#and i took a luxurious bath and got stoned again and went straight to bed it was a special time

[stinkrascal]

I CAN FINALLY EDIT MY SIM PICS YESSSSSS LOVE WINS ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[bookstantrash]

A/N: First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who left a comment, reblogged or liked Part One of this fic. It made my day ❤️

I hope this chapter reaches your expectations. I’m still knew at writing multi-chapter fics, so I apologise if it’s too long or too boring. I want to let you guys know Kaelin better and also show Nesta’s (and Cassian’s) journey. But enough blabbering. Please give a warm welcome to Part Two!

In which she makes a friend, Part Two

Nesta remained frozen beside Kaelin’s body for what seemed an eternity. Seconds that felt more like hours went by until her mind finally snapped back to reality.

She could not give herself the luxury of freaking out right now. She needed to be practical. She needed to help Kaelin.

The sky was beginning to get dark and Nesta knew they had to get out of the forest fast. She recalled Cassian’s warning the first day she had arrived.

To never wander in the forest at dark, for the beasts which roamed them at nightfall made Hybern’s monsters at the war seem like child’s play.

“Kaelin. Listen to me. I’m going to help you” Nesta said, and Kaelin only whimpered as another wave of pain came “But we have to leave”

“It hurts” the young girl managed to say, tears streaming down her face “I can’t— can’t move”

Nesta eyed Kaelin’s figure. She was way too skinny for a thirteen year old standards, even if she’d been having regular meals for the past month.

But Nesta didn’t think she’d have the strength to carry her.

She had not eaten a proper meal in months.

Did not exercise.

You’re too heavy.

The memory of herself trying to raise another body from the ground came to mind, and she gritted her teeth to avoid screaming.

Once again, she was powerless.

This time, however, she would not lay on the ground.

She would rise. Even if her miserable bones broke beneath Kaelin’s weight.

“I’ll carry you, but you’ll have to help me” Nesta slowly sit Kaelin up, and looked straight in her eyes “Can you be strong for me now? I need you to move just enough to get on my back”

Kaelin nodded weakly and, panting, did what she was told.

Grabbing the girl’s legs in a firm hold, Nesta bit her cheek and got up, her knees screaming in protest.

“Okay ” she breathed, silently praying her body could hold on long enough to make the ten minute walk back to the cabin “I’m going to move now, so brace yourself”

She took a step forward and had to muster all her strength to not fall down with Kaelin. She remembered giving piggy back rides to Elain when she little — before her mother had deemed it unladylike and punished her. A long time had passed since then. She had been stronger and Elain did not have wings to add to her weight as Kaelin had.

But Nesta focused on the action of putting one foot after the other, her breaths coming in pants, willing her legs to keep moving.

‘Almost there’ she thought as she slowly made her back ‘Just keep moving. It’s not that far’

She repeated that over and over in hopes to distract her body. Her arms were trembling and her tights burned, yet she kept her pace.

After what seemed an eternity, Nesta finally spotted the cabin’s familiar rooftop. She almost sighed in relief.

Awkwardly opening the door and closing it shut with her foot, she went to her room, trying to lay Kaelin down on her bed as smoothly as possible.

She tried to regain her breath. Cauldron, how her back hurt.

Kaelin had curled up again, and was clenching her stomach so hard Nesta wondered if she was actually trying to claw her way into her own body so she could rip her ovaries out.

“I’ll be right back” Nesta said, smoothing some hair from Kaelin’s forehead.

She went to the kitchen, searching for something that would calm the poor girl’s pain. Nesta had not had her period as a fae yet —the huge amounts of alcohol and lack of food in the last year were probably the reason why — but remembered how it was when she used to be a human. She’d get horrible headaches and just lay down all day waiting for the pain to go away. She could only imagine how dreadful the experience must be for the fae.

Getting hold of some ginger, she put water in a kettle to prepare some tea, hoping Kaelin would be able to at least drink it. After that, she went into the shared bathroom between her room and Cassian’s.

And stopped right in front of the bathtub.

She still had trouble taking baths.

Had grown used to her old and deplorable bathtub back in her shabby apartment in Velaris.

And when she had arrived and came face to face with a bathtub big enough to accommodate wings, its dark stone a stark reminder of the Cauldron... she had frozen up. Refused to enter it. Even now, after months living in Cassian’s cabin, she could not stomach the ideia of doing it.

So she waited until Cassian left for his training and took a bucket to wash herself. It was a long process and rather difficult to wash her hair, but at least she could stay clean.

Yet, she could not do the same with Kaelin. The girl was sweaty and dirty with blood. And Nesta knew that a hot bath would do wonders to the cramps, relaxing her.

Raising her chin as if battling an invisible enemy, she got near the bathtub for the first time, turning the faucet and letting it be filled with hot water. Her heartbeat quickened as the water rose and rose, her powers a volcano in her veins, and she had to close her fists tight enough to hurt to not shatter the whole bathroom.

‘It’s not the Cauldron. It’s not the Cauldron’ reaching a tentative hand, she dipped it in the water to check the temperature ‘This water is hot. The Cauldron’s was cold. They are not the same’

Nesta turned the faucet off, and some tension eased off from her shoulders. Looking around the bathroom, she located the camomile oil Cassian kept. She had once heard it helped ease the soreness of the muscles after extensive training.

Putting it in the water, she found herself feeling a bit guilty for using it. It was not hers. Nothing in that house was. But Cassian was not here, and she doubted he’d notice that the little flask was missing some of its content.

She went back to her bedroom, and helped Kaelin take her leathers and tunic off, as she did with the band the girl had wrapped around her breasts, as small as they still were. Only thirteen, the period in which her body was slowly maturing, yet she was going through those body changes alone. The danger of being found out hanging around her neck like a rope.

Nesta tried not to flinch at the sight of the purple bruises along Kaelin’s back and ribs. A girl training the same amount as an Illyrian boy.... she must be very strong to take it all.

Kaelin wobbled towards the bathroom with Nesta’s help, breathing a sight of relief when her body came in contact with the hot water. Letting her soak for a while, Nesta stripped down some clean linens and left them on the bed.

Now the only matter were the clothes.

Nesta had brought few clothes with her, and most of them did not go along with the ruthless Illyrian weather. She eyed the lower drawer of the dresser. The one which she had not dared to touch.

She had been stubborn and refused to accept any more charity from her sister and her mate, sticking with her old dresses and overcoat instead. It was not as if she left the cabin long enough to die of frostbite.

Yet even if Kaelin was used to Illyria’s harsh weather, wearing warm clothes would make her more comfortable. Nesta was not as ruthless as to lend one of her thin run down dresses.

Sighting, she opened the drawer. And almost took a step back in surprise. For there lay clothes not in Night Court’s colours or the typical winter clothes one would find selling in Velaris.

No, they were Illyrian clothes. And not just leathers.

There were cotton sweaters, leggings, tunics and soft pants that Nesta would have never thought of wearing. And the colours.... Gods the colours. There was a range of colours from grey to auburn, burgundy, royal blue and forest green. The kind of colours that Nesta could imagine herself in.

She was so marvelled by them that she almost missed the small note on top of one sweater.

‘These are for you. I took the liberty of buying them, but if you prefere another clothing style feel free to tell me — Cassian’

He had bought her clothes. He, not her sister. And Cassian had kept quiet about it. Had not said a word before his trip about how she had never opened that drawer.

Had given her space. A choice.

Had she perhaps misunderstood his apparent cold behaviour? Was he perhaps giving her time to get used to her current situation? Was he distancing himself so it was her choice when the time to talk came?

Picking some clothes for Kaelin and laying them on the bed, Nesta tucked that information deep inside herself, feeling an annoying warmth in her heart she had not felt in a long time.

~•~

“What did you say?”

“You heard me perfectly clear or have you become deaf with your age?” Nesta replied to the camp lord in front of her, the mask of a bored and mighty queen mastered to perfection.

“I was not informed about this” Devlon said, anger lacing his every word.

“You were not notified because it was not necessary” she spat back, a cold fury settling in her veins “So let it be known that Kaelin will be staying with me for the time being to help in an important and secret matter, none of which are for you to worry about”

“How dare—“

“Have a good day” cutting Devlon off before he nagged at her some more, Nesta left him standing at the training area.

She heard Devlon bark an order for the Illyrians to get back to training, the sound of swords clashing against each soon rising again. She tried not to flinch at the sounds, keeping her mask up until she was safely back at the cabin.

Once inside, Nesta let herself rest against the door, sighing. She was tired. The events of yesterday and today’s morning had taken a tool on her. It had been a while since she had worn the unfeeling ice queen mask. She didn’t recall it to be so tiring.

But rest would have to wait a little bit. She had to check on Kaelin. And demand an explanation.

The night before, after Kaelin had gotten out of the bath and was dressed, Nesta had given the ginger tea and coaxed her into drinking it all. Not long after that, the poor girl fell asleep.

Nesta, on the hand, stayed awake for the better part of the night, dozing off in a chair near the bed, waking up whenever she heard Kaelin move.

When the birds had started to sing in the early morning, Nesta had came up with a plan. Leaving a tray with light food and tea in the bedside for Kaelin, she dressed herself and braided her hair neatly, preparing to go after Devlon. She had to make sure that Kaelin could stay away from training during her cycle and that her secret kept being a secret.

But the Illyrian had some gaps to fill in.

“Nesta?” she heard a soft voice calling from her room, and taking a deep breath, moved from her position.

“Good morning” Nesta said, finding the girl awake and less pale than yesterday “How do you feel?”

“Better” Kaelin was slowing making her way through breakfast “But, training...Devlon....how—”

“It’s been taken care of off” taking her position from the past night, Nesta squared her shoulders and took a business like voice “You have a story to tell”

Kaelin, noticing how the air had become serious, lost no time and, stopping sometimes when the cramps returned with full force, told Nesta everything.

Kaelin’s mother, as she said before, had a fragile health, made worse by the heavy workload imposed on the females. Add that to a difficult pregnancy, you have the recipe for an early labour.

Right in the middle of the heaviest snow storm to have ever befallen on Illyria. Which lasted for four days and four nights.

Making it impossible for a midwife to get there.

Mikael, her father, aided his wife, Selin, all on his own.

A warrior born to kill. To reap lives.

However, for her he would bring life. He would do everything he could.

It was not enough.

He was not able to stop Selin’s internal bleeding. Or her death.

And so, thirteen years ago, on the day Illyria bled white while Selin bled red, a healthy little girl was born.

Yet after the blizzard stopped and Mikael buried his wife, a boy was announced to have been born.

“Protect her” Selin had whispered with her last breath “Let our daughter be free and strong. Let her know no fear. Let her be as wild as Sanuur, the Mother of all forests. As ruthless as the old Illyrian warriors. As wise as our matriarchs.”

Mikael kept his promise. He raised Kaelin as a boy in secret as best as he could. Until he was killed in the Hybern War.

And Kaelin was alone.

An orphan who nothing deserved to have, save for a duffel bag with whatever she could grab before she was kicked out of her childhood home — a one room wood cabin, built by her father after years of hard work — in the mud.

After the rumours that a Witch now lived with the General, Kaelin had a mad plan: she’d give anything, even her soul, to avoid getting what would raise a red flag to her secret.

“I starved and ate herbs that were said to make one avoid getting periods” Kaelin said, looking down at her empty cup “But those things made me far too weak. I was falling behind training. I am at the age boys grow like trees and start to get buffer. I needed a quick solution”

And Nesta had been feeding her.

Oh, she was going to get sick. Had she doomed Kaelin while thinking she was saving a poor orphan?

“From now on,” Nesta announced “I’ll be the one to keep your father’s promise. You will live with me”

It did no good to dwell on what could have been. What had been done was done.

For the first time in five months, the fog inside Nesta’s mind seemed to lift.

“You will live with me. And I will train with you”

Because never again would she be weak. Never again would she be at someone’s mercy.

Nesta Archeron was going to show Illyria just how much she should be feared.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list}

[playing--koi]

To Worship a Flower

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: In which you work in a brothel, Geralt is a patron, and everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.

Warning(s): SMUT (18+), language, prostitution, unprotected sex, slight body worship (both parties receiving)

Word Count: 5.5k

MASTERLIST

You’d heard the tales of Geralt of Rivia throughout your whole adult life. He’d reached legendary status across the continent; the melodic notes of the fiddle spectacularly complementing the stories of his bravery. Not that you’d traveled particularly far and wide, more so that your clientele all seemed to know of him no matter where they hailed from. The dichotomy of it all astonished you—that someone with a profession so loathed could be spoken of with such admiration. 

Which was why the first time he’d entered your brothel, you simply had to get a glimpse of him. You were preparing for the day, insuring your body was well-cleaned and oiled to perfection—smelling of Lavender and Thyme. One of the girls had thrown your door open, not bothering to knock.

“Geralt of Rivia is here,”.

Your jaw dropped and, without any further consideration, you threw on a silken robe and quickly followed her down the corridor toward the entry hall. Word must’ve yet to travel because you couldn’t see anyone else scampering down the hallway to have their look. Both of you toeing down the staircase, you began to hear echoes of your Madam welcoming a new client, which you assumed to be the famous Witcher.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the baritone voice speaking back to her, no doubt in your mind that a tone so authoritative and mysterious simply had to be him. You’d reached the bottom of the stairs, in which a wide landing before the doorway to the foyer lent itself to your hiding place around the corner, now able to make out what was being said.

“So, Witcher, how many nights will you be needing company and housing?” You rolled your eyes and quietly scoffed at Madam’s flirtatious tone, knowing damn well she didn’t entertain any clients. If he’d gotten her knickers in a twist, you couldn’t even imagine how handsome he was—considering you’d never once seen that woman show an inkling of sexuality. Even when talking about sex itself, she made it the least arousing topic in all of the continent.

“Just one,” he clearly wasn’t entertaining any of her advances, which you couldn’t help but smirk at.

“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Do you have any preferences in your companions?”

“Hm,” he seemingly considered, probably not used to being asked that question. Most brothels across the continent typically didn’t give an array of choices, but Madam was nothing if not thorough. “Perhaps one who will keep me on my toes,”.

Madam chuckled lightly. “I have just the one for you,”.

You felt a hand hit your forearm and you turned to the girl who’d led you down to find her pointing at you and nodding, as if to say ‘she’s talking about you’, something you’d also had a sneaking suspicion of. Quickly, before Madam decided to lead him up to the second floor, you pulled your companion up the staircase as quietly as you were able. Because, had Madam been talking about you, you weren’t about to let some foolish sleuthing cause her to rethink her decision of his partner for the night.

Once you’d both returned to the second floor corridor where your chambers were located, you separated—each returning to your respective rooms—as she wished you good luck with a wink. You were praying to the Gods that she was right and Madam had been referring to you.

Doing your best to look previously engaged, you tidied up your space as the quiet footsteps of fate waltzed down the hall. They got louder with each moment and your heart quickened with anticipation. You’d always longed to lie with the great Witcher who sparked terror and respect in the hearts of those who beheld him. A worthy opponent; in your assumption to be just as much so sexually as he was on the battlefield.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you heard the creak of your weathered door, but you continued making the bed as if it’d slipped past you.

Madam cleared her throat and you quickly gave her your full attention, as if startled by her presence. You’d always been quite the actress.

“You have quite an important client tonight,” she announced.

You cocked your head slightly. “Oh?” You scrunched your eyebrows to further show confusion.

“Geralt of Rivia has chosen to stay with us,” she gave you a once-over, probably assessing if you were in the proper state to accompany such an esteemed guess and, luckily, you’d just bathed and oiled. “So I expect you to be on your best behavior and treat him well,”.

You nodded, moving to approach your dresser and search for the perfect lingerie for the occasion.

“Once you are changed, meet me in the hall,” she ordered, “and, by his orders, find something to keep him on his toes,”.

The door closed behind her and you swayed in silent victory, finally awarding yourself the smirk you’d fought against the moment that your door had been opened. Throwing your robe haphazardly across the bed, you stepped into the lingerie you’d been saving for quite the partner. It was black, lace, and—dare-you-say—devilish. You were determined to make this a night that neither of you would forget; a night that would leave him searching for you in every future body.

You fished your robe from its place on the bed, redressing and slipping on a pair of your nicer shoes, stepping out into the corridor to meet Madam. She wordlessly led you to the other side of the brothel—the side where the patrons stayed. The decor was noticeably finer with each step toward the division deemed worthy enough for clients, however you didn’t hold much resentment because, most nights, you found yourself in this sector anyway.

She stopped in front of the door that shielded the largest suite of the property, but you knew the Witcher definitely wouldn’t have paid extra, so you assumed that Madam just added it with the hope to impress. This man must be quite the sight to have even Madam eating out of the palm of his hand, all without even entertaining her extremely rare advances.

Your chest was constricted, heart rate accelerating with each inhale. Nerves vibrating beneath your skin, thrilled for the unveiling of your faceless lover-to-be. She angled her head toward the door, motioning you to enter and you quickly obeyed, holding her gaze until the door was shut with your back to the room. Once it clicked into place, you took a deep breath and turned around to find a presence in the bath gazing at you.

Your mouth went dry. You were thrilled with the discovery that the man you were to be lying with was delicious. His shoulders were nearly as broad as the width of the tub he was occupying and his face was chiseled to perfection, every small scar somehow adding to his beauty. His long silver hair was pulled back from his face, a mixture of sweat and bathwater no doubt the reason it was shining in the dim glow of the room. You surveyed his eyes last, finding them having followed your visual trek across the hills and valleys of his body; the bright golden color left you in awe. He was positively breathtaking and, for the remaining night, he was all yours.

“I wondered if the girl who’d been eavesdropping would be the one tasked with keeping me on my toes,” a smirk donned his face as he expelled the silence of the room.

You were intrigued that he’d sensed you earlier, but not at all surprised. “Madam knows her girls well. And I happen to fall on the more…daring side of the spectrum,” you let a smile of your own annunciate your words.

Without any forewarning, you untied your robe and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in the lingerie. You held eye contact with the Witcher as you slowly made your way to the tub. He let his eyes peruse the slopes and contours of your body as you moved closer, showing appreciation to each inch of visible skin.

You passed the bath, going to grab one of the luxurious soaps that were always stocked in the guest quarters and went to kneel beside the stone basin, working the liquid into a lather after pouring a generous amount into the tub. Your place behind him left you perfectly level with the back of his head. Starting with the ends of his strands, you paid close attention to each section that was caked with some form of grime, slowly moving higher up the lengths to the crown of his head.

As you removed the tie from his mane, he spoke once again. “Never would’ve seen hair washing as keeping me on my toes, but I suppose that’s the point,” his words nearly came out as a groan, clearly enjoying the scalp massage he was receiving.

You smirked. “Oh, darling,” you giggled, “this is simply the preparation.” You moved closer, hot breath undoubtedly tickling the shell of his ear, “the cleaner you are, the more I can dirty you,”.

To an untrained ear, no difference would’ve been captured, but with years of practice in studying the reactions of others, you could hear a slight hitch in his breath.

Your fingers tirelessly worked through the knots in his hair, determined to relax and open him up for you. If what you were planning for the evening was going to work, he was going to have to trust you to make him feel good. Once his mane grew to be more manageable, you picked up the small bucket placed next to you and filled it with the bathwater. You wordlessly pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, motioning to him to sit up straight and lean his head backward as you poured the water through his hair, ridding it of the suds.

You moved your hands down his neck and to his shoulders, finding a plethora of tension there. You’d had no previous doubt that his life was one of immense difficulty, but his muscles further proved it.

His body tensed as you worked through his dips and curves, spending what felt like hours on his shoulders and chest alone; the skin an angry red in response to the pressure. Once you felt a significant decrease in the rigidity of his upper torso, you simply started to clean the rest of his body with delicate strokes, paying attention to each area that warranted a peculiar reaction.

His eyes were shut at this point, neck resting on the rim of the tub as his breath deepened with each caress. You could assume that this type of treatment was nearly unheard of for a man of his background, but you were eager to please. Once you’d finished with the skin of his left calf, you slowly lowered his leg back into the water and returned to his side with a towel.

You were sure to break the silence with a gentle voice, so as not to alarm him or tear him from his blissed-out state. “Darling, would you stand up for me?” You questioned sweetly.

He seemed to be in a trance of sorts as his eyes slowly opened and he nodded, staring into your own with what could only be described as an insurmountable degree of gratitude. He followed your directions and you stared at him in awe. This was the first time you could admire his large stature and toned physique. A body tarnished by scarring and cruelty, but somehow still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You quickly shut your mouth, not even realizing it’d opened and rose to stand yourself. Handing him the towel, you turned away in an attempt to collect your thoughts. “Once you’re dried, go lie down on the bed facedown for me,”.

You busied yourself with grabbing the massage oil; you could hear him stepping out of the tub and walking over to the bed from behind you. After turning around and seeing him lying down, you quickly disrobed, throwing your clothes next to where he’d haphazardly tossed the towel. You approached the bed and kneeled up onto it, moving to straddle the backs of his thighs. If he was surprised by your actions, you didn’t hear it.

Pouring a generous amount of the oil onto your hands and tossing it aside, you rubbed it all along his back, outwardly gasping at the knots. “Oh, you poor thing,” you tutted. “When was the last time someone was gentle with you, darling?” The rhetorical question came without any thought, but you certainly didn’t regret it.

Kneading, caressing, rubbing, and massaging your way across his back mapped out a lot of his more sensitive spots for you. His body was complex and he clearly didn’t treat it with kindness. You found many areas that had healed oddly, no doubt due to his lack of care for wounds. It was obvious to you that a good bit of his tension came from his tight posture that was so wound so tightly, clearly terrified of showing any response to the massage, or anything really.

You continued your work on his back and, once you reached his lower spine, he let out the smallest mix between a groan and a whine once you’d pummeled a particularly excruciating bit of stress. It was delectable and you could feel his body softening now that he’d let out one of his natural reactions. “That’s it, darling, let it all out for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds,”.

It was like a wall had been broken. The soft grunts and moans that you were now being met with gave you an overwhelming victorious feeling. You’d relaxed Geralt of Rivia and he felt secure enough in your hands to react to you.

Your mouth practically watered as you now realized it was time to give his glorious derriere the rubdown it deserved. Your fingers worked rigorously, doing your best to assuage the discomfort that he probably didn’t even know a life without. And it was getting to be your time to shine. You pressed the fingers of both hands into the flesh of his buttocks and pressed down deep enough to support your weight as you moved further down his body, finding space to lay down in between his thighs to spread his ass out beautifully in front of you.

Your face was now perfectly level with his juicy peach, your warm exhales ghosting over his skin. You could see his head slightly lifting from its place on the bed. “What are you doing?” He asked, but you heard no concern. Just mild curiosity. He’s intrigued.

“I’m gonna show this beautiful derriere of yours the love it deserves,” you lowered your head to place a gentle kiss to each cheek, sucking a small hickey into the skin of his left one. Enough for a stinging reminder and a fleeting mark of your territory. His body slightly shivered. Success.

Without any further words, you spread him apart and licked a broad stripe up from his taint to his tight little hole. A shocked mewl could be heard above you as he pressed his forehead down into the mattress. You continued massaging the muscles of his buttocks as your tongue took residence between them. Sucking, licking, and tasting him as he mindlessly rutted against the mattress.

His body started to shake with pleasure, clearly so unused to this area being stimulated. Your tongue flicked and rolled against his beautiful ring, laving it with attention—doing everything in your power to excite. His back arched slightly, pressing himself further back into your mouth and you were thrilled by it. Grasping him by the hips, you pulled him even closer—determined to taste every inch of him. Comfortably nestled into him and basking in the glory of his breathy sounds was quite possibly your new happy place.

He looked obscene like this; hole puckered and red as your spit reflected the dim light of the suite. His hips tensing as he writhed against the sheets, your mind saturated with thoughts of what his expression displayed. Would it be desperate and fucked out? Maybe scrunched up and tense with a touch of mania. You were drenched already, but you could feel even more wetness gathering at the thought.

You finally found the perfect rhythm that seemed to be quite the sweet spot for both parties. It was slow enough that you could drift off into your own world of Geralt and consistent enough that he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

You heard a low mumble from the man of the hour and begrudgingly removed your tongue from the cleft of his bum. “What was that, darling?” You made sure to keep up the sickeningly sweet tone.

“‘m gonna cum—” he grunted, “can’t hold it,”.

You tsked, “now why would you be holding it, darling? Don’t hold out on me,”.

And what you heard next had your cherry fluttering. “Wanna come inside you,” he whimpered.

Your jaw nearly dropped and, with one final lick and suck of his pretty floret, you pulled yourself up onto your knees. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” You patted him lightly on the side of his hip, ushering him to turn over which he obeyed immediately.

The sight in front of you was one of immense luxury. You almost felt scandalized by it (and that was saying something considering what you’d just finished doing). His pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly black, and his body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His member was stood at attention, precum leaking from the tip as it pressed tightly against his abdomen. He looked at you like a sight to behold, lips swollen and pink from biting and pursing.

“What a pretty little pet you are—all fucked out like this,” he visually preened under the praise. You slowly crawled up his body, straddling his wide hips. “Tell me, White Wolf—has anyone ever allowed you to be the lamb?”

He looked at you with such awe in that moment, slowly shaking his head. Without any warning, you gripped his manhood and guided it to your opening, sinking down onto his thickness. Both of you released the most broken, animalistic noises. A flurry of passion and lust. Once you bottomed out, he quickly sat up and grabbed onto both of your hips searching for the comfort of your skin. He snapped his hips to yours and guided you down onto his thrusts, finding a shared tempo as he listened closely to which speed had you emitting the most sinful of noises.

You frantically bounced yourself on his cock, not even realizing how hungry you’d been for release until the smallest taste had you positively starved. Your body was now slick with the heat of sweat as you tightly gripped his shoulders, your fingernails leaving imprints on his skin. You hadn’t even realized that one of his hands had left your hip until you felt the pads of his fingertips make contact with your clit, causing your body to spasm at the first contact of the evening. Your eyes screwed shut as you bowed your head backward, baring your throat to him in a sort of submission. He immediately responded, attaching his lips to the skin of your neck—biting, sucking, and marking.

Both of your bodies begun stuttering at the closeness to release, teetering on the edge of climax. He removed the hand grasping your hip and snaked it around your back, tilting you closer to him as you both mindlessly rutted against each other in desperate pleas of euphoria.

You could feel your walls contract in the beginnings of orgasm, triggering a loud moan from Geralt at the clenching around his cock. You both grasped onto each other for dear life as you came apart at the seams. Both inhaling the thick scent of sex as you squeezed every last bit of ecstasy from one another.  

~

And that was how you’d met the glorious Witcher who’d been subject to many tales and carols. You’d assumed the morning after you laid with him that’d be the last time you’d ever see him. So when you watched him just finish readying himself to leave, you were shocked when he picked you up by the bottoms of your thighs and kissed you with such intense fervor, leaving you to see stars. You were even more shocked when he pulled away and whispered, “until next time, little lamb,” with a wink. Your eyes widened at his nickname, no doubt giving it to you after your comment the evening before.

But before you’d had time to question it, he’d set you down and left.

~

You saw Geralt quite a few times after that night. He clearly felt safe with you and enjoyed the way you took care of him. You’d even heard talk from travelers that rumor had it he no longer entertained any more company at the places he stayed. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of any silly fantasies that maybe he saved intimacy for you only.

However, the hope would reappear when you remembered the way his eyes crinkled slightly when he dared to laugh in front of you, far more intimate a gesture than any sexual act could be. The weighted, moonlit conversations dancing through the air as you ran your fingers delicately across his scars.

It was becoming quite the problem for you, as you were now far more disillusioned with any client that wasn’t him. You found yourself more easily irritated and difficult to please. All of it seeming pointless if it wasn’t with Geralt.

Which was how you’d ended up nearly rolling your eyes at the pig of a customer who’d been ordering you around condescendingly from the moment you walked through the door. Refusing to call you anything other than ‘whore’ any time he wanted your attention.

Luckily, you’d only been tasked with bathing him thus far, but now that he was out and dried off and sitting on the bed, you dreaded your next orders.

“Well come on then, make that mouth of yours useful. It ain’t gonna suck itself off—” he demanded and you let out a deep exhale as you walked over to where he was seated, about to kneel down before the door creaking startled you out of your action.

Madame was at the door, which had never once happened at your entire time working for her. She always waited until the client was done with whatever girl they’d been assigned before ever daring to enter.

“Mr. Broont, I’m afraid she has been requested by another patron and I’ll have to excuse her to come with me,” she spoke with an air of apology, “I promise the other girl I’ve brought will surely satisfy.” She motioned for you to stand and come back over to her.

Before you could, you could feel his be-ringed paw clutch your bicep tightly, holding you in place. “Nuh, uh. I paid for a night wit’ this one and that’s precisely what I’m ‘onna get—” you inhaled sharply upon contact, the stone jewelry and long nails doing nothing to help the aching of his grip. “Now run along and tell the other guy he’s gotta wait his turn,”.

Madame opened her mouth to answer, but before she had a chance at rebuttal, the door was slammed open and in walked the subject of your wildest dreams. With a look of malice on his face that you’d never seen before.

Once he assessed your predicament, he spoke up, “I suggest you take your hand off of her before I cut it from your wrist,” and if that didn’t get you all hot and bothered at what was definitely the wrong time.

The man behind you quickly pulled away as if the skin on your arm had burned him and you rose quickly to walk over to the den of safety he provided. Madame nodded to you, signaling you could go and take him with you to the usual room you both shared.

Without making eye contact, you led him from the room and down the corridor to where the suite was located and motioned for him to go sit on the bed. Refusing to look at him, you tried your best to collect yourself. Emotions were swirling around your head. Fear at the man who thought he owned you. Sadness at the way he’d regarded you, how these pathetic excuses for men continued to regard you. Confusing amounts of lust at Geralt’s show of dominance. And shame at the thought of your Witcher seeing you in such a vulnerable and embarrassing situation, no doubt hearing the way that man had been allowed to talk to you. You were a jumbled mess of barely-contained feelings just begging to be released.

You didn’t even have time to experience the usual bliss that came with seeing him. Your eyes had filled, much to your chagrin. You breathed in deeply from your nose, trying your best to keep the tears at bay.

You whipped around at the sound of him clearing his throat from a few feet behind you, making eye contact for the first time. He cocked his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing with empathy. “Enjoy the show?” You tried to joke, doing your best to mask the sadness that was doing its best to consume you.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, little lamb,” he whispered, moving closer with gentle steps. “Everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.” And just as he reaches you, you crack.

The tears begin to fall as you reach up and pull him into you by his jaw, lips meeting in a desperate haze. The salty taste of your tears mixing with the taste of him as you reached for him, begging him to further invade your space. He did so quickly, pulling you up by your thighs which you instinctually wrapped around his waist, needing his sturdy presence to consume you.

You hadn’t even realized that he was walking until you were gently being placed down on the bed. His position did wonders for his beauty, a soft halo of light surrounding him, lending a warmth to his silver strands. You stared up at him as he gazed upon you, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid the undergarments from your body. You weren’t used to such attention being paid to you; patrons weren’t typically intrigued by any subtle details, preferring to shove their cock somewhere and shut their eyes until it was over.

But he really saw you. As your nude body was displayed to him at such an attentive state, you couldn’t help but to feel bashful at the pure vulnerability. You subtly moved your forearms up to shield your breasts while gently closing your thighs to shield them from his curious stare. Quickly catching onto what you were doing, he kneeled to the ground and forced your knees to a wider stance.

“Ah, ah—” he tutted gently, hands hungrily roaming your thighs with his calloused touch, “—now why would you hide such a pretty flower from me, hm?” You outwardly gasped, so unused to his newfound dirty talk. Well, maybe not fully new, but new to you. “Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going in combat is knowing I get to come back here and sink my face into this sweet little cunt,”.

He moved his face closer to your heat, the warmth of his breath making your tummy flutter in anticipation as you could feel yourself dampening. He gently placed your thighs over his broad shoulders, showing no signs of struggle at the added weight, eyes alternating between your pupils and your core; the tension in your chest thick and waiting. Your loud breaths were the only source of sound in the otherwise silent room.

Maintaining eye contact, he licked a long stripe up your slit, the first contact you’d gotten in ages; time wasted with piss poor lovers and clients with no concern for you. All of that melted away as your lips parted around a high-pitched moan, back arching and chasing more which he gladly offered. His mouth mapped out the dips and curves of your aching center, an unfathomable hunger overtaking your body with each suckle. It was messy, his lips coated with your juices and his own dribble; but with his eyelashes fluttering, you could tell he reveled in your taste.

Trying out different techniques, re-familiarizing himself with your anatomy, but it wasn’t long before he rediscovered his expert touch, sweeping his mouth across your most sensitive areas, swallowing your arousal with each movement.

While he’d previously been avoiding your fleshy bundle—which you assumed to be calculated teasing—the man decided that now was the focal moment; his lips capturing your bud and rolling it across his tongue.

“Geralt—” your choked out plea was met with a smirk from the man below you, albeit quite obscene as it was expressed while between your folds. Your body stuttered with each passing moment, finding it near impossible to breathe. Your heart rate was at an all-time high, the noises deafening in your ears. “Please—oh gods, please—”.

Your voice was nearly unrecognizable, so fucked out with broken mewls and haphazardly strewn phrases of ‘just like that’, ‘don’t stop’, ‘right there’, and several others along those same lines.

“Such a pretty little petal—” he mumbled, eyes raking along your heat as if in a trance, “—I could eat it forever,”. The only words running through your head in response were ‘please do’.

The sounds of his talents echoed throughout the once-noiseless suite: slurping, licking, and groaning; all matched in volume with your own whines and incantations. At this point, your body was covered in a thin veil of sweat—so responsive to feelings so rare to you.

While Geralt showed himself to be quite the able lover in your previous times together, bringing you to release more times than you could count, this time felt particularly important. It wasn’t as if he wanted you to feel good, it was as if he needed it. Each movement perfectly planned to give you the utmost feeling of ecstasy as he watched your facial expressions morph to varying degrees of unabashed delight. His tongue seeming to memorize the patterns that had your toes curling into the skin of his back and grip tightening around his mane. You could tell he loved the ache; with each tug, he would let out an especially thick groan into the soaking flesh of your heat.    

You were nearing the tipping point, the pre-bliss haze of what was to come washing over you as your one hand gripping his hair pulled him closer (an impossible feat), while the other had the sheets in a vice hold of its own. You’d never felt such attention on you before and this new feeling of safety had everything feeling that much more intense.

Your vision went white, the world around you completely lost to your unconscious mind. A headspace of pure intoxication. You felt as if you were floating, your body weightless and free of all stress. Sleepy and satiated and content.  

As your senses returned, you could feel that you were being carried. The sounds of splashing were slowly invading your perception and, soon you were being lowered into warm water by the body that had been holding you. Opening your eyes, you could see Geralt facing you; you were sitting in his lap in the bath as he slowly grounded you with his continuous strokes along your spine.

You opened your mouth, but your mind was still muddled, so nothing came out. He nodded understandingly, showing that you needn’t speak. He knew.

“You did so well for me, little lamb—” you tucked your face into his neck, hugging him closer to hide your bashful countenance. He continued mindlessly caressing the skin of your back as you came back down.

You felt him lightly tap against you, signaling for your attention, which you gladly gave him, untucking your head from where it rested on his shoulder. “How’d you like to come with me?” His brows furrowed in questioning. “We can find a life better suited for you,”.

You didn’t even have to think it over, nodding eagerly at his suggestion. Getting out of there was a dream come true, but getting out of there with Geralt? Now that was simply heaven.

“Alright, we’ll sort that out come morning—but, for now, just relax,” he whispered, the heat of his words dancing across every pore on your face. Staring into his bright golden eyes, you could feel a warm hope envelop you.

“Thank you,” your voice was soft, filled to the brim with gratitude.

“Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes,” he smirked, “a very smart woman showed me that some time ago—”. The grin that you donned could nearly split your face.

fin

A/N: Another Geralt fic that I’d say is quite possibly filthier than either of my other two so far, but you can be the judges of that ;) Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful babies!!! Likes, reblogs, comments, and just overall reactions are always treasured real deep in my lil’ heart. I hope you guys like this one!!!! x g

tag list: @alwayshave-faith @fairytale07 @whatawildone @angelic-kisses13 @la-meneur-louve​  @thewitcher-is-a-pandemic

if i forgot anybody/you wanna be added to the tag list, just lemme know!! x g

[robertdowneyhiddlesbatch]

4. Journey

When Fili turned 18, dwarftown had the biggest party ever seen. The celebration was for Prince Fili's confirmation as Thorin's heir. Everyone knew that this deal was subject to change once Thorin had his own children (which Fili couldn't wait for), but for now the heavy crown went to Fili. The boy-now man- had been preparing weeks ahead for the ceremony. He would need to show that he would be capable of protecting and feeding his people by slaughtering a wild ram. He would then be dressed in ceremonial clothes to address his subjects about what promises he would keep in his rule. The people would discuss if his promises were worthy, and if they approved, then Fili would be crowned as the king's heir.

Fili had never in his life been more stressed and afraid. There was so much he could get wrong, but he also had so many people to have his back. His uncle inspired him with stories of his own confirmation and the promises he made. His little brother help the best way he could by taking away the tension and providing jovial suggestions. The best help him from his “godmother”; a member of the public.

Fili had been stuck with forming his own speech, wanting to combine the old and the new. Watching him stress, Aria suggested he take notes from the people he would one day rule. Fili tagged along when Aria went on a door to door sale, giving him the opportunity to converse with the people and ask what they would like to see in their lives. The tour was successful and he had enough to try and make his own speech of The Word.

The Durin family, Aria included, held a small private birthday party for Fili the night before his actual birthday; a small token of peace before his life became hectic as a crown prince. They shared stories from the past, played games and sang songs, and had a merry good time. The boys went to bed early to prep for a long day tomorrow and a guard walked Aria home. Thorin stayed up, looking over the outfits he had made for Fili’s confirmation. There was no Mithril in the blue Mountains, so Thorin had done his best to find the next best thing to use for an armor for his nephew. Aria, in charge of the catering for the next day, stayed up all night to make sure everything was top notch.

The confirmation day went without a hitch. Early morning, Fili was dressed by his uncle in the special armor. Thorin give him a heart to heart and sent him out to the ring to slaughter the ram. Brave and swift, Fili  beheaded the stampeding wild sheep, earning its head as a trophy while the meat was taken to be cooked for the celebration. Next, Fili took a bath and then was dressed royally by his family, each member getting to put on a piece of the royal outfit. They left him with encouraging words, and went to join the common people before Fili addressed the crowd. He gathered his wits and walked out to the balcony, kindly looking down at the people before him. 

He cleared his throat and began his speech, momentarily locking eyes with his uncle to make sure he was doing it right. Thorin always smiled and nodded, encouraging his nephew to continue. The speech ended with Fili’s bow and he went back inside while the people debated. Of course Thorin had the ultimate say, he wanted his people to approve of their next king. The jury came to a decision and Balin went inside to collect Fili. The two appeared back out on the balcony and after an agonizing pause, Balin introduced Fili as the crown prince, heir to Thorin. 

The crowd erupted in cheer and the party officially began. Fili ran outside to join his family, greeting his uncle first. Kili and Aria bowed to the crown prince but he waved it off and hugged them together. The boys dragged Aria out to the dance floor while Thorin stood watching with the older dwarves. Later he lead the toast and gifted Fili the ram head trophy before everyone had dinner. It was almost the next day by the time the party came to an end. 

The confirmation was some months behind them when Thorin got a consignment from Bree. Thorin packed his stuff and left the boys in Aria’s care, making them promise not to be trouble. By now the boys weren’t so little anymore; at 18 and 16, Fili and Kili were itching for adventure. For now, they made work by staging fights with each other or whoever else they could rope in. Dwalin was always game, and happily kept the boys busy with sword fights. Not even the rain could keep them indoors. Of course once inside, they found ways to keep entertained, such as tossing the dishes around and drinking ale when they could get their hands on it. 

The brothers had also picked up a knack for flirting with dwarrows, something Fili enjoyed very much. In good fun, of course. Their uncle on the other hand couldn’t be bothered. Almost every eligible dwarrow had offered herself to the king, or parents had offered their daughters’ hands in marriage, but Thorin never got the hint. He did develop a nervous friendship with Aria, and his council subtly encouraged him to pursue her whenever the opportunity arose. But with the town baker, the king found himself tongue twisted, managing nothing more to talk about other than the boys or the town.

Things changed when Thorin returned from Bree. Everything changed; even the air. It was as if the rain had brought in a new day. Fili and Kili were over at Aria’s house when Thorin returned. Instead of picking them up, Thorin stormed home and gathered his council. The meeting went on till late in the night, and it wasn’t till everyone had left that Thorin remembered the boys. He swore the dwarves to secrecy, even from Fili and Kili, then went over to Aria’s house. The boys cheerfully welcomed them home, but were more excited about the gifts he’d brought for them. Aria held them all back till they’d had dinner before she let them out with their new weapons, leaving the grownups alone inside.

“Did something happen in Bree?” Aria asked as she brought some sugared buns over to the couch.

Aria’s words brought Thorin back to attention. “Huh? What makes you ask that?”

“You’ve been distracted all night. Sometimes I catch you muttering something.” Aria finally rested on the couch, sitting next to him but not close enough. “And I heard you’ve been back all morning, and only now you remember us.” She teased him with a brow.

Thorin half smiled softly. “I could never forget you.”

“Oh? I thought you’d forgotten with that load on your mind. Would you like to share, rest easy? I promise not to tell.”

Thorin sighed and stared at the window for a long minute, considering the boys. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I don’t want the boys to know yet.” He sighed again and turned back to her. “I met a wizard in Bree; Gandalf the Grey.”

Aria reached for a bun from the table then reclined back. “Ooh! That’s nice. They’re always interesting, wizards.”

“This one had quite the trick. He says it’s time.”

“For...?”

“Time to go home. To Erebor.”

Aria was speechless. “Wow.”

“He says the dragon hasn’t been seen in 60 years, and the birds are returning to the mountain.”

“Hopeful signs for certain. What are you so unsure of?” Aria went for another sweet bun and offered it to Thorin.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been back there. We were different then, and we’re different now. And there was a reason that the dragon came. The dragon sickness they called it. The gold is cursed. My grandfather fell to it.”

“But you’re not your grandfather, are you?”

It was Thorin’s turn to be silent.  

“What draws you back to Erebor; gold, or home?” 

“What would all the gold in the world mean if we don’t have a home? Fili and Kili, live separated from their birth mother. They’ve never once seen the home that they rightfully deserve. They’re princes, heirs of Durin. Yet they are provided no luxury of it. I will see them in Erebor even if I never get to it myself.”

Aria smiled at his love for his nephews. “How will you get there? Do you know your way back?” 

Thorin sat straight and produced a scroll from his jacket, unrolling it on the table to reveal the map of Arda. Aria shuffled closer to take a better look. 

“Mahal! This is...”

“The map. To the lonely mountain. A forgery of it, anyway.” 

Aria ran her hand over the drawing of her kingdom. Thorin watched her curiously.

“You know, I don’t think I remember when I was in Erebor. I was so little.”

“It’s the greatest dwarf kingdom in all of middle Earth. Valleys and tunnels and chambers anywhere you look. The roof shines at night, with the light of all its gems and stones.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It is.” Aria didn’t notice Thorin looking at her.

“So when do you leave?” Aria asked, finally reclining back.

“Tomorrow.” 

“And Fili and Kili. They will... go with you?”

Thorin pitied her for her concern. “I don’t think there’s a force strong enough on Arda to keep them back.”

“You will watch over them, won’t you? Keep them safe?”

“Of course I will! They’ll have to go over my dead body before I let those monsters close to my boys.”

While Thorin was passionate about the safety of his sons, Aria found the wrong opportunity to laugh.

“You think it’s funny?” 

“No! Not ever!” She giggled, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t take you seriously with the dust on your mouth.”

“Dus- wha?” 

Before he knew what was happening, Aria’s hand jut out to his face, her fingers brushing off the sugar dust off his beard. Apparently, it had been instinctive on her part, as she froze once she realized what she was doing. Aria’s fingers rested dangerously close to Thorin’s mouth and, caught in a daze, he sucked the tips into his mouth. Aria drew in a sharp breath, bringing attention back into Thorin’s mind, but he didn’t want to pull away. In truth, he wanted to pull her even closer. Without breaking eye contact, Thorin tentatively grabbed her hand, releasing her fingers from his mouth to put them on his cheek. Aria reflexively came closer, her other hand sitting on Thorin’s chest. A coil broke in his mind and Thorin suddenly leaned over Aria until she was laying on her back. He felt her body rise and fall underneath his, dangerously tempting him. Her eyes glittered brighter than the Arkenstone, calling him closer. 

“Thorin,” Aria breathed his name and he lowered his face, reaching closer and closer to kissing her. His lips were a breath away from hers, feeling wet warmth coming from her mouth. Half a second more and he’d kiss her, his mouth on hers and 

“Thorin!”

“Uncle Thorin!”

Thorin instantly let go of Aria and sat up, jumping off the couch. Aria too sat up immediately, breathless over what had almost happened. A second later, the boys ran into the room. 

“Uncle Thorin, what would be your weapon of choice in battle, a bow or a sword?”

“Fili says bla bla bla But I think blah blah blah.”

Thorin couldn’t here properly with the blood rushing in his head.

“Boys! There are benefits to both. And we’ll need them both. It’s late, we should go home.” He didn’t wait and stormed past them to the door. 

Kili and Fili looked between them and shrugged. Aria had stood up by the time.

“You boys get some sleep now, long days ahead.” 

She kissed them both in turn and sent them off running home. She closed the door behind them and pressed herself against it. Oh Mahal! She had a lot to bake.

 ch3 ch5

[elfpen]

Imperfect Affection

Don't worry, the next chapter of Reprise is in the words, but I needed a brain break from Star Wars, so here, have a mushy snippet from my newest obsession:

Sleep became a mystery to anyone who thought about it for any amount of time. Alphonse Elric had had five years to think about it, but would not let the mystery keep him from diving in head-first.

He'd been in the hospital for just half a day, and he'd slept most of it away. It'd been bizarre - he'd forgotten what it was like to miss whole chunks of life because of sleep. The nurses told him his body was too exhausted to do much else, which made sense. They'd made him as comfortable as he could be to just lie down and rest a while: they'd helped him drink a few sips of water, cut his fingernails and trimmed and washed his hair.

They'd encouraged him to take a bath, too, but hadn't forced him to. Of all the senses, touch was the most overwhelming, and even the fact that he had skin would take some time to accept. Still, Alphonse had taken them up on their offer and fallen asleep in a soapy tub of warm water, only to wake up later fully dressed in bed with an IV in his arm.

"They had to have dried me off, dressed me," Alphonse had agonized to Ed later, red-faced and mortified. "They saw me naked."

"Aw come on," Ed had elbowed him - gently, of course. "Some guys would kill for an opportunity like that. They were pretty cute, weren't they?"

"Brother!" His whole body turned red.

Edward had cackled, and then started coughing up blood again, because he was an idiot.

They'd wheeled Edward away for surgery in the afternoon to remove the bolts in his right shoulder, remove bits of rebar from his left arm, and see what they could do for his broken ribs. He'd be spending the night in a post-op suite, which left Al alone in his darkened hospital room to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

...and wake up again to a pitch-black room and the ghost of another presence in the room with him. It should have panicked him, but it didn't. A hand brushed softly against his temple through the short spikes of his hair.

His eyelids felt like lead weights, and his eyes refused to focus, but he could hear the rustling of clothes and see twin glimmers of glass, a smudge of blond hair.

"Dad?" he said, quiet and groggy. Above the bed, the figure froze, and relaxed again.

"Alphonse," came Hohenheim's voice, just above a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Al told him drowsily. "Are you hurt, too?" in his brain, this question made sense. But now out in the open, it made Hohenheim laugh. Alphonse liked the sound of his father laughing. He couldn't remember having ever heard it before.

"I'm fine. Major Armstrong told me he brought you boys here - looks like they're taking good care of you."

His eyes were trying harder to focus now, and he could see that his father was smiling. Inexplicably, he longed for older times, for impossible times, when he and his brother and mother and father could've all been smiling together. But if the last five years had taught him anything, it had taught him that longing for the lost was a fool's errand.

"I'm glad you're here," Al said, and reached out his hand. His father caught it in both of his and squeezed. After a thick silence, Hohenheim choked and said,

"I am too." He ran a thumb over the edges of Alphonse's fingernails, filed short and tidy, and then reached out to brush a hand over his hair, which was still damp from his bath. "It suits you," he said. Alphonse's eyelids fluttered. He remembered falling asleep like this as a child, with his mother brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'm so proud of you, Alphonse." It made him smile, even as his eyes drifted shut. "Take care of your brother for me."

That struck a flat note. Alphonse wrenched his eyes open again, and found the strength to lift his head. "You're leaving?"

"Just for a bit," Hohenheim put out an apologetic hand. "I'm doing no good here. I'm not injured, they need all the space they can get for those who are."

"But… your philosopher's stone," Al made the connections groggily, "can't you help…?"

"No, not anymore."

"Oh."

"They've cut off all communications in and out of Central," Hohenheim told him. "Pinako and Miss Rockbell will be sick with worry for you boys. I'm going to Resembool, to tell them you're both alright."

"Oh." Alphonse wished he could come up with something better to say. "It'll be good to see them smile again," he mused wistfully, and Hohenheim smiled himself.

"Yes, it will."

"Thank you, dad." His eyes were pulling themselves shut again, that mysterious, luxurious pool pulling him offshore to float away.

"Go to sleep, son. I'll see you at home." Alphonse could never be completely sure, but as he fell asleep, he thought he felt his father kiss him on the forehead.

They rested. They mended. After six days, they let Alphonse eat real food. After ten, they let him eat twice a day. And after three weeks, they let him eat whatever he wanted - within reason, anyway.

"Chicken pot pie, pork dumplings, strawberry strudel, tea, sausages, eggs, and bacon?" Ed read off his brother's order with rising incredulity. "What kind of breakfast is… and milk? I know you're starving, Al, but this is too far!"

Alphonse only laughed. In the end, they didn't grant all of his requests, but he got a hefty plate of eggs and bacon and and an early dessert of strudel. They also brought him a pot of tea and a whole pint of milk to drink at his leisure.

"Do you want some, brother?" Alphonse raised the milk jug with a pristine innocence that only younger siblings can manage. Edward's whole body seemed to grow spikes.

"Are you insane?"

"That's okay," Alphonse drank deeply and came away with a white mustache. "It's not like I have any catching up to do - I'm already taller than you."

Edward screeched, and Alphonse finished eating with a smile on his face.

By the time they headed back home, the Elric brothers were in high spirits. Saying goodbye to Central and all of their comrades and friends had been hard, but seeing Lieutenant Havoc and Colonel Mustang healed had been a massive boost.

Teacher had even cried when she hugged them goodbye, and then threatened to kill them if they said anything about it. Sig, weeping openly and silently at her side, gave Alphonse a bundle of home-cooked bacon to eat on the train home.

It was a long train ride, and a longer walk home, but then they were home, and Winry tackled them to the dirt and it was like nothing but everything had changed. Den barked and ran circles around them until they were all the way inside. Winry started crying nearly every time she looked at Alphonse. But then, Edward began to gloat,

"I told you they'd be tears of joy!" And suddenly Winry was no longer crying, and was throwing wrenches instead.

Alphonse peeled and cored apples for the pie Winry had already started preparing, and Granny cut out cold pats of butter for the crust. Amid the din of Winry and Edward's shouting, Alphonse became aware of an absence in the house he hadn't registered until that very moment. When the arguing died down and the house went quiet, Alphonse turned to Granny and asked,

"Where's dad?" The house seemed to slow to a halt. Alphonse looked between Granny and Winry, who'd both gone suddenly still. "He said he'd meet us here."

Pinako put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. She drew in a shaky breath. "Maybe you boys had better come with me."

"He didn't even make it to the house," Granny had kept her explanation short because of her own tears. "He came straight here. I think he knew he didn't have much time left. I didn't even get to say goodbye." She sniffed, a terrifying display of emotion for both boys. "I'm very sorry."

She left them to their thoughts, and the brothers sat in front of their parents' headstones for a long time.

"That bastard," Ed said after a long time, even though his eyes were shining with unshed tears, "of course he would leave just to kick the bucket. What a coward. What a," he wiped furiously at his eyes. "Damn rotten father."

Alphonse didn't say anything. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and stared at the name on the stone. He remembered the man in the hospital who'd said he was proud of him. "I'll see you at home." Surely he wouldn't have lied. Surely he hadn't meant for it to be like this.

"Ed, Al," it was Granny. The boys turned to her, and backlit by the setting sun, she was holding out two letters. "When I… found him, these were in his pocket. They're addressed to you."

Alphonse took his, and with more hesitation, Edward his. Granny left them alone. Edward and Alphonse glanced at each other, and then opened their letters and read silently each to himself.

Dear Edward,

Dear Alphonse,

I am writing this on the train from Central to Resembool. I did not want to have to write this – I wanted to be able to tell you all of this myself, in person, as I should have years ago. But I realize now that I do not have enough life in me to manage even that.

It was my blood that created the homunculus, all those years ago, and since the fall of Xerxes our lives have been intertwined as one. Now the homunculus has died, and I am living on borrowed time. I may not look it, but as I write, I am just shy of my four hundred and fifty-first birthday. It's absurd, isn't it? That I can be so ancient and only just now as I'm dying do I find a reason to keep on living.

I realize that I am not the father you deserve. In my determination to thwart the homunculus' plans, I abandoned you and your mother and I know I can never atone for that. I can only hope that you believe me when I tell you that your mother and you boys were all I ever wanted. You gave me all I could have ever needed. I am so proud of you.

...I have never seen a more noble sacrifice than your sacrifice for Alphonse. You are a far better man today than I have been in four and a half centuries. Trisha would be beside herself with pride if she could see the man you've become.

...You grow stronger each day, and each day, I see in you a man I wish I could have known better. You are wise beyond your years, and carry your mother's caring spirit into a world that needs it desperately. She would be so proud to see you now.

...I realize you want to hate me,

...I realize you wish you'd known me,

...And I understand why you feel that way, and do not blame you if you never stop,

...And I can assure you I wish I could have known you better all your life,

And I know that nothing I do will change my role in the pain you've suffered these past long years. But I hope, if nothing else, you can accept that in my profound imperfections, I loved you more than I could ever hope to tell you.

In deepest affection,

...Van Hohenheim

...Your Father

When Alphonse looked up, Edward was crying, too. Edward crumpled up his letter, shoved it in his pocket, and stomped off. Alphonse stayed with his parents.

"It's okay," he told his dad, trying to rub out the tears that had stained his own letter. "He's always like this."

Later, Alphonse went to Edward's room and knocked before letting himself in. He noticed their father's letter, wrinkled and torn, smoothed out on the desk and flattened under the only book they'd saved from their father's library.

"Winry's pie is almost ready to eat," Al told his brother quietly. Edward was sitting on his bed, staring out the window. In the distance, the green swell of the graveyard was just visible.

"Do you think he even knew how long he was gone?" Ed asked. Alphonse was taken aback.

"What?"

"If Hohenheim was as old as he said, do you think he even knew how many years had passed before he came back, to find mom dead, us without bodies?"

Alphonse hadn't ever thought of it. He sat down next to Edward on the bed and stared out the window.

"I don't know. Maybe." It was not quite dark out, and the countryside was awash in a dusky blue. Past the cemetery, a string of lights and smoke traced the path of the 7:00 train. Alphonse watched the smoke become clouds and fade into the atmosphere. "I think he loved mom. A lot." It was somehow uncomfortable to say so, but it soothed something deep in Alphonse's gut. "I think he loved us, too. I really think he did. He just…" he shrugged. "Didn't really know how. In his shoes, I'm not sure I would either."

"Hmm," was all Edward said. The two boys watched the sunlight disappear to reveal a world full of stars. Eventually, Edward glanced past Alphonse to see the clock, and his eyes stuck on his brother's hair.

"Your hair's growing out already," he gave it a rough tousle, and Alphonse complained. "You'll have to get it trimmed again soon."

"Better than leave it long," Alphonse combed his hair back into place, miffed. "I don't know how you stand it, brother."

"What can I say?" Edward shrugged, holier-than-thou, "it takes a certain stature to pull this off."

Alphonse rolled his eyes and was about to say something cruel about Ed's height, when Winry shouted across the house to announce,

"Apple pie is ready!"

Alphonse picked up his cane and zipped to the door in an instant. The stairs thumped and groaned as he practically fell into the kitchen, offering to whip cream and put out plates, and anything else that would help him get the pie to his mouth sooner rather than later.

Edward lagged behind and laughed. The night had transformed his window into a mirror, and he caught sight of his reflection as he stood to his feet. He resented the red rims on his eyes, the crusty tear tracks on his cheeks. He scrubbed them away. Then, he picked at the frayed mess of his hair, which was coming undone in all directions. He undid the hair tie and combed at it with his hands.

"We have the same look," Hohenheim had said, when they met at his mother's grave. Edward had braided his hair so fast, it'd been matted for days. He looked again at his reflection, and began to divide his hair into thirds.

"Edward! Do you want pie or not? Better come and get some before Al eats it all!"

"Hey!"

Edward hesitated before gathering his hair into a single, familiar ponytail.

"I'm coming!"

He closed the curtains on his reflection and joined his family downstairs.

[mariaclaragomez276]

Meet the SLH Marketing Team

A creative think tank of travel experts specialising in luxury brand positioning, we’re proud to be a small yet mighty team of independently minded individuals. Each with our own unique skill-set, from illustration, graphic design, content creation to copywriting, our marketing knowledge spans across three continents and the same number of decades. Here’s a little bit more about the people behind the brand…

Richard Hyde – Chief Operating Officer

Three fun facts about yourself…

On a work experience week at the Amstel Hotel in Amsterdam a guest called to complain about the soap not soaping. He didn’t realise it had a thin plastic wrapping. That person was Bill Gates.

My first job was advertising microwave ovens. We put a massive billboard on the Cromwell Road with a 25 ft rubber chicken. Within 24 hours it had disappeared, never to be found again. But someone in Earls Court must have it.

I am a big reindeer fan. On a visit to Lapland to see Father Christmas (he does exist), I befriended a reindeer with one antler called Nobby. I paid for his upkeep for a year and got an ownership certificate. If you enjoyed the Chernobyl series on Sky, spare a thought for all the wildlife in Scandinavia, which caught the brunt of the radiation fall out. Another sad fact, there are no wild reindeer left in Scandinavia. Every single one is accounted for and tagged.

Which destination is top of your bucket list?

I’ve always wanted to cycle from New York to San Francisco, but apparently it is better the other way due to the prevailing wind, but it’s not same to end 6 weeks of pain in the East River rather than the Pacific Ocean.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

A hard question but I’ll say the new Kontiki Yacht experience around the Galapagos.

Where is your happy place?

In a large double bed with the family, watching an old Sophia Loren movie and Jennifer Lawrence whispering bed time stories in my ear.

Your most memorable travel experience?

Going on a moped tour of Lahore in Pakistan. Just the friendliest people and most exotic markets. Shame it’s ruined by internal strife.

Abi Tottenham-Smith – Head of Social Media

Three fun facts about yourself…

I am a big musical theatre fan and love nothing more than a cheesy musical. I have been dancing since I was a kid and still like to do classes and workshops every so often now to get my fix!

I have worked and lived in both Singapore and NYC for a few months each. Even though I have bought a flat in London and have a dog, I still have an urge to live somewhere else for a short period of time – anyone in NYC want to house swap?

I studied Fashion Marketing at university and always thought I wanted to get into the fashion industry – particularly mens fashion. After a short stint in the fashion industry and then the world of beauty, I moved into travel and couldn’t see myself anywhere else now!

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

I had a trip to South Africa booked to visit friends before lockdown which sadly got cancelled so I am desperate to re-arrange that as soon as possible! I am also craving a wilderness escape in Canada and it would be a dream to one day visit Bhutan – it sounds like a truly magical country and it still seems like it is relatively untouched by tourism.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

There are far too any and I had already mentioned in my previous interview that I was desperate to visit Sikelia, Trout Point Lodge and Petit St. Vincent but now on top of these I love the look of Hôtel Crillon le Brave in France, Villa La Madonna in Italy and Villa Geba in Montenegro.

Where is your happy place?

On Compton Beach in the Isle of Wight. I have been going there with my family since I was a child as my grandfather bought a small coastguard cottage on the island at an auction in the 1960s. My parents now rent it out during the summer but we try to go down as much as possible when its available. It’s the one place where you can truly relax, go on long beautiful walks, play board games by the fire and turn off from city life!

Your most memorable travel experience?

We arrived on a tiny island in the Philippines in the middle of the night and had to get to our accommodation on the opposite side of the island. We managed to find a lovely man who took us in his tuktuk – little did we know the roads meandered through thick woods and hovered over steep cliffs and our new pal was a maniac on the road… two hours later we arrived shaken but unscathed and hiked down to the little hut we had booked. We had no idea where we were or what the surroundings were like but woke up in the morning to the most incredible view over a river, in the middle of nowhere. We ended up staying there for three nights and enjoyed swimming in the river, hiking the cliffs and relaxing in the hammock (mostly psyching ourselves up to take the journey back again!)

Maddy Morgan – Director of PR Worldwide

Three fun facts about yourself…

I once went to circus school to learn how to be a trapeze artist.

In the 90s I was a clog dancing champion and went on tours of Europe and the US.

I have visited pretty much every corner of California – it’s my specialist subject.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

It’s not a destination so much as an experience – I would love to take an extended trip with my family and follow the sun and the surf around the world. No fixed agenda just pure freedom and the opportunity to take forest school to the next level for my kids!

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

Brazil has been on my wish list for a long time so Kenoa – Exclusive Beach Spa and Resort near Maceio is top of the list. It describes itself as an eco-chic design hotel where luxury is defined by earth given beauty – I feel relaxed just thinking about it!

Where is your happy place?

For me it’s Portugal – I spent a lot of time there growing up and then studied at university in Coimbra. I go at least once a year and love the fact that when I’m there I feel completely at home and not a tourist. The smell of pine trees will always be one of the most evocative scents for me and takes me straight back to hot summer days in Algarve.

Your most memorable travel experience?

I worked at an orphanage in rural Sarawak for a year when I was 18. The locals were incredibly generous taking us on trips to visit their families in nearby longhouses and including us in special occasions like weddings – it’s a cliché but there really is nothing like a totally immersive travel experience. One of them who I hadn’t seen for 20 years just sent me a video message out of the blue for my birthday in June which was the most amazing present. If I’m allowed a second one it would be filming on Alcatraz and being left alone in the cell block while the crew went outside to shoot the sunset. I’m not sure many people get to experience that and it was terrifying!

Dana O’Malley – PR Director Americas

Three fun facts about yourself…

I used to live three blocks from the White House.

I was on the field for an AC Milan v Chelsea match.

I’m half Trinidadian, half American (by way of Eastern Europe).

Which destination is top of your bucket list?

Japan has been on the top of my bucket list for a few years now and I’m determined to get there soon! I’ve always been infatuated by the culture and food, and can’t wait to explore the cities and further afield.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

I would love to visit Dar Ahlam in Morocco. It’s a very special retreat situated near the Moroccan desert which caters to your every whim.

Where is your happy place?

Anywhere with my husband! We’re always ready for an adventure and experiencing new things, especially with our young daughter in tow.

Your most memorable travel experience?

Pimalai Resort & Spa in Koh Lanta, Thailand holds a special place in my heart. We spent our honeymoon at the resort basking in the sun, enjoying private dinners on the beach and taking a boat tour to visit nearby islands.

Juliana Tan – PR Director Asia Pacific

Three fun facts about yourself…

I take care of Public Relations in Asia Pacific, and live on the sunny shores of Singapore.

During my free time, I enjoy photography and jewellery making.

I have recently taken up gardening too, inspired by the farm-to-table concept that I see at many SLH hotels.

Which destination is top of your bucket list?

North America! I have travelled to almost every part of Asia Pacific, but have not ventured to the Americas yet. I was supposed to visit this November, so that is definitely top of my list for 2021.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

I would like to go to Hacienda Zorita Wine Hotel & Organic Farm Hotel in Spain. I love to eat, and just reading up about the hotel makes me hungry – for their fine Spanish cuisine and culinary adventures at their organic farm and vineyard. I am especially looking forward to meeting their special residents who live in the 30-hectare evergreen oak tree forest – the indigenous Churra sheep, near extinct Verata goats and endangered woolly Mangalica pigs. The hotel is committed to preserving indigenous, rare and endangered species in the Duero Valley. If the place is good enough for Christopher Columbus (who reputedly once visited, restored and modernised the 14th-century Dominican monastery), Hacienda Zorita Wine Hotel & Organic Farm Hotel is definitely good enough for me to explore!

Where is your happy place?

Cliché as it sounds, the Kingdom of Bhutan warms the cockles of my heart. I was intrigued by a place which seems to have stood still in time, by their very colourful culture and historic architecture. Beyond The Tiger’s Nest and Dzongs, there’s so much more to explore in Bhutan, like staying in a farmhouse, making your own buckwheat noodles from scratch and ending the day with a hot stone bath (you can try a luxurious version at Gangtey Lodge and Bhutan Spirit Sanctuary). Most of all, the sincere and welcoming hearts of the people I met left the deepest impression, so much so I started to read up on the Kingdom after I returned home, and I am planning to go back again soon.

Your most memorable travel experience?

My first safari to Botswana was an eye-opener, literally. Being a city dweller, the concrete jungle with its gaudy lights, deafening noises and rushed footsteps were what I was used to. During the week I was on safari, I was greeted with glistening sunshine accented with the happy chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves as wildlife walked alongside. I learnt to stay still and just observe the animals, thoroughly enjoying the antics of the young. The entire experience enhanced my senses – by day three, I was able to clearly see the vast plains lit solely by the moonlight and interpret the calls and footsteps of wildlife; our safari guide (interestingly, his name was Fish) taught us well!

Jessica Sparkes – Head of Digital Performance

Three fun facts about yourself…

Recently, I reignited my love for musical theatre, completing a beginner course and singing ‘I dreamed a dream’ in the end show.

I have a little Maltipoo pup called Gus. We like to do tricks together, currently we are learning to dance.

I’ve tried every last minute holiday diet available.

Which destination is top of your bucket list?

Argentina Wine Trails, Cambodia and the Philippines.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

There are far too many to choose from! Finca Serena for the ultimate, European, countryside escape. Huvafen Fushi Maldives – you just need to view the hotel gallery to understand why! And Le Barthélemy Hotel & Spa because I absolutely love the Caribbean and this is another beautiful location to tick off my list.

Where is your happy place?

The minute I buckle up my seat belt on a plane out of here! The happiest of places is when I have my toes in the sand, face in sunshine and reading a book.

Your most memorable travel experience?

I did a sunrise climb of Mount Batur in Bali a couple of years ago. I had absolutely no idea what to expect and probably for the best. A pick up time of 2am, three hour trek in the thick darkness of the night with head torches and then climbing towards the top on my hands and knees! Once you have made it to the top of the volcano, you see the most incredible views across Indonesia with the sun rising over the horizon. There was also a guitarist singing “Hotel California” – such an incredible experience.

Laura Bizayi – Senior Digital Campaign Manager

Three fun facts about yourself…

I was born 11 weeks premature and weighed just the same as a bag of sugar.

I have a 6 month old Pomapoo called Luna, so we have the same initials (LB).

I once took part in the world’s biggest egg and spoon race at school.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

Maldives. Philippines. Mykonos. I’m more of a sun searcher, I admit.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

Kenoa – Exclusive Beach Spa & Resort. New to SLH and looks completely lush. I haven’t travelled to South America yet and this is the perfect excuse!

Where is your happy place?

Honestly, anywhere (mostly) abroad where I can appreciate the beauty, locality, food and culture of a destination. I genuinely love travelling, so my happy place changes. Besides this, anywhere with my Pomapoo puppy Luna, she’s my forever happy place.

Your most memorable travel experience?

I loved South Africa. I visited Cape Town and Johannesburg. The thing that topped South Africa as potentially my favourite holiday is the beauty – the driving routes are absolutely incredible (but scary, the cliff-edges terrified me every single day!), while Cape Town as a place is eye-opening, particularly post-apartheid, and more so since I was travelling with my husband who is African. I’m particularly happy we now have some new hotels in this destination, and would certainly go back and drive the Garden Route to see more of the country and visit The Cellars-Hohenort, The Plettenberg, and The Marine.

Sorry, I also have to mention Bali. We visited for our honeymoon so it’s got to be top of the list. Balinese hospitality is just so lovely and not like anything I’ve experienced before. We stayed at Viceroy Bali and it’s a true gem!

Jemima O’Lone – Digital Content & Design Manager

Three fun facts about yourself…

I used to be a chef and for the last six years I have made hand-painted cakes for weddings and events.

I adore skiing and winter tends to revolve around when and where I am going.

Like many others in my team, I love dogs and always have my eyes open for my own – I’ll know when the right one comes along.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

Bhutan for this once in a lifetime itinerary.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

Halcyon House for interiors and Dar Ahlam for the experience – apparently it is life changing.

Where is your happy place?

Meribel, France – where I lived for three winters. I try to visit every year and this year I was lucky enough to visit Le Coucou, a super stylish ski-in ski-out hotel. Look out for the beautiful mural of owls on the ceiling of the reception.

Your most memorable travel experience?

Touring the local cafés and eateries of Mumbai – my favourite city because it is so vibrant and full of life.  A must visit is Café Leopold, which is still littered with gunshot holes from the famous scene in the book Shantaram, unsuspecting Café Olympia where you will eat the most incredible food for £1 and Chowpatty beach for Pav Bhajis.

Chloe Frost-Smith – Digital Image & Content Executive

Three fun facts about yourself…

I was born in Hong Kong and spent my early childhood in Tokyo, Japan – my first holiday was to Bali when I was six weeks old (wish I could remember it!)

I studied Classics at university, which means I can read as many ancient languages as I can speak modern languages (in fact, I am probably more fluent in the ancient ones – useful, I know.)

I am an Advanced PADI scuba-diver and qualified shark specialist with dives logged all over the world, including the Maldives, Turks & Caicos islands, Saint Vincent & the Grenadines, Egypt, and Greece.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

It’s impossible to choose just one, so here are my top three:

Iceland – to ride ponies across black beaches with volcanic views.

Morocco – to shop the souks of Marrakech, and explore Chefchaouen (the Blue City) or Ouarzazate in the High Atlas Mountains, the gateway to the Sahara Desert.

Egypt – I still haven’t seen the pyramids (despite writing my dissertation on Cleopatra) and would love to take a trip down the Nile.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

It would have to be Castello di Reschio – I dream of watching the weekly dressage performances in their Teatro Equestre, and would love to ride around the ancient Umbrian estate, followed by making my own pizza in an authentic alfresco class. I would also love to experience the Wild West at one of our American ranches, Rawah Ranch and Riverview Ranch both look incredibly rustic and rugged. In fact, any of our horse riding hotels would top my wish list.

Where is your happy place?

Underwater, on a horse, or on the slopes in a pair of skis (or one if you catch me after après hours…) When I’m on dry land, I am happiest on the beach in Southwold sharing fish and chips with my boyfriend and our new family puppy, Truffle.

Your most memorable travel experience?

Spotting a mother bear and her cub from a chairlift while skiing with my sister in Whistler, coming across dolphins on a cliff-walk off the coast of Ireland with my boyfriend, watching the sun rise over the temples at Angkor Wat in Cambodia, taking part in the early morning alms-giving ceremony with the local monks in Luang Prabang, swimming with sea turtles in the Tobago Cays, milking a buffalo in Laos in an all-white outfit (this did not end well), a beachfront yoga session on Petit St. Vincent, and living out my Gertrude Bell fantasies horse riding across the desert in Morocco with my father – sorry, there are too many to choose from!

Becky Underwood – Senior Marketing Manager

Three fun facts about yourself…

At the age of 14, I completed a World Challenge expedition to Tanzania, which involved climbing to the summit of Mount Meru, roaming the safari plains of the Ngorongoro Crater, dancing with the Maasai whilst learning about their customs, and completing local community projects such as rebuilding a primary school. This was a transformative experience as we were totally immersed in the culture, living alongside the villagers.

I’ve always been fascinated by architecture and property design and hope to be able to build my own house one day, perhaps I’ll even make it on to Grand Designs. For the time being, I’m still on the hunt for the perfect plot of land!

Back in 2009, I was awarded by Nottingham University for a piece of research carried out on the tourism industry and turtle conservation. A whole eight years later I planned my first trip to Costa Rica and was able to experience turtle conversation in person in Tortuguero National Park. It was magical observing newly hatched turtles dig their way to the surface of the nests and scuttle across the beach to the surf of the sea.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

I love the thought of completely switching off and escaping to the rugged and captivating scenery of Norway with just a backpack. In summer I’d explore by rail, kayak or boat, taking in the colourful towns and waterfalls dotted along the Fjords. Come winter I’d cosy up in a boutique hotel in front of a log burner or fire, master a snowmobile and experience my first taste of reindeer!

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

It’s close to home, but The Fish Hotel in the Cotswolds has been on my to visit list for a long time. Perhaps it’s the child in me, but I am desperate to escape back-to-nature and relax in one of their quirky hill-side huts and treehouses. For me the perfect stay just wouldn’t be possible without a soak in the outdoor bath or hot tub. Plus, it’s impossible not to be intrigued by a hideaway hut named ‘Boaty McBoatface’, which comes with its own private lake and island.

Where is your happy place?

There’s something that soothes my soul when I’m by the British coast. The waterways, small inlets and little villages surrounding Chichester are close to my family home, so I often escape to Bosham and Emsworth. The Deck is a great little restaurant overlooking a working yacht harbour, where you can settle in for hours over fish and chips or a coffee and cake. Then swing by the fishmongers to pick up a catch of the day for dinner.

Your most memorable travel experience?

The views from Santorini will never leave my memory. Whether it was an early morning breakfast on our balcony, or a lazy afternoon dip in the infinity pool, I was never able to divert my gaze away from the view of the Aegean Sea. So much so we took the caldera-edge pathway walk to Oia, over rough trails, to admire the captivating sea view. A particular highlight was the sunset boat ride we took in a traditional sailing boat, a great way to enjoy nature’s spectacle and to escape the crowds.

Clive Ritchie – Design Consultant

Three fun facts about yourself…

I brew my own kombucha, play keys and can walk with my feet pointing backwards.

Which destination is top of your bucketlist?

The remote atolls of the Pacific.

The one SLH hotel you’d like to visit, and why?

Pacific Resort Aitutaki, Cook Islands – I’m fascinated by remote islands and this ticks all the boxes.

Where is your happy place?

The lakes behind a town called Sedgefield on the Garden Route, near Cape Town where I spent my summer holidays as a kid.

Your most memorable travel experience?

A few days of bliss anchored at Tobago Cays in the Southern Caribbean on a catamaran – snorkelling around the reef and exploring nearby islands.

The post Meet the SLH Marketing Team appeared first on Small Luxury Hotels.

from Small Luxury Hotels https://ift.tt/3iQCeDZ Publish First on

[dansphlevels]

part 6 of yellow roses?

Yellow Roses Pt. 6 of 6

Read part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here, or read the whole thing on Ao3 here!

Summary: Dan has a wife who just loves the flowers he keeps getting for her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know about the attractive florist who sends hidden messages with each bouquet that her husband might just be falling for.

Length: 2.1k words

Themes: historical, meaning of flowers, flowershop au, forbidden love

 Two days. 

 Dan had less than two days before Phil was moved to another prison, who knows how far away. Then it would surely be years before they ever saw each other again- if they saw each other again.

 Phil would be moved on Wednesday morning, the officer had said. That was Sunday afternoon, and now it was the next day, already afternoon, meaning in less than 36 hours he'd be gone. It wasn't enough time.  Dan rushed around like a madman, trying to hide his insanity from his wife and the workers, but failing miserably. He had lain in bed for hours, making hard choices. They was too much to do, too much to decide, but Dan did it. He couldn't procrastinate on this choice. Two bags, filled with basic food, clothes, and two hunting knives, though Dan wasn't sure what they might need them for. He had to be prepared for anything, and two bags were all he got.  A few days ago, if Dan were to look around his estate, he would see a lot of things of value. Expensive furniture, trinkets that had been in the family for generations, rare pieces that few others possessed. Now, he just saw them as /things/. And he had no room for them.  Two bags was far too small, but he had to be reasonable. He'd lived a life filled with measly possessions, and now he was choosing something far greater.  A few days ago, money was something Dan used without care. He all but threw it away; after all, he had far more than he needed. But now.... now he had to be careful. He had to make wise choices, and wisdom was never Dan's strong suit.  Dan went to the city, walking straight past the prison where he knew Phil was being held, and going to the bank. Afterwards, he rushed around a few shops, getting more of what was needed, possibly more than what could fit in the bags, but Dan was scared.  He was in the middle of a shop when he froze, and fear coursed through his veins. Horses. The estate and stable boy took his horses!  Well, it was too late now.  Despite his racing heart, Dan forced himself to sit and eat, watching the police station. It was small, with only one or two people watching prisoners at one time- and right now, there was only one prisoner to watch.  Oh Phil, Dan thought mournfully. What have they done to you? He could still picture his lover's face, covered in filth. This boy, this man, ever sweet and full of life, was reduced to a pile of rags on the floor. Dan wondered if Phil had managed to retain his sanity, sitting in that dark cell with no plants, nothing to tend to. Phil needed flowers to survive, and without them, Dan feared Phil would lose part of himself.  On his way out of the town, Dan went to the flower shop where Phil worked and asked to buy as many seeds as possible, from as many plants as possible. They gave him a strange look, but complied.  Back at the estate, Dan locked all of the doors to his chambers, and began to pack. Two bags was far too small. When he was just about done, Dan looked over and saw the book with the meanings of flowers, and wanted to sob. He looked at his bags. There was no room. He had to leave it.  The bags were hidden, and one more was retrieved. It was small and common, just big enough for what Dan needed; room for a frying pan, and some fabric. For the fabric, Dan got out one of the knives and tore his curtains into strips.  By then it was already past midnight, and Dan's heart raced. He needed his sleep.  But more than anything, he wanted Phil.

---

 Dan woke up late, but it didn't matter. He was done packing.  He allowed himself to go slowly; eating breakfast with his wife, whom he couldn't stop staring at. So many words needed to be said, but he couldn't say them, not here, not now.  He bathed, asking a maid to draw him the hottest, most luxurious bath possible. Lying among the suds and rose petals, the bath perfumed with rich lavender, Dan allowed himself a laugh. One last hurrah, a bath fit for a king! Then he could say goodbye to this life, once and for all.  Daniel walked among his gardens, carrying his meaning of flowers book freely.  "Mr. Howell, would you-" "Not now," he interrupted, not even looking up. "I'm busy."  He stayed in the gardens for hours. Dan was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and never was he supposed to drop his poise, never supposed to be anything but regal.  He barged into the kitchen- where he was not supposed to be, the kitchen was for servants only- and grabbed some food, whatever looked good. Some of the food being prepared was clearly for Rose, but Dan didn't care. He took what he wanted and went outside, lying in a patch of grass in the gardens and eating with his hands. The grass was so soft, he took a nap.  When he woke, the sun was just going down. Perfect. His stomach twisted, both in fear, and excitement. It was almost time.  Consulting the book of flowers, Dan went along and picked a few, enough for a sweet, but simple bouquet. He went to his chambers, and sat down, writing a note.  Then Dan sat on his bed and waited. ---- One hour until midnight- aka, Dan's cue to leave.  The workers were all in bed; so was Rose. She had wanted to sleep with him, but Dan told her he wanted nothing less.  "It's not you, it's me. I'm sick." He then coughed unenthusiastically. Rose wasn't convinced, but turned to leave.  "Wait!" Dan called out, and pulled her in for one last kiss. "You've been an excellent wife."  Though surprised, she kissed him back. "And you're an excellent husband. And someday, you'll be an excellent father."  "Good night, my Rose."  "I'll see you in the morning, my love."  But she wouldn't. Because when the clock struck eleven, Dan was climbing out his window, the three bags over his shoulder, a dark cloak covering his form.  "Goodbye," he whispered. --- It was late at night, though Phil didn't know how late. The cell was cold, and filthy, and the officer watching him was bland and boring, refusing to talk with him. He called him some awful names, all of which rolled off Phil's shoulders like dew drops off flower petals.  The officer currently read a book, and Phil half sat, half laid against the stone wall behind him.  He was half asleep when a door opened quietly from the outside, a stranger cloaked in black letting himself in.  "Hey, you're not-" The figure yanked something from their cloak and swung it in one swift move, hitting the officer and knocking him senseless. Moving quickly, the figure reached in a bag and pulled out strips of fabric, tying the unconscious officer.  Phil stood and ran towards the front of his cell, gripping the bars in his cold hands, completely silent in shock. Once the officer was completely restrained, the figure stood to his full height, kicking his weapon- was that a frying pan?- out of the way. He strode to Phil's cell, his confidence and power rolling off his black cloak in waves.  Phil stood straighter to meet him, his hands gripping the bars so hard they turned white.  The figure yanked his hood off, revealing soft curls the color of blackened coffee beans, pale pink skin, and these amazing brown eyes that Phil got stuck on. "Dan," he choked out.  "You didn't think I was going to leave you," Dan purred, his voice as soft as his curls. It was not a question, it was a statement.   Phil tried to maintain his ground, not completely loose his composure in front of him. "You said you didn't want me," he reminded, the words stinging just as much as the first time. "I gave you a choice, and you chose your wife."  And there was that pain again, that pain that Phil had been feeling for all of these lonely few days. Heartbreak. For Dan was the love of his life, but Phil had to come to terms with the idea that it may not have been mutual.  Dan looked at him like he was a madman. "Phil, I made a mistake! I was so afraid of losing everything that I'd ever had, so afraid of making the wrong choice!"  Phil tried to look unimpressed. "And?"  "And then I realized what I should really be afraid of. Phil... I missed you."  That's not good enough. That doesn't make up for what you put me through. There is no way you can possibly expect me to forgive you for using me, lying to me, getting me thrown in prison. I'd have to be out of my mind- "I missed you too." He whispered, so quiet Dan could barely hear it. So quiet he could barely hear it. Dan straightened, staring at Phil so intensely he almost backed away. But he didn't. Instead, Phil stared right back, just as firmly.  "You told me to make a choice," Dan breathed out. "And you are my choice. I will throw everything away for you, my things, my wife.... my life. Because without you, my life is empty." He inhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment. "Phil.... I want to run away with you. I want to marry you. But you have to choose me too."  Phil hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he exhaled. "Okay."  Dan waited.  "Yeah, okay," Phil said, completely devoid of words. "I chose you."  He gripped Dan's hands, and without any more words, they both leaned forwards so the sides of Phil's face were pressed against the cool metal bars, and they kissed. They weren't allowed. But it didn't matter, because they had made their choice.  Dan rummaged around the unconscious officer's pockets and retrieved the keys, unlocking Phil's cell and they embraced, just holding each other for a few extended moments. "I love you," Phil exhaled, his entire body choking up with fear of what they were about to do. This was real, so real, and he couldn't be more terrified.  "I love you too," Dan whispered. "Come on, we have to hurry. I have a bag for you."  He handed it, along with another dark cloak to Phil, who put them on quickly. "Shall we go?"  They left into the night, sneaking through the sleeping town wordlessly and slipping into the woods. Dan knew of a man who lived on the edge of the town and owned horses. They would steal them, but for now they traveled on foot, going as fast as they dared through the forest.  But it was okay. Because they were together, and as long as they had each other, they would manage. --- No one dared break down the door until the next afternoon, already late. If Dan had fallen ill or had been injured, then he needed help. Instead, the found an empty bedroom.  Rose's eyes darted to a letter on the nightstand. She picked it up in one shaking hand, and read.  Rose- I've spent my life playing by rules set out for me. Always, I've made the choice I was supposed to, even if it wasn't what I knew I really wanted. And now, for once, I've decided to follow my heart.  I won't tell you where I've gone, for I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. I will say that I did care for you. Truly, I did, and I regret leaving you, but if I am to have peace it can't be here. I've left you the house and most of my fortune.  And Rose- I want you to tell everyone that I died. People know that I was ill, tell them that it killed me. That way, you can take claim to everything I left for you, and you can move on. Marry again. I pray that you will find someone better than I, and will fulfill your dream of having children with them.  If you still don't know where I went after reading this, then just take a look at my nightstand. Take care of yourself.  -DanRose stumbled backwards, nearly fainting if not for a servant who caught her. "Call the doctor!" the maid cried out, other servants rushing to help Rose up.  She folded the note in her trembling hands, seeing spots.  "Get the smelling salts!"  If you still don't know where I went after reading this, then just take a look at my nightstand. On it, besides where the letter had lain was a vase, delicately placed on top of a bound book entitled "The Meaning Of Flowers." Inside the vase was a dozen.

  Yellow.

  Roses.

[dunmerofskyrim]

18

Strange. I don’t think there was one mer among us not scared half to death and nerves shot to shaking by what we faced at the gatehouse. Neither those on the walls and able to fight, nor those yet to climb them, helpless outside.

The Morrowind natives among us in particular faced something awful. These corpsewalkers had no necromancy behind them. Nothing to hate except that they made us fear them. Only something gone wrong in the nature of things. The souls of those who ought to’ve been ancestors to someone, caught instead in their bodies, with parch and rot both fighting to claim them. Patrolling their old watches, mindless. Lying dormant til something came near — life to envy, interruptions to rage at, who can say?

As individuals we each had the salt shocked out of us. But as a group our survival emboldened us. A sigh of relief through us all, soundless but sole in its meaning: still alive, still alive. Tammunei did that. As they did back in Bodram, so they’d done now.

The air reeked of burning. Cloth and hair and bone. Smoldering paper. Preserved by the souls inside them but otherwise gone to husks, the flesh of these things had ceased to be flesh. A small mercy. None of the usual meat and fat stench as they burnt.

Bones and weeds in the courtyard. Mushrooms trod under our feet as we regrouped.

A second turret of bitter smoke poured up from the tower staircase I’d set ablaze. With shaking hands I searched my satchels and came out with a scrap of dried root. Pale pink guljana – manpaw, creeproot – to still the spent ache in my belly. I slipped it into my mouth and began to chew. First the tannic taste of overbrewed tea. Next would come a heaviness in my limbs, something between wading in water, or trying to run from a nightmare. But it would stem the sick hollow feeling of drawing on my body’s magicka deeper than I ought to have. I had no better recourse.

I was bruised and battered. Something had scratched me close to my temple. A line of blood had gone to crust, drying down the side of my face. The first corpse I fought had got its claws into my side, tearing tattered a patch of my aketon, but sparing the shirts and skin beneath. And that was another larger mercy all its own. Any fleshwound got from those things’ teeth or claws would go sour, sure as anything.

“Thank you…” I croaked, voice scorched and coming out black. “Thank you.” My feet began to pace.

All around me a chaos of voices, murmuring. Who was hurt? Take this, here, take it, it’ll help. My brother, have you seen my brother, blue eyed, can’t miss him, have you seen—? Someone was crying. A high thin ceaseless sound like a baby’s wail in a full-grown throat, no regard for breath except when a new sob tried to start but pulled on empty lungs.

No warriors, these, I reminded myself. It couldn’t be helped. And this had been both kinder and crueler than any skirmish against the living.

Spent but restless, I paced. My eyes veered, fixed on one soot-stained grubby nerve-drawn face, then the next, and then the next. It might’ve looked like concern. Some might’ve expected that of me as Tammunei’s second. The one with a mind to keeping us fed, watered, safe. Whose thoughts were on every banal and needful thing that would keep the lot of us living. Tammunei’s mind was ever a day ahead of us, always in Vvardenfell, pressing on and onward. Live too much in the future, or dwell too much in the past, your thoughts cease to think, and turn instead to dreams.

One face I saw had blue eyes. Strange in a Dunmer. That was a third mercy. Somehow it made things better.

“Your brother!” I called out, raising my voice as best I could. “Here, your brother!”

The bathwater was warm. Its surface shone in slicks and whorls and its steam rose nut-like sweet with apricot oil.

He’d seen the trees as the sun set last night. They were everywhere in Oudabridge, anywhere they could force roots into the dust. At least he’d assumed they were apricot trees. It was almost Winter and their limbs held no fruit. But the cornerclub itself had three such trees in its narrow walled grove of a garden. No fruit perhaps, but the oil from their kernels went in most everything they cooked. Why shouldn’t it be in their bathwater too?

Simra leaned backwards, sinking himself to the tip of his chin and curling his legs and back to fit the short oval tub. Scent and heat, the smooth and soothing slickness of the oil as it soaked into his skin. It had all been pleasant for the time it took to blink twice, but quick enough it had turned to guilt, and guilt turned all the rest with it. What was it the Nords said about bad apples and barrels? One tainted with rot will sour the whole lot.

His skin prickled now, thick and gelid, like his bones had gone soft while his muscles stayed tense. A glowering pain nestled at the front of his head, between and just above his brows. A hangover that felt like a third eye opening, just as in the old Sixth House stories. Simra grimaced, disappointed. He’d not been drunk, not by a long way. If he’d known he’d wake up feeling this way, he’d have gone the whole distance and earnt it.

“And how much more’d that cost you, hm?” His breath troubled the water’s surface as he muttered. “Four shils more? Five?” Simra kissed his teeth. “Done enough damage already. To yourself and your purse.”

He’d wanted comfort. A change from the plains, the yurt, the hard ground beneath its floorcloth and his bundled up mantle for a pillow. Not luxury, just a chance to stop feeling like an animal. It wasn’t excess. In the greater scheme of things it didn’t come close. But sixteen shils, a redware yera, a piece each of Imperial copper and silver, spent in a night and morning on nothing that would last — it felt like excess all the same.

“Feel better if you’d got something solid, would you? Real and needful and lasting? Fuck off.”

Sword, boots, a new bag or book, a coat for the cold — Simra knew it would make no difference if he’d spent the same on them. It would still set his upbringing a-clamour inside him. A sick and stomach-fallen feeling that had made his bed seem rough and hard, and this bath feel like being a piece of hardybread soaked to soften in broth.

The numbers moved and changed in his head, unwanted and unprompted. Coins flowing in and out of Imperial, never staying long, but always passing through. Three drakes to the shil and seven drakes on the penny. Two shils on the penny with some sliver of loss meant twenty-four to the shilling, but not if you counted those slivers, like you always ought if you’re clever… Thirty-two shils, then, to a shilling, on a good day, in a fair exchange.

For two weeks a shilling could feed a family of four and leave scraps still for rainy days. All the more scraps for a family of three. That was his mother’s reckoning. The first part came of shrewdness and thrift, the second part from pain. If he had it figured right, he’d spent a third again more than that. Not luxury, he’d told himself, but now it came as a question. Not luxury? Back home it would be. Back home it was good food, meat, a ways towards rent for the month or stores for the Winter.

The sound he made was part sigh but the rest was a growl of disgust. Up from the water, Simra heaved himself dripping, both arms braced to the sides of the tub. He grimaced as his bruises complained. Newer knocks and pains. The old aches spoke up too, down his back and across his shoulders: a tightness that only came open by tearing. The scars at least were silent, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Cold the stone floor under his feet, even through the rushes. He soaked them as he stepped from the bath. The lingering bitter-white scent of leech-lily soap. Together with the cornerclub’s apricot oil, the distant rainstorm smell of boiled riverwater, they filled the small room to its rough-plastered walls.

Steam fogged the tiny diamond of polished steel that Simra had set on the nightstand. Better that way for now, he reckoned, and pushed back the dripping white weight of his hair. Clothed to the collarbones – or in a mirror the size of his hand – he was marked enough already.

The deep scar through his lips, from nose to chin. The tear straight down through his right ear’s lobe, ragged and stupid. The shallow horizontal on the left side of his throat, too, if he wore no scarf. The twinned stars on either side of the muscle between neck and shoulder, one where the arrow went in and another where Kjeld had pushed it out.

But naked, bared down to bones and dove-grey skin, there was no escaping the rest. Arms and shoulders, forearms, ribs. One wide stripe on the side of his thigh, like the growth-marks on Gitur’s hips…

“Ghosts and bones,” Simra muttered, swearing as his body remembered back to Windhelm, the parlour under the Grey Quarter, the bedding-down musk of soft pelts. A testing flex of feeling, as mixed as every scar. But better he dwelt on that than the torn ear…

Simra dried himself with a sheet of kreshcloth, folded beside the tub. He mussed his hair from soaked to simple damp. Wrapped his loins and feet, then stepped and struggled into his leggings. Again his shoulders complained. No quiet tightness now, but a sharp insist of pain. Lips gone into a crooked snarl, teeth all grit together, Simra let go a hiss.

He sat down hard on the bed, hating that he had to. Old, he thought. That was how it felt. Old already. It hurt to reach out to the nightstand. Hurt worse to turn his head and see. He shuffled at the hips instead, to look and grope for his bandages.

Without them, bare, his right hand was a mess. He looked down, grim-curious, to watch as its fingers flexed. Index and thumb as normal, but the outer three were pale and bloodless, skin cured tight. Ropes of scar knotted round their knuckles, ugly back and ugly palm. The tendons stood out rigid in a squall of silver seams that spread like lightning along the heel of his hand and towards the wrist. A whole hand, true, but it didn’t feel his own. Something stolen instead — broken, then borrowed back.

Simra wrapped it, covered it, everything up to the second knuckles of his corpse-pale fingers and the nails on them that never grew. It was awkward, clumsy left handed, but he was well practiced by now. Well-used to that, as much as to the looks of confusion, the quick glance down, that came with the name he’d made for himself, then half-glad left behind.

“Seven-Fingers…” He snorted. Another thing he’d traded in, all part of the price he’d paid. Another reputation gone all but cold and a new one in need of making.

Shirts, jacket, bags. Simra finished dressing. With kohl-lined eyes and goatskin mantle tossed back over one shoulder like a dandy’s cape, he stepped into the cornerclub’s courtyard, sack on his back and satchel at his side.

A triangle of paving slabs surrounded another of dirt. Bare-armed apricot shrubs, and a spray-limbed pomegranate tree, limbs weighted and red with fruit against the drab white sky.

[not-your-everyday-smol]

The Witch and the Borrowers

Chapter 1

“We’re running out of food, Cynthia. There’s hardly anything left!” Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair. “I know. I’ll have to go out tonight. There’s obviously not enough coming from the crumbs, so I’ll just have to go directly to the kitchen this time.” They both knew the dangers of being in the kitchen. That place was a trap waiting to snatch them up. She knew she couldn’t afford getting caught and couldn’t take any chances. She’d gone out plenty of times, but that didn’t make her any less wary.

Being only 4 inches tall doesn’t leave much room for error. As a result, the two siblings living together had trained their senses to notice anything possibly dangerous lurking in the shadows. It also didn’t help that the human in the house was a witch. It was a relatively small place on the edge of the woods. Neither Cynthia nor Logan would ever dare venture outside, lest they encounter any bugs, wild animals, or storms. No, being inside the cozy home was a much better option than being out there. That didn’t mean it was easy or any less terrifying. A normal human was bad enough, but a witch? Who knows what horrible things she’d do if she got her hands on them.

“Be careful. I’d go out with you, but one of us should stay here, just in case,” Logan said. “Yeah, right. You’re just too scared to go out.” She gave him a disapproving look. “Aren’t you?!” He retorted. Of course she was. In all honesty, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her pile of cloth and stay there forever. But, that’s not living. No matter how much she hated their constant fear of the huge and daunting world, it was still life, and she still had her brother to look out for. Instead of answering truthfully, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and put on a smirk. “Me? Scared? Psh, I’m not scared of anything.” Logan shook his head in response, but dawned a small smile in return. Seeing that her efforts payed off to get him more relaxed, she got up from a small wooden block and grabbed her bag. “I’m gonna go check all of my tools to prepare for the trip. You get some rest or go work on something. We could always use more clothes, or maybe new tools.”

The living space in the walls they shared was decently spacious. Their rooms sat at the opposite ends for privacy, with curtains in place of doors. Logan didn’t keep too many things in his room. He loved to draw so there was a smooth stone for a portable desk and paper scraps. He usually used either pencil lead or paint on his works. Living with a witch did have some perks. For one, she loved plants, and they were all over the house. Great for cover and climbing. Secondly, she took to drawing as well. Sometimes it was for sigils. Other times, it was purely for the sake of creating her pieces. Logan’s trips outside the walls allowed him to catch glimpses of her art and he loved it. Her technique was so flawless and her paintings came to life. Her sketches alone were wonderful. While he was terrified of her, he could appreciate good art when he saw it.

Cynthia’s room, however, was filled with materials and miscellaneous things. There were small bits of colorful crystals in a pile in one corner. Her pile of cloth for the makeshift bed was in another. And then there was a pile of clothes. Lastly, there was a pile of anything and everything, from hair ties, to safety pins, to earrings. Most of that pile was for climbing aid and other contraptions she could come up with.

Between the two rooms was an open space that held a shelving system for the food they could find, a tea candle, a small plastic container filled with water, matches, and a kind of table with different seats. The table was used for eating as much as it was used for crafting. The jar held the water for their drinking and bathing purposes. Though, bathing was more so using some water on the dirtiest areas and soap they’d scavenged. They made do with what they had.

After checking the knots tied to her climbing gear and making sure there were no holes in her bag, she began to devise her route. While it may seem like one could just go out and wing it, she didn’t have the luxury of thinking that way. Every turn and climb had to be mapped out to find the route with the least open areas and most coverage. The general plan would be to use the plants and pots as hiding spots, along with ducking behind any crystals nearby. She’d make sure to stay out of the hallways and try to avoid counters. Though, she’d have to be extra careful in case the human decided to use one of the objects Cynthia happened to be using for cover.

After everything was planned and she knew what she’d have to get, she took in a deep breath. “It’s okay. Everything will go fine. In and out, that’s it. Safe as can be.” Trying to convince oneself wasn’t easy and, quite frankly, didn’t work as much as she would’ve liked. Standing up, she grabbed her supplies and put them delicately in her bag before going to Logan’s room. Knocking on the side of the opening, she waited patiently. “You can come in.” They always respected each other’s privacy to the best of their abilities. While they were brother and sister, it wasn’t like a usual human relationship. They didn’t fight much or roughhouse. It was just the two of them, so they were very close, almost like a team. What one lacked, the other made up for. “I’m gonna head out, okay?” He looked up from his paper, but didn’t look at her. Even though he was the older sibling, she took over that role most of the time. He’d always been confident and strong, they both had, but he relied on her. She could always be counted on to make him feel better, do things for him that he wasn’t comfortable doing himself, like going out scavenging.

“Logan. It’ll be fine. I’ve done this plenty of times before! I’ll be as quick as a cockroach.” She put on her best smile, trying to ease his worries. Noticing the effort, he looked up and smiled back. “Do you think we could get some cheese this time? I don’t want you risking your life for it at all. But, maybe if she’s left out the block again?” Also like the witch, he loved cheese and rarely got it. In all honesty, they had a lot in common. The major difference was obviously their size. ‘If only we were big too, ’ Cynthia thought, ‘They’d probably be really good friends.’ In all honesty, the giant was really cute, but she’d never admit that to anyone, even herself. “Of course we can. I expect to see some great art when I come back,” and with a wink, she left the room.

Steeling herself at the opening to their home, she pushed the piece of stone, serving as their front door, out of the way. After putting it back, she started her long journey through the walls, jumping from nail to nail and shuffling across small ledges in complete darkness. It most definitely wasn’t for the faint of heart. Eventually, she made it to the closest opening that lead directly to the kitchen. Carefully peaking outside of the wallpaper, she detected no sign of movement and couldn’t hear anything. “So far, so good,” she told herself. As fast and softly as possible, she ran across the hallway. Milliseconds seemed like minutes as she remained out in the open, vulnerable and unable to hide. Reaching the opposite side, she didn’t stop to take a breather, instead opting to start her climb. There were vines growing from the floor and onto the walls throughout the house, accompanying all of the other plant life in the place. It was easier to use than a rope because of the footholds, so she made it to the counter in record speed.

'Please let there be cheese out,’ she hoped. Looking over the entire area, she spotted on the other counter, a block of yellow cheese and some slices to the side. “Yes!” Cynthia cried out in joy. In an instant, she covered up her mouth and held her breath. Nothing changed. Relieved, but more aware, she began her path to the dairy goodness. On the way, she picked up a few things they were in need of- sugar, salt, crackers, herbs, etc. There were some small puddles of clear water near the sink, so a jar or two were filled. After arriving, she wrapped up enough cheese to fill them up that night, but small enough to go unnoticed by the giant. “A job well done, if I do say so myself.” She smirked.

Not a moment later, footsteps could be heard. They were heading straight for the kitchen. The smile dropped from her face and she looked around for the best hiding spot. Deciding on hiding behind a small succulent plant, she darted towards it. 'Please, please, please don’t let her see me. Oh god, what if she does.’ Her small face went white with fear. 'No! No, I can’t think like that. It’ll be fine.’ Her thoughts all dissipated the moment of the human’s arrival.

With a yawn, Lily rubbed her eyes tiredly. 'I wonder what time it is?’ She wondered. The kitchen was lit up only by the moon, casting its white light through the window. The room was almost blue, and quite comforting. Sighing, she looked at the clock. “3am? No wonder I’m so exhausted.” With a flick of her wrist, a few candles were set aflame. She walked over to the large walk-in pantry and looked inside. “Please tell me I have some left.” A moment went by. “Aha! There you are!” Pulling out a nearly-empty jar of lavender, she walked over to the stove. After setting a pot of water on top to boil she leaned against the counter. “Shoot! I forgot to put the cheese away!” In her sleepy state, she was completely unaware of the tiny person not a foot away, hiding behind the plant.

Poor Cynthia’s heart was beating erratically. She thought she was about to be discovered when the witch had rested against the counter. Her mind was a scattered mess, her brain turned to mush, her heart thumping away, her body filled with adrenaline. When Lily had noticed the cheese and moved away, she had reminded herself to take a deep breath. Everything was okay, and she would be just fine. At least, that’s what she failed to convince herself. She waited patiently as the giant put away the food and returned to her previous position. Both were completely silent when a white moth flew through the window. 'Poor thing, ’ Cynthia thought, 'it’ll die here.’ She knew what happened to pests. All of her kind did. That’s what they all feared would happen to themselves.

Fluttering about the wide space, the moth went a long its merry way, not knowing that it had gone inside of a house. Lily watched it fly in. 'How beautiful.’ It’s small, fragile wings were lit by the moon. It looked like a white fairy as it flitted about. She reached out her pointer finger and it landed. Bringing it close, she whispered, 'May you live a long and fruitful life, little one,’ before letting it go out the window with a smile on her face and a glimmer in her green eyes. She heard the popping of bubbles from the boiling water and put out the fire before making herself some lavender tea. “Let this tea bring tranquility and a restful nights sleep,” she spoke aloud.

Cynthia was stunned. Not from the blessing put on the tea, that was common. No, she was shocked from the witch’s reaction to the moth. Why was she so kind to it? Isn’t it nothing more than a pest to be rid of? Confusion clouded her mind. 'If she’s so kind to small bugs like that, maybe she’s not so bad after all.’ Of course, that wouldn’t mean Cynthia would reveal herself. Maybe just make her a little less frightened. Only a little.

“Do you need anything else?”

Silence. After those words, the house was completely quiet. The question that floated in the air wasn’t directed at anyone, was it? Who’s she talking to? Maybe the moth is back? Looking at the window, there was nothing. A breeze hadn’t even come through the small opening. Even more confused, she decided to peak her head just slightly out to see who the witch was looking at. Turns out, the witch was looking at her.

Panic. Terror. Those were the only two things Cynthia could feel. 'How did she know I was here?! Why is she just looking at me and not grabbing me?! Maybe she’s drawing it out because she feeds on fear? Oh god. I’m going to die. She’s going to crush me and use my bones and blood for a spell. She’s going to torture me. What if she burns me?! How do I know she doesn’t want to eat me?!’ She couldn’t move. Time had slowed to a stop and she couldn’t breathe. 'This is it. This is the end. I’m so sorry Logan.’

Noticing the aura around the tiny person, Lily knew she had probably chosen the wrong time to reveal her knowledge of her existence. However, she knows she has to work with what she’s created. “I’d tell you not to be afraid but I think that won’t change anything. If it helps, I’ve known about you and the other boy for some time now. I haven’t done anything to either of you even though I knew. Does that help at all?” No response. “I know how you’re feeling right now because I’m an empath. But please, don’t take me for face value. I know I’m big to you, but I can’t change who I am, can I? Just like you can’t.” Still, the girl was frozen. “Please say something. I’m sorry for scaring you, I really am. I just thought we could be friends. I get lonely out here sometimes and I always perk up when you come out of the walls.”

The words began to register in Cynthia’s mind. The only thing she could manage to get out was a simple, “W-what?” She was honestly, truly dumbfounded. Terrified still, but thoroughly shocked. That one word brought a smile to the giant’s face. In all truthfulness, the witch looked quite friendly. Everything she had said was to calm Cynthia down and she hadn’t reached for her once. It could all be a trick, but no matter what, the other outcomes wouldn’t be great. If she was faking it, then the poor girl would have no chance of escape anyways. She could only trust that the presented expression wasn’t a falsehood.

“I don’t know what you thought I might do to you, but I promise on my life that I would never intentionally hurt you or anyone else. I’m not a bad witch and I don’t hex people. I use my magick for all good things! And when I’m being lazy, but that’s beside the point.” She chuckled. It was a comforting sound, putting Cynthia a little less on edge. Noticing the improvement, Lily continued, “My name’s Lily. It’s nice to meet you.” Taking the risk, she extended a finger out for the girl to shake.

Seeing the approaching hand, she jumped back with a cry, “NO! DON’T GRAB ME!” Her eyes were squeezed shut, waiting for the inevitable. After a few seconds had gone by, nothing had happened. Slowly bringing her arms down and opening her eyes, she saw a finger in front. It wasn’t moving, just staying there. She looked up at the owner of the hand to find a sad smile. Taking a few more seconds, she breathed in deeply, held her breath, and grabbed the fingertip. It moved up and down slightly before retreating, so she let out the breath and sat down. “You… you don’t want to grab me and out me in a jar?”

Lily felt saddened by the reaction she had gotten out of Cynthia. Either something happened in her past, or it was one of her greatest fears. She hoped it was only the latter. “Why would I? You may be a fraction of my size, but that doesn’t make you any less of a person. I’ll admit that there are a lot of bad people in the world who would love to get ahold of someone like you for a variety of reasons, but you can relax because I’m not one of them. Now, back to my first question, do you need anything else? Any food or supplies I can get you?”

Cynthia couldn’t believe her ears. The witch knew of her AND Logan, yet she never did anything. To add to that, she hadn’t grabbed, and now she was offering food to her?! She can’t decide whether this is a nightmare or a dream come true. “U-um. I think I’ve got everything I need. T-thank you.” Earning a polite nod from the giant-no, from Lily, she decided to introduce herself. “My name’s Cynthia, and the boy is my brother, Logan.” Gathering up the courage, she asked,“Would it be okay if I could go home now?”

Lily sighed, “Cynthia, I’m not trapping you or keeping you hostage. You can come and go whenever you’d like. Try and think of yourself as my roommate! We both live here, and that means you can go wherever you want here. Even my bedroom, if you really want. Just… let me know where you are. I’m always careful, but I don’t want to slip up by accident.” She hoped to see Cynthia again, so she added, “Actually, why don’t you come to the table tomorrow for dinner? The one in the living room. And you can bring your brother as well! I’ll have a nice meal planned for the three of us!” She knew it was asking a lot, but she waited so long to actually meet them, face to face.

“Uh…I’ll…um… I’ll see if we can make it. The best I can guarantee is bringing myself. I’m not sure how Logan will react.” Lily seemed to brighten at the assurance of her presence for dinner. “Is there anything he likes? I’ll bring it as a gift… or as a peace offering? To show that I really mean no harm!” Thinking for a moment, Cynthia responded, “Well, he loves art and cheese. He’s always wanted to paint, like you, but he only ever had paper scraps and pencil lead.“ The witch was practically glowing after hearing about the common interests. "That settles it! I’ll bring a journal for his sketches, along with paint and brushes.” Cynthia wondered if Lily realized that there’s no way Logan would be able to use her own huge tools, but decided to gloss over that fact. “Well, I’ll see you later then.” She said with a wave.

“Looking forward to it!” Lily was full of joy as she waved all the candles to go out before returning to her room. It hadn’t gone as smoothly as she hoped, but she was honestly too thrilled for the next night to care. As she tucked into bed, she drifted into a restful sleep.

Hey everyone! Sooo you know how in my blog description, I mention that I sometimes draw and on the rare occasion, write? Welp, here’s that rare occasion! A story introducing three sparkly, new OC’s! Lily, my lovely witch; Logan, my tiny artist and cheese enthusiast; and Cynthia, my brave younger sister to Logan (who takes on more of an older sister role). I might have detailed character descriptions and drawings in the future, but who knows!

[angryschnauzer]

Taking In Strays - Chapter 11 (Final)

Fic Summary:  Emily Embers is at rock bottom, doing what she can to care for her son after the death of her husband. A fall on an icy street finds her in the arms of Steve Rogers, who offers her some assistance that she gratefully accepts, but little does Steve know just how deep he will have to get himself into someone else’s world in order to save them. Chapter Summary: Its time for Emily to come home. Warnings: None  Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Taking in Strays – Chapter 11

Present Day

Steve and Bucky made it back to the tower with Mickey in record time, rushing straight to Tony’s lab and bypassing the daycare centre. Swiping their passes against the electronic reader they were surprised to be greeted with a red LED light and a dull beep signalling that they weren’t allowed access. Banging their fists on the windows got Tony’s attention, and they watched as he rushed to the door and released it from the inside;

“Sorry about that, we’ve deactivated the entry system to deny access to any onlookers; we don’t want any more missing people”

They followed Tony across the lab and into his office, greeting Thor and were surprised to find a number of other people standing around; Loki, Wanda, Johnny and Vision.

“What’s everyone else doing here?” Steve asked, confused as to why so many people were in the room.

“We figured out what went wrong with it last time...” he paused as Steve waited expectantly; “There were so many other factors involved, Loki and Wanda’s magic, Vision’s stone, even Johnny’s flame increased the temperature in the room and that affected the polarity. We did a test run this morning and it all worked fine”

He was interrupted by Scott arriving, fully kitted out in his Ant Man costume, but pulling a vintage looking suit over the top of it. The next few minutes were tense, Tony running through the instructions for everyone, telling Steve he needed to stay in the office with Mickey and Bucky for their own safety. As the portal kicked into life and Scott prepared to venture through again all Steve could do was hold his breath, staring at the swirling vortex in the centre of the room with the desperate hope of seeing Emily again at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about how dangerous it would be for her to travel through the portal, feeling guilty for wanting her back with him when the first and foremost reason she needed to return was sitting on the couch in Tony’s office; Mickey. He needed his mother and although he was young in years he was already aware she’d been gone.

Steve cast his mind back to each time he’d collected Mickey from daycare over the last two weeks, how each time Mickey had come running into his arms with a smile on his face, but the first thing he’d said each time was ‘Mamma?’. It had taken all of Steve’s strength to swallow that lump in his throat to enable him to reply, to tell the young child that she would be back soon but not believing his own words.

That same lump had stayed in Steve’s throat each and every night, and after he’d put Mickey to bed he’d sought the solitude of his own bedroom for an hour, slumped against the wall as he let the tears fall down his cheeks until exhaustion took over and he crawled back into Emily’s bed, comforted by her fading scent on the pillows, longing for her touch and reassurance.

~*~

New York 1941

Steve and Emily had returned to bed for the rest of the morning, surprised to have found a note from Bucky on the kitchen table saying he’d swing by later in the day. Their conversations had moved towards the inevitable; Emily expressing her desire to head home soon, but at the same time not wanting to leave Steve on his own again.

“Its fine... Deep down i wish you could stay, but you have a life elsewhere” he’d said, his voice wavering slightly

“Steve, I have loved my time here with you, learning about how things were before you...”

Emily caught herself before she was about to say ‘experimented on’, ‘got frozen in time’, ‘lost everyone you ever loved’, instead she smiled, swallowing back the lump in her throat as he looked expectantly at her.

“Before i what?”

“Before you... joined the army”

He scoffed for a moment;

“Me? In the Army? They wouldn’t accept me even if i tried to sign up”

“Trust me. Persevere at it, the one thing you need to do is join the Army, fight for what’s right... its what makes you, you”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek before resting her head on his chest, hearing the familiar rattle of his lungs as his Asthma threatened to rear its head. The low rumble of his voice made her look up;

“I... I have to collect my paycheck from the hospital today... but if you wanted... you know, only if you wanted to...”

“What is it Steve?”

“Would you like to go dancing with me tonight?”

“I’d love to!”

Soon it became time for Steve to leave, Emily insisting she didn’t need to go with him and would instead stay at the apartment to tidy. As she kissed him goodbye she felt the first lurch of her stomach, rushing to the bathroom to vomit.

When her stomach was finally empty she rinsed her mouth with water before looking in the mirror, remembering when she was pregnant with Mickey that the morning sickness had started almost immediately after conception as the new hormones surged through her body and overwhelmed her senses. Looking down at her stomach she pressed her hand against it; it was too early to feel anything yet the comfort she felt knowing she held a little piece of her and Steve within her made the tears fall from her eyes.

Soon she felt her emotions start to level out and decided to run herself a bath, enjoying the warm water as it eased the aches of their rather energetic lovemaking. Soaping her body off she only pulled her body from the old tub once the water had cooled. She spent her time leisurely getting ready, having no responsibilities on where she needed to be a relative luxury for someone that had spent a large portion of her adult life dedicating it to the lives of others.

Emily looked in the mirror and smiled, finally having been able to master the tricky pinned curls that seemed to be the era’s style, smoothing down her dress as she admired the way the old relic had come alive again after her skilled needlework. The rich red fabric adding to her pregnancy ‘glow’ that she’d already developed, the swell of her breasts now only comfortable in her modern day bra she’d been wearing when she had first been sucked through the portal. Giving a final twirl in front of the mirror a quiet knock at the door startled her, pausing her mid spin before it came again;

“Emily?”

She recognised the quiet voice, rushing to the door and peering out from behind the little curtain that covered the window, seeing Scott standing on the other side. Pulling the door open she felt her heart sink;

“You’re here”

“I am”

“Its time then”

He nodded, pulling at his tie where it constricted around his neck, the collar of his Ant Man suit just visible;

“You sound like you don’t want to go”

She looked down, biting her lip;

“I had wanted to say goodbye to Steve first”

He coughed before looking up at her;

“We’ve got a few minutes, we can wait if you like?”

She nodded and ushered him into the apartment, closing the door behind them before she felt the first tear roll down her cheek. Before she knew it she felt his arms around her, his hand stroking her hair to comfort her;

“Shhh... its ok” he looked down at her with a optimistic smile; “Do you have anything you need to take back with you? Any modern stuff that could disrupt the space time continuum”

Emily laughed at the reference;

“I’m not Marty McFly”

“No, you’re not. But you are going back to the future... and we don’t need roads where we’re going”

“Where are we going?”

“The roof. Stark adjusted the portal location so it wouldn’t be spotted”

Emily simply nodded, the realisation that she was going home, that she would see Mickey finally setting in. Moving quickly around the apartment she gathered her things; her keys and phone that she’d had with her, her modern day clothing. She found a clean grocery bag to put it all in, slowly folding the brown paper over at the top when she was finished, pausing to look at the door hopefully.

“Emily... we really should be going”

Scott urged her, not wanting to share the private conversation he’d had with Tony the night before, that if they didn’t come back before the portal closed there was a chance they’d both be stuck in 1941.

Emily nodded, opening her purse and pulling out the remaining cash she had left, leaving it in the small dish on the table, hoping it would help Steve as he struggled to find a regular job. It wasn’t much by modern standards but it would be enough to pay his rent for a couple of months. Grabbing the bag she made her way to the door, stepping out onto the wooden staircase with Scott before she closed the door, making sure it was shut firmly. She felt his hand on her arm, urging her to hurry as he led the way to the stairs to the roof. As she took the first step she heard the voice she’d wanted to hear;

“Emily?”

Turning she saw Steve standing on the flight below, his key in his hand as he looked up to her and Scott. It was then that she saw in his eyes the realisation that she was leaving. Looking to Scott she was relieved when he nodded, letting her go to Steve as he stood frozen on the spot.

Standing in front of him she took his hands, looking up to his face as the tears welled in his eyes that matched her own;

“You’re leaving”

“I am. They found a way to get me home... to see my son... and to be with you how we’re meant to be”

He nodded, holding out a small piece of paper to her;

“Here, take this”

Holding the small pink ticket in her hands she saw it was for a Swing dance that evening;

“Steve, i can’t take this... you should go...”

“Not without you. I can’t have my first dance without you”

She let the tears start to fall, looking up at those beautiful blue eyes;

“You’ll dance... you just have to wait for the right partner”

She leant forwards and placed a kiss on his lips, tasting the tear that had reached them before she pulled away, turning before she made a decision she’d regret, taking Scott’s hand as he led her up the stairs and back to where they belonged.

~*~

Present Day

Steve paced the office nervously, glancing up at the clock for the hundredth time in the last few minutes. He glanced at Bucky who was doing his best to entertain Mickey, but the toddler could sense that something was happening, that something was out of the ordinary even for their bizarre lives.

“He’s been gone too long...”

“Steve, have faith in Stark. There’s still five minutes before they have to recall Scott”

“But... what could be taking this long? Why am i not having any mem...shit..”

Steve felt the memory headache come on suddenly, the wash of emotion flooding through him when he realised what he was seeing, what he was feeling. Looking up at the portal he gripped the desk in front of the window, Bucky coming to stand by his side;

“Man, you ok? Another headache?”

He nodded;

“Yeah... it hurts so bad but its a good one... she’s breaking my heart in the kindest way possible”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he meant, but before he could question his friends words the portal started to spark again. Tony gave the command to the enhanced team in the room; Wanda, Vision, Loki and Johnny all doing their thing to keep the polarity of the portal constant, and as the blue sparks started to shoot outwards two shapes could be seen through the blur. As they came into focus Steve felt Bucky’s grip on his arm grow tighter, knowing that Steve would want to rush to Emily the moment she appeared, but keeping in mind that the portal would still be active until Stark shut everything down.

He watched as her feet stepped down unsteadily onto the smooth tiles of the lab floor, Thor greeting them both before escorting them further from the portal. Tony looked to the office and held his hand up to tell him to stay put before he barked out the orders to shut the portal down, watching as everyone did their thing and the swirling mass started to dissipate; finally disappearing into thin air with a small pop.

The room was silent as everyone looked from Emily to Steve, waiting as he quietly opened the door, Mickey in his arms as he took a few steps into the room.

The tears were running down his face as soon as she took the first step to run to him, throwing herself across the room before she wrapped her arms around him and Mickey, the feeling of holding them in her arms making her complete.

They were oblivious to the cheers and applause happening in the room, to the comments and slaps on the back from people welcoming her home, only one person getting their attention as Emily and Steve looked to Bucky, opening their arms to their best friend as he was welcomed into their family. The tears they shed together lasted for a long time, their presence in the lab only halted when Tony ordered them to go up to the penthouse where a small crowd had gathered already, news of Emily’s return spreading like wildfire throughout the tower.

Letting Mickey run ahead with Bucky, Steve took her hand, surprised to find something still in her grasp. As he opened her palm he looked down at the ticket;

“I think i finally found the right partner, so; how about that dance?”

EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW