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cutesilyo · 3 years

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Notes and References for i know your eyes in the morning sun

Hi! These are notes and references for my IndoPhil fic i know your eyes in the morning sun, so please check it out before reading this!

Title: i know your eyes in the morning sun Summary: When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long. Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved. Read on: AO3 | FF.net

Scene 1: Pizza al taglio

As coincidence would have it, the G20 2021 Summit actually will be held in Rome, Italy. However, it’ll be on the end of October rather than the end of September like how its depicted in the fic. I’m also very much ignoring the COVID-19 pandemic. Pretend it never happened.

Borobudur is the largest Buddhist temple in the world, found in the island of Java, Indonesia. It was built way back in the 7th Century and it's probably Indonesia's top most visited site.

Terang bulan is basically like a really large, fluffy, folded pancake. It also has a variety of different names and is also eaten in Brunei, Malaysia, and Singapore.

If you could have a convenience store dedicated solely to pizza, that's what pizza al taglio establishments are like. Its literal translation is pizza by the cut, and since it's a lot more common to find in Rome than in other places in Italy, it's also called Roman-style pizza. The layout for the al taglio shop that Indonesia and Philippines go to is inspired from the shop that me and my family went to: a small family establishment just a short walk away from the Vatican.

You can actually find a recipe for Indonesia’s arugula and mozzarella pizza here: https://shared.publicmediaconnect.org/docs/atk/Pizza_Taglio_Cooks_Illustrated.pdf

Scene 2: Souvenir store + Bus stop

Indonesian rupiahs are notoriously hyperinflated, so the 15 euros that Philippines uses to buy the keychains convert to 250k+ rupiahs. That's around 50k short for actually being able to buy a local economy flight on Lion Air. For comparison, the same amount of euros convert to approximately 900 Philippine pesos. It’s also a few hundred pesos short of buying a local economy flight on Cebu Pacific.

There actually was a point when a G20 meeting was held in the Coliseum. It was the G20 culture ministers meeting just a few months ago, in July 2021.

Yes, on top of the thousands of festivals we already have, Filipinos also celebrate Oktoberfest! It's more of an excuse for local beer companies to shamelessly promote their product and encourage drinking fests on a massive scale, but a more legitimate Oktoberfest celebration is organized by the German Club in Manila. Lucky Philippines gets to celebrate it authentically in Munich with the German brothers, who historically aimed to conquer the Philippines before America managed to stake his claim. So if you sense that Germany is being oddly shy towards Philippines here, that's just Germany being embarrassed because of their history.

Italy's major international airport in Rome is Aeroporto Internazionale di Roma–Fiumicino "Leonardo da Vinci", so you generally just call it Fiumicino for short. A possible travel route for flying from the Philippines to Italy is Clark-Dubai-Rome, and another is Manila-Hong Kong-Rome.

Scene 3: Gianicolo

Bali, Boracay, and El Nido are beaches that serve as major tourist destinations.

Vietnam has already been mentioned to be a menace when she's drunk in her most recent character introduction. Laos is at the top of ASEAN when it comes to alcohol consumption, with the average Laotian drinking seven liters of pure alcohol every year.

Indonesia is sometimes known as the Invisible Nation. What this means to say is that there have not been many things that Indonesia has done that made massive waves on the global scale. From what I’ve read, this seems to have been an especially popular sentiment among Western analysts during the Cold War.

Australia's awkward attempt at an apology is a reference to when the Australian government had allegedly monitored and spied on the phone calls of several Indonesian officials. Indonesia and Australia have a history that goes far deeper than that though.

Monas is a common abbreviation for Indonesia's Monumen Nasional, proudly standing tall in the middle of Merdeka Square as a commemoration of the fight for Indonesian independence. Taman Surapati is a large, chill public park; it also has a monument dedicated to commemorating ASEAN there. Both are located in Jakarta, Indonesia's capital. Meanwhile, Philippines' mention of Luneta refers to Luneta Park. It's also known as Rizal Park, as it's the place where the national hero Jose Rizal was executed for the influence he had in encouraging the fight for Philippine independence.

In Rome, there are seven major hills: they formed the geographical heart of Ancient Rome, with Palatino and Campidoglio as the most significant given how connected they were to Rome's founding and Rome's religion. Gianicolo is outside the boundaries of Ancient Rome, and as such, it isn't counted among the seven hills. It is dedicated to the Roman god Janus and was a place for the augurs to divine the will of the gods — kind of like a prophecy, if a prophecy could be divined from bird entrails. Now it's a great spot for a scenic view of modern Rome which features, among other things, a large statue of Giuseppe Garibaldi. Garibaldi was a major figure in the Italian Reunification.

Nusantara means many different things, but in the era of the Majapahit empire, it referred to the vassal kingdoms in what is now modern-day Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, Timor Leste, and the southern parts of modern-day Thailand and Philippines. Modern usage of the word in Indonesia generally refers to the Indonesian archipelago, but it can also be used to refer to the entirety of maritime Southeast Asia. Culturally and historically, Southeast Asia is divided into the mainland region (the countries connected to the Asian continent: Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar) and maritime (the countries that are islands and archipelagos: Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Brunei, Philippines).

Italy, together with the United Kingdom, is the largest European migration destination for Filipinos. The largest migration destination for Filipinos in general is America.

Shout-out to Ro-na for this wonderful headcanon of Philippines being sickly in his early days as a Spanish colony! The galleon ships used to facilitate trade between the Philippines and Mexico (perhaps the Philippines' most major contribution to the Spanish crown) would often be attacked by pirates or destroyed in typhoons, especially in the first few decades.

Majapahit and Srivijaya are only two of pre-colonial Indonesia's many powerful empires. A lot of the pre-colonial stuff has been simplified for brevity's sake, but a brief summary of it all basically goes like this: pre-colonial Indonesia was involved with everyone in maritime SEA, where everyone traded with each other; and mainland SEA was non-stop fighting where the major powers were the empires that would later become Vietnam and the Khmer empire that would influence everyone else in mainland SEA. You can find a more detailed look into mainland SEA history by Gemu in her posts here, who is my main influence for everything mainland SEA-related.

A young Brunei picking flowers for a young Philippines is a reference to all the marriages that had occurred between their nobility during the pre-colonial era.

Scene 4: Apartment

The turtle fountain in Rome is a real thing: Fontana delle Tartarughe was originally designed with dolphins in mind, but the dolphins were removed and replaced by turtles. In fandom, you usually see Philippines calling Indonesia kuya, which is Tagalog for older brother. In at least one Indonesian language (I can't remember which one at the moment, sorry!), kuya means turtle.

Tondo, Seludong, Butuan, Sulu, Sugbu, and Panay are all polities in pre-colonial Philippines, two for each of the main island groups in the country: Luzon in the north, Mindanao in the south, and Visayas in the middle. Unlike pre-colonial Indonesia, the societies in the Philippines were never united by a single kingdom or empire; the Philippine islands were only united through the efforts of Spanish and American colonization.

Filipinos tend to sing a lot. Many of us are really good at it. Karaoke is really popular here.

Philippines' PIN code of 8862 is a reference to when ASEAN was founded: August 8, 1962. The founding members were Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand.

This might be as good of a time as ever for me to mention that I am depicting Philippines and Indonesia as Catholic and Muslim respectively. Filipinos are predominantly Catholic and the Philippines is the largest Catholic country in Asia, while Indonesia has a number of official religions and is the largest Muslim nation in the world.

Special thanks to Desa for helping me with Indonesia's prayer times! Normally, Muslims pray five times a day, but when travelling Muslims are allowed to pray only three times. This is called Qasr salah, or Qasr sholat in Indonesia. What is usually Fajr (called Subuh in Indonesia), Zuhr, Asr, Magrib, and Isha becomes only Fajr, Zuhr-Asr, and Mahgrib-Isha; essentially, without getting into the specifics of time, a prayer for sunrise, afternoon, and night. The mosques will remind everyone when it's prayer time with adhan (called adzan in Indonesia), but in non-Muslim countries abroad, many Muslims have to use websites and apps to keep track. Something I didn't mention in the fic is that Rome actually has the largest mosque in the Western world, Moschea di Roma, so Indonesia could have potentially prayed there.

Scene 5: Apartment dinner table

Sholat wouldn’t take Indonesia more than a few minutes, so imagine that he did something else while waiting for Philippines to finish cooking.

Baked fish with sliced lemons is a meal that got served to me a lot in Italy. Chop suey is Chinese, but China has had a significant cultural influence for most of Southeast Asia throughout history; the Indonesian version is known as kap cay. Indomie Mi Goreng is a particularly tasty and famous kind of instant noodles from Indonesia. It's very popular in many Asian countries. Indonesia doesn’t drink, but Philippines is drinking white wine because that’s what you’re supposed to do when eating fish. Red wine goes with meat.

Admittedly, this is my own personal headcanon, but I like to think of Philippines living in Spain with the other Spanish colonies while everyone else in maritime SEA were left behind to live in their own countries. It's my own neat Hetalia universe explanation for how much Spanish influence there is in Filipino culture, and how isolated Filipinos can sometimes feel among their neighbors.

I do think that Philippines would have a Hispanic-sounding human name, but I've never really settled on what name actually would be: in fandom, Felipe, Lorenzo, and Jaime get thrown around a lot. In contrast, it seems like most people have settled on Dirga (short for Dirgantara) for Indonesia.

Philippines is sometimes called as la colonia abandonada in Spanish sources: the abandoned colony. Because the Philippines was so far away, Spain couldn't manage the colony directly and had to rely on Mexico/Nueva España to do the dirty work until Mexico became independent. This led to a more relaxed manner in how the country was managed for most of its Spanish colonial life; some scholars even go as far as saying that Spain's treatment of the Philippines was kinder than Spain's treatment of Latin America. I don't really agree — it was different, sure, but it wasn't kind in the least.

Contrast that with Indonesia as the largest and most important colony of the Dutch empire. Aside from all the money and economic prosperity that Indonesia gave to the empire, you'll also find many Dutch songs and hymns that are all praises to Indonesia. Much of the research in Indonesian history, ethnography, and archeology was made possible because of Dutch interest and support; until now, the Netherlands remains to be Europe's leader when it comes to Indonesian studies. This isn't to say that Netherlands treated Indonesia well, however.

After the Japanese occupation of Indonesia in WW2, Netherlands fought to keep power over the archipelago. Needless to say, the Netherlands failed. Indonesia was recognized as an independent country soon after.

Indië is the Dutch colonial name for Indonesia.

APEC is the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation, of which Philippines and Indonesia (and Thailand!) are members.

Scene 6 + 7: Apartment bedroom

What was Philippines doing in the 1920s, you ask? Being an American colony and trying to lobby for laws that would hasten his independence. Indonesia was in the middle of what’s called the Indonesian National Awakening; all the different peoples under Indonesia were beginning to come together and unite to fight for a single independent nation.

As a tarsier, Pien is actually supposed to be nocturnal; he shouldn't be sleeping at night at all. Maybe he just got jet lagged? Who knows.

BL stands for the boy's love genre of TV series. For years, Thailand had been the lead when it came to BL production with shows like TharnType and SOTUS. Recently, the Philippines has also been developing BL series — Gameboys specifically had achieved worldwide acclaim and is distributed globally through Netflix.

Filipino languages tend to have more complex verb conjugation and sentence structure compared to Bahasa Melayu and Bahasa Indonesia. The linguistic explanation for this is that most of the Filipino languages are based on the older Proto-Malayo-Polynesian language while Bahasa Melayu and Bahasa Indonesia are based on the newer, more simplified descendants of Proto-Malayo-Polynesian.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer was an Indonesian author that focused a lot of his work on nationalistic sentiments. He has a quote on bravery that I really like: Dalam hidup kita, cuma satu yang kita punya, yaitu keberanian. Kalau tidak punya itu, lantas apa harga hidup kita ini? Loosely translated, this reads as: In our life, we only have one thing, which is bravery. If it’s not, what is the value of our life?

Indonesia, as a large archipelago in the Pacific Ring of Fire, has a lot of active volcanoes. In contrast, the Philippines is regularly hit by tens of typhoons annually.

There are an estimated 12 million Filipinos overseas, and this number consistently rises through the years. It's one of the largest diaspora populations: name a country, you'll probably find a Filipino working there somewhere. OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers) account for 10% of the country's population and the remittances they send back to their families account for 10% of the country's GDP. Indonesia has a similar phenomenon with TKIs (Tenaga Kerja Indonesia), of which there are 4.5 million worldwide.

Post-independence, Indonesia was very paranoid over Western influence in Southeast Asia. In that same time period, Philippine delegates to international conferences would always speak of democracy and the looming threat of Communism; even though most of the Asian delegates would prefer to move past Western problems and disputes to focus on a united Asia.

Telenovelas are soap operas produced in Latin America. They became popular in Southeast Asia as they were distributed and remade here. The Indonesian equivalent is the sinetron, and the Filipino equivalent is the teleserye.

Additionally, I cannot stress enough how much this fic is built on the foundations laid by others. I’ve already mentioned how much I took inspiration from Gemu’s depiction of mainland SEA, but I also credit Indonesia’s thing for temples to Desa; the passive-aggressive energy between Thailand and Philippines to Hali; amnesiac Piri to Koko, Kopi, and Sopas (among the many). There are a dozen other things I can attribute to a huge assortment of writers and artists: that Singapore has trouble remembering his pre-colonial roots as well, that Piri might have had a good relationship with Romano, Piri’s general flirty and flighty attitude, Indonesia’s awkwardness and big brother aura, etcetera, etcetera. If you’re someone that has been contributing to the SEA fandom these past few months, thank you. Thank you so much.

#mine #indophil #hws indonesia #hws philippines #hws #PHEW THIS TOOK THE WHOLE MORNING TO WRITE

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karlyfr13s · 3 years

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Helping Destiny Along

A fluffy CS one-shot for the lovely @teamhook

Thank you @veryverynotgoodwrites for being one heck of a beta, and @the-darkdragonfly for your brainstorming powers!

Summary: Henry Mills has a theory: for each Captain Hook, there must be an Emma Swan. Well, he found Princess Emma Nolan at long last and is determined to bring her together with Killian Jones now that he's back in the Wishverse version of the Enchanted Forest.

Read it on AO3

At nineteen, Princess Emma Nolan believed in True Love. After all, her parents had found each other, and everyone knew theirs was a legendary love worthy of poetry and song. She watched for a prince from the high windows of her tower bedroom, waiting for someone tall, dark, and handsome to sweep her off her feet. He would be bold, romantic, dashing, and kind-hearted—she just knew it.

At twenty-two, she concluded that such a love was rare and that her parents may be the only two people with a Capital-T, Capital-L True Love, so she started looking for the more run-of-the-mill variety. Instead of waiting for someone to ride up to the castle gate and court her, she took a more active approach and sought her love by traveling and meeting new people. When that didn’t work either, Princess Emma tried for mutual attraction, which was fun at twenty-four, but grew stale by twenty-five. So she resigned herself to loving her kingdom and her people.

At twenty-eight, a man knocked on the door and utterly transformed her life. To be clear, she did not love that particular man. Henry came from a faraway land and told her fantastic tales that seemed beyond the reach of even her magic, and while she did not love him, he told her somewhere out there in a world beyond her grasp there was an Emma Swan who was his mother, and who loved him ferociously. For days, she and her parents welcomed Henry to stay in their home and share meals at their table, and for days he regaled them with stories of his world and of other versions of each member of the Nolan family. They were spellbound by his narratives. He was a gifted storyteller, and as if he’d known this was too fantastic to be believed, he came with something called photographs that showed a still window into his world. She saw a version of her mother, Queen Snow, but much younger and with close-cropped dark hair instead of the silvery tresses she was accustomed to. Her father was another surprise--he looked barely older than Emma herself, sandy hair where now there was gray, and while she knew her father was still a strong and capable swordsman, this version of King David seemed able to challenge even the mightiest ogre.

Princess Emma Nolan even saw herself, but not herself. They looked identical, she and Henry’s mother, and while her style was different from this unknown twin’s, she couldn’t help but notice some similarities. Emma Swan was often pictured in a short red leather coat, while Princess Emma Nolan’s favorite doublet was a rich blue leather. When she commented, Henry told her they both wore them like armor, gesturing to the bruise on his shoulder from their earlier sparring session in the yard. Emma Swan liked to pull her hair back, wearing it high on her head much like Princess Emma Nolan when she wasn’t expected at court or in her regal finest. Henry even had a picture of his mother with a sword--is she trained as well? She’d asked, and Henry grinned at the question, answering with another tale of his mother besting a pirate in single combat!

“I’m pretty sure that fight was rigged though,” he admitted as they walked the castle gardens one afternoon. “And that’s part of why I’m here.” He stopped and faced her, saying he hoped she could believe one more outlandish story before he had to return to his world.

“You seem to come well-armed with evidence, Henry. I don’t see why I should doubt you at this point.”

“My mother, Emma Swan, is an incredible woman. It took her a long time, but she found her True Love, and I think you can find yours. When I learned there was a version of her--of you--here, I had to find out if you were with him too, and when you weren’t…” Henry trailed off, frowning at the ground. He was quiet for a long while, and Emma ran through his words over and over. Henry thought he knew who her True Love was? How? How could he know that his mother and whoever she was with were one another’s True Love?

“I know he’s here now--I’ve met him before, and back in my world--”

“What? Then how can he be my True Love if he’s from your world?” None of this was making sense, and for the first time she doubted Henry. It seemed he could see the uncertainty within her, and he steered them to a bench to sit and talk as he clarified this man was not from his world, but had been brought there by a curse. The same curse that separated Henry from his own family.

“I know you understand curses and magic,” he began and she nodded at his words. “So when I tell you he was swept up in a curse and brought back in time to my world, that should make sense, right?” She nodded again, wondering who could have cursed two men from different worlds at the same time. Someone powerful and dangerous. Henry sighed and continued. “His name is Killian Jones, and he’s the best man I know. He’s my father in every sense of the word, and while there’s a version of him who is my mother’s True Love, I know there is one who is also yours. He has to be.”

Henry told her a lengthy story about a witch who ensnared a group of people from this kingdom, trapping them in a place called Hyperion Heights. He spoke of a coven leader who cursed Killian Jones so he could never be in contact with his daughter—a child she had abandoned him with after tricking him into spending a night with her. “But you see, Emma, you can break that curse. Your love--yours and Killian’s will break that curse. You will have each other and Alice--hell, and Robin! I haven’t even told you about Robin,” he was lost in thought again after that. Emma waited and tried to make sense of all she had learned.

Is it possible? In some way, his tale made sense. If what he said about the curse was true, it would explain The Gap. Emma had never mentioned The Gap to Henry, though he may have learnt of it through other means. It was rarely spoken of, but everyone in the Enchanted Forest shared one simple truth: there was a block of time no one could account for. Whenever Emma or her parents tried to focus on that space, thinking back to her twenty-sixth birthday, there was a strange void where there should be at least some memory of the year. She could remember the celebratory ball and the night of her birthday, but every time she tried to focus on what came next it only earned her a persistent headache.

“Please don’t hate me, Emma,” Henry put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “I told him to meet me here three days after I arrived. That’s tonight. He’ll be here, and he knows what I believe about you two because he also knows my mother and her Killian. He’s, uh...not entirely convinced. He’s been through a lot, but…” He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile.

“It’s his story to tell, so I won’t go into detail, just...go easy on the guy. He might be a little gun shy—uh, guarded,” he quickly clarified when he saw her blink in confusion. “I don’t think he’s seen anyone since that witch who duped him, led the coven, and tried to destroy Hyperion Heights. Think that might do a number on a guy.” He looked so sincere, so much like he did when telling all his other tales that Emma chose to believe. Henry hadn’t lied to her before, so what would the motivation be to do so now?

She chewed at her lip, fretting over what to do and how to greet someone who might be a part of her very soul--someone who had been through tricks and curses, and had suffered real loss. She couldn’t simply turn him out in the night, that was unthinkable, but what do you say to the other half of your heart? If that is what he is. This had to have been simpler for her mother. At least she’d simply caught her father in a net after robbing him. That seemed easier than calmly welcoming fate to dinner and introducing the man to your parents on day one.

“Well,” she got up and dusted off her breeches, “I suppose we’d best let my parents know we’re expecting another guest. And I may need to change as well. I think I’d rather not smell worse than the stables when I meet him.” Emma faltered on the last word, not knowing how to address Killian Jones. Henry smiled and followed her lead.

-----

One thorough and contemplative bath later, Emma emerged in a blush pink gown that shimmered softly in the waning sunlight. It had taken her three other dresses before she settled on this one. It was simpler than what she wore to galas and State events: tea length and embroidered in sheer flowers. She knew it would glow softly under the lights of the candles and torches at dinner, and Princess Emma Nolan found herself hoping he would like it.

When he arrived, it was Henry who greeted Killian Jones first, clasping the man’s hand and giving Emma a moment to simply observe. His smile was warm, a bright white flash of teeth and Emma noticed the slight creases at his eyes as well. An authentic smile, she noted, enjoying the genuine moment between the two men. He was dashing there was no other word for it--dressed in black and rich crimson, rings and charms gleaming in the firelight, their glimmer echoed in the silver strands that threaded here and there through his otherwise coal-black hair. Where his left hand ought to be, Emma found instead a polished silver hook and she remembered whispered gossip of a pirate captain referred to only by the moniker Hook. Once a fearsome leader of a brutal band of thieves, he had all but vanished into lore years ago. She realized too late that she’d been staring, and cleared her throat softly before curtseying to cover the awkwardness. Henry took the moment to introduce them, “Captain Killian Jones, may I present Emma Nolan, Princess of Misthaven.”

She offered her hand and Killian took it up, placing a chaste kiss across her knuckles. His eyes met hers, their brilliant lapis blue making her breath catch in her throat. Regardless of the formality of their meeting and the fact Henry, her parents, and several serving staff looked on, she felt the pull immediately. From the moment her hand was in his, it felt right. She wanted to keep hold of him more than she’d wanted anything in her life, wanted to memorize the rough calluses formed by his years at sea, but she forced herself to maintain propriety and brought her hand back to her side. Emma reminded herself they did not know one another, to not get swept up in Henry’s notions without evaluating the truth of the situation. Though she saw in his gaze a strange flicker of recognition, a brief knitting of his brow that asked a silent question she could not interpret, she let the moment pass and returned to her expected duties.

Emma introduced him to her parents, watching her father’s scrutinizing gaze contrast with her mother’s brilliant smile. No doubt her father was riddling out Henry’s purpose in inviting this man to dinner, though she couldn’t fathom him guessing the truth. All through dinner, Emma could barely take her eyes off Killian. He shared a few stories from his days at sea, talking of far-off kingdoms and uninhabited islands, and Emma felt a longing take hold of her as he spun a tale of a snow-covered northern kingdom where they carved elaborate ice sculptures, held firelight festivals, and celebrated the beauty of winter rather than fearing its chill. His voice was low, its velvet warmth wrapping around her and pulling her from all sense of time. The evening passed quickly, and long before she was ready, Emma’s parents stood to signal the end of the affair.

“It’s far too late for you to make a return journey, Captain Jones,” Queen Snow spoke. “We welcome you to stay as a guest in our home. We will have a room made up for you at once and hope you will accompany us for breakfast in the morning.” At his thanks, the Queen turned to Emma, “Oh, and Emma, darling?”

“Yes, Mother?”

Emma approached and her mother drew her in for a close hug, whispering softly, “See to it that Captain Jones can find his way. Most of the staff have already retired and I’d hate for him to get lost in search of rest.” With that, the Queen turned and gently tugged her husband toward their own chambers, leaving Emma to escort their two guests.

She could hear her father grumbling about leaving Emma unchaperoned, but Snow’s voice echoed back, “David, she’s twenty-eight, not sixteen, she’ll be fine. Our daughter is perfectly capable--” Their voices were lost as they rounded a corner, and Emma suppressed a smile. It didn’t matter that she was a full grown woman, her father would always be protective of her.

When she turned around, Emma realized Henry had vanished. Someone seems to think himself a matchmaker, she mused and as her eyes fell upon the man who waited by the fireplace she could understand why Henry had made himself scarce. Deep breath, Emma. He’s simply a man like any other. If she tried very hard, she just might convince herself of that. Well, unless she stopped to listen to the way her heart raced when the corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile.

“Did you want--that is,” she faltered and tripped over her tongue, coming to stand near him where he leaned against the back of a chair by the hearth. “I don’t know how long a trip you made today, and so…” Why was this so hard?

“I’m quite alright, Princess. Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to ask you to keep me company and perhaps share a drink?” She smiled in response, slipping a large book from a shelf over the mantle after pointing out where her father kept a set of glasses on a shelf nearby.

“He thinks I don’t know about this,” she opened the volume to reveal a bottle. “Rum he had imported from the south--is that acceptable, Captain?”

“Aye, that will do nicely. Bit of a pirate in you isn’t there, Princess? Pinching a man’s rum while he’s fast asleep.” They shared a conspiratorial grin as she poured and each took up a chair near the fire. “To what shall we toast, love?”

She hummed in thought, considering the man before her. The pull was still there like some invisible thread entwining the two of them and she hoped it wasn’t only she who felt it. “To new beginnings,” she offered, holding her glass aloft. He echoed the sentiment and crystal clinked as their eyes met over the rims of their glasses before both looked away shyly and took a sip. The warmth and spice slid down her throat, settling in her stomach and making her shiver. They were quiet for a time, simply sharing the space while they glanced at one another, eyes never quite meeting, nor acknowledging they were both performing the same dance.

“I take it dear Henry shared his theory with you?” Killian broke the silence, addressing the weight that had settled in the room. She confirmed he had shared that along with several other stories, asking if it were true he’d been swept away to a land without magic. “Aye, and for some time I had no memory of myself or this place. When the truth finally came back to me it was...difficult to deal with. Did he...mention Alice?” He swirled the rum in his glass, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“Yes, he also mentioned a curse is keeping you apart,” she reached across the small distance that separated them, hand resting on the brace that held his hook. “Killian—if I may call you Killian,” she felt herself flush at the informality and he nodded encouragingly. She said it once more, feeling the musical quality of it as she continued. “What kind of monster keeps a father from his daughter like that?”

His shoulders sagged as he said the story of Gothel was one for another day, that it was a story filled with dark shadows he dare not conjure without the sunlight to dispel them. “I only mention Alice because...well, given what Henry has told both of us I have been...” his brow furrowed as he searched for a word, and she leaned forward, absently running her hand over his sleeve and feeling where the firm leather of his brace ended and the warmth of his arm began. His gaze dropped to where her hand rested and she looked up, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Concerned,” he finished at last. “That is, I’d thought perhaps because I have a child with someone else, and because I am obviously older than you are, that you might feel...or not feel a certain…not that I think Henry is necessarily right…”

His words tapered off and she became very aware they were both leaning in now, the distance between them nearly closed. She could see the silver in his hair glinting in the firelight, the strands at his temples more greyed than the rest. Greedily, she took in all she could in this moment. The heat that radiated from where her hand still rested atop his arm, the scents of leather and petrichor that clung to him were so close she could nearly roll them on her tongue. When she searched his eyes she saw a lingering hurt, but behind that was what appeared to be cautious hope. Setting her glass aside, Emma brought her hand up, allowing herself to do what she’d been wanting to all evening and running her fingers through his hair. He held her gaze, eyes wide and uncertain and she realized his past hurts ran deep enough that he wouldn’t act on that hopeful glint she’d seen moments ago. She would have to be brave for both of them.

With a whisper of his name she closed what little distance remained between them. She’d intended a light brush of her lips, had simply wanted to know what may lie between them, but the moment their lips met Emma knew she would never be satisfied with so little. She poured herself into the moment, moving to grip the front of his shirt and pull him tightly to her. He followed her lead, their kiss deepening as he tilted his head, the two of them moving as though they had done this a hundred times before. She heard her pulse pounding away in her head, felt his breath ghosting over her lips as they breathed into one another for a moment before he captured her lips again. Something shifted then, like the single beat of a massive heart, a shockwave rippled outward, though neither could be bothered to break this moment. Finally, the two pulled back, eyes searching one another.

“Was that?” Emma asked, not knowing how to complete the thought. Her parents had told her their story several times: the kiss that broke the curse. The kiss that radiated out from them in a burst of force and light. The kiss that sounded an awful lot like what she had just shared with Captain Killian Jones.

Killian rested his forehead against hers, breathing out slowly before replying in a soft voice, “Aye love, I think it may have been.” She asked how that was possible, neither naming it yet and both quaffing their rum before leaning back in their chairs. “Years ago,” he began, “I ran into a fortune teller on the docks. He told me I would find my happiness though it was presently locked away in a tall tower. So, when the time came and I found myself facing a witch and finding a woman locked away in a tower I had thought my moment had come. Instead, I found Gothel and her tricks. I brought a daughter into this world only to have her freedom snatched away by the cold-hearted woman who bore her.”

Emma watched him closely, he seemed far away and lost in another time. “Tonight,” he continued after several beats, “when I saw the westward tower of this castle I had to stifle my hope that perhaps after so long--what is that tower to you?” He leaned toward her suddenly, his sapphire eyes searching hers as though he could read the truth within them.

“My bedroom,” she admitted. “My parents thought it would keep me safe. With only one known entrance and exit, it was easy to post guards and easy to know who sought my attention. Of course, there is another exit, but no one other than me knows of it. I devised it when I was sixteen and desperately wanted a way out without the entourage of guards.”

He fell silent, his forehead creased in thought as he tapped a finger against the bow of his lips. The mantle clock’s rhythmic ticking was nearly deafening as Emma waited through each drawn out second. Mesmerized by the path he now traced along his bottom lip, her mind drifted back to the soft press of his mouth against hers and she wished fervently to undo whatever had him so lost in his own thoughts. Come back to me, Killian, she sighed aloud and he snapped to attention. “My apologies, love. I believe I may be in need of rest.” His explanation rang hollow and she leveled a gaze at him, knowing this wasn’t the full truth.

“I swear to you, Princess, I will make my theories known. I do not intend to hide anything from you.” He stood then, stretching languidly before offering his arm and waiting for her to rise. She acquiesced if only for the chance to feel the warmth of him once more before she retired for the night. She tried to stifle her yawn behind her hand and heard him chuckle low in response. “It seems I may not be the only one in need of sleep. Lead the way, love.”

She led him to one of the guest rooms not far from Henry’s. As she bid him goodnight, Killian leaned down to brush a featherlight kiss across her lips, wishing her sweet dreams. Emma felt as though she floated on air the whole way up to her room, content to leave him to his musings tonight and trusting he would speak his mind soon enough.

----- The morning saw Emma waking earlier than usual, calling a chipper “Good morning” to her sleep-rumpled lady’s maid before dismissing her and attending to her own routine. Still abed at this hour? It seems dear Tink has been keeping late hours herself. She let herself ponder whose affections might be persuading the spunky blonde to be less than punctual, smiling at her reflection as she brushed out her golden tresses.

Once ready, Emma hummed to herself, making her way down the innumerable stairs in search of breakfast, her parents, and Killian--the thought made her grin. His sudden shift into contemplativeness notwithstanding, he had been the perfect gentleman last night. Thoughtful in their discussion at dinner, genuine and curious without overstepping, and then there was the kiss. She flushed, pausing before the dining room doors to gather her thoughts and put on what she hoped was a soft smile rather than the doe-eyed look she’d undoubtedly been wearing since she woke.

Her parents, Henry, and Killian were already seated when she entered--the latter both rising and inclining their heads in deference. “Good morning, Princess,” they intoned in unison. She laughed, insisting they sit and continue the conversation she had interrupted, taking her place at her father’s right hand and quietly thanking the servingman who filled her cup with coffee and cream.

“Killian, you were asking about the tower, yes?” Queen Snow offered an encouraging half-smile before sipping demurely at her tea. At this, Emma heard her father mutter under his breath about the Captain inquiring about his daughter’s bedroom.

“Yes. You see, Your Majesty, I can’t help but notice it is nearly identical--from the outside,” he clarified at her father’s rapidly reddening face, “to one I encountered years ago. That particular structure was the residence of a rather powerful witch.”

“Gothel,” her father spat, and all eyes shifted to him. Emma saw Killian’s jaw clench at the name and he gave a single, curt nod in affirmation.

With her mother’s hand resting on his shoulder, her father began the story she’d heard many times over the course of her life. The story of how Gothel heard the regents were expecting and deduced there would be a child born of the most powerful magic in all realms: True Love. That she knew as well that child would have light magic, and that even if it never manifested there would be power in their blood. It was the story of why Emma’s parent’s fortified their home so heavily once word of Gothel’s covetous wish reached them, and why they insisted she train with sword and bow.

“It’s why my little girl was taught to ride like a soldier and not a courtier. Hell, it’s why I gave into her frankly dangerous wishes and allowed her to learn to sail--in case she needed to escape quickly.”

“Does it help to know Gothel can’t harm anyone anymore?” Henry offered helpfully, trying to lighten the weight that had settled on the group. There was general agreement at the table that, yes, it did help. Quite a lot, in fact, and it felt as though the sun broke out from beneath the clouds as they returned to their breakfast.

“Is that what you were concerned about, Captain?” Emma caught herself in time and used his title, not yet ready to have that discussion with her parents.

“The thought had crossed my mind, Princess, but it seems your own construction must have inspired hers for some reason.” He dismissed the thought, though she could practically hear the gears of his mind grinding away. The conversation returned to banal pleasantries about the weather and what game was in season. Her father consulted Killian on the conditions at sea, and in general the rest of the meal was like any other. Like any other meal you share with your family, a new friend, and the man you just shared True Love’s Kiss with less than eight hours after meeting him. Perfectly normal. Emma put on her court smile and commented politely, waiting for her moment to pounce.

“Join me for a walk in the gardens, Captain?” The moment arrived after a lengthy debate about the benefits of traveling by horse in comparison to ship. Thank the gods for the momentary lull as her father’s cup was refilled yet again - Emma didn’t think there was enough coffee in the whole of Misthaven to keep her alert on this topic.

“Of course, Princess.” He smiled bashfully, running his hand through his hair and standing as she rose. “May I?” He offered his arm and she accepted, the two making a long overdue exit.

The grass was still damp as they walked the grounds, the morning sun hinting at a warm day to come despite the slight chill that had Emma leaning in close, basking in the warm line of contact with Killian. “So, what was it you held back up there?” She broke the silence and watched the arch of his brow as he glanced at her. “I’ve always known when people are dishonest, or not fully honest in this case,” she explained. “It’s a feeling, sort of like a rock settling into my stomach. I don’t know if it’s part of my magic or something else,” she shrugged at this and watched his expression shift from curiosity to contemplation. No doubt he was thinking up a way to explain whatever was plaguing his mind.

He remained in that state as they passed her mother’s bed of crimson roses and all the way through the lilies that always made her nose twitch, their heady scent overpowering. Spotting the bench she and Henry had sat on—was that only yesterday?—she took the lead, turning to face him as they sat.

“There are some strange coincidences,” he began. Their knees brushed and she leaned into the contact, hoping her touch might ground him in the present. His past included darkness, and here in the bright morning sun amongst the flowers she hoped to keep those grim memories at bay.

“The tower is the first of them, and I’ve no idea which came first. Given Gothel’s numerous deceits, I’m not inclined to believe any of her tales nor any of Belfry’s—the woman who claimed to be the missing princess, Rapunzel,” he clarified when he saw her puzzled look. “Did you know the witch?”

She shook her head, “Only what my parents told me: that she was interested in my magic and had a reputation for taking what she desired by force.” He expressed clear agreement, and when his focus became distant Emma took hold of both hand and hook. “Whatever it is, that doesn’t change who we are to one another, Killian.”

That must have heartened him, for it earned her a gentle smile. “Aye, love, I suppose you’re right. You see, the other strangeness was Gothel’s impersonation. I’ve never given it much thought, but why should she play at being a princess? I’d no notion who the woman was, yet she changed her appearance, her voice, her name. Why?” He hypothesized then that either Gothel bribed the fortune-teller, planting the man in Killian’s path with a bogus story about happiness in a tower, or that she somehow knew Emma would be important and hedged her bets by occupying her own tower and putting herself in Killian’s path.

“You see, I’ve considered the strangeness of these overlaps and in part I wonder if one of the gifts she or a fellow witch of her coven acquired was prophecy. She seemed to know far more than anyone ought to, and perhaps thought to entrap me and use me to get to you.

“If she knew we were, uh,” he gulped, and flushed a charming shade of pink all the way to his ears. “Destined for one another, then it would be well within her character to exploit that. To make me think she could lead me to my happiness, then snatch you away for her own nefarious purposes. As well, I’m starting to suspect the unaccounted year the townsfolk allude to may well have been a longer span of time than any of you realize.”

It made sense in a way, and while they couldn’t be certain of Gothel’s intentions, Emma was definitely grateful the woman was gone and could do them no further harm. As far as The Gap was concerned, she supposed there was no real way of knowing how much time had passed, only that it seemed like a year. Had she slept as Aurora once had? Every answer seemed to lead to more questions, but Emma resolved herself to focusing on what mattered most first: reuniting Killian with his Alice.

“Despite her purposes, Killian, whatever they may have been,” she reached up and cupped his cheek. His eyes were blue as the sea and she let herself fall into their depths as she brought him back to the present. “Last night, Killian, True Love’s Kiss is potent magic and I think—I’m almost certain, actually—that we broke your curse. We can find Alice, and you can finally hold your daughter in your arms again.”

“We?” He grinned at her, nuzzling against her hand before turning to kiss her palm. “Then you’ll accompany me, love?”

“Of course! I know we’ve only just met, but I think it’s more than obvious how I feel about you given the fact we broke a witch’s curse with our first kiss.” They shared a laugh, shifting so she could rest her head against his shoulder as he draped his arm around her.

“She’s a bit different, my Alice,” he cautioned.

“And we aren’t?” she challenged. “Tonight at dinner, let me handle my parents. We’ll tell them what happened and make plans to seek out Alice. Henry said she’s with someone called Robin—does that name mean anything to you?”

“Aye, that’s Alice’s love. I know where to find them.”

“Then that’s our next course. Reuniting you with your daughter is the first step toward, well, I guess…” she paused, pulling back to meet his gaze again. “I guess toward becoming a family, right? I mean, my parents will have questions and all things considered, I guess we have other planning we’ll need to do in the future, but—“ he cut off her monologue with a kiss. It was sweet and slow, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her lips on his. His tongue flirted with her bottom lip and she twined her fingers in his hair.

Pulling back to meet her eyes, Killian smiled. “I love you, Princess Emma Nolan,” he whispered.

She felt warm all the way to her toes, grinning as she replied, “I love you, Captain Killian Jones.” The two shared a lingering kiss, the spell suddenly broken by a loud whoop of excitement.

“I told you both!” Henry hollered, emerging from his hiding place behind a large oak tree and performing some bizarre dance Emma had never seen. The three laughed, Henry congratulating them on their newly blossoming relationship while Emma and Killian thanked him for the unlooked-for but welcome help.

“What can I say except: you’re welcome.” His smile was bright at the sun and he slung an arm over both their shoulders, walking between them as the three returned to the house and, for Emma and Killian, toward the start of a new life together.

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @veryverynotgood, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @laschatzi, @donteattheappleshook, @lonelyspectator12, @the-darkdragonfly, @zaharadessert, @winterbaby89, @jrob64, @wefoundloveunderthelight, @ultraluckycatnd, @stahlop, @alexa-fangirl-forever, @superchocovian, @monosalvatore16, @snowbellewells, @batana54

#love4teamhook #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fan fic #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #henry mills

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 13: Letters

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Rowan lived up to his word and forced the princess to pull double duty in the kitchens. So she worked both the breakfast and the dinner shifts that week, leaving her exhausted and aching and irritable. But she took to the work well, not seeming to feel the punishment as it had been intended. Which irritated him.

Though he had a much better understanding of the girl, he still hadn’t figured out a way to turn that knowledge into anything useful. Therefore, every afternoon they sat for hours in the pouring rain while the princess tried and failed to find a way around those iron bars in her mind.

The girl was still infuriating, still arrogant and impudent and wild, but he didn’t hate her as much as he had before. If he had cared to think about it, he would have probably characterized his feelings as an antagonistic dislike.

She still aggravated him, and he still goaded her right back. But he understood her better now, and found that he couldn’t hate her.

No more dead demi-Fae turned up, but Rowan still spent every morning searching the woodlands and digging through papers for leads. He didn’t make any progress. The maps and missives just stared back at him, blank and unhelpful, while the forests remained infuriatingly empty.

But one morning, Rowan received news through the fortress courier.

Fenrys was back in Doranelle, having finished his assignment in Varese. And apparently, he missed irritating Rowan to death.

Rowan –

I arrived in Doranelle just this week. I didn’t realize you would still be at Mistward, or I might have stopped there on my way back. Not that I miss your pretty face – I just need to collect on the favor I did for you in Varese. You owe me.

Connall and I are the only ones currently in the capital, so there won’t be much help coming your way (we drew straws, and I received the absolutely wonderful pleasure of responding to your very thoughtful and not-at-all-grouchy message).

Lorcan is now with fleet along the southern coast, pushing east towards the rebel camps. As you know, it’ll be unlikely that he responds in time to actually be helpful – if at all. Vaughan is still on the other side of the world, doing whatever the hell Maeve asked him to do there, so there’s almost no chance of you reaching him. But I’m sure you knew that.

Gavriel on the other hand, we just got word from – he will be returning within the month, back from the outpost on the northern edge of the Cambrian Mountains. The soldiers he was stationed with were all killed – slaughtered by a band of rogues sometime after midwinter. He tracked the killers to their base, and executed their leader. But still, those were soldiers Gavriel had known for decades, some even longer. You actually probably knew some of their names, but I don’t, so I can’t relay them to you.

In his message, Gavriel said that he was looking for you, and had visited Lord Siarill’s court in the east where he thought you were still stationed. But of course, you weren’t there, and after checking with Lorcan in the south, he said he would be returning. I tried to send a letter his way, but we’ll see if he gets it.

Neither me, nor my brother, know anything – there have been no reports here of any strange bodies, missing people, or of whatever that dark creature was.

Are you sure that the bodies aren’t just from normal crime? Fae gone bad? And about that creature – you never actually saw anything, right? Just a weird darkness?

Maybe another Fae has been blessed by Hellas and is raging across the countryside. Though it’s hard to imagine anyone more unstable than Lorcan. Perhaps he’s just in a mood and decided to take it out on his demi-Fae cousins. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. Lorcan could probably dry someone up into a husk if he wanted to.

I refrained from asking our dear mistress, assuming that if you got that desperate, you could very well ask her yourself. Good luck with that.

I will, however, search through the library for you, but I doubt I’ll find anything helpful. What you had to say was too vague, and far too reliant on your own experience with the creature, rather than its identity, characteristics, or history – and you know what it’s like in there. Impossible to find anything you’re looking for even under the best of circumstances.

Let me know if anything interesting happens, its dead boring here – as per usual. Could use an evil demon creature to spice things up. Perhaps I could even set it on Connall – he certainly could use a good sharp shock. Brooding bastard.

Hope you’re enjoying training that pretty princess, because if you aren’t, I’d be glad to take your place. I’ve heard she’s fiery. Sounds like fun if I’ve ever heard of it.

Let me know of any developments, I will do the same –

Fenrys

Rowan’s jaw was clenched the whole time he read the letter.

Even so, he knew that the boastful male did actually care about the lives of the demi-Fae, and would help him if he could.

Not that it meant that he was excited to repay the favor the male thought he was owed – the last time Fenrys had called in a favor, the pair of them had woken up in an abandoned cottage nearly ten miles away from where they’d been staying, soaking wet, short two purses full of gold coin, and absolutely no memory of the night before.

Fenrys still told the story at every possible opportunity.

Rowan growled at the paper in his hands, forcing his thoughts away from the infuriating male. Instead they fell on Gavriel. Which honestly wasn’t that much better.

Rowan had known many of the soldiers in Gavriel’s company. Many of them had families, had mates that would now be mourning them. The emptiness in his chest twisted.

Rowan drafted a quick reply, relaying the information he had gathered on the appearance of the new bodies, as well as the inferences he had been able to make about the dark creature. It wasn’t much.

A few days later, another surprise. Lorcan had also received his letter, and bothered to respond.

Whitethorn –

So you ended up training the girl. My condolences.

I’ve never heard of anything remotely similar to whatever this creature is. It doesn’t sound like anything blessed by Hellas, or by any other of the gods. Are you sure that it isn’t just the skinwalkers?

I am still in the southeast, the rebels are proving harder to put down that originally thought. Don’t bother me again for anything unimportant.

– Lorcan Salvaterre

Rowan’s face twisted into a frown. Well, at least he’d responded at all.

Each evening he listened to Emrys’ stories, usually hidden beneath the stairs just out of sight. The girl's black eye and split lip had begun to fade, while her limbs had strengthened, her skin regained some color, and in general, she began to look healthier. More human.

Perhaps because of that fact, he didn’t overhear any more worried conversations between Emrys or Malakai, nor did he catch any strange looks from them. Though the girl still kept away from others in the fortress, it seemed that she was settling in to life at Mistward.

Nightmares still plagued Rowan, and every morning he was jerked from sleep well before dawn, sweat coating his limbs and images flashing behind his eyes. But occasionally, something different flickered through his mind. A set of lips, the taste of jasmine, a flicker of flame –

Whenever that happened, Rowan threw himself into the misty wind, coating himself in its icy touch and locking those thoughts away where he didn’t have to deal with them.

A week after the incident with the skinwalkers, Rowan collected the girl from the kitchens at noon as usual, and they made their daily trek up the mountain to the temple ruins, the girl’s mortal pace somehow having become even more irritating with time.

It was unusually sunny that day, and the echo of the power within the temple stones felt stronger, richer than usual. As did the girl’s. Not that it seemed to make any difference with her shifting.

They sat for just over two hours, mostly silent among the glowing stones, before the girl stood, groaning. She paced for moment, her hands on her hips, studying the stones.

She looked around as if she could feel the effect of Mala’s touch as well, could hear the whispered prayers of long-dead worshippers, begging the goddess for her blessing.

She broke through the heavy silence. “What was this place, anyway?”

Rowan dogged her steps, leashing his irritation at the impertinent question. “The Sun Goddess’s temple.”

She cocked her head. “You’ve been bringing me here because you think it might help with mastering my powers – my shifting?”

He nodded faintly.

The girl turned and placed her hand on the stones, soaking up their warmth, lost in thought. Only the vague outline of the temple remained, the barest imprint of a brick path, crumbling pillars strewn about like abandoned toys.

For some reason, its loss saddened him. An ancient place of fire and worship, destroyed and forsaken by time.

The princess broke through his reverie unexpectedly, “Mab was immortalized into godhood thanks to Maeve,” she ran a hand down the jagged block, musing aloud. “But that was over five hundred years ago. Mala had a sister in the moon long before Mab took her place.”

Deanna and Mala, sisters and eternal rivals, keepers of the sun and the moon. “Deanna was the original sister’s name. But you humans gave her some of Mab’s traits. The hunting, the hounds.”

“Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren’t always rivals.”

Rowan cocked his head. “What are you getting at?”

She just shrugged, running her pale fingers over the white granite. “Did you ever know Mab?”

He was quiet for a long moment, considering.

“No,” he said at last. “I am old, but not that old.”

“Do you feel old?”

The question was pointed, but not aggressive. She wasn’t asking as a challenge, or a taunt. For some reason, she wanted to know. It was a question to seek understanding, not dominance.

So he answered. “I am still considered young by the standards of my kind.”

She did not relent. “You said that you once campaigned in a kingdom that no longer exists. You’ve been off to war several times, it seems, and seen the world. That would leave its mark. Age you on the inside.”

Curiosity broke though him, threading its way through his ice like roots pushing into the earth. He turned his gaze towards her, “Do you feel old?”

She met his gaze calmly, measured and quiet as she considered the question. “These days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once. These days, I don’t envy you at all.”

Her words were heavy things laid at his feet. But still, that curiosity did not let up. “And before?”

She turned away, looking at the distant horizon. “I used to wish I had a chance to see it all – and hated that I never would.”

The burden of royalty – of an heir. A burden he had never felt, though he was a prince. Before Lyria, he had passed his life attempting to escape just such a trap as the princess had been born into. But after her death, he had sold himself into his own gilded cage. It was strange - in a way, they were almost similar, both trapped.

Rowan formed another question, but before he could ask it, the girl spoke again, sidetracking him. “Is this where the stags were kept – before this place was destroyed?”

Just last night, Emrys had told the story of the sun stags, ancient beings who held an immortal flame between their massive antlers, so similar to their cousins in the west. The stags of Terrasen. They had once been stolen from a temple in this land, never to be seen again.

“I don’t know. This temple wasn’t destroyed; it was abandoned when the Fae moved to Doranelle, and then ruined by time and weather.”

“Emrys’ stories said destroyed, not abandoned.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Again, what are you getting at?”

She paused. Then shook her head at the ground and said, “The Fae on my continent—in Terrasen … they weren’t like you. At least, I don’t remember them being that way. There weren’t many, but …” She swallowed hard. “The King of Adarlan hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at you, I don’t understand how he did it.”

His mouth twisted into a frown. All those lives, snuffed out, because of one man’s cruelty. For the first time, he was angry at his queen for her pettiness, for her refusal to send aid. It wasn’t only this girl’s fault that Terrasen had fallen – he should have been there. Should have helped.

“I’ve never been to your continent, but I heard that the Fae there were gentler – less aggressive, very few trained in combat – and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers.”

“And yet Maeve wouldn’t send aid.” Her jaw was clenched, her brow furrowed.

“The Fae of your continent long ago severed ties with Maeve.” He paused again, unsure why he was justifying, but still unwilling to admit to this foreign princess that his queen had been wrong, and needlessly cruel. “But there were some in Doranelle who argued in favor of helping. My queen wound up offering sanctuary to any who could make it here.”

She seemed to sigh, closing her eyes for only a moment as she stepped away from the ancient carvings and back to her usual spot, the scent of her boundless grief and guilt and ache wafting from her like a perfume.

They sat in silence until twilight descended and they returned to the keep, night blanketing them in its heavy folds.

···

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silverfootstepswrites · 5 years

Text

Incandescent [2/3]

title Incandescent (2/3) summary Vengeance is the best pick-up line. pairing itasaku (of course)

Part 1 | Part 3

It was a well-known fact that King Fugaku had bastard children. At least two, in fact. One, he had taken in as his “nephew” and currently served as a baron not far from the capital. The other, for some reason, he had never acknowledged. Never even spoken to. It had been a source of great scandal in the Cian Kingdom when it had first come to light. But now, no one batted an eye.

Which Sakura thought was absurd.

“He made him and he won’t even speak to him?” Sakura complained.

“It’s not as uncommon as you think, Sakura,” Kizashi answered.

“That’s right,” Mebuki piped up. “If anything, Papa is the strange one for not having mistresses.”

Sakura hid her smile behind her napkin as she watched her father sputter.

As Sakura recalled that conversation from a few years ago, she started when a servant arrived to set down tea in front of them. The plates and silverware rattled together. Her eyes met Sakura’s. Sakura didn’t dare look at her guest. She just nodded at the girl to dismiss her. She couldn’t leave the room faster. The door closed with a click behind her.

Sakura sat alone with her esteemed guest. Emperor Itachi of the Bermellon Empire.

Bermellon was a powerhouse of military prowess and technology. It was much older than the kingdom of Cian, and its access to the ocean meant that merchants flocked to its ports. A plague several years ago, along with a civil war waged among the nobles had weakened the empire considerably. Rumors had spread of a new emperor who had seized the throne and brought stability to the lands. All that the rumors could agree on was that the emperor was a recluse who didn’t appear in public for any reason.

“You must be uncomfortable. I beg your pardon for the sudden visit,” the emperor said, lowering his head.

Sakura pinched her thigh through her dress. It hurt. So this wasn’t some kind of strange dream.

“I.... Please don’t beg, Your Majesty,” was all she could think to say.

Itachi was silent as he took that in. And then a smile curled his lips.

“Then instead of begging, let me ask you a question, My Lady. Is is true that you’ve been in a somewhat... vindictive mood lately?” he queried. Pointer finger on his cheek and thumb on his chin as he watched her.

Her curiosity overpowered the fear. She met his gaze. “Perhaps.”

His smile widened. “Excellent.”

Sakura didn’t know why. But she felt quite comfortable recounting the last several months to a foreign monarch. Which, in retrospect, was probably a very stupid thing to do. Maybe it was his silence. It was hard to find someone who just listened.

“That is... quite a slap in the face,” was all he concluded at the end of her story.

“What I resent most,” Sakura began. She seized a cookie from the platter in the middle of the tray, “Is that I have brains. Why would he believe that I was going to seduce the son of the Knight Commander when I’m already going to become Queen?”

“That would be unnecessary,” Itachi said.

“Exactly!” Sakura took a bite of the cookie. And then, settling back in her seat, she sighed.

“Well, there’s no use in getting angry. It’s what I get for underestimating the no-name niece of a baron,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. After a moment, her gaze flickered up to Itachi.

“I’m not what you expected, am I?” Sakura guessed.

Itachi smiled a little. He wasn’t so daunting when he smiled like that. “Am I that transparent?”

“No. You have to get good at reading faces when you’re engaged to someone like Prince Sasuke,” Sakura replied. And then she tilted her head to one side as she thought as she added, “You remind me of him.”

His smile faded. “Which reminds me, we haven’t gotten to the reason for my sudden visit.”

She was aware that he had just changed the topic. But she gestured for him to proceed. She could always poke at that again later.

“Simply put, after the civil war, the farmlands and much of our infrastructure were destroyed. We’ve been able to make ends meet by importing crops from neighboring nations. Like yours. But the harsh tariffs your king has recently set against my country have hurt everyone. My people cannot afford to eat.”

“Wouldn’t this be the job of an ambassador to discuss this with His Majesty?” Sakura wondered.

“You’re correct. It would also be his job to discuss how Cian has engaged in skirmishes along our border and attempted to blame bandits,” Itachi added.

“So my country is provoking you to see if you’re weak enough to attack?” she guessed.

Itachi nodded. He took a sip of his tea. “That’s what I believe.”

Sakura folded her arms across her chest. “Then where do I factor into all of this?” she asked.

“Even outside of your kingdom’s borders, your family’s power is well-known. And then I happened to hear rumors of the House Haruno’s.... falling-out with the Crown. Naturally, I thought we could help each other. We put on a show, feign closeness. We can use that to our advantage to each get what we need.”

Sakura eyed him as she lifted her teacup to her lips to take a sip. She placed it back down on the saucer, soundlessly. “Do you plan to add Cian to your empire?”

Itachi didn’t flinch from her gaze. In fact, she almost wanted to flinch. Meeting with the Queen had been unnerving enough. This man was on a whole other level. “You’re quite blunt, aren’t you?” he observed.

“Your question doesn’t cancel out my question, Your Majesty,” she pressed. Perhaps, a little foolishly.

Itachi chuckled. “True. That was rude of me. But I also have many things I’d like to ask you.”

“Then we take turns. If you’d answer my question first, I’d be happy to answer one of yours,” she suggested.

“Very well. My answer is ‘no’. I don’t plan on conquering Cian.” And then he paused as he searched her gaze. “You’re not frightened?”

“Terrified.”

“Of this plan?”

“Yes. And of you. You’re very intimidating,” she answered. She didn’t see a need in lying about that.

He chuckled, eyes flickering down to the teacup. “I wouldn’t be a good ruler if I wasn’t.” And then his eyes moved back up to her. “Your next question?”

“Is it alright for you to be away from Bermellon like this?” she inquired.

“No, actually. But this was a special exception. In the future, I’m afraid our correspondences will have to be through writing,” he told her. And then he tilted his head a little as he looked her over.

“Why do you ask?”

Sakura gestured around the room. “Because if you’re going to continue to visit, Your Majesty, we’re going to need to update these furnishings. My mother would have a fit if she knew you sat in the same room as out-of-season curtains,” she told him.

Itachi’s eyes sparkled as he pressed his knuckles to his mouth. It took him several moments for him to speak again. In which Sakura felt at ease because she knew it was from him trying his best not to laugh. Which would have been very undignified for a fearsome emperor.

“I look forward to working with you, Lady Sakura.”

“Likewise, Your Majesty.”

Itachi’s departure was discrete. He slipped out through the servant’s entrance, the hood of his cloak pulled up to cover his hair. As the carriage pulled up, Itachi turned back to look at her. Sakura lingered in the doorway.

“Do you have a pet name, My Lady?” Itachi inquired.

“Do I look like the sort of woman who would have a pet name, Your Majesty?” she retorted, forehead wrinkling at the very thought. Pet names were for little girls. Perhaps the only peer who could have gotten away with calling her by such a thing would have been the royal family. Just imagining Sasuke’s look of disgust if she asked him to call her by a pet name made goosebumps rise up and down her arms.

“No. I suppose not. You’re quite endearing enough as is,” he mused mostly to himself as he turned to climb into the carriage.

The servants pretended to have seen nothing, and all Sakura informed her mother when she arrived a week later was that she had been dreadfully bored without her.

“You changed the curtains. Thank you, love,” Mebuki observed as she sat in the parlor. She cast a confused look at the servant girl who stifled a giggle.

It began with a letter. A formal correspondence from the Emperor of Bermellon to Duke Haruno.

“What does it say, Papa?” Sakura asked, leaning on him as she read over his shoulder. Kizashi handed it to her once he was done reading.

“The Bermellon Empire has had trouble feeding all its citizens after the civil war. The nobles were fond of razing farmlands as a battle strategy, apparently,” Kizashi informed her. He folded his hands under his chin as he waited for her to finish reading.

Sakura wrinkled her nose. “Bermellon had an agreement with the Crown. They sold surplus crops to Bermellon. In exchange for what, Papa?”

“For not attacking us. For a while, Bermellon’s armies were a serious threat,” Kizashi replied.

“But not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” he agreed. “I’d heard rumors that King Fugaku was planning to lay down strict sanctions against Bermellon. I never thought Bermellon would come running to us for help, though.” Leaning back in his chair, Kizashi bit the end of his pipe.

“Well, we grow the crops. It would make more sense for them to deal with us directly rather than go through the Crown,” Sakura commented. She stole a glance at her father, measuring his expression. He appeared to be lost in thought.

“Why don’t we help them, Papa? It wouldn’t do for people to go hungry,” she suggested.

Her father’s eyes flew to her. Sharpening.

“You know what kind of message that would send.”

“I know, Papa.”

Kizashi’s eyes narrowed even more. His mustache twitched. “What are you planning, dear daughter of mine?” he wondered.

Sakura rested her chin in her palms. She beamed at him as she answered: “Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if it were a surprise, Papa?”

Kizashi penned a reply that afternoon. Sakura sitting at his side as they brainstormed how to word the response. Mebuki eyed them as she watched Sakura pour wax onto the envelope flap. Sakura blew on the wax to cool before she stamped it with the seal.

“The royal family is moving to the Winter Palace. They should arrive in the next week or so,” Mebuki announced.

“Do you think they’ll try to make amends?” Kizashi queried.

“Of course. Although it seems like our daughter has other plans,” Mebuki noted. Sakura just smiled at her. Mebuki reached out and stroked Sakura’s hair. “Remember, darling. No treason.”

“Yes, Mama.”

As the weeks went on, letters went back and forth. Sakura started to pity the messengers who rode from the emperor’s palace on the coast to the Haruno family’s manor further inland.

Under the guise of lightening her father’s workload, Sakura had taken on writing to the Emperor herself.

At first, the messages had been strictly business. Contracts and official documents that were signed and stamped to ensure a fair deal. There had been a few letters that had been a bit snippy as they negotiated about the money that would change hands. Sakura had to admit that the Emperor was a shrewd negotiator. The number they settled on wasn’t exactly unfair to her, but it was certainly less than she would have liked.

But as the number of letters grew, Sakura found that their correspondences sounded less and less like business.

He didn’t exactly spill his soul onto the page, but she could make some guesses. His palace seemed like a quiet place. And he worried a lot. About his people. About himself.

In one letter on a particularly dull day, Sakura mentioned off-hand that she missed the capital. Particularly the sound of the cuckoo birds that would wake her in the morning.

She stood dumbfounded in her garden a few weeks later. Inside a silver cage sat two birds. Their feathers were grey, almost blue. Their bright yellow eyes stared at her as she approached. One of them opened its beak to let out a familiar “cuckoo” sound.

“Those are...” Sakura trailed off when one of her servants handed her a letter. The imperial seal stamped into the deep purple wax.

A token of thanks for all that you’ve done, was all it said.

Of course, Sakura hosted a small tea party a few days later. And while she didn’t say anything about the birds, she did place the cage in the middle of the garden, where everyone could see.

“Those are lovely, Lady Sakura,” one of the ladies commented.

“They were a gift from His Majesty the Emperor of Bermellon,” answered Sakura. Pretending not to notice Ino almost choke on her tea.

It didn’t take long for rumors to spread from there.

Sakura told her chattiest servants about the latest thing the Emperor had written to her or sent to her. And in turn, those servants spread the gossip to her friends and family. Who in turn informed their friends.

By the peak of the winter, the royal court buzzed with speculation like an angry beehive. Was the daughter of Duke Haruno engaged to the Emperor of an enemy nation? Was this a plot on the Crown’s part to gain Bermellon’s trust? Hadn’t Lady Sakura just been rejected by the Prince?

Sakura sat in the shade of the garden. It was a little cool, but the cloak around her shoulders kept her from feeling uncomfortable. The lavender the Emperor had sent to her several weeks ago had taken nicely to the soil. The stalks of silver-green leaves swayed back and forth, spreading the fragrance through the air.

“What’s most scandalous, I think, is that it’s difficult to tell whether he’s courting you or not, I think,” Mebuki observed. She gestured around the garden. “Flowers, birds, teas from his lands. Normally he would be sending dresses and jewels if he were trying to woo you.”

“Oh nonsense, Mama. He’s just showing his appreciation for our trading partnership,” drawled Sakura. And they dissolved into laughter.

The cooler weather passed and it was time for a new social season.

Sakura took a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders to loosen up before she nodded at the steward. He opened up the doors. A servant girl entered bearing a large silver tray. Envelopes of every shape and size covered the surface. Some of the messages were doused in perfume, which Mebuki promptly plucked out and tossed in the discard pile. (”That’s tacky, my dear. Anyone of good standing uses their name, not their nose to get attention.”)

“Hm. Garden party. Garden party. Oh. Flower viewing. So different from a garden party,” Sakura read as she shuffled through the invitations.

“Which ones will you go to, Mama?” asked Sakura.

Mebuki glanced through the names. “The sister of Earl Sabaku is throwing a stargazing party. She always has the most interesting ideas.”

And then Mebuki picked up a few more envelopes. “Countess Inuzuka has continued to annoy me. But I might show my face at Marquise Nara’s tea party.”

“And Marquise Yamanaka?” Sakura prompted.

Mebuki laughed. “That goes without saying.” But then Mebuki looked at her daughter’s face and her smile fell. “Oh. You’re... not planning on attending.... any of these,” she realized.

Sakura grinned. Pressing her hands together, she fluttered her eyelashes.

“Actually, Mama, neither of us are attending. We have somewhere to be,” Sakura corrected her.

Mebuki sighed.

“....Let me go get your father.”

“Duchess Haruno, it’s so good to see you,” the Queen greeted Mebuki a couple weeks later. Mebuki curtsied deeply.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, Your Grace,” Mebuki replied.

“Of course. We are always glad to see such a dear and trusted friend,” Mikoto answered her. And they were all titters and smiles. Which did nothing to mask the frigid atmosphere in the room as they sat together.

“Now, whatever is this urgent matter that concerns you, my dear duchess?”

“The Haruno family won’t be attending the spring banquet?” Fugaku barked. His voice echoed across the dining room. Mikoto wrung her hands, her food untouched. Sasuke stared at his plate, like he wasn’t a part of the conversation. A servant walked in with a water jug, eyed the expressions of the royal family, and silently backtracked out of the room.

“...Or the summer ball,” added Mikoto.

Fugaku’s fork and knife clattered onto the plate. He threw his napkin on the table.

“This is unacceptable,” Fugaku said.

Sasuke stole a glance at his father and found himself on the receiving end of a glare.

“This is your doing, Sasuke.”

“How is the Haruno family’s insolence my responsibility?” Sasuke retorted.

“Oh, Sasuke, don’t,” Mikoto sighed. But there was no point.

“Not only did you dissolve an engagement, you publicly humiliated the daughter of the biggest threat to our kingdom. To make things worse, you abjure the girl you chose to replace her with after less than a year. What sort of message does that send to our people?” Fugaku spat. Sasuke bit his tongue as he looked away.

“For years, Sasuke, Duke Haruno has been called the second king of this nation. Should he choose to rebel, it would plunge this nation into a bitter conflict. One that I’m uncertain we would emerge victorious from,” the king then said in a softer voice.

Slowly, Sasuke turned his face back toward his parents. Fugaku was still scowling.

“I’ve been hearing unsettling strange rumors about the south right now. Fix this before it’s too late, Sasuke. Lady Sakura has always been enamored of you. Use that to your advantage,” the King demanded.

However, when Sasuke arrived at the Haruno mansion in the Capital the following day, it was empty.

“The Duke has moved here for the season, Your Highness, but there has been no word from the Duchess,” the steward informed him. And then he added, “It’s very likely that they are still at the manor, You-”

Sasuke stalked off before the steward could finish speaking. He had his fastest messengers sent south to the Haruno lands. They returned several days later empty-handed. Neither women was there, and none of the servants could say where they had gone.

Interrogating Sakura’s usual friends was just as pointless. Lady Ino claimed that she was just as confused as to where her friend was, and then punctuated her words with some scowls and maybe even an eye roll. Lady Temari was less obvious about her disdain, but answered just as coldly.

“How am I supposed to fix this if I can’t even find her?” Sasuke grumbled.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have messed things up from the start then,” Naruto said, patting him on the back. Which was the sort of privilege he had by being one of Sasuke’s only friends since childhood. And oblivious to Sasuke’s expression, Naruto went on. “I tried to warn you. My cousin’s crazy. And Lady Sakura would never do all those things Karin said. If I were you, I’d be really mad at myself for falling for any of that.”

“Naruto.”

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

“Alright, Your Highness.”

A few days later, a message arrived at the royal palace. It might not have caught anyone’s attention except for the deep purple wax that sealed the flap in place.

As soon as Fugaku turned it over, his mouth tightened into a thin line.

“What is it?” Mikoto asked.

“Trouble,” was all Fugaku could say.

#writing #itasaku #incandescent

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kitsunebi-chan · 4 years

Text

IDOLISH7′s ninth ichikuji, Ayakashi Kaleidoscope.

This is my first time translate such a long script like this. To be honest I have zero confident on my skill but, better try than regret it later. I love this event too much that I can’t help myself.

English is not my main language so please feel free to tell me if you find any miss in my grammar. And it’s more that welcome for you to give your critics. Well, happy reading~

(DM me if you want the Indonesian version)

Event Part 1

[???]

‘what a small hands. Momiji, look.’

It was a nostalgic voice, that I heard somewhere long in the past. Just like being woken up by a sight of vivid crimson, and let it continuously smoldering inside my chest. Since that day, I feel like searching for something. Something I have lost, something precious. What is it that I lost, whose voice is it, was everything just a childish dream from my younger self. While still, doesn’t remember a thing…

[Katanashu’s headquarter. In front of the reception office.]

??? (Sogo) : Hey, paper doll.

Shikigami : ----

???(Sogo) : For someone who come early, this is quite a funny way to do greetings, huh. Does attacking all of sudden then push down human into bedridden is some kind of Shikigami’s hospitality? And, why are you stand on my belly? Get down from there, right now. Laying in the hallway and watching the ceiling is not my hobby at all.

Shikigami :-----

???(Sogo) : Oi, Are you hear me? Who is the person in charge here? I have waited long enough, but there is no one come to get me.

Shikigami -----

???(Sogo) : …. No reply….. could it be, it can’t understand my word? I think it can’t be helped then.

*-----sound of opening door*

???(Yamato) : Oh my, What are you doing laying here in the middle of hallway? Were you playing with the Shikigami? What’s more, with that look like you will draw you sword at any moment despite having such beautiful face, what dangerous combination.

???(Sogo) : A person...? Where did he….

???(Yamato) : I entered just now. From that big gate near the hallway. Did you too absorbed into your game with the Shikigami that make you lost your surrounding?

???(Sogo) : This situation is unavoiable. Because nobody seemed to come for me no matter how long I’m waiting at the reception office.

???(Yamato) : Hmm…And then, you want to search for someone and go to the hallway but ended up in this kind of situation, huh. Do not miss any suspicious person who roaming at the office, as expected of our excellent Shikigami!

???(Sogo) : Suspicious person…? I properly carry on my duty, from imperial capital…

???(Yamato) : Hm… It just getting more fishy. You suspicious people always say the same thing.

???(Sogo) :………From the uniform and sword that attached on my waist, you can tell that I’m part of Katanashu’s group too. I don’t want to say this on our first meeting but please stop smirking when you looking at me. It’s unpleasant.

???(Yamato) : Ahah, what a scary face. Relax for a bit, will ya? Even though you are now laying upside down just like a frog that was about to dissected, quite a bossy fellow, aren’t you. I’m sorry ‘kay. Looking down at someone’s face from above was lot of fun that I cannot help myself.

???(Sogo) : You are not very popular, don’t you?

???(Yamato) : To suddenly put it like that, you are really not cute.

???(Sogo) : It’s enough. More than this will just waste of time. I will deal with this myself.

*---Klak* (door open)

???(Nagi) : Aaaa… Wait a minute! Stop! Stop!

???(Sogo) : There is another one….

???(Nagi) : ---Captain Kasane, stop teasing him, would you please dispel the shikigami now?

Kasane ; Oh, Madoka, you came?

Madoka : I was behind you this entire time. So troublesom-…I mean, as a subordinate, at least I refrained from saying that it would be a good idea. Anyway, he is the new member who had just arrived today, isn’t he? There were talks about him will come to our second corps, right. Look at his uniform.

Kasane : Aa-… right, right, there were talks like that, I’m completely forgot.

Madoka : even though you were the one who told me about it yesterday.

Kasane : Sorry, I just cannot remember something I don’t care with.

???(Sogo) : The second corps captain? That’s mean this man is my superior….

Kasane : --Oi.

???(Sogo) : …! The Shikigami….

Kasane : I have dispelled the shikigami, with this you can move again, right? So hurry, get up from there. Or do you want to say you need a hand to help you up now?

???(Sogo) : …….. No need. I can stand up myself. Sorry for showed you this unpleasant sight.

Madoka : Uwaa… even though a while ago he was pressed under the shikigami and turned upside down, he stand up like it was nothing.

???(Sogo) : I’m really sorry for my insolent behavior earlier. You are the second corps captain, right? Here, my enlistment letter.

Kasane : Oh, thanks. Till your way to bow is so polite, showing such respectful attitude is more than enough.

Madoka : Uwaa… he look like a serious-type.

???(Sogo) : I the one who will assignment here from today. Katanashu’s second corps affiliation, Momiji.

Kasane : Ng? Momiji? So your name that written on the enlistment letter here is not read as ‘Kaede’ but ‘Momiji’ instead? Isn’t the way to read it a bit off?

Momiji : I wish for it myself. Because I heard when you assigned as a swordsman, you will work under a given name.

Madoka : Beside being a serious-type, you are also a weird one……usually, the upper ups will decided for the member’s name by taking one character from their real name. Because there may be a chance for youkai* to steal your mana* if you keep your real name. It also said if you got your name stolen, your enemy can take control on you.

Momiji ; Actually, it is still took after my name. I just change the way it read.

Kasane ; Hmmn… you have some nice hobby there.

Momiji : …..

Kasane : Well, nevermind. I’m Kasane. The second corps captain. I’m the boss of myself. The man with pointed nose over there is Madoka. He is our most reliable man, the shining ace. Your rank both are the same, so please get along.

Madoka : ….Thank you.

Momiji : Nice to meet you.

Kasane : Well, then. Since we finished greeting each other, it is okay for me go now, right? I will leave the task to guide the newcomer in your hand okay, ace.

Madoka : …huh?! But my duty hours will end this afternoon…

Kasane : That is a good news! That’s mean you still have some time.

Madoka : No, no, no, I really just have a little…

Kasane ; Okay, I’m counting on you Madoka~ Everything include our facilities, mission, till the meaning of become a swordsman, make sure to give him all the lecture perfectly ‘kay~

Madoka : Wa-…, captain!

Kasane ; Aa…,so busy, so busy~

*krieekkk.....blam*

Madoka ; He really gone…I’m sure it’s just an excuses….he always push all the job on me. Moreover, you, please read the mood. Momiji, right? Why you have to come before me off duty.

Momiji ; Isn’t it you own fault? If you guide me right after my arrival, it must be all over now.

Madoka : Uh.. about that… as a newcomer, to talk back at your senior like this, aren’t you being impudent?

Momiji : Even if you are the senior, we have the same rank.

Madoka ; Uwa… you are really not cute. But you really must have that kind boldness to be able to speak like that, either way you can’t do it with the fellow swordsman. *sigh*…. It’s troublesome but, since this is a superior’s order then is nothing I can do about it. I will guide you now so follow me.

Momiji ; okay…

Madoka ; We will start from the imperial capital. Since you are send to this neighborhood as a swordsman, I think you already understand about it but, as you see this place is no longer a human’s world.

Momiji : …hmm.

Madoka ; Actually, the existence of human’s world and youkai’s world are like a bunch of mirrors that overlap one to another. To put it simply, you can say this quarter as their ‘entrance’. And, to management all the youkai living here, is the mission that has entrusted to us, the swordsman. Behind this gate is what we called Katanashu’s inner citadel. Then, I will start from the explanation of our facilities here.

Momiji : Behind this….

*krieekkk....**sfx :opening door*

Madoka ; Welcome, newcomer-kun. To the place where no human lives, to the city of light and shadow—

***Naration

In the past, in place that was governed by samurais, there were they that performed a mysterious power. There was he whose body covered in flame, there was one that destroy a village in shape of wind, or a god who swallow a mountain like hand of water. Beast, monster--- again those are named as youkai. They are feared, despised, respected, used, and worshiped by humans. However, together with those who leave the land of samurai, they choose to hide themselves in land of immortal on the other side of mirror, as they entrusted the ‘Gate of Daimon’ to connect with people between two world.

And now, as the time passed, it will be told in the present days, about a story that may have existed, the story from Hinomoto’s land.

___________________________________________________________

Transltor’s note :

-I use Katanashu (刀衆）to refer their group's name as I don't know anymore how I should call them :’) but I decide to keep them refer theirself as ‘swordsman’ so please forgive me for the confusing word. :’’

*Youkai : Japanese, mythology ghost and monster.

*Mana : Human’s life force, youkai’s source of power

#i7 #idolish7 #ousaka sogo #nikaidou yamato #rokuya nagi #translation

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liquidink21 · 5 years

Text

Half-Life 4 Redux

Since writing up that big post about concepts I had for Half-Life 4 I’ve managed to get it together into a coherent story, which I’ll post here.

HλLF-LIFE 4

Chapter 1: Brave New World

For the first time since HL1 Gordon isn’t immediately dumped there by the G-Man or Vortigaunts. He’s implied to have been part of this world for some time. The entire chapter runs contrasted with HL2’s Point Insertion; instead of a tense walk through the dystopian City 17, after leaving his train Gordon takes a leisurely work to work. Instead of downtrodden citizens surrounded by metrocops, the citizens seem fairly happy though hard at work.

By interacting with the citizens in a few situations and by watching a newsreader on the old Breencast monitors, the player can pick up what they’ve missed since HL3 (they can ignore it if they want). The Combine has been overthrown, and humanity had begun rebuilding and establishing their own societies again. They are in the city of New Odessa, capital of a state known as the Foundation, created from the old Sector 17 resistance. The player learns of an “Empire” that exists in contention with the Foundation.

Level layout is as linear as ever, but instead of cops and barricades the player it blocked by more hopeful and innocent looking things like construction work and things like that. In the distance New Odessa’s citadel can be seen in a partially dismantled state. It’s midday. The citizens have a more normal and varied clothing palette than the old Combine double-denim. In reference to a dismantled suppression field, several young children and pregnant women can be seen. Eventually the player is railroaded to Gordon’s workplace, a large governmental looking building.

Chapter 2: Threshold

This building has mix between office complex and scientific laboratory aesthetics to it. Gordon is directed by linear level design and some characters giving directions to where Gordon needs to go. If the player wants to go off the path a little they can meet and speak to Kleiner and Magnusson. They can also catch a world map, with the Foundation in East Europe and the Empire around the Great Lakes. The level however progresses when Gordon meets with Colette Green and Gina Gross, Gordon’s lesbian scientist friends. Like in Anomalous Materials Gordon is clearly about to get up to some work that he’d know but the player isn’t privy too.

Colette and Gina show Gordon to the HEV Mark VI. This new model has been upgraded with Combine technology and takes a few visual cues from the Combine Elite model in the helmet (yes, they have fucking helmets). It has gravity guns built into its hands! After donning the suit, the women lead Gordon to a teleportation room. As the women sets up the teleport, Barney comes in and speaks to them. He warns them that there’s been a spike in aggression from the Empire, as they blame the Foundation for a series of attacks on their facilities. The women assure him they’ll be careful.

They are teleported to a large Combine structure out in the Wasteland. It resembles the Beta Air Exchange for no reason other than mythology gag. It’s late afternoon. It’s made evident that Gordon is here to help harvest Combine technology from it. As Gina sets up some machinery (a teleporter to take them back) Colette and Gordon head into the structure. Colette helps the player learn some sort of new puzzle (I don’t know what kind. I’m a writer, not a video game dev.)

Gordon is eventually left on his own while Colette and Gina flirt keep talking over radio. Before the player gets bored the structure is attacked in a cinematographically spectacular way, by Hunter-Choppers like in HL2 but they’re stamped with a logo of the Earth. Colette and Gina tell him to flee back to the teleport. They manage to get away, but before Gordon can get through the teleporter is destroyed. Fortunately, the environment around it has a nice linear looking structure that allows Gordon to flee to safety into the next level.

Chapter 3: Breakdown

The environment over the next two levels is semi-alpine woodland, much like the Outlands in Episode 2. Gordon loses the Hunter-Choppers and finds an abandoned shack, with a few zombies and headcrabs. This is basically a little tutorial in fighting. Gordon has to throw physics objects at them, and soon finds a crowbar to help. After passing the shack, Gordon is railroaded to a structure in the distance. There are a few zombies in the way. In another building, a more intact and unabandoned structure, he meets “General” Odessa Cubbage who has been seriously wounded. He reveals that the Empire has launched a full-scale attack on the Foundation. As he climbs onto a table with a medkit, he gives Gordon his pistol and apologises for not having anything bigger.

It is sunset. Gordon goes out to fight Imperial troops directly now. Their design is reminiscent of the metrocops. At first he is harassed by their mechanical units; they still make use of manhacks. Very soon he is able to get his hands on the SMG and begin fighting in earnest. Although mostly against their soldiers and lesser robots, in the distance he can see APCs and even larger tanks in battle in out-of-bounds areas. He sees only a few Foundation troops, hauled up and having difficulty against the Imperial forces. There are also sporadic headcrabs and zombies having fun amongst the battle.

Soon Gordon meets up with the Foundation’s counterattack. Large robots that resemble Dog but more professionally built show up and begin hurling APCs off cliffs. A character, revealed to be Winston, the wounded Marine from HL2, explains to Gordon that they’re trying to push back and destroy the Imperial beachhead. Alongside the Foundation forces, Gordon moves through the battlefield. It becomes apparent both sides make use of teleportation; the Foundation making use of more Black Mesa style portals and the Empire sending troops through Aperture style portals.

They make their way to an old building the Empire has appropriated. While not the Imperial landing point, it’s being used as a rallying point so Gordon and Foundationers besiege it and clean it of Imperial troops. There are a few turrets, not of the Combine design but the Aperture design. A soldier reveals that the way to the Imperial beachhead is patrolled by many more tanks and helicopters. Fortunately, the base they just captured has an unmanned tank that was in the middle of maintenance. Gordon takes it for himself.

Chapter 4: Imperial Entanglements

It is night. The player is treated to a nice vehicle level. The tank is quick, resilient, and its cannon makes things go boom! It’s not invulnerable like previous HL vehicle levels. It has a regenerating shield that serves as hitpoints. Gordon moves through a winding canyon up against Imperial APCs, other tanks, and at least a pair of helicopters. At the end of the canyon, the Empire springs some sort of trap that forces Gordon out of the tank. He has to continue on foot.

He’s moved some distance ahead of his fellow Foundationers, but the pressure (and player impatience) forces him to move on without them. The Imperial beachhead is an old bunker built into a mountain, already fortified. Gordon manages thanks to linear game design to sneak his way inside. The bunker has a similar architecture to the White Forest base, but influences of Imperial occupation evident. There are Aperture style turrets guarding the corridors, and their supply crates resemble weighted storage cubes. The Empire is also fielding robotic soldiers that resemble Atlas and P-Body’s earlier concept art.

Gordon wrecks shit up, but it unfortunately captured in a tractor beam that resembles an Aperture excursion funnel. He is surrounded by soldiers and is confronted by a man they refer to as and resembles the Beta concept art of the Consul. He gives a brief angry speech about Gordon ruining their plan for conquering the Foundation, and blames the Foundation for attacks on Imperial soil. He sentences Gordon to death. He mentions that many Imperial citizens view Gordon as hero against the Combine, so he opts for a quick and bodiless execution there. They open a pair of Aperture portals on two pistons either side of Gordon and smoosh him between them, expecting him to be dumped out of existence.

Chapter 5: Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Instead of killing him, the Portal smoosh dumps Gordon in Xen. Not a bad form of execution assuming the victim doesn’t have a HEV suit. Gordon however survives to wander the realm of Xen to find a way back. Xen resembles to it depiction in Blue Shift. Pinkish-grey landmasses amongst the yellow-blue sky of clouds spreading out forever, and it all takes place on a single Xen continent rather than an island. He encounters a few different biomes moving across Xen (I’m 100% sure what kinds but they should be distinct from Black Mesa’s). This level serves as the equivalent of We Don’t Go to Ravenholm or Residue Processing; it’s a break from the action as Gordon traverses out-of-context terrain.

The enemy for these levels is purely the Xen wildlife. There is no Empire here. There are also plenty of puzzles for Gordon to solve, like the traps in Ravenholm or the conveyor maze in Residue Processing. About halfway through this level Gordon encounters a wandering Vortigaunt, who offers to help Gordon back to Earth. We’re treated to a few maps reminiscent of the tour of the Antlion caves in Episode 2, what with the Vortigaunt companion and all. They arrive at a distinctly manufactured complex, resembling a mix between the Nihilanth’s old factories and human architecture. It’s revealed that this is a Foundation colony, and generally implied that the Vortigaunt works there for the Foundation. The Vort gets a teleporter up and running and says it will take Gordon “where he needs to be.” Gordon takes the teleport.

Chapter 6: The Right Man

The teleport dumps Gordon right in the middle of a Combine facility, manned by surviving Combine soldiers. Gordon has to quickly fight his way out, heavily disrupting the facility. As escapes, he discovered himself in the middle of a wasteland. Hunter-choppers, stamped with the Imperial insignia, begin assaulting the facility but don’t notice Gordon. Gordon climbs to higher ground and is given a better look at the facility. If the player is smart, they can work out that this is a giant teleporter “plug” that drains water from Earth. Since the ocean wasn’t completely drained in HL2, it can be assumed this facility is in a large lake. It’s implied the Combine there were trying to open another portal to summon reinforcements.

Gordon is in a wasteland. It resembles the old beta concepts for the wasteland. The area is craggy and sandy and has winding canyons that maintain linear level design. It is day, with a small set of dark clouds off in the distance in the skybox. The main enemy is Xen wildlife, especially Antlions which roam the area. A hunter-chopper patrols ahead and gets sight of Gordon. Instead of trying to gun him down, it creates portals from which stronger and stronger Imperial forces try to kill him. Attempting to enter a portal lands Gordon in a barracks type room with no way to escape, forcing him back. Gordon is made to travel some distance though this chapter, emphasised by the maps generally all taking him in a relatively straight line. He follows the path of a railway set above the wasteland floor, apparently built during the Combine era. He has to brave Antlion tunnels on a few occasions too.

In the distance Gordon sees a structure. With nowhere else to go, Gordon “decides” (map design forces him towards) to check it out. As Gordon gets close, terrible explosions erupt from within. It’s identifiable as an Imperial structure at this distance. Entering through a breach in its walls, Gordon briefly sees a battle between Imperial forces and a mysterious dark figure. If the player looks closely, they can see the G-Man watching too. The figure escapes on a train. Gordon has to face off against the remaining Imperial forces and then has a boss fight of sorts with that helicopter that’s been chasing him. After shooting down the helicopter another train arrives. It’s made obvious to the player somehow that they’re meant to enter the train.

Chapter 7: The Wrong Place

The train segment is composed of two segments. At first Gordon fights through corridors on the train against the Imperials. The second he’s on an open segment with several turrets he can man to defend himself against attempts to stop him. This entire segment should play out like that really fun train level in Crysis: Warhead (the pinnacle of non-Half-Life gaming). On the path ahead, tanks, hunter-choppers, and other armed trains try to stop Gordon.

The environment starts out as more wasteland, before moving through a tunnel for some time, during which the soldiers from the other half of the train try to get Gordon off the train. When the train emerges, it is in a forest. A different style of forest to the Outlands; it’s a midwestern style forest that’s clearly dying. There’s a bit more of the train side shooting before it comes to a stop via violent derailment. Freeman is plunged into an almost dried up river and ends up on its shore. It’s still midday, but the dark clouds now take up half of the sky.

Gordon pushes onwards, following the trail of the railway. He finds himself around a small suburban town covered in collapsing slum-like constructions, entirely infested with zombies. They all seem to be moving somewhere before seeing Gordon. As he moves past the town, he goes through a much thicker area of trees before emerging at the wall. The wall is enormous and surrounds a city. It resembles old earth architecture enhanced by Combine fortifications enhanced further still by modern human architecture. It is manned by Imperial troops and is fending off a large-scale zombie attack. Gordon slips his way inside, and once caught engages in battle with the Imperial forces. He witnesses the mysterious figure from before fighting Imperials themselves, and again the G-Man is watching them. During the battle, a walkway collapses and Gordon plummets and is knocked unconscious.

Chapter 8: Chirality

Gordon awakens in a prison, stripped of weapons and HEV armour. Outside his cell are a few cops who seem, at best, bored. They have very different designs from the old metrocops; they resemble modern riot police instead. Before long there’s a knock at the door, and a rebel and Vortigaunt pair kill the cops. The rebel reveals herself to be Noriko from HL2, and frees Gordon. They explain he is in the Imperial capital, New Rome, and that his suit has been taken to a special testing facility. They give Gordon civilian clothes (nothing more than a pickup that does nothing), take him outside and point out the facility in the skyline. The storm has now covered the entire sky, giving the city that dark beta City 17 atmosphere. Noriko and the Vortigaunt (implied to be the same one from the Xen level) apologise that they can’t help Gordon get the suit but they’re known to the Empire and have to go hide.

Gordon, weaponless and suitless, is treated to a second “Welcome to City 17” level. The Imperial city is much more like the original Point Insertion. There are checkpoints and cops and scanners everywhere. Differing from City 17 is the fact the Empire makes an effort to keep its people happy. Propaganda is less vague and explicity comments on the hardships citizens face by scapegoating Vortigaunts and other aliens. There is a military parade showing off the big guns to the citizens, being played up as defending against further alien invasions. There are Vorti-cells torturing and siphoning trapped Vortigaunts for energy. As Gordon walks past all this, the police begin stirring as they learn that there’s an escaped prisoner. Gordon makes his way to the Imperial testing facility and sneaks in. The next sequence is a mix of stealth and puzzles to get to the HEV suit.

By the time Gordon is reacquainted with the suit, his presence has alerted the guards. Police and soldiers try to stop him, and Gordon has to flee the building and have a brief Route Canal type flight from them. He gets his weapons back from dead enemies pretty quickly as he flees. Instead of escaping the city Gordon ends up in a factory dedicated to arms manufactury. Citizens are fleeing and soldiers and cops intervening. The factory is being assaulted by the mysterious figure again. This time they notice Gordon back. They take off their mask and reveal themselves to be Alyx Vance. Her suit resembles a futuristic version of the leather suit Gordon was going to wear in the earliest drafts of HL2. It’s not sexy in the slightest; it looks like a black straitjacket to emphasise Alyx’s enslavement to the G-Man. Their reunion is cut short as more Imperials try and flush them out. The pair are separated, and Gordon is forced to flee underground.

Chapter 9: Unconscionable Ethics

Heading deeper into the underground, Gordon accidentally finds himself in some sort of maintenance area, and continuing from there, finds himself in an Aperture Science Laboratory. It resembles the office areas from Portal 1. It isn’t long before Gordon is noticed by the vast surveillance network of the facility. A voice over a pervasive PA directs lethal military androids and all sorts of other mechanical Imperial units. Fleeing from them, Gordon makes his way to the bottom of the facility, finding a sealed off wing. Gordon finds himself in an enrichment shaft and plummets to the bottom.

The enrichment shaft not as deep as the ones in the Portal 2 complex (hinting just slightly that it’s a different Aperture facility). It still has the same design as the Portal 2 complex, though neither the sphere nor the shaft is flooded by goo. They’re infested with Antlions instead 😊. Making his way back up, Gordon encounters a strange little machine plugged into a power source. It claimed to be Cave Johnson, founder and CEO of Aperture Science, uploaded into an AI machine. His life is torture and craves death and asks to be unplugged and hurled into the abyss. Before Gordon can fulfil this wish, more Lethal Military Androids attack Gordon. Johnson is now curious and wants to find out what’s going on and asks to be plugged into Gordon’s suit. He becomes a pickup then and accompanies the player for the rest of the game.

Gordon re-enters the active Aperture complex while Johnson lists to him what sort of Aperture equipment he should pick up and various ways they could backfire and kill them. Gordon retrieves none of those as he is captured quickly and locked in a sealed chamber, like Chell is at the start of Portal 1. The Consul reappears and has some sort of gloating speech. Important note about the Consul: he’s meant to be a foil to Breen. Breen was a practically powerless figurehead for the Combine but had a pretty deep understand of what was happening what with the Combine and the G-Man and all that. The Consul, in command of the Empire, is the most powerful man on Earth, but has no understanding of anything outside of the range of his guns. Anyway, the Consul leaves Gordon’s fate to that voice on the PA, revealed to be an Aperture Science Personality Core named Octavian, ordering that he be killed in the test chambers.

Octavian briefly runs through what test chambers are available, while Johnson assures Gordon he’ll give him the hints to get through the test. Octavian mentions portal gun tests, gel gun tests, camera tests, and time-machine tests (references to Portal, Aperture Tag, F-Stop, and Thinking with Time Machine) but Gordon lacks the necessary equipment to run any of those tests. What Gordon does have are guns, so Octavian puts him on a live-fire course for military androids. There, Gordon is pitted against all the robotic units of the Empire, including a few he hasn’t seen before.

Before the player can get bored, they’re offered a way out. A pried open piece of wall, similar to a Ratman den, lets the player back into the maintenance section. It plays out like a briefer version of the chase at the end of Portal. Gordon ends up in Octavian’s chamber. Octavian is strapped into a chassis, similar but distinct to the GLaDOS one, strapped with guns and flamethrowers. A boss battle plays out, far more direct that the puzzle bosses of Portal. Octavian’s chamber is at the top of the facility, and as it falls apart from battle damage, Gordon is let loose back into the city.

Chapter 10: Hunt Down The Vance

There are alarms going off, helicopters flying overhead, and smoke rising in the distance. It is night and the storm has cleared. Everything should look wet like it’s been raining heavily in Gordon’s absence. Gordon pursues the rising smoke, and meets up again with Noriko, who reveals Alyx is leading an uprising against the Empire. The scale of things imply that the uprising is small and lacking the popular support of Imperial citizens. It is in fact mostly composed of Vortigaunts freed from Vorti-cells. The player is told they need to find a meet Alyx again.

Fighting towards the citadel, much like the ending of HL2, Gordon goes up against the full strength of the Empire, more or less. The tone of this level should be that the real action is centred around Alyx, and that Gordon is following in her wake only facing the Imperials attempting to flank her. Gordon is aided by stray rebels and Vortigaunts, though there are few of them. At some point, while under attack by lethal military androids, Gordon would come across a computer outpost, and Cave Johnson would ask to be plugged in. Hacking into their systems, he manages to turn the Aperture robots against the Empire, at least for the time being.

Eventually Gordon reaches the citadel. Alyx is already inside by more subtle means, but Gordon is forced to fight his way in through the front gate, aided by the revolting military androids. After some sort of boss battle that I haven’t thought of ensures, and Gordon makes his way in.

Chapter 11: Veni Vidi Vici

The Imperial Citadel is very different from the one Gordon assaulted in HL2. While the base Combine architecture is still there, the Empire has added their own architecture into it, giving it a more human feel. There are blatant offices and barracks built into it, giving it the sense that a human Empire is actually run from the Citadel rather than it being a giant factory with a figurehead’s office on top. Combat in this citadel is very vertical, like the Lost Coast cliff but with manufactured walkways. There are also a lot of Aperture Science technologies being used that make it feel like Portal 2.

In a few breaks from combat Gordon can see a few snippets of how the Empire’s citadel runs. It still operates as an enormous factory, with hunter-choppers and tanks being churned out of production lines. There are Combine soldiers taken prisoner being led to production lines to be converted into synths (okay, I didn’t mention this before since I was focusing on story rather than individual enemies but the Empire fields synths. Not the old Combine kind, but new human-based synths we see being made here.) Cave Johnson suggests he get plugged in to hack into the system but panics and asks to be taken out; the Empire has learned of his computerised presence and has improved their firewalls.

Eventually Gordon is captured, yet again. He is taken before a large chamber of figures revealed to be the Senate of the Empire, led by the Consul. While the Consul wears his smart black suit, the senators are all in anachronistic robes. There’s a flamboyantly over-the-top dressed woman who is apparently the “Empress” serving as a head-of-state to the Consul’s head-of-government. With one look at the senate the player should cease seeing the Empire as a serious geopolitical entity and realise that it’s just the power-fantasy for a bunch of freaks with superiority-complexes. The Consul puts on a brief show trial for Gordon, but before the player gets bored Imperial troops arrive to evacuate the senate.

Alyx crashes into the senate chamber and frees Gordon. Once the guards are dealt with, the pair are finally reunited properly. Alyx reveals she has been constantly fighting for a long time. She hasn’t had a proper rest beyond sporadic food, drink, and lavatory breaks since the G-Man whisked her away. Apparently, Earth’s success against the Combine has inspired other slave worlds to begin fighting against the universal union. She warns that the Combine hasn’t forgotten about Earth, and if the Empire tries to go ahead with its plan of interdimensional conquest (I haven’t mentioned that in this document, but yes, it should be made clear through the game the Empire dreams of becoming a universe crossing empire like the Combine, but human-centric) then the Combine will be back within seconds.

Chapter 12: Critical Point

Alyx takes Gordon in an elevator down to the depths of the Citadel. There, at the very bottom, the Empire has been gathering its forces. A vast hanger off all sorts of combat vehicles, mech-suits, and robotic units (they’ve gotten them back under control now) all ready to be deployed. Alyx has been in the Empire for a week (it should really be obvious by now she was one behind the attacks the Empire blamed on the Foundation) and has learned they intend to start their conquest imminently. She hopes that her rampage has given them pause in launching it but wishes to dismantle their launching point anyway. The pair are captured again one last time. Cave Johnson spots the machinery they intend to open a portal with and identifies it as the same kind used by Aperture Science in the Perpetual Testing Initiative.

The Consul gloats that they shall be witness to the beginning of Earth’s expansion into the cosmos. Alyx pleas with him not to proceed and explains the Combine situation. The Consul assures her that they’ve planned well in advance, and that their target destination is not in the Combine’s sphere of influence (possibly imply he’s targeting Race-X? I don’t know). Cave Johnson mentions the Combine are familiar with the Perpetual Testing Initiative Device and would be able to track it.

As predicted, as soon as a portal is opened the Imperial armada is ripped to shreds. The Combine (their insignia’s clearly visible) deploy the largest synth seen in the series yet; a set of what can only be described as tentacles crossed with centipedes with drills on the ends. It rampages in the hangar knocks Alyx and Gordon free. As synths pour through the portal and engage the Empire (the player can start shooting if they like), Alyx says they must shut down the portal. Johnson points out that the PTI device has been ruined in the synth attack; they’ll have to close it using the Combine’s equipment on the other side. They charge against the synths and make their way into the Combine Overworld.

This is the same place glimpsed through the Portal at the end of HL2. They are standing inside another citadel’s hangar, where the full body of the centipede-tentacle synth is being deployed. There is a console where Cave Johnson can be plugged in. Given the alien operating system, it takes him several moments to get any control of the system. It takes about as much time as, say, a boss fight with the giant synth. As it dies, Alyx spots more flying synths of gargantuan nature heading towards them. Cave says that he’ll close the portal as soon as they cross it. He assures Gordon he’s okay to stay in the Overworld; that living inside the Combine’s circuitry hiding from their anti-virus programs would either give him the death he asked for when he met Gordon or give him a life of excitement worth living. Gordon and Alyx return through the portal.

The hangar appears lifeless, until a wounded and furious Consul appears, blaming Gordon for everything has happened, accusing him of consorting with the Combine. He climbs into a surviving mechsuit, and the final boss fight begins (Yes, a fucking mech suit. Blame Wolfenstein; I’m a slut for it). A mechsuit is inherently less impressive than a giant centipede octopus, so this fight has to be tricker and more satisfying that one (How? I don’t know. I’m writer, not a game dev).

Once defeated, the Consul tries to self-destruct and take Gordon and Alyx with him. As the explosion goes off, time stops. The ending of HL2 happens in reverse. It is Gordon that’s frozen (emphasised by hands held rigid in the air or something), while Alyx keeps moving. The G-Man shows up and congratulates Alyx on her latest success, blah blah, and they disappear as he keeps rambling. Gordon is held in front of a frozen explosion for a few more seconds before purple Vortigaunts begin appearing and rescue Gordon. Fade to black, and credits roll.

#half life

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dulwichdiverter · 6 years

Text

Troubled times

A recently rediscovered diary has given a fascinating insight into life as a Dulwich teenager during World War Two

Words by Jessica Gulliver

Though not a homogenous entity, it’s still easy to view the teenage years as a universal rite of passage, regardless of where and when and who. It is a time of rebellion, identity-forming and seeking some sort of social acceptance.

Today’s teens have social media to contend with, as well as studying for exams, applying for university and apprenticeships and getting ready to join the world as adults, among many other challenges.

But it’s hard to imagine them continuing their days of school, college and work while bombs rain down, while air raid sirens sound out; or seeing friends and having a social life amid constant curfews and blackouts.

However, not so long ago this was the daily reality for youngsters in Dulwich in World War Two. The street names were the same, the commute into town was similar. But day-to-day life was something quite different.

A few years back, Duncan Leatherdale believed he was carrying out his duties as a grandson when he offered to transcribe on to his spanking new laptop his grandmother’s recently rediscovered teenage diary.

What started as an expression of love soon turned into something more – a book in fact, called Life of a Teenager in Wartime London, which gives a fascinating insight into the lives of teenagers during World War Two.

It looks at young people’s experiences in the capital during this time, including his grandmother, who lived in Dulwich. Glennis kept her diary for the first six months of 1943 and it’s printed in full at the back of the book, with a foreword by Glennis herself.

Born in February 1924, Glennis Leatherdale and her family moved from Kennington to Dulwich when she was very young. Her childhood home was on Croxted Road and her father ran a chain of bakeries.

His combination of baked goods and business sense paid for her brother to attend Dulwich College and for Glennis to go to what was then Dulwich High School followed by Streatham Hill High School.

Glennis was 15 when World War Two broke out. She decided not to flee to relatives in New Zealand or to join her school, which had evacuated to Brighton. Instead she stayed in London.

Aged 17, she completed a course in shorthand and typing at Pitman College and got a job at Barclays bank on City Road, the first female ever to work there. She later trained to become a physiotherapist at Guy’s Hospital and travelled in every day from West Dulwich.

She remembers one particular journey into London Bridge where a rocket landed very near to her train. Passengers could see that houses had been hit and people were being rescued, some alive, others dead (putting the Southern service today into perspective somewhat).

One day she had just left West Dulwich when she saw a flying bomb heading towards her home. Her house was missed, but the bomb hit and destroyed the home of a good friend and the mother was killed.

There were good memories too. Her New Zealand cousins gave their boyfriends Glennis’s family address and it became their base for the war. They were in the Navy and when off on operations they never knew if or when they’d return, but it was a lot of fun when they did come back to the Dulwich house, dancing and singing around the piano.

The “Blitz spirit” galvanised Londoners, unifying people in the war effort. Glennis spent a lot of time studying in the cellar during night-time raids, learning anatomy with a real skeleton – there were no plastic imitations in those days.

London was the largest city in the world in 1939, and one of the Luftwaffe’s main targets during the Blitz. From September 1940 the city was bombed for 57 nights in a row and then almost daily until May 1941. About a million buildings were destroyed or badly damaged, and more than 20,000 people killed.

Glennis’ diary starts on January 1, 1943. There are many entries about hair washing (quite a big deal as shampoo was rationed from 1942), bad colds and nasty coughs, films seen at the London Pavilion, restaurants visited in Leicester Square.

We read of her empathy for the families of killed soldiers, her teenage self-consciousness about being overweight and her stress about studying and revision.

The mundane life of the teenager is contrasted with the brutality of war: “We lost 22 aircraft last night – doesn’t do thinking about,” she wrote on January 18. “This afternoon we had pathology and theory three-month test.”

Then there are the startling daily tragedies, such as this one on January 20: “Thirty small children were killed when a school was hit and Surrey Docks were set on fire.” It was a school in Catford, hit when many of the children were eating lunch in the dining hall.

There is a lot of talk about boys and Canadian soldiers she meets while cycling in Surrey with friends. On February 10 she wrote: “Len is in the RAF now and I rather hope I renew his acquaintance. What I remember of him is quite promising.”

The diary is prosaic, wonderful and insightful and is social history at its best – what was life in London like for teenagers during the war? How did they commute? How did they entertain themselves during blackouts?

What was it like being a teenager living through an air raid? How did they learn about what was happening in the war itself without the immediacy of rolling news and constant updates of social media? What did they eat? What were the fashions and what trends did they adopt?

Thanks to 15-year-old Glennis deciding to record her life during six months of World War Two, we are given a glimpse of what life was like in Dulwich during this tumultuous and traumatic time.

..........................

Life of a Teenager in Wartime London by Duncan Leatherdale is published by Pen and Sword and costs £19.99.

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cupcakemolotov · 7 years

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klaroline + vampires + regency + porn :) thank youuuu, you beautiful soul 💕

So, so sorry this took so long. It also went a route I was not expecting. This is probably the first part of two, but my schedule is so sporadic these days I wanted to get this part up now that I am mostly satisfied with it! I hope you enjoy.

warnings: references to sex, suggested f/f, m/f, and other smut. references to murder and maybe a smidge of sexual coercion (note: this is just a FYI, there is *no* non-con or sex w/compulsion.) reference to non-kc smut, just so you’re not surprised.

My historical timeline is probably not 100% accurate, but I lost all my notes when I moved jobs. So we’re just going to foll with it as it is folks.

Caroline studied the thick envelope on her writing desk, the soft ivory of the paper, heavy and expensive. Unlike the other correspondence in the unsorted pile, someone had simply written her name across the front.

Her real name.

Caroline turned away from her desk, and walked to one of the windows that filled the room with sunlight. Her daylight ring sat lightly on her finger, and beneath her view scurried servants, the carefully tended grounds jewel green beneath the early morning sun. She’d purchased the Italian estate twenty years ago from a bankrupt merchant, his coffers run dry from gambling and debauchery, his favorite prostitute as expensive as she was lovely.

In the years that Caroline had been a vampire, she’d been very careful to accumulate her wealth. Most of it was tied up under assumed names, carefully bequeathed to a niece or daughter until the day arrived that she’d be able to hold the property on her own. In a society ruled by men, the proper allowances needed to be made, but Caroline pulled her strings carefully.

The cold, starving girl, who’d been plucked off the streets for a whore house after her father’s debts had left them penniless, she had survived. But being a harlot had merely changed one overlord for another. Caroline’s time there as a human had been short, but informative.

Then the plague had struck, raging through the streets and gutters of London. It destroyed the lives of the rich and the poor alike, until even the Nobility had fled for their quiet estates. The smell of it, the acrid scent of death and decay, became as familiar as the fog.

It was those terrible streets she’d been found. Her maker had plucked her from the streets as easily as her father’s debts had tossed her onto her back. He’d watched her with such calculating eyes, lips curled into a bloody smile, and asked her if she’d like to never go hungry again. In that moment, she’d have traded whatever services necessary to survive. Caroline had wanted to live, as poor and meaningless as her life had been.

Her maker had seemed amused by her, and she hadn’t minded his condescending smile; he wasn’t the first to dismiss her. In that moment, he’d given her no reason for his generosity, and Caroline hadn’t cared.

It hadn’t been the promise of endless food that had appealed to her nor the curling blade of his smile. It’d been the opportunity. For the short seventeen years of her life, Caroline had suffered from the choices of others. Vampirism her choice and she’d taken hold of it with both hands.

For the first time in her life, she’d had the power of choice. Caroline became the sole decider of her life and she chose how she’d live. Just her.

The plague, then the Great Fire, had emptied the lower ranks of the city, and Caroline had capitalized on it. First a little shop here, a hand fasting there. Her first husband had been an ambitious merchant, determined to invest in upcoming ventures and after his untimely death, he’d left a most generous settlement on his wife at his passing.

Compulsion was a delight, but one best used sparingly. She’d watched as older vampires were hunted when they’d grown greedy too fast, reckless in their needs. Subtlety and plans were superior to ham handed brutality.

Usually.

Caroline didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and had skinned a man or two alive, to prove a point. But her tiny collection of supplicants were unaware of just had graceful she was with a knife, feeding off her honey sweet words and gold coins instead. Some lessons a girl never forgot, and she’d lived hard before vampirism had given her better tools.

It wasn’t London she thrived in, but the underbelly.

But she’d had her taste of the Ton as well.

She’d spent five years as a plainly dressed governess while she’d debauched both the Marques and his very lovely wife. Those weeks in the whore house after all, had taught her many lessons. Men were easy creatures with simple needs, but a woman’s tongue could be quite satisfying. A man with a wet cock would agree to almost anything if you were smart, and a marquese was led about as easily with an agile tongue as a gutter rat shown a few coins.

Her collection of baubles and pretty dresses was rather lovely. But it wasn’t just a idyllic life that Caroline had wanted to sample. There were rules that governed the world, rules she’d had no way of knowing, and she’d never allow that sort of ignorance in her life.

Then her maker had sought her out.

She’d left the bedroom of the Marchioness wearing only a robe, still drowsy from a night of sex and blood, to find him waiting for her near the stairs, no servant in sight. Impeccably dressed, his eyes glittering in the early morning candlelight, he’d arched a brow at her.

“Enjoy yourself, love?”

Caroline paused to study him, not bothering to hide her surprise. “As much as one can enjoy themselves in such matters. The Marques is a bit clumsy, but he is a man. The wife, however, is quite eager and rather clever.”

Dimples curved along his cheeks, and he’d straightened to clasp his hands behind his back, head tilting in permission for her to continue to her quarters. “Compulsion?”

“For sex?” Caroline snorted as she’d moved towards the lovely suit she’d claimed as her own. “What fun would that be?”

A soft, considering noise as he closed the door behind him, taking in her temporary room. “I didn’t imagine you as a governess, love. Seems a bit dull.”

Caroline picked up her favorite comb and set about taming her sex mussed hair, the banked fire providing just enough light to see by. “One of the maids observes the children in the morning, then they quietly study with one of their tutors. I did have to compel that particular requirement, but it should be a benefit to them. I rarely see them.”

He watched the movements of her hands with thoughtful eyes. “And what is it that you gain from the Marquise, Caroline, those afternoons you spend in his office? Not sex, if you prefer the wife.”

She sat her comb down, pushing her hair back. She wasn’t certain how to feel about that fact that he’d clearly watched her for some time before choosing to let her know of his presence. “I didn’t know that you cared so much about your creations.”

A hint of that bladed smile on his lips. “Do you know why I turned you, pretty Caroline?”

“I’d assumed you were bored.”

“I needed bait,” Klaus said easily, causally. “The plague was an excellent cover, but there are those who hunt our kind. I need a bit of freedom to go unobserved and unfollowed, and well, baby vampires can make such a nuisance of themselves. Of those who’ve I offered my particular salvation, only three survived the year.”

“How unfortunate for them,” Caroline murmured. She supposed she should be outraged, but she’d used him as neatly as he’d used her. If the price of her freedom was that others sought to kill her, well, she was easy prey no longer.

A low laugh, and his fingers twinned in the thick fall of her hair. There was something possessive about his hold, something bitingly coveting that tightened her nipples. “Why a governess, Caroline?”

“I need an education,” she pointed out, scalp prickling. He reached for her comb, and then smoothed it slowly through her ends. “The nobility bore me, but they can be useful. Math, history, manners? Subjects a whore is not taught.”

He parted her hair, and a single fingertip slid down the curve of her nape. She shivered. His eyes through the mirror gleamed, and for a moment she wondered if that was what affection looked like on a monster’s face. “I do admire your intelligence.”

“We now, we can’t all be easy bait,” her voice was tart, and his gaze flashed in the light, but he didn’t chastise her for her impertinence. Instead, he made another low sound of amusement, and his hand curled her throat.

“Vampirism is a gift, pretty Caroline, but I can make it a curse. Be sure you remember your promise.”

Her chin lifted, gaze unwavering against his in the mirror. “I remember.”

His smile returned, and he trailed his fingers along her collarbones. “Excellent. Now, I’m in need of you keeping your clever ears open for me.”

She watched him from beneath heavy lashes in the mirror, pupils dark and wide as he stroked her skin. “And what am I listening for?”

“I’m looking for a moonstone,” he said, sweeping his fingers along her skin, dipping low but never beneath her neckline where her nipples were visibly aroused. “And a doppelgänger.”

Later, when Caroline held the marchioness head between her thighs, she’d moaned through an orgasm that did little to ease the ache. And that night, lips slick with blood as she walked away from the carnage she’d left behind, she found death didn’t satisfy it either.

It’d rankled.

Caroline stepped away from her window, twisting the only ring she bothered to wear. This too, had been a gift. Her maker had given it to her in Paris. It had been one of her little excursions, a chance to travel while her death was carefully circulated where she might’ve be missed. It was a delightfully easy to shed identities in a world where a woman was only as important as her ability to bear children.

He’d smiled at her during a little party for the arts, as if he’d expected her. As if her whims would eventually cross their paths and he’d been merely waiting for her arrival. Then he’d had the gall to ask after her little empire.

Caroline sipped at her drink, ignoring the man who droned on next to her in broken English. She’d finally perfected her French, nearly spoke without an accent. Another few weeks in Paris, and she was certain she’d be taken as a native.

But the fool next to her was unaware of her truth, and she saw no point in enlightening him. Not when he’d so masterfully elevated himself to the top of her dinner menu. There was a commotion, a familiar chuckle, and then a arm slid through hers, and a clipped accent murmured lowly against her ear as she was carefully tugged forward.

“Ah, now, this is a bit more compatible as to where I’d thought you’d find yourself. Still growing that empire of yours, love?”

Twisting open her fan, she glanced up at to find his amused face and gave him a cutting smile. That just seemed to delight him more, dimples tucked into the creases of his cheeks, eyes gleaming. “Empires are tedious. So much hand holding, and I can’t stand incompetence.”

She’d replied in neat French, and he switched languages just as smoothly. “Perhaps, but now I find myself curious. If not for conquest, then why choose Paris at such a tumultuous time?”

“Questions of succession bore me,” Caroline said without rancor. “But the growing possibilities for trade, now those I find most intriguing.”

There was no mockery behind his eyes as he watched her, no twisted smile that said a woman shouldn’t involve herself in such matters. Her maker’s attention had always been a complex thing of threat and intrigue, that unreadable intensity she couldn’t place. Today he wore curiosity, the calculation that had first interested her all those years ago.

And all of it packaged so prettily.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your investments. A husband with ties to the Hudson Bay Company, and then most recently a percentage of the East India Company that was l bequeathed to you as well.”

“You’re well informed for a man who’s feet rarely linger,” she swished her fan, lips pursed. “More spies?”

A wicked smile, a glint in his gaze. “There are those willing to trade a task for the chance of an occasional favor. You thrive, sweetheart, where others wither and I find that fascinating.”

Her fan stirred the air, and her smile shifted dangerously with her dimples. “I’ll eat them, should I find them.”

“Promises,” he returned, voice lowering in pitch. The flicker of carnal interest stirred her arousal, but he made no other move to touch her. His gaze dipped, lingered on her hands. “Where to next?”

Caroline blinked, fan stilling. “Pardon?”

Curiosity and a strange greed flickered across his eyes, but it was tucked away a moment later. “Surely you don’t plan to linger in Paris longer than it suits your interests, and England has its charms, but it is merely a small piece of the world.”

She considered his words, saw no reason to lie. “I’ve considered further travel, but the sun does add certain complications. Colonial India, the sugar plantations of the Bahamas? Perhaps some time on the Continent? All possibilities that require consideration and careful planning.”

A glitter of something behind his eyes that spoke to the monster in her veins, an unreadable intensity that stroked down her spine. Arousal wasn’t a new concept to her, but this fisted tightly in her belly, and the strength of it intrigued her. Her maker was lethal, both in physical danger and beauty, but the tension that shimmered between them couldn’t be brushed aside as mere physical attraction.

It infuriated her that he so easily stayed one step ahead of her when so many others were easily manipulated. She wondered if that’s what he saw when he looked at her, a mere challenge of his creation. Distaste curled in her chest, and she watched him with narrowed eyes.

Whatever he saw on her face, he merely brought her cold wrist to his mouth, smile a private, amused thing. The scrap of teeth was hotter, the hint of tongue against her skin a taunt. “Do take care of yourself, Caroline. I’d be disappointed, should you die.”

He’d left her then, wrist still stinging from the edge of his teeth, arousal a pulse between her thighs.

Two days later, a box was waiting for her in the solar. There’d been no note, but when she slipped the ring onto her left hand, she’d not needed one. That morning, the pale dawn’s rays had not burned.

Over the years, she’d found him in the most curious of places. A castle in Ireland. A painting class in Venice. A cabin in Russia.

But never her bed.

She’d long since dismissed the idea that he felt some sort of taboo bedding his creations. She’d followed the rumors of his exploits with amusement, admiring the way he moved the supernatural world about as if they were all his personal chess pieces. The messes he left behind were both pointed and erratic, the mercurial mood that had offered a dying girl salvation as easily a violence that destroyed villages on display.

Instead, what she’d learned suggested he was not one to care for any societies rules. There seemed to be no sin he’d not tasted, but the whiplash temper hid a calculating mind could and did leave ruin in his wake. The games he played with one particular vampire was most enlightening.

It’d taken time, to sift through the rumors and half-truths that slipped so easily from a gilded tongue. When he chose, her side was a secretive and cagey as a king. But it’d become clear that he hated Katerina Petrova, and her sire hunted no other the way he hunted her.

Caroline had been determined to discover why.

It’d had taken decades. Some secrets were only unraveled with patience, and compulsion just worked on humans. Instead she’d carefully and sweetly plucked tiny, meaningless grains of information from her fellow vampires. A name here. A date there. A barely whispered rumor.

Even vampires gave up secrets wanted if you sucked their cock just so.

But it’d been a pretty, human witch who’d given her what she’d wanted. Caroline had long since dismissed the Sun and Moon curse, had decided it was too fantastic to be real. Well, entirely real.

Nature stove for balance.

She’d never forgotten his request from the first decade of her life. But it’d been near a century since she’d heard the word doppelganger before a witch with truly lovely nipples had slipped the same word from her tongue. Caroline had spent a week in her bed, coaxing truth and such husky cries from the her throat before she’d left the corpse cooling behind her.

It appeared that Doppelgänger was important to more than Klaus, and the witches had a secret.

She'dno direct way to reach her sire. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t had the means to entice him into finding her. She’d known to be careful, Klaus had already warned her once that he too was hunted, but she’d also known exactly what questions to ask and to whom, to draw attention.

It had only taken a hint of a rumor.

She’d settled into her bath with a pleased little sigh listening to the activity of her household. Vampires didn’t truly feel hot or cold, but something about wet heat still felt wonderful. A male vampire or two had gasped something similar when she’d allowed them entry into her bed, her body. Somehow she doubted their sincerity.

Still, a scalding bath in front of a fire was one of her favorite vices.

Her lashes lifted as a door opened, monster peeking out before she recognized the figure stepping into her bedroom. Sighing, Caroline lolled her head in his direction, liking the way his gaze moved slowly along her exposed skin: tops of her breasts, knees, the curve of her shoulders and neck. Not that the scattered petals along the water hid much beneath.

“You’ve been asking dangerous questions, love.”

Caroline arched both brows, unconcerned as he prowled closer. It’d taken her a decade or so to realize that Klaus-her-sire was really Klaus Mikaelson, the scourge of her people. Their creator, their nightmare. She’d decided to forgive his amused arrogance at her naivety. Even men older than her by five centuries clearly still suffered from occasionally thinking with the wrong appendage.

She’d never tell him, of course.

“Only questions that I already know the answer too,” Caroline replied simply. His eyes flashed as he stripped his over coat, the thin undershirt doing little to hide the taut muscles beneath. For a moment, she wondered if he planned to join her, but instead of removing the shirt, he rolled up the sleeves.

She wondered at the pang of disappointment.

“And what,” he asked with deliberate casualness. “Do you think you know?”

She watched him, making no move to cover herself. The look behind his eyes was sharp, the keen edge of a blade. “Do you plan on killing me, Klaus?”

His gaze met hers, tongue swiping across his lips as he considered her question. “Have you given me cause?”

She stretched out one foot, toes brushing the edge of the tub. “No. You did ask me to find your doppelganger after all.”

He paused, long fingers pausing at the fabric he’d been arranging, head dipping to the side. Slowly, gaze a brand against her skin, he crouched next to the tub. His fingers skimmed the top of the water, lethal intent only contained because he choose it.

“So I did. Have you found her?”

A slow, lazy smile curled her lips. “I found him.”

She bit her lip as she watched him go still and watchful, his eyes narrowed as calculation crawled across his face. The flush of arousal surprised her, the knowledge that she’d surprised him heady. The darkening of his gaze told her he’d noticed, eyes dipping beneath the water to trace the curves of her breast.

“Him?” He rasped, hand slipping beneath the water to toy with her breast. The pad of his fingertip circled her nipple until it had tightened, and then he pinched lightly.

Caroline shuddered, eyes heavy lidded. “Him. I found a witch. Lovely little girl, so utterly chatty after she orgasmed. It appears there is more than one doppelgänger line.”

Her knees pressed together, as he cupped her breasts, but his fingers stilled. She considered the silent demand in his eyes, and decided to indulge him. Instead of merely parting her thighs, she draped one leg over the side the tub, settling her arms higher against the edge. He made an appreciative noise at the display of her body, and her lashes lowered as she traced the hard ridge of his erection with her eyes.

His smile was a tiny, wicked thing, firelight playing across dimples as he shifted to her neglected breast. “I assume you verified her information?”

“Of course,” she murmured as his fingers stroked the curve of her breast lightly. Her breath caught as he trailed slow fingertips down her sternum, and she held her hips still carefully. There was something about his lips, his jaw, that told her he’d not indulge her demands. “He’s fairly handsome, for a human. A little milking girl who was unexpectedly crushed beneath her cows first assured me that he was the spitting image of his great-grandfather, and that witches bargained for his blood.”

“And did you seduce her as well?” Klaus asked in a thoughtful voice. She blinked the gaze from her eyes, stomach going taut at the darkness in his eyes.

“If I did?”

A deepening of his smile, hand leaving the water. The steam from the bath brought a flush to his cheeks, and his lips were damp from his tongue. She wanted to bite them.

“Show me.”

She scraped her teeth against her lip. “Why? Do you expect to use the knowledge?”

He chuckled, teeth gleaming. “Should I not?”

She couldn’t deny that she was curious about how he’d feel, taste. That the draw between them grew more potent each year. Instead, she glanced at his straining erection, trying not to pant as her release started to build. “Perhaps you should return the favor.”

A tilt of his lips, and his dry hand freed his cock. “Do you like to watch?”

She smiled, monster crawling into her eyes. “Yes.”

“It is a pity we do not have more time,” Klaus mused as clever fingers made quick work of his breeches, cock springing free. “That mirror of yours has several possibilities.”

Caroline smiled as she settled back, widening her thighs as she able. Her next exhale turned shaky as he gripped his shaft, fingers lingering in pleasurable pain as she held off her orgasm. Her voice was husky as she cupped her breasts, temporarily ignoring her throbbing clit. “Of course it does. It’s why I had it installed.”

His fingers flexed, a quick spasm of muscle that said her words had landed.

“As for the milk-girl, well, I made sure she had such a lovely orgasm before she died.”

His cock twitched, and she shifted restlessly in the water. It was the best kind of pleasure, watching the firm glides of his hand as he stroked him, her body throbbing. His thumb ran roughly across the head of his cock and his chest rumbled, flush darkening above his beard.

“Did she come before or after you bit her?”

She smiled in delight at his question, the roughness of his voice. Her fingertips dipped low and her her body jerked, breasts bobbing in the water as she pinched her clit the way he’d toyed with her nipple. Her moan was loud, leg shifting loudly in the water.

“During,” she finally managed, heartbeat loud in her chest. “All that pleasure tangled up with a bite of pain, a quick flush of fear. It’s delicious.”

He made a satisfied noise, the creep of black veins beneath his eyes a tell that his control was as frayed as her own. It was a painful tease, touching herself so achingly slow as she watched his pleasure build, the tautness of his muscles, the hitched breathing. She couldn’t hold in her own little whines, her soft gasps. The movements against her clit turned shaky, less precise, and her toes curled into the smooth tub as the water lapped at her thigh.

“So lovely,” Klaus growled. His hand reached for hers, fingers curled tightly around her palm as he brought her wrist to his mouth. The unexpected sting of fangs tipped her over, and her fingers pressed tightly against her pulsing center.

When she opened her eyes, his fingers were slick with his release, eyes dark and greedy. “I wonder how you taste.”

She offered the fingers that had dipped inside her, knowing the smell, the taste would linger even through the bath water. He sucked them clean, gaze anything but sated. Her thighs twitched, and she reached down and every so lightly touched her clit.

“Why don’t you join me?” She questioned,curious and breathless from the way he watched her.

He made a low sound of disappointment. “Would you like that love? We’d likely break your tub, and I find I’m quite fond of it.”

Another slow circle, thighs jerking with pleasure, and she glared as he caught her wandering fingers. A hot kiss, tongue stroking against the slickness, that strange, soft darkness in his eyes. “I wasn’t subtle when I came for you, Caroline.”

Her gaze dipped to the half-mast of his cock. “I’d say not.”

A hint of a smile on his lips, but he released her and stood. She sighed and sat up, tiny curls clinging to her neck. “What did you do?”

“I made a mess,” Klaus said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t matter. Word will spread soon enough that I’ve broken my curse, and you need to be elsewhere.”

“I can hold my own,” she dismissed,stepping out the water and reaching for her robe. When she glanced back, she nearly smiled at the tightness of his jaw, the harsh line of those lips she fantasizes about. “I thought the curse a ruse?

“So beautifully clever,” he murmured, eyes hooded. “I do not need you to be bait any longer, Caroline. Not against my family.”

She tilted her head, weighed his words. Something had clearly shifted between them. This was a warning. Tightening her belt, she stepped closer to the rigid line of him, brazenly traced the shape of his mouth. “You’re worried about me.”

His eyes flared, shining red, and for a moment he looked murderous. She smiled and dropped her hand. “I suppose it is time to visit my estate in Italy, then. Your doppelganger’s name is Saul. There is a letter on my desk with the details you’ll need to find him. If you need a witch, bring your own. Recently there was a series of accidents in the region.”

His fingers fisted in her hair and bent her head black, exposing the line of her throat. Sharp teeth grazed her neck, blood beading on her skin. She moan at the hot stroke of his tongue, and her early arousal returned with a vengeance. “I look forward to seeing just how clever you are with my tongue between your thighs.”

She shuddered, lip caught tightly between her teeth as she held in a moan. “Perhaps you’d better enjoy your cock between my lips.”

He laughed softly and brushed a gentle kiss against her skin. “Ah, such sweet torture, I’m sure, but the only prey in our bed will be you, sweetheart.”

Her heart rabbeted in her throat and he let out another darkly amused chuckle. A moment later, the room was empty, her skin drawn tight and too sensitive. Dropping her robe, she staggered back to her bed and slipped her fingers back between her thighs, knowing it wouldn’t satisfy her tonight.

Half a decade later, and Klaus Mikaelson was hosting a ball.

A vampire ball.

To her delight, anticipation prickled across her skin. It had been years since Caroline had felt this flutter in her stomach, a sense of impending change. Lips curling, she reached for the little bell to summon her maid. She’d luggage to pack.

She looked forward to returning home. London would always hold a special place in her heart, and Klaus had a few promises to keep.

As did she.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles

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alivelyfancy · 6 years

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We started off the day in New Marrakesh, the part of the city that was built by the French in the 1900s. Marrakesh has a unique look; No building is higher than 6 floors this is because they do not want any building towering over the minaret of the Koutoubia mosque, which is the symbol of. Marrakesh. It is clearly visible from anywhere in the city. The exception is a hotel built in the new part of the city during the French occupation. Also all buildings in Marrakesh have to be painted a reddish color on the outside, which is why it is known as the Red City or the Rose City. It is actually quite nice to see the contrast of the red buildings, the greenery of the palm trees and plants, and the blue skies. Marrakesh is located at the base of the Atlas mountains. I’m told on a clear day you can see the white of the snow from the Atlas Mountains, which are only about 20 miles away.

The Koutoubia mosque reflected on the water in the morning. This is the matching tower to the unfinished Hassan tower in Rabat.

Unlike the other cities, cars are allowed inside the Medina of Marrakesh so our bus drove us right to Jemaa el-Fnaa, the square of the Medina of Marrakesh. It’s always bustling with the food stalls selling dried fruit, skewers of meat, tangine, couscous, and other foods as well as street performers. But beware if you take their pictures (even raising your camera counts) because they will hound you for a tip. Apparently snake charmers are the worst.

“Even if you give them $100 they will follow you for $200.” – Hesham, our tour guide commenting on snake charmers.

Locals and tourists flock to the square to eat and shop. Surrounding the square are stores with souvenirs, but the further into Medina you go, the more variety and there is and the cheaper the price gets.

Leaving the square and wandering into the streets of the Medina, you can also find metalworking, leather, and other artisanal works. The streets are much wider, and less twisty, but it still think I would get lost if wandering on my own. Fortunately if you get lots you can simply ask someone to take you back to “la place” and you will end up in the square and be able to navigate back to your hotel.

There is also two places, a restaurant and a Café Glacier, where you can see the sunset and get a great view of the square and also take pictures without fear if being hounded for tips.

Jemaa el-Fnaa is always busy. Here you can see the green tents of the food stalls and if you look closely you might see performers or snake charmers among the crowds.

From inside the Medina we passed through the walls of the Kasbah and then a third set of walls to reach the saadian tombs. Kasbah simply means fortification. The history is that these tombs were built by the Saadians, a dynasty that only lasted about 100 years. And when the Alaouites came into power and moved the capital to Meknes the king was afraid to destroy the tombs due to superstition. So instead he built a wall around the tombs and filled it with sand so that it would be forgotten. It wasn’t until the French were taking aerial photographs of Morocco during the French protectorate period that they saw the structure and wondered what was inside. They had to make a small passage to access the tombs through the wall since the only entrance was through the mosque and non Muslims are not allowed in mosques. This rule was actually instituted by the French because at some point in time when the French and Moroccans were fighting, Moroccans would escape into the alleyways of the Medinas. Frustrated soldiers kept losing them in the maze so they started waiting for people to go to the mosques for prayer and then arrested them there. So to make it safe for people, the rule prohibiting non-Muslims from entering mosques was instituted. (Sorry all photos are on the digital camera…)

After the tombs we ended up going to a holistic shop where we learned about different types of traditional Moroccan medicine, herbs and spices. My mom and I really enjoyed it… But I don’t think my dad really cared for it. It kind of reminded me of Chinese traditional medicine, and I suppose it is the same philosophy.

Inside of the Moroccan natural medicine store where we learned about spices like Saffron, and natural beauty remedies like Argon oil and the new up and coming prickly pear oil 🍐 which is supposed to be really good for you skin.

Next we saw the Royal Palace, which despite its name was never the home of a king. A vizier during the Saadian period built this palace because the king at the time was under 18 years old and the vizier was making a lot of decisions for the king. It’s very beautiful and the garden in the middle of the courtyard is just gorgeous. All houses that have a courtyard with a garden in the middle are called “Riyadh.”

The courtyard of the vizier’s palace

Couscous is usually only eaten on Fridays after the afternoon prayer when all the family will go to either the parents’ house or a relative’s house for a big meal. Couscous is not an everyday dish because it takes about 2 hours to make! Couscous is made from semolina (basically crushed wheat), a little bit of flour, water, olive oil and sunflower oil. After this demonstration I have to say it’s so much work and I probably will only ever buy couscous already made from the store.

The traditional way to make couscous. Now fewer and fewer young Moroccans are making couscous this way.

Fresh fruit after couscous. The fruit is delicious in Morocco!

After the demo we went to the Museum of Marrakesh which was a Riyadh built at the end of the 19th century and fell into ruin, but was restored by Moroccan businessman / journalist Omar Benjelloun. Now the courtyard has been covered and there are no more plants, so it’s not a Riyadh a anymore, but it is a museum. It’s very pretty and our guide provided and explanation for us in English of the building history, architecture, and displays. However, be warned, everything is in French and Arabic so don’t expect to see English placards.

The courtyard of the Marrakesh Museum

The next stop was the Majorelle Gardens, also known as the Yves St. Laurent Gardens. These Gardens were first established by French artist Majorelle who lived there with his wife at the time. After their divorce he was forced to sell the garden and it fell in to disrepair until the designer Yves St. Laurent purchased and restored it. Inside there’s also a museum about the Berber people which explains their culture including handy work and tools, jewelry, clothing, and woodwork. It’s very interesting, but I found wandering around the garden more enjoyable. The villa and the pagodas in the garden are painted Majorelle blue, a vibrant, deep color that contrasts with the red walkways and green plants which range from cacti to bamboo to palm trees from all over the world.

The villa at Majorelle gardens which houses the Berber museum

I took so many photos of plants at the Majorelle gardens. I couldn’t help myself!

You can see the contrast between the Majorelle blue, green and red walkways here.

Part of the cacti collection at Majorelle gardens

After we ended up doing most touristy thing ever : riding a camel. Yesterday my mom and one other lady on the tour pleaded with our tour guide for a camel ride. It didn’t look like we would have enough time, but he was able to arrange it! I had no idea that she wanted to ride a camel so badly, but she was SO EXCITED when he said there was a place where we could take a short camel ride and take pictures. Literally it was a parking lot across from the Medina where the camel man leads your camel around for maybe 2 minutes for 50 dirham (about $5-6) It was pretty ridiculous, but I did have fun riding the camel. Best if all we now have video of my dad riding the camel. The tour guide kept saying, “Remember, this is not sponsored by the tour company. This is just something that you asked to do.”

This camel ride might be the most touristy /cheesiest thing I’ve done, but it was fun. 🐫

After our little adventure, we return to Jemaa el-Fnaa and climbed to the stairs to Café Glace to watch the sunset and the activity in the square from the balcony. Per our tour guide’s recommendation we arrived before 5 pm to make sure we could get a good seat and see the entire sunset. There were plenty of others up there, but I wouldn’t say it was over crowed. It’s open to the sky so everybody can see the sunset, but it’s better to be closer to the railing so you can look down at the square below. When the sun set it did get pretty cold so I was thankful to have my down jacket at the top of the windy roof.

The view from Café Glacier of Jemaa el-Fnaa at sunset with the minaret of Koutoubia mosque in the background.

One thing I would recommend for those who plan to travel to Morocco is get lots of small coins in Moroccan dirham so you can tip the bathroom attendants. There is usually a woman (sometimes it’s a man) monitoring and cleaning the bathrooms asking for money. It’s customary to tip. This whole trip I’ve struggled to find small change!

After sunset we made our way into the square and did end up eating on one of the food stands. But you have to be careful. They try to trick you and make you pay more. First you have to be very firm about exactly what you want to order and the price or they will just bring you stuff and charge you.

Stalls selling fruit in Jemaa el-Fnaa

Despite taking precautions and repeatedly confirming exactly what we wanted to order, at the end of the meal the lady tried to say it was double the price of what we were quoted by the man working the stall when we ordered. My dad started yelling and I loudly called them liars. Well, she messed with the wrong lady because my mom just calmly stood in front of her and somehow got us our money back (the correct change).

“It’s just like Hong Kong. You think you are going to take our money?” – Mom

With that to warm us up we were ready for bargain shopping! At the first store we didn’t bargain too much because it’s exhausting to do so, but at the second store we did get them to cut the price in half. We didn’t have too many things to buy, but I remember bargain shopping with my mom and sister in Korea, China, and Thailand. We were intense! On some level all street markets are kind of the same and I could see the old skills coming out. Never underestimate Mom. She was the most hard-core bargainer back in the day.

Chicken skewers from the place that tried to trick us! It’s not about the money, but the principle of the matter!

We are headed back to Casablanca tomorrow. I can’t believe it will be the last day of the tour and our second to last day in Morocco!

If You Take My Picture, It’s 10 Dirhams. Marrakesh, the Red City We started off the day in New Marrakesh, the part of the city that was built by the French in the 1900s.

#bargain shopping #bargaining #cooking #couscous #Food #Majorelle gardens #Marrakesh #Medina #Morocco #museums #street market #Travel #vacation #wanderlust #Yves Saint Laurent

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