#/ vi? bridge piercings?? perhaps...

[matchamilkislover]

In The Darkest Corners, 10.

pairing: vi x fem!oc (reader with a name)

warnings: mature themes, just an overall minors beware, violence, just general arcane-ness.

word count: 2,009

synopsis: the infamous council meeting - and the aftermath.

author’s note: it’s going down, i’m yelling timbeeeerrrrr

don’t forget to read the other parts first!!

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Olive and Vi were just leaving Olive’s old house when they heard running footsteps on the sidewalk, coming closer. Soon, Caitlyn came into view, and gestured for them to hurry up.

“The next council meeting. They moved it up. To tonight,” she said, opening the gate for them. “We need to be ready.”

Olive’s heart felt ready to beat out of her chest. She and Vi were waiting just beyond the doors to the Council’s meeting room, waiting for the signal for them to enter. Vi stood beside her, her face unreadable. The only hint Olive had to how she felt was the subtle sign of Vi’s clenched jaw that she could see out of her peripheral vision. Before she knew it, Cailtyn was leading them into the room where each council members’ eyes instantly latched onto the three of them. Olive could feel their eyes burning through her skin, reopening searing wounds that had barely healed. Vi’s hand suddenly clenched around hers for a moment, a reassurance Olive didn’t know she needed. Caitlyn introduced Vi but then trailed off as she turned to Vi.

“Olive Whitlock…” Salo murmured. His piercing eyes were slowly looking her and Vi up and down.

“This is ludicrous!” Hoskel suddenly thundered, pounding a fist on the table. “You have some nerve-”

“Excuse me!” Mrs. Kiramman cut him off with a sharp tone. “Calm your temper, Hoskel,” she hissed.

“Please, we just need your ears, only for a moment,” Caitlyn continued for her mother, stepping forward. She nodded towards Olive to signal that she should speak.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of the…events that took place a year ago. Or where I’ve been since then,” Olive began. “I would never believe it if I hadn’t experienced it for myself. But, the undercity…it's being ravaged. Its inhabitants, eaten alive by shimmer and fighting for their lives every day. They’re being run into the ground by violent crime lords, led by the puppeteer who rules over them all. Silco.” A quiet round of gasps left the councilors’ mouths.

“Silco? The industrialist? We’ve conducted investigations of him, there has been no sign of such organization.” Bolbok questioned.

“And who led these investigations?” Olive snapped, now glowering. She knew. They all knew. Marcus, the dirty police chief that raided her home and ended her life. Marcus, the one who had held her at gunpoint on the bridge before being blown to bits by firelights. Bolbok sighed.

“What does he even want from us?”

“Power. He believes the undercity should be independent. He calls it the Nation of Zaun.” Olive continued, knowing that she had the councilors wrapped in her words now. Jayce Talis suddenly cuts in, lifting a familiar object onto the table. One of Jinx’s bombs.

“And who is responsible for this?” He asks, returning Olive’s glower. Olive opened her mouth and glanced at Vi, but Vi nodded and stepped forward.

“Her name is Jinx,” Vi said, finally speaking.

“And this Jinx has the gemstone?” Jayce asked. Vi nodded. “Then we need to go in by force.”

“That could trigger war!” Another councilor protested.

“There are good people down there,” Olive joined in, not having expected this sudden turn. A different councilor grunted.

“Yeah, about as good as your mother,” The official muttered under his breath. Olive felt her swallowed anger flare inside of her.

“What the fuck did you just say?” She demanded, hurtling forward to where the offender was sitting. Caitlyn hurried forward to hold her back.

“Perhaps there is a diplomatic solution,” Mrs. Kiramman interjected, looking desperate to calm the fire that had been started.

“You don’t know war, Jayce. I do. It must be our last resort,” Councilor Merdarda continued for her. Jayce scoffed.

“What? You want to negotiate with the undercity? With this- Silco?” He demanded angrily. Vi cut in again.

“This is fucking insane- have you learned nothing? He won’t listen to you, you can’t just talk to him! He hates all of you, and everything you stand for!” Her aggressive stance and movements towards the councilors put the enforcers standing by the door on edge. Mrs. Kiramman’s face finally hardened.

“Enforcers, please escort them-” She was cut off by Vi.

“No need. I remember where your stupid fucking door is,” She spat before turning and leaving, Olive close behind.

When they finally exited the grand building, night had fallen, and rain was pounding down on them. Vi was moving so fast that Olive was struggling to keep up.

“Vi, wait!” She cried out, grasping onto her arm. Vi turned towards her but pulled her arm away.

“I never should’ve gotten you involved with this. I never should’ve…” Her voice trailed off.

“What are you talking about? We can fix this, we can still-” Olive didn’t even finish her sentence.

“No, we can’t. We tried, okay? But if I keep letting you get wrapped up in…all this, you’ll get hurt. Everyone always does,” she said, continuing to walk away. Olive’s frustration flashed.

“You can’t just walk away from me, after- after everything! We’re in this together.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes were red and she had to focus to keep her lip from trembling.

“It’s over, cupcake. I need to go back to where I came from, and you need to stay here, where you belong. You’ve got Caitlyn and a big, fancy house that you can fix up. You don’t need me.” Olive’s heart squeezed at the hurt in her voice.

“You’re wrong. I don’t belong here anymore. I- I don’t belong anywhere. But together, I know we could fix everything, I know we could find out what happened to my family and take down Silco and-”

“No, we can’t!” Vi’s voice came out harsher than Olive expected. “You’ll be better off if you stay here, with Caitlyn. If you forget me.” Her eyes were trained on the ground as the rain that soaked them dripped down her hair and face.

“But…what about us?” Olive asked, her voice finally shaking, the tears that had been threatening to spill pouring out of her eyes and down her cheeks like the rain that already streaked them.

“Like oil and water. It wasn’t meant to be.” Vi turned around and left, disappearing into the dark, rainy night.

Olive waited until she was completely out of view before she let herself fall against a light pole while her body was wracked with sobs, head in her hands. She forced herself to hold back the screams that threatened to burst from her throat. She couldn’t explain why it was suddenly hard to breathe, and why her heart felt like it was ripping apart inside her chest. It was a long time before she picked herself up and trudged towards Caitlyn’s house, soaked to her bones by the rain and her face wrecked by crying.

���

Before Vi had reached the edge of Piltover, a thought crossed her mind. That council member - Jayce, was it? - had been the first to suggest they fight by force. For the sake of her own heart, she knew she had to make sure Olive stayed away; especially if she was going to do what she thought she was going to do. She waited a bit longer until she was sure Olive would have left the council building by now, and then headed back, ducking in and out of dark corners to stay inconspicuous. She was sure the enforcers wouldn’t be too keen on letting her back in, and she liked doing things better this way anyways.

Vi slinked through the hallways of the dark building, searching for a sign of the council member. She eventually heard sounds of deep clanging and saw a faint light emanating from the bottom of a door. Bingo.

It took less convincing than Vi expected for Jayce to give in to her plan. This dude really is bloodthirsty. For what they were about to do, the more so, the better. The gauntlets felt so natural in her hands that she had to push away thoughts of the last time she had held something similar. Her focus stayed trained on Jayce as she leaned on one leg and reached out a gauntlet covered hand to him.

“We got a deal, pretty boy?”

—

Olive had nearly shocked Caitlyn to death when she showed back up at her door, soaked and still teary. The blue haired girl shushed her and led her inside, keeping an eye out to make sure no one saw the two of them.

“My mother really isn’t pleased with the stunt you and Vi pulled at the council meeting today,” she warned, making stern eye contact with Olive as she handed her a towel to dry off.

“I know, I- I’m sorry,” Olive replied with a sigh. It was hard enough to face Caitlyn now as is, and this had only made it worse. “I’d just like to stay one more night. Please.” Her eyes cautiously lifted to Caitlyn’s, trying to read her old friend’s expression.

“Oh Olive, of course you can stay,” Caitlyn replied breathlessly as she scooped her into a hug, ignoring that Olive’s clothes were wet enough to get her soaked as well. “But…where’s Vi?”

Olive felt her tears build up again. She pulled away from Caitlyn. “She left me. I couldn’t stop her. She said it was for the better.” Olive choked out the last few words, her face falling into her hands again as tears streamed down her face once more. Caitlyn seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Olive, I-...stay as long as you need. I’m so sorry,” Olive shook her head and cleared her throat.

“I can’t stay long. It doesn’t feel right for me to be here anymore. And I can’t keep piling this on you,” she replied softly. “Piltover is no longer my home.”

The next morning, Olive woke early and got ready quickly. It broke her heart, but she knew she had to leave before Caitlyn could stop her and try to convince her to stay again. Olive knew that she wouldn’t be able to say no this time. With one last longing look at her childhood home, Olive leapt off of Caitlyn’s balcony and made her way towards the total nightmare that was now her life. Even if Vi wouldn’t help her, Olive knew she couldn’t give up on finding her mother. On finding the truth. So back she went to her grubby shack of an apartment, to working odd questionable jobs here and there to support herself, to saving bits of food for days on end when money was tight. At least there, she knew she could do something.

—

Vi could hardly hold herself back from racing into the facility they were headed for and getting the siege over with herself. She and Jayce were loaded with a whole command of enforcers, everyone itching to take down what they now knew as the source of Piltover’s greatest headaches. If only she had known the dark turn this fight was about to take.

The attack on the shimmer facility was a blur of gunshots and bloodshed. Vi used the anger coursing through her to mercilessly take down any and all who crossed her path, ignoring the trail of those around her who had fallen. Finally, there was only one person left. A young boy that seemed oddly forceful in his determination to protect the facility. Vi recognized him as the one who had pushed the alarm in the building that alerted everyone of their presence and released the defense creatures. Vi knew that she had no choice in killing him. Apparently Jayce didn’t have the same opinion. She had hardly caught her breath when enforcers descended upon her, holding her down to clamp handcuffs on her. She growled and shouted shocked protests, shoving whatever body parts she could into them to try and overtake them.

“What the fuck!” she growled, still fighting. Jayce’s face was dark and overcast.

“Perhaps some time in Stillwater will teach you a well deserved lesson.”

[crystalpower]

yet another display of beauty, volume #43953984.

[scl-ana]

six of crows but arcane universe

( spoilers for arcane, six of crows, crooked kingdom )

( i’m not a lol fan so this could be entirely wrong in many ways, but it is mainly based off of the show so )

wylan van eck hendriks

topsider definitely

van ecks probably a councilor too, like the whole the merchant council is

like imagine his backstory but like he crosses the bridge to the undercity to escape the guys trying to kill him

him with the jinx goggles with the little slits

basically caitlyn tbh, he and jesper would have the same dynamic vi and caitlyn has. the "you're hot cupcake" but "you're hot merchling"

he's got that satchel thingy that ekko has, the tube looking one that held the stone.

he'd probably make the cute little grenades jinx makes with the faces scribbled on.

jesper fahey

undercity

i see him with those pistols that jinx has, and he does all the tricks with em too.

definitely flirts with wylan the same way vi flirts with caitlyn, the name calling and everything. 

stays with the firelights, he just enjoys being around a tree because he grew up in the country ( im not actually sure if theres a ‘country’ in arcane but yes ). don’t think he’s part of the gang though.

colm’s probably not staying with him, still in the country or smth.

he was probably sent to a nice school in piltover and found himself gambling in the undercity.

nina zenik

topsider (?)

i was sorta thinking that like she was from piltover and she went to the undercity when she tries to break matthias out of stillwater ( hellgate )

she works at the brothel in the undercity, the one from the “you’re hot cupcake scene.” 

took parem ( shimmer ) to save everyone like at the end of six of crows. its probably liquid like shimmer and not powder. glowing neon and stuff. 

or maybe something like when jinx was injured and parem was used to save her. 

im still trying to figure out how arcane magic works in the universe, but if it can be given as normally as grisha powers, she and jesper would still be a heartrender and fabrikator without hextech or anything.

matthias helvar

not from piltover or zaun, probably an outside country like the one medarda’s from

i can see him in that coat with the fur that medarda’s mom wears.

probably came over with the druskelle through the hexgates or smth, got to know nina and fell in love. same story from the show/pre six of crows.

starts out in stillwater until he was broken out by kaz and co.

i’d say he got piercings and tatoos in stillwater like vi, but knowing matthias he’d think its repulsive and not get anything.

he was definitely be freaked out by the undercity when the crows free him from stillwater.

kaz brekker

bastard of the undercity

think silco but like 30 years younger, and he isn't the one making the shimmer/parem

has a club like the last drop, lives in the top floors.

yknow the way that jinx hallucinates mylo and claggor?? he does that with jordie

he probably has that leg brace thing that viktor has. and that lockpick mylo has.

imagine the sheer power he could hold if he added hextech to his cane.

honestly id love to see him have flashbacks abt jordie the way jinx has flashbacks abt vi that’d be so cool.

broke his leg trying to steal from a piltover house and fell from the roof, earned him his first stay in stillwater.

inej ghafa

undercity

if kaz is silco, inej is basically sevikah and jinx. loyal to the end, basically does all his dirty work.

i wouldn’t know how to incorporate hextech into like, her knives. sorta doesn’t make sense. unless its something like sevika’s sword i guess?? but that kinda isnt too stealthy.

she’d look so good in the sevika get up, like with the cape and the eyeshadow and stuff.

i like imagining her having like a braid as long as jinx’, with the little cuffs and acessories too. 

used to work at the same brothel as nina before kaz bought her for the crows as his spider.

( perhaps i’ll draw my designs of this universe?? i have sketches but nothing full. we shall see )

[graycats-arcane-blog]

Chapter 13 of The Scientist’s Daughter went up on AO3 last week! In case anyone missed it, there’s a preview below the cut.

This is an exciting one - Viktor’s getting up to some serious hijinks here! Not too sure that Jayce has the stomach for all this madness though...

Chapter 13: Viktor's Gambit, Part 1

Viktor had given Jinx three orders:

Stay out of sight.

Clear the way to the bridge.

Well, we’ll get to this one later.

Like a living breeze, Jinx glided silently from rooftop to rooftop. The wind whistled shrilly in her ears. She could move so fast now with shimmer in her veins, and she felt so weightless! She could jump further than ever, sailing over broad gaps between rooftops that she wouldn’t have entertained crossing before. Her strides were so light and noiseless that her toes barely seemed to touch the ground. She could even see better, her vivid eyes wide and owl-like as they pierced the darkness to spot a pair of enforcers drawing near her friends’ latest hiding-place.

Dawning a playful grin, Jinx rifled through the satchel Viktor had turned over to her. Her fingertips stroked cool metal, and she delicately raised one of her bombs to the moonlight, where its painted spines gleamed in neon brilliance.

Claggor and Mylo cackled on either side of her as she pulled a pin and lobbed the projectile into a dumpster.

Nails burst from the device, hitting the dumpster’s tinny walls with a cacophony of shrill pings! The enforcers jolted to attention, their clumsy feet scrambling toward the disturbance, leaving the street open for her friends to traverse unseen.

Jinx spared a moment to watch them step into the open moonlight – specifically, she watched Viktor. For a man who’d lived his whole life with a limp and a crutch, he now walked with unfathomable grace. The Hextech brace wreathed his lower body in a faint blue glow (honestly, how had her luminous mentor thought he could travel through Topside unnoticed without her help?) and guided his legs through precise, sure movements. He gained confidence as he moved, his back straightening, his face held high, his arms swinging to the rhythm of each deliberate step.

Jinx didn’t think she’d ever seen her mentor look more free.

With a joyful skip, Jinx raced to the edge of the rooftop and leaped further down the street.

They were about halfway between Viktor’s flat and the bridge, making faster-than-anticipated progress with the help of the Hextech brace. Their goal destination was the opposite side of the bridge. Upon crossing, they planned to linger behind the bridge’s broad pillars so as to stay out of view from Piltover’s enforcers, and wait to be found by Silco’s thugs. With so many of them on the prowl, it wouldn’t take long to be discovered.

Viktor was sure that Silco would make a personal appearance once he knew they were there. He was certain. And if her mentor was certain, Jinx knew it would be just as he said – Viktor had never led the Hextech team wrong.

While Viktor, Jayce, Caitlyn, Vi, and Ekko met with Silco on the ground, Ekko’s fellow Firelight would be hovering beneath the bridge on standby in case they needed to send word to the other Firelights. Jinx would be perched in bridge’s upper beams, listening in on the interaction below. As long as she could keep an eye on Viktor, Jinx was content to hang back from the action - After all, Silco most likely wanted her dead. It was best to stay out of the dangerous man's sight.

Even if the voices in her head were grumbling otherwise…  

“Gonna hide in the background like a coward? You can take him! TAKE HIM OUT!”

“It probably wouldn’t even be that hard. Slip a bomb behind his back, and BOOM! He wouldn’t see it coming!”

“Don’t you want to get back at him for what he’s put you through? What he put US through?”

“Kill him, kill him, KILL HIM!”

Jinx could sympathize with Mylo’s and Claggor’s hatred. As Ekko had pointed out, their deaths were as much Silco’s fault as they were hers, perhaps even more so his. The thought made her blood burn and her fingers twitch… So many of her misfortunes came back to this man…

But Viktor had a plan.

Jinx shook her head against Mylo’s and Claggor’s protests. Viktor said he’d make things better for me, for all of us – we have to let him talk to Silco. I trust Viktor.

“But Viktor’s been acting strange lately…”

The edge of a gutter bent under Jinx’s aggressive grip.

“You’ve noticed it, right? The anger he’s been bottling up toward the Council, and toward Silco?”

“He’s trying to hide it – from you, from everyone. He hides it under that calm face, but we know it’s there.”

“And then he went and tried to sneak out, without telling you!”

She distractedly uncurled her fist from the weak metal as Mylo and Claggor continued their barrage.

“Why would he try to leave without telling you?”

“Think he’s keeping a secret?”

He’s just acting weird ‘cause he’s been preoccupied with making this plan! Agitated, Jinx launched herself more forcefully than necessary from her current rooftop, landing on the next with an angry stomp. She took a deep breath. And he didn’t tell me he was leaving ‘cause I go off on my own all the time; he just wanted to be like me. It’s normal, right?

Wanting to be like her was a noble sentiment, for sure, but Jinx would be damned if she Viktor out of her sight tonight.

We protect each other. That’s what we do. He made this plan to help me, and I’m tagging along to help him.

It was hard to stay calm with her deceased brothers hissing in her ears, but Jinx schooled her steps to be smooth and catlike, slipping swiftly over Piltover’s roofs once more. She spotted another set of enforcers, flung a paint bomb through some unsuspecting civilian’s window, and watched, amused, as the enforcers raced toward the resultant BANG and the homeowner’s startled shout.

Was it wrong to have so much fun terrorizing Topsiders? Jinx had to admit, she was having a ball.

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3

[serararku]

Dust to Dust

The magic and allure of seeing dragons had long vanished. The entire trip to Ishgard was spent fantasizing about the great scaled beasts, soaring low over the earth while they belched fire and fury. She wanted to bring back the head of a slain dragon she felled herself, and perhaps a pack filled with its scales; mount that skull on the wall in her apartment, and bedazzle R’zevi with her fancy dragonscale cloak. Now, S’era would be a happy woman if she never saw another flying lizard ever again. 

Maybe if she was lucky she could find a handful of scales on the bridge and make a cute necklace.

Worst still, Ishgardian Index was… smaller than S'era expected. She's heard tales of great labyrinthine libraries stuffed to the brim with forbidden and long forgotten knowledge, rows upon rows of aisles housing countless books, grimoires, and tomes, and terrifying guardians that would make short work of any intruders foolish enough to tempt fate with their damnable curiosity. Yet when she arrived at the Index, it was no more than one curved hallway and maybe half a dozen rooms; still, with her reading level, this alone would take her a lifetime to peruse. The Barghest would return to Ishgard to pick her up in just over a week, and frankly she had neither the time nor the desire to sit here and practice reading for much longer than that; she had a purpose to fulfill, questions that needed answers, and a Tia waiting for her return. Thankfully she had a way to narrow down her search to better accommodate her time frame. 

S’era was nodding off in front of her recent book on Ishgard history. Thanks to the lessons of R’zevi and Pherond she was able to actually read the words, which in itself was exciting, but these books were insufferably boring. Page after page of fighting the Dravanian Horde, recuperating after their retreat, storing up supplies for the next attack decades later, and one again, fighting the Dravanian Horde; if it were up to S’era, she would have packed up and abandoned Ishgard after the first attack. 

Scraaatch… scraaatch… scraaatch…

Her ears perked up to the faint sound of something scraping against wood. She followed the sound to the adjacent wall, where all the books of the Ishgardian Index gathered dust. When her gaze drifted to the fourth shelf, the peculiar scratching stopped. “Rats?” S’era thought, perking a brow. “Would Ishgard even have rats?” Just as she returned to perusing this dreadfully dull book, the scratching returned- with a vengeance.

That terrible noise scraped behind almost every book and on every shelf, traveling up and down the curved hallway until it was almost deafening. “Huh?!” The Samurai slowly rose to her feet once the books began to tremble and fall out onto the floor, and her heart skipped a beat at the rhythmic mumbling coming from the walls.

"Shol uun. Veshe uun. Saal aneem-othola uun."

The shelves burst open with a piercing shriek- black talons and scaled fingers ripped through the wreckage and pulled the wall apart! Red twinkling lights flickered in the dark before the faces emerged into the light, the dragonkin snouts and malformed Elezen heads grimacing and gnashing their snaggled jaws! "NO! AAAH! AAAAAGH!" S'era stumbled back out of her chair, but the monster's outstretched hands caught both arms and pulled her toward its many hungry mouths. The largest dragon head opened wide as a tormented Elezen face shouted with a bone-chilling voice.

"MAKE US WHOLE!"

"BWAH-!" S'era snapped up from her nightmare and nearly jumped out of her skin. Frantically she looked around for any sign of that aberration, but there was none; only the pool of drool soaking into the wooden table, and the array of books she had combed through caught her attention. That, and the Librarian.

"I'm sorry to disturb your nap." The Elezen gave her an apologetic and empathetic smile. "This is all I could find to help your research. There are no books on this artifact you described. However, the late Alfont Vauvois mentions a gold disc in his journal here." 

“Late?” S’era asked, running her hands along her bristling tail under the table. “What happened to him?”

The woman set the weathered leather bound journal beside her, before calmly saying, “He went to investigate Bleakpoint Village about a month ago. Since he hasn’t returned, we have to assume the worst.”

The Samurai swallowed dryly as the Librarian walked off. “If he left for Bleakpoint before us…” She thought, grinding her teeth together while she plucked the journal off the table. “Was he a thrall in robes? Did we kill him? Was he one of those fused to that monster?!” Thinking about it only made her skin crawl; she could speculate all week if she wanted to, but the only way to know for sure is to return to that demented village. That wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, she slowly opened the journal and quickly skimmed the pages. Most of it was unreadable- sloppy handwriting, smeared words, and more than a few stains- hopefully from coffee. It was only the last few pages that truly piqued her interest.

I- -ust as I feare-. A c-lt devo-t in wyrm wo--hip resides in the --- If my calculati--- are correct there is - signifi--nt aether shift s---where in the snowy hills. These ---lots must be plannin- someth--g huge. I must ---d out -hat th--’re up -- before it’s -oo lat-!

S’era gulped dryly again, vividly recalling what those freaks had conjured from the depths of hell. She slowly turned the page and continued reading.

The Dragons--g War is finally over! This was supposed to be a time for c---bration! But cultists managed to sn--k in durin- the Dravanian Horde’s final --sault on Ishgard to steal the remains of Halault?! What else did Ar--bishop Thordan VI- keep secret from his --ople?! If w--- gets out that a ---ter necromancer’s corpse is back in the clut--es of his f--lowers…

No. I can’t let this stand. I will not let another tragedy befall my kin after a millennium of suffering! Someone h-- to do s-meth--g!

The Samurai looked over her shoulder at the random passersby and their quiet conversations; could any of them secretly be a cultist? Her paranoia crept up her spine and made every hair on her neck stand. She didn't want to draw any suspicion by constantly looking around, so S'era instead kept her ears pointed to the open area behind her. 

Several pages were completely unreadable, like someone came in and smeared something to destroy the ink. Yet they didn't account for a Miqo'te to use her heightened sense of sight to bypass their schemes; why they didn't just tear out the pages or burn the whole journal altogether was another mystery for another time. 

Bl--kpoint! Hidden in plain sight! With a hand--- of seasoned adventurers at -- side I'm conf-dent we can --d this horror before it be---s! Must use discretion. Must r-turn ---ault's corpse to the pit it belongs. I w--l --way- lov- --- Amette. -f I d-n't -ake it ba-- I-

The message suddenly cut off from a brown stain, but when S'era reached the last page, her heart dropped into her stomach. 

Blessed blood! Blessed flesh! Drink and feast for thou art blessed! Blessed blood! Blessed flesh! Drink and feast for thou art blessed! Blessed blood! Blessed flesh! Drink and feast for thou art blessed!

S’era slammed the journal closed and shot up from her seat. “Oh gods- that’s what they were chanting���!” She whispered with the slightest breath. “They were going to…?!”

“Is everything alright?” The Librarian asked, reappearing on the other end of the hallway. The Samurai managed to stifle her shock at her sudden return, but only barely; a part of her wondered if this Elezen was a cultist too.

“Y-yeah… but this journal doesn’t mention anything about a golden disc…” 

“Ah, I think I have something to remedy that.” She gave S’era the most disconcerting smile she had ever received, turned on her heel, and disappeared into the darkness behind the door. Now S’era was certain something fishy was going on around here.

“It’s time to get the HELLS out of this place!” Her conscience tugged on her tail and hastened her steps. S’era didn’t even bother putting the books back where she found them- all she feared now was the Librarian returning with a handful of ‘helpers’ to escort her to a grisly end. Staying in Ishgard alone was a terrible mistake- and now she was too paranoid to be of any use to the Ashen Wolves.

Her only choice was clear- continue her research away from potential harm, somewhere she would feel much safer. Preferably surrounded by people that would protect her whilst she slept.

---

Brief mention: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[honeymoonjin]

heavy - hoseok x reader smut

A/N: a birthday gift for the wonderful vi @jeonau 

Mafia!AU Hoseok smut. Warnings for sexually explicit content: fingering, restraints, dom!Hoseok, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex. 2.9k words.

Your Hobi was stressed again. You could tell by the tension in his shoulders when you ran your hand over his back, or the way the muscles in his cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw. Of course being the head of Seoul’s most infamous gun-running empire came with a certain level of stress, but Hoseok had always seemed to take it in his stride, navigating the black market underworld with an instinctual ease.

Now, though, with the police hot on his heels, he had become less blasé and self-assured, spending more and more hours holed up in the basement of your shared home to try and minimize the time he was out in public and vulnerable. Unfortunately, the lack of sunlight and proper exercise was beginning to make him stiff and tetchy. You smoothed your palm over his Egyptian cotton-clad back as he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing at whatever the person on the other end of the phone line was saying to him.

“Reynolds doesn’t have access to the accounts, so, as suspicious as that fucker acts, I don’t think it’s him.” A slight pause as the muffled voice responded. “Well, maybe if you didn’t employ a goddamn narc in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this situation! Now, if you could please track down the man who’s put my ass on the line and deal with him, that would be great. Don’t call me again unless it’s good news. You’re wasting my fucking time.”

Without waiting for a response, Hoseok hangs up and chucks his phone lazily at his desk, sending it skidding across the thick layer of miscellaneous papers strewn over it.

You let both hands sweep over his shoulders, thumbs digging in to the knots in his back. Hoseok tips his head back with an exhausted groan. “You shouldn’t be down here,” he admonishes, though his tone is more tired than angry. “You know that the less you know, the better. I don’t want you in the line of fire, baby girl.”

You hum in response but make no effort to leave. “Perhaps I just want to make sure my husband isn’t facing the line of fire alone.”

“Mm, ‘at’s sweet of you,” he mumbles, eyebrows knitting together as you continue to work out the tension that’s deep-set in his muscles. “God, you’re the only person in this hellhole of a world I trust, you know that? Even my own team are betraying me, but you’ve stayed loyal all this time.”

“And I always will,” you promise earnestly, enjoying the way he becomes lax under your touch. “It’s you and me against the rest of the world, baby.”

Unprompted, Hoseok breaks out in a yawn, and rolls his shoulder blades back in two tight circles, breaking your hold. You let your hands hover uncertainly in the air, then drop. A sudden movement causes you to step back slightly as Hoseok spins in his leather desk chair to face you, eyes lidded. “Take a seat, baby girl.”

There’s no other chair in the basement; Hoseok is the only one who ever uses this room, but that wasn’t what he meant anyway. You wet your quickly drying lips and step forward again, stance widening around his knees until your wrists link around the back of his neck, and you’re lowering yourself daintily onto his lap. His eyes dart down to the spot between your legs as the skirt you’re wearing slips further and further up your thighs. You lean in, cheek resting on the firm plane of his chest. “I’ve missed you,” you confess into the dimly lit room, “you never come to bed anymore.”

A strong palm comes up to rest on the back of your head, cupping you against him. His chest reverberates as he speaks. “Is my baby feeling a little needy?”

You nod softly, enjoying the way the expensive cotton of his shirt slides smoothly over your skin. It was generally pretty common for the two of you to be having sex multiple times a day; normally when business was good, your husband was feeling a little more generous with his cock and his time. But you had been deprived of any action for going on two weeks now, and his simple proximity was enough to have a hot wave of need rolling around inside of you.

He chuckles out his nose at your lack of verbal response. “Do you know what? I’ve spent the past few days punishing my subordinates for their misdemeanors and disloyalty. I think it’s only fair that I reward good behavior too, don’t you think?” Again, you nod, this time more feverishly. “Mm, I thought so. And you’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?”

“Of course, Hoseokie.”

“You didn’t get yourself off alone while I’ve been busy?” You shake your head. “Did you try to?” Your face burns with shame as you remain still. Truth be told, you had spent many a lonely night with your hand between your legs, unsatisfied with how big and empty your bed felt without him in it, but you could never get there on your own. He had really ruined you for any other lovers, including yourself. Hoseok simply gives another soft chuckle, the hand buried in your hair tugging softly at the roots. “That’s okay, I’m not mad at you. Your sweet cunt was waiting for me, even if your hands weren’t. Fuck, and I’ve missed it, too.”

You shift your head so that your chin props you up and you can look him in the eyes, which are twinkling with something a little darker than amusement, and a little deeper than lust. “Will you take care of me now?” you ask quietly, voice sounding small in the large empty space of the basement.

His grip tightens on your head slightly, turning from comforting to possessive. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” You nod as best you can under his hold, and he rewards you with a devilish smile. Suddenly, the back of your head feels cold as he removes his hand and begins loosening the knot in his tie, the dark, thick fabric snapping when he tugs it off his neck. “Wrists,” he commands firmly, and you hastily rush to present them to him, side-by-side. With a knitted brow as he focuses, he slips the length of the tie between and around your wrists until they’re solidly bound together, your fingers automatically linking in with one another, clasping your hands. Once they’re complete, he hooks his finger in between them to check they’re not too tight, and then uses that same hold to pull them up, ducking his head so that your hands fall behind his back. He lets go, and untucks his arms so that they’re over the level of yours, and your wrists rest snugly around his waist.

The realization of your own immobility never fails to send a rush of heat between your legs, and you bite your lip, watching as his eyes rake languidly over your body. Finally, his gaze lowers to the sliver of your panties visible underneath the edge of your skirt. It’s risen up practically to your pelvis, and you know that if you can see some of your underwear from your position, he was probably getting an eyeful.

Playfully, almost lazily, he takes a single finger and runs a featherlight stripe up the seam of your panties. You twitch in his grip, having felt how damp the fabric was when it was pressed slightly against your folds. “Please,” you whisper out reflexively, thighs straining to open your legs wider. He smiles at the sight, and swipes your clothed core again, smile widening when you let out a whimper.

“Look at you,” he croons, “all spread out in front of me, vulnerable and open.” Another pass, this one with more pressure, and your pelvis tilts up to chase it. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Hoseok,” you breathe. “I need you.”

“You’ve waited a couple weeks,” he says lightly, tone betraying the slightest edge of warning, “I would hate for you to lose your reward for being impatient now.” You swallow hard and shut your mouth, eyes pleading with him silently. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile. “Good.”

Hoseok sighs out deeply, running his hot palms up and down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, fingertips coming dangerously close to the seams of your panties every time. Like he’s got all the time in the world, he starts fiddling with the lace edge between your legs, nail scratching the skin ever so lightly. You try to keep your breathing steady, but you can’t stop from whining low in your throat as he stays just an inch to the left of where you really want him.

“My girl definitely is feeling needy,” he mumbles, tapping at the wet patch right over your entrance. “You’re completely soaked for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet. It’s because this pussy is mine, isn’t it? You’re creaming yourself just for me.”

You can’t help yourself. “Please, Hoseokie, I need more.”

Wordlessly, he tucks his fingers underneath the sopping fabric and presses two fingers inside you, stopping at the first knuckle. You writhe on his lap, trying to shuffle forward to pierce yourself more on the fingers you know would feel so good seated fully inside you. “Use your words, baby. You get to pick a reward for being on your best behavior, hm?”

You give up on trying to get him to go deeper as he pulls his hand back every time you sneak forward. “I want your cock,” you confess simply, clenching around his fingertips.

He lets out a low curse, and lets his fingers sink inside you slowly, your mouth dropping open in pleasure as the knuckles of his other fingers rest snugly against your folds, preventing him from going any further. “So, you don’t want my fingers?” he asks with an air of innocent curiosity. “You don’t want me do to this?” A moan is ripped from you as he begins fingering you deeply, curling up against your g-spot with every stroke.

“Y-yes,” you gasp out, rocking your hips into the sensation.

“Oh, you do want my fingers? That’s strange, I swear just earlier you said you wanted my cock.”

“Both,” you moan, face falling onto his shoulder as your wrists tugged uselessly against his lower back, unable to draw them back around like you wanted to. “I want both, please, Hoseokie.”

He continues to finger you as you garble nonsensical moans, the sensation feeling so blissfully good after your extended lack of orgasms recently. “My sweet girl,” he coos into your ear, the soft words almost drowned out by the wet smacking resounding between your thighs, “I can never say no to you. You’ve been so good for me, so patient. Will you be a good girl for me now and cum? I want to feel you cum on my fingers before I make you cum again on my cock.”

Your thighs begin to shake as his thumb slides up to rub at your sensitive clit, and his other hand palming your ass to push you further onto him with each thrust of his fingers. “I w-will, I’m so close, Hoseokie,” you promise, burying your face into his neck and clasping at the back of his shirt with your bound hands. “Please, I need to cum.”

“Let go for me, baby. Let it all go, that’s it. That’s it,” he croons happily as you come apart on him, the pleasure only heightened by the fact that he keeps going full-speed, and you’re helpless to stop him or do anything but take it. Once your body shudders subside, your walls still periodically clamp down around him. You whine when he slips out of you, and you’re left clenching down on an unpleasant void.

“Please, can I have your cock now?” you moan into the crook of his neck, nibbling and lapping affectionately at the skin made slightly salty from exertion.

He groans at the sensation. “Does my girl want me to fuck her now?”

“Mhm.”

Hoseok hums in affirmation, one palm slipping under your skirt to cup your ass, the other deftly unbuttoning his slacks. “Can’t wait to feel your pretty pussy around my cock, baby girl, I’ve missed it.” His hand dips into his pants and pulls his cock out, Hoseok tipping his head back with a sigh as it’s finally released. He smears the precum lazily with his thumb, looking down at you with lidded eyes. “Do you see how much I’ve missed your sweet cunt?”

You bite your lip as you look down. It’s not a word you’d usually use to describe the appendage dangling between a man’s legs, but Hoseok’s dick is truly a beautiful specimen. Average in length, and only a little girthier than most, the beauty comes in the graceful curve that appears when he’s hard, an arc up to his stomach, so that the tip would graze the taut skin of his abdomen, just below his belly button. It was mostly smooth, and as bronzed as the rest of him, although it darkened as blood rushed to it, like now.

Getting impatient, you rock your hips towards his cock, the friction from the wet fabric of your panties causing him to groan your name. “Hoseokie. I need you now.”

“Come on then, baby,” he mutters sweetly into your ear, “open wide.” And with a single, strong arm, he’s lifting you up and using his other hand to line up his cock with your entrance, pushing the sopping fabric aside with his head, and letting you impale yourself on him.

Normally, the stretch is very bearable, especially after fingering you like he almost always did, but it had been too long that you had gone empty and feeling him inside you again had your toes curling, even as he let you stay still on his cock to adjust. “Hobi,” you whimper into his chest, unable to use your hands to prop yourself up. You feel the pressure of his chin on the crown of your head.

“You feel so fucking tight around me, baby girl. That pretty pink pussy of yours was made for me. God, it’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.”

You keen and clamp down on him at the praise, and he curses, the sound muffled in your hair. Unable to get any leverage to ride him with your hands bound behind his back, you wait for him to drop his hands to your hips, and slowly pull you off of him, the drag inside you pulling another moan from deep in your throat. He stops once only his head is snug inside you and holds you firm.

Instead of making you ride him, he plants his feet on the ground and begins thrusting up into you. With every stroke, his skin smacks against yours audibly and with the angle, his cock rubs slightly against the bottom of your clit every time he moves. “Oh, god, Hoseok, feels so good with you in me,” you pant.

“Yeah?” Hoseok questions through gritted teeth, voice stiff with exertion. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me neither,” you assure, “just please don’t stop, Hoseokie. I need it harder.”

With a groan that comes out more like a growl, Hoseok begins slamming your hips back down every time he fucks up into you, burying himself deeper inside you than before. You can feel him strike your cervix wall on particularly strong thrusts, and the pressure feels so good that you can’t help but let your mouth fall open, drooling onto his shirt lightly as he forces your hips down onto his cock harder and harder, until you’re panting desperately, hanging off an orgasm by a thread. “Hobi, I’m close,” you confess.

“Fuck, I’m cu- ah! Yes, fuck, yes,” Hoseok chants, thrusting once, a second time, then holding you right to his pelvis as he cums. You squeeze down on him to help him through it, and the pressure it puts on your g-spot, combined with the feeling of him spilling inside you, has you falling over the edge into your second orgasm, shuddering violently on top of him as he slowly grinds his way through his orgasm.

When you both finish up, he makes no effort to pull out, simply putting your arms back over his head and untying you, massaging your wrists gently for you to make sure circulation returned.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he mumbles into your hair as you snuggle up to his chest. He’s starting to soften, but you don’t want to lose the connection, and he seems happy enough for you to stay on his lap as he’s buried inside you. “I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of you enough. It’s just that work’s got me totally strung out, and I want to make sure-”

You shush him, reaching down a hand to interlink with his. “It’s okay,” you promise, “I’m with you now, let’s just enjoy this, okay?”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Okay.”

[modernmisterdarcy]

Bliss, Goodbye, and Business

“Always…”

Eirene's voice echoed in his mind, and it would, in some strange and distant place, echo there for the rest of his life. Her sweet, breathless whispersaid , “Always…” Always she would be with him, so she said, and so Adrian believed, in that moment, with every fiber of his being.

He had found his beloved. After all these long years of suffering and darkness, his connection with Eirene was like the sun, finally appearing to burn away the fog and the chill, to bring everything within him to life anew. Her hands gently tracing down the front of his body were healing him, knitting together everything which had once been broken, unusable, and discarded.

His heart ached with the force of his love, and when the door slammed open, Adrian's spirit reared up with such protective passion he nearly reached for his saber-- which had not hung at his hip in more than two years.

Terror and relief vied for prominence when Adrian recognized, through the shadows, the face of his dear friend, and Eirene's father.

“I did not mean to intrude,” said the Earl.

Adrian flushed with embarrassment. “That is-- I did not mean to suggest-- an intruder in your own home--” Adrian stammered, relieved, however, that Alexandros's only thought was for Eirene's well-being.

“Eirene, are you alright?” said Alexandros.

“Yes, of course! I wasn’t, but now…” Eirene trailed off, and looked back at Adrian. His heart leapt, and something in him was deeply touched that his attentions could have ameliorated-- in any measure-- the pain his brother had caused that night. “When I left the party, His Grace came to console me.”

Yes, I came to console you, never imagine I should end up professing my adoration at such a strange moment. Yet I cannot say in earnest that I am sorry...

“Is that what you kids call it these days?” the Earl laughed, bringing another flush to Adrian's face.

“Lord King--!” Adrian exclaimed at the same as Eirene said, “Father!”

The Earl's teasing relented, much to Eirene's apparent relief. Adrian was relieved only that the Earl seemed far, far from upset. Adrian had known that his friend approved of the match with his daughter, but to overlook such an impropriety as this? Adrian could scarce fathom it, but he was grateful not to have offended the other man.

As Eirene made her exit, Adrian wished he could kiss her one last time, but he dared not do so in front of her lord father. Instead, he contented himself with their last wistful glance, and offered a tender, meaningful smile.

“Adrian--” she said, “Thank you.”

“Any time, Lady King, you may avail yourself of me... any time.” Nearly overcome with emotion, Adrian bowed to her as she exited, almost having forgotten that Alexandros was there until the man spoke. Adrian smiled, swinging back into his embarrassment at having been caught with Eirene in such a compromising position.

“Alexandros, I-- I--” Adrian stammered, but the Earl seemed not to hear.

“I would advise you to get some sleep, but I have a feeling you will have quite the mess to return to. Call upon me tomorrow; we can discuss this curious evening then.”

Adrian had also nearly forgotten about Toby, but this sobering reminder brought his feet a few inches closer to the ground. This newfound connection between himself and Eirene stoked his ire all the hotter, and his grip on his walking-stick tightened until his knuckles were white and his fingers shaking.

“I shan't rest until the boy is dealt with,” Adrian assured him through clenched teeth. “And it is only this conversation with your daughter which has tempered my fury from reckless to actionable, words cannot express how embarrassed and sorry I am on his behalf. Please, Alexandros, accept my apologies and know I'll do all I can, for as long as I can, to turn this situation around to Eirene's favor.”

Adrian was nearly lost again in his anger over Toby when the Earl clapped him on the back. Adrian smiled uncertainly and took a little stumble to the side.

“I knew there was still some fire in you yet, boy!” exclaimed the older man.

“I hardly knew it myself, Alex, but your daughter is... very special.” Adrian flushed, smiling, looking at the door from whence Eirene had disappeared a moment ago. “I... daresay I feel for her as I've never felt for anyone.”

With that, the Earl and Adrian parted for the night. With the master of the house gone, Adrian availed himself of a nearby bench, taking a seat with a tremendous sigh. He closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose, allowing all that had transpired in the last hour or so to sink in to his mind, body, and soul. Yes, Tobias had committed a colossal mistake; the ramifications would follow the family for years-- perhaps decades-- the scandal would perhaps never be forgotten, and Tobias should have a difficult time showing his face in society for ages to come. Which fact had never bothered his younger brother.

It should have bothered Adrian, but the man was too drunk off of his love for Eirene to care a whit about his brother's social misfortunes. A time would come to deal with it all-- when he stepped beyond the doors of the greenhouse, it would begin-- but Adrian took that moment to sit, and to just be, with the cool humidity of the lush tropical foliage, and the echoes of words and kisses that lingered in his mind and in the air.

He loved her. Ardently. Wholly. Perfectly. She might-- should-- would-- be his wife. He knew it with all his being, and he resolved to propose to her as soon as he rightfully could, after this mess with Tobias was as cleaned-up as it could get. Perhaps he could not erase the scandal, but the Duke was certain that his getting engaged to Eirene so soon afterward was the correct thing to do. It would redeem Eirene's reputation in whosever eyes it might've been lost; and the excitement of the tragic bachelor Duke of Bainton finally being engaged might detract from some of the gossip about Tobias. It was a smart move, and he knew it, but more than that, it felt correct. It was not always the case, the smart thing and the thing which felt good. But this time, the two happened to be one and the same.

*

It was raining, and cold. Tobias was soaked through, his formal evening wear ruined, and in some measure, he did feel he deserved it.

The cold was sobering, and that was a problem.

After a time of aimless wandering the dark streets of London, searching himself for any shred of remorse or guilt and finding only a little, Toby wound up at one of his usual pubs, patronized by the usual people. While Adrian and his like greeted Tobias with disdain and coldness, this pub greeted Toby with warmth, enthusiasm, and some distant species of love often shared by problem drinkers who are in their cups together.

Toby received the welcome into an aching heart, and he couldn't quite understand why he had no enthusiasm to return. Instead, he sat down at the bar, dripping wet and ignoring all the questions about his ridiculous outfit, feeling very alone despite being surrounded by friends.

All he could think about was Adrian. The look of horror in his brother's eyes. The pallor of his face. The rigidity of his posture under any and all circumstance.

Worst of all was the anticipation: knowing that Tobias's actions would land him firmly in the very lowest of his brother's opinions, and that this evening's incident would earn him nothing but new heights of contempt, coldness, and distance from his brother. And Toby could hardly think of anything worse than that.

How long he sat there, Tobias could hardly reckon. He exchanged but little conversation, and drank far, far too much for his own good, such that even he knew he was too damn drunk.

On jellied legs, Toby got off his barstool, stumbling, and a few nearby patrons caught him. The pub was considerably emptier than when he'd come. Toby asked what time it was; they said nearly one in the morning. Someone less drunk than Toby asked if he wanted a ride home; Tobias declined, preferring to walk. His friends professed their skepticism that Tobias could find his own arse, much less his home, in his current state of inebriation, to which Toby responded, “Fuck off,” before stumbling out of the pub.

He found his way home. He wanted to apologize to Adrian. Toby was prepared to beg forgiveness on his knees. He'd even apologize to Eirene, if Adrian wanted him to, although he wasn't sure what good it would do. But he'd do anything, anything, to repent to his brother. Anything to prevent the rift between them from widening-- as if the damage hadn't already been done.

As if Adrian weren't about to ask him to do the only thing that Tobias couldn't do on his own.

He was too drunk to notice the strange carriage parked in front of their home.

In his wretched drunken, sodden state, somehow Tobias knew where he'd find his brother. How could Adrian sleep before this thing was put to rest?

Yet the parlor was dark, except for a high fire in the grate. Adrian stood before the fire, leaning on the mantelpiece, the contours of his slightly sunken features thrown into sharp relief, with pitch-dark, dancing shadows, and highlights of glowing red and ember orange. He wore a look of deep, brooding anger, the fire in the hearth paling in comparison to the fire in his eyes. To Toby's drunken mind, his brother looked like some kind of demon from a play. The sight shook him to his core.

“You have behaved very badly tonight, Tobias,” said the Duke, his voice silken with his finely-controlled rage. “You have never, ever disappointed me like this.”

“I'm sorry--” Toby started to say, but, as usual, Adrian wanted none of it.

“You have left me with no choice.” At last, Adrian stood straight, and looked Toby dead in the eye with his piercing black gaze. “You understand that, in order to remedy this situation I must do something drastic. And I can only interpret this wretched act of your as a sign for help.”

“What d'you mean?” Toby slurred, stupid and inarticulate, taking a step backward, his stomach heavy with dread. “What are you talking about, brother?”

“Do not call me that,” Adrian said, wincing. “I cannot bear to think we are blood relation on this night.”

Toby fought the urge to weep.

“I am sending you away. Masterson.” Adrian turned, and gestured, and from the corner came a grim-looking fellow whom Toby had never seen in his life-- whom he would, in time, come to both love and despise as much as he loved and despised his brother.

Masterson, the person in question, approached Toby.

“I am from the Finley Sanatorium in Berkshire,” said Masterson, and before he could say any more, Toby cut him off.

“Sanatorium? What the hell do you mean?” He took another step backward, looking at his brother with a mix of betrayal and deepest hurt. “Berkshire? Adrian, explain!”

“You are ruining your health. You are ruining your reputation, degrading it farther than I ever imagined possible, and despite all my efforts, you are beginning to harm my own name. This cannot continue, Toby, and for the love of God--” Adrian's steely surface cracked, and his voice quavered slightly with emotion-- “you are ruining your health. You are destroying your own well-being.”

“I didn't think you gave a damn what I did!” Toby cried, his eyes welling with tears at the first sign of concern Adrian had shown him in some time. “What are you talking about!”

“I'm sending you away.” Adrian steeled again, gesturing at Masterson. “My colleague happens to be in town, he will escort you straight away to the sanatorium. You may go willingly--”

“-- or not,” Masterson finished, holding up a pair of handcuffs. “Your choice.”

“But you will go, or I shall have you put in jail, you besotted git.”

Toby looked between the two of them, and all he could think was, No. To be sent away from Adrian, to be forced to dry out, to be held against his will behind high brick walls away from everything and everyone he knew? To be left wondering whether his brother lived or died? To be left without a girl to fuck for God knew how many months?

No.

Toby whirled, and darted out of the room, too drunk to get far at all. He reached the front door, tripped over the threshold, and fell face-first on the porch, scraping his chin on the concrete, jarring the broken bones in his nose. He scrambled, attempting to get to his feet, before he felt Masterson's leather manacles being strapped about his wrists, and the man hauled him to his feet.

“Tobias, I...” Adrian paused. “It pains me to do this. But it is for the best. For your good as well as everyone's. Especially for Eir--... for Lady King's very dignity. I must do something for her sake. It is this, or it is prison. I cannot send you to prison, cannot bear the thought. They may be able to help you at Finley to recover some of your sanity--”

“I never lost it!” Toby growled, and was unpleasantly surprised at the laugh that elicited from Adrian.

“I should say that tonight's events suggest otherwise-- and your misbelieving it only confirms it.”

“How long am I to be away?” said Toby in a hollow, helpless voice, disbelieving that his brother had just had him clapped in manacles like a common criminal.

“I... I shall let the doctors be the judge of that.” Adrian gave a rueful look to Masterson. “But out of decency, I've asked him to take you for three months at the very least.”

“Likely more like six,” said Masterson.

Toby groaned loudly, and hung his head.

“After all these years, and so many god-awful mishaps, perhaps now you shall learn some sort of lesson,” the Duke sighed, tapping his walking-stick on the ground, as if to punctuate the statement. “Goodbye, Tobias.”

“Adrian,” moaned the boy, his heart in a tumult. “Please write me--”

“I cannot promise anything.”

“-- just let me know you are well.” Toby uttered a quiet sob, struggling minutely as Masterson led him to the waiting carriage. “Goodbye, Adrian--” he started to say, but the door shut behind him, so that Adrian did not hear, and Toby was convinced that Adrian did not care.

*

Adrian cared, in his way, but he did not care in the same peculiar way as Toby. Sending his brother to the sanatorium was how Adrian showed his caring; to Toby's tender heart, it felt like deepest betrayal and rejection.

Having Toby under lock and key, and under competent professional care, took a weight off Adrian's shoulders which he had not realized was there. He stopped worrying about whether Toby would turn up dead in a gutter somewhere; he stopped nervously anticipating the next time Toby would come too drunk to stand straight; he stopped wondering whether Toby would drink his mind away. Toby was not there to hound him about his health, or to incessantly remind him that he could die at any time, or to harangue him about what he ought to do to take care of his own bloody body.

Adrian realized that having Tobias around was its own special kind of exhaustion.

He also missed the little bastard terribly after just a few days.

Still, it was not much in Adrian's nature to ruminate; after spending a day to recover from the events of Eirene's coming-out party, he went back to business. And aside from his duties at Parliament and various pressing social engagements, there was one item of business which Adrian was very eager to attend to.

Three days after Eirene's disastrous party, Adrian returned to the King household on an unexpected call. He first ascertained whether Eirene was in residence. She was, and Adrian was relieved. Then, he asked to see the Earl, alone, preferably in his study. After waiting anxiously in the foyer for a few moments, Adrian materialized in Alexandros's study.

He was dressed a bit more gaily than usual, his severe black suit replaced with a handsome gray one, and a pale blue cravat. Upon seeing his friend, Adrian greeted him with shaking hands and bright red streaks of color on his cheeks.

“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Alexandros,” he started, pacing in front of the Earl, albeit slowly, due to his leg, “I hope you will forgive my boldness. I hope you will overlook my eagerness and my... my audacity. I have thought this matter over very seriously, and I believe that, all things being equal, the timing is perfect, and my heart is... utterly decided.”

Adrian drew a deep breath, then blew it out, dabbing at a sheen of sweat on his brow with a handkerchief that matched his cravat.

“I have borne affection for your daughter since I met her. Lady King...” He smiled a little to himself. “She may or may not have told you, but I first met Lady King at the Astley's gala for the younger Lady Astley. I was quite ill that night, and your dear daughter tended me in a moment of need. Ever since I have been unable to forget her face, and each time I see her, my affection grows. My regard for her is... the utmost. Oh, Alexandros, I...” Adrian sighed again, unable to look his friend in the eyes. “I daresay I love her. I have loved her since the first moment I saw her. She is beautiful, she is kind, she is spirited and vivacious, and I declare I have never loved another the way I love... Eirene.” Finally, he looked up, and met the Earl's gaze.

“I have come today to ask your permission to propose to her. I know it is very sudden, but you know me well enough, Lord King, to know that I would not commit any impropriety without good reason. Though I have known her but a few weeks, I assure you, my affections are pure, and... if you'd not mind my saying so... I've reason to believe that Lady King has similar feelings for me. Would you permit me the honor of asking your dear daughter's hand in marriage? And be honest with me, Alex, for I'd rather die than marry her without your approval. Your friendship means the world to me.”

[alexandralyman]

Could you make a one shot/short story that’s sort of a prequel to Gloriana? Like how killian and Emma became close and what happened that night at Hatfield house?

Gloriana - my Tudor Court AU with Emma as Elizabeth I and Killian as a mix of Robert Dudley and Francis Drake - was one of those fics that I did intend to continue but time just got away from me, and it did work as a one shot so I left it as it was. But I had started writing a second part forever ago and when I got this message I pulled up the file, reread it and my inner history nerd came out again and….

….7,000 words later, here is Part 2. I always envisioned this as a non-linear story anyway, so there’s two flashback scenes plus a scene that takes place after the events of part 1 and I’ve included the night at Hatfield referenced in this line, “She hadn’t been a virgin since that night at Hatfield House lo those many years ago, when Killian had taken her to his bed and made her a woman in his arms, ruining her for any other man from that day forward.”

(so yeah, it’s rated M - hope you like it, Nonnie!)Part 1 is here on Tumblr and the fic is posted on ff.net hereGloriana - Part 2Hampton Court PalaceSome Time Ago

“I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my lord.”

“We have not, but I’m afraid I must correct you, Your Highness, as I am not a lord.”

“And I must correct you, good sir, as I am simply Lady Emma and in my sister’s court it is a foolish mistake to call me Highness.”

The tall man with bright blue eyes that reminded Emma of the sea leaned down slightly in a graceful hint of a bow and lowered his voice so that it carried only to her ears, “I assure you I am no fool, Your Highness. My name is Killian Jones, and I have come to court to swear my service solely to the Princess Emma, lawful daughter of the great King David and true heiress to the throne of England.”

Across the room Philip of Spain bowed somewhat stiffly to Emma’s half sister Mary, daughter of her late father David and his first wife, the repudiated Kathryn. The whole of the court was there to celebrate their marriage, including Emma, the rather inconvenient heiress presumptive who Mary could hardly bear the sight of at times but couldn’t quite ignore completely. The courtiers tended to follow their queen’s lead and few were brave enough to be seen conversing openly with Mary Blanchard’s daughter. Queen Mary’s memory was long and her hatred of the dark haired siren of a woman who had drawn her father away from Kathryn had never abated over the years, frequently spilling over to the only child of the passionate union between king and commoner.

“Watch your tongue, Master Jones. You very nearly speak of treason,” Emma warned in a hiss, back straight and gaze darting from side to side to reassure herself that no one had overheard. She might have been standing alone amid the wedding revels before the stranger approached her, but she was not so foolish as to believe that she was unseen. Spies were rife at the English court, as Spain, France and Scotland all vied for European supremacy and England was the board on which the pieces moved. Bishops, knights, kings, and a little white pawn with faint hope of being queened.

The man smiled, clearly unconcerned. “I merely speak the truth. Spain might be England’s bedfellow for a time, but planting seeds in a fallow field is no guarantee of a fruitful harvest.”

Emma was faintly shocked by his daring, both for speaking to her at all and for the rather crude reference to her sister’s marriage bed. But there was no denying that Mary was of an age where the prospect of children was far from assured, even with a virile younger husband like Philip and every restored Catholic priest in England praying desperately for their very devout queen to get with child. The petty, spiteful part of Emma had chosen to dress in a manner that flattered her own youth and bore the unmistakable hallmarks of her split bloodline for the festivities, golden hair inherited from her father just peeking out from under the curved velvet band of her French hood, whilst Mary’s graying locks were concealed completely in an attempt to camouflage the age difference between her and Philip. The queen’s gown was splendid, sewn all over with gems, slashed and puffed as a peacock, and in contrast Emma’s unfashionably plain dress was as spare and demure as a nun’s habit save for the wide Blanchard sleeves that unfolded so prettily and touched the floor when she’d curtsied to her frowning sister and new, speculative-eyed brother before retiring to her place in the shadows to watch and wait by herself for the tides to turn.

Only now she no longer waited alone.

She glanced at the man who stood boldly at her side while the rest of the court spurned her, a handsome figure in his black doublet, dark-haired, sharp jawed and an even sharper wit that was not unwelcome as he made several more cutting remarks towards the Spanish delegation. Emma was used to her solitude, it was as familiar as a lover to her, and she’d survived this long on her own, but she wondered with a sudden burst of wistfulness if she would ever be allowed to wed. Not so long as the queen remained childless, Emma knew, her claim on her sister’s throne was dangerous enough as it was, let alone if she bore a son before Mary did. Besides, marriage was a shackle that would bind her to the whims of a man as England was now bound to serve Spanish interests and her mother had been bound to her father until his professed True Love turned to something so dark and ugly in the end.

“I’ve vexed you.”

Killian Jones’s handsome smile turned to a frown as his eyes searched her face and his obvious concern pierced her disquiet. Her unringed hand found his sleeve, uncaring who saw the Lady Emma conversing so closely with a man of unknown loyalties, a Scottish spy sent to court by Cora de Guise perhaps, or a Protestant rebel looking to roust the Spanish delegation from English soil. She had the sense that he was neither, seeking not her secrets to sell nor a figurehead for his cause, and his offer to join her service was intriguing. If….when…the time came that the crown should need a new brow upon which to rest, she would need able men to help hold it steady, as a woman without a husband to wear it for her.

“No, milord, you have not.”

“Not a lord,” he reminded her with a saucy wink that made her colour as no nobleman ever had, “As you are not a queen, my Lady Emma.”

His lips just brushed the shell of her ear, whiskered cheek touching hers for the briefest of moments and Emma felt a flutter low in her belly under the stomacher of her gown at both the heat from his body and the promise in the single word he spoke.

“Yet.”

.

.

Several Years Later

“Your Majesty?”

Queen Emma didn’t turn around, standing at the window of the small audience chamber and looking down into the courtyard below. Ladies walked arm-in-arm in their bright gowns, followed by more soberly clad servants who carried shawls and baskets of necessities. Courtiers stood in small groups, their swords at their hips and their heads bent close in discussion. There was a clear divide, between the old guard of Catholic families who still retained a few drops of royal Plantagenet blood despite her father and her grandfather’s best efforts to stamp it out, and those risen to new estates and titles as rewards for supporting the young Nolan dynasty and its even younger Church.

She had such a reward to grant now to one who had always supported her since the day they met.

“Your Majesty we really must discuss this further.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” she replied in a crisp voice, tapping a long oval nail against one of the diamond-shaped window panes, “I shall make the formal announcement tonight.”

“But….Lord High Admiral? You are really going to appoint Captain Jones to such an exalted position?”

“After the success of his voyage he has more than proved himself able to hold the post.”

“No commoner has ever been named-“

“Which is why,” she interrupted, “I will also be conferring upon him the title of Earl of Misthaven.”

Silence reigned for a long moment before Sir Archibald Hopper, Secretary of State and longtime advisor to the queen, let out a heavy sigh at the news and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The Spanish Ambassador will not be pleased by that.”

Emma smiled, idly tracing patterns on the glass that bore more than a passing resemblance to the letters K and E. “Nothing pleases the Spanish Ambassador, and nothing ever will so long as I remain so inconveniently alive and in his master’s way. Ever since I refused Philip’s generous marriage proposal when my sister had scarcely grown cold in her tomb and denied him a second chance at England’s throne I have suffered much Spanish displeasure. You’d think the presence of his new French bride at his court would console him more, they do say Aurora de Valois is quite the beauty.”

“It won’t only be Spain, there are members of the council who will also object to this appointment. The Duke of Norfolk has been angling for his own candidate for several months now.”

She turned at that and arched a scornful brow, “While he corresponds behind my back with the Queen of Scots. His Grace is angling for much more than another royal appointment for his household, he is seeking a crown. But when he finally proposes marriage to Regina Stuart without my permission then he will either cool his heels in the Tower or join her in Edinburgh as an outlaw while I take his lands and title as forfeit. He can marry her as plain Robert Locksley and try to rule the Scottish chieftains if he is so inclined, but he will keep his greedy hands off my scepter.”

Her voice rose in anger and a lesser man would have backed down in the face of her obvious displeasure, but Hopper, her Conscience, as she called him, was made of sterner stuff and looked his queen right in the eye. “They say that Captain Jones also has his eyes on a crown, Your Majesty. You can name him Lord High Admiral and raise him to the peerage if you wish, but you must know that you can not marry a man of common birth.”

“Why is everyone in England so obsessed with the notion of marriage?” she snapped, two spots of colour appearing high in her pale cheeks, “I have no intention of marrying Captain Jones, Lord Hopper, nor any man, be he prince or peasant.”

“You can’t continue to hold all of Europe at bay without a husband and an heir to succeed you,” Hopper explained patiently, and not for the first time, “You have your choice of any unmarried noble from your court or the younger sons of all the royal houses, France, Sweden, Savoy, but eventually you must choose.”

The queen swept from the window, worrying at the gold coronation ring on her finger. “Have the letters patent drawn up. Killian Jones will be named Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet. I trust you can handle any objections from the Council, and perhaps lay aside some smelling salts for when the news reaches the Spanish Ambassador.”

“Who is Killian Jones to you, Your Majesty?”

Hopper’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. The royal back went straight and silence reigned again for so long that he was sure she wasn’t going to answer. But at last she looked over her shoulder and regarded him where he sat on a low stool. Few were afforded the great privilege of sitting while the queen stood, only Hopper, Mistress Ruby Lucas, and one other who only ever exercised that right in private, never in public.

“He was a friend at a time when I had precious few and each was more valuable to me than any jewel. For his continued loyalty he has earned his reward, as I reward all who serve me and only me, yourself included, Sir Archibald. My family name is Nolan, for once we had had no land of our own and only the slimmest of claims to the throne. But now I am queen and I am England, and England has many enemies, some of whom dwell in this very court like snakes hiding in the grass. I need men like Captain Jones at my side to help flush them out and keep them from striking.”

The queen left Sir Archibald Hopper alone in the empty room, where he shook his head sadly and murmured to himself, “Killian Jones may walk behind you and sun himself in your glory, Emma Nolan, but he can never truly stand at your side.”

In a court where gossip was a currency more valued than coin the news surprisingly did not leak in the hours between the meeting of the Privy Council and the start of the banquet, another celebration thrown by the queen in honour of Captain Jones and the success of his voyage. The privateer was dressed all in black as was his custom and the queen had opted to don a new gown of white silk embroidered with thousands of pearls. Ropes of them also hung about her slender neck and fell from her ears, and it did not escape notice among the assembly that she had chosen to adorn herself so lavishly with gems from the sea. They all watched as she made her entry into the hall, framed between the carved oak doors that stood fifteen feet high on either side of her. Skirts rustled as the ladies curtsied to their queen, dipping down low when she passed with eyes demurely lowered to the floor. Emma walked straight to Killian, seeing nothing but him, the rest of the court was nothing but a smudge on the glass, unimportant and beneath her notice. Sir Archibald was her Conscience, her guide through the tricky and treacherous world of ambitious men and duplicitous women that she ruled, Mistress Ruby Lucas was Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, keeper of her deepest, darkest secrets and immune to any form of bribery or threats, while Killian Jones was bestowed with a secret title, one spoken only in stolen moments and known to only the two of them.

He was Emma’s Heart.

Not the queen’s.

Emma’s.

The sword at his hip was ornamental, a blunted blade beneath a silver guard and a pommel shaped like the neck of a swan, curved to fit his hand and adorned with emerald eyes that matched the gems in the necklace he had gifted her (and had, in fact, been chipped from one of the stones). A gasp went through the crowd when the queen unsheathed it with her own hand, reaching around his waist to do so in a gesture of breathtaking intimacy between Sovereign and subject. The Duke of Norfolk let out a strangled noise in the back of his throat while the Spanish Ambassador swore violently in his head, both realizing what was about to happen a minute too late.

“Captain Killian Jones, I confer upon thou as our most able subject for the post, the office of Lord High Admiral of the English fleet, to protect and defend the realm from those who would seek to do us and our kingdom such grievous harm.”

Killian had knelt obediently at Emma’s feet when she drew his sword, face betraying none of the smug satisfaction he felt. He’d known she would grant him this after the great success of his voyage, making the bitter years of separation sweet at last with his victory over all who’d sneered at his common name and scorned his prowess on the sea. No one would protect England as he would, for Emma was England personified, and he would protect her and defend her, until his dying breath. But her next proclamation caught even him off guard.

“I also name thee Earl of Misthaven.”

The flat of the blade lifted from his shoulder and caught the candlelight, flashing bright and seeming to ripple along the metal like a stone dropped in a still pool. So too did a ripple run through the crowd, as the implications of their queen’s decree sank in just as quickly. Emma Nolan had raised a commoner to the peerage, a dark-haired, French-educated commoner who groped for her free hand and kissed the back of it, head bent reverently over her slim wrist. David Nolan had done the same for Mary Blanchard once upon a time, the dark-haired, French-educated commoner he had loved so ardently.

And everyone knew how that story had ended.

“My Queen.”

The new earl looked up at his queen, seeing a smile playing at the edge of her vermillion lips. The memory tugged at the back of his mind, of another night, in another court, where he’d first paid his homage to a bastard daughter with barely a farthing to his name as a marriage was celebrated around them. Now she was the Sovereign, her inheritance firmly secured by nothing but her own skill and cunning, and he was a nobleman, one of the wealthiest in the entire country thanks to her royal patronage.

“My Lord.”

Emma swept back a lock of black hair from his forehead with a lingering touch, her expression tender and unguarded as she looked down at him and the court watched with bated breath. The Spanish Ambassador would write in his next dispatch that the English Queen “is clearly following in the footsteps of her father with the commoner Jones, now Earl of Misthaven, her close companion since his return from sea, and allows him to take unprecedented liberties with her person while he makes love openly to the queen with his increasingly lavish gifts and insincere flattery and is even said to be planning a marriage proposal” while Regina of Scotland sent a coded letter to the Duke of Norfolk upon hearing the news in Edinburgh and asked “Dearest Robin” if it was really true that “the illegitimate Blanchard bitch traded yearning looks and doey eyes with Captain Whoreson, a perfectly matched pair in their pretentions, as the self-styled Saviour of England has exalted a man of no name or family out from under her skirts” but no one openly challenged the queen’s decree and they all gave way to the couple when the earl rose to his feet and led the queen to the raised dais at the end of the hall where she gave the order to begin the feast.

“Will you come to me again tonight?”

His blue eyes were dark and imploring, the sea upon which she’d gladly drown. Emma rubbed a finger over one of the pearls sewn onto her skirt and gave an imperceptible shake of her head, speaking behind her goblet of wine.

“It’s too risky. The eyes of the entire court turn to you tonight, Lord Misthaven, and there is not shadow enough at Whitehall now to shield us from their scrutiny. Though you would not lack for feminine companionship in your chambers if you so wish it.”

“I wish only for you.”

The ladies of the court held no allure, and though he was a man of healthy appetites and knew he could easily charm his way into almost any bed he wished with his dashing countenance and new title, the Earl of Misthaven had his sights set on one only.

“Spain is watching us, as is Scotland through Norfolk’s eyes,” the queen cautioned, her own gaze finding the sour-faced ambassador and her scowling cousin Robert Locksley across the room. No one was close enough to overhear, but both men had other ears planted in the queen’s household, listening intently for any hint of scandal, and the most scandalous thing about the unmarried queen was her close relationship with her new, equally unmarried Lord High Admiral.

“If there is not shadow enough at Whitehall, my ship is docked at Portsmouth, and we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. Say the word, Emma.”

A look passed between them that did not go unnoticed, a memory shared not by queen and earl, but by the woman under the silk gown and the man behind the moniker.

“It’s too late for that now, Killian.”

The pearl came free from the silver thread and was pressed into his palm in lieu of what she could not grant him tonight, her fingers closing his around it and lingering for a brief moment before the queen abruptly stood and everyone around who was seated scrambled madly to their feet. Mistress Ruby Lucas remained where she was in her chair, exercising the privilege granted to her by her royal charge until the queen passed the gaping courtiers and she finally rose to fall in step behind her, her scarlet gown like a trail of blood following the pristine white. In public Captain Jones always stood when the queen did, and he shifted his weight to one foot and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword with the pearl clutched tight in the other as he watched her walk away from him and his offer for the second time in his life.

“Congratulations, my lord Misthaven.”

He accepted Sir Archibald Hopper’s loud acknowledgement of his new status with a stiff nod, while several nobleman traded black looks and low conversations arose up and down the hall as alliances shifted like the sands to accommodate this latest development. He expected several to darken his door over the next few days with their proposals, to place younger sons in his service and even perhaps to attempt to arrange a marriage and see a daughter or a niece made a new countess at his side.

“Her Majesty was adamant that there was no one else who could fulfill the role and that any dissenting opinion would not be tolerated.”

That mollified Killian slightly and he flashed a smile that sent several of the young and not so young ladies standing nearby into a blushing tizzy. “I’m a hell of a captain.”

Hopper’s face was placid and his tone was light, but there was no mistaking the warning when he spoke to the man his queen had chosen if not as consort, then as something as unprecedented as her own unlikeliest of ascensions.

“Good. Because the storm is brewing on the horizon, and when it hits, all of England will feel the consequences of these decisions. Especially the queen.”

Emma had made her choice long ago, on a night when her path forked and a vow was sworn in blood. It had stained the sheets between them, the spilled drops a dark crimson circle on the pale linens like the red petals that ringed the white of the Nolan rose. The emblem of the royal house to which she would always truly belong to more than any man was inescapable, even during those few, secret hours when she was oh so fleetingly his.

He answered the Secretary of State not in the manner of a courtier, elegant and refined and as flexible as the wind, ready to twist and turn and follow whichever way it was blowing. Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet he might be, Killian Jones was, at heart, a cunning pirate who’d sailed through his share of storms even before he was the queen’s privateer and it was that man who replied as he would on the docks, with a dip of his chin and a single, clipped, “Aye.”

.

HertfordshireLast Months of Queen Mary’s Reign

The lone rider urged his large black horse to a gallop along the winding roads and lush green fields of the countryside far from the capital, cloak flying out behind him and hat pulled down low on his head, raising a great cloud of dust beneath the sharp hooves that pounded unrelentlessly mile after mile as his own heart pounded madly against his ribs.

Not from the exertion of the strenuous ride.

From fear.

His gloved hands were cramped tight around the reins and only loosened a fraction when the squat rise of Hatfield House finally came into view, the low sloping roof stark against the rapidly setting sun that plucked fire from the red brick and leaded windows of the large country estate. In London the heretics burned at Smithfield and the sky above the city was black with the smoke for days on end, it drifted as far south as the docks at Portsmouth and carried the ash of the condemned souls away on the wind while the ships in the harbour still limply flew both English and Spanish flags in honour of the disastrous marriage pact between their half-Spanish queen and Spain’s king.

Captain Killian Jones served neither queen nor king, having sworn himself to another whose swan badge he wore in secret, close to his heart. He alighted from the saddle and left his lathered horse in the care of a white-faced groom before entering the house, scarcely stopping to knock the dust from his boots in his haste. Mistress Ruby Lucas met him inside the Great Hall as if she’d been expecting him, answering his half-entreaty, half-command of, “I need to speak with Her Highness. Now.” with a thin-lipped nod, not questioning the reason for such urgency.

“This way, Captain.”

There was hardly a servant to be seen about in the corridors or in the rooms glimpsed through open doors as Killian followed Mistress Lucas deeper into the house where Princess Emma had spent much of her uncertain childhood and remained her principal and favoured residence after the deaths of both her father and brother, an inheritance that went unchallenged by her sister to keep her away from London. Normally bustling with activity as the quasi-royal household of the heiress to the throne and shadow court to Mary’s, Hatfield House was strangely shuttered and still now, quiet as a tomb with only the faint retort of his own footfalls echoing along the long gallery. There were no squires cooling their heels and waiting for an audience, no messengers taking a mouthful of wine after delivering a letter, and Killian thought scornfully of rats deserting a sinking ship, as news must have spread that the Lady Emma had lost what little remained of her sister’s favour and the hangers-on had all fled lest they go down with her as well.

But not Killian Jones. He had made straight for Hatfield when his own man had sent the word.

It was at Hatfield where Emma had personally supplied Killian with the funds that went straight to his small ship, allowing him to purchase the foodstuffs needed for longer, more profitable journeys than he was currently able to undertake and speculate on cargos with no ready buyers to front the cost. It was at Hatfield where he’d brought her back the fruits of his voyages, spools of Brussels lace and costly Venetian glass, watching her face light up at both the gifts and at his safe return from sea and telling her tales by the fire of the lands he had visited as the wine flowed and the hours slipped by without notice or care.

It was at Hatfield where he had fallen hopelessly, utterly, wholeheartedly, in love with the girl who should be queen.

Mistress Lucas ushered him into a chamber and she was seated in a chair by the window, sitting straight-backed and staring at nothing. He hair was loose, a spill of gold down her back with no modest hood to conceal it, while she was garbed in a robe that was hardly suitable for receiving an unrelated man, though it was heavy and fur-trimmed against the chill it was low-necked and revealed the white swell of her bosom and the slim column of her throat, slender and delicate, as her mother’s was said to have been. Her former governess withdrew with a curtsey and closed the door behind her when she left, soft click of the latch loud in the silent room and leaving them alone without so much as the pretense of a chaperone to guard against wagging tongues and whispered allegations. Killian supposed it no longer mattered, not now, not when the worst accusation of them all was about to be levied against the Lady Emma’s Grace.  

He spoke without preamble, “My spies have informed me that the queen signed a secret warrant for your arrest, on charges of high treason. They will be here no later than tomorrow afternoon to escort you back to London.”

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of emotion in response to his announcement, no gasp of alarm or draining of colour from her cheeks. There was only the barest arch of a brow as her gemstone-green gaze finally flicked to his.

“You have spies in my sister’s household, Killian?”

“Aye,” he answered, bothering to speak like a courtier as he moved to kneel in front of her and took her unresisting hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the rapidly fluttering pulse on the inside of his wrist. His informants had been well paid and it had been worth every penny to be kept apprised of the state of affairs at court, where Emma’s sister had failed to conceive a child and Philip had left his wife behind to wallow in her failure while he returned to his father’s empire and refused to come back to England. There would be no heir of Mary’s body born to succeed her, but she was loathe to let the daughter of her greatest enemy take her crown.

“My ship is docked at Portsmouth, we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. My own is too spent from the journey, I’ll have the groom saddle a fresh mount from your stable whilst you don your plainest riding habit. The Dutch will surely offer you sanctuary inside their borders, or we could make for the Low Countries or-”

“I’m not leaving England.”

He reeled back as if she had slapped him, “What? Your Highness, please, if you don’t come with me tonight then they’ll take you to the Tower, and there will be no chance of rescuing you once you are secured behind those walls.”

She trembled and gave a heavy swallow at the mere thought of the ancient stronghold, but Emma did not waver in her conviction. “If I flee with you now, the moment I set foot off English soil my guilt will be confirmed in the eyes of the entire country. I will be convicted without fair trial, be branded traitor to the crown, and so will you.”

His face was a twisted mass of thunderclouds and storm, raging with the force of his emotions and the hand on hers tightened almost painfully. “Damn me for a traitor then, for I’ll not serve any crown or any prince save you and would rather sail lawlessly under the crimson flag for the rest of my days so long as you were kept safe from your enemies. For God’s sake, Emma, fair trial or not, you could still be executed for this, as your mother was before you.”

No one spoke the name Mary Blanchard at Hatfield, though her presence was the unseen ghost behind every fluttering curtain when there was no breeze and the shadow from every candle that flickered and danced so merrily before snuffing out. Once upon a time a king had loved a commoner he could not have, loved her beyond all reason and sense, a love so deep that it had nearly rent England right in two. Emma Nolan was her father’s daughter with her golden hair, but ambitious Blanchard blood ran through her veins, blood that had been spilled to see a daughter set upon a throne where no woman had ever sat before.

Killian begged and pled, “Don’t do this, Emma, please!” but she would not be moved. It was her destiny, set in motion long before she had even been born. It was a curse, inescapable, that had swept across the land and only she could break it.

There were tears on his face in the amber light from the fire, wet rivulets that carved tracks down his cheeks and she tasted the salt when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was a brand, a promise, a whisper of words she could not speak. Emma rose from her chair and let the robe fall from her shoulders to reveal the white silk chemise that she wore underneath, pure and unblemished, a thin, unsubstantial thing without corset or farthingale to shape and sculpt her form into that of a king’s daughter. Killian Jones sat dazed on the floor while she stood, too stunned by the sight of her to even try to arise to his feet when a lady did as a gentleman should.

“I will be queen and I will make you a lord, and all of England will one day be mine. But if I am truly fated to die on the scaffold like my mother before me, then I do not wish to die a virgin.”

She too loved a man she could not have, common born but with a noble heart hidden underneath that would best any prince. In a flash Emma was in his arms, pressed boldly against him from shoulder to shin while his mouth crashed down on hers and his large hands spanned the narrow turn of her waist to pull her even closer. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, sending it clattering to the floor in a heavy thump of leather and cloak and codpiece both quickly followed. In nothing but flowing shirt and close-fitting hose Killian lifted her up, striding into the adjoining bedchamber and kicking the door closed impatiently with his heel. The curtains were already pulled back and tied to the post, letting them fall straight to the mattress with his mouth never leaving hers.

Killian went onto his knees on either side of her and took the neck of the chemise in his hands, tearing it open down the front with no care for the cost of the silk in his ardour. Nude, she was much smaller than when fully gowned in sweeping skirts and padded bodices, delicate as gossamer with fine white skin that would bear the marks of his loving to be hidden away afterwards, his rough, sailor’s hands not meant to touch the likes of her. But touch her he did, thumbing over the apples of her cheeks as gently as he could and tipping her chin up to receive his kiss again. The long golden curls coyly veiled her breasts like a siren of the deep, he pushed the strands aside to reveal the rosy tips that went pebbled and tight from the exposure and even more so when he bent to take one in his mouth, a tiny gasp of surprise escaping her at the sensation and hands fisting tight in his hair with a burst of pleasure-pain that prickled all along his scalp. Killian slid a palm down over her hip and felt the brush of the downy hair that feathered over her mound against his stomach, making him twitch with need and fighting his baser instincts, laying his head on her breast and closing his eyes to take a breath and quell the boiling urge rising within lest he lose all control and just take her without care.

“Killian.”

The weight of his body on hers was not the burden she expected to have to bear, it was a comfort, warm and reassuring even as she trembled under him with the nerves she fought so hard to conceal from everyone but her most intimate of companions. There was nothing to conceal her now from his avid gaze, dark and wanting, and oh did she want, wanted nothing more to be the only woman he looked at like that. She laid her hands on his bare chest once he tossed his shirt aside, eager to touch and explore and marveled at the fine mat of hair that covered it all the way down to his navel, feeling the flex of his ribs and the scars normally hidden by linen and wool, lash marks laid on his broad back from uncaring masters who she swore would feel her own wrath one day. His maleness stood out proudly from the wiry thatch between his legs and was hot and velvet-smooth against her palm, while her heart raced and her pulse throbbed between her own, suddenly slippery thighs, an ache that only grew more demanding with every brush of skin to skin, every sigh that escaped kiss-swollen lips.

“Lay back, darling.”

The order was breathed into her ear and she reclined back against the pillow while his knees spread hers apart and his hips rolled forward until there was nothing that remained but the final join of his body to hers and it would be done. Her maidenhead belonged to England, not her, but Emma was already a traitor in the eyes of the Crown just by virtue of her birth anyway. High treason was committed at Hatfield not in any secret plot or plan to seize the throne, but in a pirate’s bed when he claimed her virtue for his own in a sharp thrust that stole the breath from her lungs and she let out only the barest cry as he pierced through the barrier inside with his forehead pressed to hers. Dark satisfaction filled her even as Killian did, firm buttocks cupped under her heels and hips positioned just so between her open thighs. She belonged to England, but she loved a man as her father had loved her mother and like the late King David she would have both, her land and her lover and let nothing and no one stand in her way.

Killian started to move, a heavy slide of flesh against flesh that made her shiver despite the fact that she was far from cold, clutching at his shoulders and giving in to the urge that had her legs hitch up higher on his waist, revelling in the low groan he let out in response.

“Bloody hell.”

The pleasure of their coupling rolled down Killian’s spine and pooled low at the base, making his hips jerk hard against Emma even as he tried to be as careful as he could, taking most of his weight on his arms when all he wanted was to pin her to the bed and take his pleasure hard and fast until he was fully spent. But they had all night and he had to make it last as long as he could, both because he didn’t know if he’d ever have this again and to make sure Emma did not go to the Tower carrying his bastard child. He railed against her going there at all, anger lacing his love for this stubborn woman and tempting him to spirit her away anyway by force. Killian swore to himself that if it came to that, the scaffold or sanctuary abroad, he’d find a way to smuggle her out of England on his ship come hell or high water and raise the crimson flag once more.

He was too close to completion, balls and belly both tight and poised on the very knife’s edge of satisfaction, buried as he was in her silky quim. He had to stop before it was too late and it was a whore’s trick to prevent conception that he employed, pulling out and finishing with his hand instead in a few quick pumps. The sticky mess soiled the formerly bedclothes, along with the small bloodstain smeared on the sheets that marked the moment of consummation. Royal blood spilled by his own sword, and Killian felt a surge of masculine pride that had his cock faintly stirring again against his groin before it softened again and curled limp. There was a basin and ewer on the stand and he’d clean them both up after regaining his breath, but for now he lay on his back with a princess in his arms and thanked every lucky star he could name, for fate had smiled upon Killian Jones and his own lips curled with satisfaction while a small hand settled over his heart.

A sailor always rose before the dawn, but the sun was streaming in through the window and he could feel it even behind his closed lids while he groped across the bed and quickly realized the pillow next to his was empty. Killian sat up, coverlet falling to his waist and blinking his eyes open to start at the sight of Mistress Ruby Lucas seated on the edge of the bed, gazing at him as placidly as a wolf would a rabbit. Still a striking woman, he sensed she’d have no scruples against striking him if she felt the need arise.

“I loved Emma’s mother, Captain Jones, and I love her as if she were my own.”

He was uncomfortably aware of his nudity under the bedclothes but he kept his face carefully blank, even when she threw a pointed glance towards where the coverlet dipped a hair too low.

“You must be gone before the queen’s men arrive. Dress now, and leave through the window, your horse is saddled and waiting. I’ll see that the bedding is taken out and burned afterwards. You were never here, and nothing happened last night. The Lady Emma spent the evening secluded in the chapel at prayer, if asked, I will testify to it under oath. Do you understand?”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of something settle on his shoulders. He understood perfectly and he nodded, knowing that like a fearsome she-wolf would protect her pup, Mistress Lucas would protect Emma from any hint of impropriety being discovered. A bundle of clothing was thrust unceremoniously at him along with a flask and a bit of bread and cheese tied up in a square of muslin for the journey back to the coast.

“Mistress Lucas?”

She paused in the doorway with one hand resting lightly on the wood and glanced back over her shoulder, “Captain?”

He spoke four words and then he stood, caring not for protecting his modesty as he shook the wrinkles from his shirt and began to dress. She understood his true meaning, he could tell by the knowing smile that flitted across her face before it was schooled back into a stern look.

“Long live the queen.”  

[skyfullomuses]

@zaunfought​ asked: ❛ why do you keep me around? ❜ for Caitlyn || From this meme || Not Accepting.

   She paces, back and forth, soles of boots beating a pattern into the ground. A path that would lead no where. Paces of noises clicking across the floor. How the shine of it isn't gone by now is a surprise, even to her as her sky blue gaze turns downward. His voice pierces the silence around her. It breaks her concentration and at first, she's tempted to throw out an answer. Something uncalculated. Something she'd have to make up on the spot. A bit of what she had heard being called "improv". Her mind instantly goes back to being in the brothel with Vi down in the lanes and there's a light pink shading that takes to her cheeks.

   Vi. Where had she gone? Was Caitlyn destined to travel now without her newly found partner? Was she destined to do this alone? To bring justice to the people of Zaun who were wronged by the man before her? To the people of Piltover who feared the boogie man that lived in the darkness just beyond the bridge? She needed to find Vi but that would be a different matter for a different day. Caitlyn was far more put together than to let herself fall apart because a girl who had built a bond so quickly between them, had gone missing on her.

   "Because." She starts, arms crossing over her chest, her feet finally stopping in place of her pacing, dead center in the line she had created, even if it wasn't visible. Her gaze settles upon him and she sees anger start to build. The red seeping in to the corners of her vision. He was responsible for everything. For Vi's pain. For Jinx. For the explosions that killed the Enforcers on Progress Day. For the elevated crime in Piltover that left her people shaken and scared. "If I were to let you go, this city would be burned to a crisp." She pauses then, thinking of how she wants to phrase her next sentence again. Does she wish to see his anger? Or perhaps she should take a more kinder approach? "Where's Jinx, Silco? I know that if anyone were to know her whereabouts, it's you. If you tell me where she is, perhaps I can work out a deal and you both can have visiting hours in prison."

[barinacraft]

How To Make Great Margaritas – Classic Tequila Cocktails Plus

Margaritas Are Tequila Sidecars - Some Sidetracked Along The Way

A classic margarita cocktail substitutes tequila for the brandy and lime juice for the lemon in a vintage Sidecar drink recipe. Both are timeless tipples.

However, the margarita seems to have followed in the footsteps of the flavored martini craze or vice versa. Hard to keep it real when you throw just about anything into a frozen slushie and call it good. See 29 crazy margarita flavors you need to try. Or not. Some look pretty questionable.

Sort of reminds you of the movie airplane when Lloyd Bridges who plays the stressed out air traffic controller Steve McCroskey* hands his control room co-worker Johnny a map and asks him what he can make of it. Well, I can make a hat; I can make a broach; I can make a pterodactyl!

I Love You Man

Margaritas are consistently listed as a top 10 drink in various voting polls and surveys, but which one. Maybe its all the different recipe variations that help to move it up the list. Tequila is the national liquor of Mexico and the Margarita is the most popular tequila drink in the U.S. as well as the signature cocktail of Cinco de Mayo celebrations, so that scores points too.

Margarita's Missing Past

With tequila, along with perhaps absinthe, having earned special reputations for clouding judgment and fuzzy memories, it should come as no surprise that the origins of the Margarita are a bit of a mystery. Although that's the case surrounding the history of many cocktails, so maybe its just the alcohol period.

Look around for answers and and you'll find titles like “The Truth About the Margarita; Where did one of the world's great cocktails come from?” and “Once upon a time in Mexico; The origin of the Margarita” which would lead you to believe otherwise. Unfortunately, the truths are not self-evident. Rather, a collection of speculation, theories and opinions are presented with no supported conclusion.

One interesting story, which seems like perfect “made for Hollywood” cocktail lore, credits a wealthy Dallas, TX socialite named Margaret 'Margarita' Sames with inventing the drink in 1948. Known for throwing large parties with her husband in their Acapulco, Mexico vacation home, she is said to have created the Margarita recipe to be able to host movie stars and other famous guests with something special.

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Margaritas In The Movies

While many of the most popular drinks have played central roles as cocktails in cinema, the Margarita is notably absent. The 1998 film Practical Magic starring Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman doesn't really do it justice, but the 2005 movie The Matador starring Pierce Brosnan as Julian Noble and Greg Kinnear as Danny Wright has a great quote from their scene in a hotel bar shown above.

Margaritas always taste better in Mexico.

~ Julian Noble

Timeline

1930 - Pedro Chicote publishes what appears to be the first Margarita cocktail recipe in print, but its NOT the modern formulation everybody loves and now associates with this drink. His was a mixture of gin, Italian vermouth, red curaçao and Grand Marnier which is similar to the Ampersand, Leap Year, Yellow Daisy, Claridge, Satan's Whiskers and Bijou cocktails.†

1935 - the Turf Bar in Tijuana, Mexico advertises itself as the “Home of and Originators of the Famous Tequila Daisy.” ‡

1936 - Moville, Iowa newspaper editor James Graham recounts his visit to the Turf Bar and was told the Tequila Daisy wasn't actually invented there but mixed by accident after the wrong bottle was grabbed and used in the pour. Note: the Brandy Daisy was a popular drink back then and substituting tequila made it similar to the Margarita, which by the way means 'daisy' in Spanish.

1937 - the Picador cocktail debuts with tequila, Cointreau and lemon or lime juice which is basically a Margarita minus the salt.1

1945 - Jose Cuervo launches its first ever United States advertising campaign with the slogan "Margarita: It’s more than a girl’s name." 2-4

1953 - Esquire Magazine names the Margarita the "Drink of the Month" in December.5

How To Make A Real Margarita

Classic Margarita Recipe:

2 oz  tequila

1 oz  orange liqueur

1 oz  lime juice

lime wedges for garnish

Pour into a cocktail shaker with ice cubes. Shake well and strain into a chilled glass. For a real classic Margarita, its just these three ingredients along with an optionally salted rim and cubed or crushed ice if desired as well. Garnish with lime.

Margaritas mixed by the batch and poured from polar pitchers are perfect for parties.

Celebrate The Day!

National Margarita Day is February 22nd each year and these are easy drinks for home bar owners to make and great to have on your themed party menu. Make the real recipe, add a spicy twist with the MargaDita or try some of the others, but do yourself a favor and prepare with fresh ingredients rather than mixes when time allows and you'll taste the difference. They're really good and worth the extra effort.

References

* - His often quoted character had the four infamous lines in the movie: “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking” along with quitting smoking, amphetamines and sniffing glue.

† - Pedro Chicote, La Ley Mojada (Madrid: Sucesores de Rivadeneyra, S. A., 1930), 187. Print.

‡ - Popik, Barry. "Margarita (cocktail)." The Big Apple, 8 August 2006.

1 - W. J. Tarling, Café Royal Cocktail Book - Coronation Edition (London: Sidney Press Ltd., 1937), 146. Print.

2 - Anthony Dias Blue, The Complete Book of Spirits: A Guide to Their History, Production, and Enjoyment (New York: HarperCollins Publishers Inc., 2004), 114. Print.

3 - Radovanovic, Jovana. "Jose Cuervo’s Digital Time Machine Reimagines the Past." Brandingmag, 27 February 2014.

4 - @DavidWondrich. "They did that in 1956, as here, but I have never seen any 1945 ad for it, and I have definitely looked. You can't easily prove a negative, but I'm very doubtful." Twitter, 22 August 2018, 11:36 a.m.

5 - "Painting the Town." Esquire, December 1953, 76.

[briannas1x1]

i. the left behind

name: Niamh Rowan 

pronounce: NYEEV RO-ən 

nicknames: Neev 

birthday: Spring 1111 

species: full-blooded fae 

occupation: fae delegate to the humans 

location: Lethe, Washington, USA

hometown: South Reach, Otherlands 

sexuality: bisexual 

gender identity: cisgender female

ii. the appearance

Faceclaim: Eleanor Tomlinson

Height: 5′7

Weight: 150 lbs 

Hair color: Red

Eye color: Blue

Dominant hand: Right

Scars: One on the left side of her forehead about two inches long which she received during the events of a failed gala. 

Tattoos: None

Piercings: None

iii. the family

Mother: Caoimhe Meallán

Father: Unknown

Stepfather: Faolan Meallán 

Siblings: Bran Meallán (deceased), Deirdre Meallán (deceased), Alanna Meallán (deceased)

Other Family: Fiona Laughlin (cousin), Rian Samson (stepbrother), Peony Rowan (adoptive daughter)  

Partner: N/A

Pets: A concure bird named Marco.

iv. the personality

MYERS-BRIGGS: INTJ

ENNEATYPE: Type 3, the Achiever 

MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral  

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Ravenclaw

QUALITIES: Perfectionist, Steadfast, Individualistic, Elegant, Confident 

FLAWS: Contradictory, Intense, Proud, Disruptive, Willful 

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Sidhe

v. the about

No fae with a loving origin story ends up memorialized in the Hall of Memories, or none that she read among the tomes of her homeland. Raised as the only daughter of a loving couple, one librarian and one seamstress, she was often bustled from village to village, her mothers looking over their shoulder with trepidtation, running from ghosts she didn’t know. In time, they settled in the heart of a village in South Reach before she reached her first decade. The Hall of Memories - or the library, as humans called it - was their sanctuary, and it shielded them and others from the wreckage of a conquering army outside their doors. Decades pass in a blink, as they often do with the fae, and they found peace here in their village. Long enough for Niamh to grow and learn, long enough for her to adopt a younger orphan named Peony from the confines of an old cabin, but no longer than that. She had only reached her third century - a child compared to some of the fae - when war swept up their corner of the kingdom once more. An army destroyed her village, sparing no one who couldn’t outrun them, and she lost one mother to the fighting. Niamh watched for a long while as the only home she ever knew burned, as the people who had become friends wailed in the streets at the loss. She decided at that moment that she would never sit on the sidelines when something could be done.

The embers had been ignited in her and she refused to sit around waiting for two fae mad with power to decide her fate. Before long, she had shed the persona of the girl in the library with fickle alliances, flinging herself into the politics of the kingdom she was raised in, turning her voice into whatever weapon it could be if it meant the fighting would halt. Never once did she think the fear of her mothers was anything beyond maternal instincts until their confession: she was not their daughter. Her mother was a queen, one who had failed so terribly in her people’s eyes that they referred to her as nothing more than the Coward Queen and whose name was stripped from all other records. For the safety of her family, she sunk once more into the background, refusing to endanger the remnants of her family. Only a fool announced their connection to a failed ruling class, after all, but it seemed the tenuous peace she brought with her actions was doomed to end. With Peony gone, escaping Niamh’s suffocating shadow, and her last mother withering away, little held Niamh to the Otherlands. Less when her mother succumbed to her illness. The sanctuary of a small human town promised her the chance to start anew and build a secure bridge between the human realm and the Otherlands. If she could ensure no one else died to ceaseless fighting, perhaps she would feel less like a flower pulled in a breeze. But it wasn’t to be. Instead of a bridge, the town collapsed, and Niamh found herself speaking on behalf of the fae to the human authorities. A delegate with little authority, but nonetheless the only one who chose to pick up the job when her human town fell.

vi. misc

threads

tag

pinterest

[outpostsofbabel]

Demigods and Semi-devils, Chapter III (VI)

Duan Yu had expected the girl to give chase. But he heard no hoofbeats, even after he had walked several metres. Turning, he saw the girl standing still, seemingly engrossed in thought. No doubt she is cooking up some evil scheme, Duan Yu thought. She’s like a cat who has caught a mouse, and will torment me until she is satisfied. Then she will kill me. Well, there’s no way I can escape. She will do what she wants. But still he heard no hoofbeats, even after walking a long distance.

Duan Yu began to feel safer after making his way down several side roads. The scrapes on his arms and legs bean to ache. That girl was really temperamental.Perhaps her parents are dead, and she has encountered many misfortunes in life, he thought.  Or perhaps she is terribly ugly and dare not show the world her face. That’s to be pitied. Aiya, Madam Zhong’s golden box is now with the girl.

But as much as he wanted to turn back and take the box from the girl, he did not dare to do so. When I see my father, I will promise him that I will learn martial arts, he thought. Then Father will naturally save Miss Zhong. Even if Father does not go himself, he will send someone to go on his behalf. The box isn’t that useful after all.

Then he thought: I have no horse now. I’ll die halfway to Dali if I try to get there on foot. Miss Zhong is waiting in vain for rescue, and the days must feel like years for her. If I don’t return, and her father doesn’t save her, she’ll think I didn’t take the message to her father. For better or worse, I have to go back to Mount Wuliang. We can die together. At least, she will know I did not betray her.

This side of the Lancang River was completely desolate, and Duan Yu saw no one in all the leagues that he walked. He plucked wild fruits to stave off his hunger, and curled up in a rough ditch for the night.

On the second day, Duan Yu crossed another bridge back over the Lancang River. After walking about 10 kilometres, he arrived in a small town. He had no money, having lost it all falling down the gorge. His clothes were ragged and he was starving. Realising that the jade piece on his hat was probably worth some money, he took it off and went to a rice merchant’s shop in the hope of selling it.

Of course, the rice merchant did not trade in jade. But it was one of the bigger shops in town, and the merchant did not ill-treat Duan Yu after seeing his elegant manners. However, the man did not know the price of jade, and was only willing to give him two silver taels. Duan Yu did not mind. Taking the money, he went out to look for a place to get new clothes. Finding no such place, he entered a little restaurant for a meal instead.

Sitting on the plank bench, Duan Yu noticed that his knees were poking out of great rents in his trousers. The front and back of his tunic were tattered, and there was another large hole in the seat of his pants. There was, in fact, an unusual breeze around his rear end. It’s just too inappropriate to go around with my behind hanging out, he thought. I must do something about this as soon as I can.

The shopkeeper approached him. “Young master, it’s not market day today. There is no fish or meat to be had, only vegetables and tofu.” 

“Sure, sure. Excellent,” Duan Yu replied, beginning to tuck in. Growing up, he had dressed in fine clothes and eaten only fine foods. Now, he was eating coarse rice with his bottom hanging out of his pants. But because he had not eaten for days - except for the wild fruits - the plain fare tasted delicious.

When he was on his third bowl of rice, he heard voices outside. “My lady, there’s a little restaurant here. Shall we go in and see what there is to eat?”

A woman’s voice laughingly replied: “Look at you, you greedy person! Aren’t you ever full?”

The voices were very familiar to Duan Yu. He realised that they belonged to Gan Guanghao and Sister Ge from the Boundless Sword, and hurriedly swivelled around on the bench so he was facing inside the shop. Why did he call her ‘my lady’? he wondered. Ah, they have gotten married. This is like the Wuwang Hexagram. Six three: “Misfortune falls on him who acts appropriately. An undeserved misfortune, as when a tethered cow is led away by a passerby. Brother Gan here has gotten a wife, and I, Young Master Duan, have encountered misfortune.

Gan Guanghao laughed. “How can a newly-wed couple ever be full?”

Sister Ge laughed as well. “How could you?” she said in a low voice. “If we were an old couple, would we always be full then?” Her voice was filled with tenderness. The couple walked into the restaurant and sat down. Gan Guanghao called in a loud voice: “Shopkeeper, bring wine and rice, and then bring us a dish of beef - Ai!”

Footsteps sounded behind Duan Yu and a hand grasped his right shoulder, swivelling him around. He sat face to face with Gan Guanghao. Duan Yu grimaced. “Brother Gan, Mrs Gan, congratulations. May you have a hundred years of wedded bliss and live to a ripe old age together. And congratulations on the union of the east and west sects of the Boundless Sword.”

Gan Guanghao laughed and turned to look at Sister Ge. Following his gaze, Duan Yu saw that she had an oval face. She had several spots on her left cheek, but was still rather good-looking. Astonishment was written all over her face, which slowly darkened to a murderous glare. In a low voice, she said: “Ask him, how did he come to be here? Are there any members of the Boundless Sword about?”

Gan Guanghao stopped smiling. “Did you hear what my wife said?” he said fiercely. “Spit it out?”

I had better make up a tall tale that will scare them off, Duan Yu thought. Otherwise, these two will surely kill me to silence me. Out loud, he said: “Four men from the clan have just hurried past. They had swords in their hands and went east. They looked as though they were looking for someone.”

Gan Guanghao paled. “Let’s go!” he said to Sister Ge. Sister Ge stood up and made a chopping motion at the air with her palm. Her husband nodded, drawing his sword and swinging it towards Duan Yu’s neck.

It was a swift blow. Duan Yu had known that the situation was dire after Sister Ge’s hand gesture, and had shrank back. But even so, he could not dodge the white blade that was swinging towards him. Then, there was a high-pitched whine. Gan Guanghao fell to the ground, the sword clattering out of his hand. There was another whine.

Sister Ge had been on her way out of the restaurant when she heard Gan Guanghao cry out. She had not even managed to turn to see what had happened when she, too, fell on the threshhold. Both kicked weakly for a while, then stopped moving. A black-feathered arrow was sticking out of Gan Guanghao’s throat, and another had pierced the back of Sister Ge’s neck. The high-pitched whistle was the exact same sound that Duan Yu had heard the night before, when the girl in black had snuffed out all the lamps in her hall.

Surprised and delighted, Duan Yu turned but saw no one behind him. He heard a horse whinny outside, then saw the girl in black walk Black Rose up to the front door.

“Many thanks for saving me!” he cried, dashing out of the shop. The girl didn’t spare him a glance, continuing to walk the horse forward. “If you hadn’t shot those arrows, my head wouldn’t be on my neck now.” The girl still ignored him.

“Young... young master!” the restaurant owner shouted. He had chased after Duan Yu. “People... people have died! This is not good!”

“Aiya, I’ve forgotten to pay him for the meal,” Duan Yu said. He fumbled for his money, then saw that Black Rose was getting further and further way. “The dead people had money!” he cried to the owner. “They were planning for a wedding dinner! You can have it.” He hurried away down the street after the horse.

[oreramar]

The Wolf

[Original Flash Fiction. Challenge: 1) Write a choose your own adventure flash. 2) Focus on a Man vs. Nature conflict. 3) One choice must involve the right or wrong item to equip. 4) Write four endings: two good and two bad.]

I.

 The village is desperate. Half a dozen sheep is a hefty portion of their flocks, and now a boy has gone missing as well.

 “Lucky you came along,” the harried headsman says. “We can’t offer much, but you’ll have it if you bring back the beast’s head.”

 You agree. Room and board comes with the deal, and there are few chances to sell your skills in these parts. The villagers are grateful for even a promise; you spend the night in the headsman’s house and listen to tales of the beast over a simple but hearty meal.

 “A wolf, big as a horse,” says one herdsman who saw it in the mist. “Glowing red eyes.”

 “Paws big as a man’s hand.” Another spreads his fingers wide. “Hunts alone. Not a normal wolf.”

 You hear all they have to tell you, and rest in a cot the headsman keeps. In the morning they take you as far as they’ve ever tracked the beast, pointing out landmarks on the way. The trail ends on the edge of a narrow ravine, not deep but with a rushing river at the bottom and loose scree on the slopes. Beyond there is a forest; upriver is a near mountainside riddled with caves.

 To the forest [go to II]

To the mountain [go to III]

 II.

 A bridge hangs over the ravine; the forest has resources the village uses. You cross and set off in search, concentrating on finding things it would need: shelter and fresh water. Hours pass, and you find both in the form of a den not far from a little stream. There are wolf prints in the soft ground, though they are not as large as reported. The area seems quiet, but the prints are fresh.

 Enter the den [go to IV]

Set a trap [go to V]

 III.

 The mountain is not a distant climb, but neither is it an easy one; you clamber and search nearly the entire day before finding a suitable cave, and outside it, signs that a human had entered not a day before. Light is fading into evening, though there is still enough to see by, and the cave does not look too dark or deep.

 Light a torch [go to VI]

No torch needed [go to VII]

 IV.

 You draw your sword and approach the den, which has an entrance large enough for you to stoop inside. Your eyes adjust to the dim light and you have just enough time to see several small, wiggling bundles of fur before you are bowled over by an embodiment of enraged, protective maternal instincts. Your sword clatters to the side as you reach up to push the gaping jaws away from your throat, kicking as claws scrabble against your hard leather cuirass.

 The wolf is not the size of a horse, but it is large enough. Hot breath and saliva touch your skin first, then teeth, pain, and rushing darkness.

 The villagers never find your body.

 [END]

 V.

 You set a trap for the beast near the water, disguising your scent and hiding where you cannot be seen. Eventually a wolf emerges, a suckling mother from its appearance. She is not as large as a horse, but morning mist can warp appearances. She goes for a drink, steps in the trap, and is flung into the air, yelping and writhing. You wait for her strength to fade before you approach and deliver a quick, clean killing blow.

 You bring the villagers her head, and they protest the size of it. You offer to stay and wait a while; they’d lost a sheep nearly every night for the past week. If this was the beast, their flocks should be safe. If not, you will hunt again.

 Three nights pass without incident, and they agree that you must have it right after all. You are paid what they can spare and go again on your way.

 [END]

 VI.

 The torch is a simple thing, but it flames up well and burns brightly, casting yellow light further than the sun can reach and throwing sharp shadows. You do not have to walk far before you see a huddled form at the back of the cave, a gangly teenager in homespun clothes and bare feet.

 “Go away,” he says.

 “Did the beast take you?”

 He laughs and raises a tearstained face. His eyes gleam red in the torchlight, and you grab your sword. He sees this and his face twists in fear and pain, and in an instant of wild desperation he throws himself at you. You draw and cut on reflex; he drops to the ground, shivering, his body warped halfway into the form of a wolf.

 It is not easy news to break, but the villagers understand even in their grief. They give you what they can. You do not stay.

 [END]

 VII.

 You need no torch to see, and when your eyes adjust to the dim light, they find a huddled form at the back of the cave: a gangly teenager in homespun clothes and bare feet.

 “Go away,” he says.

 “Did the beast take you?”

 He laughs and raises a tearstained face. Shakes his head.

 “Come home.”

 “No. Leave me.”

 “Tell me where the monster is.”

 “No. Leave!”

 He is growing angry; a catch in his voice sounds like a growl. You have no time for this, or patience; you stride forward and grab his arm.

 The change happens too fast to see; in an instant teeth are in your hand and a beast stands hunched before you. You cry out and draw your sword. It didn’t expect this, perhaps; it is still long enough for the blade to pierce its heart. You bind your slight wound, remove its head, and take it back to the village.

 You do not tell them about the boy.

 They are grateful. They give what they can and you travel onward.

 You stop in a new village for a night and awaken in the morning with blood in your mouth.

 [END]

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La Times: The star of these shows: London, a sort of set piece come to life

The occasion called for afternoon tea. We were in Toluca Lake, but our hearts and heads were in London.

Daryl Cameron, formerly chief of staff for the British consul general in Los Angeles, and I were waxing nostalgic about our favorite film and TV locations in Big Ben’s home.

London is a character unto itself in movies and TV shows, just waiting to embrace film buffs. I flung myself into its arms on a trip in October and eagerly followed in the footsteps of Bridget Jones, James Bond, Lady Edith Crawley and Harry Potter.

As visitors will discover, a memorable movie or TV location is waiting seemingly around the corner.

Before we parted that day, Cameron told me about strolling on Harley Street, where prominent doctors and therapists have had their offices since Victorian times. Cameron recognized it as a location from 2010’s “The King’s Speech,” where King George VI, played by Colin Firth, is treated for his stammer.

“It was dark and foggy that day, just like in the film, and I immediately felt transported back 100 years,” Cameron said. “This is a regular occurrence on my visits to London. You can get lost and allow time to seem ambiguous.” 

Getting lost in London’s film locations was exactly what I had in mind.

A trek across the Tower Bridge had me strutting its length just like Renée Zellweger in 2004’s “Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason.”While in Kensington Gardens, I recalled the fateful meeting of Johnny Depp (J.M. Barrie) and cinematic mother and son Kate Winslet (Sylvia Llewelyn Davies)  and Freddie Highmore (Peter) in “Finding Neverland,” the story of Barrie’s inspiration for “Peter Pan.”

Time on London’s tube had me thinking of scenes in “The Bourne Ultimatum” (Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, 2007) and “Skyfall” (Daniel Craig as James Bond, 2012).

I never tire of Portobello Road’s street market, perhaps because it is so beloved by fans of “Notting Hill,” the 1999 rom-com. I envisioned rubbing elbows with William Thacker (Hugh Grant) and Anna Scott (Julia Roberts).

Whether peering through the gates of Buckingham Palace, sighing over the London Eye or snapping selfies in front of red telephone boxes, I found myself whispering, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a city, asking it to love her,” a bit of dialogue I had adapted from Roberts in “Notting Hill.”

And London loves film fans right back. As we approach the Oscars, let’s take a look at some places where film (and TV) embraces.

Sleeping on the set

London’s notable accommodations often host movie shoots. “I love the famous old hotels in London: the Ritz, the Savoy and Claridge’s,” Cameron told me. “Entering these historic properties feels like traipsing onto a movie set, where characters from ‘A Room With a View’ could stroll through at any moment.”

Pack your bags for the Ritz and the Savoy, which make appearances in “Notting Hill.” (The Hempel, also in that film, closed in 2013.)

If you stay at the Royal Horseguards Hotel you’ll catch glimpses of “The Constant Gardener” (2005), “Brazil” (1985) “The Elephant Man” (1980),“Highlander” (1986)and “Blue Ice” (1992).

 Other London hotels serve as stand-ins. The Langham was cast as the Belmond Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg, Russia, in the 007 film “GoldenEye” (1995, with Pierce Brosnan as Bond).

 The Taj 51 Buckingham Gates Suites & Residences and St. James’ Court hotel both served as the home of Henry Wilcox, played by Anthony Hopkins, in 1992’s “Howards End.”

Royals

Movies about royals get a double-dose of fan love. Topping the list is “The Queen,” the 2006 film for which Helen Mirren won the Oscar for lead actress. Buckingham Palace, both home and offices of her majesty, the queen, also starred.

Palace tours are available on certain dates. Some to catch: the State Rooms  (July 22-Oct. 1), the Royal Mews (through Nov. 30) and the Queen’s Gallery. (Check the site  for dates.)

Another “Queen” location is No. 10 Downing St., headquarters of the government of the United Kingdom and residence of the prime minister. Security these days means you can catch only a glimpse.

London’s star tours

If you’re not well versed about London or if you’re hoping to happen upon a tidbit about a favorite blockbuster, a Brit Movies Tour might be in order.

These expeditions focus either on specific films or television shows such as “Dr. Who,” “Sherlock Holmes” (the 2009 and 2011 movies starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law as well as the current BBC version starring Benedict Cumberbatch) or “Downton Abbey,” or you can take one  tour dedicated to London films.

I went on the two-hour London Film Locations Walk, which wasn’t quite my cup of tea. It focused on action movies (I tend to favor rom-coms), although a few stories about unsuspecting city dwellers wandering into film shoots were humorous.

You can’t really complain about seeing the outside of Buckingham Palace, the National Gallery and Scotland Yard, now can you?

Then there was catching sight of Prince Charles’ motorcade, as well as spying the queen’s horse guards on their way to the daily Changing the Queen’s Life Guard. Neither was part of the tour, but great fun to catch.

Farther afield

These film and television locations are not in London proper so they call for a day trip.

Muggles and wizards alike will want to take the Making of Harry Potter tour at the Warner Bros. Studio Tour London, 20 miles outside the city in Leavesden.

Young tourists in Hogwarts attire set the mood, with film sets, costumes and props displayed on the 3½-hour tour. Highlights include Diagon Alley, Great Hall, Dumbledore’s office, Hagrid’s hut and, at Platform 9¾, Hogwarts Express.

Highclere Castle, 45 miles west of central London, is better known to many as Downton Abbey, the setting of the popular PBS series that ended in 2016.  

You can make the visit a twofer by taking a 45-minute train ride from Paddington Station and catching sites in “Paddington,” the bear film from 2014.

When you arrive in Newbury, Downton’s Tom Branson won’t be waiting to chauffeur you, but taxis are available. There are a limited number of days for visiting the castle and the gardens, and you can now stay overnight on the estate at London Lodge.

Just a 90-minute drive outside of London in Oxfordshire is Blenheim Palace, a UNESCO World Heritage site and location of myriad films, including “Spectre” (2015), “Cinderella” (2015) and  “Transformers: The Last Knight,” to be released in June.

Harry Potter fans will want to venture into Blenheim’s parklands, where a 55-foot cedar of Lebanon featured in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” (2007) stands. Emergency efforts recently prevented the collapse of the tree, from which James Potter and Sirius Black dangled a young Severus Snape.

Not exactly a fairy tale moment, but the rest of these locations largely make up for that lapse of manners.

travel@latimes.com

@latimestravel

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La Times: The star of these shows: London, a sort of set piece come to life

The occasion called for afternoon tea. We were in Toluca Lake, but our hearts and heads were in London.

Daryl Cameron, formerly chief of staff for the British consul general in Los Angeles, and I were waxing nostalgic about our favorite film and TV locations in Big Ben’s home.

London is a character unto itself in movies and TV shows, just waiting to embrace film buffs. I flung myself into its arms on a trip in October and eagerly followed in the footsteps of Bridget Jones, James Bond, Lady Edith Crawley and Harry Potter.

As visitors will discover, a memorable movie or TV location is waiting seemingly around the corner.

Before we parted that day, Cameron told me about strolling on Harley Street, where prominent doctors and therapists have had their offices since Victorian times. Cameron recognized it as a location from 2010’s “The King’s Speech,” where King George VI, played by Colin Firth, is treated for his stammer.

“It was dark and foggy that day, just like in the film, and I immediately felt transported back 100 years,” Cameron said. “This is a regular occurrence on my visits to London. You can get lost and allow time to seem ambiguous.” 

Getting lost in London’s film locations was exactly what I had in mind.

A trek across the Tower Bridge had me strutting its length just like Renée Zellweger in 2004’s “Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason.”While in Kensington Gardens, I recalled the fateful meeting of Johnny Depp (J.M. Barrie) and cinematic mother and son Kate Winslet (Sylvia Llewelyn Davies)  and Freddie Highmore (Peter) in “Finding Neverland,” the story of Barrie’s inspiration for “Peter Pan.”

Time on London’s tube had me thinking of scenes in “The Bourne Ultimatum” (Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, 2007) and “Skyfall” (Daniel Craig as James Bond, 2012).

I never tire of Portobello Road’s street market, perhaps because it is so beloved by fans of “Notting Hill,” the 1999 rom-com. I envisioned rubbing elbows with William Thacker (Hugh Grant) and Anna Scott (Julia Roberts).

Whether peering through the gates of Buckingham Palace, sighing over the London Eye or snapping selfies in front of red telephone boxes, I found myself whispering, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a city, asking it to love her,” a bit of dialogue I had adapted from Roberts in “Notting Hill.”

And London loves film fans right back. As we approach the Oscars, let’s take a look at some places where film (and TV) embraces.

Sleeping on the set

London’s notable accommodations often host movie shoots. “I love the famous old hotels in London: the Ritz, the Savoy and Claridge’s,” Cameron told me. “Entering these historic properties feels like traipsing onto a movie set, where characters from ‘A Room With a View’ could stroll through at any moment.”

Pack your bags for the Ritz and the Savoy, which make appearances in “Notting Hill.” (The Hempel, also in that film, closed in 2013.)

If you stay at the Royal Horseguards Hotel you’ll catch glimpses of “The Constant Gardener” (2005), “Brazil” (1985) “The Elephant Man” (1980),“Highlander” (1986)and “Blue Ice” (1992).

 Other London hotels serve as stand-ins. The Langham was cast as the Belmond Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg, Russia, in the 007 film “GoldenEye” (1995, with Pierce Brosnan as Bond).

 The Taj 51 Buckingham Gates Suites & Residences and St. James’ Court hotel both served as the home of Henry Wilcox, played by Anthony Hopkins, in 1992’s “Howards End.”

Royals

Movies about royals get a double-dose of fan love. Topping the list is “The Queen,” the 2006 film for which Helen Mirren won the Oscar for lead actress. Buckingham Palace, both home and offices of her majesty, the queen, also starred.

Palace tours are available on certain dates. Some to catch: the State Rooms  (July 22-Oct. 1), the Royal Mews (through Nov. 30) and the Queen’s Gallery. (Check the site  for dates.)

Another “Queen” location is No. 10 Downing St., headquarters of the government of the United Kingdom and residence of the prime minister. Security these days means you can catch only a glimpse.

London’s star tours

If you’re not well versed about London or if you’re hoping to happen upon a tidbit about a favorite blockbuster, a Brit Movies Tour might be in order.

These expeditions focus either on specific films or television shows such as “Dr. Who,” “Sherlock Holmes” (the 2009 and 2011 movies starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law as well as the current BBC version starring Benedict Cumberbatch) or “Downton Abbey,” or you can take one  tour dedicated to London films.

I went on the two-hour London Film Locations Walk, which wasn’t quite my cup of tea. It focused on action movies (I tend to favor rom-coms), although a few stories about unsuspecting city dwellers wandering into film shoots were humorous.

You can’t really complain about seeing the outside of Buckingham Palace, the National Gallery and Scotland Yard, now can you?

Then there was catching sight of Prince Charles’ motorcade, as well as spying the queen’s horse guards on their way to the daily Changing the Queen’s Life Guard. Neither was part of the tour, but great fun to catch.

Farther afield

These film and television locations are not in London proper so they call for a day trip.

Muggles and wizards alike will want to take the Making of Harry Potter tour at the Warner Bros. Studio Tour London, 20 miles outside the city in Leavesden.

Young tourists in Hogwarts attire set the mood, with film sets, costumes and props displayed on the 3½-hour tour. Highlights include Diagon Alley, Great Hall, Dumbledore’s office, Hagrid’s hut and, at Platform 9¾, Hogwarts Express.

Highclere Castle, 45 miles west of central London, is better known to many as Downton Abbey, the setting of the popular PBS series that ended in 2016.  

You can make the visit a twofer by taking a 45-minute train ride from Paddington Station and catching sites in “Paddington,” the bear film from 2014.

When you arrive in Newbury, Downton’s Tom Branson won’t be waiting to chauffeur you, but taxis are available. There are a limited number of days for visiting the castle and the gardens, and you can now stay overnight on the estate at London Lodge.

Just a 90-minute drive outside of London in Oxfordshire is Blenheim Palace, a UNESCO World Heritage site and location of myriad films, including “Spectre” (2015), “Cinderella” (2015) and  “Transformers: The Last Knight,” to be released in June.

Harry Potter fans will want to venture into Blenheim’s parklands, where a 55-foot cedar of Lebanon featured in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” (2007) stands. Emergency efforts recently prevented the collapse of the tree, from which James Potter and Sirius Black dangled a young Severus Snape.

Not exactly a fairy tale moment, but the rest of these locations largely make up for that lapse of manners.

travel@latimes.com

@latimestravel

This post has been harvested from the source link, and News-Twitter has no responsibility on its content. Source link

[newstwitter-blog]

New Post has been published on News Twitter

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La Times: The star of these shows: London, a sort of set piece come to life

The occasion called for afternoon tea. We were in Toluca Lake, but our hearts and heads were in London.

Daryl Cameron, formerly chief of staff for the British consul general in Los Angeles, and I were waxing nostalgic about our favorite film and TV locations in Big Ben’s home.

London is a character unto itself in movies and TV shows, just waiting to embrace film buffs. I flung myself into its arms on a trip in October and eagerly followed in the footsteps of Bridget Jones, James Bond, Lady Edith Crawley and Harry Potter.

As visitors will discover, a memorable movie or TV location is waiting seemingly around the corner.

Before we parted that day, Cameron told me about strolling on Harley Street, where prominent doctors and therapists have had their offices since Victorian times. Cameron recognized it as a location from 2010’s “The King’s Speech,” where King George VI, played by Colin Firth, is treated for his stammer.

“It was dark and foggy that day, just like in the film, and I immediately felt transported back 100 years,” Cameron said. “This is a regular occurrence on my visits to London. You can get lost and allow time to seem ambiguous.” 

Getting lost in London’s film locations was exactly what I had in mind.

A trek across the Tower Bridge had me strutting its length just like Renée Zellweger in 2004’s “Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason.”While in Kensington Gardens, I recalled the fateful meeting of Johnny Depp (J.M. Barrie) and cinematic mother and son Kate Winslet (Sylvia Llewelyn Davies)  and Freddie Highmore (Peter) in “Finding Neverland,” the story of Barrie’s inspiration for “Peter Pan.”

Time on London’s tube had me thinking of scenes in “The Bourne Ultimatum” (Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, 2007) and “Skyfall” (Daniel Craig as James Bond, 2012).

I never tire of Portobello Road’s street market, perhaps because it is so beloved by fans of “Notting Hill,” the 1999 rom-com. I envisioned rubbing elbows with William Thacker (Hugh Grant) and Anna Scott (Julia Roberts).

Whether peering through the gates of Buckingham Palace, sighing over the London Eye or snapping selfies in front of red telephone boxes, I found myself whispering, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a city, asking it to love her,” a bit of dialogue I had adapted from Roberts in “Notting Hill.”

And London loves film fans right back. As we approach the Oscars, let’s take a look at some places where film (and TV) embraces.

Sleeping on the set

London’s notable accommodations often host movie shoots. “I love the famous old hotels in London: the Ritz, the Savoy and Claridge’s,” Cameron told me. “Entering these historic properties feels like traipsing onto a movie set, where characters from ‘A Room With a View’ could stroll through at any moment.”

Pack your bags for the Ritz and the Savoy, which make appearances in “Notting Hill.” (The Hempel, also in that film, closed in 2013.)

If you stay at the Royal Horseguards Hotel you’ll catch glimpses of “The Constant Gardener” (2005), “Brazil” (1985) “The Elephant Man” (1980),“Highlander” (1986)and “Blue Ice” (1992).

 Other London hotels serve as stand-ins. The Langham was cast as the Belmond Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg, Russia, in the 007 film “GoldenEye” (1995, with Pierce Brosnan as Bond).

 The Taj 51 Buckingham Gates Suites & Residences and St. James’ Court hotel both served as the home of Henry Wilcox, played by Anthony Hopkins, in 1992’s “Howards End.”

Royals

Movies about royals get a double-dose of fan love. Topping the list is “The Queen,” the 2006 film for which Helen Mirren won the Oscar for lead actress. Buckingham Palace, both home and offices of her majesty, the queen, also starred.

Palace tours are available on certain dates. Some to catch: the State Rooms  (July 22-Oct. 1), the Royal Mews (through Nov. 30) and the Queen’s Gallery. (Check the site  for dates.)

Another “Queen” location is No. 10 Downing St., headquarters of the government of the United Kingdom and residence of the prime minister. Security these days means you can catch only a glimpse.

London’s star tours

If you’re not well versed about London or if you’re hoping to happen upon a tidbit about a favorite blockbuster, a Brit Movies Tour might be in order.

These expeditions focus either on specific films or television shows such as “Dr. Who,” “Sherlock Holmes” (the 2009 and 2011 movies starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law as well as the current BBC version starring Benedict Cumberbatch) or “Downton Abbey,” or you can take one  tour dedicated to London films.

I went on the two-hour London Film Locations Walk, which wasn’t quite my cup of tea. It focused on action movies (I tend to favor rom-coms), although a few stories about unsuspecting city dwellers wandering into film shoots were humorous.

You can’t really complain about seeing the outside of Buckingham Palace, the National Gallery and Scotland Yard, now can you?

Then there was catching sight of Prince Charles’ motorcade, as well as spying the queen’s horse guards on their way to the daily Changing the Queen’s Life Guard. Neither was part of the tour, but great fun to catch.

Farther afield

These film and television locations are not in London proper so they call for a day trip.

Muggles and wizards alike will want to take the Making of Harry Potter tour at the Warner Bros. Studio Tour London, 20 miles outside the city in Leavesden.

Young tourists in Hogwarts attire set the mood, with film sets, costumes and props displayed on the 3½-hour tour. Highlights include Diagon Alley, Great Hall, Dumbledore’s office, Hagrid’s hut and, at Platform 9¾, Hogwarts Express.

Highclere Castle, 45 miles west of central London, is better known to many as Downton Abbey, the setting of the popular PBS series that ended in 2016.  

You can make the visit a twofer by taking a 45-minute train ride from Paddington Station and catching sites in “Paddington,” the bear film from 2014.

When you arrive in Newbury, Downton’s Tom Branson won’t be waiting to chauffeur you, but taxis are available. There are a limited number of days for visiting the castle and the gardens, and you can now stay overnight on the estate at London Lodge.

Just a 90-minute drive outside of London in Oxfordshire is Blenheim Palace, a UNESCO World Heritage site and location of myriad films, including “Spectre” (2015), “Cinderella” (2015) and  “Transformers: The Last Knight,” to be released in June.

Harry Potter fans will want to venture into Blenheim’s parklands, where a 55-foot cedar of Lebanon featured in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” (2007) stands. Emergency efforts recently prevented the collapse of the tree, from which James Potter and Sirius Black dangled a young Severus Snape.

Not exactly a fairy tale moment, but the rest of these locations largely make up for that lapse of manners.

travel@latimes.com

@latimestravel

This post has been harvested from the source link, and News-Twitter has no responsibility on its content. Source link