#even lousy ones have a nice crunch and sweetness

[tropylium]

have finally hit the bounty, after several duds this seasons, of a pomegranate in perfect deep ruby-red ripeness

[fandomficsnstuff]

Guardian Angel

Daryl Dixon x Reader

(Warnings: It’s gonna get kinda gory cause the reader is gonna learn how to skin a rabbit, so prepare yourselves, also Merle is a creep, as always, also cussing and this is kinda long)

(Okay! So I’m considering making this a series, just don’t really know yet, but let me know if you guys want a series outta this, I have a lot of ideas for this. Also I'm borrowing my friend's computer so I'll try to get more fics done and post them, stay safe out therer ya'll!)

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You let out a huff as you continued to scrub the shirt on the washing board, listening to the girls talk, but too lost in your own head to listen. You were, however, brought out of your day dreaming by Carol’s voice, looking up at her and her kind smile that she always bore, despite what that monster of a husband did to her. “You alright honey?” You forced a smile, giving a brief nod before shrugging, “just lost in thought, I guess” you looked down briefly before looking back up, noticing how you had all of the girls’ attention now, making you bite your lip nervously “what?” Andrea was the first to giggle at your response, “oh nothing, just, does that thought of yours happen to carry a crossbow around?” your mouth fell open at her question, making her smirk at you and the other girls laugh “shut up!” you splashed water at her, making everyone, including you, laugh loudly. You all continued to laugh, you felt tears in your eyes as your stomach hurt from laughing, but it all died down once you heard a whistle, turning to look at none other but the biggest perv in camp, Merle Fucking Dixon.

“Well, what do we have here? What’re you pretty little ladies gigglin’ about?” It was amazing to see all the girls roll their eyes at the exact same time, it almost made you laugh again, almost. “Mind your own business, Merle” Andrea got back to washing the clothes, clearly not impressed with him, which no one was at this point, but Merle didn’t take too kindly to it “why don’t you say that to my face, sugar tits? I’d sure as hell love to shut that pretty little mouth of yours up” you gagged at Merle’s comment, feeling sick to your stomach, and a part of you admired Andrea for how she kept a stone face.

“In your dreams, Merle” Andrea huffed out, but Merle just smirked.

“Oh it sure will be” you gagged again, so you decided to get up, the wet clothes in your arms, you didn’t much feel like washing them again after throwing up on them because of Merle. “Excuse me ladies, I have to go throw up” you walked past Merle to hang up the clothes to dry, but stopped abruptly as Merle gave your ass a smack on the way, turning back to ogle at Andrea. You turned slowly around, quietly balancing all of the clothes in one hand to bend down and pick up a rock, almost the size of your palm, and a smirk slowly made it’s way onto your lips as you thought over your plan. You chugged it as hard as you could at Merle’s head, hitting him right on his balding head, and you just ran for it. You moved your legs as fast as you could, your mind going almost as fast, now you had to come up with something, you heard Merle yell from down in the quarry. You spotted Lori and bolted towards her, making her look up at you with narrowed eyes as you panted heavily, trying to find the words you needed to ask her to help you, but you barely had the chance before she extended her arms “go on, before he catches up” you smiled brightly, letting her take the wet clothes “thank you Lori you are a goddess!” she rolled her eyes with a smile “don’t I know it. Now go” you nodded and bolted off into the woods, you had your knife with you, you would be fine.

Once you thought you were far enough into the woods you leaned against a big tree, panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath, once you had a decent hold of your breathing, you slowed it down, listening for any sounds, but mostly listening for the angry footsteps of Merle searching for you. After a minute or so of listening, you breathed out a breathless laugh, bending over with your hands on your knees to really catch your breath, now that you had been holding it for a while. You were about to go back when you heard footsteps and leaves crunching, spinning around to see none other than your favorite Dixon, not that there was much competition.

You exhaled heavily, a hand over your hand “you scares the fuck outta me, Daryl” you gave him a warm smile, making him scoff as he approached you “wasn’t even tryin’ to be quiet” he commented as he approached, he never really looked at you, he was too shy, but now he were. You both had small moments like this where you could be yourselves, where he could look at you without blushing, at least not too much, and you found it adorable.

“Good game?” you asked, pointing to the squirrels and rabbits over his shoulder, making him glance at it and shrug “yeah, the rabbit was a bitch to find though” you furrowed your brows “what? The great Daryl Dixon, master hunter, couldn’t catch a little bunny?” you joked, making him scoff once again, shaking his head at you as he looked down before back up at you “nah I caught it alright, it was finding it that was a bitch” you smirked at him, studying him for a few seconds before shrugging, leaning against the tree you had been hiding behind just a few minutes earlier, “then why go after it?” Daryl looked down, blushing red like a tomato at your question, shrugging as he kept his eyes on the ground “well, you liked the last one I caught right?” you nodded, giving a small ‘mhm’ in conformation, which just made him shrug again, as if that was the answer itself. Your eyes widened a bit, and now it was your turn to look like a tomato, letting out a quiet ‘oh’ as you looked down at the leaves under your boots, a dumb grin on your face “well, that was very nice of you, Daryl, thank you” you nudged his shoulder as you looked back up at him, only to find him looking at you already. It was like a scene from a movie, and cliché as it sounds, the way the whole world just went away, how everything else faded as you held eye contact. Maybe it was just on your part, maybe you were just hallucinating, but you liked to think that he felt the same, even if it was just wishful thinking.

You were snapped out of it as he cleared his throat, looking down again, you didn’t think it was possible for his face to turn even more red, but here you were, staring at a very red Daryl. “So, wanna head back?” he looked back up at you, making you smile even more, though you wanted to say no, you wanted to just sit down on the ground with him and just talk. You wanted to stay here with him for so much longer, just have the world fade around you until only the two of you were left, you wanted to sit and talk about his life, the things he loved, the things he did before the whole world went to shit. You realized then that you didn’t know that much about him, you knew his life had been shit, it was a given, you knew he must’ve had a tough childhood, you knew he liked to be alone, he liked the quiet, hence the hunting and tracking, but other than that, you didn’t know much, but in this world you didn’t really need to, you thought. Who he was before didn’t matter, you knew who he was now, and that's all that mattered to you.

You realized you had been quiet and just staring at him when he said your name, you loved it when he said your name, it sounded so heavenly coming from his lips. “(Y/N)? You alright?” you blinked a few times before coughing, looking down embarrassed “y-yeah I just uh, I think I’ll stay here a while longer, you know? Enjoy nature and all that” he let out a small laugh, something you quickly engraved in your memory, it sounded so sweet, it was one of the very rare times you had heard it, and it was always when you were alone. Daryl walked past you towards camp, and for a second you actually thought he bought it, but seeing him turn around to face you, a knowing smirk on his lips made you realize that he simply knew you too well at this point, that or you were a lousy liar, one of the two, “come on, I ain’t gonna let him get ya”, you let out a small chuckle, stepping closer to him, leaning in and pecking his cheek, your own cheeks were burning up, so was the tip of your ears “thank you, Daryl” you went ahead towards camp, Daryl completely frozen in place though it didn’t last long, he soon caught up to you, walking next to you with his head down, though every once in a while you’d see him sneaking a glance at you out of the corner of your eyes, and it made a bright smile form on your lips.

As you reached the edge of camp you looked around for Merle, cautious, which made Daryl scoff in amusement “whatcha do this time?” you looked at him with as much innocence as you could muster, but seeing as it didn’t work you sighed, you knew it was his brother, so you didn’t want to upset him in any way “he was ogling and saying some things to Andrea… and when I tried to walk past him he slapped my ass,” you swore you saw Daryl clench his jaw, but you couldn’t be too sure, your eyes were partially on the ground, you cleared your throat and continued “and I uh, may or may not have.. thrown a rock at him, and hit him… possibly…” you dared to sneak a glance at Daryl, but all you could see was amusement “well, he ain't never learnt how to treat women” was all Daryl said as he sat down on a tree stump with a leg on each side, taking off the string of squirrels and two rabbits he had tied to it, you bit your lip to hide your smile, nodding and sitting down across from him on the ground, studying him as he was about to skin one of the two rabbits.

“Can you teach me?” his eyes looked up at yours and you swore you saw a hint of confusion in them, but he looked down quickly again “you sure? It ain’t pretty” you raised a brow at his comment, smirking at him “Daryl Dixon, just so you know, I ain’t a ‘pretty girl’ “you tried your best to match his accent, making him eye you before shaking his head again “please never do that again” you laughed low “what? I ain’t doin’ nothin’” you continued to say in the accent, making him smirk, but he tried to hide it “if you’re gonna be like that I won’t teach ya” you held your hands up in surrencer, seeing the amused look on his face that he tried to hide “alright, you win, now teach me” he scoffed low, shaking his head as he got out his hunting knife.

(this is where the gore kinda starts, so you can skip this part if you want to)

“Alright then. You’ll want to pinch the hide on the rabbit’s back and make a small cut. The hide of a rabbit is very thin and you don’t even need a knife to do this; I’ve used a sharp stick to puncture the skin. Now you’re gonna watch me, and then see how you do on the other one, got it?” you nodded with a small smile, turning your eyes back to his hands and the rabbit, you really did want to learn, so you paid as much attention as possible. “Once you’ve made the cut, work your middle and index finger from both hands into the opening, like this. Now, you’re gonna wanna have steady hands, you're just gonna hook your fingers under the skin and pull one hand toward the head and the other toward the ass, alright? Don’t be scared to use a bit of force” you bit your lip to hold back a laugh at his casual language, merely nodding your head and continuing to watch him work, “The skin will begin to tear and separate from the body in two pieces. Keep pulling, grabbing more of the skin as you go to get a better grip, alright? It’s gonna be a bit tough but it’s alright. Now you just gotta work the legs out.” you nodded as you watched him, and before you knew it, your mouth opened “like pulling off a shirt” you blushed as he looked at you but he just shrugged and looked back down to the rabbit “yeah, somethin’ like that”, he gave you a small smirk before continuing his work, continuing to pull on the fur, ripping on it left the feet still covered, it reminded you of tiny shoes.

(the gore ends now, there’ll be hints at the rest of the process but this is where the explanation and detail ends)

You watched as he made a final pull, tugging harshly at the rear and you had a small snapping like noise, realizing the tail had been pulled off as well “wow” Daryl scoffed low “eh don’t worry about it, it happens, just saves the work of doing it later” you nodded as he put the now skinned fur to the side, about to tell you what to do next when you heard your name being called by an angry raspy voice, your head snapping around to look at the source, the source being Merle Dixon himself, the man you had completely forgotten about.

“(Y/N)! You little bitch!” Merle still held the back of his head in pain, and it would've made you laugh, if you didn’t feel like he could kill you at any moment given how angry he was. You were stuck in between smirking and running away, but Daryl quickly brought Merle’s attention away from you “whatchu want Merle?” he sounded pissed off, and a part of you hoped it was because he enjoyed spending time with you, and because that time was now interrupted, another part was worried that this was just because today was being too much, had it really been that difficult to find those rabbits for you? Or maybe you pushed it too far with asking him to teach you, but on the other hand, he actually seemed like he enjoyed teaching you, so maybe it really was just the aura or Merle annoying the hell out of him.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you baby brother, so mind ya own business! (Y/N) you bitch! Think you can just throw shit at me and get away with it?! Huh?! I’m gonna show you-” Daryl stood up the second Merle took a step closer to you “just piss of Merle, I don’t care if she threw shit at ya, ya ain’t dead, so stop whining like a little bitch” your eyes widened at the scene unfolding in front of you, you had never heard Daryl talk to him that way, and these two weren’t exactly shy about fighting in front of others. Merle glanced between the two of you, a part of him was seething and another part of him was mocking you as he started to laugh “well! What do we have here? Little baby Daryl’s in love, everybody! What’s gonna happen next huh? You gonna let her paint your nails, huh? Maybe play dress up?! I ain’t the one acting like a little love sick puppy so don’t call me a whiny bitch!” As quick as he had acted amused he acted furious, they stood chest to chest now, their noses almost touching as they stared each other down, and you were pretty positive that if it went on any longer, one of them would punch the other.

“G-Guys… maybe, uh… maybe we could all just take a step back?” you glanced at Glenn as he nervously approached, God bless his heart, he was just trying to make everyone calm down. Glenn had always been sweet to you, Dale as well, so you cringed when Merle spun around and hit him in the face, Glenn had tried to move away but Merle had still hit him, you quickly sprung to your feet, your first instinct was to hold Daryl back as he moved towards Merle, but you let Shane handle him, pinning him to the ground with his hands behind his back, holding him down.

“Don’t, Daryl, come on” you whispered, you hadn’t realized how close you two stood, until you tore your eyes away from Merle to look at Daryl, his face mere inches away from yours, but he didn’t notice, he was too busy contemplating if he should get Shane off of Merle or if he should help hold him down. You frowned as Daryl moved from your side “get the fuck off of him!” he ripped Shane to the side, helping Merle stand up and you couldn’t help the scoff you let out. You looked down and shook your head, walking past him to Glenn, kneeling besides him to look at his cheek, Lori, Andrea and Amy were on the ground next to him as well “here let me look” you inspected his cheek cringing a bit seeing the redness “it’s alright, he hit you but you still moved back, you’re not gonna get a bruise I think” Glenn nodded as he held his cheek again, wincing slightly as all the girls, you included, helped him stand up, even though he could do so just fine.

You glanced at Dale, giving him a small smile, assuring him that Glenn was okay, to which he visibly relaxed. You glanced at Daryl who was busy yelling at Shane to not touch his brother, and Shane yelling back that he shouldn’t just hit people then. It was chaos, not in a traditional sense, but those three yelling at each other, Glenn hurt, even though it wasn’t serious, it just made you feel like this was chaos.

You sighed and walked off towards the quarry, Andrea and Lori helping Glenn put something cold on his cheek. You sighed as you sat down on a rock near the water, watching the ripples caused by the wind, you barely noticed Dale approaching, sitting down next to you on a rock. You both sat there in silence watching the water, and after a while Dale finally broke the silence “it’s so quiet here” you hummed in response, taking in a deep breath of fresh air “yeah it is… almost makes you forget how shit everything is” Dale chuckled low “yeah, though not everything is bad” you looked at him “no?” Dale shook his head and met your gaze “I saw you and Daryl, that’s not bad, is it?” you chuckled low and looked out over the water again “no, I guess… I mean… I just wish he-... you know? I just-... and he, he just… it’s frustrating” you sighed and looked down at the rocks under your feet, picking one up and fiddling with it “Daryl is-”

“Complicated?” you laughed as Dale basically finished your sentence, nodding your head gently “yeah, but he’s also so sweet… it’s his brother Merle, he irks him and riles him up and he just… he’s just so… I don’t know… but it’s not who Daryl is, Daryl is sweet and shy and I know he doesn’t show it a lot but he’s so kind, while hunting, he remembered that I liked the rabbit he caught last time, so he went out of his way to find two more today, it makes me feel, I don’t know… special, and when he defended me from Merle, it made me feel like he’s my guardian angel sometimes...” you shrugged, looking back at Dale who nodded, giving you a knowing look which made you blush as you realized what you had just said out loud, your gaze turning back to the rock in your hands.

“I agree, you know, Daryl is definitely not like his brother, I’m just happy he shows it to someone at least, instead of hiding it. No one can be alone with who they are all the time, at least they shouldn’t, in my experience” you hummed low again, your eyes looking back out over the water, a small smile on your lips “‘walking in the dark with a friend is better than walking alone in the light’” you mumbled, making Dale look at you with an intrigued look, a warm smile still on his lips, as it usually was. “It’s… it’s a quote from Helen Keller” you explained, Dale giving you a small ‘aha’ sound before looking back out over the water. You both sat there for a while longer, he had given guard duty to Andrea before coming down here, so you both just sat and watched the water and the sun reflected upon it’s surface.

[hardkinkbardkink]

anon asked: I am once again sending you a prompt, which I think is like my third one? Sorry for the spam I guess. Eskel is the love of my life soo... Eskel meeting Jaskier after The Mountain, and quickly falling in love with the charming bard. He knows Jaskier’s heart belongs to Geralt, but his body belongs to Eskel. They get to Kaer Morhen, and ofc Geralt is there. Eskel having to deal with that- but it all ends happily with a big polyamorous fuck pile. Jaskier definitely has enough love for both witchers.

listen. i. Adore eskel. i fucking LOVE that bitch, i love him greatly and i love him fiercely, he is the light of my life & my forever favourite witcher character and not even sweet darling joey batey as jaskier can change that like?? eskel is It for me. i was maybe seven when i played the first game because it is a National Classic and you were legally obliged by law to play it and wee bairn me looked at this four pixels of a man on my screen and thought fuck guess i gotta be gay?? the fucking. quest. where he gets his face ripped open. when i tell you i cried. and then he got even hotter?? impossible. i’ll never love a character like that again, it’s been too long to change x

my mild obsession aside, did you mean for this to be so angsty? because it is, it’s fucking Sad and has Feelings and also a soft threesome that feels firmly out of place on my noncon-bestiality-centric porn blog (so i posted in on ao3 too)

as always i look at canon and i pretend i do not see it lovelies x

send in more eskel prompts if you want him to get fucked in true hard kink fashion & also send in more eskel prompts in general i will never refuse

***

Eskel has no intention to stop in that tavern at all, until he hears the singing.

It’s nothing, he tells himself.

It’s nothing, and yet he pulls Scorpion to a reluctant halt, pays the stablehand a copper and no mind as he makes his way, ensorcelled, to hover near the entrance. He’d heard the one particular song in so many renditions his head spins with it. Most of them lousy, some of them bearable. This one—

Oh, but this one seems like it’d been torn from the bard’s very soul.

Eskel waits until the final, unusually heart-wrenching notes of Toss a coin bleed into a brief silence.

He doesn’t enjoy taverns much—the burning glances when he settles at a table, swords at his back and hood pulled low over his eyes. The quiet chorus of gasps when he slips the bastard cloak off and people get a good look at his monstrous, twisted face, averting their gaze quickly but drawn in by morbid curiosity again and again. Their reluctance to serve him, to approach him, to trust him with his own damn job.

Eskel’s had decades to get used to it.

Maybe next century.

He pulls the door open with an unsteady hand, eyes falling immediately to the bard, centre stage as he can manage in a wayward tavern not designed for such performances. He’s dressed finely, lavishly, with great care and taste and Eskel lets himself admire, just for a moment.

“Oh,” the bard breathes on a sharp inhale, and his dazzling blue eyes glitter with a sort of recognition that punches Eskel right in the gut with its intensity.

It’s entirely quiet for a few painful heartbeats.

“Oi!” a man hollers to his side, clearly too deep in his cups to try at decency. “Y'heard the bard, toss a fuckin’ coin to the witcher.”

They don’t, and Eskel would never ask that of them—but he’s served a decent pint on the house as soon as he sits down in a darkened corner, and his cheeks can’t exactly burn, but he feels like they would.

The bard gets through another song, a bawdy drinking tune. Eskel keeps his eyes on him the whole time, though he barely hears the words, mesmerised by the sway of the man’s hips and the honey-warm timbre of his voice.

A faint panic rises up in his throat when the bard thanks his audience for their attention, bowing in a manner entirely too exaggerated for this place and time—and makes his way with a strange mix of confidence and reluctance to sit across from Eskel.

“My apologies for presuming,” the bard begins, and Eskel watches with bated breath as his long, shapely fingers wrap around Eskel’s own mug. He takes a deep drink, eyelashes casting lovely shadows on his cheeks. “Eskel?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue, but manages to nod curtly.

“It seems that Destiny’s playing tricks on me.” The bard’s lips twitch up in a sad smile. “I’m Jaskier. Pleased to make your acquaintance, after all these years.”

Jaskier. Jaskier. Of course it’s Geralt’s fucking bard, his—

“I must say, I harboured my hopes that you wouldn’t be quite as broody and silent as Geralt is.”

Eskel manages to shake himself out of it, though only barely.

“Sorry.” He clears his throat in an attempt to make his voice less gravely. Less threatening. “Sorry, fuck, just spent so many winters with Geralt talking my ear off about you, I’d half-expected the bastard to’ve made you up.”

He tries for light-heartedness. A flash of poorly-disguised pain passes through Jaskier’s face, and Eskel realises it was decidedly not the way to go.

“Ah, you won’t have to worry about that anymore, darling. Geralt and I are no longer companionable, in any way.”

Perhaps it’s the darling that does him in. Perhaps it’s the overwhelming desire to never see this brilliant man sad or hurt again. Perhaps it’s Eskel’s own harrowing loneliness.

It doesn’t matter much, because he downs the rest of his ale in three gulps, and then there are warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him away and up the stairs, pushing him into a room and onto a bed with a lapful of bard.

“Goddess,” Jaskier says quietly, almost privately, except that his lips hover temptingly close to Eskel’s. “You do look just like him, if it wasn’t for—”

“The disfigured maw?” Eskel adds helpfully, out of habit if nothing else.

Jaskier puts a gentle hand on his cheek—the scarred one, gods save his soul—and Eskel leans into the touch involuntarily, like a dog starved for affection.

“I was going to say the hair,” Jaskier finishes with a hint of kind amusement, and winks.

Eskel knows, with that first hungry kiss, that he’s absolutely and utterly gone for the bard.

“Beautiful, darling—gods, you’re stunning,” Jaskier whispers later, hands roaming Eskel’s broad chest, and fuck, he hadn’t been touched like this in months, so he hides against the smooth column of Jaskier’s throat—sucks a vivid bruise there like he has any fucking right—and desperately ignores the praise that isn’t meant for him.

He sucks Jaskier’s cock to make him shut up, and gets called lovely and breathtaking and darling angel for his efforts. He opens Jaskier up—mouth latched to the pale insides of his thighs, littering them with bruises—on four fingers and so much chamomile oil the smell makes him lightheaded, and Jaskier tells him he’s a treasure, fuck, so good to me. He gets pushed backwards onto the bed, his wrists guided above his head in a soft suggestion of restraint as Jaskier rides his cock with determined fervour, and he's divine, gorgeous, my sweet, darling witcher.

Jaskier arches beautifully when he comes, spills all over them both, his eyes heavy-lidded, still holding Eskel’s gaze, and Eskel knows he’s only looking for an echo of Geralt in his yellow irises—but he flips them over, takes his pleasure in Jaskier’s body, and he can live with being a second choice when he’s used to being no choice at all.

***

“I’ve been—fuck, awfully lonely on the road, gods, darling—”

Eskel’s quickly found out Jaskier is quite keen on being held, suspended in the air with only Eskel’s hands underneath his thighs and a cock driving into him with haste and despair.

Especially out in the open, on the side of a well-traversed road. Eskel licks absently at the raised imprint of his teeth above Jaskier’s collar and yearns to deepen it, have it stay there forever.

Jaskier pulls at his hair, panting harshly, brings their lips together in a searing kiss. He whines at the back of his throat and his sinful hole flutters around Eskel’s cock, milking him into completion faster than anyone ever could, whispering low into his ear, that’s it, that’s it, love, fill me up ‘til I can’t hold anymore, fuck, so good like nobody ever did.

And if they’re never quite alone in their passions, if Jaskier still searches his eyes for a ghost of someone else—Eskel can pretend he doesn’t see, because he’s the one who gets to fall asleep with the bard pressed up against him, soft and warm and kind.

***

Inkeepers take him in more willingly, when he’s got Jaskier at his side, flashing them a smile full of promise.

He doesn’t need for brothels, when he wakes up to Jaskier lapping at the head of his cock like it’s the sweetest treat. When Jaskier’s unable to keep his hands to himself. When he stays nice and loose and ready for Eskel to pound him into the ground at any moment.

“I’m not a young man anymore,” Jaskier always says after, struggling to catch his breath, even if he were the one palming Eskel’s cock through his breeches.

“You don’t look a day over seventy,” Eskel offers in return, and Jaskier slaps him upside the head in mock offense.

Eskel’s never been happier than he is with Jaskier trudging the Path with him.

Which is why the frost crunching under their boots fills him with a hollow aching. A single snowflake lands pointedly at the very tip of Jaskier’s reddened nose, and Eskel glares at the sky.

He lets Jaskier fuck him, then. They get a room for the night, light the hearth and feed the flames. Share a bottle of wine, of which Eskel takes the brunt. Stretch out leisurely on the furs, and Eskel’s insides tie in knots when he watches the silver hairs on Jaskier’s dark head glimmer in the firelight.

Jaskier takes his time, as Eskel thought he would. Lavishes him with kisses and praise and adoration and Eskel still doesn’t think it’s all his to have, but he melts under Jaskier’s touches anyway.

I love you, he aches to say, to scream at the top of his lungs when Jaskier pushes into him, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut in rapture.

“Come away with me,” he begs instead, on the verge of release and at mercy of the insistent snap of Jaskier’s hips. “To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier shushes him with a kiss and a gentle hand in his hair.

“I don’t want to leave without you.”

Don’t leave me alone, I can’t bear it again.

He tips Jaskier’s chin up, the bard’s pretty eyes brimming with unshed tears as he nods—and this time, just for a second, Eskel doesn’t feel like a shoddy replacement.

***

They beat Lambert to the keep by three days.

Three days spent reacquainting with the concept of heat and the feeling in their fingers after weeks traversing increasingly higher snowcaps.

Three glorious, uninterrupted days of having Jaskier share his bed in the only place Eskel could ever call home.

When he gets there, Lambert asks when he’s going to get a turn on the bard, and if Eskel beats his insufferable arse in training a little harder than he normally would on the first day—well. It’s what brothers do.

He makes sure to keep the ever-present mark at Jaskier’s throat a vibrant purple when it fades into yellow, and Jaskier begs him for it as sweetly as he begs for his cock, just within Lambert’s earshot.

Geralt doesn’t show for a full fortnight, and then some. The snow piles higher with each day. They all collectively agree that their last wolf won’t show this year, like he did so many years before.

Perhaps it is because Eskel thanks his Lady Destiny too soon, that Geralt staggers into the hall in the midst of a snowstorm, his cloak frozen stiff, frost melting on his silver hair.

They fall into each other’s arms, because they always do; because they're brothers, because they’d been through hell together, because they love each other fiercely even if Eskel can’t think of a single person he’d rather avoid more than Geralt, right now. They stand there in the hall, the snow on Geralt’s collar a shock of cold against Eskel’s neck. And then Geralt stiffens, suddenly, rigid in Eskel’s embrace in a way that has nothing to do with the chill.

“You smell—” Geralt begins, seemingly perplexed, and inhales deeply at the juncture of Eskel’s shoulder.

They fall away from each other abruptly, Eskel’s chest tight with a muffled pull of dread.

“Let’s get you warmed up, yeah? I’ll get Lambert to see to your mare. He might not be too happy to see you, though. You lost him a bet.”

Geralt follows him, almost reluctantly, and Eskel wants just one more night before it all goes to shit. Just the one.

***

Jaskier is sleep-warm and perfect and doesn’t appreciate the chill of Eskel’s skin once he finally gets back into bed.

Eskel takes him too roughly for the time of night, bites at his freckled shoulders and sharp collarbones, has Jaskier trembling and begging for it twice before he lets the bard come.

He muffles his own release against Jaskier’s lips, all too aware of Geralt in a room not a hallway away.

***

The door creaks when it’s pushed open. Faintly, but enough to rouse Eskel awake. He tightens an arm reflexively around Jaskier’s sleeping form, and the bard nuzzles up against the side of his chest.

Yellow eyes stare at them intently, Geralt’s expression unreadable, though the nod he gives can mean only one thing.

Eskel is careful as he untangles their limbs, and his heart decidedly doesn’t pound quicker for a beat when Jaskier reaches out after him and mumbles a sleepy Eskel.

Their footsteps are nearly soundless on the stone floor. Geralt is equally quiet, rigid as a bowstring. They walk for a long time, until they come to a place Jaskier didn’t yet get a chance to explore. Neutral ground. As neutral as can be, with Eskel still drenched in Jaskier’s scent.

“I’m not sorry,” Eskel says finally, and Geralt flinches.

They don’t look at each other.

“Why,” Geralt forces out. Eskel can hear the bones in his jaw click. “Why bring him here.”

Wind howls outside the walls, the storm unrelenting.

I didn’t want to be alone, he almost says, but bites his tongue. Instead,

“You broke him, Geralt. You left and he—he used to call out for you at night, you know? He’d have nightmares and wake up shaking. And I couldn’t help.”

They rarely talk like this, heart to heart under the guise of night.

“Why?” Geralt asks, softer this time. Kinder.

It doesn’t feel right, but it’s what’s going to make things right.

“I’m just a substitute. A lousy one at that. He still—he wants you. Loves you.”

And it’s the truth, when he finally admits it out loud. Eskel is more at peace with that than he thought he would.

“Please don’t take it from me,” he whispers, overwhelmed in a way that he was assured the mutagens were supposed to eliminate. “It’s all I have.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, though he does place a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, in comfort or understanding, he couldn’t know.

***

Jaskier keeps his head high.

“Geralt,” the bard greets him, in a manner far too cold and collected.

He doesn’t flinch under Geralt’s gaze, doesn’t look away before Geralt, but when he does—Eskel catches his expression shatter, fall into a million pieces that he desperately wants to collect and put back together. They slip through his fingers.

At night, Jaskier jolts awake clawing at his own throat, crying that he can’t breathe, asking Geralt to help him, please help him. Eskel holds him until the tremors subside. Neither of them sleeps well.

All the good evaporates from Eskel’s life.

The silly marks of faux ownership fade from Jaskier’s skin, eventually, and Eskel’s heart aches.

He kisses Jaskier deeply, puts all his horrible feelings behind it, and then just holds the bard close. For the last time. Eskel knows he isn’t meant to cry—but the trials merely took away his ability to shed tears, not this overpowering fucking desire to do so.

“Eskel?” Jaskier says, gently, the question of what’s wrong implied.

Eskel shakes his head and holds Jaskier tighter.

***

“You. Apologise.”

Geralt seems startled by the development. As does Jaskier, to be fair, shifting nervously where he’s gripping Eskel’s arm.

“I don’t want his apology,” Jaskier says weakly. “We’ve had our words, and they were very—pointed. Very definite. Eskel—”

Jaskier looks to him with wide, terrified eyes.

And it wouldn’t be enough that he has to give up the one good thing in his life, would it? It wouldn’t be enough that every time they fucked Jaskier looked beyond him and for someone else. It wouldn’t be fucking enough that he was madly, unreasonably in love with a man whose affections laid firmly elsewhere.

No, it wouldn’t, because now he has to—

He takes a deep breath and listens to the staccato of Jaskier’s quickened heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t make you do this, except you do want his fucking apology, and Geralt wants to give it to you, because you love him and he loves you and I'm—” useless, disposable, unwanted, "I’m done. I’m done. Figure it out. Please.“

Jaskier’s hands fall away from around his arm, and Eskel takes off.

He doesn’t really have anywhere to go, when every place he’d grown to love in the keep knows Jaskier’s presence, wears his mark and his scent.

The corridors are still and silent. Grey and imposing. Cold is seeping through the thick stone—cold from this winter and the hundreds before it, and Eskel thinks the walls had never truly known warmth. It’s all terribly dull, Jaskier had said when they’d walked the halls that first time, hand in hand with not a worry between them.

He’d been stupid to grow so attached when Jaskier was never his to keep. He’d been stupid to bring him here and expect everything to stay the same in blissful ignorance. He’d been stupid, and he didn’t want to be lonely again, even for just a few months—and now he’s going to be lonely until some merciful beast cuts his suffering short like it was always meant to.

It is, perhaps, too early in the day to drink, but Lambert’s eyes light up when Eskel goes to him with the offer.

Later, out of habit, he almost stumbles into his room before his drunken brain screams at him to keep going. Eskel falls asleep in an abandoned bedroom that smells of dust and time instead of his bard.

***

"You didn’t come to bed.”

Eskel hears Jaskier approaching, of course he does—but he doesn’t turn to face him, eyes firmly fixed on the window, even if it is just snow there. He does feel quite dramatic, sat in a windowsill like a maiden awaiting her beloved to come and whisk her away. Eskel awaits only peace and for his heart to feel whole again.

“Smells like you,” he says, too honest.

Jaskier shuffles closer.

“I waited up for you.”

A hand falls gently to his shoulder, and Eskel shivers at the touch.

“Thought you’d be staying with Geralt. You—you can keep the room, if you want.” Eskel couldn’t ever be comfortable there, anyway, not after everything.

“Darling—”

The hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, soft and tender and Eskel meets the incredible blue of Jaskier’s eyes easily.

“I never meant to make you feel unwanted,” Jaskier begins. Eskel wishes only to shrink under his gaze. “I want you so, so much.”

Jaskier settles next to him, their thighs pressed together, the black of his trousers startling against wine-red silk. Eskel feels fucking dumb.

“I know it wasn’t about me, I—you should go be with your wolf. I’ll be fine.”

The scars pull tightly when he smiles, aiming for reassuring; it comes out tired and helpless.

Jaskier leans in impossibly close, the ghost of his breath on Eskel’s lips.

“You’re my wolf, too.”

They kiss before he knows it—desperately, hungrily, until Eskel’s head spins and Jaskier’s hands tug at the collar of his shirt.

Eskel pulls away with a deep, burning hatred of himself.

“Just go, Jaskier.” When did his voice grow so cold? He never wants to speak to Jaskier like this, never, and yet— “I don’t need your pity.”

He expects Jaskier to do just that. Go, and avoid him for the rest of winter, and walk around with Geralt’s scent all over him and a mark to the side of his neck and—

“No. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Eskel, gods, I—I’m sorry, yeah? That you couldn’t trust my affection was all for you, and perhaps it wasn’t, not always—”

Fuck, but it does hurt to hear it, just a bit.

“—but then you had to go and be the most splendid creature under the sun and I, well.”

The gold of Jaskier’s rings glitters enticingly in the sparse sunlight when he reaches for Eskel’s hand.

“I do love Geralt, but Eskel, darling. I love you just as much.”

Eskel could fall to his knees if he were the praying sort.

Fuck, he might anyway.

Jaskier kisses him, and Eskel carries the bard all the way to bed to show his worship in a different way.

***

It’s easy to kiss Geralt.

It’s not the first time he’d kissed Geralt.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jaskier moans, somewhere to their side.

Geralt arches his neck beautifully when Eskel grabs a fistful of silver hair and tugs his head backwards.

It is, possibly, the first time he’d kissed Geralt without the hushed secrecy of darkness and a hard scrubbing to get the scent of release off each other.

Jaskier leans over his shoulder to capture Geralt’s lips for himself, chest pressed tightly to Eskel’s back.

He’d thought the jealousy would smother him, when Jaskier first brought it up. He’d thought he would choke on the image of Jaskier laid bare before anyone else. He’d thought—

But it’s Geralt, isn’t it? It’s Geralt, and they’d already shared so much with each other, their joys and their pain and their lives, and—

“Eskel,” Geralt breathes like he used to so many lifetimes ago, except he doesn’t bite his tongue, now, and Eskel leans in to bite instead at the soft skin below his jaw, to leave his mark there, twin to the one he’d left on Jaskier.

They fall softly to the mattress, him and Geralt, with Jaskier crawling over them swiftly, a sun-warm smile on his pretty face.

“Gods. Gods, you’re stunning.”

Eskel turns his head slowly, lazily, and finds Geralt’s eyes heavy and sparkling. Not just yellow, anymore, no longer the colour of a beast's—rather, the exact shade of sunlight caught in honey. Of morning dew on dandelions.

Fuck, he’d grown mellow.

Jaskier comes to straddle him, all pale skin and gorgeous hair and bruises from his hips to his throat. He settles heavily over Eskel’s cock, the bastard tease.

“Jaskier,” Eskel near-hisses, because suddenly the head of his cock dips inside Jaskier’s oil-slick hole. “Fuck, you—”

“Of course I got ready for my wolves, darling,” Jaskier breathes, and laughs, and seats himself completely in Eskel’s lap like it's nothing. “In fact, you might be partial to know—I had to employ the use of my other hand, to prepare for what I have planned.”

Eskel’s head spins, thick with the promise that he doesn’t dare dwell on. His eyes slip shut; Jaskier coaxes them open with nought but a soft word.

He can feel Geralt stir next to him, watching with a tight grip on himself as Jaskier moves easily, like he’d been made only for this, his one divine purpose.

“Geralt,” Eskel hears himself call out weakly. “Geralt, Geralt—”

Words seem only a silly hindrance, so he doesn’t bother, grabbing instead at the thick muscle of Geralt’s thighs, guiding him to sit astride Eskel’s chest, crush him with all that glorious weight—stuff his cock in Eskel’s greedy mouth, fuck.

Eskel thinks he might combust, go up in flames as he’s caught between the agonising pleasure of being buried to the hilt in Jaskier’s slack hole and the heavy satisfaction of having Geralt’s cock glide wetly on his tongue, further and further as Geralt stares at him, bewildered.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t come as soon as the length of it slides seamlessly down his throat, so deep he can feel it when he wraps a hand around his own neck. He squeezes, just to make sure Geralt feels it, too, and the rumble of a groan from above him makes Eskel thrust wildly into the clutch of Jaskier’s maddeningly hot body.

“O-oh, you were made for each other, weren’t you?” Jaskier’s hand is petting gentle circles up Eskel’s heaving stomach. “Fuck, darling, next time I’ll watch you bounce on Geralt’s cock till you sob with it.”

He reaches blindly to grab Jaskier’s hand, entwine their fingers together. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watches Geralt’s head get pulled back for a messy kiss. The bruise on the elegant column of his throat stands dark and proud and Eskel’s chest swells with it, even if it’ll fade in hours. He’ll just have to try very hard to keep it vivid.

Geralt rolls his hips, knees tightening around Eskel’s shoulders, ragged moans filling the air, mingling with the sinful noises dripping from Jaskier’s lips. Eskel’s vision spots, air suddenly hard to come by, and yet it doesn’t cause him distress; fuck, of all the ways to die, being smothered between Geralt’s thighs with Jaskier tight and lovely around his cock is Eskel’s preferred demise, if given a choice. His heartbeat quickens, though, and Geralt stops his delicious rutting, moves away with a tender look and a touch to his swollen lip. He leans down to steal another kiss, but Eskel’s too floaty, too hazy to do anything more than open his sloppy mouth–for Geralt, and then for Jaskier, when he collapses on Eskel’s chest.

“Desperation really is becoming on you, darling.”

Feeling Geralt’s tongue lapping at his cock when it’s still moving in and out of Jaskier—

Feeling a finger press in alongside him, joined quickly by another and another, until the fit is so tight it seems like he’s suffocating—

Feeling the torturously slow drag of Geralt’s cock against his, contained so closely in the heaven of Jaskier’s body—

“Fuck,” Eskel and Geralt groan in perfect harmony, Jaskier trembling wildly in their arms.

“Gods, gods, fuck, I love you, love you both so much—”

Eskel can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but suck in desperate breaths and look as Jaskier’s face morphs from pain into rapture, his brow smoothing out, his bitten-red lips coming apart in a perfect o.

Geralt roars, withdraws his hips just a little, and it jostles Eskel’s very soul.

Fuck, he can't imagine what it’s like for Jaskier.

He wonders if—

“Move,” Jaskier says in a broken voice. “You can move, you can fuck me, a-ah.”

Eskel wishes he could Axii himself into not coming. He wishes—gods, but he can’t, he can’t, and when Geralt starts moving with purpose, Eskel feels the crackle of release at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter until—

“Fuck, Eskel—” Geralt moans, and it’s torture, when Eskel can feel his cock throbbing against Geralt’s, and then he’s coming and coming and coming, a shockwave of sensation.

His ears feel like they’re stuffed with thick wool.

Jaskier kisses him, quick and filthy and needy.

“You’re perfect, perfect, my darling—” he says against Eskel’s lips.

Eskel whines at the back of his throat, his hands trembling where they grab Geralt’s hair and tug him to lean down.

The raw, painful pleasure of his oversensitive cock still trapped within the suffocating heat of Jaskier’s body threatens to undo him completely. He claws blindly at any skin he can reach, to ground himself, to settle against the unrelenting drag of Geralt against him. He can feel his seed dripping out of Jaskier and down his balls. It’s fucking filthy.

He kisses Jaskier and he kisses Geralt and his lips go numb before Jaskier finally tips into a shaking release that rips a hoarse scream from his throat.

The bed is barely big enough for two people, but they make it work. They’ll make it all work, somehow.

Before sleep takes him, Eskel hears Lambert yell, I’m moving the fuck out from down the hall.

[iwantutobehapppier]

Nobody Loves No One (2/?)

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader

Summary: You know one thing, James Buchanan Barnes was trustworthy and you weren't. When he inserts himself into your family drama and past can you show you're worthy of his trust or deign to hurt him as most of life has?

Word Count: 4,219

Warnings: Eventual Smut, night terrors, angst, canon typical violence, implied child abuse and cursing. 18 and older only

A/N: Hey guys! Thank you for coming back for chapter two! 💖 I am trying to get these out weekly and I don’t see that being an issue. Things are still building and the smut is coming. Hahah If you’re holding out hold out just a smidge longer. 😘

The drive should have been short but Bucky got a bit turned around or at least that's what he claimed, blaming the change in road names from his more formative years. Though you doubted that had truly changed.

"Your dad gets into trouble often?" Bucky's casual tone did little to hide his curiosity. He had always prided himself on being shrouded in mystery but you were just a mystery.

"Not lately but the old man seems to think to make deals with the local gang is better than taking money from his Avenger daughter." You miss Bucky's eyebrows raising, you weren’t kidding on having father issues. “Even if they’ll kill him when he fails to pay back.”

"Too much pride?" You remain silent, "too much guilt then?" You feel a stab in your chest, Bucky was too observant and it was impacting your ability to keep your private life just that, private. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset over it, after all, if you trusted anyone to know these parts of you it’s him. However, you weren’t going to be forthcoming.

"Listen Bucky I'm all for team building and such but this isn't a ‘let's get to know the weird father-daughter relationship’ moment." You look out the passenger window making air quotes, the familiar run-down buildings setting you on edge for the second time tonight.

"This is a ‘help your teammate kill a bunch of local thugs from killing her lousy excuse of a father’ moment." When Bucky stops the car he turns his head towards you as you continue. 

"And then maybe," you emphasized by pushing your pointer finger in his chest and he had to hold back the smile that would certainly piss you off, "Maybe we can talk about aforementioned fucked up relationship."

"Annoyed always looks good on you," Bucky steps out of the car missing the way you ground your teeth together at his smart ass response. Stepping out of the car you mutter, "I will not kill my teammate, I will not kill my teammate."

"What was that Toots?" Bucky calls out setting Betsy’s barrel upside down on his shoulder. 

"Nothing," Bucky smirks, able to hear you clear as day but to miss an opportunity to tease you wasn’t in Bucky. 

Rolling the silencer on your handgun you make your way around the corner to the front of a building you had thought left in your past. The double doors had one guy with a bat in his hand guarding. You held back a scoff if they knew you were coming clearly they forgot how you took care of business. Though back then your business was taking care of their issues, not them.

Walking up to the man before he could raise his bat you shot him dead center in the forehead. Bucky whistled as the body slumped to the ground.

Opening the double doors you took out two more mob thugs while Bucky pulls the bat-wielding thug into the building by his metal arm. 

“This is gonna get messy huh?” Bucky trusted you wouldn’t kill an innocent or lure him to do the same but he had to express his concerns.

“Anyone in here would shoot you and your family before you could ask for mercy.” Bucky signaled towards the hallway on your right, his hearing picking up the sound of oncoming footsteps.

“You used to do the killing for us.” A short older man pointed a machine gun at you three others behind him. Without a response, you shot him in the chest and then in the head as Bucky’s gun went off three times in a row taking care of the gentlemen’s back up. 

You didn’t dare look at Bucky, not wanting to answer the questions he probably had until this was all over.

After plenty of bullets, snapped necks and broken limbs you cracked your knuckles at the "final boss" door. This door was familiar though, you had spent a good portion of your youth protecting the people behind it and fighting their battles for them all at the expense of your humanity just to pay your father's debts. 

"I'd rather you stay out here Bucky." He chortled and shook his head in disbelief.

"Not gonna happen." He stepped up next to you bumping his shoulder against yours. You sighed, your shoulders raising at the growing anxiety of what Bucky may hear. Turning your head towards him he looked at you from the corner of his eyes then turns at his waist.

Reaching over with his metal hand he wiped away blood splattered on your cheek once again. If he were being honest with himself he'd tell you he hated seeing that crimson red stain your beautiful face. But he wasn't always good at being honest with himself.

You study his face trying to get a read on him after so much shared carnage. There's a softness in his eyes that's misplaced in a room full of death.

"Just remember I never said I was always a good person." Before Bucky could ask any follow-up questions you kicked the steel-reinforced door in, watching it fall down.

A smile played at the corner of your lip hearing the cry of a man being crushed under the weight of the door and the following crunching coupled with a pain-filled groan as you both stepped on top of the door making your way into the room.

Bucky checked the magazine in Betsy as you survey the remaining five thugs and a weathered senior man sitting at a desk center of the room. His hand resting on a firearm laid on top of the desk. No one appeared to be making the first move.

"Well well." The old man's voice nails on a chalkboard, just like all those years ago. You had to stop yourself from charging at him when he spoke your name with fondness.

"Keep my name out of your mouth!" You command.

"Come on now, you can't be mad at me after everything?" His sun leathered hand patting the handgun still resting on the desk. Your eyes cut to the worn corner where the wood was lighter with indents from your head being slammed against it when you failed as a teenager and young adult.

"After all your father is the one who brought you into this," his other hand waved around the room, "Only fitting this world be the reason for his demise?" You curled your fingers into fists at your side. Bucky glances down with a creased brow, standing up a bit straighter in reaction.

"Whatever he owes, whatever he did isn't worth his life Marco." Marco chuckled. "Either I kill you or you let me pay what he owes, with interest."

Marco stands up slamming both hands on the desk yelling out in Italian, Bucky aims Betsy dead center in Marco’s chest. You catch the movement out of the corner of your eye satisfied at his reflexes. Always nice to have a super-soldier master assassin on your side.

"He is bad man,” his voice thick with broken English with his growing ire “You know better than any.”

“He lives?" Marco raises his hands up as he speaks. "No, no. That's not the code you swore to when you left me." He smiles keeping eye contact. You nod to Bucky and he lowers his gun, confused but trusting you.

"Badman is a dead man, no? Tesoro,” his works eerily soft causing you to flinch, “he deserves to pay for what he made you do."

"What you made me do." You gritted out between clenched teeth. Your hands flexed open and closed along your pant legs.

"A-ah. He brought you to me, a gift, a debt paid. He is just as guilty if not more." His voice was full of the condescension you were much too familiar with. It was like stepping back in time except you knew this old decrepit man held no fear over you and could do nothing in retaliation, nothing long-lasting at least.

"Just think about it, Tesoro.” the nickname rolling off your tongue makes you want to wretch. “I know he is your father but what would your sweet moth-" before he could finish a knife flew from your hand, planting firmly between his eyes. Not missing a moment Bucky fired in quick succession laying waste to remaining thugs in the room before they even knew their boss was dead.

Marco's voice cracks as if still trying to finish the word before going silent and crumpling across the ornate desk chair. Walking up to Marco's corpse you pulled the knife out wiping the blood on his shirt before putting it away.

Pulling out your phone you went to recent and waited for an answer.

"You did it, shithead?" Bucky could hear over the phone, his brow still furrowed. He had to wonder what kind of man was your father? If this was any glimpse, none at all.

"It's done, send the cleanup.” You pause watching the color drain from Macro’s body. “Don't ever call me again." You assert before hanging up still looking at Marco's face. Bucky took a step towards you. He stretches his arm out to place his hand on your shoulder but stilled when you spat in Marco's face.

Bucky caught the small tremors in your hands as you placed your phone back in your pocket. The ragged breath you pulled in left an ache in his chest. He was overwhelmed by the need to hold you in his embrace until you feel safe. Have you ever felt safe?

Even with everything he had done in the war and as a brainwashed HYDRA assassin he could still remember feeling loved and safe. The way his mother would card her fingers through his hair when he couldn't sleep as a child. Or how it felt when his sisters would dogpile on him. He felt safe. 

He had to wonder once more did you ever feel safe? He wasn't so sure.

"Fucking hated this place. Let's go!" You extolled, turning around to face Bucky with a haunting smile. 

This was different than his beloved murder smile. Whatever this was, he knew it was a front. It reminded him of all those smiles Steve would give him after army rejections. A smile to hide the pain.

The ride back to your car in front of your father’s shop was silent. Which between the two of you wasn't uncharacteristic but there was a newfound tension like static in the air.

What could you share with him that could ease his mind? What parts of you were left to give? Your train of thought was halted as Bucky pulled up next to your parked car.

"See you back at the compound." Bucky's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he spoke. You opened the car door, the smell of the incoming dawn wafting into the small confines of the car. You started to leave the car but paused

"I-uh," Bucky watched you from the corner of his eyes. His fingers relax their hold on the steering wheel waiting for what you had to say. "I have a place not far from here," Bucky raises an eyebrow and you grunted.

"After all that happened tonight, I'd much rather lay in bed than drive all the way upstate." Bucky nodded in agreement.

"I'll see you when you get back then Toots." You sighed, rather dramatically Bucky let out a soft chuckle.

"I'm inviting you to join you, idiot." His eyes narrowed at the name-calling. After tonight he didn't want to hear another disparaging word out of your mouth for a while, if ever. It only reminded him of how you have been treated.

"I'll come with but don't talk to me like you do your father." His tone clipped but you simply smiled back at him as you stepped out of the car texting Bucky the address.

"Thought you wanted to be my Daddy, Barnes?" He didn't miss the coquettish tone and smile but failed to reciprocate. 

"From what I can tell that man was no dad." Bucky looked down at his phone surprised how close the address was. "See you there." He finalized and you shut the door making your way to your own vehicle. 

When Bucky entered your fifth-floor apartment he wasn't sure what he'd find in a space that was entirely your own. At the compound you kept things pretty minimal, some jewelry on a dresser, clothes organized, a black and white poster of some European city during the day but no real personal effects. Hell outside of a photo Wanda gave you from a team outing there was nothing in your room that showed who it belonged to.

Bucky found it odd at first however if anyone came into his room he wasn't sure there'd be terribly too much to indicate it was his either outside. Maybe the workout bench and weights he kept when he didn't want to be in the gym with others. There was also that vintage New York Dodgers poster you bought for him, similar to the one you got for Steve. 

Seeing your apartment, it made sense to him now, you kept yourself here. The living room was full of warm tones, throw blankets that looked dangerously soft, two giant filled bookcases and photos all over the place. Soft lighting encasing the room in comfort.

"It's not much," your voice pulling him from his analysis, "but it's mine." The soft ending in your tone warmed him, it was clear you were trusting him with something no one else had seen. 

The pile of mail on the other side of the door you picked up along with dust he could see on the bookcases alluded to it being a place you hadn't seen in a while. Sensing his scrutiny you felt the need to justify yourself.

"I used to stay here more often but the compound is easier for missions," You set the pile of mail on the old writing desk across from a small kitchen. Bucky's eyes caught on a framed photo next to the mail. A young woman is holding a toddler in front of your father's butchery, the building looks newer than it does now and the woman in clothes not of a recent style.

"Who's that?" Bucky looks up to catch you stretching your arms above you with your back facing him. Watching the small of your back slowly be revealed as the shirt rises, he licks his lips rapidly losing interest in the photo. But when you turned around and caught sight of what he was referring to you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

"That's me and Mom," you turn back around. Only then does he realize she does look an awful lot like you or was it you looked like her? The stark difference was her face, it appeared softer. 

Your face often held hard lines that Bucky wanted to soften with his hands. Your edges so jagged, he longed to cut himself on them. Know you intimately, deeper levels you rarely showed. The times your face would soften the most recently have been over the past few months with him. A small part of him hoping it meant you were opening up to him in ways he could burrow inside and never leave.

Bucky set his duffle back containing Betsy and gear on the floor next to the one you had set down before grabbing the mail.

"Where your ma'?" Bucky trailed his fingers on the desk as he followed behind you slowly. You turn your head and he sees your side profile, the soft lights do little to hide the pain in your eyes.

"Same place as yours." He inhales quickly at your response. "Shower down the way there," you gesture towards a cracked open door. "Bed is that way." You gestured to the hallway opposite of bathroom door and make your way down the same hallway as he heads towards the bathroom. A good scrubbing sounded nice.

When Bucky stepped out of the shower he noticed the dark blue sweatpants and a grey shirt laying on the bathroom counter that were certainly not there before. A soft blush covered his cheeks at the thought of you walking in on him showering. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you and the past few hours. Had he been so distracted in the shower that he missed you coming in? That wasn’t like him at all. 

However, he left his guard down around you more so than he should, at least that’s what Steve had expressed concern over. Bucky shook his head, what did that punk know anyway? He couldn’t even talk to women.

After drying his hair until slightly damp he pulled the sweatpants on. They were almost too snug on him but clearly too big for you. The thought that someone else, a guy particularly, leaving them here caused an unsettling burn in his chest. He knew you weren't his but he'd be lying if he didn't relish the thought of you being so one day. Pushing the burning sensation down he made his way to the hallway you had mentioned he could find a bed.

Finding the first door he came across open he felt his jaw slide open. Your hair was down damp, wearing obscenely short sleep shorts and a tank top that strained against pebbled nipples. Swallowing away the dryness in his throat Bucky looked towards the ceiling before clearing his throat. 

"Where's the guest room?" You tilted your head at him in confusion. Turning down the sheets you crawled into the bed.

"What guest room?" Bucky eyes stopped tracing patterns in the ceiling design to look back at you in equal confusion.

"You said a bed was down the hall." Your hand gestured to the bed in reply as you lay on your side. You tried and failed to cover the smile as Bucky became flustered with realization.

"I'll take the couch." You frowned at him and patted the open space next to you.

"Don't be silly, the bed is big enough for both of us," you couldn't help the coquettish smile that pulls on your lips, "Unless you're scared of sleeping next to me."

Bucky swallows the growing lump in his throat. He wasn't scared of you, never had been regardless of some teammates’ concerns. His main concern lay with the ever-growing attraction he felt toward you. 

Bucky felt himself caving, the last time the two of you shared a bed it was after rather traumatic night terror this was different. This wasn’t comfort-based. 

"I won't bite you Bucky," bending your arm and resting the side of your head on the palm of your hand, you watch with growing interest at what the super soldier will do.

Laying down next to you Bucky folds his arms under his head and turns his head towards you with that beautiful smile that took your breath away more often than not.

"That's a shame Toots." You sputter at his response and turn towards the side table under the guise of turning the light off to hide your embarrassment, feeling the warmth in your cheeks and moving down to your chest.

With your back to him, you lay down and close your eyes, trying to push down the desire to curl up to the warmth radiating off his body. Bucky let out a huff hot air pushing against your back, he wraps his metal arm over your stomach, warm flesh arm snaking under you to pull your back to his chest.

Before you can start verbal spar over his actions he locks his arms around you, fingers curling into the softness of your abdomen. The intimacy of the touch taking away any thoughts you tried to voice. There was unfamiliar security in his touch that left you wearisome. Resigning that you wouldn’t be able to stop this, and honestly not wanting to you close your eyes once more. 

Bucky satisfied at your body relaxing into his hold he smiles against the top of your head.

“So is this a get to know the weird father-daughter relationship moment?” Bucky teased into your ear.

You groan a hand flying back to smack him in the head but he grabs it pulling it down to rest on your abdomen encased by his arm. You could practically hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest as his fingers intertwined with yours. Certain his superhuman hearing picking up on it.

“This is a go-to-sleep moment,” you hiss out. Trying to quell the fluttering in your chest.

“I’m not tired though.” Bucky whines in your ear, “Tell me a story,” his fingers curling into your palm between your fingers. Looking down at where he held your hand you could feel yourself giving in. Oh, how easy it would be to just fall for Bucky Barnes.

“There once was a little girl,” Bucky pulls you flush to him, leaning his head down to nuzzle into your neck inhaling deep. You were fairly certain he could feel the increasing pace of your pulse at the touch.

“Things were good for her, for a while,” closing your eyes you continue, letting his embrace soothe your growing unease at opening up. “She had a father who would pat her head sometimes but outside of that he had no love to give her but that was okay because her mother who loved her so much made up for the loss,”

“Sounds like a great mom,” Bucky whispers against your neck, his lips resting against your pulse.

“She was, she tried so hard to make her little girl happy,” you paused “But they knew something was different about their little girl. She broke bottles, toys, and cribs with the slightest grip of her fingers. One time she held a glass too tight and it shattered,” You smirked recalling the panic in your mother and father, time having a way to make the most macabre funny.

“That was the only time the little girl saw her mother cry.”  Though remembering your mother’s fear was not all that funny.

“After that, her mother kept smiling and telling her how special and wonderful she was. Neither of them knew what to do with their child. As the little girl grew her mother taught her to be cautious of pressure, always guiding the little girl’s tiny but powerful hands.” Bucky pulled your hand from against your stomach eyes peering from your neck. He notices the faint scars on the palms of your hand.

“Gentle hands like your holding an egg,” you mused, “That’s what her mom would say.” 

“What happened to her,” Bucky’s face so close to your neck you could feel the heat and moisture.

“She was murdered,” Bucky’s body tensed around you, your monotone recount of her death chilling. “Someone tried to rob the butchery, she stood up against them and paid the ultimate price.” 

“There were no more gentle hands, just the overwhelming drive of vengeance and a cold distant father.” You felt Bucky slowly relax around you, his head nuzzling into your neck once more. “He asked the mob for help in getting the person who did it in exchange for services. I was 11 at the time and Marco was just a business associate of my dad’s to me.”

“Then I killed that man who touched my friend I held worth to my father for once, he made a trade.” You trembled at the memory of being handed off to the mob, you could almost hear your cries at your father’s retreating figure. Bucky cocoons you with his warmth and the feel of his chest even breathing slowly reeling you back to the present.

He turns you in his embrace, laying you flat on the bed as he remains on his side. You didn’t know you had been crying until the cool pad of his metal fingers and warmth of his flesh thumb wipe them from your cheeks.

“You didn’t have a choice Toots, you were their weapon.” You shake your head in his hands.

“No you didn’t have a choice, I did. I could have left,” Bucky’s lips downturn at the omission. “I choose to kill those people for them and I will work until my dying breath to kill the right ones from now on.” Not wanting to talk about it anymore, you bury your face into his chest and sigh with content at the feel of Bucky’s embrace and smell surrounding you. 

“I’m not saying we had the same choices or the same circumstances that led us to do what we did but I will say,” Bucky pauses lifting your chin up but you keep your eyes closed.

“Don't ever tame your demons Toots, they keep you alive.” Opening your eyes you hold your breath at the sight of moonlight illuminating his face. You knew Bucky was handsome but coupled with his words and gentle touch you never believed a human being could be so beautiful to you.  It scared you. 

Burrowing your face back into his chest he lets out a soft chuckle. He wraps his arms around you, dipping his face down into your hair, inhaling deep. The two of you slowly drift to sleep. 

[hardkinkbadkink]

I am once again sending you a prompt, which I think is like my third one? Sorry for the spam I guess. Eskel is the love of my life soo... Eskel meeting Jaskier after The Mountain, and quickly falling in love with the charming bard. He knows Jaskier’s heart belongs to Geralt, but his body belongs to Eskel. They get to Kaer Morhen, and ofc Geralt is there. Eskel having to deal with that- but it all ends happily with a big polyamorous fuck pile. Jaskier definitely has enough love for both witchers.

listen. i. Adore eskel. i fucking LOVE that bitch, i love him greatly and i love him fiercely, he is the light of my life & my forever favourite witcher character and not even sweet darling joey batey as jaskier can change that like?? eskel is It for me. i was maybe seven when i played the first game because it is a National Classic and you were legally obliged by law to play it and wee bairn me looked at this four pixels of a man on my screen and thought fuck guess i gotta be gay?? the fucking. quest. where he gets his face ripped open. when i tell you i cried. and then he got even hotter?? impossible. i'll never love a character like that again, it's been too long to change x

my mild obsession aside, did you mean for this to be so angsty? because it is, it's fucking Sad and has Feelings and also a soft threesome that feels firmly out of place on my noncon-bestiality-centric porn blog (so i posted in on ao3 too)

as always i look at canon and i pretend i do not see it lovelies x

send in more eskel prompts if you want him to get fucked in true hard kink fashion & also send in more eskel prompts in general i will never refuse

***

Eskel has no intention to stop in that tavern at all, until he hears the singing.

It's nothing, he tells himself.

It's nothing, and yet he pulls Scorpion to a reluctant halt, pays the stablehand a copper and no mind as he makes his way, ensorcelled, to hover near the entrance. He'd heard the one particular song in so many renditions his head spins with it. Most of them lousy, some of them bearable. This one—

Oh, but this one seems like it'd been torn from the bard's very soul.

Eskel waits until the final, unusually heart-wrenching notes of Toss a coin bleed into a brief silence.

He doesn't enjoy taverns much—the burning glances when he settles at a table, swords at his back and hood pulled low over his eyes. The quiet chorus of gasps when he slips the bastard cloak off and people get a good look at his monstrous, twisted face, averting their gaze quickly but drawn in by morbid curiosity again and again. Their reluctance to serve him, to approach him, to trust him with his own damn job.

Eskel's had decades to get used to it.

Maybe next century.

He pulls the door open with an unsteady hand, eyes falling immediately to the bard, centre stage as he can manage in a wayward tavern not designed for such performances. He's dressed finely, lavishly, with great care and taste and Eskel lets himself admire, just for a moment.

"Oh," the bard breathes on a sharp inhale, and his dazzling blue eyes glitter with a sort of recognition that punches Eskel right in the gut with its intensity.

It's entirely quiet for a few painful heartbeats.

"Oi!" a man hollers to his side, clearly too deep in his cups to try at decency. "Y'heard the bard, toss a fuckin' coin to the witcher."

They don't, and Eskel would never ask that of them—but he's served a decent pint on the house as soon as he sits down in a darkened corner, and his cheeks can't exactly burn, but he feels like they would.

The bard gets through another song, a bawdy drinking tune. Eskel keeps his eyes on him the whole time, though he barely hears the words, mesmerised by the sway of the man's hips and the honey-warm timbre of his voice.

A faint panic rises up in his throat when the bard thanks his audience for their attention, bowing in a manner entirely too exaggerated for this place and time—and makes his way with a strange mix of confidence and reluctance to sit across from Eskel.

"My apologies for presuming," the bard begins, and Eskel watches with bated breath as his long, shapely fingers wrap around Eskel's own mug. He takes a deep drink, eyelashes casting lovely shadows on his cheeks. "Eskel?"

He nearly chokes on his own tongue, but manages to nod curtly.

"It seems that Destiny's playing tricks on me." The bard's lips twitch up in a sad smile. "I'm Jaskier. Pleased to make your acquaintance, after all these years."

Jaskier. Jaskier. Of course it's Geralt's fucking bard, his—

"I must say, I harboured my hopes that you wouldn't be quite as broody and silent as Geralt is."

Eskel manages to shake himself out of it, though only barely.

"Sorry." He clears his throat in an attempt to make his voice less gravely. Less threatening. "Sorry, fuck, just spent so many winters with Geralt talking my ear off about you, I'd half-expected the bastard to've made you up."

He tries for light-heartedness. A flash of poorly-disguised pain passes through Jaskier's face, and Eskel realises it was decidedly not the way to go.

"Ah, you won't have to worry about that anymore, darling. Geralt and I are no longer companionable, in any way."

Perhaps it's the darling that does him in. Perhaps it's the overwhelming desire to never see this brilliant man sad or hurt again. Perhaps it's Eskel's own harrowing loneliness.

It doesn't matter much, because he downs the rest of his ale in three gulps, and then there are warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him away and up the stairs, pushing him into a room and onto a bed with a lapful of bard.

"Goddess," Jaskier says quietly, almost privately, except that his lips hover temptingly close to Eskel's. "You do look just like him, if it wasn't for—"

"The disfigured maw?" Eskel adds helpfully, out of habit if nothing else.

Jaskier puts a gentle hand on his cheek—the scarred one, gods save his soul—and Eskel leans into the touch involuntarily, like a dog starved for affection.

"I was going to say the hair," Jaskier finishes with a hint of kind amusement, and winks.

Eskel knows, with that first hungry kiss, that he's absolutely and utterly gone for the bard.

"Beautiful, darling—gods, you're stunning," Jaskier whispers later, hands roaming Eskel's broad chest, and fuck, he hadn't been touched like this in months, so he hides against the smooth column of Jaskier's throat—sucks a vivid bruise there like he has any fucking right—and desperately ignores the praise that isn't meant for him.

He sucks Jaskier's cock to make him shut up, and gets called lovely and breathtaking and darling angel for his efforts. He opens Jaskier up—mouth latched to the pale insides of his thighs, littering them with bruises—on four fingers and so much chamomile oil the smell makes him lightheaded, and Jaskier tells him he's a treasure, fuck, so good to me. He gets pushed backwards onto the bed, his wrists guided above his head in a soft suggestion of restraint as Jaskier rides his cock with determined fervour, and he's divine, gorgeous, my sweet, darling witcher.

Jaskier arches beautifully when he comes, spills all over them both, his eyes heavy-lidded, still holding Eskel's gaze, and Eskel knows he's only looking for an echo of Geralt in his yellow irises—but he flips them over, takes his pleasure in Jaskier's body, and he can live with being a second choice when he's used to being no choice at all.

***

"I've been—fuck, awfully lonely on the road, gods, darling—"

Eskel's quickly found out Jaskier is quite keen on being held, suspended in the air with only Eskel's hands underneath his thighs and a cock driving into him with haste and despair.

Especially out in the open, on the side of a well-traversed road. Eskel licks absently at the raised imprint of his teeth above Jaskier's collar and yearns to deepen it, have it stay there forever.

Jaskier pulls at his hair, panting harshly, brings their lips together in a searing kiss. He whines at the back of his throat and his sinful hole flutters around Eskel's cock, milking him into completion faster than anyone ever could, whispering low into his ear, that's it, that's it, love, fill me up 'til I can't hold anymore, fuck, so good like nobody ever did.

And if they're never quite alone in their passions, if Jaskier still searches his eyes for a ghost of someone else—Eskel can pretend he doesn't see, because he's the one who gets to fall asleep with the bard pressed up against him, soft and warm and kind.

***

Inkeepers take him in more willingly, when he's got Jaskier at his side, flashing them a smile full of promise.

He doesn't need for brothels, when he wakes up to Jaskier lapping at the head of his cock like it's the sweetest treat. When Jaskier's unable to keep his hands to himself. When he stays nice and loose and ready for Eskel to pound him into the ground at any moment.

"I'm not a young man anymore," Jaskier always says after, struggling to catch his breath, even if he were the one palming Eskel's cock through his breeches.

"You don't look a day over seventy," Eskel offers in return, and Jaskier slaps him upside the head in mock offense.

Eskel's never been happier than he is with Jaskier trudging the Path with him.

Which is why the frost crunching under their boots fills him with a hollow aching. A single snowflake lands pointedly at the very tip of Jaskier's reddened nose, and Eskel glares at the sky.

He lets Jaskier fuck him, then. They get a room for the night, light the hearth and feed the flames. Share a bottle of wine, of which Eskel takes the brunt. Stretch out leisurely on the furs, and Eskel's insides tie in knots when he watches the silver hairs on Jaskier's dark head glimmer in the firelight.

Jaskier takes his time, as Eskel thought he would. Lavishes him with kisses and praise and adoration and Eskel still doesn't think it's all his to have, but he melts under Jaskier's touches anyway.

I love you, he aches to say, to scream at the top of his lungs when Jaskier pushes into him, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut in rapture.

"Come away with me," he begs instead, on the verge of release and at mercy of the insistent snap of Jaskier's hips. "To Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier shushes him with a kiss and a gentle hand in his hair.

"I don't want to leave without you."

Don't leave me alone, I can't bear it again.

He tips Jaskier's chin up, the bard's pretty eyes brimming with unshed tears as he nods—and this time, just for a second, Eskel doesn't feel like a shoddy replacement.

***

They beat Lambert to the keep by three days.

Three days spent reacquainting with the concept of heat and the feeling in their fingers after weeks traversing increasingly higher snowcaps.

Three glorious, uninterrupted days of having Jaskier share his bed in the only place Eskel could ever call home.

When he gets there, Lambert asks when he's going to get a turn on the bard, and if Eskel beats his insufferable arse in training a little harder than he normally would on the first day—well. It's what brothers do.

He makes sure to keep the ever-present mark at Jaskier's throat a vibrant purple when it fades into yellow, and Jaskier begs him for it as sweetly as he begs for his cock, just within Lambert's earshot.

Geralt doesn't show for a full fortnight, and then some. The snow piles higher with each day. They all collectively agree that their last wolf won't show this year, like he did so many years before.

Perhaps it is because Eskel thanks his Lady Destiny too soon, that Geralt staggers into the hall in the midst of a snowstorm, his cloak frozen stiff, frost melting on his silver hair.

They fall into each other's arms, because they always do; because they're brothers, because they'd been through hell together, because they love each other fiercely even if Eskel can't think of a single person he'd rather avoid more than Geralt, right now. They stand there in the hall, the snow on Geralt's collar a shock of cold against Eskel's neck. And then Geralt stiffens, suddenly, rigid in Eskel's embrace in a way that has nothing to do with the chill.

"You smell—" Geralt begins, seemingly perplexed, and inhales deeply at the juncture of Eskel's shoulder.

They fall away from each other abruptly, Eskel's chest tight with a muffled pull of dread.

"Let's get you warmed up, yeah? I'll get Lambert to see to your mare. He might not be too happy to see you, though. You lost him a bet."

Geralt follows him, almost reluctantly, and Eskel wants just one more night before it all goes to shit. Just the one.

***

Jaskier is sleep-warm and perfect and doesn't appreciate the chill of Eskel's skin once he finally gets back into bed.

Eskel takes him too roughly for the time of night, bites at his freckled shoulders and sharp collarbones, has Jaskier trembling and begging for it twice before he lets the bard come.

He muffles his own release against Jaskier's lips, all too aware of Geralt in a room not a hallway away.

***

The door creaks when it's pushed open. Faintly, but enough to rouse Eskel awake. He tightens an arm reflexively around Jaskier's sleeping form, and the bard nuzzles up against the side of his chest.

Yellow eyes stare at them intently, Geralt's expression unreadable, though the nod he gives can mean only one thing.

Eskel is careful as he untangles their limbs, and his heart decidedly doesn't pound quicker for a beat when Jaskier reaches out after him and mumbles a sleepy Eskel.

Their footsteps are nearly soundless on the stone floor. Geralt is equally quiet, rigid as a bowstring. They walk for a long time, until they come to a place Jaskier didn't yet get a chance to explore. Neutral ground. As neutral as can be, with Eskel still drenched in Jaskier's scent.

"I'm not sorry," Eskel says finally, and Geralt flinches.

They don't look at each other.

"Why," Geralt forces out. Eskel can hear the bones in his jaw click. "Why bring him here."

Wind howls outside the walls, the storm unrelenting.

I didn't want to be alone, he almost says, but bites his tongue. Instead,

"You broke him, Geralt. You left and he—he used to call out for you at night, you know? He'd have nightmares and wake up shaking. And I couldn't help."

They rarely talk like this, heart to heart under the guise of night.

"Why?" Geralt asks, softer this time. Kinder.

It doesn't feel right, but it's what's going to make things right.

"I'm just a substitute. A lousy one at that. He still—he wants you. Loves you."

And it's the truth, when he finally admits it out loud. Eskel is more at peace with that than he thought he would.

"Please don't take it from me," he whispers, overwhelmed in a way that he was assured the mutagens were supposed to eliminate. "It's all I have."

Geralt doesn't respond, though he does place a hand on Eskel's shoulder, in comfort or understanding, he couldn't know.

***

Jaskier keeps his head high.

"Geralt," the bard greets him, in a manner far too cold and collected.

He doesn't flinch under Geralt's gaze, doesn't look away before Geralt, but when he does—Eskel catches his expression shatter, fall into a million pieces that he desperately wants to collect and put back together. They slip through his fingers.

At night, Jaskier jolts awake clawing at his own throat, crying that he can't breathe, asking Geralt to help him, please help him. Eskel holds him until the tremors subside. Neither of them sleeps well.

All the good evaporates from Eskel's life.

The silly marks of faux ownership fade from Jaskier's skin, eventually, and Eskel's heart aches.

He kisses Jaskier deeply, puts all his horrible feelings behind it, and then just holds the bard close. For the last time. Eskel knows he isn't meant to cry—but the trials merely took away his ability to shed tears, not this overpowering fucking desire to do so.

"Eskel?" Jaskier says, gently, the question of what's wrong implied.

Eskel shakes his head and holds Jaskier tighter.

***

"You. Apologise."

Geralt seems startled by the development. As does Jaskier, to be fair, shifting nervously where he's gripping Eskel's arm.

"I don't want his apology," Jaskier says weakly. "We've had our words, and they were very—pointed. Very definite. Eskel—"

Jaskier looks to him with wide, terrified eyes.

And it wouldn't be enough that he has to give up the one good thing in his life, would it? It wouldn't be enough that every time they fucked Jaskier looked beyond him and for someone else. It wouldn't be fucking enough that he was madly, unreasonably in love with a man whose affections laid firmly elsewhere.

No, it wouldn't, because now he has to—

He takes a deep breath and listens to the staccato of Jaskier's quickened heartbeat.

"I wouldn't make you do this, except you do want his fucking apology, and Geralt wants to give it to you, because you love him and he loves you and I'm—" useless, disposable, unwanted, "I'm done. I'm done. Figure it out. Please."

Jaskier's hands fall away from around his arm, and Eskel takes off.

He doesn't really have anywhere to go, when every place he'd grown to love in the keep knows Jaskier's presence, wears his mark and his scent.

The corridors are still and silent. Grey and imposing. Cold is seeping through the thick stone—cold from this winter and the hundreds before it, and Eskel thinks the walls had never truly known warmth. It's all terribly dull, Jaskier had said when they'd walked the halls that first time, hand in hand with not a worry between them.

He'd been stupid to grow so attached when Jaskier was never his to keep. He'd been stupid to bring him here and expect everything to stay the same in blissful ignorance. He'd been stupid, and he didn't want to be lonely again, even for just a few months—and now he's going to be lonely until some merciful beast cuts his suffering short like it was always meant to.

It is, perhaps, too early in the day to drink, but Lambert's eyes light up when Eskel goes to him with the offer.

Later, out of habit, he almost stumbles into his room before his drunken brain screams at him to keep going. Eskel falls asleep in an abandoned bedroom that smells of dust and time instead of his bard.

***

"You didn't come to bed."

Eskel hears Jaskier approaching, of course he does—but he doesn't turn to face him, eyes firmly fixed on the window, even if it is just snow there. He does feel quite dramatic, sat in a windowsill like a maiden awaiting her beloved to come and whisk her away. Eskel awaits only peace and for his heart to feel whole again.

"Smells like you," he says, too honest.

Jaskier shuffles closer.

"I waited up for you."

A hand falls gently to his shoulder, and Eskel shivers at the touch.

"Thought you'd be staying with Geralt. You—you can keep the room, if you want." Eskel couldn't ever be comfortable there, anyway, not after everything.

"Darling—"

The hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, soft and tender and Eskel meets the incredible blue of Jaskier's eyes easily.

"I never meant to make you feel unwanted," Jaskier begins. Eskel wishes only to shrink under his gaze. "I want you so, so much."

Jaskier settles next to him, their thighs pressed together, the black of his trousers startling against wine-red silk. Eskel feels fucking dumb.

"I know it wasn't about me, I—you should go be with your wolf. I'll be fine."

The scars pull tightly when he smiles, aiming for reassuring; it comes out tired and helpless.

Jaskier leans in impossibly close, the ghost of his breath on Eskel's lips.

"You're my wolf, too."

They kiss before he knows it—desperately, hungrily, until Eskel's head spins and Jaskier's hands tug at the collar of his shirt.

Eskel pulls away with a deep, burning hatred of himself.

"Just go, Jaskier." When did his voice grow so cold? He never wants to speak to Jaskier like this, never, and yet— "I don't need your pity."

He expects Jaskier to do just that. Go, and avoid him for the rest of winter, and walk around with Geralt's scent all over him and a mark to the side of his neck and—

"No. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Eskel, gods, I—I'm sorry, yeah? That you couldn't trust my affection was all for you, and perhaps it wasn't, not always—"

Fuck, but it does hurt to hear it, just a bit.

"—but then you had to go and be the most splendid creature under the sun and I, well."

The gold of Jaskier's rings glitters enticingly in the sparse sunlight when he reaches for Eskel's hand.

"I do love Geralt, but Eskel, darling. I love you just as much."

Eskel could fall to his knees if he were the praying sort.

Fuck, he might anyway.

Jaskier kisses him, and Eskel carries the bard all the way to bed to show his worship in a different way.

***

It's easy to kiss Geralt.

It's not the first time he'd kissed Geralt.

"Fuck, look at you," Jaskier moans, somewhere to their side.

Geralt arches his neck beautifully when Eskel grabs a fistful of silver hair and tugs his head backwards.

It is, possibly, the first time he'd kissed Geralt without the hushed secrecy of darkness and a hard scrubbing to get the scent of release off each other.

Jaskier leans over his shoulder to capture Geralt's lips for himself, chest pressed tightly to Eskel's back.

He'd thought the jealousy would smother him, when Jaskier first brought it up. He'd thought he would choke on the image of Jaskier laid bare before anyone else. He'd thought—

But it's Geralt, isn't it? It's Geralt, and they'd already shared so much with each other, their joys and their pain and their lives, and—

"Eskel," Geralt breathes like he used to so many lifetimes ago, except he doesn't bite his tongue, now, and Eskel leans in to bite instead at the soft skin below his jaw, to leave his mark there, twin to the one he'd left on Jaskier.

They fall softly to the mattress, him and Geralt, with Jaskier crawling over them swiftly, a sun-warm smile on his pretty face.

"Gods. Gods, you're stunning."

Eskel turns his head slowly, lazily, and finds Geralt's eyes heavy and sparkling. Not just yellow, anymore, no longer the colour of a beast's—rather, the exact shade of sunlight caught in honey. Of morning dew on dandelions.

Fuck, he'd grown mellow.

Jaskier comes to straddle him, all pale skin and gorgeous hair and bruises from his hips to his throat. He settles heavily over Eskel's cock, the bastard tease.

"Jaskier," Eskel near-hisses, because suddenly the head of his cock dips inside Jaskier's oil-slick hole. "Fuck, you—"

"Of course I got ready for my wolves, darling," Jaskier breathes, and laughs, and seats himself completely in Eskel's lap like it's nothing. "In fact, you might be partial to know—I had to employ the use of my other hand, to prepare for what I have planned."

Eskel's head spins, thick with the promise that he doesn't dare dwell on. His eyes slip shut; Jaskier coaxes them open with nought but a soft word.

He can feel Geralt stir next to him, watching with a tight grip on himself as Jaskier moves easily, like he'd been made only for this, his one divine purpose.

"Geralt," Eskel hears himself call out weakly. "Geralt, Geralt—"

Words seem only a silly hindrance, so he doesn't bother, grabbing instead at the thick muscle of Geralt's thighs, guiding him to sit astride Eskel's chest, crush him with all that glorious weight—stuff his cock in Eskel's greedy mouth, fuck.

Eskel thinks he might combust, go up in flames as he's caught between the agonising pleasure of being buried to the hilt in Jaskier's slack hole and the heavy satisfaction of having Geralt's cock glide wetly on his tongue, further and further as Geralt stares at him, bewildered.

It's a wonder he doesn't come as soon as the length of it slides seamlessly down his throat, so deep he can feel it when he wraps a hand around his own neck. He squeezes, just to make sure Geralt feels it, too, and the rumble of a groan from above him makes Eskel thrust wildly into the clutch of Jaskier's maddeningly hot body.

"O-oh, you were made for each other, weren't you?" Jaskier's hand is petting gentle circles up Eskel's heaving stomach. "Fuck, darling, next time I'll watch you bounce on Geralt's cock till you sob with it."

He reaches blindly to grab Jaskier's hand, entwine their fingers together. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watches Geralt's head get pulled back for a messy kiss. The bruise on the elegant column of his throat stands dark and proud and Eskel's chest swells with it, even if it'll fade in hours. He'll just have to try very hard to keep it vivid.

Geralt rolls his hips, knees tightening around Eskel's shoulders, ragged moans filling the air, mingling with the sinful noises dripping from Jaskier's lips. Eskel's vision spots, air suddenly hard to come by, and yet it doesn't cause him distress; fuck, of all the ways to die, being smothered between Geralt's thighs with Jaskier tight and lovely around his cock is Eskel's preferred demise, if given a choice. His heartbeat quickens, though, and Geralt stops his delicious rutting, moves away with a tender look and a touch to his swollen lip. He leans down to steal another kiss, but Eskel's too floaty, too hazy to do anything more than open his sloppy mouth--for Geralt, and then for Jaskier, when he collapses on Eskel's chest.

"Desperation really is becoming on you, darling."

Feeling Geralt's tongue lapping at his cock when it's still moving in and out of Jaskier—

Feeling a finger press in alongside him, joined quickly by another and another, until the fit is so tight it seems like he's suffocating—

Feeling the torturously slow drag of Geralt's cock against his, contained so closely in the heaven of Jaskier's body—

"Fuck," Eskel and Geralt groan in perfect harmony, Jaskier trembling wildly in their arms.

"Gods, gods, fuck, I love you, love you both so much—"

Eskel can't speak, can't move, can't do anything but suck in desperate breaths and look as Jaskier's face morphs from pain into rapture, his brow smoothing out, his bitten-red lips coming apart in a perfect o.

Geralt roars, withdraws his hips just a little, and it jostles Eskel's very soul.

Fuck, he can't imagine what it's like for Jaskier.

He wonders if—

"Move," Jaskier says in a broken voice. "You can move, you can fuck me, a-ah."

Eskel wishes he could Axii himself into not coming. He wishes—gods, but he can't, he can't, and when Geralt starts moving with purpose, Eskel feels the crackle of release at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter until—

"Fuck, Eskel—" Geralt moans, and it's torture, when Eskel can feel his cock throbbing against Geralt's, and then he's coming and coming and coming, a shockwave of sensation.

His ears feel like they're stuffed with thick wool.

Jaskier kisses him, quick and filthy and needy.

"You're perfect, perfect, my darling—" he says against Eskel's lips.

Eskel whines at the back of his throat, his hands trembling where they grab Geralt's hair and tug him to lean down.

The raw, painful pleasure of his oversensitive cock still trapped within the suffocating heat of Jaskier's body threatens to undo him completely. He claws blindly at any skin he can reach, to ground himself, to settle against the unrelenting drag of Geralt against him. He can feel his seed dripping out of Jaskier and down his balls. It's fucking filthy.

He kisses Jaskier and he kisses Geralt and his lips go numb before Jaskier finally tips into a shaking release that rips a hoarse scream from his throat.

The bed is barely big enough for two people, but they make it work. They'll make it all work, somehow.

Before sleep takes him, Eskel hears Lambert yell, I'm moving the fuck out from down the hall.

[austennerdita2533]

To my fellow PJo-loving anon: 

Here’s the New Year’s drabble I told you I’d try to take a stab at all those days ago. So sorry it’s taken me so long to finish, but 2019 has been bumpy for me so far. Plus I kept reconfiguring this because I’ve never written Dawson’s Creek/PJo fic before and was looking for a way to merge the idea in my head with the words I put on the page, something I never manage to fully achieve. I’m never happy haha. Alas, therein lies my endless writer struggle. 

Anyway, this is pure fluff with a very-much-alive Jen--just as you asked. :) 

Also here: (A03)

I hope you like it, sweets!

xx Ashlee Bree

Always Remember Us (Quipping) This Way

“It’ll never work, Pace,” she said as she sipped a hot toddy from her chair by the bonfire. Peering out at the creek instead of at his crunching approach, the sky starless but with air brisk enough to flake the lapping waves of the cape with snow if it so desired, Joey felt the drink’s warmth soothe the chill in her mittened hands before it spread to her bones with a shiver she’d never catch. “Whatever you’re planning, I admire the effort, I really do…”

“I sense a major but coming. Dawson, Jen, Jack, Dougie—” he corralled as amusement, firelight, and perhaps one too many merry whiskeys danced in his eyes. “Don’t you hear the major but lurking in my wife’s next words?”

“Sure do, little brother.”

“She told me but was her favorite conjunction once,” Jack said with a tip of his beer and a hiccup.

Amused, Jen exhaled. Shook her head. “Sometimes I forget how much I miss you people.”

Gathered around the flames with good friends, warm blankets, and a combination of new and old memories, this group of twenty-somethings wouldn’t trade a laidback small town holiday in Capeside for anything more extravagant tonight. This was comfort at its finest. This was fun amid freezing Massachusetts wind and temperatures cold enough to give them frostbite. This was quality family time.

“Your ingenuity’s unmatched at the moment, however misguided it might be. I’ll give you that much,” Joey said as she hugged her knees and scowled in vain at the ‘something’ hidden beneath her husband’s coat while her friends laughed. All of them seemingly in on the same joke.

“I’ll take that back-handed compliment and raise you a nod in thanks,” Pacey fired back.

She regarded him with an arched brow as he neared, pointing.

“Don’t think I’m not onto you, by the way. I know that scheming look of yours all too well.”

“You know,” hand wagging, his tongue slid out over his bottom lip, “it’s not nice to accuse my face of things. What’s an innocent guy supposed to think?”

“Innocent? You?” Joey waved him off. Sighed long and well. Then she toasted with Dougie before taking another large swig from her mug. “Please, you haven’t been innocent since we were seven and you tried to trick me into eating a bucket of sand so I could protect myself from the Loch Ness Cronster who lurked beneath the Leery’s dock,” she said.

“Wow.” With a hand over his heart, he feigned stumbling backwards as if she’d shot him. “I can’t believe you’re still holding that against me. What is this, the second grade?”

Shrugging, “Potters are serious grudge-holders.”

“Notorious in your case,” Pacey added under his breath.

“Hey! Those are fighting words. Put up your dukes.”

“I told you she wouldn’t fall for any of your end of the year games this time, man,” Dawson called out with a hearty chuckle, Jen looking on by his side. Her red knitted head rested against his shoulder while one arm curled around his middle and her lips lifted in a quiet smile. Observant as always.

“I suppose we’ll have to see about that now, won’t we?”

Looking up, Joey’s eyes narrowed in challenge, “Oh, bite me Pacey.”

He halted before her then, head cocked and knees stooping so he could pull her to her feet in one smooth motion. He spun her toward him with ease, thanks to their ballroom dance lessons all those years ago. It seemed time and trust and love had finally taught them how to move in sync. Or at least had kept them from bruising the hell out of each other’s toes now that they could anticipate each other’s steps better. (Sometimes, anyway. Yeah, sometimes was still the most accurate word.)

“Whoever said anything about biting, Potter?” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Nice try, Fred Astaire—but no.”

“How are you objecting already?” She tried to push against his chest with fisted mittens but Pacey reeled her closer by the scarf strings. “You don’t even know what I’m about to do,” he said.

“Don’t I?”

“I promised you, remember?” An arm slunk around her waist. It held her firm against his chest where she belonged. “No pranks to herald in the New Year.”

“Oh, really?” Joey crossed her arms, playful, a little smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Then empty your pockets.”

Appearing affronted for a moment, but only a moment, Pacey scratched a thumb across his chin as if in thought before he reached into his coat with that grin of his widening until it was on full display. It was the cheeky one, too. Not the regular obnoxious one he wielded for sarcastic purposes or provoking alone because he knew it drove her mad, and boy, did it ever! (The number of married years under their belts did nothing to appease how much he still plucked at the nerves under her skin at times). This grin, though…this one he flashed only when some kind of raucous surprise or sweeping unexpectedness was on the horizon, and much to her eye-rolling chagrin, it usually was.

“This is how romanticism dies, I’ll have you know,” he said with a low grumble.

Joey pulled back.

“Why? You mean because I’m loath to accept that -” she swatted above them “ - that thing as a lousy substitute?”

“Yep.”

She humphed.

“Keats would be disappointed in you, my lady.”

Caught somewhere between a snort and a scoff, she gaped up at the no-longer-hidden item in Pacey’s hand before offering him a wry smile and wrapping her arms around his neck. Then she pressed their foreheads together, cupped his face in her palms. “Says the man who’s currently dangling a stalk of produce above our heads like it’s the most sentimental gesture in the history of sentimental gestures,” she pointed out.

“Come on, Jo. It’s romantic.”

“Mmm…debatable,” she said with a cute scrunch of her nose, with a shrug that caused their hips to bump. “Especially considering it’s celery you’ve pilfered from the fridge, which you then tied with a little red bow before presenting it to me.”

“That’s only because I’m conscious of how every detail matters, you see.”

“It does have green leaves, Joey. That’s festive, right?” Jen cut in at the first stroke of twelve. “Also, it’s fibrous in a non-poisonous way, so there’s that added benefit.”

“Yeah,” Jack laughed, Dougie’s hand on his knee. “It’s not like anybody here cares if the leaves are brown and wilting off the damn thing already.”

“Besides, it’s not as if we don’t all know Pacey completely ripped off this whole idea from Jacob Goldman with his broccoli mistletoe in Grumpy Old Men, anyway. So I think we can safely chalk up this amorous whim to borrowed creativity and an unspecified amount of liquor,” Dawson added in that philosophical tone of his, but with a face which was as free of jealousy as it was unencumbered by any mulling forehead lines.

“Don’t forget love, Leery,” said the borrower in question before he leaned in to kiss his sharp-tongued, big-brown-eyed girl. Their lips met just before the final midnight chime. “You know it’s about true love above all else with me.”

It always was.

Since Dawson was liable to see the film angle in everything, therefore, big or small, it was no surprise to the rest of them later on to learn that he’d found Pacey and Joey’s impromptu kiss beneath a shriveled stalk of celery in the last seconds of 2008 to be an inspiring slice of life for him. In his own words, or as he’d dubbed it in the bonus features of the Season 4 DVD, it was thereafter known as—

An absurd moment of affection, humor, and storytelling possibility.

[seanhtaylor]

No Man Is

Dinner at eight. Sex at nine-thirty -- ten at the latest. Depends on the service at Roberto's tonight. If we get that lousy mid-western kid again, it could be as late as eleven before we're out of there. Really, Roberto ought to fire that kid.

Should it be the skimpy red velvet one tonight? Maybe the navy blue leather one -- Warren says I look really sexy in the blue one. What would he know? He'd say I look sexy in any of them. Just play along, that's what he thinks, just play along and feed her a few compliments and he'll get what he wants, all stars are like that. . . Small minds, I get so sick of them.

Another interruption. Just great. I really ought to talk to someone at that answering service. Too many of these things slip through.

"Hey darling. I've got some bad news."

"Really. What? Having trouble matching your bow tie to your socks again?"

"Worse."

"Your polo pony caught something from an undesirable filly and won't stop scratching?"

"Hilarious. You're a regular riot. Now would you please shut up and listen?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Look. Dad's entertaining some Arabs tonight, and one of them has a daughter ready to hit the big three-oh. It's a favor for Dad. Really. She's a tramp, true dog meat. Got nothing on you, sweetheart."

What, no screaming fans at every corner? No number one re-mixes? Dry up and die, Warren.

"Yeah, whatever. Maybe tomorrow night."

"OK. . .Hey, thanks for understanding. Blood's thicker than water, you know."

I hang up, listening to the bath water lap against the sides of the tub while Boots swats at the bubbles. I imagine the same bubbles swimming in my nose, throat, lungs. Boots licking my hand, giving up, and slinking off to the bowl by the refrigerator. Rest. . .

"Here Boots. Let Mommy in. Cats aren't supposed to like water."

Nice night for a walk. Maybe afterwards.

* * * * *

Tramps, all of them. Whatever happened to real heroes? When I was kid, we had the Shadow, Lone Ranger, even Batman and Robin. Now it's these sex-crazed musicians. Self- proclaimed Messiahs for a new generation.

At seven-thirty, I'll call it a night. Been on the corner all day anyway. I'll be back tomorrow morning, shouting and screaming. "Repent! Repent!" It used to be so clear, easy to tell them. Now they can't hear me for all the noise those headphones are pumping into their ears.

Just like Ellis, everyone of them. Not one of them goes by that I don't see a little bit of Ellis in their eyes, hear a little bit of Ellis out of their mouths. Ellis cursed his father, too. Even cursed me on the note he left.

One more show tonight. Gangster rap crowd. They think it's cool. I can tell by the walk.

About four of them. The biggest one's got a knife. He doesn't know I know, but he's got it anyway. Right up against his wallet. Probably a butterfly. That's where Ellis kept his.

"Yo! What's up, old man? Why ain't ya preaching no more? You all out of things to say? Or did you change your mind all of a sudden?"

"Yeah. I got some something real smooth jammin' right now. Real smooth. . .'Ooh baby. . .give me what you got. . .' Wanna hear it?" The short one offers me his headphones.

"Repent!" I say. "Repent! Quit following the gods of that trash you're listening to. 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' That's what the Bible says."

"Ain't got no time for the Bible. It don't rhyme."

"Can't dance to it either."

"Listen," I say, "You'll dance soon enough. Dance right on into Hell. Dance forever. No stopping, then. All these zealots of immorality will be dancing with you then. But you can outsmart them. Repent! Repent!"

They don't like what I say. The one with the knife pushes me down. I think each one of them gets a chance to kick me as they go by. That'll hurt in the morning. But bruises heal.

They yell something at me as they run off. I can't hear it clear enough to make it out. The sounds don't separate themselves in my head when the darkness comes in. . .they just mix together. Maybe I'll go in at eight or nine -- whenever I wake up.

Some listen. Some don't. All I can do is all I can do.

* * * * *

I'd turn on the radio, but I get so tired of hearing my songs over and over again. I used to think it was so cool to hear the radio playing something I wrote, something I sang, because I knew then that they thought I was good enough. Now it doesn't matter, and I know it. They'll play any old crap I give them. All it needs is my name on the CD.

Let's see: jeans, raggy t-shirt, Papa's fishing hat, a ski-mask if I had one, and these old Nikes (the old-fashioned ones I bought before the air pumps). Maybe this windy city will be blowing so hard nobody'll notice me. Sometimes a girl needs to be alone. Without the whole crazy world chasing her down like she was wearing a sign that said "A MILLION BUCKS - - JUST CATCH ME TO WIN!"

Wonder if I'll see Warren and that Arabian princess tramp. His Dad does enjoy showing off the city whenever company is in town. Driving down the strip in his stretch limo. Guess he doesn't quite realize that those things are a dime a dozen nowadays. Oh well, Warren wouldn't recognize me if I weren't wearing something kinky anyway. It's a perverted kind of tunnel vision he's got.

Better call George downstairs. See if he can't let me leave by the loading area again. The winos make great company. Don't ask a lot of questions.

"George."

"That you, Miss Diva?"

"Can you sneak me out back again tonight? Last time, I promise."

"For a kiss."

"Don't tempt me, George. Your heart rate alone would kill you. And I wouldn't want that on my conscience. Besides, I might not find anybody else who'd let me use the back door."

"It was worth a try, anyhow. Sure, come on down. You gonna use the service elevator?"

Dear sweet George. I bet he hasn't seen a single one of my videos. He probably wouldn't be so sweet then. Come after me like I was the anti-Christ, jump on that "She's ruining our kids" bandwagon. Thank God Salem was a hundred years ago.

"Yeah. Bought my new album yet?" I hope he's blushing.

"Naw. Not on a security guard's salary. It'd be a little too new for me, anyhow. No Benny Goodman on it. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Thanks, George."

Well, Boots. You up for a little walk down the strip? No? Well, keep an eye on the apartment for Mommy. Wouldn't want to lose anything. On second thought, let someone take it all. It would be a welcome change.

* * * * *

The lights spin like showgirls, rapt in their performance. I try to focus, but the showgirls keep dancing, teasing, taunting, twirling around all glamor and frills.

Something dark that reeks of a night's sweat comes between me and the lights.

"Hey, mon. You ok?"

He's a big black man, close to six-and-a-half feet, no joke. And he's got those long dreadlocks growing like ropes from his scalp. Real unnatural.

"I say, hey mon, are you ok?"

I groggle something out to him, noise mostly, that he at least pretends to understand. He reaches out to help me up, out of the alley.

"Thank you," I say.

"Don't mention it. You need a ride somewhere?"

"No thanks. I live here." As I say it I realize he probably assumes I'm talking about the alley. . .that I'm a boozing, vagrant wino.

"Ok, mon. Take care!"

He's gone before I can correct him.

My watch beeps faintly, one of those cheap twelve dollar made-in-Taiwan kind of beeps, alerting me that it's ten till eight. I always set it ten minutes fast.

The loading bay doors of The Regal open. Probably some college kid carrying out the trash. . . No, it's a rent-a- cop checking the alley. No drugs here, I start to yell to him, just a beat-up old preacher, trying to save a few souls.

After he comes out, he holds the door for this kid who was behind him. Rough looking kid. Faded blue jeans, full of holes, baggy flannel button-up covering an old undershirt, and an ancient fishing hat. Fashion is something I'll never grasp.

The kid kisses the rent-a-cop on the cheek, makes him cross his heart on a whispered promise, and then jumps from the loading dock to the alley. I'm going to assume the best, that the kid is just leaving work from one of the shops downstairs at The Regal, and takes a shortcut home through the alley. Only walks a few feet after the door closes behind the rent-a-cop. Leans against a wall, pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket on the front of the flannel shirt, lights a match on the bricks of the wall, and sucks a cigarette like it was a straw. Blows smoke rings, too. Darn good ones.

Ellis used to blow rings, too. He used to try to catch them on his finger, score a point for each one he caught. Scored thirty-eight points once. His room smelled like smoke when his mother and I cut him down. Unfiltered smoke. It made his mother sick. Me, I just ignored it, washed the odor out of my clothes, and threw up later. But first we had to turn that music off.

The kid looks over to me, offers me one.

"No thanks. I like my lungs."

"Suit yourself. Gonna die anyway. Fire's as good as ice, or something like that. I never can remember."

I want to tell this kid to repent. Throw away those smokesticks, and breath the fresh air of Jesus. But I can't -- my lungs and ribs hurt too much. One of the hoodlums must've been wearing pointed shoes.

The kid finishes the smoke, then puffs down two more without missing a beat.

* * * * *

The fresh air smacks against me like a kiss, shooting me up like morphine. No pain. No memories. No anything.

I finish the third stogey, and crunch the butt under the heel of my Nikes. The wino looks at me, still shaking his head after declining my offer of a cig. Well, at least I'm not sleeping in some alley with a bottle of Jack, or whatever guys over sixty-five who live in dirty alleys drink now. I wish he'd stop looking at me that way, accusing. If I wanted that, I could just grab the Lear and fly back to Iowa to Mom and Dad. Even they would hug me first before condemning me.

Maybe that's why I hang on to Warren.

Three to get ready, and four to go, so I light up one more, and start walking out of the alley. The wind has other ideas, lifting Papa's hat, whisking it back over to the wino. He's nice enough, picking it up and knocking the dirt from it. I pop my neck, stretching the muscles, and slide my fingers through my freshly cropped hair. Kind of a long flapper cut. . .it's starting to grow on me. The wind tickles my scalp, triggering the night's rush again.

"Thanks."

He doesn't answer, seems shocked that I'm a girl underneath the street urchin clothes. Oh well, thought I'd made a friend. You win some, you lose some. Nothing new under the sun. I take the hat, tuck my hair back up under it, and head incognito into the street.

Then all Hell breaks loose. The wino starts screaming at me.

"You! You're that high-fashion harlot of music that's running this country's morals into the ground! Diva! My God, what if everybody's little girl grew up to be like you?"

Great. So much for incognito. In just a few seconds, people start gathering like maggots on dead meat. Thanks a lot, old man.

"Taxi! Hey, taxi!"

People, paper, pens. No matter where I look they're all around me. Stupid old preacher. Go ruin somebody else's night. I've got enough problems.

"Hey, everybody! Look! It's Diva!"

"I think you're great."

"Can I have your autograph? It's for my cousin."

I wonder if this is what a lab rat feels like, having to push all the right buttons while the guys in glasses and white coats stand around and watch. Only, now the glass between me and the crowd has been removed, and they're squeezing in, huddling in tighter to touch me, pull me apart, get a piece of me, carry me home as a souvenir -- "The Night I Touched Diva!"

"Taxi!"

"Please, just a few autographs."

Can't think. Can't feel the night air. Won't you please leave me alone. You don't want me. . . you want Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm. . . My God, who am I?

"Sure, just a few. Anything for my fans."

A blur of yellow rescues me. I fall inside less than gracefully. In the back seat, I cup my hands to hide my face.

* * * * *

My God, Ellis. Is this what you saw when the floor danced beneath you?

The attention she commands. The worship she craves. A pimp in black leather selling sex to children. And once they're hooked, they beg for more. Not one kid in the crowd is older than eighteen. Most look at least thirty, padded and curved, showing off the adultness of their bodies. But they're children. And begging at her feet like pets, ready to play.

"Repent! Repent!" I say, but I know they can't hear. All I can do is all I can do.

My sermon gets lost in the thunder they give her. Try as I might, I can do nothing here. God forgive them for they know not what they do. If anyone causes one Your little ones to stumble, oh Lord, have mercy. . .

A cab sweeps in, screeching recklessly next to the curb. She crawls in, bowing first to soak in their praise. The yellow door slams behind her, and the cab screams off.

It takes a good fifteen minutes for the crowd to fully disperse. Most of them linger, trading stories of how close they got, what her clothes felt like. Two girls in the front lie on the sidewalk, passed out. I guess they actually touched her.

Might as well get a cup of coffee before going home. Henry's place is only two blocks away. Let the commotion die down a little.

When I enter, the smell of hot coffee is solid like a wall. Just being here cheers me up, even makes my side feel better. Sid and Gladys wave, ask me for a soul count. Marty looks up, nods, then looks away, finishing his grilled cheese and Maxwell House. Two drunks are passed out in the corner booth. I stuff a Gideon New Testament in each one's shirt pocket, and order them each an omelet plate and some fresh coffee for when they wake up. Henry will see that they get it.

"Here's twenty bucks. It'll get them each a night at the shelter," I say to Henry as I sit down, "Don't let them have it till after I leave."

He takes the money. "The last two blew it on more liquor. What makes you think these two won't?"

"Just got a feeling this time, Henry."

"You had a feeling last time."

He's right. Most of them drink it all away. Probably end up right back in the corner booth, drunk and passed out. Some don't.

"Didja hear the news, Wilson? About Diva's new album being banned in two stores in Mississippi?" Henry asks me. And as he does, I remember the color of her eyes when I handed her the cap, deep brown like Ellis', before they dulled from drugs.

"Well, preacher, didja hear me? Diva's new album was banned from two stores in Mississippi."

I ignore him as much as I can. "Ham and cheese omelet. Grits and toast, too."

"Bet those libs'll be making a stink about their first amendment rights again. Yes sir, this time it's got the smell of a lawsuit all over it."

Henry keeps talking to me, but the words get lost somewhere between us. Eventually, he gives me the omelet plate, and I join the two drunks at the corner booth. One stirs as I sit, shows me a picture of his wife, then passes out again. My watch lets me know it's ten till nine.

© Sean Taylor

[cannibalisticskittles]

an act of kindness, ch. 8

pairing: unknown/reader notes: [7/?] part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven ao3 link not as long as the last chapter, but not exactly short. next chapters are gonna get buckwild.

God, you can't believe he's going in through the window.

He'd explained it calmly enough, said this was the best way to get him into the apartment without alerting her or putting him in view of the camera -- which you're here to monitor. His laptop, balanced in your lap, displays a feed of the hallway camera, just in case someone comes up the elevator or she tries to run.

You hunch your shoulders in discomfort at that thought, adjusting the headset and slouching further against the half-wall.

All clear so far. Not even a neighbor popping out for groceries as of yet, and a quick glance at the screen confirms that this hasn't changed in the seconds since you last looked.

The laptop is locked, of course. Useable, but only for the use he wants. No way to access anything but the camera feed it's currently displaying, and you imagine that even if you managed to get it away from the feed, you'd find most other functions unavailable to you. It's gotta be connected to the internet, or…some security-camera-specific equivalent for you to see inside the building in real-time without being physically hooked into its system, but from what you've seen of the laptop as he was setting it up, there's nothing you can do with that. No way to contact anyone, try to get help. A special interface made just for you in mind. To limit distractions, he'd said.

He did seem to think it was a little bit funny when you'd sighed and asked him how you were meant to go on if he kept restricting your access to games, enough to promise that there would be time for that after the necessary work has been done, so he doesn't appear to be overly concerned with the possibility that you'd try to use it to get help. In fact, you get the sense that this mindset is less out of his confidence in the way he's worked over the laptop, although he's surely got that, and more to do with thinking that you wouldn't try to escape even if you were given the chance.

This is, instead -- his version of help. Keeping you on track so you can get everything done efficiently and celebrate later. Considerate, in a weird, misguided way.

And now… well, your role is mostly just precautionary, anyway. Encouragement. ...someone to make sure the rope stays secure.

You slide the laptop off your lap and twist to peer over the edge of the building, and you're met with the sight of him slowly descending down the rope, maybe about halfway there.  

“How's it hanging, boss?” you ask through your mic.

“Ha ha,” comes the sardonic response from your headset. “Everything clear?”

“You’re golden, boss.”

Even from here, you can see him smirk, and you shake your head at how confident he is about doing this.

Only moments ago, he was securing the rope and giving it experimental tugs and all you could think about was how easy it would be for something to go wrong, for the rope to come untied, and then splat, there he goes, a Boss-pancake on the sidewalk.

You'd questioned him on this, but he laughed off your doubts, unshaken by the points you'd brought up, reminding him how dangerous something like this was. Before he'd begun to descend, he'd smoothed down your hair.

“Don't worry,” he'd murmured, “I'll be standing on solid ground before you know it.” And down he went.

...had you really been so worried that he could see it on your face?

That's -- well -- absurd, frankly, given that he's the source of a great many of your current problems, and really, since you still haven't seen any sign of anyone else at Mint Eye doing the things he does, if he did fall -- if he was out of the way -- you're not sure anyone left could track you down again like he could, so that would nip this whole kidnapping thing in the bud real quick.

But even with that in mind, there's a knot of fear in your stomach as you watch him.

So you ease away from the ledge and settle back comfortably again, pulling the laptop closer and returning your attention to the camera feed.

Still nothing.

He'd warned you that the redheaded hacker might show up, whether or not he manages to figure out that Saeran is here now -- he and that girl seem to have grown close in the past few days. Friends, certainly, and the way their flirtations are going, there's likely feelings of a deeper nature on at least one side -- so you're just… the early warning system. Fun. But, at the moment, there's nothing, no movement at all.

It's actually kind of nice up here, if you ignore the reason why you're on the roof in the first place, as well as the slightly uncomfortable position you've settled into, pressed against the brick half-wall. Breezy. Moderate. Nice picnic weather. Maybe you'll start having picnics after this is all over. You deserve nice things like that.

Suddenly, the earpiece crackles. “I’m here,” he murmurs, and before you have the chance to respond, you're flinching as you hear the sound of breaking glass -- both below you and through your headset.

“Ah, that was noisier than I'd intended. I'd meant to be quiet, to not make a sound, but… oops.” And he chuckles.

Damn it boss, he really didn't think that would be noisy? As he continues, you realize that no, this is just his way of being polite. You're too on-edge to process that at first.

“Hey, miss, just stay there. You’ll hurt your feet if you step on glass. I'm climbing over the window.” God, that sweet voice. Laying out what he's doing so calmly, as if it'll stop her from panicking.

“Hello,” he greets at last. “You know who I am?”

She must say something then -- confirmation of some sort -- because you don't catch her voice, but you hear him say, “Smart lady. You might be able to understand me then.” You scoff. Condescending ass. You can hear the faint crunching of glass -- it must be everywhere for the mic to pick it up -- and then, “Wow, it feels so strange to see it like this. Do you know that? I'm the one who first talked to you about that missing phone. I left that strange message a couple days ago… And I'm the one who sent that email.” Oh, so he admits his message was strange now? He’d seemed to find it fine before, but if he knew it was sketchy, why the hell did he send it in the first place? Asshole.

His tone turns curious. “How was the email I sent? It’s an invitation. Our paradise, where everyone is happy. Magenta of hopes and dreams.” His voice actually does go kind of dreamy there. Is she -- not speaking out of shock, or can you just not hear her? “I've come to take you there… Don't worry.” Ah. Maybe she is panicking now, and you're still only hearing his words. “The RFA is only filled with false hope. Especially those men named V and Luciel -- they're liars.” You almost roll your eyes at this. It took you a week to wrangle that information out of him and he's just dumping it on her the moment they meet? Rude. “I will explain everything once we get to Magenta.” He pauses. Is that your cue? But no, now he's talking again.

“It’s not like this place that's nothing but lies. Once you get there, you will have true peace of mind. You may not understand this now…” And his voice, already soft, soothing, becomes gentler still. “But this is all for us to live in heaven. You will be happy in the end too.” You hear her voice faintly. There's the slight sound of glass crunching underfoot, and then he chuckles softly. “Of course. You must be like me, seeing your eyes shaking like that. I know… I know how hard it's been. All your pain will go away if you come with me. ”

And shit, that is your cue, isn't it? A sign that you'll be needed soon, anyway. You tense up, ready to move -- to snatch up everything and book it to the elevator, or to grab the rope if need be.

As you do, you hear him murmur a promise: “I'll make a special exception for you and tell the Savior how good you are.”

He has got to be kidding. Lousy little --

And then movement on the screen catches your eye. Oh, god. the elevator doors are opening. It's him.

“Boss,” you cry, watching as the hacker bounds across the hallway, balancing a laptop in his arms and typing furiously with one hand as he moves. “It's him--”

Faintly, you hear a new voice, sounding automated, announcing, “The special security system has been act- act- act- act- act…” and Saeran asks, “What is this...?”

“Seven -- he's here!” you cry, finally forcing the words out past your disbelief.

Your warning is ineffective. By the time the last word leaves your lips, you hear, “the special security system has been deactivated,” and Seven is at the door.

“No way,” Saeran whispers, but it's less disbelief you hear and more of something that sounds like despair.

And then -- things seem to happen very quickly, and yet achingly, painfully slow. You watch Seven jolt as the door opens, pausing just on the threshold, and what seemed to be a cheerful expression quickly drops from his face. React, respond, get out of there, you want to cry, why isn't he trying to escape? And then Seven hurries in.

The door is left open. You can't see inside. Your pulse is racing at the words you're hearing with no visual to put to them.

And then there's a sharp intake of breathe, a word breathed out in soft horror. “Shit.”

“Boss--”

But in the moment you cry out, he's gotten over his shock, spitting out, “Why? Why are you here?! I thought I could finally hurt you like you deserve…!”

You hear the girl gasp, much clearer than any of her words have been, and realize that she must be close to Saeran now. You can't rule out the reason for that being voluntary, but you'd bet your money on Saeran being the reason for that.

And you hear the hacker for the first time. It's only little bits and pieces since he's not close enough to the headset for you to pick up the entirety of what he's saying, but you can hear Seven chattering away, sounding cheerful as ever, hear his remarks about how rude Saeran is but smart for covering his face, hear his disbelief that Saeran broke the window as Seven then chastises him for it. You think you hear him say Saeran should ‘let her go,’ so Saeran must be using the girl as a hostage right now.

You are not prepared for Saeran’s next words.

“Even now… all you do is just ruin my life…” And the agony in his words makes your eyes widen. He doesn't even seem to be speaking to Seven, just… reacting. And his reaction is pain, raw and ragged.

Seven says something else, tone confused and Saeran’s voice takes on even more of an edge -- bitter, the rawness crackling out into jagged spikes of vitriol. God, he sounds like he's about to go off the edge. “You probably don't know. I'm sure you've long forgotten about me.”

Your heart skips a beat. They know each other? You knew Saeran resented Seven, that he saw the other hacker as a traitor, but this is the first confirmation you've gotten that this is, at least in Saeran’s mind, more than a one-sided relationship. Seven says something, and then Saeran scoffs. “You still don't know? Fine.” There's a rustling sound, and you don't understand until his voice comes through a touch clearer. He must have removed his mask. His next words are almost languid. “I guess now you do.”

“Seven, do you know him?” And that's the girl, words coming through clear as can be through the headset for the first time.

Seven’s voice is faltering when he replies, and Saeran lets out a breathy, unhappy laugh.

“I prayed so that I wouldn't meet you,you know that?” He laughs again, a sound entirely devoid of any mirth. “Because I knew that seeing you would remind me of my pathetic life…!”

Something in you twists at the pain in his voice, and at anything you can conjure up that he might mean.

You hear glass again, and then Seven’s voice, slightly louder. “What… what happened?” He is aghast, and then he is desperate. “Why are you…! Why are you here?! You're Saeran, right…?”

Your heart seems to stop at hearing that name said aloud again, and by him.

“Don't call me that.” Saeran’s voice is a harsh whisper. “You don't deserve to say that name.”

“You're the one who copied my algorithm…? God…” There’s a ragged sigh, and then Seven’s voice takes on some of the edge that Saeran has. “When did you learn to hack?! Who taught you?”

His earlier softness is gone. “Shut up!” Saeran screams the command, loud enough that you wince and briefly pull the headset away, just an inch or so, in case he's going to continue at this volume, but your intense need to know what's going on down there makes you return it after mere seconds.

Seven, too, seems dismayed. “Why are you doing this!? Rika told me that you…”

Saeran drags in a harsh, quick breath. “You… don't you dare say that name.”

“What?” Seven sounds taken aback.

“Don't talk like you know anything, you traitor,” Saeran hisses. “All the names you spit out will be contaminated, so shut up.”

“Saeran… why are you doing this now? Tell me!” Seven’s words rasp. “Something bad happened, right? That's why you're here?”

And you clasp your hands over the earphones, pressing them as close as possible to your ears as you can, hoping for an answer, hoping you can hear it.

“But Rika would never have lied to me…!” You almost miss this remark as Seven grows softer, disbelieving.

A slight exhale, a huff of disgust. “You're the one lying. I can tell, don't pretend you don't know.”

“I'm not lying!” Seven cries.

“You're not?” Saeran's tone is sardonic. “That promise about protecting me, about being together, all lies… Even your last promise when you told me that we will be happy after stating that hellish place was a lie. I remember all of them. I know that you changed your name to Luciel to get rid of me. Don't tell me you don't remember.”

“That… I had no choice! It's all too much to explain now…” And, for some reason, you feel -- irritated. What explanation could take so long that no explanation is better? Saeran is obviously wounded over this, and you'd expected -- well -- exaggeration of Seven’s sins, you supposed. Something less personal than all this sounds. Something that didn't make you believe it.

“Shut up!” Saeran bites the words out with a derisive snort. “What do you mean you have no choice…? Haha… Eat those pathetic lies of yours.” His laugh is scornful. “You're uncontrollable. Covering lies with more lies…” There's a pause, and when he speaks again, he sounds more sure of himself. “I knew you were lowly. My savior was right.”

“Saeran, I don't know what people told you… But I thought you were doing well. I asked Rika to see a photo of you laughing.” He is pleading. “I knew I couldn't meet you, but I always prayed for you to be happy…”

“Shut up! I don't want to hear it. Stop lying!” Saeran’s voice shakes.

“First… let her go, and then let's talk. Please? Let's take care of this together… You hate me right now, right? She has nothing to do with this.” You have to wonder what Seven thinks ‘this’ is.

“You're getting this wrong. I brought her here, so she's mine.” You don't like the tone he's taking, much less the words themselves. Your fingers go white-knuckled on the headset imagining the expression he must have right now -- sneering but no longer wild, cold as he zeroes in on his hate, like he gets when he'd have fits of fury back in Mint Eye.

“Boss,” you whisper, hoping his next words will sound more grounded.

“There's no reason to involve her in this! Don't do something to her because of me… Please…!” And this is a new type of desperation.

“Hmm,” Saeran hums, somehow managing to pack the sound with concentrated smugness, “do you have feelings for this girl or something?”

He's definitely toying with Seven. “Boss,” you whisper more fiercely, but there's no response. It’s been -- not discussed, exactly, not in detail, but you’ve both acknowledged that there’s something there. For Saeran to be bringing this up now... well, he’s certainly making it clear that this is personal for him, if it wasn’t blatantly obvious already.

“...even if I do, it's useless.” It is a voice of despair, and Saeran catches this as easily as you do.

“So you do have feelings for her.” Saeran laughs. “I can read everything on your mind, you know. So, I can just do whatever I want to this girl to make you suffer, right?”

“Let me go!” the girl cries, but Saeran only murmurs, “don't fight. You don't want him to see anything inappropriate, do you?”

“God,” you mutter just as Seven cries, “stay still!” Softer, desperately, he continues, pleading, “don't move. It's dangerous.”

“How will I play with you?” He muses. “If you want to be officially inducted, you'll have to go through training… oh, there are so many possibilities…”

Your stomach turns. “Jesus christ, boss…!” Shamefully, you know that a large part of your revulsion is the thought of training, and wondering if this still lies ahead for you.

“Saeran… just take me instead!” Seven cries.

“Boss,” you whisper, trying to think of what you want to say, trying to tread carefully. “I don't think this is going to work out how we wanted.” Just -- let her go and give this up, he doesn't want Seven but there's no way he can get out of there with her now, why won't he just go?

And then there's a beep. “A stranger has been located.”

Saeran’s voice is harsh. “What is that saying?” But he knows already, you think.

“The special security system,” Seven breathes. “I restarted it and it's only starting to work now…”

“Sensed location of stranger,” the security system chirps. “Adjusting target…”

“It's sensing you as a stranger, Saeran.” The implication hangs heavy in Seven’s words. Saeran’s explanation of just what this security system will do when it senses strangers -- all the things he said with the assumption that he could tamper with it and defang it, at least when it came to his own safety, now ring in your mind with the knowledge that it’s rearing its head, ready to attack.

“The whole place will explode if we stay like this. Get out of here!” This, too, is another plea. He wants Saeran to stay safe, or he just wants to live? You'd ponder this more, except you're struck with the intense feeling of the same. You want --

“Backing up all information… After the backup is complete, the bomb will be activated. 20 seconds left…”

You want him to live.

“We’ll all die if we don't get out,” Seven says, surprisingly steadily, given the situation.

“Shit…!” But though Saeran doesn't sound overjoyed at this news, he also doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, lingering where he is. Caught up in his plans? But he can't be, not right now.

“Boss--” You clutch your headset with desperate hands. “Get out of there!”

“Right now!” Seven shouts.

And Saeran cries out as if in pain.

You hear the crunching of glass again, and then Seven’s relieved voice, “Good…! Come here.”

“10 seconds… 9 seconds…”

The security system continues its cheery countdown, and through this, Seven’s voice is a barely audible murmur. “Saeran… why did we have to meet like this…?”

“Shit…” Saeran mutters, sounding lost.  

“Boss, please,” you plead, hearing it count down to 6 seconds, then 5, “you'll die, get out, please, boss--” you continue your litany as Saeran shouts, “get out! You'll die like this!”

“Shit… shit…!” And then, to your relief, he says, “I won't forgive you next time… I'll get payback for everything including today!”

And your knees go weak with relief as you hear footsteps and the security system fading quieter and quieter, “sensing stranger’s movement… readjusting target… readjusting… readjusting…” And then you can no longer hear it, just his heavy footfalls.

You collapse onto your knees as the thought sinks in. He's alive. He's out. He's alive.

“S--” And then you cut yourself off. You've almost said his name on impulse, so caught up in hearing it repeated. “Boss,” you say again, hoping he won't notice, “where are you?” You hear muttering, agitating and continuous, as well as his footsteps. You grow worried. “Boss, let me come to you, alright?”

There's the metallic creak of a door opening from your headset, and your worries grow. You close the laptop and stand, cradling it carefully in your arms. “...boss?”

“Stairs,” he says, nearly cutting off the simple epithet.

“--be right there!”

You rush to the door to the stairs, laptop still carefully secured in your arms. He begins to mutter again with the hint of an echo from the stairwell, now.

You -- don't know why you're rushing to him as if afraid he'll leave you here, and at this thought, you pause at the top of the stairwell, fingers resting lightly on the bar of the door.

This wasn't even the original plan.

Well, of course failing wasn't part of the plan, but -- he was going to have you help him hoist her up to the roof, of all things, and then him after -- or simultaneously, depending on how well or unwell his persuasions went -- so that neither of them would be seen on the camera.

You could have dropped him if he'd come up the rope, you realize. He didn't seem to try to get her to follow him when he left, so he wouldn't have tried it when going up the rope either, and you could have untethered the rope and let him fall and put a stop to all these kidnapping plans right here.

And then you hear his muttering take on a more ragged edge and your fingers close over the bar.

You wouldn't have done it. You realize that now, too. If he'd have tried to come up, you would have pulled with all your might and your worry would not have eased until he was safe on solid ground once more.

You want him to be alive. To be safe. And that's a hell of a thing to realize.

You push against the bar of the door at last, slowly opening it, just as you hear the footsteps from your headset coinciding with what you hear without them. You only make it to the first stairwell before he is standing in front of you. You stop, stilled by his expression as he stares wild-eyed at you. Finally, he steps closer and grasps your wrist in an iron grip.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pulling you with him as you descend the stairs.

Your footsteps falter a bit, skipping slightly with the effort of keeping pace with him. “The cameras in the lobby,” you start, and even at this angle, you can see his mouth twist sharply down, and his grip on you tightens painfully.

“I can keep him from stopping us,” he growls.  

“Of -- course,” you say. You can't think of anything else to add, anything that would reassure him that you hadn't meant to suggest otherwise, you were just -- worried.

Worried that he'll be caught. Which is what you've wanted this whole time, all these long weeks of working with him. But you think of him confronting Seven again and you just… ache.

When you reach the door to the first floor, he holds out a hand. “Give it here.”

You hand over the laptop, and he lets go of you so that he can open it up and bring up a program -- ah, so that complicated series of buttons is what finally dismisses the camera feed -- and begin typing. It's rapid at first, then more like chicken pecking, waiting for a response before continuing.

You are grateful for the reprieve, taking the chance to lean against the wall until your breathing steadies. That winded you more than you'd like to admit.

Finally, he closes the laptop. “He’ll just see looped footage for the next ten minutes.” The look he gives you makes you think he's daring you to challenge him.

All you manage to say -- too much, still, but nervousness makes it hard to stay completely silent -- is, “that's… good.” His eyes still narrow unhappily.

He shifts the laptop so he's cradling it in one arm and places his other hand on your back as he opens the door, urging you forward. You suppose this does look less suspicious than if he'd taken hold of your wrist again.

You can feel his and tremble against you as you move forward, out the lobby.

You can't help but glance up at where you think the camera might be, based on the angle of the feed you'd seen back at Mint Eye. You flinch a little when you see it. Even if it's playing a looped feed right now… well, you’ve watched this area too many times to not feel paranoid now that you’re on the other side of the camera.

But no one in the lobby even spares you a passing glance, as least as far as you can see, and you quickly find yourselves outside once more.

The trembling gets worse, and he starts to pick and pinch at the fabric of your shirt. Not unceasingly, but every few seconds, there’s another little tug. One look at him, and you surmise that it's not really a conscious choice. A nervous habit, maybe? Regardless, you keep quiet.

The car is nearby, thankfully, just down the street in a parking lot meant for patrons of a run-down fabric store that wasn't even a third of the way full when you left.

His shoulders hunch little by little, and he seems to retreat into himself, though he doesn't let his hand drop from your back until you turn a corner and the apartment building is finally out of sight.

“He won't follow us, will he?” you ask as you stop at the edge of the crosswalk with him. You can see the car from here, actually. In your nervousness, the words spill out. It's so much worse when you're just standing here, waiting, and you will the light to turn green so you can go and at least try to distract yourself by moving. “I mean, we've got a head start, so he'd have to zero in on us fast to do that, and I don't think he's going to leave her there alone, so probably not, right?”

He is unresponsive, though when the cars around you slow to a stop and the crosswalk light turns on, he begins to move immediately. You have to quicken your pace to keep up, and it's still a little difficult.

“Hey, boss, slow down a second, huh?” No response, just his usual fast pace. “Aw, c’mon, Saeran--”

The change is immediate.

“Don’t--” He whips around right there in the middle of street, still as a statue except for the way his hands tremble at his sides. “Don’t call me that name!” He shrieks, and you reel at the ferocity of the reaction.

Damn it, oh, goddamn it, you did not meant to say that.

You reach for him as a gesture of comfort, as you've done for him in the past, but he jerks away and wrenches back violently. The laptop falls from his fingers and hits the ground with a distinctive crack. He doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.

“Don't touch me!” he cries, eyes wild again. He takes a faltering step back, eyes locked on you, full of fury.

You are standing in the middle of the street. People are staring.

“I don't need your concern,” he spits harshly. His fingers clench and unclench at his sides. “I don't need--” He cuts off, either unwilling to continue or unsure how. “Don't,” he hisses finally, and turns on his heel.

He stalks ahead and you scoop up the laptop before hurrying after him, though you'd be surprised if it's in any sort of working condition.

He reaches the car before you, of course, but he's still looking for the keys, and every moment he cannot find them makes his motions less precise, so he is furiously shoving his hand in his pocket by the time you catch up.

You almost reach for him again, but stop yourself. “Back pocket, left side,” you say softly, and he stills, then reaches for the correct pocket. The keys jangle in his hand as he shakes.

You watch him try and fail to unlock the car multiple times, growing more agitated each time, practically stabbing the key towards the lock, and something unknown and aching growing in your chest, weighing heavy on you.

As he is right now, he seems liable to turn into oncoming traffic or crash into a building.

But you think if you told him that, he… wouldn't take it well. And hey, he finally gets the key to fit, so maybe he’s not doing quite as bad as you thought?

You try to ignore the sense of dread that begins to rise as you watch him slide into his seat, and make your way to the other side of the car and settle in.

He doesn't reach for the blindfold even after you're both situated, but you decide against reminding him -- not even out of curiosity, mostly, but just… to keep him in this calmer state. Now that things have gone so awry, it might not take much to set him off again. Staying focused on the next step to take seems to be working for him thus far, so distracting him from that is… not particularly tempting.

Maybe like this he'll be able to get you both back to Mint Eye in one piece after all.

He rolls his shoulders as you set the ruined laptop in the backseat and pulls haltingly out of the lot.

It's after the third near rear-ending that you re-evaluate your earlier optimism. He is definitely in no state to be behind the wheel.

“Boss,” you say after one such encounter, gripping the sides of your seat so tightly you think you might embed your nails in the cushion, “pull -- pull over. Please.”

“...why.” He doesn't look at you. His hands remain fixed on the steering wheel, clenching tightly.

“I think I'm gonna puke.” Or have a heart attack. One or the other.

He casts you a sidelong glance that only lasts a second or two, cutting away when you try to return his gaze, but, oddly, does not question you, only pulls over into another parking lot -- across two lanes of traffic without a turn signal, which only strengthens your resolve.

He idles in the parking lot for a few minutes, waiting for you to regain the color in your face and speak.

At last, you do. “Boss,” you say carefully, “why don't you let me drive?”

And now he stares at you, making eye-contact at last. He looks -- he looks --

Awful.

Blank and brittle, worn out and frenzied, somehow all of this at once. He's radiating frantic energy, but you fear that if that were to drain out of him, he would collapse, spent and lifeless.

“You've already done a lot today,” you say softly, and he flinches. You want to scramble to reassure him that this was not meant as a dig at him, but you keep your voice as even and steady as you can instead. Platitudes may make it worse. “Now let me do this for you. Please.” You give him a quick once-over, taking note of the myriad of little cuts around his hands and arms, likely a result of pushing through the glass window. “Give yourself a chance to rest.” Although, while the scrapes are worrying, you're more concerned with his mental well-being right now.

He stares at you for a long moment, and then he twists his hand, turning off the car. For a moment he just stays in that position, and then his hand goes limp.

“...fine.”

And you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.

The transition is a little awkward, as you both go around the same way and you end up shuffling around each other. You try to give him a wide berth, unsure if he's still so strongly touch-averse, and you feel much better once you're in the driver’s seat. Already, the odds of sudden vehicle-related death seem to be growing slimmer.

“Okay,” you say, “just… point me in the right direction. Turn right, then go straight for now?” That'd put you in the same direction you were going before he pulled over.

He nods slowly.

“Great!” you say, overly-cheerful. “You just… rest and give directions as needed, alright?”

His directions are simple -- right, left, straight ahead, change lanes now. Simple, no elaboration. He isn't feeling the need to be particularly chatty right now, it seems.

You find soon that you're already fairly close to city limits -- you must have missed how much distance you'd covered while fearing for your life. It's… a shame. If you'd realized the opportunity before you, you would have tried to focus more on the route he was taking. It'd certainly make it easier to get back here, if you escape.

When.

He doesn't have many directions to give before you're leaving the city and heading down more rustic roads.

He fares… not so great. His expression remains morose, and he draws his knees up to his chest, drumming his fingers on his legs, on the window, on his seatbelt, on anything he can reach in stuttery, fast-paced motions.

It's when the city has faded out of view that he finally speaks up and says something other than the concise directions he's been feeding you.

“...you heard him use that name.”

“Yes.” No point in lying about it now that he's already heard you say the name, though your pulse still speeds up at the thought of what his response may be. You glance over at him as covertly as you can.

“Hn.” He rests his chin on his knees now.

No fury. That's good, at least. “I… didn't expect him to know it,” you try carefully.

You can see his face twist from your peripheral. “He thinks he knows a lot of things.” That's not an answer, but you'll be damned if you poke this particular bear. He hunches further in his seat, looking agitated. “That traitor shouldn't dare to use that name. Everything he says is tainted with his lies.”

You keep quiet, though you're desperate to know how Seven knows the name, to know why.

“He’s a liar of the worst caliber.” His mouth cuts a jagged line as he speaks. “He destroys everything good around him, digs his claws into anything worthy and won't let it go until he's killed it, and he says--” He draws in a ragged breath, and his hands clutch his knees, nails digging in. “Seven-zero-seven, defender of justice!” He adopts a faux-cheerful tone for this delivery, but the tremor in his voice has grown so that it all comes out like a sob.

“He says he's a hero, says he comes to help, says he cares, but he doesn't, he doesn't, he leaves people to rot and he never looks back, never, never, never, never!” He shrieks the last word and slams his fist against the dashboard.

You jolt, barely managing to keep the wheel steady, but he keeps going, pounding against it as he repeats his litany, “never, never, never, never!”

You wince each time, and moreso when you watch his knuckles grow bloody, more and more with each agonized strike.

“He won't--! Disappear! Why?! Why did I have to see him?! I--” He gasps in a breath, and cradles his wounded hand against his chest. “--prayed that I wouldn't see him, but there he was and he remembers it all and that goddamn traitor! Thinks he can lie to my face and I'll let him ruin everything again and I won't, I never will, but--”

And now, you realize with a wave of pain, there are tears.

“Why can't I be free of him yet? Why...? What am I doing wrong, why isn't it enough? Am I…?”

His shoulders hunch and he folds in on himself and he just seems so goddamn lost that you start looking for a clear spot to pull over and you don't even realize what you're doing until you've put the car in park and let it idle.

You're not sure if he notices. He doesn't uncurl from his position, just… winds his fingers in his hair and pulls, breath coming out in little stutters that worry you.  

You draw in a deep breath and hope for the best. “...boss.” You murmur.

His hands still.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and twist to face him. “Boss,” you say again.

It takes a moment, but then he shifts just slightly and peeks at you through the crook of his elbow, one weary eye all you can see of his face in this hunched-over state.

You hold out your hands, palms up, an offering. “...can I see?”

He turns his face into his shoulder first, frowning as he tries to dry his eyes by rubbing roughly against the fabric, like he's mad the tears ever existed. It takes a long, long moment, but he uncurls a little. Still slightly huddled and still with his knees pulled up, he holds his hands out to you.

His motions are hesitant, nervous, and you keep as still as you can until his fingers finally come to rest at the heel of your palm.

You keep your own movements slow, trying not to spook him. Carefully, you examine his hands.

There's little scrapes from the window, but only one hand is really banged up from his… impassioned reaction. Those knuckles sure are bloody though. The other is red around the side and around the knuckle of his smallest finger, though he didn't hit it hard enough to split the skin there, but there's also -- oh, damn. “Are these bite marks?” You give a low whistle. His lips curl down unhappily, but he doesn't answer.

You pass his hands into one of yours so you can lower the other and better stretch back and root around for the first aid kit in the backseat.

It's a dinky little case, but it should have something to help.

“Ah! Here it is.” It had slid halfway under the front seat at some point, so it takes a little wiggling to dislodge it, but you manage, and pull it into your lap.

You open the little plastic fastener with a click and pick through the contents until you find what you're looking for.

It's tricky to open the package that the alcohol wipe comes in but you don't really want to let his hands go, too worried that he wouldn't let you touch him again if you broke contact.

“Okay,” you say, unfolding the alcohol wipe, “...this is going to sting.”

He just stares at you with his intense, pale eyes. You hesitate, but a lack of protest might be as good an indication of permission as you're going to get. Still, you prepare to move away quickly, in the event that you've misconstrued this.

And you swipe the alcohol wipe over his bloody knuckles.

He hisses in a sharp breath and jerks away -- but doesn’t pull away entirely, just enough that his fingertips rest against yours, and he slowly slides his hands back so you're holding them more fully.

“You alright, boss?” He nods shallowly. You try not to dwell overmuch on how glossy his eyes look, or the lingering remnant of tears caught in his eyelashes. “Alright,” you murmur, steadying your hand and preparing to continue tending to him, “alright.”

He hisses again as you begin to clean the blood from his hands, but soon relaxes, softens under your touch.

You find yourself murmuring words of comfort to him as you work. “There we go, that's it… you're alright… you're okay… almost done… that's not so bad now, is it?”

The kit doesn't have the largest selection of bandages, but what it has will do well enough, you think. You wrap the most flexible-seeming ones around his knuckles then pull away and let him see his hand. “There, see?”

He examines it, flexing his fingers, then places his hand in yours again. He looks to his other hand, then to you.

“What?” He doesn't respond, just pushes against your palm with the hand you haven't yet tended to. Ah. You bite back a comment about how expectant he is, not sure if he can handle your teasing just yet. Instead, you just reach for another alcohol wipe and start cleaning up the glass cuts -- and the bite mark.

You're… not really sure what bandage to use on this. You stroke your thumb idly over the back of his hand as you pick through the box, intending to provide some comfort as you look, small as it may be.

Mmm… not the ones you used for his knuckles, the shape wouldn't cover that well -- though you don't necessarily need something that’ll cover each mark since the marks don't puncture the skin all the way around, just on a few of them. It's worse for the front ones, where the pressure must have been exerted more. The farther from that you look, the shallower the scrapes get. You could use one of the wide bandages, large enough to cover your palm one way, but then when he moves his hand it's liable to come off. Maybe just roll some gauze over it, let him move freely and still provide some coverage for the punctures to heal? Yes, that should do nicely.

You pick at the end of the roll until it loosens and you can unwind a few inches of it, then glance back up at him -- and freeze, pinned by the weight of the way he's looking at you.

Focused. Intense. Trusting.

You tear your gaze away and focus on wrapping the gauze around his hand. You go slower than necessary just so you can have more time to try to shake the feeling that his expression gave you.

“...there,” you say at last. “You're all good now.” You let his hands slip from your grasp before looking up at him.

He pulls his hands back halfway, leaving them hanging in the air. His gaze looks faraway. “Am I good?” he whispers.

“With the -- bandages? I thought so. Why, are they coming off?” He doesn't pull back when you reach for his hands again to check, but they haven't shifted at all, and… somehow, that doesn't feel like what he’s asking.

He looks into your eyes. There is something searching in his expression, and you are helpless to look away.

“I've always been faithful,” he whispers, “always. I follow the savior. I lead others to paradise. I help them find her so they can let go of their doubts and be free from their pain at last -- I found you, I brought you here so you could join paradise and be happy! But no matter what I do, he never stops, he just -- lies and lies and leads others astray and I can't stop him, and--” His voice shakes. He begins to tear up.

“Am I good?” His whisper is quiet. His fingers interlace with yours and he clutches tight. “I'm… good, aren't I?” The tears fall now, slipping slowly down his cheeks. “But if I was… wouldn't I be free of my pain…? Am I just not… good enough…?”

Oh.

And you hesitate.

No. It lies there at the tip of your tongue.

Kidnapping, stalking, controlling lives -- running a cult, helping to expand a cult, none of that is good, none of that makes him good.

But he doesn't see it that way. He really… believes in this. All of this. He thinks what he's doing is good.

He doesn't recognize the harm he's doing, that all of Mint Eye does, that it's based upon causing pain.

And that doesn't justify any of this.

And still, still, an answer falls from your lips.

“Yes,” you whisper. “You're doing your best.” It feels like the basest of lies and the simplest of truths. He is doing his best. He's just… doing his best at something that happens to be immensely terrible.

You hesitate, still keeping his gaze, still gazing into the open wound behind his eyes. “...I thought you did well.”

And his face -- crumples, but it's like a weight lifts at the same time. His grip tightens even more on your hands and he tugs and it would be so easy not to follow the pull, but you do.

You sort of -- fall against him at first. He pulls his hands back and leans into you, curling up against your chest.  

There's some shuffling to be done. It feels a little funny to be pulled into an embrace when you end up holding him and not the other way around, but you're not exactly about to point that out to him.

You lean in and brush your hands over his face, wiping under his eyes with your thumbs, but still, he stares expectantly at you. You nearly huff. What does he want, a kiss?

...oh, shit, actually --

Ever since that moment in the alleyway a few days ago, it’s possible. He does get handsy when he’s upset. As well as when he’s not.

But that’s -- not helpful. You’re not gonna just smooch him to take him mind off things. You do want him to feel better, but it’s really not situationally-appropriate, and it’s disingenuous, anyway. Misleading. And solves nothing in the end, a bandaid over what seems to be a gaping emotional wound.

...you don’t have any evidence that that’s what he’s after, anyway, just a sense that he wants something more than this to be comforted, and in small measures, and if you’re very careful, that can be comforting…

So, with no small amount of trepidation, you toss a measure of caution to the wind and press a small, quick kiss to his forehead.

His eyes light up and his face smooths over with contentment -- and then he frowns slightly and gives you an impatient look. “Again.” He seems to sulk at the fact that you haven't already continued.  

“...Seriously?”

“Again,” he insists.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Needy. But there's still an unsteadiness to him, a weakness he hasn't yet shoved back into the shadows. So you repeat the motions, brushing your hands across his face and ending in another small kiss to his forehead.

He is starry-eyed, though he still sniffles wetly as he buries his face in your chest. You wrap your arms around him, hoping this will be steadying, somehow.

You trail one hand up and down his spine and, since you can no longer really reach his face, instead brush your fingers through his hair, though you still press your lips to the top of his head between these motions. He practically purrs in contentment, nuzzling into you.

“It's okay, boss,” you murmur, “you're okay…”

He mumbles something into your shirt.

“...sorry, what was that, boss?”

He hesitates, and then, so quietly you can barely hear him: “Say that name.”

“That name? ...Saeran?”

“Mmm.” He sighs, shifting a little, though he remains pressed against you. “...sounds better in your mouth than in his,” he sighs.

“Yeah?” You stroke his hair again. “...thought you might've been mad about it, earlier.”

“Mmn. Don't like when he says it.” You can feel him frown against you. “Or anything. He shouldn't speak. He taints things just by speaking of them. But you… don't.”

“That's… good.”

He pulls away and looks you in the eye. “Call me that from now on.”

“--wait, really?”

“Mmhmm. ...you shouldn't have learned it from him. But I like hearing you say it. I want to hear it more.”

“Well, boss -- ...Saeran.” You shake your head. “Saeran,” you repeat. “If that's what you want, that's what I'll do.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with the satisfied smile he gives you -- which makes your chest ache seeing as his eyes are still red-rimmed and a little swollen.

And then something seems to occur to him and he makes an unhappy little noise, returning his cheek to your chest. “We’ll have to tell the savior. That I... failed her.”

“I'm sure she'll understand. You did all you could.” You hesitate, then add, “it was his fault for ruining our plans.”

“...that's right.” He nods, and twists to lean his head on your shoulder, though he loops an arm around your back to keep you close, then sighs happily. “We'll destroy that hypocrite once and for all, together, and then everything will be okay. Then we can be happy.”

You pet his hair once more. “Of course. ...Saeran.”

He is reluctant to pull away, and in all honesty, you're not feeling particularly rushed to let him go, either. You're not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you return to the driver's seat, the sun has dipped noticeably lower in the sky than when you pulled over.

His eyes still look a bit red, but his tears have long since dried.

Still, he stays like this -- clingy, in a way -- keeping a hand over one of yours whenever possible for the entire drive back -- during which, the blindfold doesn't come into play at all.

You are at war with yourself. A part of you is attentive to him, to Saeran, still recovering and vulnerable beside you, but another part is memorizing everything, taking note of every turn, of how long it takes between them, of anything that could be used as a landmark.

When you return to Mint Eye, you see the garage when you park the car for the first time, with fingers intertwined with his to steady him, and wide eyes taking note of everything you possibly can.

The options this opens up, the escape plans it changes--! You may actually have a way out now, a method and a route.

-- and you also think of him, arm looped around your waist as you make your way back to his workroom, and realize what your actions today might mean. With the way you reacted, you think of the possibilities you may have closed off, and more that you may shut yourself out of if you let yourself fall into this -- into him.

But it may already be too late for that.

Because, with as vulnerable as he seems -- escape feels like it would send a knife to wedge in his heart.

And though you need to, you're not sure if you have it in you.

[just-kateblr]

I was tagged by @my-wanton-self

1. What’s your biggest pet peeve? Willful ignorance and people who are purposefully inconsiderate.  (They’re related, I suppose, but can manifest differently.)

2. What one fear would you like to conquer?  Currently, my biggest that I would like to conquer is openly presenting myself as female to the world. 

3. What’s your favourite song lyric and why? There are quite a few it’s hard to pick just one.  The one I’ll go with is from Sweet Jane from the Velvet Underground: Some people they like to go out dancin’/ and other people they have to work. Just watch me now/ and there's even some evil mothers/ Well there gonna tell you that everthing is just dirt/ you know that women never really faint/ and that villians always blink their eyes/ that children are the only ones who blush/and that life is just to die/ But anyone who ever had a heart/ they wouldn't turn around and break it/ and anyone who ever played a part / They wouldn't turn around and hate it.  Why do I like it?  I think it kind of speaks for itself.

4. If you could shop at one store for free, which would it be?  I would have to flip a coin between Nordstrom or Costco.

5. Which language would you like to speak fluently? Spanish.

6. What secret super power would you like to have, and why? Shapeshifting. You could get into just about anywhere.

7. Would you like to be famous and what would you like to be known for? I have no desire to be famous.

8. What was the worst haircut you ever had? A long time ago, I moved to Northern Virginia and needed a haircut.  I went to a barbershop that apparently specialized in military cuts and while I just asked for a trim, he got out clippers and after the first pass, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up with something pretty close to a high and tight.  It was awful. 

9. What are the most important qualities in friends? Honesty, intelligence, the willingness to share thoughts and opinions, good sense of humor, empathy, and a desire to make things better somehow.  I love having a common understanding and, at the same time, being able to challenge and be challenged.

10. What’s the most significant lesson you’ve learned in life so far?  People’s needs will not always match your own; it’s what they do at that point that is important.  Also, sometimes life is shitty, but it generally improves eventually.  Maybe not in the way you thought, but you’ll find that it’s no longer shitty.  (Yes, I know, that’s technically two. I’m lousy at following the rules.)

11. What makes you laugh the hardest? My daughters. They’re just plain funny.

12. What’s your proudest accomplishment? That’s a hard one because I tend not to look back too much. Plus, much of what I’ve accomplished has also been because other people have played along, so I can’t take full credit.

13. If you could have any view out the window of your room, which would it be?  The ocean. I grew up near the water and am now in the middle of the US.  I would love to be near a large body of water.  

14. If you could eat dinner with one celebrity, who would it be, and why? I can’t say that he’s a celebrity, but Barack Obama is certainly famous and would be an amazing dinner companion.  I’d probably want to have a ranging conversation about policy, his life, and experiences as President.  Plus, for bonus points, I’d try to get him to open up and vent about how he really feels about Trump.

15. If you could do something dangerous just once with no risk, what would you do?  I can’t think of much, I’ve already done a number of things that people consider dangerous.  I think removing the fear of danger would take away the adrenaline and most of the fun.

16. What’s your all-time favourite music video? Undercover of the Night by The Rolling Stones. It’s a great video; almost like a short film.

17. Which three words would you use to describe yourself? Smart, funny, empathetic.

18. What’s the first thing you’d do if you suddenly changed into the opposite sex? As a trans woman, I’m going to write my own rules here.  I am a woman, but if I suddenly had the body of a cis woman, I’d explore my tits and bits, then masturbate like there was no tomorrow. 

19. What’s your favourite website, and why?  I have eclectic tastes and moods, so it varies by the minute and the hour.  I love all of the information and places that I can go with the internet. 

20. If you got a tattoo, what would you get and where would you put it? I cannot think of one thing I would want on my skin forever.  If I had to choose, I might either get “Be Here Now” in a nice font on my wrist OR a butterfly on my shoulder for the symbolism. 

21. When you’re down, what do you do to feel better? I try not to wallow too long and look to do something to change the channel. That usually involves moving my body in some way or another.  I also reach out to dear friends for conversation and engagement.

22. If you could go on tour with a band for a month, who would it be, and why? Not my thing.

23. What’s you favourite dessert? I have a weakness for cannolis. Good ones, though.  The kind where the outside is freshly baked and then filled immediately before serving, so you have the mix of the crunch and the softness.  Divine! 

24. What one thing would you want to do most if you had all the money in the world? Ensure that money was not a barrier to anyone seeking further education.

25. Who’s the least obvious person you’d like to kiss? Least obvious? Maybe Sam Rockwell. There is something about him that I find strangely sexy. 

26. Would you join in at a topless beach? At this point, if I had a nice set of boobs, I would happily share them at a topless beach.

27. Where would you most like to travel?  I have too many choices to list here.  I would travel almost incessantly if I could.  I’ve not yet been to South America, Africa, or Antarctica, so those would be on the top of my list.  

28. What would you eat for your ultimate birthday dinner?  I tend to like food that is good and fresh.  I’d start with a fresh salad, with bleu cheese and bacon.  Grilled filet mignon. Very fresh corn on the cob.  Freshly baked bread with a nice crunchy crust.  Roasted brussel sprouts.  Good cannoli for dessert.

29. What was your most embarrassing moment? Eh, if you really want to know, hit me up in chat. It’s a bit of a story that involves Chinese food and getting sick in a work colleague’s hotel room.  It was mortifying when it happened, but it’s pretty darned funny.

30. What historical sporting event would you like to witness? In person, I’d love to the 1999 Men’s NCAA Basketball Championship.  My alma mater, the University of Connecticut, was the underdog and upset heavily favored Duke for their first national championship.  It was great to watch on TV, but it would be amazing to see in person. 

31. Which song evokes the strongest memories for you? Missing You - John Waite

32. What’s the best birthday celebration you can imagine? I don’t ever want a huge celebration, I’d love to have a bunch of close friends around where we can talk, drink, eat, laugh, and generally just enjoy everyone’s company.

33. What’s your favourite ethnic food? Mexican.

34. Do you have any habits you’d like to give up?  Procrastination.

35. What would you save first if your house caught on fire? Children, spouse, then pets.

36. Who would you trade places with for one month?  I’m not picky, and this might sound shallow, but I’d trade places with an able bodied cis woman who is considered above average in appearance. In other words, I’d love to see what it was like to live as an unequivocally gorgeous woman. 

37. What’s the story behind your first name? I had the joy of being able to select one for myself, which ended up being harder than I thought.  I like what I landed on, though.

38. What’s been the biggest obstacle in your life so far?  I don’t like the word obstacle.  I take it to mean a barrier that blocks things.  While I have had plenty of challenges, I try to not let those things block me.  My hope is to always move forward, even if it is slowly. No question, my biggest challenge is being trans. 

39. Have you ever stolen something? What was it? Why did you steal it? Ugh, yes.  I was traveling in Australia some years ago and I noticed a wallet sitting on some phone books at the post office. I looked inside and there was a couple hundred dollars in it.  I left it sitting there and went to make my call, but kept my eye on it.  Someone else from the hostel I was staying in walked in, saw the wallet, and then we locked eyes.  I indicated that I didn’t know whose it was and he reached in an pulled out the cash.  I figured, if it was going to be stolen, I was going to benefit from it (I was low on cash at the time).  We walked around the corner, he split the money with me and we went our separate ways.  I still regret doing this and wish that I had picked up the wallet when I first saw it and turned it in.

40. To you, what’s the secret to happiness? I believe happiness is really just enjoying life’s simple and pleasurable moments.  We’ve got so much that goes on that has peaks and valleys of emotion and it is important to feel those, for the good and the bad.  It is the small moments that are the glue to our lives, though.  A laugh with a friend.  Warm sunshine on your skin on a cool day.  The smell of salt air.  To me, it’s enjoying those moments that are what make for happiness and joy.

Please do not feel compelled to do this, but I’m going to tag a few people whom I would love to see their responses.  I tag @mymindisdrawinga, @annacaffeina, @perfectlyscrumptious, @perfectlywhelmed, @visionaria, @tumbleweedsinmyvagina, @ptero-bites, @misslondoncallin, @vampysquid, and I started thinking this list was getting long, so I stopped, but please feel free to respond away if you are taken with the idea.

[longclawislightbringer]

Wake Up & Smell the Amortentia: Pine Needles & Bergamot Oil

Rating: T

Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Sansa Stark/Harrold Hardyng

Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Harrold Hardyng, Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, mentions of Joffrey Baratheon

On her first day of Sixth Year Potions, Sansa Stark smells something distinct in Professor Aemon’s Amortentia and tries to figure out what it means.

AKA the Hogwarts AU that was only supposed to be a drabble but is now in four parts.

Whoops.

Due to my inability to write short fics, this took much longer than intended. Was originally a one shot, but now has three parts. I plan to release one chapter a week for the next three weeks. Bug me if I don't deliver. This will likely be the last prompt I answer for a while because the muse gave me a multi-chapter plot bunny and it won't go away.

Many thanks to the wonderful sansapotter for looking this over for me!

Please leave me a comment if you feel so inclined; I love hearing from you all.

Also on AO3.

Part One: Pine Needles & Bergamot Oil

Sansa's hair, a curtain of Tully red, draped around one side of the bubbling cauldron as she bent over the desk. The mother-of-pearl potion shimmered, sending up swirls of silvery steam. Sansa took a deep breath, trying to still her beating heart that threatened to break free of her chest with every thunk-thunk.  

At first, Sansa only smelled the mildew that clung to the dank walls of the dungeon, but soon another scent prevailed. Sansa closed her eyes, inhaling comforting Winterfell pine needles. She almost heard her siblings' raucous laughter and the crunch of fresh snow underfoot as they tumbled to the ground on the last snow day last winter. Arya had thrown the first snowball that day, and Sansa joined in the all-out-war despite promising her mother that she wouldn't get her new coat dirty. It wasn't her fault that Jon Snow hit her square in the back as she walked away.

Sansa opened her eyes as the scents shifted again. She wrinkled her nose as the pungent odor of sweat mixed with grass and broom wax wafted up from the warm cauldron. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. If she smelled the sickly-sweet sugarplums that Joffrey was always eating next, never mind the line behind her, she'd hurl the steaming cauldron against the stone dungeon wall.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. It probably meant nothing; Harry Hardyng and a number of others at Hogwarts also played Quidditch. Heck, whoever she smelt in the Amortentia might have already graduated from Hogwarts; Loras Tyrell played for the Highgarden Harpies.

The potion shimmered again. Sansa pursed her brows as she inhaled the third scent. It smelled clean, and fresh, and oh so familiar with a hint of bergamot. She sighed, relieved the cauldron hadn't given her sugarplums.

"Miss Stark, if you're quite finished, there are some other students behind you and I do need to get ready for my next class," Professor Aemon whispered.

Sansa jumped back from the cauldron, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Sorry, professor," Sansa apologized, sprinting to her desk past the line of students still waiting to turn in their vials of living death. She caught Joffrey's cocky smirk as she snatched her textbook off the desk. Bristling, she glared at him before bolting out the door.

"Slow down, Sansa!" Her best friend Margaery snatched her arm, pulling her into a small off shooting hallway where no one would disturb them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost," Sansa scoffed. "Just my lousy ex-boyfriend assuming I smelled him in the Amortentia. The nerve of some people," she muttered.

"Nevermind that; what did you smell?" Margaery tugged her arm.

"You go first." Sansa blushed.  

"It doesn't matter what I smelled." Margaery huffed, dropping Sansa's arm. "You know my grandmother wants me to pursue Joffrey because ‘the Baratheon & Lannister lines are so well established and we Tyrells need to raise our profile.’” Yuck,” she shivered.

“Marge, that’s terrible.” Sansa put a comforting hand on top of hers.

"I know," Margaery scoffed. "But I'll live through it. So, tell me," she lowered her voice and glanced up and down the hall before whispering, "do you have any ideas about what you smelled?"

"It smelled like the Quidditch pitch after a big game. There was something familiar about it—I’d probably know it if I smelled it again."

"You're so lucky! That means it can only be one person, like how Professor Lannister smelled the sea before he even met Coach Tarth."

“But what can I do?” Sansa opened her bag to put her potions textbook away. “It’s not like I can go around sniffing all the Quidditch players at Hogwarts.”

Margaery clapped her hands together, tapping the pads of her fingers, and raised a quizzical brow. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

“You’ll be fine!” Margaery shoved Sansa into the hallway outside the locker rooms.

Sansa almost ran into the wall but caught herself at the last second. Catching her breath, she stood for a moment, hand against the smooth stone. When she heard the distinctive whoosh of something sailing through the air, she whipped around, only to get knocked to the ground by her own heavy bag. Her wand clattered to the ground; some of her books dropped from the open bag with a thunk. She glared at Margaery who gave her two thumbs up in return before dashing down the corridor to her next class. Sansa stuck out her tongue as Margaery retreated. Sometimes having a Slytherin best friend meant the cons outweighed the perks.

Sansa sighed. Though long gone, Margaery would expect a full report on "Sansa's Quest for True Love.” Gathering her scattered things, she dropped them into the cloth sack and snapped the top closed. She stood, searching for her missing wand before noticing it had rolled in front of the boys' locker room. Sansa rolled her eyes. Stupid Margaery.

She snatched the offending wand off the ground. Stuffing it into the pocket in her robes, Sansa took a step back from the locker room door toward the weird muggle painting Headmaster Mormont had installed there last year. She wrung her hands and rocked back and forth on her heels as she glanced up and down the hallway. If she left now, she wouldn’t run into any Quidditch players, as the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw practices had just let out, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin players (including Harry Hardyng) were due in about seven minutes.

She paced the stone floor.

Perhaps she should just leave, and no one would be the wiser. She turned to walk away. 

However, she could use her brother or sister as an alibi—make up some excuse about needing to see them before Gryffindor practice started.

Clenching her fists, she let out a deep breath. Adjusting her red and gold tie, she turned her attention back to the muggle painting while she waited. Tiny splotches of pale gray dappled the white canvas. She stepped closer. Not tiny splotches, but rather large lumps of white paint spread across the canvas in violent swaths. When Sansa squinted, the paint swirled, almost like the snowflakes in a blizzard.

“Hey Sansa,” Harry Hardyng whispered in her ear out of nowhere. “Waiting for your siblings?” Sansa shrieked and whirled around, elbowing Harry in the gut.

“I’m so sorry!” Sansa peeped as Harry doubled over. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry choked out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

"I was just distracted looking at the painting." Sansa gestured to it, blushing, and twirled a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Oh.” Harry wrinkled his aquiline nose. “I don’t much care for muggle art. Don’t know why Mormont put it here.” While he talked, she leaned closer. His sandy hair smelled of lemon shampoo.

Harry turned away from the painting. “I’ve got to get ready for practice. See you around, milady.” He bowed with a flourish.

Sansa giggled. “Have a great practice.”

“You’ll be at the game on Saturday?”

"Of course," Sansa smiled.

"Great. See you there," Harry winked and swiveled through the door behind him.

As the door swooshed closed, Sansa caught a faint whiff of that familiar bergamot scent. Startled, she jumped from her perch on the wooden bench across from the painting. Heart pounding, she tiptoed toward the door. There it was again, fainter still. The handle felt warm in her hand as she leaned in. The muffled pitter-patter of water droplets on the tile floor came through the door. With the loud screech of the turning spigot, the water stopped.

Sansa froze.

Her mystery man would walk out that door any minute now and find her there.

She jumped away from the door, sprinting to her scattered belongings on the bench between the locker room doors. With reckless abandon, she flung her potions textbook into her bag, not even bothering to make sure each book settled in its proper place. She sniffed. The bergamot fragrance grew stronger. Footsteps pounded across the tile floor through the thick wooden door, closer and closer. Sansa slung her backpack over one shoulder as the doorknob turned. Without a second thought, Sansa hauled ass down the hallway.

“Sansa?”

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks.

She knew that voice.

Taking a deep breath, she turned.

"Hello Jon," Sansa stuttered, faking a smile.

He walked right up to her, grinning that stupid grin that made all the silly girls in her class melt like chocolate frogs left in the sun on a hot summers day.

“Are you waiting for Arya?” Jon asked. The bergamot wafted over from his dripping dark brown curls.

"Yes." She hazarded a bigger sniff, leaning closer. "Your hair smells."

He gave her a quizzical look.

“I mean it smells nice.”

His face lit up like the candles in the Great Hall at Halloween. “I have you to thank for that.” He clapped her on the shoulder. Sansa stilled at the sudden contact. “I’ve already had to replace that bottle of conditioner you bought me for Christmas.” Sansa wanted to slap herself, but at the same time wished he would pull her even closer so all she smelled was bergamot and mint leaves.

"I'm glad you liked it, of course, because you really needed to condition your hair." She took a tentative step forward. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. Her breath caught in her throat; maybe those silly girls had a point.

“Are you alright?” Jon frowned. “You look like there’s something on your mind?”

Sansa closed her eyes, steeling herself for what she had to do. “Jon, I need to tell you . . .”

"Hey, crow."

Before Sansa could speak another word, Ygritte barreled down the hall. Sansa stepped back as Ygritte sailed in between them, jumping into Jon's arms. Ygritte wove her arms around Jon's neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled him down for a long sloppy kiss. Sansa's stomach dropped three stories. Gripping the canvas strap of her messenger bag too tight left angry red indentations on her skin. Jon & Ygritte separated at long last, still in each other's arms.

"Hey, wildling." Jon greeted his girlfriend with hazy eyes. Ygritte settled into the crook of his arm, giggling.

How many bones would she break if she punched the wall?

"What did you want to say, Sansa?" Jon turned from Ygritte.

"Never mind," Sansa muttered, bile rising in her throat. The Seven couldn't be so cruel as to show her the truth before snatching him away, could they?

“Are you okay?” Jon asked her, letting go of his girlfriend for a moment.

“I’m fine,” Sansa huffed, looking at an interesting spot on the wall, avoiding Ygritte’s “get lost” glare. If she stayed long enough Ygritte would find some way to insult her; she always did.

“Really?” Ygritte cackled, clutching her stomach. “ ’cause you look as pale as Ghost.” There it was.

“Don't make fun of her,” Jon scolded his girlfriend. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"I said I'm fine," Sansa spat through gritted teeth. "Goodbye, Jon." She swiveled on her heels, hair swinging, and strode down the corridor with an air of confidence she didn't possess.

“Sansa, wait!” Jon called after her. “What about Arya?”

“I’ll talk to her later.” Sansa tried to keep her voice steady even as a tear spilled down her face.

“Oh, let her go,” Ygritte groaned. “She’s fine.”

Sansa rounded the corner and wiped the tear away.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she banged her head against the wall. Maybe she'd smelled something wrong?  She stepped back, playing with the sleeve of her robe for a few moments of indecision before heading toward the potions storeroom; it'd take a while, but knowing for certain would quiet her rapidly beating heart.

[trendingnewsb]

It's The Era Of Avocado! Try these 50+ Super Easy Avocado Recipes At Home Now!

Avocados are gaining popularity because of their rich nutritional value plus it’s mild and unique taste. It’s a versatile food that works with all kinds of dishes. Avocados are not only nutritious and delicious, they seem to be the hipster icon of the year. I have seen so many avocado tattoos on calf muscles and biceps that I’ve lost count. So if you love that green berry (yes, avocados are berries) so much that you would eat it for every meal and get a tattoo of it, stay tuned. The potential to add them to everything from smoothies for a rich and creamy texture, to desserts in order to substitute unhealthy fats, is endless! Avocados are super nutrient-rich, and the fact that they taste delicious makes it easy to get all your vitamins and healthy fats with every bite.

How to shop for avocados:

I love a good life hack, and luckily there are plenty for picking avocados. It’s difficult to base your decision on color alone (though you should observe any discoloration and bruising,) so it’s better to squeeze the berry gently and see if it’s firm but gives just a little. Don’t use your fingertips though, because you could wind up bruising it! If the avocado yields to firm, gentle pressure, then it’s ripe and ready. But if it just feels kind of tough, it’s going to need a couple more days [1]

My favorite life hack for avocado selection is this one: peel back the stem! If you scratch off the tiny little stem on the top of the avocado, you’ll be able to know if your choice will be delicious or just brown and slimy inside. If the stem comes off easy and what’s underneath appears green, then it’s ripe! If you find brown underneath, then it’s overripe and won’t be good. And if the stem doesn’t come off and all, then the avocado is under ripe and won’t be ready for some time.

If you’re buying avocados for an event, such as a party that absolutely needs guacamole, purchase unripe avocados 4-5 days in advance. That should give you a nice window and help to ensure you won’t wind up with over-ripe berries at your party.

Taking off the steam is the easiest way to tell whether it’s good to eat or not!

It’s not ripped yet!

How to store avocados:

Once you’re a pro at choosing avocados, you still have to be able to store them. If you’re like me, you don’t always use the entire berry in one sitting; sometime’s I’ll put half into my smoothie, and sometimes I spread a quarter on toast. I typically put my leftover avocado in Tupperware before sticking it in the fridge, but there are better ways to store the green goodness and ensure it won’t be gross by the next morning [2].

Storing a cut avocado:

No matter what form it’s in, cut, sliced, mashed, or even guacamole, put the remainders in a bowl and sprinkle some lemon, lime or even fresh orange juice on top. The acid slows down the oxidation process (that’s what leads to the brown slime) and prolongs the life of the avocado. But if you do start to see some browning, just scoop those parts out and toss them.

If your avocado is simply sliced in half, you can just run some water over the cut surface and put it in the fridge. It’ll most likely develop a little brown film, but it’ll peel back easily and can be tossed.

Storing an avocado that’s close to going bad:

If your avocado is perfectly ripe but you don’t have the time to use it, don’t throw it away! Puree your avocado with a food processor or blender and store it in the freezer. When you are ready to try out that new dip or spread recipe, you can take it out and use it.

How to ripen an avocado:

I think we’ve all been there: in the produce section of our supermarket standing in front of the lousy selection of avocados and being forced to find the best of the worst. Obviously you want to choose one that is under-ripe and not over-ripe, but it still means you are going to have to wait to be able to eat it. Maybe as long as four days! Or does it?

It turns out, there are some simple and effective methods to ripening an avocado quickly.

Place the under-ripe avocado in a paper bag. Make sure the bag is in good shape and there aren’t any rips or tears. The bag is going to seal in the ethylene gas and ultimately ripen the berry.

Add a banana in the bag with the avocado. You can use an apple or a tomato if you don’t have any bananas lying around, but the banana is your first choice. These fruits emit more ethylene gas than others, and the more they produce, the faster they’ll ripen.

Close the bag by rolling it down and keep it at room temperature and away from sunlight.

Check in often. The avocado will ripen as quickly as one day, so be sure to check it out. As it ripens, it will get some hints of deep purple and black. Once it’s ripe, store it as discussed, but only fora few days.

How to ripen a cut avocado:

If you forgot to check for the ripeness of the avocado and went straight to slicing it open, you may be disappointed to realize it’s not read to eat. Luckily you can take a couple steps and ripen the halves in no time.

Sprinkle the avocado slices with lemon or lime juice. This will help avoid that brown mush.

Cover it in saran wrap with the two halves facing each other like you are reconnecting it. Stick it in the refrigerator.

Check in often! The length of time it will take to ripen will vary, but check in every day to ensure it doesn’t go bad. Take the avocado out of the wrap and poke it gently. If it seems soft enough, feel free to sample it. If it doesn’t quite taste right yet, put it back in the fridge.

How do you cut an avocado?

Few things are as satisfying as taking a knife to the pit of an avocado, twisting it and pulling it out cleanly! But not everyone can do it on the first try. Below is a video showing you how to successfully cut an avocado.

Here are some delicious avocado recipes for you to try:

Breakfast Recipes

Baked Egg in Avocado

This breakfast is both delicious and beautiful. Want to host the ultimate healthy brunch and look like a pro? Try this.

Avocado Banana Smoothie

This creamy breakfast smoothie is not only sweetly delicious, but it’s a great way to burn fat and give your heart the healthy stuff it needs!

Avocado Toast

Avocado toast is a classic way to incorporate healthy fats into your morning routine. This site gives six unique ways to top your toast.

Power Breakfast Potato Boat

If you love eating a big breakfast , this beast is for you. A potato, some bacon, a fried egg and avocado is on top of melted cheese. Don’t make this one a habit though.

Blueberry Avocado Muffins

I’m a sucker for recipes that give me healthy things hidden in seemingly sinful things. This delicious muffin is a sweet way to get your vitamins in at the breakfast table.

Mexican Grilled Corn Avocado Toast: If you needed more proof that avocado toast is never bland , check out this recipe. Mexican style street corn tops tons of delicious flavors on this gorgeous brekki.

Spicy chard and pineapple smoothie:

If you don’t like a ton of sweetness in your green smoothie, try this recipe. The bitter chard mixed with the sweet pineapple provides a memorable bite.

Avocado and egg breakfast pizza

Pizza can be for breakfast! Top your “pizza” with pureed avocado and a fried egg. Add some hot sauce if you’re feeling crazy.

Steak and avocado breakfast burrito

Chipotle, who? This breakfast burrito will be your new favorite meal.

Pomegranate and Pistachio Relish on Avocado Toast

If you want a little sweet, a little salty and a lot delicious, make this toast ! Not only will your stomach be happy, but your Instagram will be filled with pictures of this pretty meal.

Lunch Recipes

Avocado Chicken Salad

Delicious, light and refreshing, this avocado chicken salad is sure to please even the pickiest eater. Check out this recipe for a lunch you will look forward to eating.

Tomato Avocado Melt

Cheese? yes. Avocados? yes. I’m already sold .

Avocado Grilled Cheese

Just when you thought a a grilled cheese couldn’t get an y more delicious, someone put avocado with it. Yes, please.

Spicy southwestern salad with avocado dressing

This salad is loaded with greens, beans, corn and sweet potatoes. Avocados and cilantro create a delicious dressing that would probably be good consumed with just a straw.

Japapeno Turkey Burgers

You can find plenty of rich recipes including avocado, but if you’re watching your weight, you may find even more. This turkey burger is a great lunch you don’t have to feel guilty about.

Shrimp avocado salad

This salad is a great choice for a warm day, especially if you’re in a seafood state of mind. Avocado is great with fish (think any sushi roll ever), so shrimp makes sense!

Garlic Bacon Avocado Burgers

Sometimes you just need a good burger . And hey, if you use avocado, that makes it healthy! Right?

Orange Almond Salad with Avocado

If you want a fresh salad with lots of flavor, put this yummy salad together.

Toasted Avocado and Bean Pitas

I believe everything tastes better on pita bread. But I’m pretty sure this combo would taste good even on it’s own.

Cucumber Avocado Sandwich

This sandwich is simple, clean and oh so good.

Avocado Caprese Salad

Okay, these little bites are so cute. How could you not want to eat these healthy cuties?

Chickpea Avocado Mash

This wrap is so good and healthy, but it still tastes filling and satisfying.

Avocado Hummus Taquitos

I love taquitos. That crunch is so satisfying. Hummus and avocado mash mingle here for a creamy, crunchy lunch.

Avocado Pasta Salad

This recipe is chock full of avocado. It even has an avocado dressing!

Grilled Salmon with Avocado Salsa

Light, refreshing and uber healthy. Enjoy!

Dinner Recipes:

Creamy Avocado and Spinach Pasta

This is pasta you don’t have to feel guilty about! Slurp those noodles knowing your nourishing your body!

Chicken Avocado Quesadillas

These quesadillas are super filling but so, so tasty! You’ll look forward to having leftovers for lunch the next day.

BLT Chicken Salad Stuffed Avocados

Who needs stuffed peppers when you can stuff an avocado? Try this one tonight.

Avocado Pesto Stuffed Shells

I loved stuffed shells, and I love this recipe because it gives me the taste I want without all the fatty cheeses.

Creamy Cucumber and Avocado Soup

This soup is perfect any night of the year, no matter the weather. And it’s so colorful!

Avocado Pesto Noodles

I love noodles that aren’t actually “noodles.” This recipe will deliver a flavorful dinner that won’t leave you feeling carb-loaded.

Avocado Cucumber Egg Salad

This dinner recipe could so easily be served as a snack or a side dish. No matter when you choose to eat it, you’ll definitely enjoy it.

Tomato Avocado Salad

Want a crazy healthy dinner? Eat this.

Avocado, Strawberry and Spinach Salad

When a salad is balanced, it truly can be its own meal. This clean salad is perfect for a summer night.

Avocado Frittata with Cotija and Mozzarella Cheese

A casserole that you can enjoy on a diet?! You’re welcome.

Black bean tacos with avocado cilantro-lime sauce:

You can’t go wrong with tacos . And if you’ve learned anything so far, it should be that avocados make tacos even better.

Blackened Shrimp Avocado Cucumber Bites

Refreshing, yummy and can be a snack or a meal . Depends on how hard it is for you to stop eating them!

Smokey bacon sweet potato hash and eggs:

YUM! While this is almost like breakfast for dinner , it’s going to be good and good for you no matter what time of day.

Blackened Tilapia Taco Bowls

What’s better than tacos ? Deconstructed tacos!

Chili-Lime Beef and Black Bean Bowls with Avocado Crema

Beef, avocado , black beans…what more could you want?

Snack Recipes

Crispy Baked Avocado Fries and Chipotle Dipping Sauce

One of my favorite things about clean eating is how not clean it tastes. I love zucchini chips, roasted sweet potatoes and crispy brussel sprouts. These avocado fries are a delicious, healthy way to snack.

Avocado Brushetta

This is a super simple recipe to put together, and ideal as an appetizer.

Avocado Deviled Eggs

If you are always responsible for bringing deviled eggs to the party, try these next tim e to impress the crowd.

Avocado Egg Rolls

These are a great pre-dinner snack. That is, if you can avoid eating them all!

Guacamole

An avocado list wouldn’t be complete without a guac recipe!

Dessert Recipes

Fudgey Avocado Brownies with Avocado Frosting

The cool thing about avocados is they add a creamy texture which can pass for a rich batter in baked goods. This recipe is for yummy HEALTHY brownies

Mexican Chocolate Avocado Ice cream

Healthy ice cream? It sounds too good to be true. But it’s real and you can make it!

Flourless Chocolate Avocado Cookies

These cookies are great for people with allergies.

Avocado Fudge Pops

These are yummy if you’re an adult, but if you have picky kids, they’re an ideal way to get your kid to eat healthy !

Honey Lime Avocado Baked Donuts

Homemade doughnuts instantly make you impressive and cool. Healthy homemade doughnuts make you a superhero.

Which recipes are you going to try? Let us know!

Avocado cartoon image: http://ift.tt/1C0mJOm via Pinterest

Avocado stem images: thekitchn.com

Featured photo credit: Krzysztof Puszczynski via stocksnap.io

Reference

[1]^SOURCE: How To Pick The Perfect Avocado[2]^http://ift.tt/2fqQuTZ

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The post It’s The Era Of Avocado! Try these 50+ Super Easy Avocado Recipes At Home Now! appeared first on Lifehack.

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2pwPJQi via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

It's The Era Of Avocado! Try these 50+ Super Easy Avocado Recipes At Home Now!

Avocados are gaining popularity because of their rich nutritional value plus it’s mild and unique taste. It’s a versatile food that works with all kinds of dishes. Avocados are not only nutritious and delicious, they seem to be the hipster icon of the year. I have seen so many avocado tattoos on calf muscles and biceps that I’ve lost count. So if you love that green berry (yes, avocados are berries) so much that you would eat it for every meal and get a tattoo of it, stay tuned. The potential to add them to everything from smoothies for a rich and creamy texture, to desserts in order to substitute unhealthy fats, is endless! Avocados are super nutrient-rich, and the fact that they taste delicious makes it easy to get all your vitamins and healthy fats with every bite.

How to shop for avocados:

I love a good life hack, and luckily there are plenty for picking avocados. It’s difficult to base your decision on color alone (though you should observe any discoloration and bruising,) so it’s better to squeeze the berry gently and see if it’s firm but gives just a little. Don’t use your fingertips though, because you could wind up bruising it! If the avocado yields to firm, gentle pressure, then it’s ripe and ready. But if it just feels kind of tough, it’s going to need a couple more days [1]

My favorite life hack for avocado selection is this one: peel back the stem! If you scratch off the tiny little stem on the top of the avocado, you’ll be able to know if your choice will be delicious or just brown and slimy inside. If the stem comes off easy and what’s underneath appears green, then it’s ripe! If you find brown underneath, then it’s overripe and won’t be good. And if the stem doesn’t come off and all, then the avocado is under ripe and won’t be ready for some time.

If you’re buying avocados for an event, such as a party that absolutely needs guacamole, purchase unripe avocados 4-5 days in advance. That should give you a nice window and help to ensure you won’t wind up with over-ripe berries at your party.

Taking off the steam is the easiest way to tell whether it’s good to eat or not!

It’s not ripped yet!

How to store avocados:

Once you’re a pro at choosing avocados, you still have to be able to store them. If you’re like me, you don’t always use the entire berry in one sitting; sometime’s I’ll put half into my smoothie, and sometimes I spread a quarter on toast. I typically put my leftover avocado in Tupperware before sticking it in the fridge, but there are better ways to store the green goodness and ensure it won’t be gross by the next morning [2].

Storing a cut avocado:

No matter what form it’s in, cut, sliced, mashed, or even guacamole, put the remainders in a bowl and sprinkle some lemon, lime or even fresh orange juice on top. The acid slows down the oxidation process (that’s what leads to the brown slime) and prolongs the life of the avocado. But if you do start to see some browning, just scoop those parts out and toss them.

If your avocado is simply sliced in half, you can just run some water over the cut surface and put it in the fridge. It’ll most likely develop a little brown film, but it’ll peel back easily and can be tossed.

Storing an avocado that’s close to going bad:

If your avocado is perfectly ripe but you don’t have the time to use it, don’t throw it away! Puree your avocado with a food processor or blender and store it in the freezer. When you are ready to try out that new dip or spread recipe, you can take it out and use it.

How to ripen an avocado:

I think we’ve all been there: in the produce section of our supermarket standing in front of the lousy selection of avocados and being forced to find the best of the worst. Obviously you want to choose one that is under-ripe and not over-ripe, but it still means you are going to have to wait to be able to eat it. Maybe as long as four days! Or does it?

It turns out, there are some simple and effective methods to ripening an avocado quickly.

Place the under-ripe avocado in a paper bag. Make sure the bag is in good shape and there aren’t any rips or tears. The bag is going to seal in the ethylene gas and ultimately ripen the berry.

Add a banana in the bag with the avocado. You can use an apple or a tomato if you don’t have any bananas lying around, but the banana is your first choice. These fruits emit more ethylene gas than others, and the more they produce, the faster they’ll ripen.

Close the bag by rolling it down and keep it at room temperature and away from sunlight.

Check in often. The avocado will ripen as quickly as one day, so be sure to check it out. As it ripens, it will get some hints of deep purple and black. Once it’s ripe, store it as discussed, but only fora few days.

How to ripen a cut avocado:

If you forgot to check for the ripeness of the avocado and went straight to slicing it open, you may be disappointed to realize it’s not read to eat. Luckily you can take a couple steps and ripen the halves in no time.

Sprinkle the avocado slices with lemon or lime juice. This will help avoid that brown mush.

Cover it in saran wrap with the two halves facing each other like you are reconnecting it. Stick it in the refrigerator.

Check in often! The length of time it will take to ripen will vary, but check in every day to ensure it doesn’t go bad. Take the avocado out of the wrap and poke it gently. If it seems soft enough, feel free to sample it. If it doesn’t quite taste right yet, put it back in the fridge.

How do you cut an avocado?

Few things are as satisfying as taking a knife to the pit of an avocado, twisting it and pulling it out cleanly! But not everyone can do it on the first try. Below is a video showing you how to successfully cut an avocado.

Here are some delicious avocado recipes for you to try:

Breakfast Recipes

Baked Egg in Avocado

This breakfast is both delicious and beautiful. Want to host the ultimate healthy brunch and look like a pro? Try this.

Avocado Banana Smoothie

This creamy breakfast smoothie is not only sweetly delicious, but it’s a great way to burn fat and give your heart the healthy stuff it needs!

Avocado Toast

Avocado toast is a classic way to incorporate healthy fats into your morning routine. This site gives six unique ways to top your toast.

Power Breakfast Potato Boat

If you love eating a big breakfast , this beast is for you. A potato, some bacon, a fried egg and avocado is on top of melted cheese. Don’t make this one a habit though.

Blueberry Avocado Muffins

I’m a sucker for recipes that give me healthy things hidden in seemingly sinful things. This delicious muffin is a sweet way to get your vitamins in at the breakfast table.

Mexican Grilled Corn Avocado Toast: If you needed more proof that avocado toast is never bland , check out this recipe. Mexican style street corn tops tons of delicious flavors on this gorgeous brekki.

Spicy chard and pineapple smoothie:

If you don’t like a ton of sweetness in your green smoothie, try this recipe. The bitter chard mixed with the sweet pineapple provides a memorable bite.

Avocado and egg breakfast pizza

Pizza can be for breakfast! Top your “pizza” with pureed avocado and a fried egg. Add some hot sauce if you’re feeling crazy.

Steak and avocado breakfast burrito

Chipotle, who? This breakfast burrito will be your new favorite meal.

Pomegranate and Pistachio Relish on Avocado Toast

If you want a little sweet, a little salty and a lot delicious, make this toast ! Not only will your stomach be happy, but your Instagram will be filled with pictures of this pretty meal.

Lunch Recipes

Avocado Chicken Salad

Delicious, light and refreshing, this avocado chicken salad is sure to please even the pickiest eater. Check out this recipe for a lunch you will look forward to eating.

Tomato Avocado Melt

Cheese? yes. Avocados? yes. I’m already sold .

Avocado Grilled Cheese

Just when you thought a a grilled cheese couldn’t get an y more delicious, someone put avocado with it. Yes, please.

Spicy southwestern salad with avocado dressing

This salad is loaded with greens, beans, corn and sweet potatoes. Avocados and cilantro create a delicious dressing that would probably be good consumed with just a straw.

Japapeno Turkey Burgers

You can find plenty of rich recipes including avocado, but if you’re watching your weight, you may find even more. This turkey burger is a great lunch you don’t have to feel guilty about.

Shrimp avocado salad

This salad is a great choice for a warm day, especially if you’re in a seafood state of mind. Avocado is great with fish (think any sushi roll ever), so shrimp makes sense!

Garlic Bacon Avocado Burgers

Sometimes you just need a good burger . And hey, if you use avocado, that makes it healthy! Right?

Orange Almond Salad with Avocado

If you want a fresh salad with lots of flavor, put this yummy salad together.

Toasted Avocado and Bean Pitas

I believe everything tastes better on pita bread. But I’m pretty sure this combo would taste good even on it’s own.

Cucumber Avocado Sandwich

This sandwich is simple, clean and oh so good.

Avocado Caprese Salad

Okay, these little bites are so cute. How could you not want to eat these healthy cuties?

Chickpea Avocado Mash

This wrap is so good and healthy, but it still tastes filling and satisfying.

Avocado Hummus Taquitos

I love taquitos. That crunch is so satisfying. Hummus and avocado mash mingle here for a creamy, crunchy lunch.

Avocado Pasta Salad

This recipe is chock full of avocado. It even has an avocado dressing!

Grilled Salmon with Avocado Salsa

Light, refreshing and uber healthy. Enjoy!

Dinner Recipes:

Creamy Avocado and Spinach Pasta

This is pasta you don’t have to feel guilty about! Slurp those noodles knowing your nourishing your body!

Chicken Avocado Quesadillas

These quesadillas are super filling but so, so tasty! You’ll look forward to having leftovers for lunch the next day.

BLT Chicken Salad Stuffed Avocados

Who needs stuffed peppers when you can stuff an avocado? Try this one tonight.

Avocado Pesto Stuffed Shells

I loved stuffed shells, and I love this recipe because it gives me the taste I want without all the fatty cheeses.

Creamy Cucumber and Avocado Soup

This soup is perfect any night of the year, no matter the weather. And it’s so colorful!

Avocado Pesto Noodles

I love noodles that aren’t actually “noodles.” This recipe will deliver a flavorful dinner that won’t leave you feeling carb-loaded.

Avocado Cucumber Egg Salad

This dinner recipe could so easily be served as a snack or a side dish. No matter when you choose to eat it, you’ll definitely enjoy it.

Tomato Avocado Salad

Want a crazy healthy dinner? Eat this.

Avocado, Strawberry and Spinach Salad

When a salad is balanced, it truly can be its own meal. This clean salad is perfect for a summer night.

Avocado Frittata with Cotija and Mozzarella Cheese

A casserole that you can enjoy on a diet?! You’re welcome.

Black bean tacos with avocado cilantro-lime sauce:

You can’t go wrong with tacos . And if you’ve learned anything so far, it should be that avocados make tacos even better.

Blackened Shrimp Avocado Cucumber Bites

Refreshing, yummy and can be a snack or a meal . Depends on how hard it is for you to stop eating them!

Smokey bacon sweet potato hash and eggs:

YUM! While this is almost like breakfast for dinner , it’s going to be good and good for you no matter what time of day.

Blackened Tilapia Taco Bowls

What’s better than tacos ? Deconstructed tacos!

Chili-Lime Beef and Black Bean Bowls with Avocado Crema

Beef, avocado , black beans…what more could you want?

Snack Recipes

Crispy Baked Avocado Fries and Chipotle Dipping Sauce

One of my favorite things about clean eating is how not clean it tastes. I love zucchini chips, roasted sweet potatoes and crispy brussel sprouts. These avocado fries are a delicious, healthy way to snack.

Avocado Brushetta

This is a super simple recipe to put together, and ideal as an appetizer.

Avocado Deviled Eggs

If you are always responsible for bringing deviled eggs to the party, try these next tim e to impress the crowd.

Avocado Egg Rolls

These are a great pre-dinner snack. That is, if you can avoid eating them all!

Guacamole

An avocado list wouldn’t be complete without a guac recipe!

Dessert Recipes

Fudgey Avocado Brownies with Avocado Frosting

The cool thing about avocados is they add a creamy texture which can pass for a rich batter in baked goods. This recipe is for yummy HEALTHY brownies

Mexican Chocolate Avocado Ice cream

Healthy ice cream? It sounds too good to be true. But it’s real and you can make it!

Flourless Chocolate Avocado Cookies

These cookies are great for people with allergies.

Avocado Fudge Pops

These are yummy if you’re an adult, but if you have picky kids, they’re an ideal way to get your kid to eat healthy !

Honey Lime Avocado Baked Donuts

Homemade doughnuts instantly make you impressive and cool. Healthy homemade doughnuts make you a superhero.

Which recipes are you going to try? Let us know!

Avocado cartoon image: http://ift.tt/1C0mJOm via Pinterest

Avocado stem images: thekitchn.com

Featured photo credit: Krzysztof Puszczynski via stocksnap.io

Reference

[1]^SOURCE: How To Pick The Perfect Avocado[2]^http://ift.tt/2fqQuTZ

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