/4 – At 5 1/4, left, near, island of willows and a few Calmuck tents among them – By and by pass close left a line of Calmucks sitting on their hams on the ice, each (5 or 6 yards apart) at a little round hole not a foot in diameter (perhaps 8 in.[inches] diameter) fishing – Great breadth of river – Perfectly flat, sandy banks – The Cathedral seen at some distance and a church or 2 far in the distance ahead as if the Town or another Town extended far down the river – 

We seemed to come within the precincts as it were of Astrakhan at 5 3/4 and at 6 1/4 we stopped at the address given us by our Postmaster at Jenotaiewsk – Full! Drove on and inquired at 2 or 3 places – No Inn – Not a lodging to be had – What to be done – Sent to the Chef de Police – Very civil – Came and offered us his house for the night – Accepted with reconnaissance – He spoke a little French – Thankful – 

Astrakhan seen from the Volga in the late 19th century.

At 7 1/4, having waited an hour in the street and fallen 1/2 asleep, chez lui – A good salon and large anteroom – In clover – But long in getting tea – I lay on the sofa – Our fish (non Sadok) was to be boiled – But as it turned out the Cuisinier was out – There was no fire, no anything – And I had completely finished tea and lay some time on the bedstead they had brought before the fish came after 10 – A-[Ann] had waited for it – I tasted and then went on eating – Excellent – Never tasted such fish – Fresh – Fat – Full of roe – Well boiled – It was A-‘s[Ann’s] thought to keep it for breakfast – Had Domna at 10 50/’’ – Fine day –

[in the side of the page:]      thermometer broken

[in the side of the page:]      on the Volga all today –

[in the side of the page:]      Camel

[in the side of the page:]      Fishing on the Volga

[in the side of the page:]      Station on our left

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0043 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0044

[keishiko]

Into Infinity

In the months after the events of “Civil War”, Natasha and Steve face the future together.

[Oneshot (so far) <1,500 words  |  Rated G  |  Angst, established Romance (Steve x Nat)]  |  Optional companion piece to "Refuge" (Part One) (Part Two).

---

Her blond hair fell in waves in front of her face from what had been a tight bun at the back of her head.  Natasha shuffled up the steps to the massive archways, then dodged behind a chattering family of tourists as she stepped into the heavily surveilled lobby of the museum.  Passing a cluster of ceiling cameras she pretended to fiddle with the controls on her earphones to shield her face, before strolling into a side room and stopping to feign interest in a painting. She found him sitting in one of the sculpture galleries, his frame filling out a long bulky coat and his overgrown dark hair peeking out from under a baseball cap.  Smiling, she remembered how he had originally chafed against his instinct to remove his hat inside a building.   His head was ducked low over what she realized, soundlessly stepping closer, was one of his sketchpads.  He was sketching a sculpture a few paces in front of him, a centuries-old composition in marble and classical Greek. “Class end early?”  Steve didn’t even look up from where he was carefully filling in a shadow. One of these days, she promised herself, she’d be able to sneak up on him again.  “Faye had to go pick up her kid at school.” “She should’ve made you take over.” “Oh, I’m pretty bad even for a beginner.  Take your time, though, I can look around for a while,” she added as he flipped the sketchbook shut.   Skylight sunshine brought out the blue in his eyes as he shrugged, already shoving his sketchbook and pencils into his bag.  “I could use a snack anyway.” “You already are a snack,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, as he offered her his arm. “Oh is that what the kids are saying these days?”  He grinned back. She threw her hands up in mock frustration.  “I really don’t know what my classmates are saying half the time.” He steered her out into the corridor.  “Now you know how I feel.” He pretended to get confused halfway through the museum in entirely the wrong direction, and she pretended not to know better.  She was enjoying herself too much, her arm slipped companionably through his as they ambled among the displays.  He kept stopping and she obliged him patiently, watching without a word as his eyes lit up from one exhibit to another. “You’re really maxing out your stealth lessons today, you know that?” she murmured as they sipped coffee at a sun-dappled outdoor table at a kiosk outside the museum.  “There’s only so much a baseball cap can do.” He smiled ruefully.  “Sorry, Nat.  You know I can’t resist this kind of place.” She knew.  She grinned forgiveness at him over the rim of her cup. “I’ve been thinking about going back to school.”  His tone was wistful even as his eyes tracked restlessly across passersby, the soldier watchful out of habit.  “You know I never went to college?  It wasn’t much of a thing in my time.” “What, in this economy?” she joked.  She knew he wasn’t serious, couldn’t be serious, and the reasons saddened her: He was too big, too odd, would draw too much attention.  He’d need documents.  He met her smile for bittersweet smile.  “Not even Fury would agree to pay for student loans,” she quipped, resisting the urge to chase away the resignation in his face with a touch of her hand. “We could sell the quinjet.”  He let her sugar packet hit him in the face and chuckled.  “Craigslist.  No one would have to know.” “I’ll cash in some dividends from Wakanda,” she deadpanned.  “Give you a real low interest rate.  Just ‘cause we’re friends.” His impulsive, gentle kiss kindled sparks in her belly, reassured her they were far more than just friends.  She savored the secondhand taste of unsweetened coffee on his lips and the subtle scratch of his beard against her cheek. She bought herself a slice of cake.  It was stone-cold from the display and the marshmallow frosting had dried up a little on the edges, but she wanted an excuse not to go home yet.  Sure enough, as she sat back down at the table, she saw Steve had taken out his sketchpad again, darting appraising glances up at the museum building across the way.  He liked drawing architecture, she’d noticed. Taking small bites of her cake she watched him work in silence, quickly filling a new blank page with bold strokes for the sharp angles of walls and roof, outlining finials and cornices in smaller, more precise movements.  Most of the Avengers didn't even know about Captain America’s art school background.  She’d only found out because she’d made an effort to, back when Fury first assigned them together; she couldn’t very well put her life into the hands of a stranger, she’d reasoned—not even a stranger who was also a legend.  And even after he found out that she knew, it had taken him a long time to stop trying to hide his sketching from her.  Not out of shame or embarrassment, as she had first guessed, but because it was so intensely personal to him.   Even now she pretended to be looking somewhere else, only watching out the corner of her eye as he carefully shaded in brick and ivy on the page.  He probably already knew she was looking anyway, she told herself.  She remembered his old photograph from the Smithsonian and tried to picture him scrawny and small, sketching the Chrysler Building maybe, or St. Patrick’s Cathedral. “You could just take classes,” she offered later, as they detoured along the river on their unhurried walk home.  “What would you major in, anyway, if you could?”   He smiled at the thought.  “I dunno.  Maybe history.  Or art history.” “Who knew Captain America was such a huge nerd.”  She smirked up at the mix of annoyance and amusement in his face.  Then, sombering, she squinted into the sunset.  “I could teach dance.” “You could.  Then you could be a soloist.  And I’d come watch all your shows.”  He squeezed her shoulders.  “I’d bring you bouquets backstage and all that.” His tone had lost its edge, grown fond and pensive.  She looked away, something clenching in her chest.  She forced a laugh.  “The other girls would probably kill me out of jealousy.” “I thought that only happened in movies.”  Chuckling, he folded his hand over hers, their fingers entwining. She drank in the golden wash of light over his face, the unfocused look in his eyes as he took in the skyline across the water, where windows and signs were already blinking to life ahead of nightfall.  In this city they were Mike and Nadine, dating for months now having met online, a gym buff and a beginner ballet hobbyist.  Now considering enrolment in art history and certification for the Cecchetti method, respectively.  Dreaming for a future Steve and Natasha could never have. Nat had taught at the Avengers facility, too, and at SHIELD before that.  Subjects a little more dangerous than ballet, a syllabus a little less structured.  She smiled at the memory of cavernous training rooms, of form drills escalating into sparring matches.  She had enjoyed the feel of a place for herself then, sheltered willingly in her new and strangely public identity as Agent Romanoff, member of something or other, part of a larger, well-oiled machine.  But these days, the dust only just beginning to settle from the Sokovia Accords, the unfamiliar sense of freedom—and anonymity—was not unwelcome.   “You should look up schools online,” she suggested doggedly, letting Steve wrap his arm around her shoulders against the evening wind.  She burrowed into the warmth under his chin, wound her arm around his waist.  “Even Harvard livestreams courses now.” She felt more than heard his grunt of acknowledgment.  He’d already left the topic behind.  Behind them the streetlamps along the boardwalk winked on, one after another in the settling gloom.  A couple strolled past, with five dogs straining at their leashes. “You heard back yet?” He was sharp and focused again.  She stifled a sigh. “I told Sam oh-two-hundred.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, as if to apologize for his abrupt change in mood.  “Then we got all the time in the world.”

fin

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week Day 2: Night Out

Summary: The idea of performing a Unison Raid had previously felt unattainable for Freed and Laxus. But after hearing stories of their guildmates managing to perform the spell, the two powerful men make it their goal to do the same.

This is my first admission for Fraxus Week event for twenty-nineteen hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This one is nice and fluffy, and follows the prompt 'Night In/Night Out.'

You can read it on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. I hope you all enjoy it!

Day 2: Late Night Drinks

The night was soft as they walked towards the guildhall, flickering streetlamps illuminating their way and the soft sound of the rippling canal guiding them. In a somewhat unusual display of public affection, Freed was leaning against Laxus, who had an arm wrapped around his waist and a small content smile on his face. Both men were smiling, in fact, and the reason for this was resting silently on the fourth finger of Laxus' left hand.

An engagement ring.

The jewellery piece was minimalistic, perfect for the blonde. The band was entirely black – made of obsidian apparently – and encrusted with small white diamonds across the centre. At the peak of the ring sat two larger diamonds, one yellow and the other purple. Reflections of their magics, Freed had explained, and Laxus kissed him again.

A lot of kisses had occurred between the two men that evening. Freed's proposal had come at the end of a mission the two had been on, happening on a near-empty beach just as the sun was setting, overlooked by the hotel they had just checked out of. Laxus couldn't be sure if this had been Freed's original intention or if he had seen how beautiful the situation was and decided to scrap his original plans and proposed then and there. Laxus didn't care if either were true; the moment had been perfect, and now he was to be married to the love of his life.

After the proposal itself, they had spent some time at the beach together enjoying the moment. The sinking sun glinted on the calm water, the sand was cooled by the darkened sky, and the couple were entranced by each other. However, despite neither wanting to, they needed to retreat to the train station so they could get back home.

It had been Laxus who had suggested that, rather than going home immediately, they should go to the guildhall. Bickslow and Evergreen would probably be there and both men wanted them to know as soon as possible.

"Not the whole guild though?" Freed asked, and Laxus had laughed.

"God no. Not tonight," He grinned, running a hand through his hair. He absently noted the feeling of the ring against his scalp. "They'll go insane. Don't think I can handle it."

"Thank god," Freed grinned, glancing at the ring and feeling his heartbeat slightly faster.

The train ride hadn't taken long, and they soon found themselves back in Magnolia. Laxus quickly recovered from the slight amount of motion sickness he experienced as they walked along the cobbles, the loud clock of the cathedral chiming ten times to signify the time. It was then that Freed had found the blonde snaking his arm around his waist, the ring resting against the rune-mages thigh. It was a nice feeling.

As they got closer to the guildhall, its presence was obvious. As always, it was brighter than the rest of the town and acted like a beacon, with raucous laughter being heard louder and clearer with each step they took forward. Neither man felt nervous as they approached, instead feeling empowered. This was their home, and their engagement would only make it better.

They managed to enter relatively undetected; other than Natsu, who seemed to have a sixth sense on people who he deemed fight-worthy. Ignoring the younger man, they both walked to the bar which Mirajane was attending to. As she was currently busy, they leant against the bar-top and waited. When Laxus placed the hand housing the ring on the aged wood, Freed smiled and intertwined their fingers with an expression of adoration across his features. Laxus wore the same expression himself.

"I should tell you, Mirajane knows," Freed explained as they waited. Laxus looked down at him with a small cocked eyebrow. "She was quite helpful in finding the one I was happy with."

He ran his finger over the ring gently to make sure Laxus knew what he was talking about, while also making sure that nobody who wanted to listen in on them would know what they were talking about. Laxus nodded slightly, resting against his fiancé with a smile.

"She reacted calmly when you told her, right?" He asked with a small grin.

"Oh completely," Freed chuckled. "She squealed, asked me around fifty questions within a minute and nearly passed out because she lost her breath; a perfectly rational reaction."

The two shared a laugh and waited for a little while longer as Mirajane finished serving the rest of the bar, before she came to the newly engaged couple. She smiled politely at them both, placing a wooden tankard under the bar and looked over them both. It was clear by the small frown on her fact that she hadn't expected the two to be there; it was rare that the couple would come to the guild this late, let alone after returning from a mission. There was clearly a reason for this unusual display of behaviour, and she was looking to see what it was.

It took her only a few seconds to see the sparkling ring on Laxus' finger. She looked up at the two of them, her mouth slightly agape with excitement. She brought her hands to her face, a wide smile breaking over her face.

"Before you say anything," Laxus said in a low voice. "We're only tellin' a few people today, so don't go shouting about it."

"Oh, of course," She whispered, still beaming. "But I'm so happy for you both."

Before either man could react, she leant over the bar and pulled them both into a slightly awkward but welcomed hug. Both men returned it as best they could, and the moment they pulled back Mirajane had pulled Laxus' ringed hand towards her and was inspecting it closely. She was hardly being subtle, but the amount of alcohol the guild had consumed throughout the night meant that nobody was paying enough attention to the threesome to understand what exactly was happening.

"It looks so beautiful," She continued to whisper, somewhat wistfully now. "I thought you weren't going to do it until later in the month, what made you change your mind? Oh, was it romantic, I bet you're both super romantic when you want to be?"

Freed chuckled a little, having expected this barrage of questions. It was true that he had originally intended to propose at a later date but seeing the beautiful scene of the beach – and how stunning Laxus had looked in the low, golden light – something inside of him had told him that this was the perfect time to do it. The fact that Laxus said yes told Freed his instincts had been right.

"Sorry," Mirajane cut herself off before she went any further. "You're not making a big deal about it tonight; you probably don't want me asking for every detail. I'm just excited for you both, that's all."

"You needn't be sorry," Freed assured her. "Besides, we'll be telling Evergreen and Bickslow upstairs, so we have some privacy. If you can get away from the bar for a little while, you're more than welcome to join us."

"Really?" She asked, grinning again when Laxus nodded. "Okay, I'll talk to Kinana. And I can get some champagne, on the house, make it a real celebration."

"Thanks," Laxus nodded. "Can you get us six glasses?"

"Six?" Freed questioned. Even with Mirajane, there would only be five of them.

"I wanna tell Gramps tonight as well," The blonde looked down to his fiancé. "You don't mind, do ya?"

"Of course not," Freed assured with a smile, feeling warm inside again.

"He's in his office right now," Mirajane explained, still wearing a large grin and fidgeting somewhat now. "I can bring him up with me, if you want."

"That'd be great, thanks," Laxus nodded.

With that, Mirajane walked down the bar again and began speaking to Kiana, leaving the newly engaged couple to leave the bar and walk towards the upper level of the guild. Freed had made sure that both of their teammates would be at their regular table, the lacrima-call on the train ending abruptly when Evergreen began demanding what was so important that she should be dragged from her home to the noisy guildhall on her night off. Freed knew hanging up on her would be unusual enough for her to do as he said.

As they climbed the spiral staircase, Freed found himself unable to stop smiling. When he had first joined the guild, he had been in the attitude that he needed nobody – both romantically and platonically. So to be in the same guildhall, telling his closest friends that he was to wed the man he loved was something he never expected to happen. It felt great.

Laxus' hand found itself against the small of Freed's back as they reached the upper floor and began to walk to their normal booth in the far corner. Evergreen sat with her back towards them, and she was clearly talking to Bickslow. It was obvious that Bickslow was more awake than Evergreen, as his animated hand movements and wide smiling face was a stark contrast to the slumped posture of the fairy mage sitting across from him. When he saw the couple approaching from the staircase, he clearly grinned wider and waved at them vigorously.

"There's my favourite power couple," He practically shouted, Evergreen looking over her shoulder with a significantly less enthusiastic expression. "Look at you two, coming out after dark. It's been a while; thought you were just a pair of grumpy old men for a little while."

"You two better have a good reason for bringing me here," Ever grumbled. "And for hanging up on me, Justine."

"As you can see, Ever's picking up on the grumpiness slack you two are leaving," Bickslow cackled.

Laughing a little at the comments of their friends, they moved into their regular booth; Bickslow having moved besides Evergreen so that the couple could be next to each other. They didn't let Evergreen's apparent annoyance bother them, they knew that even if she was bothered by being dragged from her home, that would soon go when she discovered why.

As they sat down, Evergreen had worn an investigative expression and watched them both closely. She was curious as to why her friends had been so insistent they meet that night; it was incredibly unlike them. As she watched them, there was some more abnormal things about them. They both had a single hand under the table – Laxus his left and Freed his right – which made her think that maybe they were holding hands under the table. Furthermore, they were both smiling in an almost lovestruck way, something that they would usually only do in their home.

To put it bluntly, they were being all lovey with each other. It was weird.

"Okay seriously," Bickslow almost shouted after a small amount of silence. "You're killing us here, guys. You just gonna leave us in suspense? What's up?" He started to whine at the end of his complaint.

Freed and Laxus shared a look, the latter deciding to speak. "Gramps could take a while to get here. Probably enough time to tell 'em."

"Probably," Freed agreed.

"You wanna do it then?" Laxus asked; he wanted to be the one who tells his grandfather, and also wanted Freed to be able to tell their friends. When the rune mage nodded with a small smile, it made the blonde smile as well.

Freed looked over to their two friends, wearing a calm but happy expression. Both Evergreen and Bickslow clearly wanted to know whatever secret the couple had, so much so that Evergreen's eyebrow was practically twitching and Bickslow was fidgeting in his seat with excitement. He withheld the urge to laugh at the two of them, wondering how their reactions would change when they found out what had happened.

"Since you both clearly want to know, its probably best to just say it," Freed began. "Earlier today, after our mission ended, I asked Laxus to marry me. As you can probably guess, he said yes."

There was a moment of silence. This was when Laxus chose to show the engagement ring.

After the second without speaking, Evergreen seemed to have completely forgotten about how annoyed she was about being taken to the guildhall. A wide smile had broken out across her face, and she couldn't stop her eyes from flickering between the ring on Laxus' finger and the couple. Their clear love-fuelled behaviour with each other had an obvious explanation now, and she felt small tears pricking at the sides of her eyes with how happy she was for two of her closest friends in the guild.

Bickslow was less subtle with his happiness for the two. Droplets of salty tears were already flowing down his cheeks, and his smile had somehow doubled both in size and intensity. If he was fidgeting before, he was practically vibrating in his seat now. Freed had no doubt that, if the table separating them wasn't bolted to the floor, he would have knocked it to the ground and pulled them into a hug.

"Holy fuck guys," Bickslow managed to speak first. "You know you're gonna be like the most powerful married couple in the country, right? D'you think Alzack and Bisca are gonna be pissed that they're not the only married couple? Oh, d'you think you'll have kids? Get a baby!"

Despite clearly being excited, Bickslow must have known that they didn't want everyone to know as his ramblings were relatively quiet. Laxus found himself laughing and Freed wore a soft smile. It was obvious Bickslow was happy for them.

"Leave them alone," Evergreen scolded the man beside her before looking at the couple. "How did this happen? It must have been planned, right? This ring's amazing."

"I decided I wanted to do it about a month ago," Freed began, and Laxus looked down at him with adoration in his eyes. He hadn't heard this yet. "It took a short while to find the right ring – eventually Mirajane found me in a jewellery store and wouldn't stop asking until I told her what was happening – and then she helped me find one that I liked. I've been carrying it around for about a week now."

"So you knew you were gonna propose at the end of the mission?" Evergreen asked.

"Not exactly," Freed smiled a little more. "I knew that I was going to propose by the end of the month, and my original plan was to do it at the harvest festival, but I had also promised myself that if a better situation presented itself then I would take. Which is, of course, what happened."

"You gotta give us more details than that!" Bickslow demanded, almost pouting.

"We can do that when Mira gets up here. She'll probably be pissed if she missed it," Laxus laughed a little, his hand meeting Freed's again. The rune mage found himself stroking Laxus' palm softly, a small gesture that the blonde loved. "And Gramps should probably know before we go into detail about it, he should be up here soon."

"Sure, that seems fair," Evergreen nodded, though she too was impatient to hear about how the proposal had happened.

"So have you guys come up with any ideas about the wedding yet?" Bickslow probed with a wide grin. "I better be the best man. And unless you wanna become some damn handsome statues, you should probably make Ever a bridesmaid."

"That might be a little difficult without a bride," Freed laughed.

Bickslow went to protest because they both knew what he actually meant, but they heard footsteps from the staircase to the second floor. When they looked over, they could see Mirajane at the top of the staircase holding a tray containing a large bottle of champagne and an assortment of crystal glasses. She was still smiling and, when she looked towards the newly engaged couple again, it seemed that her smile grew.

Standing before the barmaid was a slightly dishevelled and tired looking Makarov. The blonde knew that his grandfather only worked in his office when he was overwhelmed by paperwork and was trying to catch up, so he probably was extremely fatigued by the work he had been dragged away from.

As his grandfather approached, Laxus felt a weird sense of nervousness in his stomach. The weirdness came from the fact he wasn't scared about his approaching grandfather, and the nervousness didn't feel as though it was a bad thing. It felt like telling Makarov was the thing that would truly make this engagement real, and that was something Laxus found himself craving to happen. Perhaps it was more anticipation than nervousness.

"I've been told you need to tell me something. You brats better not have done something stupid," Was how Makarov greeted the couple. "I've got enough fines because of Natsu, I don't need another wrecking ball in human form."

"No its… er," Laxus stopped himself. He should have thought about how he'd actually say it. "It's nothing bad."

"I know that my boy, just messing with ya," The old man grinned, expanding his arm to pull two chairs towards the booth that the Raijinshuu and Laxus were sitting at. "I know this guild's a little eccentric, but even we don't get out champagne when we do something wrong. So, what actually do you have to tell me?"

At the question, Laxus gathered his thoughts and took a small breath. His grandfather would be happy for them both, he knew this without a doubt; hell, when he found out that they were dating he had tried to throw the two a party because it had 'finally happened after all these years.' It wasn't unrealistic to think that the old man would start crying in a similar way that Bickslow had when he was told. He just wanted to get this right.

"Okay," He said after a moment. "So, y'know how you treat everyone in the guild as a member of your family?"

"Of course."

"Well, so I guess what I'm saying it," Laxus took a breath to prepare himself. "With Freed, you don't have to treat him like he's a member of the family anymore. Because he actually will be part of our family."

To remove any doubt as to what he was saying – because he wasn't exactly being clear, he knew – he lifted up his left hand to clearly show the old man his engagement ring. Makarov seemed to take a few seconds to completely understand what his grandson was telling him. The second he did, however, a million different emotions seem to flash across his features. It settled on a mixture of pride and happiness for his grandson and new grandson-in-law.

"You're engaged?" He asked, voice showing the same emotion his face did.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded, and his voice cracked slightly over the single word. "Fuck yeah we are."

The blonde wrapped an arm around his fiancé with a wide grin, and Mirajane took this moment to pop the champagne she bad been holding. As she began pouring them all a glass of the expensive alcohol, Makarov expanded his arms again and pulled them into their second awkward hug of the day; at least this one didn't leave them with a bar digging into their hips.

"I'm so proud of the both of you," He said gently, voice cracking slightly in a similar way to Laxus'. "How far you come since you were kids… just so proud of you."

"Thanks, Gramps," Laxus whispered.

"None needed, Brat," Makarov grinned. "Now you remember this. Marriage might not be all roses, but the two of you are your biggest allies and friends. You look after each other, you love each other, and you make sure that you never waste a day together. You both understand me?"

"Yeah," Laxus grinned.

"Of course," Freed nodded.

"You better," Makarov grinned. "Now, you two also have to tell me what happened. An old man can never have too many sentimental stories swirling around in his mind, and I have a feeling this one's gonna stick with me."

With this, alongside some prompting from the others sitting at the table, Freed began to explain what had pushed him to propose at the time he had and what was going through his mind when he was doing it. He recited what he had told Laxus when he was on his knee, and Laxus occasionally chipped in with how he had reacted and what he had been thinking when it had happened. This had made Bickslow and Mirajane cry, while Ever and Makarov seemed unable to stop smiling at the couple.

Freed and Laxus themselves had found comfort in leaving against each other. Freed had his hand resting over Laxus' gently playing with the engagement ring. Anyone who saw them would agree that they looked as content and happy as two men could be, and it warmed Makarov's heart to see his grandson in such a state.

"Right then, a toast," The old man suddenly said, standing up with a smile and picking up his glass. The rest of the table followed his lead. "I'll keep it short, because if I don't, I think I'll start crying, so here goes. I know more than anyone that the people in this guild don't always have the best start in life, and sometimes they come here looking for family and love. And I'm so glad that the two of you have found it with each other, and that your love is so pure and strong that you want to take the next step with each other."

A small chorus of agreements came form the people sitting at the table, other than Freed and Laxus themselves. The couple smiled and leant a little further into each other, smiling softly at each other. Laxus leant down and pressed a small kiss against Freed's lips.

"To Freed and Laxus," Makarov continued, voice slightly louder. "I wish you a long and happy marriage."

The group raised their glasses, clinked them together and went to bring them to their lips. Makarov returned to his seat at the table, going to bring his drink to his lips. It was then that the group realised that the guild had gotten slightly quieter – but by no means silent – the moment Makarov had finished his toast. It took a few seconds for them all to realise why exactly that was.

"Marriage!?" A loud voice shouted from below. It belonged to Natsu. The lack of sound was because he had stopped fighting.

"Laxus-san. Freed-san," Wendy's voice followed after. "You're getting married?"

Makarov grinded his teeth a little, knowing that Freed and Laxus wanted to keep it quiet. When he looked at them, half expecting them to be angry at him for letting it slip by forgetting about enhanced hearing Dragon-Slayers contained, he saw that they were both laughing about it.

"We should have thought about that. Surprised it took that long for one of them to overhear," Laxus laughed, looking down at his fiancé with a soft smile. "You ready for it?"

"Of course," Freed chuckled slightly. "In retrospect, we were probably quite naïve to think we could keep any kind of secret in this place."

The two shared another short, chaste kiss with each other. As they did, they could hear a large amount of the guildmembers below breaking the 'no non-S-Class mage teams on the second floor' rule so they could confront the couple with any questions that had about hoe the two had become engaged. Almost simultaneously, the raised their champagne to their lips and emptied their glasses entirely.

"Good luck," Freed offered Laxus with a smile.

"Likewise," Laxus grinned.

The crowd of guildmates had made their way up the stairs at that point and were already throwing a wave of questions in their directions. Many of them were slightly invasive or overly personal but done so in a loving way that Fairy Tail was essentially known for. And even though the two were usually quite private and would normally take such an affront in a less than kind way, but they decided that today they would just let their guildmates have their fun.

Nothing could bring them down that night. Nothing at all.

[wykart]

Fix Her

Chapter 2 of a fic about Five and Vanya and all the tragedy surrounding them (chapter 1)

Chapter Summary: The night of Five’s disappearance has Vanya on edge – she can’t sleep – so she decides to make him a snack for when he returns.

 read here on ao3 or continue chapter 2 under the cut

There was nothing else for it, she had to do something. She wondered if Five was lost somewhere, if he was trying to find his way back. The house got dark at night, what if he couldn’t find his way? He hadn’t touched his dinner that evening, hadn’t eaten since noon that day. It was past midnight. He would be starving. She thought about trying to find him at the old donut place that they often frequented together – but she doubted she could escape from the academy without his help. She couldn’t teleport, after all, in fact, she couldn’t do anything. Gingerly, she rose from her bed and placed her bare feet on the old floorboards – they creaked and groaned in the night with a clarity unachievable among the chaos and voices of her siblings during the day. They would all be sound asleep, training began at five-o’clock, running laps around the courtyard. Not her. Father would let her sleep in as long as she wanted, only because he didn’t care if she was awake or asleep anyhow. As long as she was out of the way, her sleep schedule didn’t matter.

She pushed the door open – just a crack at first. Finding no obstructions, she continued out into the hall. She crept past her sibling’s bedroom doors, one by one. All of their rooms were larger than her’s, all of them equipped with all manner of objects and trinkets and decorative items. Luther’s weights, Diego’s dart boards, Allison’s posters, Klaus’ prints, Five’s textbooks, Ben’s novels – all of them had something that made them happy in the few precious hours that their father allowed them to whittle away in solitude. Vanya had nothing but bare walls and a sparse vanity – even the bedsheets were dull. Sometimes she felt like that room – hollowed out and boring beyond belief. All she had was her violin, and even that had been her Father’s, locked in a case and kept out of sight.

All of them were sleeping soundly – even Klaus, who had been sleeping more and more soundly of late. When they were younger, she’d had to pull her pillow over her ears to muffle the sounds that strayed through their shared wall. His whimpers and whispers, sometimes his screams. It was times like that when Vanya was almost glad she didn’t have a power. Almost.

She pattered out of the corridor and into the main hall. At night, the place was an expansive cathedral. With the chandelier extinguished, the ceiling lay beyond a cloud of dark mist that marked the edge of what the eye could see. The moonlight through the long stained-glass windows cast the space in a chirascuric dichotomy of harsh light and shadow. The light glazed the oiled canvas of the family portrait. In the dark, one couldn’t even notice that Vanya was missing. During the day, this room was the centre of the house, almost cozy – as cozy as life at the academy could get. The reds and golds and warm chirping voices – and their father’s, sharp as a knife that cut it them all, leaving behind an inexplicable cold. He inspired a certain fearful admiration in his children. One and all would do anything to please him, even Vanya. Even though it was scary, this place at night, it felt more like Vanya’s home in the silence and abandon.

She headed to the kitchen across the way, careful to be quiet in her approach as she spied her mother sitting up on the first landing, eyes glowing blue. She pulled a loaf of bread from the tin and started making Five’s favourite snack – a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. Soon after he’d introduced the combination to her, it had become her favourite snack as well, but Vanya wasn’t hungry. She felt sick just thinking of Five out there all alone, even though she knew he could handle himself. Maybe that was what worried her most of all, that he could take care of himself just fine, and he’d simply decided to make his escape without her. She didn’t think he would leave her… or hoped that he wouldn’t. Even now, she was beginning to have doubts. Perhaps he’d finally seen in her what all the other’s seemed to see, a boring girl that only brought boredom along with her. It had taken him a while, if that was the case.

She was worrying herself again. Hurriedly, she stuffed a hand into her pyjama pocket and pulled out a zip-lock bag where she kept her emergency capsules. Five was the only one who seemed to be able to calm her down when she was like this. She didn’t know what she would do without them. She feared the day that she’d be stuck without any medication and she’d feel that strange pull of vertigo twisting in her gut, the drowning, pressing feeling that threatened to drag her under. It made her fingers twitch and her eyes sting, like she was wide awake and burning away all at the same time.

She was holding the capsule in her quivering hand, pressing it to her lips, when the kitchen light flicked on. She nearly jumped out of her skin, and sent the tablet clattering down onto the kitchen tiles.

“Number Seven!” She gasped, a cold shiver running through her. Her breath caught in her throat, jittering. Of course he found her, she was so clumsy, so stupid. “What do you think you’re doing up at this hour?”

Her lip trembled, and she couldn’t stop her voice from stammering along, near a whisper. “I – I”m sorry father, I just –“

“Speak up, girl, stop your mumbling,” so curt, so cold. Ever since she’d known him, always towering above them all, a crisp suit, a stare off into the distance, never in the eyes, barking orders like a sergeant to his troops.

She struggled out a response. “I was making something, for Five, sir – I thought that, when he came back, he might be hungry. He missed supper.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, but she could feel the way his were looking at her. Bearing down, piercing, mouth drawn tight into a scowl. He didn’t answer, so she ventured forth. “It’s just, I know you said that time travel was dangerous, so what if he’s lost and trying to get back home?” Staring, staring, so she kept her eyes on those chequered tiles, letting her hair fall lank over her eyes. “What if we put the lights on, just for tonight, so he can find his way home. It gets cold out there at night.” Before she knew it she was pleading, an act her father had little respect or regard for. He was hard on them, he had to be, but this wasn’t one of his tests. If Five was really in danger, he would help, he had to.

He only sighed. “Your pity is misplaced, Number Seven,” as if even deigning to speak to her, to indulge her childish whims, was a cruel waste of his time. “Number Five knew the risks, and yet he disobeyed me. He will face the consequences, wherever he is in time. If the boy is as useless as I fear, then I doubt he will ever find his way back to us.” How could he say that? It had only been a few hours, he was just lost. He would come back. “He was an impulsive creature, Number Seven, self-important,” he spat, “arrogant, a mere shadow of what he could have become, if he had just listened.” He would come back. "A disobedient thing like that is of no asset to the academy, I do not mourn him, and so should you cast away any weak, grovelling affections you held for your brother.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “I trust that you and your siblings will learn from his mistake.”

“Shut up.” She muttered, before she could stop herself. Tears stung her eyes, her mouth stretched into that same scowl that so often adorned her father’s face. The one that held no mercy, that was bitter and old and powerful enough to send his children into a frenzied attention.

It was a long and terrifying moment before he spoke. “I beg you pardon, Number Seven,” though he knew exactly what she’d said. He was daring her to say it again.

“That’s not my name!” She cried, staring up at him. “How could you say those things about Five! He’s the best of all of them, he used to admire you too, but you just wanted to use him like you’re using all of them!” She couldn’t stop, everything she’d even felt was coming up like bile in her throat, burning acidic. She lowered her voice, thinking about him, her only friend. “He was the only one smart enough to see it,” Sir Reginald didn’t even react, that same stern face, expressionless. It was infuriating. “He’s the only one that’s even been nice to me, treated me like I belong here even when I know I don’t, I’m not an idiot!” She was running out of breath. “You can’t just give up on him, he’s out there, I know it, he’s coming back.”

Another pause. He cleared his throat, still staring on past her, just another disappointment in a long line, just another stupid child he’d failed to reel in. “Are you quite finished, Number Seven. You’d do best to let go of these petty attachments, if you have any aspirations to become strong.” He brought his hands up into a crisp clap – twice together – a sound that tore through the still night air and raged through her ears. “Now, to bed. I’ll not hear another word of it, Number Seven.”

She’d couldn’t stand it anymore. “That’s not my name!” she screamed. She had one for a reason, she was a person, she was more than what her father thought of her – Five had shown her that. That was the very reason that he clung to his number with such pride, not – as their father suspected – out of some fierce loyalty to him and his best efforts to desensitise them all from what made them human beings – but out of spite. If his father was to number them, to take away everything they were, then the best he could do was cling to that label, make it his own, and form himself around the very thing that was meant to seperate him from everything. Vanya wasn’t so brave, so vainglorious, she had precious little to remind her of who she was – and her name was one of them.

Her father furrowed his brows deeper still, a level of disapproval and disgust that was difficult to bring forth. “Number Seven!” he barked, leaning forwards a little, and bringing his hands together in yet another resounding clap. The sound made her jump. “Go, now!”

She couldn’t move. The brisk sound cut through all the turmoil that had been racing through her mind. Her worries for Five, her anger at her father, her resentment towards her siblings, all of it fell away and was replaced by the humming of the night. The rustling of trees outside, the muffled sounds of car horns blaring as is they were sounding in this very room, the chandelier swaying in the light breeze, crystals clinking and clattering over the sound of her pounding heart. The light flickered, and she felt a draft shoot through the kitchen, parting her hair from her eyes.

Her father must have seen something in them because he froze on the spot – and was that fear on her father’s face? He swallowed, steadying his breathing. Clasping his eyes shut, as if the very word brought a bitter taste to his mouth. “Vanya.” He’d never called any of them by their names before. Perhaps he was so fed up with her that he’d say anything to get her out of the way. Typical. She felt wide awake, brimming with burning energy. He crouched down and picked up the capsule from the floor by her feet, dusting it off lightly. “You don’t seem to be feeling well, have you taken your medicine?”

She cast her mind back, and of course, she hadn’t. With all the commotion at dinner she’d forgotten to take it with her meal, she’d been so worried about Five. Earlier that day, at breakfast, she’d been up in the attic with him, hiding away. Not wanting to be found out, she’d skipped her morning dose as well. She’d been so worried, so angry, so scared, no wonder she was getting herself so worked up. No wonder the world sounded as if it were about to drown her out. She took a deep, rattling breath, and took the capsule from her father’s hand. He backed away, watching her closely.

It was a while before either of them spoke. “Sir, is it okay if I finish making a sandwich for Five, just in case?” Her voice was meek, unsure. She was so sure that he would yell, but instead, he simply turned and walked away, the sound of his dress shoes echoing through the empty house. She took the opportunity to finish, even though she knew he’d think she was weak for doing it. She didn’t much care what he thought anymore. She placed the marshmallows – cut in halves, evenly spaced in a circle, just the way he liked it – onto a generous swath of peanut butter, and finally completed the sandwich. She placed it just beyond the threshold in the marble entrance hall, the great oaken doors, emblazoned with the umbrella insignia, firmly shut against the night. She stopped for a moment and listened, hoping to hear him walk up the front steps. He would thank her for the sandwich, she might even start crying, and he wouldn’t think she was weak or stupid for it, he’d just reassure her of the one fact it had taken her so long to believe was true – that he cared about her. She decided to sit by the door and wait. That way, she would be the first to greet him when he came home.

[gemmieurts-blog]

The Emperor: Revenge Pt IV

Warning: Body Horror 

“No...no please! What-what do you want? Money? Women?”

‘He doesn’t understand.’

Drip...drip…

His grip tightened on the other dragon’s head. The half clothed females lining the room looked like living statues, their bloodied hands gripping into the stone and silks that tried to give an unnatural lavish ambiance to the brothel so as to give their customers that ‘rich unbridled’ feeling to empty their pockets faster.

“PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING!”

Drip...drip…

The sound was nauseating to listen to as blood slowly pooled on the floor.

‘None of them understood…’

Snappers were a hardy and bulky breed, but their scales didn’t provide much protection to an Emperor. No dragon’s did. Their meat and natural plating simply provided a comfortable place to sink claw and teeth into. One pair of calloused hands firmly kneaded the robber’s head, thumbs caressing the temple. The otherwise affectionate gesture instead invoked a sense of realization that at any moment, his life could end right here and now on the whim of a monster. The other pair had the dragon’s shoulders pinned to the wall, threatening to permanently immobilize his arms for the rest of life. Though, it would be a very short life indeed given the situation. Woruk’s maw came deathly close to the cowering robber.

It was a strange sight, seeing a humanoid face amongst three writhing serpentine-esque heads that sprouted from a broad strong back and shoulders. As if the four arms weren’t enough...but Zyollan was happy amongst his subconscious misery of knowing what he had become. His brothers were with him once again in body, though they couldn’t speak. Chantha’s words came true in his eyes. However, he wouldn’t rest until he had the blood of those who mercilessly slaughtered and desecrated their corpses on his own hands, splattered on his chest and cheeks like war paint.

It was a pity though, that he didn’t know what was to come for him after his crusade…

A ghastly howling erupted from outside the establishment. Sharp and shrill, like a banshee had come to this world to wreak its havoc on the living. Zyollan didn’t mind the noise. Just like he didn’t mind the screams as he eradicated the other villages. They harbored such an awful man. How could they? How could they let him live? Why did he even exist? If they had killed him before, this wouldn’t have happened. If his parents never gave birth this wouldn’t have happened. If his parents weren’t born this wouldn’t have happened.

Everyone was guilty.

And in turn no one was safe.

However as time went on, the sound became more unbearable. What was it? A familiar? A dragon? A storm?

And then it stopped.

Everything went quiet save for the robber’s simpering pleads that were barely audible and more for his own sanity.

And then came the collective cacophony of what seemed like tortured souls coming up from beneath the crust in agony and sorrow.

That wasn’t the only thing worrisome. The particular room this… party was in, was on the second floor of the brothel in the ‘Royal Ankh Room.’ It was fitting for an Earthen territory place of pleasure, especially as expensive and well known as this one, but the addition of heavy columns inside made the room one of the most unbalanced should any of those on the first floor sustain damage.

And damage did the first floor sustain…So much so, that the entire 2nd floor came crashing down to ground level. Amidst the wreckage, the unfortunate few who didn’t manage to escape in time lay under layers of sand and stone. Zyollan had lost his footing yet his ‘prey’ had stay in the exact same spot, suffering from fractures along his back legs from the fall. From his place on the ground, Zyollan’s could only see a slowed version of the events in front of him, a watery filter above them as if he was witnessing everything underwater, drowning slowly. Bells like those at a cathedral rang in his ear amidst the carnage. He recalled memories of his childhood playing in a stream far too small for any Imperial, but he loved sitting in it and watching the small fish run between and around his toes for hours on end. ‘Where were they going in such a hurry?’ he would ask himself. He never found the answer. As he blinked to try and gain his focus back, he saw something creep closer and closer into view, until it took up his entire line of sight.

A large jagged claw was pointing at him from what seemed like only a millimeter away. Any closer and he would have been blinded for life. For the first time in what seemed like hours, the ringing cut away for him to hear a garbled version of ‘Found you~.’ As his senses came back he lifted his head in a drunken manner, feeling around to get some sort of semblance to actual earth. He could hear his pulse throbbing in his ear, but that didn’t stop him from rising to his feet once more.

The strange being pointing at him now came across quite clearer, though he was unsure what exactly it was. It had a jagged tail reminiscent of a Ridgeback yes, but its hair covered it in the manner of a Tundra. Furthermore it was blindfolded and seemed to not be able to formulate speech though it could comprehend. The appearance of it made Zyollan almost forget what he was even doing in the middle of this half demolished town until Chantha shook his mane out and roared in the direction of the robber, who was unusually hobbled over a small chest covered in a deep purple velvet and lined with gold. The trinket could have easily been worth his weight in gold (which was saying something), however it was clear that something much more precious was inside.

Meanwhile, Efren dashed off as he recognized the sounds of his leaders’ footsteps nearing the area.

“I see him.”

A shrill whistle sounded from Darius’s lips as Efren came ambling down the road dodging citizens trying to escape their previous stronghold. Diablo was met with a harsh hug from the much larger male, being picked up in the air and tangled in a web of hair and gembond. He couldn’t help but grin at the overly affectionate Ridgeback, giving him a quick head ruffle. Darius smirked at the gesture as he clicked his tongue to have him return to his side.

“Shall I bring back their heads?”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Shhh…”

Whirlpool stared from behind a pillar from the neighboring building that hadn’t quite collapsed. It was in her nature to find the reasons for beings’ actions, even if that being was quote a “mindless monstrosity,” Light’s failure in her creation and one of the reasons for her ‘new’ children.

The robber appeared to be holding something out to the beast in a prostrated position, his eyes not clouded with tears but wide with both fright and a glimmer of hope.

“They’re the most priceless things in my hoard right now! They’re worth more than my life and any other life in the vastness of the Earth territory! Please! Take them and have mercy!”

Whirlpool jumped at stifled laughter from behind,

“He must be an idiot trying to reason with something that has no conscious or even a brain.”

She wanted to slap Darius for his rude remark but she couldn’t help but think the same way. From readings she knew that due to the number of heads that made up an Emperor, the nervous system and muscle memory within the main body are thrown into a chaotic flashing of contradicting signals much like if a robot short circuited and its coding was lost. There was no helping one who transformed into such a ghastly creation other than to violently kill it. Nevertheless she wanted to watch this creature, to see if there were exceptions within this concrete definition.

“Hey look!”

Diablo’s nudge shook her back from her inner thoughts.

The Emperor was kneeling.

@fr-blackiebelle @guardianitefr

[mercurygray]

Writing prompt: Anna and Hewlett, after reuniting and working through all their shiz, have a second (successful!) wedding at Whitehall. Fluff, smut if you wanna take it to their wedding night, tears of joy; I'd take any and all, thank you :)

Anon, sorry this took so long - this was a great prompt but it hit right in the middle of a mess about plagiarism in the TURN fandom and I had to move in a slightly different direction to distance myself from a project that I think someone else is working on.

So. A bit of domestic fluff.

Gentle Tyranny

An Annlett drabble

She was waiting for him, just as she always did.

As much as Edmund loved the stars, there was something indescribably wonderful about coming inside after his studies and seeing her in the midnight firelight, her mind lost in a book or a piece of mending, completely at peace. He’d told her more than once he wished she wouldn’t, for the sake of her eyes, but she wouldn’t listen - every night it was exactly the same.

Except that tonight she had some company - two smallish bodies, curled into her lap and along the rest of the settle, sleeping as soundly as if they were in their beds. He leaned over her carefully to kiss her cheek and examined the sleeping children. “They wanted to wait up for you,” she explained, her voice soft. “A valiant effort that lasted perhaps an hour.”

The larger of the children stirred, turning a bleary eye upward. “Papa…”

Edmund smiled, putting down his papers and picking up his eldest son with a little groan. How big his children are getting. “I think it is bedtime for you, Herschel,” he said quietly, brushing a stray lock away from the boy’s face.

“Wanna see stars,” Herschel mumbled, at the same time burrowing his face further into the lapel of his papa’s soft studying banyan.

“And you shall, my boy, you shall,” Edmund replied, shifting his weight a little so he could carry him upstairs. “But not tonight. Tonight it is time for bed.” He turned, watching Anna lay aside her book and pick up the other child, who slept as soundly as anything, her hair as dark and fine as her mother’s. “It’s a good thing Cassie stayed abed,” he remarked quietly, “Or we wouldn’t be able to get them upstairs ourselves.”

Anna only smiled.

The stairs seemed too tall while carrying a sleeping child of five. Perhaps it was that Herschel was getting heavy or he was getting old - he didn’t quite know which. But every creak in the stairs and every carefully opened door was also somehow precious to him, as precious as the child he was carrying. He laid Herschel down into his bed and tucked the covers around him, kissing his forehead and smiling as his son’s sleepy mouth turned upwards at the corners a little, falling back into sleep again.

“Good night, Andromeda,” he whispered, turning to his daughter, tucked in beside her sister, her hair a dark flash on the pillow next to the nimbus of Cassie’s pale, fine hair. “Good night, Cassiopeia.”

The children help him mark the time - if Herschel was five, then it was eight years since the war had ended and seven years since Anna had agreed to marry him, and if ‘Meda was four, then it was three years since he sold Whitehall and moved them off Long Island to this newer, house across the sound, nearer York City proper, for Herschel had been two then, and 'Meda only one, and Cassie wasn’t even a thought yet until  Edmund showed Anna their new bed in their new bedroom and she thanked him for moving them out of the house that had pained her for so long.

It had seemed the better bargain, when Abraham Woodhull had promised it to him - one man who wanted a house to fill with books and papers and another man with a house he wanted nothing more to do with. But Whitehall had come with its own ghosts, though they troubled him less as time went on. He saw Richard in empty rooms and even after he’d filled them with his things the memories of him still lingered, shadows half-seen in the corners of looking glasses and at the edge of candle-lit circles.

And he knew Anna saw more ghosts than he. She’d known the house longer, with more of her hopes and dreams wrapped up in the woodwork - and dashed on the floors, too. (He forgot, sometimes, that in her youth she had meant to marry Abraham.) But somehow she endured it. Raised children in it.

There were good memories, too  - sipping madeira by the fire and talking into the night about philosophy, playing the pianoforte with his officers, the wedding night that had been so long postponed. If they ever returned to Long Island, he thought he might even be able to point out the spot on the lawn where they had begun again, she holding a letter she had once forged and he finding, once she had let him read it, that he could not look at her and hate her any longer.

What followed after that was a longer story, but it ended here, in their house, filled only with their memories, carrying their children up to bed. “Did you see your comet?” she asked, once she’d returned from banking down the fire in the parlor.

“Not tonight,” he admitted. “My calculations may be off a little. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Will you take Herschel with you?” she asked, shrugging out of her bodice and skirt and running a hand through her hair. Edmund allowed himself a moment to appreciate how she looked in the darkness of the room, a corona of candlelight around her head. “If he brings his soldiers he’ll quiet down soon enough.”

Edmund thought of the little lead figures, lined up across the usually pristine carpet in his observatory - and the sore feet he’d doubtless have after he stepped on at least one. “He’ll fall asleep,” he reminded his wife. “But yes, I’ll let him sit up with me.”

“Good. Now can you help me with this knot?” Anna asked, her mind clearly on other matters now that the business of Herschel was settled, and he turned, fiddling with the fastening on her stays for her.

“You will tie them too tight,” he admonished, fingers picking gingerly at the knot. “And you’ve no need of it, you know that.”

“I think they won’t do me much good, at this point.” Edmund looked up at his wife, ready to do battle with whatever demon she was fighting with about her figure, but she was smiling, in a somewhat apologetic manner. “But my calculations may be off a little, too.”

There was wonder in this, too, that he could not disguise, no matter how quickly she sprang the news on him. “No - another?” She smiled and nodded, pressing his hand along her belly where he could just feel the taut, rounded curve that, after three children, he was coming to know so well. “So soon?”

“It is not soon, Cassie is nearly three. And my husband has been very attentive of late,” she reminded him, butting him gently with her forehead in gentle admonition. “Are you pleased?”

“Only if you are,” he replied, taking her hands and letting them hang between them. “Herschel will demand a brother,” he observed with a smile, which made her laugh again and rest her forehead against his, their breathing mixed, bodies arched together into their own private cathedral.

“Herschel cannot get everything he wants.”He wanted to stay there for hours, to let the feeling of joy sink in, but he knew it was folly. A hundred things could happen between now and then, some of them bad and some of them good and none of them predictable in the slightest. The bed and sleep beckoned, and they went, but he could not help holding her close as she drifted off, her breathing slowing until it was barely perceivable. Another child! His heart was alight with it.  

This had not been his path, once - once he would have looked around at a house filled only with papers and books and telescopes and called himself content, but no more. Now he was more apt to move a battery of toy soldiers from atop his notes and fix a position so that a doll might also view the stars, and end the evenings in his observatory carrying sleeping children up to bed. And to all this there was to be another baby - another battery of sleepless nights and shoulders sore from carrying a restless babe, and dozens of missed observations and irritable children to boot.

Alas that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.

And, Shakespeare in mind, Edmund Hewlett went to bed smiling.

–

I was re-watching Season 1 and that exact Shakespeare quote is one that Hewlett and Richard Woodhull quote to each other when talking about Abe and Anna’s shared romantic past, and I thought - hey, isn’t this applicable to where Anna and Hewlett kind of are at this point in Season 4?  In context in Romeo and Juliet, I think Benvolio says the line with a little bit of sarcasm, and I imagine the same eye-rolling emphasis in how Hewlett imagines it at the end.

[livironheart]

Legends Never Die

Maybe if the Golden Law was still intact, we could have prevented the corruption from spreading so far within the guard, Otulissa thought bitterly as she ghosted along through the night, her cowl drawn up over her head. Returning to Stormwind had been a risk, but she wasn’t in any real legal trouble anymore. Still, members of the syndicate likely wanted her head, and she wasn’t about to give it to them.

Steering clear of Old Town, the ranger’s dark eyes took in the city streets as she walked along. They weren’t nearly as bustling as they were in the daytime, but there were still people about, and not all of them were shady. She saw a boy racing through an alleyway, a pair of lovers sitting by the canals, and weary guards looking as if they might fall over and pass out, perhaps nearing the end of their shift. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over her.

These familiar surroundings only served to encourage her in her task; she was going to seek out an old friend, one who she sorely needed to catch up with. Ducking into the Golden Keg, Otulissa stepped aside to clear the way to the door and edged up against the wall, surveying the tavern to see if her tip had proven correct. Within a few seconds, she spotted her.

Elise was just as old as the Gilnean now, but not quite as weathered. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, and Otulissa recognized the familiar freckles as well as the rogue tipped her head back in laughter, clear and bright. She was sitting at a larger table across from a dwarf and a gnome, eagerly sharing the entertaining stories of their day.

A shadow passed across the ranger’s expression. She remembered that joy, she remembered what it felt like to be so innocent. Elise was nearly forty years old, so how did she still have that brightness in her spirit? How had it not left her?

“Elise!” Otulissa called suddenly, stepping forward to pull her cowl down. Her own raven hair was tied in a side braid, better seen once the ranger moved into the light.

The rogue turned around, green eyes growing wide as if she’d seen a ghost. “Otu? Is that you?!” With a gasp, Elise jolted up from her chair, leaving her friends to their conversation and ran over to the ranger, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “It’s been ages, how have you been?”

“I can fill you in later, but life hasn’t been all that pretty,” the ranger replied, unable to stop her grin from spreading. Her friend had been sorely missed. “But I’m back, and I’m ready to get on my feet. Do you want to catch up, or were you planning on heading home to sleep soon?”

“Are you kidding? I have all the time in the world!”

“Oh, good! Should you, uh.. say goodbye to your friends?”

Elise glanced back at the dwarf and the gnome, both of them deep in chatter with one another, and grinned. “I actually don’t know them. But they both looked a little down, so I offered to buy them drinks. Looks like it picked them up better than anything else ever could. I’m a little worried about the gnome, though. She doesn’t look like she can handle much alcohol, and she’s not with the best influence right now.”

“Oh!” Otulissa blinked, slightly taken aback by Elise’s energy, but the positivity was more than welcome. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. He looks nice. I was thinking we could go down to the harbor?”

“The harbor sounds lovely. You have to tell me what you’ve been up to. I’ve been getting your letters, but it’s nice to finally see your face again for the first time in years.” Elise waved to the two at the table, then took the ranger’s hand and led her outside, the two quickly leaving the Dwarven District.

“And maybe you can finally tell me what happened in Arathi,” Otulissa replied quietly. “It’s been nagging at me for years.”

The rogue’s grip loosened, and she turned her saddened gaze upon the ranger. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured. “I didn’t have time to leave a note. The truth was, it was the deaders.”

“Deaders? That’s why you left without a word?” Her brow furrowed.

“I couldn’t sleep that night,” Elise started. “I went to get firewood and there was a group that had strayed pretty far. Or.. or maybe we had strayed far from our path. But they were armed, they were deadly. And they came around behind me, so I couldn’t run back to camp. And if I did, I would only have led them to you.”

Realization struck the ranger. The explanation was so easy, so simple. It had tortured her for years, wondering why her best friend and loyal companion had left her in the dead of the night. And now it was clear. “You led them away?”

The rogue nodded, leading her friend past the fountain behind the cathedral. “As soon as I lost them, I tried to find my way back to you. But in the highlands.. Everything looked the same, and I was lost. I had no idea where I was or where you were.”

“You know, for a former bandit, you’re pretty damn loyal. We probably could have fought them, though.”

“No. No, we couldn’t. We were young with maybe three weapons between us. There were a lot of them, they were trained, they were going to show no mercy. I’m sorry.” Elise studied the ranger’s expression for a long moment, her gaze soft. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that. And I should have made more of an effort to contact you when I finally found you in the city, but you were busy.”

“I would have made time for you,” Otulissa insisted. “I’m never too busy for you, Elise.”

The other woman frowned, her eyes shifting to the side. “We made plans to catch up, remember? You stood me up.”

Oh. The memory hit her like thunder. The order had been suddenly called out that night, and of course Otu had forgotten to inform Elise of the fact. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t.. I’m so sorry, Elise. I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean to, I know.” She smiled faintly, giving the Gilnean’s hand a comforting squeeze. “We’ve both made our mistakes, but I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me.”

“I do forgive you.”

“Then let us never separate again, how about that?”

Otulissa was unable to hold back a small smile of her own as the two of them finally passed through a small tunnel and looked out over the wide stretch of the harbor. “What is it you’re doing for work lately?”

“Oh, it’s just mercenary stuff,” Elise replied sheepishly, lifting her free hand to rub at her neck. “Nothing as noble as what you do, but it pays.”

“I haven’t done anything noble in a decade. I’m not going to judge what you do so long as you’re making a living off of it. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.”

“And I’m glad you’re doing well. Or.. kind of, I guess. Are you well?”

“Not so good as I’d like to be,” Otulissa mumbled, her eyes narrowing slightly at a figure silhouetted down at the end of one of the piers. “The guard has grown so corrupt that trying to take out the head of a syndicate brings both the criminals and the law down upon you, even if you fail.”

Elise cocked her head to the side, studying her friend carefully as she tried to discern her meaning. “Oh,” she said finally. “I’m sorry. No wonder you’ve been so scarce even now that you’re back from the Hinterlands. I’ll help you if you want to try again, you know.”

“I do want to try again, more than anything,” the ranger replied in a strained voice. “But I can’t. I made a promise.”

“A promise? You want to tell me more?”

Otulissa offered over a sad smile. “Another time, I’ll explain all the details. This world is full of horrible people, Elise. We can’t get rid of them all.”

“That’s fine, I can be patient. And.. I understand.” Elise shifted, staring down at the figure Otulissa had been looking at earlier, absently watching their movements. “In your letters, you mentioned you had a daughter. Olivier, right? How is she?”

“Highly emotional, highly unstable. Mixed in with the wrong crowd. I think she’s going to have to make some kind of decision over which path she wants to take. Teenagers, you know? One event can send them right over the edge.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. After all, you raised her.” Elise winked over at the woman.

“Not as well as I should have,” Otulissa breathed. “It’s my fault she doesn’t know how to act around people. I isolated her.”

“You had your reasons. You needed to keep yourself safe. I’m sure isolation is better than abandonment. It might have been worse if you just dropped her at an orphanage somewhere.”

“She’s very powerful, Elise. I don’t know how, but there’s something in her that I can’t quite place. I think the Kirin Tor would have snatched her up if I hadn’t protected her for as long as I did.”

Elise hummed softly for a moment in thought, then offered a nod, finally releasing her friend’s hand. “Then we’re in agreement. You did the best you could. It’s up to her to choose the right path, wherever she is. If she’s really got so much power, that can prove dangerous if she seeks out the darkness.”

“Thank you for caring.” Otulissa’s tone was genuine as she glanced over at the rogue again. “It’s not too late to name you godmother, is it?”

“Absolutely not. I would be honored.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

Elise blinked over at the ranger. “And what’s that?”

Otulissa drew in a long, slow breath. She wasn’t sure if Elise was ready or if she was willing to take up this offer, but if she was going all in, she could think of no one better to share her last moments with. She turned her imploring violet gaze fully onto her best friend.

“Come to Argus with me. I’m going into action again.”

[cafecalifornia]

The September Rain ~ Short story

Elizabeth’s house was washed in a sudden silence. It wasn’t quite that the air suddenly ceased to move, or that the boards in the walls slept instead of creaking in their subtle yet melancholy fashion. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but all of a sudden, sitting on the old leather couch and staring out the window at the mid-afternoon sky, her mind seemed to pause.

Her large hazel eyes swept across the room, taking in the old brick fireplace, the cloth lamp painted with horses, the orchid on the windowsill. It was so big now that the stem couldn’t hold all the weight, and its delicate pink flowers drooped all the way to the pot’s rim. Elizabeth shifted slightly. She thought, watching it sit there, that perhaps it looked more beautiful before. Maybe the years hadn’t done it well, but only gave it more density to hold up.

As she stared absentmindedly, lost in a trail of thought she’d never explored before, a soft sound pierced the air. She blinked, remembering that the window was open since it was another hot, muggy day of summer. The air had been sticky and warm all week, imprisoning her in the same tank top and pair of shorts day after day. She needed to go shopping, she quickly thought. But she was stopped yet again, not by the silence but by the tinkling of bells.

Her every muscle froze. An excitement bubbled up inside her, new yet chillingly old. Her sagging eyelids fluttered close. A smile spread across her mouth like butter.

Ahh yes, she remembered. The sound of the wind chimes, in early September, when it was almost autumn but not quite. She remembered being a young girl, maybe 8 or 9, when the first autumn breezes would return to the air. The other children would groan at their mothers as they dragged their sticky hands indoors to put on a coat. Dread would fill them as they realized summer was ending. But not her. Sure, she liked playing outside, but when the air became cool there was nothing better than going inside to have a cup of hot cocoa.

The sprinkle of chimes in the air awoke her. Elizabeth opened her eyes, a new life inside them as she saw the grey blanket that covered the sky. She could hear the wind now, swaying the maple tree in the yard. Its leaves curled and danced on each branch, just a few beginning their journey from green to red. If she watched a leaf for long enough, she could see it move to the music of her neighbor’s chimes. It swayed to a nonexistent song like a lonely ballerina, dipping and rising, billowing and crinkling.

As Elizabeth watched, she felt the breeze enter the room through the open window. But it wasn’t cold and biting like autumn, and definitely not winter. Against her face, it felt warm and inviting, not like the weather that send children home to put on their sweaters.

Elizabeth stood suddenly. It started as just a quiet tap, tap, tap, like a moth hitting the window late at night. But it grew all around her, louder and denser, larger and closer. And then the woman with the brown hair ran, through the living room and out the front door and into the rain, and she didn’t even remember that she wasn’t wearing shoes.

She was pelted instantly by a thousand little bullets. The rain came ruthlessly, bursting on her scalp and shoulders. They melted and oozed down her lacy cardigan, down her chest and into the cups of her bra. They ate the dryness away hungrily. The air was warm and thick, and the rain was cool and runny.

Now, it didn’t sound like bullets hitting the pavement. The sky was drenching the town without give, with barely a pause between raindrops until it sounded like the constant monotonous tone of a raging waterfall.

Elizabeth smiled widely. Rainwater poured down her lips onto her tongue, and she laughed. She raised her arms higher, and the droplets changed their path to dribble down to her shoulders. She stood for seconds, then minutes. She was no longer a girl getting wet in the rain. Now she was the rain.

She walked, her strides bright and lively, down her concrete pathway, past the driveway, onto the sidewalk. The lawns and trees and flowers all appeared rich and vibrant, colours exploding out of their physical capsules. She watched them pass by, house after house with only the sound of the rain and the muffled chimes. The warm, damp air smelled of soil and sweet jasmine, of spicey pine needles and earthy wood. Elizabeth’s nostrils stung in a way that was beyond tolerable.

Elizabeth kept up her pace, not knowing where she was going or why, but it didn’t matter. She just needed to be out in the rain. She knew, now, that this was much different than the rains she had as a child. She was never allowed in the rain. She was not let to run wild in the mud so she could feel it squish between her toes. She was not let to splash the puddle waters until they seeped into her rain boots. It was always too cold. But this, this beautifully unexpected yet perfect summer rain was all she needed.

Jacketless, raincoat-less, umbrella-less. Her hair, a good 10 shades darker, hung in clumps against her chest.

She took a second to stop, letting her heavy breaths drain to a calming rate. The euphoria past, she now felt an indescribable sense of peace. She blinked a few times, looking left across the street and right to the yard she now stood in front of. The rising and falling of her shoulders slowed as her gaze landed on the scene before her.

The tone of the rain, and nothing else, accompanied her. A white picket-fence with peeling paint wrapped its way around a yard and one-story house. Grass, unmowed and left to grow as tall as it could, wiggled as the rain landed on each blade. They curled around a trail of stepping stones, fairytale-esc and each of a different size. And then, against the wall of the house, an angel.

Elizabeth blinked. The angel was still. It was carved in stone: deep gray and speckled in white. Its body curved delicately down as she looked at her frozen hands. They were held in silent prayer, wishing for something that Elizabeth could not decipher. The rain washed the angel, the colors sank and bent like a messy watercolor painting. The sheets of water caught the edges of the angel’s wings, and they rippled and winked. Fuzzier, fuzzier, features shifting and popping like bubbles in a running bath. She knew the angel did not move, and that its soft stone face would always sit with closed eyes, but for a second she could almost see its wings flutter . . .

A giggle echoed through the rain. Elizabeth jumped, her head suddenly perked upright. Had the angel just laughed? But she heard the laugh again, and turned around to see a group of children playing in the yard on the other side of the road. A girl with a blue knitted cap chased another girl, perhaps 10 years old, and a boy, younger than the both of them. The second girl and boy had rich brown hair, clumping from the rain even as the girl’s was in two clubsy braids. They ran circles in the yard, their laughs sounding distant in the midst of the harsh rain. Their clothes and their smiles were bright, and although seemingly opposite of the dreary sky itself, they fit in like acrobats to a circus.

Elizabeth watched, a yearning growing in her chest. She remembered once again, like she did when she sat on her couch, but now with desperation. The rain buzzed her like wine for an alcoholic.

Sunday mornings, she remembered. She’d be woken up early by her mother’s soft shakes and given a cup of tea, green with lemon. And her mother’s warm hands would take her small one, holding it tight as they arrived to church. They’d step inside the cathedral, hearing the rain tickle the stained glass and she’d wish for nothing but to go out and feel it on her skin. When they did go out, to walk from the doors to the car, she’d look up. She could still feel her mother’s hand tugging hers along as she’d look up at the carved angels. She wondered why they were there, or if they ever wanted to leave the church’s roof and journey up to the heavens where they belonged.

And later, on Sunday afternoons, after being given a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and reading a few chapters of Charlotte's Web on the squishy chair, her friends would stop by. And as their parents busy in conversation didn’t notice, they’d slip out the door, into the rain, into the front yard, playing tag and flashing their bright raincoats.

Elizabeth began walking forwards. She squinted through the rain’s distortion, as if the shapes before her were intangible. But as her footsteps reached across the street, they became clearer, their rosy cheeks more defined until she could see the little girl’s eyes . . .

The girl! The girl! Elizabeth stumbled, the recollection flashing before her yet again: 9 years old, brown and messy hair, hazel eyes, faded freckles. She could see herself as if it were through a mirror to her past. The girl ran and ran, circles as she held a little boy’s hand.

Who are you, who are you? Her distressed call was a silent one, and the girl with the braids took no notice. Elizabeth?

Could it be, she wondered, that it was her? All sense of reality had washed down the gutter with the rain. She couldn't help it. She watched as the girl laughed again and it rang through the air with so much power that she had to believe it. Her eyes were just the same, the same as the ones she had as a child. And her hair, soft and sporadic, was just as she remembered as a girl. Her footsteps sloshed against the puddles next to the sidewalk.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” she called, her voice breaking. She couldn’t tell any longer if the wetness that preceded down her chin was the rain or her tears.

The girl looked up, the hood of her raincoat falling against her back and her white knuckles holding the little boy’s firmly.

“Please,” Elizabeth seemed to whisper. The rain drummed on. What did she want? What was she asking for? What was the angel in the yard praying for? What?

“Take me with you! Please, don’t go. I want to stay,” she was sobbing now, her words broken up as her shoulders shook and her hands came to cover her mouth.

Safety. Serenity. Youth. Innocence. She reached out to the girl . . .

The one with the blue cap had run away to the other side of the house, but the one with the braids stayed. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows dented in confusion. She didn’t blink as every other muscle of her face seemed almost completely blank.

“Mommy?”

Upon hearing the girl’s voice, Elizabeth stopped. So did the rain, it seemed. She couldn’t feel its coolness. She couldn’t see anything at all, nothing except for the girl’s eyes. She watched them as they slowly pooled with tears.

“What are you doing, Mommy?” The girl’s soft voice was powerless against the rain, and held, no doubt, a little fright.

Elizabeth felt her body sinking, sinking, sinking, as she realised the baneful truth. She stood there, an idealistic lunatic, the rain filling the cracks in her skin, as she felt her own eyes sting. She was overwhelmed with a sickly embarrassment. Oh, how could she, in her impassioned idiocy? What sort of woman would scare her own daughter like that?

Her hands reached up to the girl’s cheeks and cupped them there. The girl blinked and looked down. Her younger brother was behind his big sister, peeking around her arm cautiously and clutching to her sleeve with all his might.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Elizabeth sobbed. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

He blinked up at her. She blinked back. For a second, she could see into his eyes. The carelessness that rested there, the softness of a baby bird or the purity of a spring flower. She could begin to imagine herself resting in a meadow of flowers, with early morning sunshine and the faint squabble of birds dipping in the horizon.

“Mommy.”

It wasn’t a question this time. Elizabeth’s eyes flickered back over to the girl’s, who’s pupils were dilated.

Elizabeth felt her eyes water as well, though the rain had already washed them a thousand times. She took a shaky breath and let it out with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Clara. I guess I just got lost in the past.”

Clara paused. “But you’re right here.”

Elizabeth squatted down so she could look straight into those pail brown eyes. They looked back at her. Not in glory and perfection, but in smallness and dependence. They would not look out into the fragile world and over the distant cities, but they would look to Elizabeth, who would speak of the fragile world and paint distant cities for her. Elizabeth was not a rain-prancer any more. She was not a frolicker or a careless dreamer. She finally smiled.

“You’re right. I am.”

She hugged her daughter close, Clara’s hair tickling her cheek as her tiny hands eventually gave her mother a thankful pat. Elizabeth then went to Sammy, and when all the hugging and sobbing was out of the way and she was sure the stickiness on her nose was just rain water, she gave both a kiss on the forehead and, with one hand in left and the other in the right, made the journey back to the house.

Back in their home, Elizabeth helped change Clara and Sammy into sweatpants (plaid for Clara and baby-blue for Sammy). She sat them at the kitchen table with bananas while she proceeded to shut every window in the house and mop the now rather large puddle on the floor in front of the couch.

With a last heave into the broom closet, she returned to her children in the kitchen and leaned against the sink as she picked at her softened cuticles.

“What about Ava?” Clara asked as she sloshed her banana peel around on the table.

Elizabeth let her shoulders drop and gave a weak smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll see her tomorrow and we can plan another playdate for the two of you.”

“Inside this time,” Clara added with a tilt of her head.

“Yes,” Elizabeth laughed, “inside this time.”

They stayed there for the rest of the day, as the colors out the window smeared like a melted oil painting, and the children’s hair was dried and brushed until it was shiny once again. She made them cups of hot chocolate and mac and cheese for dinner, which included a side of frozen peas that no one really wanted. Finally, when the black wind gave its most mighty roar, she tucked them into bed with a last kiss on the cheek.

Elizabeth’s footsteps paused as she stood in the hallway overlooking the living room. A second was taken to breathe, perhaps trying to let go of whatever happened that afternoon, or perhaps just because she was tired. The night billowed there, unseen in the shadows that hung from the potted plants and the picture frames scattered on the mantelpiece. Just a hint of moonlight, as it broke through the condensing fog, crawled across the sofa and the coffee table like a slow ghost. It was all silence again. Elizabeth could hear her breaths through, in and out, out and in, as her feet grounded her to the cool floor.

The rain was a soft pitter now. The house was warm and dry. The empty hot chocolate mugs were sitting in the sink. Charlotte's Web was laid open on the couch where Clara had left it. The orchid stood on the windowsill. Its petals didn’t quite look so droopy any more.

No, Elizabeth thought, it still had a ways to go.

[backroadblues]

May 26th, 2017 - Bellagio, Italy

May 27th, 2017 - Venice, Italy

Having spent a beautiful day and evening in Bellagio on Lake Como, we must now say goodbye. Our itinerary takes us today to beautiful Verona and then on to Venice. The drive from Bellagio directly to Venice would take us about 4 hours, so we decide to break the drive up with a quick stop in the beautiful city of Verona.

Before we can get our trip underway, we must first have breakfast in the beautiful little dining room at the hotel. A breakfast is provided with our room. The offering is quite nice. There is the traditional yogurt, pastries, breads, fresh fruit, juices and cured meats, but we are also treated to soft or hard boiled eggs. Trent, Elisa and I join each other for breakfast while Carolyn packs her “small” bag to get ready for the trip to Venice. When Trent, Elisa and I finish we go to check-out and load the car up while Carolyn has breakfast.

With our bodies now fully refueled, we set off on our European road trip. To get to Verona, we must first navigate our way out of Bellagio by going back down the narrow mountain road. This time we are leaving fairly early in the morning at a little past 9:00 am and fortunately for us traffic is sparse. However, there are more bicyclists on the road at this hour than there are automobiles. The Giro Di Italia bicycle race is going on right now, and it it passing near here. This seems to have inspired every amateur cyclist to hit the road. To bad for us they had to do it on this narrow mountain road. We in turn must dodge the cars that are dodging the cyclists. Once again, we make our way down into the town of Lecco without incident. As we reach Lecco, we change direction heading toward the larger city of Bergamo where we will pick up the Autostrada that will take us to Verona. After about 2-½ we are pulling into Verona. Both Carolyn and Trent have slept most of the way and as they awaken as we are pulling into Verona, the both say, “gee that didn’t take too long”. I say in my head, “of course not, you were both snoring”.

Verona is a very large city that has sprawled well beyond the walls and monuments within the ancient part of the city. We make our way through this sprawl with the ancient Roman amphitheater as our targeted destination. It is now about 11:40 AM and it is clear that many tourists have made the ancient part of Verona a key destination. It is crowded. As we drive, we pass near a McDonalds with its Golden arches blazing. Although none of us really care for McDonalds food when we are back home, we find ourselves yearning for some of this classic American comfort food. We pull in and immediately, we find that this McDonalds is not like the ones we have at home. This one has a McCafe in the front half of the store that has an Espresso machine that is huge. Also, the selection of pastries and cakes and tortes is huge. We struggle to make our way past it to the counter where we can order some burger and fries. Here the ordering process is different than we are accustomed to. We must first place our orders at computerized kiosks. The menu is mostly similar to what we see at home - with the usual suspects - Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, Fries, etc. We place our orders on the kiosks and are then issued a receipt with a number on it and we go to pick up our food at a counter that is more reminiscent of what we see at home. As we collect our food, we are are chuckling at the sight of us eating burgers and fries while we are traveling in one the the worlds best countries that is noted for its cuisine. Instead, we much on these burgers amongst the locals. Except for the language we could be sitting any any other McDonalds restaurant back home.

Once again being refueled, we are back in the car and quickly find covered public parking near the Coliseum. The space available is like the streets leading to Bellagio - narrow. I wedge the mini-van into the space and somehow contract my body so that I can get out of the car. We make the short walk to the ancient monument and stand i awe. Verona is home to one of the best preserved ancient amphitheater. This theater was built in 39AD.

It is rumored that it was constructed for the people of Verona when the nearby Bergamo Spartans - a gladiatorial team became dissatisfied with their ancient amphitheater in Bergamo. They had requested that the city of Bergamo build them a new one, but when the people declined, the team up and moved to nearby Verona, whose citizens were willing to take on the tax burden of building this lovely Roman amphitheater.

Perhaps I’ve taken some literary liberties here to highlight the point that there really is no future - it is simply the past repeated. What is the most stunning fact about this amphitheater that seats up to 35,000 attendees is that it is still in use today. It has been lovingly preserved - not restored. On this day, workers are preparing for a major performance inside of the arena. Think about this. This structure is almost 2000 years old and it is still serving the people of Verona just as it did in 39AD. In the states, we declare stadiums obsolete and demolish them after 50 or 60 years. It really is a crazy thought.

We could go into the amphitheater, but the line for tickets is long and we are short on time as we must arrive in Venice as a prescribed time to pick up the keys to our Air B and B apartment. When we were last here in 2009, there was no admission to the key sites such as the amphitheater and the cathedrals. Now the cities are searching for all forms of revenue. Residents and tourists alike must now pay for access - even for the public and many private restrooms. It is unfortunate.

After we see the coliseum we then make our way towards the home of Juliet - of Romeo and Juliet fame. You see, the old tale of Romeo and Juliet that is so cleverly told by William Shakespeare in the late 1500’s was actually influenced by tale of tragic love that was based on a true story here in Verona. The story of the feuding Montague and Capulet families actually took place. Juliet had been betrothed by her parents to another, but alas, she was in love with young Romeo. Like me, Shakespeare took some literary license with the original tale and his rebelling was a much bigger seller than the original tale - it is still read by virtually every high-school student in the world. When we last here, a visit to the ancient home of Juliet and its fabled balcony was somewhat of a side trip that was not on the key list of sights to see in this town. Once again, Rick Steves has ruined it (just kidding) this little alcove is now swarmed with tourists of all nationalities. Also, now for a few Euro’s tourists can pay for the opportunity to stand on the very balcony where Juliet sought out her forbidden lover chanting those immortal words, “Romeo, Romeo, where forth art thou…”. now today we get to see those words uttered in every possible language by shabbily dressed tourists. Somehow this particular site has lost a lot of its past charm - I feel like I"m in Disneyland.

Another interesting thing about the city of Verona is that they have done a very clever job of merging the new with the old. To get to the home of Juliet and many of the other ancient sites, you now navigate a wide pedestrian mall that is lined with high-end shops. It is sort of like a “Rodeo drive” of Beverly Hills fame has been transported to Italy. We make a quick stroll to some of Verona’s other key sites, its Duomo, the Ancient Roman stone bridge build in about 100BC - again it is still in use today. Those romans really built things to last back then. After getting about 15000 steps in with our walking tour of Verona we make our way back to the car so we can head on into Venice. This led will be about 1-½ hours to get us to where we will park outside of Venice. We will then need to take a couple of different modes of transportation to actually get to our apartment in Venice. Our host has suggested we consider parking in Piazzale Roma as that will be nearer to where we will need to catch a boat that will take us to the St Marks area where our Apartment is. Trent is driving us there on this leg and he does a great job getting us there. As we are a seeking parking, the place is a madhouse of cars everywhere. Clearly it will be crowded in Venice. We are promptly advised that there is no long term parking available here and we must head back to the Tronchetto area to park. So Trent manages to maneuver us through all the traffic so we can make a u-turn and get back to Tronchetto. We quickly find parking but getting out of the garage with all our luggage is a bit tricky. There is no signage anywhere directing tourists like us how to get to transportation that will take us into Venice. We finally figure out that we must buy a ticket for a people mover that will take us back to Piazzale Roma, which is were we just were. From there we can either take a private water taxi or the Vaporetto (public water bus) to our location. We opt for the charm and relatively in expensive Vaporetto. We must go to the Arsenale stop where our hostess Marta will be meeting us to take us to our apartment. It takes us about an hour but we finally get there. Marta is a young girl that works for a company that has about 100 different B&B apartments here in Venice. Our apartment is modest but located very near to St Marks square. We get settled and decide to head out to take is some of the sights. We stroll along canals and through different squares and then make our way out to the Grand Canal. We stroll past the Doges Palace and into St. Marks where we see the beautiful Cathedral.

Surprisingly, the crowds in Venice seem to have thinned a bit. It looks like some of the tourists from the 4 cruise ships that are in port have headed back to their berths for the evening. We welcome the relative calm that has begun to fall over the city of enchantment. Eventually, we find a restaurant - Vecio Canton that our hostess had recommended. We all cool down with some beverages. It seems that coldest beverage one can order in Italy is Birra ala Spina - or beer on tap. We all partake and welcome the refreshment. This evening, Trent and Carolyn both order the sautéed scallops as their starters, and for their mains Trent orders a steak with creamy green peppercorn sauce and Carolyn has the Spaghetti in meat sauce. Elisa has a salad as a starter and Spaghetti (gluten free) Carabonarra, a egg and cheese sauce with pancetta or smoked ham. I have a small pizza with spicy salami. The food is good, the water charming and the beers nice and cold. You can’t ask for more. We decide to skip desert in the restaurant and opt instead to head back St. Marks Square where we can sit and have a gelato.

We make our way back to the square that is modestly occupied by tourists and locals. Everyone is sitting at a cafe table outdoors. There are many that have live musicians playing contemporary and classical Italian favorites. It is interesting, the bands are positioned all along the square and each takes turns playing for the guest sitting before them. We hear Andrea Bocellis’s classic Conte Partiro about 4 times, each played by a different band somewhere along the large square. It is thrilling each time.

With desert finished we take inventory of our step count for the day - we are well over 20,000 steps as we call it a night. We are weary but happy. We did and saw a lot on a day that was punctuated with 4 hours of driving. No wonder we are tired.

That’s all for now. More later. Ciao!

[bunvoyagesarah]

El Camino de Santiago de Compostela

I am verry behind on writing this.  About three months behind. I will do my best to recap.  And luckily, for this part, I kept a pretty detailed journal.  

Monday, January 13 Day 1- O2 Hostel to Se Cathedral de Porto to Foz de Duoro to Matosinhos to Lavra to Labruge 30km/18miles

Bruno and I discussed leaving at 7am.  I had barely slept because I was nervous about getting lost and worried about carrying my bags.  At 7am, I was ready to walk out the door.  Bruno, however was still in his bed asleep. I will admit, I did not know him very well and thought, “Should I just leave him or should I wake him up? We said 7am right?” I decided to give it another 10 minutes, and sure enough, by then he was awake and moving. We left around 7:25am. I’ll tell you right now because I wish I had known then: We never once left on time despite Bruno asking me every night what time we should leave in the morning.  

Bruno and I set out to the Central Portuguese Route of El Camino from our hostel in Porto.  I had read that the Coastal Route, whilst getting out of Porto city is much nicer, so we walked along the Duoro River for most of the morning and then the next day we would be able to meet up with the Central path.  We stopped for lunch along the path. Bruno kept saying, “Oh we’ll be there by 12.” We were not there by 12. We met another Brazilian guy, Arturo who gave us lots of tips, as he had already hiked El Camino Frances route a year earlier.  He recommended the app that I was still trying to figure out, Buen Camino.

We arrived at 2:15pm to Albergue de Labruge, our friend Arturo kept walking another 10km to the next town.  The albergues don’t usually open until about 2pm and because it was winter, there was no one there. Either way, we wanted to rest.  We waited a few minutes and then a girl appeared to have us register in their book, show us where the donation box was, and put a stamp in our “passports.” I had been worried that the albergue would be full, as I had read that so many people walk and they only have so many beds. That was never the case along the entire route.  In fact, we had the opposite occur, where Bruno and I were the only people in some of the places we stayed.  

I was very sore. I laid down on the bed in all my clothes and multiple blankets and took a nap.  I woke up still very sore with a blister on my pinky toe.  You know your feet are sore when you don’t want to put on your shoes, but they are better to cushion your feet than walking barefoot.  I unfortunately did not have any flip-flops to wear.  Eventually, some older Spanish men showed up, and then much later, a German man. I did not have a sleeping bag, and there was not much heating in this old building. Luckily, there were only five of us in the room with 10 single beds, so I stole three blankets, and used one to put down on the plastic mattress and used the others on top of me. This first day was hard. I actually wrote in my journal, “What was I thinking?” After the nap and shower, I felt better, and by morning, I was ready to go again.  

Tuesday, January 14 Day 2- Labruge to Vila de Conde to Touguinha to Junqueira to Acros to San Pedro de Rates 27.6km/17.15miles

We left at 7:45am.  Bruno had suggested instead of strapping my small backpack to the back of my big backpack that I carry the small backpack in the front of my body, like a baby carrier.  This ended up being a lot more comfortable and I continued to walk this way for the rest of the journey.  I did shove a lot of my things, my computer being one of thing into my larger 55 liter backpack, so more of the weight was on my hips, compared to my shoulders with my front backpack.   

Again, by 12:30pm, I was very tired.  My back was very sore.  I am now in a love-hate relationship with my hiking buddy.  It was love because he kept me going, but hate because he asked so many questions when sometimes I just wanted silence.  

We arrived to the albergue at 2:25pm.  This albergue in Rates was run by an older guy who lived on the Camino for years. He had no phone and he sits in the living room reading all day.  He recommended a place to eat with big portions and got us settled into our room. Bruno and I were in a room with five bunk beds, so luckily I had lots of blankets again.  Later, a German guy named Jonas was put into another room with probably another five bunk beds.  We were the only three people to sleep there that night.  I was quickly finding the shower at the end of the day to be the best thing in the world.  It warmed me and relaxed all my tired muscles.  

Jonas and I ended up getting a dinner and drinks at the restaurant recommended by the albergue.  It was about seven euros for the pork schnitzel, salad, potatoes, and half a bottle of wine.  This was the only dinner I ate out during my journey. The albergue was a five euro donation.

Wednesday, January 15 Day 3- San Pedro de Rate to Pedra Furada to Pereira to Bacelinhos to Barcelos to Tamel (San Pedro de Fins) 33km/21miles

We left at 8:53am and it had been raining pretty hard overnight and when we woke up, but by about 8:40am, it had stopped so we left then. We ran into Jonas, the German from the night before along the trail but he was stopping in Barcelos, so we never saw him again after that. Bruno and I had made good time to Barcelos, so decided to keep going to Tamel even though Barcelos is a bigger town.  

It was getting dark by the time we arrived at 5:50pm. And the rain was just starting in the last 100 meters, so we arrived a little wet. Again we were the only ones there on arrival.  This bunk room had about eight bunk beds and was pretty cold with no blankets. Two German girls arrived in from even more rain and darkness.  After talking to them for a bit, they went to bed.  We snuck the small portable space heater from the laundry area up to our room and plugged it in. The one girl wanted me to turn it off, so I said, “Sure, before I go to sleep.” Bruno had not yet come up to the room, and I knew full well that he’d turn it back before going to sleep, so lucky for me I didn’t freeze.  The girl turned it off in the middle of the night, but come morning, I turned it back on. They were gone before we got downstairs.  

Thursday, January 16 Day 4- Tamel to Corgo  10km/6miles 

We left Tamel just before 9am. We had heard about this homestay in Corgo called Casa de Fernanda from the guy in Rates, but knew it was not very far. Figured we could use a short day. I had also really wanted to stay there, as it was a home cooked meal by Fernanda and breakfast in the morning with her husband, Juanito.  

Because it was such a short day, we arrived at 11:15am, despite Bruno walking in flip flops for most of the morning because his shoes were bothering him. We sat outside for an hour or two and that’s when Juanito showed up and talked to Bruno for a little in Portuguese and then let us into the building where they had about twelve single beds in a room and a bathroom. Juanito brought us out soup and bread, which was so nice. Around dinner time, Fernanda called us over for dinner.  She made this amazing roasted chicken with beans and sausage and sauce over rice along with bread and cabbage. She served us her homemade red wine and then after dinner, different types of Port including my favorite: Tawny Port. Then the “fire water.” We had a great time talking with Fernanda about how she became somewhat of a legend on the Central Route.  What had started as a woman knocking on her door about twenty years ago looking for a place to stay has become a building with 12 beds.  While we were the only people to stay there that night, she often takes “reservations” for people.  She can also sleep two people on the porch, which some people hate, and some people request. She also mentioned how they had to put the sign up about the suggested donation of 20 Euros and how she feels bad doing it, but otherwise people leave nothing. She lives in the house with her husband, and happened to be picking up her daughter from college that night, but the three of them had a meal together later.  

Friday, January 17 Day 5- Corgo to Valinhas to Barros to Ponte de Lima to Rubiaes 38km/23.6miles

In the morning, Fernanda had gone but her husband served us tea and bread with jam or chorizo and cheese. Despite telling Bruno we should really leave by 9am, we didn’t leave the kitchen until 9am and we’re walking by 9:20am.  I found I really liked to leave before 8am because I seemed to get tired around noon regardless, so the further I could get before noon, the better. I met two Ukrainian women who spoke very little English, but we each took some pictures for the other and then a selfie together.    

I had planned for us to spend the night in Ponte de Lima, which would have been about 14km, but we got there by 12:20pm, and even though it was a big town that was beautiful, we were well rested from the day before. I convince Bruno we should go all the way to Rubiaes and definitely didn’t mention that there was a big hill on the way.  However, it took us some time to get through Ponte de Lima after stopping at an ATM for me and a grocery store for lunch and extra snacks, so after climbing this 500m hill, we stopping for a few minutes for the view, we continues on our descent.  I remember we kept saying to each other that we should be there about 5:30, and giving ourselves until 6pm to get there with breaks.  The last 40 minutes was in the dark, with my headlamp dead and Bruno’s windup flashlight leading the way.  We were so happy to finally arrive.  Normally, there would be lots of places to stay between these two bigger towns, but because it was January, many of the homestays or private albergues were closed due to low demand and left us staying at the cheaper, public albergues that run on donations in Portugal or eight Euros per person in Spain and are only in the bigger towns roughly 20-30km apart. The homestays and private albergues are necessary in the summer, as sometimes you can’t get into the public albergues if you show up too late, but so far we hadn’t been running into many people and this was not an issue for us at all.  

We go to open the door and it’s locked and there’s a sign saying they close at 6pm! We try and another door and are talking to each other about what to do for maybe a minute, when this woman pokes her head out of a window from the 2nd floor right above the front door.  She says the front desk lady left, but she’s going to come down and see if she can open the door for us.  

(Side note: These albergues are usually “open” from 2pm-8 or 9pm, which is just to say that’s when someone is there to give you a bed, stamp your “passport,” and collect the donation or fee for staying. Once the front desk agent leaves, the front door is locked from the outside with no way to get back in and you, as a pilgrim are not really suppose to let people in, as it could be a “security problem”.  There’s always a door to leave out of in the morning that will lock behind you, whether it’s a side door or front door.)

This woman came down a minute later and opened the door for us.  Her and her husband were the only people staying there and we were so thankful for them, otherwise we likely would have slept next to the building. Instead, we had a nice space heater, and there were lots of blankets in our four bunk bed room. Bruno ran out to the store, another couple kilometers away, which I couldn’t believe after we had such a long day. Meanwhile, I made a pasta dinner and chatted with the couple who were very nice.  

Saturday, January 18 Day 6- Rubiaes to Cossourado to Pedreira to Valenca 20km/12.6miles

We left at 9:10am. Bruno and I had talked about going all the way into Spain, just a couple more kilometers, but about halfway through the day decided to finish in Valenca, mostly because it the albergue would be cheaper and donation based rather than the required eight Euros that we were told (and did) happen in Spain. It also started raining very hard just as we were approaching the albergue, so we were drenched coming in around 2pm.  We dropped all our stuff in the laundry area to dry and then checked in. This front desk guy was adamant about not letting strangers in, probably because then the building wouldn’t be collecting any money from them.  

I now had blisters on both my ankles, under the balls of my feet and the underside of my left pinky toe was one big blister. I had found a sign that advertised someone picking up my bag and taking it straight to Santiago for 30Euros, but in the end decided against it, as I was now that much stronger and felt like I had already come so far with my bag that I could finish with it too.

There was a large grocery store very close to our albergue, that I spent some time in there.  One of my favorite things to get was six eggs. I would hard boiled all of them that night and carry them for a snack the next couple days.  I also ate a lot of oranges as snack/lunch.  Usually at night I had pasta. And for breakfast, some Brevita biscuits.  

We were the only people in this huge albergue. There were at least two rooms each with 30 bunk beds (60 people).  I can’t imagine how loud and busy it must be in the summer with all those beds full and bags everywhere.  Bruno and I took about three beds each, drying out our stuff, spreading out our toiletries, and taking turns in the bathroom’s shower area without having to get dressed in the stall.  On the downside, there were a lot less people on the route to talk to and not people hanging out in the albergues.  

Sunday, January 19 Day 7- Valenca to Tui to O Porrino 25.7km/16miles

Bruno and I left right at 9am. The old fortress that was right next to the albergue was the first thing we walked to.  I lost Bruno in there, knowing he liked fortresses from his Army days and would be stopping lots to take YouTube videos and pictures.  I didn’t see him for the rest of the day, although when I lost him, I never thought he was THAT far behind me, so when I ran into the German couple from Rubiaes, and they asked where Bruno was, I said he was right behind me, little did I know he would be hours behind me by the end of the day.  

It was a beautiful day and also an actual trail rather than cobblestones or pavement which is much harder on your feet. Then I crossed the bridge into Tui, Spain, walked along the river for a bit. At one point the path split in two. I took the “complimentary” path, which I had quickly googled was more of a trail and nature.  

I arrived at the albergue in O Porrino at 3:30pm and the sign on the door says they open at 3pm, but no one is there. After sitting outside in the sun for a bit, I googled other places to stay and found a nearby hostel for 10Euros a night. The girl at the hostel tells me the albergue is closed for the winter.  I am pretty sure Bruno is never going to find me here, but shoot him a message for when he gets wifi again and think maybe we’ll meet in the future.  

This hostel is so nice, with sheets, a blanket, a bedside lamp, and a curtain over the bed, it’s amazing, but my level of luxury shot way up.  I even went back out and walked through the town looking to see if I could see Bruno coming into the village and tell him the public albergue was closed, but I didn’t see him.  I was making some more hard boiled eggs when all the sudden Bruno comes up to the door. I go to let him as it’s a buzzer system with the front desk.  He is just as surprised as I am that we’ve found each other! The girl at the front desk was already gone by the time he arrives at 5:30pm so I just show him an empty bed, since even though there were more people here than most places, there are still a lot of empty beds.  The girl ends up coming back due to another customer’s issue with his room.  Bruno ended up hiding on the bed behind the curtain and never had to pay, although we split the share of my bed.  

I have found that 25km is a good distance for a day.  Too much more is exhausting, and much less you feel unaccomplished.  However, now in Spain, there’s very little options for where to stay, so we’re pretty much stuck doing about 20km for the rest of the journey.  

Monday, January 20 Day 8- O Porrino to Mos to Redonela 18km/11.25miles

Bruno’s foot was bothering him, so he stayed at the hostel in the morning to ice his foot down.  I was starting out very slow every morning as my muscles needed to loosen up.  I stopped by a sign and took a couple timer-pics to show I had less than 100km to go.

About 15 minutes later, this Kiwi woman came up behind me and we walked the rest of the day together, which made it go by so fast. She had a lot less stuff than I did, as she had her bag shipped and was staying in hotels along the way that were organized for her by a tour company, which just goes to show that there are so many different types of pilgrims and everyone can do it. It was great talking with her, as she grew up in Dunedin, where I did a semester of university.  We ate lunch together in Redonela, and by the time we were finishing Bruno was arriving, so she met him after hearing me talk about him all day.  She then continued onto Arcade where her bag was waiting for her.  

There are a few other people in our albergue, Lucasz (Polish) and Viktor (Spanish) and another guy we never saw. I did my laundry in the washing machine and dryer here, which was very nice to wear some clean clothes again! There was also a festival happening outside of our albergue, so around 8pm, a large parade of people went by with horns and drums and people dressed in Catholic robes.   Tuesday, January 21 Day 9- Redonela to Soutomaier to Arcade to Ponteverde 21km/13.3miles

I started without Bruno again, but this time told him which albergue I’d be going to.  I left around 8am thought I was going very slow, even though I never saw anyone from the albergue in Redonela pass me.  I ran into Lynn, the Kiwi, during the last 5km and we walked the rest of the way together.  

I was the first to arrive at this albergue, and it wasn’t even open.  This strange man with rainbow colored hair came over and started to crack my back and give me a shoulder massage.  It was all very weird, but also felt good.  As soon as I was able to check in, I went to walk around the village and to a grocery store to pick up some food for dinner and lunch the next day.  By the time I got back to the albergue, there were a lot more people, with Bruno, Viktor, and Lucasz being three of them.  I got another massage from Luis, also known as Rainbow Hair Man by our group and fell asleep very early.

Wednesday, January 22 Day 10- Ponteverde to Caldes de Reis 27km/17miles

I left the hostel around 8:40am and it was just getting light out due to the one hour time change we had when we entered Spain. The Brazilians (a husband and wife and their friend) left around the same time and I walked shortly behind them for most of the day.  They didn’t speak much English.  Luis, Rainbow Hair Man, was also walking with us in the beginning, and I kept thinking he must just be showing his Brazilian friends how to get through the town, and then he just kept walking, and walking, all while not carrying anything, not even water, and just in his tie-dye hoodie, elephant pants, and flip flops all the way to Caldes de Reis.

Since I was walking alone, I decided to listen to two “How I Built This” episodes.  These really helped the time to go by quickly.  

I arrived to the albergue around 2:30pm, again before anyone else. The Brazilians, I saw went into another place for the night.  After walking around for a little bit, I went back to the albergue, and Viktor and Bruno were outside.  I mentioned to Bruno that he could probably sneak into this one too if he wanted to. He left and came back a little later for me to sneak him in. Then out of nowhere, the guy that had checked me in came up to the four bedroom apartment and started knocking on doors to find the pilgrim that had snuck in.  Bruno fessed up and went down to pay.  The rest of our “crew” was there- 1 Czech girl (Kate), 1 German girl (Victoria), Viktor and Lucasz. We sat around having dinner in a very cramped kitchen.  

Thursday, January 23 Day 11- Caldes de Reis to Padron 21km/13miles

I am almost there! I walked alone again today and took some breaks just to sit as my legs were tired. At this point, I was taking ibuprofen every morning just to get through the initial pain of my stiff muscles and blisters on my feet.   

This town was bigger than most, but still quite small.  There was a man that owned a bar on the corner that watches the pilgrims come in and has them all sign a book.  He has dozens of filled books from the pilgrims and tons of country/El Camino memorabilia from people—shells, pennants, flags, pictures, etc. I walked around town with Viktor for a little bit, and got a couple extra stamps from the cathedral and bar man.  

I booked three nights in a hostel in Santiago when I got to the albergue around 2pm. I’m excited to have a sheet on the bed with a blanket. Everyone from our group and the Brazilians are in this albergue, along with some new people, as this is the last big albergue before Santiago.

Friday, January 24 Day 12- Padron to Santiago de Compostela 29km/18miles

Bruno and I agreed we would walk the last day together.  I, of course, was waiting for him to leave at the time we had agreed on, but alas we left at about 8:50am. Nothing too exciting happened along the walk, except that we were excited to arrive in Santiago.  The last two hours my knee really started to bother me and I took more ibuprofen.  I knew I could rest in Santiago once we arrived and pushed through the pain to the end. 

Santiago de Compostela is a big enough city and the arrows pointing us on the right path had been there at every point along the last 280km, until the very last two kilometers when I had to pull out my map just to get us to the Cathedral.  We actually had to ask someone for directions. And then we came up to the side of the Cathedral and were impressed and stopped to take pictures and I was ready to collapse.  Bruno wanted to keep going around the corner and after being dragged around the corner, I was like, “Oh, this is it!” Victoria and Kate were sitting on square in front of the Cathedral and I joined them while Bruno had a moment with God. Victor arrived shortly after with food and then the Brazilians came and we cheered them on.  It was nice to have our group together and we sat in the sun for hours together admiring the Cathedral, chatting, and drinking some beers to celebrate.  Then we went to the office to get our official certificates of completion.  Apparently, you can wait for hours in line to get your “passport” checked and receive your certificate.  We were the only people there and it took no more than five minutes for all five of us to get our certificates.   Then we went into the Cathedral, which is currently undergoing renovations, but we were still able to see some stuff inside despite a lot of scaffolding. We went in groups as they didn’t allow big bags. Kate then left for her Couchsurfing host’s place.  The rest of us went onto my hostel, where they also booked beds for the night. We then all freshened up and went to the grocery store to make dinner.  We decided to do a group dinner. Viktor made a Spanish omelet, Victoria made a salad, I made fudge for dessert, and Bruno was in charge of beer and wine.  We had cheese and crackers, a seafood pastry, and chips, so by the end, we each spent 12 Euros and were stuffed. We ran into Lucasz on the way back from Cathedral tour and he met us for the beginning of the dinner, but then had to go.  Kate and her couchsurfing host came for part of dinner too and then we all went on a tour of Santiago at night with her host. I was exhausted and crashed right after the tour while Victoria, Bruno, and Viktor continued to stay out.   Saturday In the morning, we did more of the same, walked around Santiago, sat in front of the Cathedral talking. It was bittersweet and it felt like we had accomplished so much.  In the end, I thought it could have been a metaphor of life: There were no signs to point you in the right direction, no cared that we had just walked 280 kilometers to get there, and we enter from the back of the Cathedral, not at all anticipating that. At the end of the day, I walked Victoria and Bruno to the bus station for them to go back to what just took us 12 days to walk, on a three-hour bus.  

Sunday I walked more around Santiago by myself. Ate some delicious Churros con Chocolate and then for dinner had some grilled octopus, Puplo Gallego. I ran into Viktor, who was now joined by his girlfriend for the weekend. And we agreed to meet up when I went to Madrid the next day, which is where he was from. Then I just hung out in the hostel with this girl, Naty who was studying in Santiago for the semester on an exchange program.  

[chriskarrtravelblog]

Get lost in Britain’s best mazes at stately homes

From mystical labyrinths to planted puzzles of twists, turns and dead ends in stately home gardens, Lawrence Alexander gets lost in Britain’s best mazes 

There’s a scene in Jerome K. Jerome’s classic Three Men in a Boat where Harris, one of the three friends, offers to show the other two around the maze at Hampton Court Palace. It is, he claims, so simple it seems hardly worth the two pence admission charge, but admits the only time he ever went in he lost an entire party of people – including the maze-keeper – within its hedges.

We still tend to think of mazes as frothy pastimes for family days out. Maize mazes crop up in farmers’ fields, giant puzzle mazes are found in the grounds of stately homes and, of course, Hampton Court’s maze still confounds visitors.

Labyrinth or maze?

A labyrinth carved into Rocky Valley at Tintagel in Cornwall. Credit: Joan Gravell/Alamy

According to tradition, labyrinths are ‘unicursal’, consisting of a single pathway with no dead ends or deviations. As long as you follow the path you will find the centre. Mazes are generally ‘multicursal’, with as many dead ends and paths as possible to confuse the visitor. As a further complication, the famous ‘labyrinth’ of Greek mythology, constructed by Daedalus to incarcerate the monster Minotaur, would have needed to be a multicursal maze to be effective.

The forebears of mazes – labyrinths – have mystified the world since time immemorial, and their true purpose is often obscure. The Rocky Valley labyrinths at Tintagel in Cornwall – a pair of mysterious carved symbols – could be 4,000 years old, though some argue the tools needed to create them would make them at their oldest Celtic and even, possibly, 18th century.

Ancient petroglyphs, Roman floor mosaics, early English carvings and medieval church floors all point to labyrinths having a deeper, devotional meaning. They appear over doorways, on church bells and on all manner of everyday objects – coins, stoneware, even a laundry mangle-board – as talismans against evil spirits.

A labyrinth on Bryher, the Isles of Scilly. Credit: David Chapman/Alamy

Perhaps most intriguing of all are the labyrinths we can physically enter ourselves, whether roundels of small boulders on a beach on the Scilly Isles or a turf-cut maze in a country house garden. The earliest surviving ‘walkable’ labyrinths in Britain are found in Roman mosaics, either as key-shaped borders or entire floors. There are five recorded in Britain, but they were so popular is it likely there were many more.

Mizmazes

Just eight ‘ancient’ turf mazes survive. They are known by many names, from mizmaze and mazle to Shepherd’s Ring, Maiden’s Bower, Robin Hood’s Race and, often, Troy Town or Walls of Troy, as legend holds that the walls of the ancient city of Troy were deliberately built in a confusing way.

The mysterious mizmaze on Breamore Down, Hampshire, is in a yew-grove near a Bronze Age burial mound and is inaccessible by car. Its paths follow the medieval Christian pattern, matching that of the nave at Chartres Cathedral in France. Local folklore suggests the mizmaze was built by the nearby monks of St Michael’s Priory, who would crawl along it as penance or in substitute for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Thought to be from the 18th century, another mizmaze at St Catherine’s Hill, Winchester is the only surviving square-shaped ancient turf maze. It rises slightly to the north of the village of Chilcombe, which has traces of an ancient Iron Age fort and a chapel dating to around 1080. As local tradition has it, the maze was created by a schoolboy in detention from Winchester College, but over the centuries the story has grown so that in the same, clearly extra-long detention, he also composed the school song Dulce Domum before drowning himself in the river Itchen.

The house with two mazes

The turf maze at Saffron Walden. Credit: Philippe Hays/Alamy

Maze fans could do worse than head to Saffron Walden in Essex, which boasts two historic examples of mazes from different eras. On the town’s grassy common lies the largest surviving ancient turf maze in the world, a whopping 46m by 33.5m, though legend suggests it is merely a copy of a much larger maze.

The maze was nearly lost in 1814 when a landowner tried to enclose the common, but the intervention of local banker and maze fanatic Atkinson Francis Gibson saved it. Not everyone was as keen to take care of the maze: the ash tree that once grew at its centre burned down during a particularly rumbustious Guy Fawkes celebration in 1823.

As well as being a saviour of mazes, Gibson was also the founder of the delightful Bridge End Garden, in which, around 1840, his son Francis did his father proud by building a fine yew-hedge maze.

Hedge mazes

Hedge mazes had been all the rage during the Renaissance, when they were a symbol of wealth. Particularly popular in France and Italy, puzzle mazes were purely for fun – as well as a place for secret liaisons away from prying eyes. King Henry VIII had one at Nonsuch Palace in Surrey, while the reigns of Queen Elizabeth I and James I saw mazes popping up everywhere, featuring practical jokes such as dead ends and surprise water jets.

Where space was at a premium the maze craze was reflected in Tudor knot gardens. Puzzle mazes fell out of fashion in the 18th century, dug up to create the sleek lines in the landscape made fashionable by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown, but by the 19th century the tide was turning again.

Saffron Walden’s hedge maze in Essex, constructed in the Italian Renaissance style, was originally dotted with ornaments intended to fool the visitor into wandering the wrong way. By the mid-20th century, the garden had become an overgrown wilderness – until the next maze revival in 1984, when an archaeological investigation unearthed the original paths. The maze was replanted and opened by Francis Gibson’s great-great grandson, Anthony Fry.

World’s oldest maze

The maze at Hampton Court Palace. Credit: Historic Royal Palaces

Britain’s most iconic hedge maze, at Hampton Court, is also the world’s oldest, dating back to around 1690. Its longevity is perhaps thanks to the fact that during Capability Brown’s long tenure at the palace, he was ordered, in no uncertain terms, to leave the maze alone.

Commissioned by William of Orange, the maze was planted as part of a formal garden known as ‘The Wilderness’ – not an uncultivated area as the name suggests, but a place to wander. Its unusual trapezoidal shape covers a third of an acre and feels bigger inside than it looks from outside. Sadly, a sister maze, made from espaliered trees, has since disappeared.

Practical jokes, coiled snakes and a royal creation

The maze at Glendurgan Garden, Cornwall. Credit: National Trust Images/John Millar

Another of Britain’s historic mazes is to be found at Hever Castle in Kent, formerly the home of Anne Boleyn, and in Edwardian times the seat of William Waldorf Astor. The splendid yew maze in the castle grounds, planted in 1905, has hedges more than eight feet high and it supposedly marks the spot where Henry VIII courted his second wife. Hever’s modern water maze, with its surprise jets that soak visitors, revives another maze tradition: the practical joke.

The classic maze follows a grid layout, but some use curved pathways to confuse visitors. The maze at Glendurgan Garden in Cornwall, planted in 1833, is shaped like a coiled snake nestled into the valley. Unusually, the hedges are cherry laurel, with palm trees at the corners providing an exotic touch.

The maze at Longleat comprises almost two miles of pathways. Credit: Jason Hawkes

The giant maze at Longleat in Wiltshire is also curvy rather than linear, with twisting paths designed to disorientate. What it lacks in history – it was planted in 1975 – it certainly makes up for in scale, with 16,000 yews and almost two miles of pathways.

Today, our fascination in mazes shows no sign of waning, and they are a regular weapon in the garden designer’s armoury, cropping up in private gardens and public spaces alike.

One of Britain’s newest was the brainchild of His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales, who, inspired by childhood memories of the maze at Sandringham, commissioned a hedge maze at Dumfries House in Ayrshire in 2016. It seems there’s no escaping the enduring appeal of a classic maze, even for a prince.

Book ahead

Saffron Walden

You can stroll between the town’s three mazes, from the turf maze on the common to the Italian Renaissance-style hedge maze in Bridge End Garden, via the modern tiled example in the Jubilee Garden. Open year-round.

Hampton Court Palace

This world-famous maze has entertained visitors for centuries. Can you beat the average time it takes to reach the centre: 20 minutes? Open year-round.

Hever Castle

The castle boasts two mazes set in beautiful gardens. The historic yew maze has a quarter of a mile of pathways, while the water maze is a series of concentric stepping-stone circles set over water, with false steps that shoot jets of water; bring a towel. Main maze open year-round; water maze end of March to October.

Glendurgan Garden

Set in a peaceful valley in Cornwall, this subtropical garden’s maze is built on a slope, allowing you to either tackle the maze yourself or sit opposite and watch others puzzle their way through. Open Tuesday to Sunday mid-February to October.

Longleat

It takes visitors anything up to 90 minutes to make their way to the centre of this complex maze. An observation tower at the heart of the maze marks the finish. Open year-round.

The post Get lost in Britain’s best mazes at stately homes appeared first on Britain Magazine | The official magazine of Visit Britain | Best of British History, Royal Family,Travel and Culture.

Britain Magazine | The official magazine of Visit Britain | Best of British History, Royal Family,Travel and Culture https://www.britain-magazine.com/attractions-2/get-lost-in-britains-best-mazes-at-stately-homes/

source https://coragemonik.wordpress.com/2019/04/28/get-lost-in-britains-best-mazes-at-stately-homes/

[ukvec]

Former Atlanta Braves pitcher Tom Glavine lists 3-acre home for $6.75M (Photos) – Atlanta Business Chronicle

The home where famed former Atlanta Braves pitcher Tom Glavine and his wife Chris have raised their five children is for sale for $6.75 million.

The eight-bedroom, nine-bathroom home at 910 Hurleston Lane in Johns Creek encompasses 16,132 square feet and was built by the Glavines over a period of two years. It comes with a backyard baseball field and basement batting cage — both built by Braves groundskeeper Ed Mangan — and is located in the exclusive gated community Country Club of the South in Johns Creek, Ga. It includes a championship Jack Nicklaus Signature Golf Course; Glavine is an avid golfer.

Glavine starred for the Braves during their record-setting 1990s run. After the team finished last in 1990, his pitching helped take the Braves to the National League West title the very next year — the Braves’ famous worst-to-first 1991 season.

This season is shaping up like that, Glavine said.

“They are a little bit ahead of where everybody thought they were going to be – to be really, really competing for their division. Sometimes things happen sooner than you plan, like they did for us in 1991, so hopefully this is another one of those years,” he said.

With a 20-11 record, a league-best nine complete games and the National League Cy Young Award, Glavine helped the Braves advance to their first World Series — where they lost to the Minnesota Twins in extra innings in the dramatic seventh game.

The Braves went to the Series again in 1992, and then in 1995 against the Cleveland Indians. Glavine threw eight-shutout innings in Game 6, earning the world championship with a 1-0 victory. He was named the World Series Most Valuable Player.

Along with Greg Maddux and John Smoltz, Glavine was part of one of the best pitching rotations in baseball history. Together they won seven Cy Young Awards from 1991 to 1998, with Glavine’s honors in 1991 and 1998. He was a 10-time All-Star, led the National League in wins five times and even won four Silver Slugger Awards.

Glavine was inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame in 2014, along with Maddux. Smoltz joined them a year later. In 2011, Glavine became a color commentator for Braves baseball games.

Today, change is in the air for the Glavine family. Two of the couple’s children are out of college and on their own, a third is in college (Peyton Glavine is a left-handed pitcher, like his dad, for the Auburn University Tigers), a fourth is entering his high school senior year and the fifth is in third grade, Glavine said. It is time to find a smaller house, although they have enjoyed 910 Hurleston Lane, he said.

“It was the perfect house for what we wanted. We wanted a destination for our kids and their friends,” Glavine said. “We had kids here all the time hanging out. We could actually do that, and we were not all on top of each other. It worked perfectly in that regard. We had a lot of fun memories with those guys hanging out here.”

The family is looking for a smaller home in the Country Club of the South neighborhood and surrounding areas of North Fulton, such as Alpharetta or Milton, Glavine said. He plans to keep playing golf with the same group of guys. "It may just be a longer commute (to the course) now depending on what happens," he said.

“We plan on staying here; we haven’t decided what to do. We toyed with the idea of going into Buckhead but I am not sure how realistic that is,” he said. “We are comfortable here and we know the surroundings. I am hard-pressed to believe we wouldn’t end up somewhere in this area.”

It’s also been home to another famous former Brave and friendly Glavine rival, Smoltz. His house in Milton, 700 Foxhollow Run, is listed for $4.998 million.

Asked whether he hopes his house sells for more than Smoltz’s, Glavine laughed. “We are competitive, I hope so – yes. I don’t know what John’s listed for; he has a beautiful house.”

Smoltz’s 18,265-square-foot home has 10 bedrooms, 10 full bathrooms and four half bathrooms, and is on a 19.74-acre lot. It also has a baseball field.

Glavine’s Hurleston Lane home in Johns Creek was built on two lots that back up to the Chattahoochee River, listing agent Paul Wegener of Atlanta Fine Homes Sotheby’s International Realty said. It has a long private drive and professionally landscaped grounds including a pool and spa, a cabana, a fire pit, and a basketball court in addition to the baseball field.

The home was designed by Atlanta architect Norman Askins. It features gothic-style archways, French oak doors, hand-carved staircases, gothic reproduction mantels from Francois and Co., and limestone floors reclaimed from a church in France. The study features judge’s paneling with moldings replicated from St. Philips Cathedral in Atlanta and a ceiling decorated with restoration plaster lattice panels from Fischer and Jirouch Co..

The great room is defined by a two-story cathedral ceiling, iron chandelier and a hand-made leaded glass transom window. In the kitchen are commercial-grade appliances, stone accents and hand-hewn trusses. There are also a breakfast room and a fireside great room. Three sets of French doors lead out to the covered back porch with a masonry fireplace, gas lamps, iron railings and views of the backyard.

The master suite includes a fireside sitting area, a spa-like bathroom with a freestanding tub and steam shower, and a custom closet system built out into four separate rooms to include shoe closets, a dressing room, a library ladder, built-in dresser drawers and a hand bag vignette.

On the terrace level are a billiard room, arcade room, custom bar and wine cellar, an exercise and steam room, and the pitching and batting cage.

According to Fulton County property records, 910 Hurleston Lane most recently changed hands on July 24, 2001, when Clyde R. and Linda C. Williams as grantor sold the property for $620,000 to grantees Thomas M. and Christine S. Glavine. Prior to that transaction, Jack Nicklaus Development Corporation of Georgia was grantor of 910 Hurleston Lane for $179,500 to Robert R. and Glenda S. Bulger on May 3, 1989, records show.

The Glavine home is one of the larger, newer properties in the 950-acre, 733-home Country Club of the South, which was developed mainly in the 1990s, Wegener said. The neighborhood features a championship Jack Nicklaus Signature Golf Course, which has hosted a number of professional tournaments over the years and currently hosts an American Junior Golf Association event that draws the top junior players from all over the world.

Country Club of the South has 24-hour security patrols. It has been home to numerous successful entertainers, executives and entrepreneurs over the years. In addition to Glavine, they include retired Atlanta Braves stars Greg Maddux, Charlie Liebrandt, Jeff Blauser and Paul Assenmacher; football stars Chris Doleman, Garrison Hearst, Randy Cross, Andre Rison and Victor Greene; music celebrities Usher, Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown, L.A. Reid and Babyface; comedian Jeff Foxworthy; and NBA Hall of Famers Allen Iverson and Bernard King.

The home entertains well, Wegener said. The Glavines hosted fundraisers there for charities including Atlanta-based Cure Childhood Cancer, a nonprofit dedicated to raising money and awareness for childhood cancer research, he said. The couple serves on Cure Childhood Cancer’s advisory board.

There are currently 33 homes in the Atlanta area listed above $5 million, according to First Multiple Listing Service data cited by Wegener. The average days on market for those listings is 176 days, he said.

The Glavines are building a home in Alys Beach in the Florida Panhandle, but Glavine said that would be a vacation, weekend and off-season home for the time being. “When our little guy is in high school maybe we will spend more time down there,” he said.

Glavine said he is enjoying watching this year’s Braves turnaround into a real competitor for the National League East Divison title, although he was surprised it happened so quickly. “They are off to a great start. I hope they sustain it through the course of the year.”

Glavine said the team is fun to watch, both the young players and the veterans.

“Freddie Freeman is a staple. I have a lot of appreciation for him and what he’s accomplished. Ozzie Albies, the second baseman, is having a phenomenal year and then the young pitchers are starting to grow up a bit. It is fun to watch them develop,” he said.

He thinks the team is a playoff contender. “Obviously it is a little bit of a surprise. Certainly the way they are playing, the way their young pitching continues to develop from start to start, has been something to watch,” Glavine said. “Hopefully everyone continues to be healthy — that is one factor you can’t predict, the injury bug — and I think they are going to be in thick of it (division title race) all year.”

Atlanta’s Largest 25 Homebuilders

Ranked by Number of homes closed in 2016

Rank Company Number of homes closed in 2016 1 D.R. Horton Inc. 3,070 2 Century Communities of Georgia 1,265 3 PulteGroup Inc. 758 View This List

Source Article

The post Former Atlanta Braves pitcher Tom Glavine lists 3-acre home for $6.75M (Photos) – Atlanta Business Chronicle appeared first on UKVEC.

More Info At: http://www.ukvec.org/former-atlanta-braves-pitcher-tom-glavine-lists-3-acre-home-for-6-75m-photos-atlanta-business-chronicle/

[gaperezmakes]

Rebirth - Paladin Part I

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“My Lord!” Ovelius called out to Iblis, who was walking the halls of the Iblan Cathedral, admiring the works of his followers that lined the walls. Iblis looked at the much shorter man and stopped to wait.

“Ovelius, my strength, there is no need to run. I’m not going anywhere.” Iblis put his hands behind his back and continued his walk as Ovelius came to his side. Iblis waited for the Pietoré to catch his breath before speaking again, “What troubles you?”

“Master, I--”

“I am not your master,” Iblis quickly corrected him, “I am your brother.”

“I apologize,” Ovelius bowed unnecessarily, “Brother, I am concerned for the safety of our people.”

“How so?” Iblis stopped to admire a small clay statue a child had made of him. In no way did it resemble Iblis, but he felt it important to foster the imaginative drive in children.

“Just last week alone, we have received several threats from all of the surrounding gangs and crime families saying that if we don’t pay them the proper tribute, they will make us regret it.”

“I’m not afraid of them here, and neither should you.” Iblis turned to look at his faithful ally, “Our brothers and sisters know that while they believe in my power to protect them, they will be safe from harm and protected from those who wish them ill-will. I do take every threat to my people seriously, but if we overreact to every overcompensating would-be mafioso or thug then we signal a weakness they can exploit. I will not give them the satisfaction of forcing us to live in fear.” Iblis continued walking and Ovelius followed silently behind. “But I see that will not assuage your concerns.”

“I just don’t want us to be caught off-guard if something does happen. What if one of them does figure out a way around our defenses? We can’t lie to the congregation and tell them everything is perfectly safe when it is not.”

“We don’t lie.” Iblis’ response was more sudden than Ovelius expected. “We may not always tell the whole truth, but we do not lie.” This was not the first time Ovelius had heard this advice. It was their reasoning for shrouding the truth behind Devon Garret’s assassination he recalled. “What are your intentions?”

“I just--” Ovelius was caught in the middle of his scattered thoughts, “The Light is a much more versatile force than any of us understand. We call upon its power to heal the afflicted, to protect the meek, to strengthen the fit, but it is capable of so much more. I have no doubts that you know the true depths of your power--you did use it to stop the Iblanites’ superweapon--but why do you keep this knowledge from us?”

Iblis sighed heavily. The dread question had finally been asked. He knew it was coming--there was no way to stop it--but he wasn’t sure what the best answer was. He took a moment to compose what he hoped was a good response, “In the right hands, the Light is a powerful tool of justice and righteousness. The wicked are smote from this earth and the pure find their convictions ironclad. But, just as with any other great power, it can make tyrants out of those who are not ready to wield its power with the responsibility and temper required to master it. Even I, with all my experience and wisdom, must remember the great deal of restraint I must practice if I am to best serve my people. Do not forget that I, like you, my brother, come from man, and in the spirit and soul of every man is a darkness he must contend with, lest he permit it to consume and ruin him. My brother, I do not keep the Light’s full potential from you with malicious intentions, but for fear that you may pass it to someone who is not ready to accept the burden that comes with bearing its power.”

The pair continued walking down the halls, Iblis still enjoying the artwork. Ovelius was still quiet, pondering the words of his deity. They suddenly stopped in front of a door that the Pietoré was too familiar with. During the lecture, he hadn’t realized Iblis was leading him towards the Office of Law, where the scribes recorded the various laws and edicts they had decreed since the founding of the Church.

“But I know how the curiosity of men works. If I tell you that you cannot know the secrets of the Light, then you will seek it out in some other way. So I shall imbue you with the knowledge of the Light’s truest and fullest powers, so that you too may understand the burden I carry. And I shall make it so that all who follow your line will also understand this as they ascend to your seat.” Iblis tapped a finger to the symbol floating above Ovelius’ forehead, and his eyes widened as the knowledge flooded into his mind. The symbol transformed and grew slightly larger. “It will take some time for you to adjust to this knowledge, and I pray you do not do anything rash while you do. Now come, we shall make this into law.”

***

Ovelius laid sleeplessly in his bed, staring hard at the ceiling. Beads of cold sweat dripped down his forehead as a new thought of the Light’s true power came to his conscious mind. It was like he had known this all along, but only now was he able to access this knowledge. This was the power his master had kept from them? Ovelius wanted so badly to be mad--to be furious--that this was kept from them, but with this knowledge came an understanding why.

His fingers trembled; he could feel the power coursing through them in a way he hadn’t been able to before. He had always known the restorative power of the Light well, but he had never imagined what its destructive side could feel like. If this power were to be unbridled and unleashed, it would wreak devastation across the world. Nothing would be able to stand against it.

But what if there was a way to restrain it? In the wrong hands, this power would be absolutely devastating--not only to the world but to those who used it. If there was a way to teach restraint, however, then this could change everything. There would be no threat the Church could not handle, even without Iblis’ aid. An army of the faithful could rise and--

Ovelius sat up suddenly, shaking his head and rubbing his face. These new thoughts were pervading his mind. They were irrational, and he had to do everything in his power to ignore them. He had been told there was nothing his master could not handle, and he had to trust this was true.

But the more he tried to push them away, the stronger they returned. There had to be some underlying truth that kept them coming back. He had to know why.

He stood up and walked to a small oval-shaped mirror. Iblis had gifted it to him shortly after Ovelius had been named Pietoré, and told him that it had the answer to nearly any question it was asked. Ovelius had often used it to seek guidance in the past (and had once or twice used it to find a lost item), but he had been told that it was strictly for his use only.

His fingers graced the mirror’s surface, and he watched as it rippled beneath his touch. He needed to pull his hand back. These were not questions he needed answers to. But he could not resist.

“I seek answers, and I need truth,” he whispered, a single bead of sweat falling from his face, “Tell me: Who were the Paladins of the Iblan Brotherhood?”

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{Yet again, I am Gabe and I’m still here! This is an idea I’ve had for a while. Pietoré Ovelius is a character who mostly sits in the background in Rebirth, but there is a lot to him that I wasn’t sure how I wanted to tackle. In fact, I’m not even sure if he’ll appear in the sequel Godhood. We’ll see how this ends. I’m thinking this will be a 7-10 part series, so buckle up for the long haul!

On another note: I weirdly enjoy writing Iblis as a religious figure. I dunno, maybe it’s my innate Catholic desire to be Pope, but there’s just something so satisfying about it. Who knows?}